II
ing his arrival. Dubois had been on the point of leaving, indeed his bags
were packed, when he had received over the telephone a civil request
from Inspector Neele to remain. Inspector Neele had been very pleasant
about it, quite apologetic. But behind the conventional words the request
had been an order. Vivian Dubois had
demurred3, but not too much.
He said now:
“I do hope you realize, Inspector Neele, that it is very
inconvenient4 for
me to have to stay on. I really have urgent business that needs attending
to.”
“I didn’t know you were in business, Mr. Dubois,” said Inspector Neele,
“I’m afraid none of us can be as leisured as we would like to appear to
be nowadays.”
“Mrs. Fortescue’s death must have been a great shock to you, Mr.
Dubois. You were great friends, were you not?”
“Yes,” said Dubois, “she was a charming woman. We played golf quite
often together.”
“I expect you’ll miss her very much.”
“Yes, indeed.” Dubois sighed. “The whole thing is really quite, quite ter-
rible.”
“You actually telephoned her, I believe, on the afternoon of her death?”
“Did I? I really cannot remember now.”
“About four o’clock, I understand.”
“Yes, I believe I did.”
“Don’t you remember what your conversation was about, Mr. Dubois?”
“It wasn’t of any significance. I think I asked her how she was feeling
and if there was any further news about her husband’s death—a more or
“I see,” said Inspector Neele. He added: “And then you went out for a
walk?”
“Er—yes—yes, I—I did, I think. At least, not a walk, I played a few holes
of golf.”
Inspector Neele said gently:
“I think not, Mr. Dubois … Not that particular day … The porter here no-
ticed you walking down the road towards Yewtree
Lodge7.”
Dubois’s eyes met his, then shied away again nervously.
“I’m afraid I can’t remember, Inspector.”
“Perhaps you actually went to call upon Mrs. Fortescue?”
Dubois said sharply:
“No. No, I didn’t do that. I never went near the house.”
“Where did you go, then?”
“Oh, I—went on down the road, down as far as the Three Pigeons and
then I turned around and came back by the links.”
“You’re quite sure you didn’t go to Yewtree Lodge?”
“Quite sure, Inspector.”
The inspector shook his head.
“Come, now, Mr. Dubois,” he said, “it’s much better to be frank with us,
you know. You may have had some quite innocent reason for going
there.”
“I tell you I never went to see Mrs. Fortescue that day.”
The inspector stood up.
“You know, Mr. Dubois,” he said pleasantly, “I think we’ll have to ask
you for a statement and you’ll be well- advised and quite within your
rights in having a
solicitor8 present when you are making that statement.”
The colour fled from Mr. Dubois’s face, leaving it a sickly greenish col-
our.
“You’re threatening me,” he said. “You’re threatening me.”
“No, no, nothing of the kind.” Inspector Neele
spoke9 in a shocked voice.
“We’re not allowed to do anything of that sort. Quite the contrary. I’m ac-
tually pointing out to you that you have certain rights.”
“I had nothing to do with it at all, I tell you! Nothing to do with it.”
“Come now, Mr. Dubois, you were at Yewtree Lodge round about half
past four on that day. Somebody looked out of the window, you know, and
saw you.”
“I was only in the garden. I didn’t go into the house.”
“Didn’t you?” said Inspector Neele. “Are you sure? Didn’t you go in by
the side door and up the stairs to Mrs. Fortescue’s sitting room on the first
floor? You were looking for something, weren’t you, in the desk there?”
“You’ve got them, I suppose,” said Dubois
sullenly10. “That fool Adele kept
them, then—she swore she burnt them—But they don’t mean what you
think they mean.”
“You’re not denying, are you, Mr. Dubois, that you were a very close
friend of Mrs. Fortescue’s?”
“No, of course I’m not. How can I when you’ve got the letters? All I say
is, there’s no need to go reading any
sinister11 meaning into them. Don’t
think for a moment that we—that she—ever thought of getting rid of Rex
Fortescue. Good God, I’m not that kind of man!”
“But perhaps she was that kind of woman?”
“Nonsense,” cried Vivian Dubois, “wasn’t she killed too?”
“Oh yes, yes.”
“Well, isn’t it natural to believe that the same person who killed her hus-
band killed her?”
“It might be. It certainly might be. But there are other solutions. For in-
stance—(this is quite a hypothetical case, Mr. Dubois) it’s possible that
Mrs. Fortescue got rid of her husband, and that after his death she became
somewhat of a danger to someone else. Someone who had, perhaps, not
helped her in what she had done but who had at least encouraged her and
provided, shall we say, the
motive12 for the deed. She might be, you know, a
danger to that particular person.”
“You c-c-can’t build up a case against me. You can’t.”
“She made a will, you know,” said Inspector Neele. “She left all her
“I don’t want the money. I don’t want a penny of it.”
“Of course, it isn’t very much really,” said Inspector Neele. “There’s jew-
ellery and some furs, but I imagine very little actual cash.”
Dubois stared at him, his
jaw15 dropping.
“But I thought her husband—”
He stopped dead.
“Did you, Mr. Dubois?” said Inspector Neele, and there was steel now in
his voice. “That’s very interesting. I wondered if you knew the terms of
Rex Fortescue’s will—”
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