"Percy Prim," murmured Neele.
Sergeant Hay who was sitting unobtrusively by the wall looked up and said "Sir?" interrogatively.
Then as Neele did not reply, he asked, "What do you make of it all, sir?"
"I don't know," said Neele. He quoted softly, "'They're all very unpleasant people.'"
Sergeant Hay looked somewhat puzzled.
"Alice in Wonderland," said Neele. "Don't you know your Alice, Hay?"
"It's a classic, isn't it, sir?" said Hay. "Third Programme stuff. I don't listen to the Third Programme."
Chapter 10
It was about five minutes after leaving Le Bourget that Lance Fortescue opened his copy of the Continental Daily Mail. A minute or two later he uttered a startled exclamation. Pat, in the seat beside him, turned her head inquiringly.
"It's the old man," said Lance. "He's dead."
"Dead! Your father?"
"Yes, he seems to have been taken suddenly ill at the office, was taken to St Jude's Hospital and died there soon after arrival."
"Darling, I'm so sorry. What was it, a stroke?"
"I suppose so. Sounds like it."
"Did he ever have a stroke before?"
"No. Not that I know of."
"I thought people never died from a first one."
"Poor old boy," said Lance. "I never thought I was particularly fond of him, but somehow, now that he's dead..."
"Of course you were fond of him."
"We haven't all got your nice nature, Pat. Oh well, it looks as though my luck's out again, doesn't it."
"Yes. It's odd that it should happen just now. Just when you were on the point of coming home."
He turned his head sharply towards her.
"Odd? What do you mean by odd. Pat?"
She looked at him with slight surprise.
"Well, a sort of coincidence."
"You mean that whatever I set out to do goes wrong?"
"No, darling, I didn't mean that. But there is such a thing as a run of bad luck."
"Yes, I suppose there is."
Pat said again: "I'm so sorry."
When they arrived at Heath Row and were waiting to disembark from the plane, an official of the air company called out in a clear voice:
"Is Mr Lancelot Fortescue aboard?"
"Here," said Lance.
"Would you just step this way, Mr Fortescue."
Lance and Pat followed him out of the plane, preceding the other passengers. As they passed a couple in the last seat, they heard the man whisper to his wife:
"Well-known smugglers, I expect. Caught in the act."
II
"It's fantastic," said Lance. "Quite fantastic." He stared across the table at Detective-Inspector Neele.
Inspector Neele nodded his head sympathetically.
"Taxine - yewberries - the whole thing seems like some kind of melodrama. I dare say this sort of thing seems ordinary enough to you, Inspector. All in the day's work. But poisoning, in our family, seems wildly far-fetched."
"You've no idea then at all," asked Inspector Neele, "who might have poisoned your father?"
"Good lord, no. I expect the old man's made a lot of enemies in business, lots of people who'd like to skin him alive, do him down financially - all that sort of thing. But poisoning? Anyway I wouldn't be in the know. I've been abroad for a good many years and have known very little of what's going on at home."
"That's really what I wanted to ask you about, Mr Fortescue. I understand from your brother that there was an estrangement between you and your father which had lasted for many years. Would you like to tell me the circumstances that led to your coming home at this time?"
"Certainly, Inspector. I heard from my father, let me see it must be about - yes, six months ago now. It was soon after my marriage. My father wrote and hinted that he would like to let bygones be bygones. He suggested that I should come home and enter the firm. He was rather vague in his terms and I wasn't really sure that I wanted to do what he asked. Anyway, the upshot was that I came over to England last - yes, last August, just about three months ago. I went down to see him at Yewtree Lodge and he made me, I must say, a very advantageous offer. I told him that I'd have to think about it and I'd have to consult my wife. He quite understood that. I flew back to East Africa, talked it over with Pat. The upshot was that I decided to accept the old boy's offer. I had to wind up my affairs there, but I agreed to do so before the end of last month. I told him I would wire to him the date of my actual arrival in England."
Inspector Neele coughed.
"Your arrival back seems to have caused your brother some surprise."
