II
He found her in one of the bedrooms on the first floor superintending
Ellen, who was
denuding2 the bed of what seemed to be clean sheets. A
little pile of clean towels lay on a chair.
Inspector Neele looked puzzled.
“Somebody coming to stay?” he asked.
Mary Dove smiled at him. In contrast to Ellen, who looked grim and
“Actually,” she said, “the opposite is the case.”
Neele looked inquiringly at her.
“This is the guest room we had prepared for Mr. Gerald Wright.”
“Gerald Wright? Who is he?”
“He’s a friend of Miss Elaine Fortescue’s.” Mary’s voice was carefully
“He was coming here—when?”
“I believe he arrived at the Golf Hotel the day after Mr. Fortescue’s
death.”
“The day after.”
“So Miss Fortescue said.” Mary’s voice was still
impersonal6: “She told me
she wanted him to come and stay in the house—so I had a room prepared.
Now—after these other two—tragedies—it seems more suitable that he
should remain at the hotel.”
“The Golf Hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Quite,” said Inspector Neele.
Ellen gathered up the sheets and towels and went out of the room.
Mary Dove looked inquiringly at Neele.
“You wanted to see me about something?”
Neele said pleasantly:
“It’s becoming important to get exact times very clearly stated. Members
of the family all seem a little vague about time—perhaps understandably.
You, on the other hand, Miss Dove, I have found extremely accurate in
your statements as to times.”
“Again understandably!”
“Yes—perhaps—I must certainly congratulate you on the way you have
kept this house going in spite of the—well, panic—these last deaths must
have caused.” He paused and then asked
curiously7: “How did you do it?”
Dove’s inscrutability was her pleasure in her own efficiency. She unbent
slightly now as she answered.
“The Crumps wanted to leave at once, of course.”
“We couldn’t have allowed that.”
“I know. But I also told them that Mr. Percival Fortescue would be more
likely to be—well—generous—to those who had spared him inconveni-
ence.”
“And Ellen?”
“Ellen does not wish to leave.”
“Ellen does not wish to leave,” Neele repeated. “She has good nerves.”
“She enjoys disasters,” said Mary Dove. “Like Mrs. Percival, she finds in
disaster a kind of pleasurable drama.”
“Interesting. Do you think Mrs. Percival has—enjoyed the tragedies?”
“No—of course not. That is going too far. I would merely say that it has
enabled her to—well—stand up to them—”
“And how have you yourself been
affected10, Miss Dove?”
“It has not been a pleasant experience,” she said dryly.
Inspector Neele felt again a
longing12 to break down this cool young wo-
man’s defences—to find out what was really going on behind the careful
and efficient understatement of her whole attitude.
He merely said brusquely:
Martin was in the hall before tea, and that was at twenty minutes to five?”
“Yes—I told her to bring in tea.”
“You yourself were coming from where?”
“From upstairs—I thought I had heard the telephone a few minutes be-
“Gladys, presumably, had answered the telephone?”
“Yes. It was a wrong number. Someone who wanted the Baydon Heath
Laundry.”
“And that was the last time you saw her?”
“She brought the tea tray into the library about ten minutes or so later.”
“After that Miss Elaine Fortescue came in?”
“Yes, about three or four minutes later. Then I went up to tell Mrs. Per-
cival tea was ready.”
“Did you usually do that?”
“Oh no—people came in to tea when they pleased—but Mrs. Fortescue
asked where everybody was. I thought I heard Mrs. Percival coming—but
that was a mistake—”
Neele interrupted. Here was something new.
“You mean you heard someone upstairs moving about?”
“Yes—at the head of the stairs, I thought. But no one came down so I
went up. Mrs. Percival was in her bedroom. She had just come in. She had
been out for a walk—”
“Out for a walk—I see. The time being then—”
“Oh—nearly five o’clock, I think—”
“And Mr. Lancelot Fortescue arrived—when?”
