A Pocket Full of Rye

Chapter 7
Inspector Neele was still holding the telegraph message in his hand when he heard a car drive up to the front door and stop with a careless scrunching of brakes.

Mary Dove said, "That will be Mrs Fortescue now."

Inspector Neele moved forwards to the front door. Out of the tail of his eye, he saw Mary Dove melt unobtrusively into the background and disappear. Clearly she intended to take no part in the forthcoming scene. A remarkable display of tact and discretion - and also a rather remarkable lack of curiosity. Most women. Inspector Neele decided, would have remained...

As he reached the front door he was aware of the butler. Crump, coming forward from the back of the hall. So he had heard the car.

The car was a Rolls Bentley sports model coupe. Two people got out of it and came towards the house. As they reached the door, it opened. Surprised, Adele Fortescue stared at Inspector Neele.

He realised at once that she was a very beautiful woman, and he realised too, the force of Mary Dove's comment which had so shocked him at the time. Adele Fortescue was a sexy piece. In figure and type she resembled the blonde Miss Grosvenor, but whereas Miss Grosvenor was all glamour without and all respectability within, Adele Fortescue was glamour all through. Her appeal was obvious, not subtle. It said simply to every man "Here am I. I'm a woman." She spoke and moved and breathed sex - and yet, within it all, her eyes had a shrewd appraising quality. Adele Fortescue, he thought, liked men - but she would always like money even better.

His eyes went on to the figure behind her who carried her golf clubs. He knew the type very well. It was the type that specialised in the young wives of rich and elderly men. Mr Vivian Dubois, if this was he, had that rather forced masculinity which is, in reality, nothing of the kind. He was the type of man who "understands" women.

"Mrs Fortescue?"

"Yes." It was a wide blue-eyed gaze. "But I don't know -"

"I am Inspector Neele. I'm afraid I have bad news for you."

"Do you mean - a burglary - something of that kind?"

"No, nothing of that kind. It is about your husband. He was taken seriously ill this morning."

"Rex? Ill?"

"We have been trying to get in touch with you since half-past eleven this morning."

"Where is he? Here? Or in hospital?"

"He was taken to St Jude's Hospital. I'm afraid you must prepare yourself for a shock."

"You don't mean - he isn't - dead."

She lurched forward a little and clutched his arm. Gravely feeling like someone playing a part in a stage performance, the Inspector supported her into the hall. Crump was hovering eagerly.

"Brandy she'll be needing," he said.

The deep voice of Mr Dubois said:

"That's right. Crump. Get the brandy." To the Inspector he said: "In here."

He opened a door on the left. The procession filed in. The Inspector and Adele Fortescue, Vivian Dubois, and Crump with a decanter and two glasses.

Adele Fortescue sank on to an easy chair, her eyes covered with her hand. She accepted the glass that the Inspector offered and took a tiny sip, then pushed it away.

"I don't want it," she said. "I'm all right. But tell me, what was it? A stroke, I suppose? Poor Rex."

"It wasn't a stroke, Mrs Fortescue."

"Did you say you were an Inspector?" It was Mr Dubois who made the inquiry.

Neele turned to him. "That's right," he said pleasantly. "Inspector Neele of the C.I.D."

He saw the alarm grow in the dark eyes. Mr Dubois did not like the appearance of an Inspector of the C.I.D. He didn't like it at all.

"What's up?" he said. "Something wrong - eh?"

Quite unconsciously he backed away a little towards the door. Inspector Neele noted the movement.

"I'm afraid," he said to Mrs Fortescue, "that there will have to be an inquest."

"An inquest? Do you mean - what do you mean?"

"I'm afraid this is all very distressing for you, Mrs Fortescue." The words came smoothly. "It seemed advisable to find out as soon as possible exactly what Mr Fortescue had to eat or drink before leaving for the office this morning."

"Do you mean he might have been poisoned?"

"Well, yes, it would seem so."

"I can't believe it. Oh - you mean food poisoning."

Her voice dropped half an octave on the last words. His face wooden, his voice still smooth. Inspector Neele said:

"Madam? What did you think I meant?"

She ignored that question, hurrying on.

"But we've been all right - all of us."

"You can speak for all the members of the family?"

"Well - no - of course - I can't really."

Dubois said with a great show of consulting his watch:

"I'll have to push off, Adele. Dreadfully sorry. You'll be all right, won't you? I mean, there are the maids, and the little Dove and all that -"

"Oh Vivian, don't. Don't go."

It was quite a wail, and it affected Mr Dubois adversely. His retreat quickened.

"Awfully sorry, old girl. Important engagement. I'm putting up at the Dormy House, by the way. Inspector. If you - er want me for anything."

Inspector Neele nodded. He had no wish to detain Mr Dubois. But he recognised Mr Dubois's departure for what it was. Mr Dubois was running away from trouble.

Adele Fortescue said, in an attempt to carry off the situation:

"It's such a shock, to come back and find the police in the house."

"I'm sure it must be. But you see, it was necessary to act promptly in order to obtain the necessary specimens of foodstuffs, coffee, tea, etc."

"Tea and coffee? But they're not poisonous? I expect it's the awful bacon we sometimes get. It's quite uneatable sometimes."

"We shall find out, Mrs Fortescue. Don't worry. You'd be surprised at some of the things that can happen. We once had a case of digitalis poisoning. It turned out that foxglove leaves had been picked in mistake for horseradish."

"You think something like that could happen here?"

"We shall know better after the autopsy, Mrs Fortescue."

"The autop- oh I see." She shivered.

The Inspector went on: "You've got a lot of yew round the house, haven't you, madam. There's no possibility, I suppose, of the berries or leaves having got - mixed up in anything?"

He was watching her closely. She stared at him.

"Yew berries? Are they poisonous?"

The wonder seemed a little too wide-eyed and innocent.

"Children have been known to eat them with unfortunate results."

Adele clasped her hands to her head.

"I can't bear to talk about it any more. Must I? I want to go and lie down. I can't stand any more. Mr Percival Fortescue will arrange everything - I can't - I can't - it isn't fair to ask me."

"We are getting in touch with Mr Percival Fortescue as soon as possible. Unfortunately he is away in the North of England.

"Oh yes, I forgot."

"There's just one other thing, Mrs Fortescue. There was a small quantity of grain in your husband's pocket. Could you give me some explanation of that?"

She shook her head. She appeared quite bewildered.

"Would anyone have slipped it in there as a joke?"

"I don't see why it would be a joke?"

Inspector Neele did not see either. He said:

"I won't trouble you any further at present, Mrs Fortescue. Shall I send one of the maids to you? Or Miss Dove?"

"What?" The word came abstractedly. He wondered what she had been thinking about.

She fumbled with her bag and pulled out a handkerchief. Her voice trembled.

"It's so awful," she said unsteadily. "I'm only just beginning to take it in. I've really been numbed up to now. Poor Rex. Poor dear Rex."

She sobbed in a manner that was almost convincing.

Inspector Neele watched her respectfully for a moment or two.

"It's been very sudden, I know," he said. "I'll send someone to you."

He went towards the door, opened it and passed through. He paused for a moment before looking back into the room.

Adele Fortescue still held the handkerchief to her eyes. The ends of it hung down but did not quite obscure her mouth. On her lips was a very faint smile.