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Chapter Two
sycamore desk. One of his underlings with a notebook sat unobstrusively
against the wall near the door.
Inspector Neele had a smart soldierly appearance with crisp brown hair
growing back from a rather low forehead. When he uttered the phrase
“And routine is about all you’re capable of!” They would have been quite
wrong. Behind his unimaginative appearance, Inspector Neele was a
highly imaginative thinker, and one of his methods of investigation3 was to
persons as he was interrogating7 at the time.
Miss Griffith, whom he had at once picked out with an unerring eye as
which had led to his being seated where he was, had just left the room
having given him an admirable résumé of the morning’s happenings. In-
spector Neele propounded9 to himself three separate highly coloured reas-
ons why the faithful doyenne of the typists’ room should have poisoned
her employer’s mid-morning cup of tea, and rejected them as unlikely.
He classified Miss Griffith as (a) Not the type of a poisoner,
(b) Not in love with her employer, (c) No pronounced mental instability,
Miss Griffith except as a source of accurate information.
Inspector Neele glanced at the telephone. He was expecting a call from
St. Jude’s Hospital at any moment now.
It was possible, of course, that Mr. Fortescue’s sudden illness was due to
natural causes, but Dr. Isaacs of Bethnal Green had not thought so and Sir
Edwin Sandeman of Harley Street had not thought so.
and demanded that Mr. Fortescue’s personal secretary should be sent in to
him.
tions, and said at once defensively:
“I didn’t do it!”
Inspector Neele murmured conversationally16: “No?”
He indicated the chair where Miss Grosvenor was wont to place herself,
pad in hand, when summoned to take down Mr. Fortescue’s letters. She
sat down now with reluctance17 and eyed Inspector Neele in alarm. In-
spector Neele, his mind playing imaginatively on the themes Seduction?
little stupid.
“There wasn’t anything wrong with the tea,” said Miss Grosvenor.
“There couldn’t have been.”
“I see,” said Inspector Neele. “Your name and address, please?”
“Grosvenor. Irene Grosvenor.”
“How do you spell it?”
“Oh. Like the Square.”
“And your address?”
“14 Rushmoor Road, Muswell Hill.”
Inspector Neele nodded in a satisfied fashion.
“No seduction,” he said to himself. “No Love Nest. Respectable home
with parents. No blackmail.”
Another good set of speculative21 theories washed out.
“And so it was you who made the tea?” he said pleasantly.
“Well, I had to. I always do, I mean.”
Unhurried, Inspector Neele took her closely through the morning ritual
of Mr. Fortescue’s tea. The cup and saucer and teapot had already been
packed up and dispatched to the appropriate quarter for analysis. Now In-
spector Neele learned that Irene Grosvenor and only Irene Grosvenor had
handled that cup and saucer and teapot. The kettle had been used for
making the office tea and had been refilled from the cloakroom tap by
Miss Grosvenor.
“And the tea itself?”
“It was Mr. Fortescue’s own tea, special China tea. It’s kept on the shelf
in my room next door.”
Inspector Neele nodded. He inquired about sugar and heard that Mr.
Fortescue didn’t take sugar.
The telephone rang. Inspector Neele picked up the receiver. His face
changed a little.
“St. Jude’s?”
He nodded to Miss Grosvenor in dismissal.
“That’s all for now, thank you, Miss Grosvenor.”
Miss Grosvenor sped out of the room hurriedly.
Inspector Neele listened carefully to the thin unemotional tones speak-
signs with a pencil on the corner of the blotter in front of him.
“Died five minutes ago, you say?” he asked. His eye went to the watch on
his wrist. Twelve forty-three, he wrote on the blotter.
The unemotional voice said that Dr. Bernsdorff himself would like to
speak to Inspector Neele.
Inspector Neele said, “Right. Put him through,” which rather scandalized
spector Neele sat patiently waiting.
an inch or two away from his ear.
Inspector Neele and Professor Bernsdorff of St. Jude’s had been brought
together over a case of poisoning just over a year ago and had remained
on friendly terms.
“Our man’s dead, I hear, doc.”
“Yes. We couldn’t do anything by the time he got here.”
“And the cause of death?”
interesting indeed. Glad I was able to be in on it.”
The professional gusto in Bernsdorff’s rich tones told Inspector Neele
one thing at least.
“I gather you don’t think it was natural death,” he said dryly.
unofficially, of course,” he added with belated caution.
“Of course. Of course. That’s understood. He was poisoned?”
“Definitely. And what’s more—this is quite unofficial, you understand—
just between you and me—I’d be prepared to make a bet on what the
poison was.”
“In-deed?”
“Taxine, my boy. Taxine.”
“Taxine? Never heard of it.”
“I know. Most unusual. Really delightfully31 unusual! I don’t say I’d have
used them for tea.”
“Is that what it is? Yew berries?”
“Berries or leaves. Highly poisonous. Taxine, of course, is the alkaloid.
Don’t think I’ve heard of a case where it was used deliberately34. Really most
interesting and unusual … You’ve no idea, Neele, how tired one gets of the
don’t quote me, for Heaven’s sake—but I don’t think so. Interesting for
you, too, I should think. Varies the routine!”
“A good time is to be had by all, is that the idea? With the exception of
the victim.”
“Yes, yes, poor fellow.” Dr. Bernsdorff’s tone was perfunctory. “Very bad
luck on him.”
“Did he say anything before he died?”
“Well, one of your fellows was sitting by him with a notebook. He’ll have
the exact details. He muttered something once about tea—that he’d been
given something in his tea at the office—but that’s nonsense, of course.”
“Why is it nonsense?” Inspector Neele, who had been reviewing specu-
“Because the stuff couldn’t possibly have worked so soon. I understand
the symptoms came on immediately he had drunk the tea?”