Lance gave a sudden grin. His rather attractive face lit up with the spirit of pure mischief.
"Don't believe old Percy knew a thing about it," he said. "He was away on his holiday in Norway at the time. If you ask me, the old man picked that particular time on purpose. He was going behind Percy's back. In fact I've a very shrewd suspicion that my father's offer to me was actuated by the fact that he had a blazing row with poor old Percy - or Val as he prefers to be called. Val, I think, had been more or less trying to run the old man. Well, the old man would never stand for anything of that kind. What the exact row was about I don't know, but he was furious. And I think he thought it a jolly good idea to get me there and thereby spike poor old Val's guns. For one thing he never liked Percy's wife much and he was rather pleased, in a snobbish kind of way, with my marriage. It would be just his idea of a good joke to get me home and suddenly confront Percy with the accomplished fact."
"How long were you at Yewtree Lodge on this occasion?"
"Oh, not more than an hour or two. He didn't ask me to stay the night. The whole idea, I'm sure, was a kind of secret offensive behind Percy's back. I don't think he even wanted the servants to report upon it. As I say, things were left that I'd think it over, talk about it to Pat and then write him my decision, which I did. I wrote giving him the approximate date of my arrival, and I finally sent him a telegram yesterday from Paris."
Inspector Neele nodded.
"A telegram which surprised your brother very much."
"I bet it did. However, as usual, Percy wins. I've arrived too late."
"Yes," said Inspector Neele thoughtfully, "you've arrived too late." He went on briskly, "On the occasion of your visit last August, did you meet any other members of the family?"
"My stepmother was there at tea."
"You had not met her previously?"
"No." He grinned suddenly. "The old boy certainly knew how to pick them. She must be thirty years younger than him at least."
"You will excuse my asking, but did you resent your father's remarriage, or did your brother do so?"
Lance looked surprised.
"I certainly didn't, and I shouldn't think Percy did either. After all, our own mother died when we were about - oh, ten, twelve years old. What I'm really surprised at is that the old man didn't marry again before."
Inspector Neele murmured:
"It may be considered taking rather a risk to marry a woman very much younger than yourself."
"Did my dear brother say that to you? It sounds rather like him. Percy is a great master of the art of insinuation. Is that the set up, Inspector? Is my stepmother suspected of poisoning my father?"
Inspector Neele's face became blank.
"It's early days to have any definite ideas about anything, Mr Fortescue," he said pleasantly. "Now, may I ask you what your plans are?"
"Plans?" Lance considered. "I shall have to make new plans, I suppose. Where is the family? All down at Yewtree Lodge?"
"Yes."
"I'd better go down there straight away." He turned to his wife. "You'd better go to an hotel, Pat."
She protested quickly. "No, no. Lance, I'll come with you."
"No, darling."
"But I want to."
"Really, I'd rather you didn't. Go and stay at the - oh it's so long since I stayed in London - Barnes's. Barnes's Hotel used to be a nice, quiet sort of place. That's still going, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes, Mr Fortescue."
"Right, Pat, I'll settle you in there if they've got a room, then I'll go on down to Yewtree Lodge."
"But why can't I come with you, Lance?"
Lance's face took suddenly a rather grim line.
"Frankly, Pat, I'm not sure of my welcome. It was Father who invited me there, but Father's dead. I don't know who the place belongs to now. Percy, I suppose, or perhaps Adele. Anyway, I'd like to see what reception I get before I bring you there. Besides -"
"Besides what?"
"I don't want to take you to a house where there's a poisoner at large."
"Oh, what nonsense."
Lance said firmly:
"Where you're concerned, Pat, I'm taking no risks."
Chapter 11
Mr Dubois was annoyed. He tore Adele Fortescue's letter angrily across and threw it into the wastepaper basket. Then, with a sudden caution, he fished out the various pieces, struck a match and watched them burn to ashes. He muttered under his breath:
"Why have women got to be such damned fools? Surely common prudence..." But then, Mr Dubois reflected gloomily, women never had any prudence. Though he had profited by this lack many a time, it annoyed him now. He himself had taken every precaution. If Mrs Fortescue rang up they had instructions to say that he was out. Already Adele Fortescue had rung him up three times, and now she had written. On the whole, writing was far worse. He reflected for a moment or two, then he went to the telephone.
