Agatha Christie - A Pocket Full of Rye

"I'll try and get hold of her."

His retreating footsteps were audible through the phone. Inspector Neele heard no approaching footsteps but a minute or two later a woman's voice spoke.

"This is Miss Dove speaking."

The voice was low and well poised, with clear-cut enunciation. Inspector Neele formed a favourable picture of Miss Dove.

"I am sorry to have to tell you. Miss Dove, that Mr Fortescue died in St Jude's Hospital a short time ago. He was taken suddenly ill in his office. I am anxious to get in touch with his relatives –"

"Of course. I had no idea –" She broke off. Her voice held no agitation, but it was shocked. She went on: "It is all most unfortunate. The person you really want to get in touch with is Mr Percival Fortescue. He would be the one to see to all the necessary arrangements. You might be able to get in touch with him at the Midland in Manchester or possibly at the Grand in Leicester . Or you might try Shearer and Bonds of Leicester. I don't know their telephone number, I'm afraid, but I know they are a firm on whom he was going to call and they might be able to inform you where he would be likely to be today. Mrs Fortescue will certainly be in to dinner and she may be in to tea. It will be a great shock to her. It must have been very sudden? Mr Fortescue was quite well when he left here this morning."

"You saw him before he left?"

"Oh yes. What was it? Heart?"

"Did he suffer from heart trouble?"

"No – no – I don't think so – But I thought as it was so sudden –" She broke off. "Are you speaking from St Jude's Hospital? Are you a doctor?"

"No, Miss Dove, I'm not a doctor. I'm speaking from Mr Fortescue's office in the city. I am Detective-Inspector Neele of the C.I.D. and I shall be coming down to see you as soon as I can get there."

"Detective Inspector? Do you mean – what do you mean?"

"It was a case of sudden death. Miss Dove, and when there is a sudden death we get called to the scene, especially when the deceased man hasn't seen a doctor lately – which I gather was the case?"

It was only the faintest suspicion of a question mark but the young woman responded.

"I know. Percival made an appointment twice for him but he wouldn't keep it. He was quite unreasonable – they've all been worried –"

She broke off and then resumed in her former assured manner:

"If Mrs Fortescue returns to the house before you arrive, what do you want me to tell her?"

Practical as they make 'em, thought Inspector Neele.

Aloud he said:

"Just tell her that in a case of sudden death we have to make a few inquiries. Routine inquiries."

He hung up.

Neele pushed the telephone away and looked sharply at Miss Griffith.

"So they've been worried about him lately," he said. "Wanted him to see a doctor. You didn't tell me that."

"I didn't think of it," said Miss Griffith, and added: "He never seemed to me really ill –"

"Not ill – but what?"

"Well, just odd. Unlike himself. Peculiar in his manner."

"Worried about something?"

"Oh no, not worried. It's we who were worried –"

Inspector Neele waited patiently.

"It's difficult to say, really," said Miss Griffith. "He had moods, you know. Sometimes he was quite boisterous. Once or twice, frankly, I thought he had been drinking… He boasted and told the most extraordinary stories which I'm sure couldn't possibly have been true. For most of the time I've been here he was always very close about his affairs – not giving anything away, you know. But lately he's been quite different, expansive, and positively – well – flinging money about. Most unlike his usual manner. Why, when the office boy had to go to his grandmother's funeral, Mr Fortescue called him in and gave him a five pound note and told him to put it on the second favourite and then roared with laughter. He wasn't – well, he just wasn't like himself. That's all I can say."

"As though, perhaps, he had something on his mind?"

"Not in the usual meaning of the term. It was as though he were looking forward to something pleasurable – exciting –"

"Possibly a big deal that he was going to pull off?"

Miss Griffith agreed with more conviction.

"Yes – yes, that's much more what I mean. As though everyday things didn't matter any more. He was excited. And some very odd-looking people came to see him on business. People who'd never been here before. It worried Mr Percival dreadfully."

"Oh it worried him, did it?"

"Yes. Mr Percival's always been very much in his father's confidence, you see. His father relied on him. But lately –"

"Lately they weren't getting along so well."

"Well, Mr Fortescue was doing a lot of things that Mr Percival thought unwise. Mr Percival is always very careful and prudent. But suddenly his father didn't listen to him any more and Mr Percival was very upset."

"And they had a real row about it all?"

Inspector Neele was still probing.

"I don't know about a row… Of course, I realise now Mr Fortescue can't have been himself – shouting like that."

"Shouted, did he? What did he say?"

"He came right out in the typists' room –"

"So that you all heard?"

"Well – yes."

"And he called Percival names – abused him – swore at him…? What did he say Percival had done?"

"It was more that he hadn't done anything… he called him a miserable pettifogging little clerk. He said he had no large outlook, no conception of doing business in a big way. He said 'I shall get Lance home again. He's worth ten of you – and he's married well. Lance has got guts even if he did risk a criminal prosecution once – ' Oh dear, I oughtn't to have said that!" Miss Griffith , carried away as others before her had been under Inspector Neele's expert handling, was suddenly overcome with confusion.

"Don't worry," said Inspector Neele comfortingly. "What's past is past."

"Oh yes, it was a long time ago. Mr Lance was just young and high spirited and didn't really realise what he was doing."

Inspector Neele had heard that view before and didn't agree with it. But he passed on to fresh questions.

"Tell me a little more about the staff here."

Miss Griffith, hurrying to get away from her indiscretion, poured out information about the various personalities in the firm. Inspector Neele thanked her and then said he would like to see Miss Grosvenor again.

Detective-Constable Waite sharpened his pencil. He remarked wistfully that this was a Ritzy joint. His glance wandered appreciatively over the huge chairs, the big desk and the indirect lighting.

"All these people have got Ritzy names, too," he said. "Grosvenor – that's something to do with a Duke. And Fortescue – that's a classy name, too."

Inspector Neele smiled.

"His father's name wasn't Fortescue. Fontescu – and he came from somewhere in Central Europe . I suppose this man thought Fortescue sounded better."

Detective-Constable Waite looked at his superior officer with awe.

"So you know all about him?"

"I just looked up a few things before coming along on the call."

"Not got a record, had he?"

"Oh no. Mr Fortescue was much too clever for that. He's had certain connections with the Black Market and put through one or two deals that are questionable to say the least of it, but they've always been just within the law."

"I see," said Waite. "Not a nice man."

"A twister," said Neele. "But we've got nothing on him. The Inland Revenue have been after him for a long time but he's been too clever for them. Quite a financial genius, the late Mr Fortescue."

"The sort of man," said Constable Waite, "who might have enemies?"

He spoke hopefully.

"Oh yes – certainly enemies. But he was poisoned at home, remember. Or so it would seem. You know, Waite, I see a kind of pattern emerging. An old-fashioned familiar kind of pattern. The good boy, Percival. The bad boy, Lance – attractive to women. The wife who's younger than her husband and who's vague about which course she's going to play golf on. It's all very very familiar. But there's one thing that sticks out in a most incongruous way."