Chapter Sixteen
I
Inspector1 Neele found Mrs. Percival in her own sitting room upstairs, writ-
ing letters. She got up rather
nervously2 when he came in.
“Is there anything—what—are there—”
“Please sit down, Mrs. Fortescue. There are only just a few more ques-
tions I would like to ask you.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course, Inspector. It’s all so dreadful, isn’t it? So very
dreadful.”
She sat down rather nervously in an armchair. Inspector Neele sat
down in the small, straight chair near her. He studied her rather more
carefully than he had done heretofore. In someways a
mediocre3 type of
woman, he thought—and thought also that she was not very happy. Rest-
less, unsatisfied, limited in mental outlook, yet he thought she might have
been efficient and skilled in her own profession of hospital nurse. Though
she had achieved leisure by her marriage with a well-to-do man, leisure
had not satisfied her. She bought clothes, read novels and ate sweets, but
he remembered her
avid4 excitement on the night of Rex Fortescue’s death,
and he saw in it not so much a ghoulish satisfaction but rather a revela-
lids fluttered and fell before his searching glance. They gave her the ap-
pearance of being both nervous and guilty, but he could not be sure that
that was really the case.
“I’m afraid,” he said
soothingly8, “we have to ask people questions again
and again. It must be very
tiresome9 for you all. I do appreciate that, but so
much hangs, you understand, on the exact
timing10 of events. You came
down to tea rather late, I understand? In fact, Miss Dove came up and
fetched you.”
“Yes. Yes, she did. She came and said tea was in. I had no idea it was so
late. I’d been writing letters.”
Inspector Neele just glanced over at the writing desk.
“I see,” he said. “Somehow or other, I thought you’d been out for a
walk.”
“Did she say so? Yes—now I believe you’re right. I had been writing let-
ters; then it was so
stuffy11 and my head ached so I went out and—er—went
for a walk. Only round the garden.”
“I see. You didn’t meet anyone?”
“Meet anyone?” She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“I just wondered if you’d seen anybody or anybody had seen you during
this walk of yours.”
“I saw the gardener in the distance, that’s all.” She was looking at him
suspiciously.
“Then you came in, came up here to your room and you were just taking
your things off when Miss Dove came to tell you that tea was ready?”
“Yes. Yes, and so I came down.”
“And who was there?”
“Adele and Elaine, and a minute or two later Lance arrived. My brother-
in-law, you know. The one who’s come back from Kenya.”
“And then you all had tea?”
“Yes, we had tea. Then Lance went up to see Aunt Effie and I came up
here to finish my letters. I left Elaine there with Adele.”
“Yes. Miss Fortescue seems to have been with Mrs. Fortescue for quite
five or ten minutes after you left. Your husband hadn’t come home yet?”
“Oh no. Percy—Val—didn’t get home until about half past six or seven.
He’d been kept up in town.”
“He came back by train?”
“Yes. He took a taxi from the station.”
“Was it unusual for him to come back by train?”
“He does sometimes. Not very often. I think he’d been to places in the
city where it’s rather difficult to park the car. It was easier for him to take
“I see,” said Inspector Neele. He went on: “I asked your husband if Mrs.
Fortescue had made a will before she died. He said he thought not. I sup-
pose you don’t happen to have any idea?”
To his surprise Jennifer Fortescue nodded vigorously.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Adele made a will. She told me so.”
“Indeed! When was this?”
“Oh, it wasn’t very long ago. About a month ago, I think.”
“That’s very interesting,” said Inspector Neele.
Mrs. Percival leant forward eagerly. Her face now was all
animation14.
She clearly enjoyed exhibiting her superior knowledge.
“Val didn’t know about it,” she said. “Nobody knew. It just happened
that I found out about it. I was in the street. I had just come out of the sta-
tioner’s, then I saw Adele coming out of the solicitor’s office. Ansell and
Worrall’s, you know. In the High Street.”
“Yes. And I said to Adele: ‘Whatever have you been doing there?’ I said.
And she laughed and said: ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ And then as we
walked along together she said: ‘I’ll tell you, Jennifer. I’ve been making my
will.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘why are you doing that, Adele, you’re not ill or any-
thing, are you?’ And she said no, of course she wasn’t ill. She’d never felt
better. But everyone ought to make a will. She said she wasn’t going to
those stuck-up family solicitors in London, Mr. Billingsley. She said the old
sneak16 would go round and tell the family. ‘No,’ she said, ‘my will’s my own
business, Jennifer, and I’ll make it my own way and nobody’s going to
know about it.’ ‘Well, Adele,’ I said, ‘I shan’t tell anybody.’ She said: ‘It
doesn’t matter if you do. You won’t know what’s in it.’ But I didn’t tell any-
one. No, not even Percy. I do think women ought to stick together, don’t
you, Inspector Neele?”
“I’m sure that’s a very nice feeling on your part, Mrs. Fortescue,” said In-
spector Neele diplomatically.
“I’m sure I’m never ill-natured,” said Jennifer. “I didn’t particularly care
for Adele, if you know what I mean. I always thought she was the kind of
woman who would stick at nothing in order to get what she wanted. Now
she’s dead, perhaps I misjudged her, poor soul.”
“Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Fortescue, for being so helpful to me.”
“You’re welcome, I’m sure. I’m only too glad to do anything I can. It’s all
so very terrible, isn’t it? Who is the old lady who’s arrived this morning?”
“She’s a Miss Marple. She very
kindly17 came here to give us what inform-
ation she could about the girl Gladys. It seems Gladys Martin was once in
service with her.”
“Really? How interesting.”
“There’s one other thing, Mrs. Percival. Do you know anything about
blackbirds?”
Jennifer Fortescue started violently. She dropped her handbag on the
floor and
bent18 to pick it up.
“Blackbirds, Inspector? Blackbirds? What kind of blackbirds?”
Her voice was rather breathless. Smiling a little, Inspector, Neele said:
“Just blackbirds. Alive or dead or even, shall we say,
symbolical19?”
Jennifer Fortescue said sharply:
“I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t know anything about blackbirds, then, Mrs. Fortescue?”
She said slowly:
“I suppose you mean the ones last summer in the pie. All very silly.”
“There were some left on the library table, too, weren’t there?”
“It was all a very silly practical joke. I don’t know who’s been talking to
you about it. Mr. Fortescue, my father-in-law, was very much annoyed by
it.”
“Just annoyed? Nothing more?”
“Oh. I see what you mean. Yes, I suppose—yes, it’s true. He asked us if
there were any strangers about the place.”
“Strangers!” Inspector Neele raised his
eyebrows20.
“Well, that’s what he said,” said Mrs. Percival defensively.
“Strangers,” repeated Inspector Neele thoughtfully. Then he asked: “Did
he seem afraid in any way?”
“Afraid? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Nervous. About strangers, I mean.”
“Yes. Yes, he did, rather. Of course I don’t remember very well. It was
several months ago, you know. I don’t think it was anything except a silly
practical joke. Crump perhaps. I really do think that Crump is a very un-
balanced man, and I’m
perfectly21 certain that he drinks. He’s really very in-
solent in his manner sometimes. I’ve sometimes wondered if he could
have had a
grudge22 against Mr. Fortescue. Do you think that’s possible, In-
spector?”
“Anything’s possible,” said Inspector Neele and went away.
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