"Can I speak to Mrs Fortescue, please? Yes, Mr Dubois." A minute or two later he heard her voice.
"Vivian, at last!"
"Yes, yes, Adele, but be careful. Where are you speaking from?"
"From the library."
"Sure nobody's listening in, in the hall?"
"Why should they?"
"Well, you never know. Are the police still about the house?"
"No, they've gone for the moment, anyhow. Oh, Vivian dear, it's been awful."
"Yes, yes, it must have I'm sure. But look here, Adele, we've got to be careful."
"Oh, of course, darling."
"Don't call me darling through the phone. It isn't safe."
"Aren't you being a little bit panicky, Vivian? After all, everybody says darling nowadays."
"Yes, yes, that's true enough. But listen. Don't telephone to me and don't write."
"But Vivian -"
"It's just for the present, you understand. We must be careful."
"Oh. All right." Her voice sounded offended.
"Adele, listen. My letters to you. You did burn them, didn't you?"
There was a momentary hesitation before Adele Fortescue said:
"Of course. I told you I was going to do so."
"That's all right, then. Well I'll ring off now. Don't phone and don't write. You'll hear from me in good time."
He put the receiver back in its hook. He stroked his cheek thoughtfully. He didn't like that moment's hesitation. Had Adele burnt his letters? Women were all the same. They promised to burn things and then didn't.
Letters, Mr Dubois thought to himself. Women always wanted you to write them letters. He himself tried to be careful but sometimes one could not get out of it. What had he said exactly in the few letters he had written to Adele Fortescue? "It was the usual sort of gup," he thought, gloomily. But were there any special words - special phrases that the police could twist to make them say what they wanted them to say? He remembered the Edith Thompson case. His letters were innocent enough, he thought, but he could not be sure. His uneasiness grew. Even if Adele had not already burnt his letters, would she have the sense to burn them now? Or had the police already got hold of them? Where did she keep them, he wondered. Probably in that sitting-room of hers upstairs. That gimcrack little desk, probably. Sham antique Louis XIV. She had said something to him once about there being a secret drawer in it. Secret drawer! That would not fool the police long. But there were no police about the house now. She had said so. They had been there that morning, and now they had all gone away.
Up to now they had probably been busy looking for possible sources of poison in the food. They would not, he hoped, have got round to a room by room search of the house. Perhaps they would have to ask permission or get a search warrant to do that. It was possible that if he acted now, at once -
He visualised the house clearly in his mind's eye. It would be getting towards dusk. Tea would be brought in, either into the library or into the drawing-room. Everyone would be assembled downstairs and the servants would be having tea in the servants' hall. There would be no one upstairs on the first floor. Easy to walk up through the garden, skirting the yew hedges that provided such admirable cover. Then there was the little door at the side on to the terrace. That was never locked until just before bedtime. One could slip through there and, choosing one's moment, slip upstairs.
Vivian Dubois considered very carefully what it behove him to do next. If Fortescue's death had been put down to a seizure or to a stroke as surely it ought to have been, the position would be very different. As it was - Dubois murmured under his breath, "Better be safe than sorry."
II
Mary Dove came slowly down the big staircase. She paused a moment at the window on the half landing, from which she had seen Inspector Neele arrive on the preceding day. Now, as she looked out in the fading light, she noticed a man's figure just disappearing round the yew hedge. She wondered if it was Lancelot Fortescue, the prodigal son. He had, perhaps, dismissed his car at the gate and was wandering round the garden recollecting old times there before tackling a possibly hostile family. Mary Dove felt rather sympathetic towards Lance. A faint smile on her lips, she went on downstairs. In the hall she encountered Gladys, who jumped nervously at the sight of her.