“A few minutes after I came downstairs again—I thought he had arrived
earlier—but—”
Inspector Neele interrupted:
“Why did you think he had arrived earlier?”
“Because I thought I had caught sight of him through the landing win-
dow.”
“In the garden, you mean?”
“Yes—I caught a glimpse of someone through the
yew15 hedge—and I
thought it would probably be him.”
“This was when you were coming down after telling Mrs. Percival For-
tescue tea was ready?”
Mary corrected him.
“No—not then—it was earlier—when I came down the first time.”
Inspector Neele stared.
“Are you sure about that, Miss Dove?”
“Yes, I’m
perfectly16 sure. That’s why I was surprised to see him—when he
actually did ring the bell.”
Inspector Neele shook his head. He kept his inner excitement out of his
voice as he said:
“It couldn’t have been Lancelot Fortescue you saw in the garden. His
train—which was due at 4:28, was nine minutes late. He arrived at Baydon
Heath Station at 4:37. He had to wait a few minutes for a taxi—that train is
always very full. It was actually nearly a quarter to five (five minutes after
you had seen the man in the garden) when he left the station and it is a
ten- minute drive. He paid off the taxi at the gate here at about five
minutes to five at the earliest. No—it wasn’t Lancelot Fortescue you saw.”
“I’m sure I did see someone.”
“Yes, you saw someone. It was getting dark. You couldn’t have seen the
man clearly?”
“Oh no—I couldn’t see his face or anything like that—just his build—tall
and slender. We were expecting Lancelot Fortescue—so I jumped to the
conclusion that that’s who it was.”
“He was going—which way?”
“Along behind the yew hedge towards the east side of the house.”
“There is a side door there. Is it kept locked?”
“Not until the house is locked up for the night.”
“Anyone could have come in by that side door without being observed
by any of the household.”
Mary Dove considered.
“I think so. Yes.” She added quickly: “You mean—the person I heard
later upstairs could have come in that way? Could have been hiding—up-
stairs?”
“Something of the kind.”
“But who—?”
“That
remains17 to be seen. Thank you, Miss Dove.”
As she turned to go away Inspector Neele said in a casual voice: “By the
way, you can’t tell me anything about blackbirds, I suppose?”
For the first time, so it seemed, Mary Dove was taken aback. She turned
back sharply.
“I—what did you say?”
“I was just asking you about blackbirds.”
“Do you mean—”
“Blackbirds,” said Inspector Neele.
He had on his most stupid expression.
“You mean that silly business last summer? But surely that can’t …” She
broke off.
Inspector Neele said pleasantly:
“There’s been a bit of talk about it, but I was sure I’d get a clear account
from you.”
Mary Dove was her calm, practical self again.
“It must, I think, have been some silly, spiteful joke,” she said. “Four
dead blackbirds were on Mr. Fortescue’s desk in his study here. It was
summer and the windows were open, and we rather thought it must have
been the gardener’s boy, though he insisted he’d never done anything of
the kind. But they were actually blackbirds the gardener had shot which
had been hanging up by the fruit bushes.”
“And somebody had cut them down and put them on Mr. Fortescue’s
desk?”
“Yes.”
“Any sort of reason behind it—any association with blackbirds?”
Mary shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
“How did Mr. Fortescue take it? Was he annoyed?”
“Naturally he was annoyed.”
“But not upset in any way?”
“I really can’t remember.”
“I see,” said Inspector Neele.
He said no more. Mary Dove once more turned away, but this time, he
thought, she went rather
unwillingly18 as though she would have liked to
know more of what was in his mind. Ungratefully, all that Inspector Neele
felt was
annoyance19 with Miss Marple. She had suggested to him that there
would be blackbirds and, sure enough, there the blackbirds were! Not four
and twenty of them, that was true. What might be called a token consign-
ment.
That had been as long ago as last summer and where it fitted in In-
spector Neele could not imagine. He was not going to let this blackbird bo-
sane21 murderer for a sane reason, but he would be forced from now on to
keep the crazier possibilities of the case in mind.
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