“That’s what they say.”
“Well, there are very few poisons that act as quickly as that, apart from
“And it definitely wasn’t cyanide or nicotine?”
“My dear fellow. He’d have been dead before the ambulance arrived. Oh
no, there’s no question of anything of that kind. I did suspect strychnine,
but the convulsions were not at all typical. Still unofficial, of course, but
I’ll stake my reputation it’s taxine.”
“How long would that take to work?”
“Depends. An hour. Two hours, three hours. Deceased looked like a
“Breakfast,” said Inspector Neele thoughtfully. “Yes, it looks like break-
fast.”
“Breakfast with the Borgias.” Dr. Bernsdorff laughed cheerfully. “Well,
good hunting, my lad.”
Again there were clicks and buzzes and far-off ghostly voices. And then
geant Hay’s conversation.
“Sir,” he said urgently. “Sir.”
“Neele here. Did the deceased say anything I ought to know?”
“Said it was the tea. The tea he had at the office. But the M.O. says not…
.”
“Yes, I know about that. Nothing else?”
“No, sir. But there’s one thing that’s odd. The suit he was wearing—I
checked the contents of the pockets. The usual stuff—handkerchief, keys,
right-hand pocket of his jacket. It had cereal in it.”
“Cereal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you mean by cereal? Do you mean a breakfast food? Farmer’s
Glory or Wheatifax. Or do you mean corn or barley—”
“That’s right, sir. Grain it was. Looked like rye to me. Quite a lot of it.”
“I see … Odd … But it might have been a sample—something to do with a
business deal.”
“Quite so, sir—but I thought I’d better mention it.”
“Quite right, Hay.”
Inspector Neele sat staring ahead of him for a few moments after he had
replaced the telephone receiver. His orderly mind was moving from Phase
poisoning. Professor Bernsdorff’s words may have been unofficial, but
Professor Bernsdorff was not a man to be mistaken in his beliefs. Rex For-
tescue had been poisoned and the poison had probably been administered
able, therefore, that the office staff could be given a clean bill of health.
being done but the typewriters were not going at full speed.
“Miss Griffith? Can I have another word with you?”
“Certainly, Mr. Neele. Could some of the girls go out to lunch? It’s long
past their regular time. Or would you prefer that we get something sent
in?”
“No. They can go to lunch. But they must return afterwards.”
“Of course.”
Miss Griffith followed Neele back into the private office. She sat down in
her composed efficient way.
“I have heard from St. Jude’s Hospital. Mr. Fortescue died at 12:43.”
Miss Griffith received the news without surprise, merely shook her
head.
“I was afraid he was very ill,” she said.
“Will you please give me particulars of his home and family?”
“Certainly. I have already tried to get into communication with Mrs. For-
tescue, but it seems she is out playing golf. She was not expected home to
lunch. There is some uncertainty50 as to which course she is playing on.”
She added in an explanatory manner, “They live at Baydon Heath, you
know, which is a centre for three well-known golf courses.”
rich city men. It had an excellent train service, was only twenty miles
from London and was comparatively easy to reach by car even in the rush
of morning and evening traffic.
“The exact address, please, and the telephone number?”
trol it. “Did you say Yewtree Lodge?”
“Yes.”
Miss Griffith looked faintly curious, but Inspector Neele had himself in
hand again.
“Can you give me particulars of his family?”
“Mrs. Fortescue is his second wife. She is much younger than he is. They
were married about two years ago. The first Mrs. Fortescue has been dead
a long time. There are two sons and a daughter of the first marriage. The
daughter lives at home and so does the elder son, who is a partner in the
firm. Unfortunately he is away in the North of England today on business.
He is expected to return tomorrow.”
“When did he go away?”
“The day before yesterday.”
“Have you tried to get in touch with him?”
“Yes. After Mr. Fortescue was removed to hospital I rang up the Midland
Hotel in Manchester where I thought he might be staying, but he had left
early this morning. I believe he was also going to Sheffield and Leicester,
but I am not sure about that. I can give you the names of certain firms in
those cities whom he might be visiting.”
Certainly an efficient woman, thought the inspector, and if she
murdered a man she would probably murder him very efficiently54, too. But
he forced himself to abandon these speculations55 and concentrate once
more on Mr. Fortescue’s home front.
“There is a second son you said?”
“Yes. But owing to a disagreement with his father he lives abroad.”
“Are both sons married?”
“Yes. Mr. Percival has been married for three years. He and his wife oc-
cupy a self-contained flat in Yewtree Lodge, though they are moving into
their own house at Baydon Heath very shortly.”
“You were not able to get in touch with Mrs. Percival Fortescue when
you rang up this morning?”
“She had gone to London for the day.” Miss Griffith went on, “Mr.
Lancelot got married less than a year ago. To the widow of Lord Frederick
Anstice. I expect you’ve seen pictures of her. In the Tatler—with horses,
you know. And at point-to-points.”
Miss Griffith sounded a little breathless and her cheeks were faintly
flushed. Neele, who was quick to catch the moods of human beings, real-
Griffith. The aristocracy was the aristocracy to Miss Griffith and the fact
that the late Lord Frederick Anstice had had a somewhat unsavoury repu-
tation in sporting circles was almost certainly not known to her. Freddie
into the running of one of his horses. Neele remembered something
had been married before to an airman who had been killed in the Battle of
Britain.
And now, it seemed, she was married to the black sheep of the Fortescue
family, for Neele assumed that the disagreement with his father, referred
Lancelot Fortescue’s career.
Lancelot Fortescue! What a name! And what was the other son—Per-
cival? He wondered what the first Mrs. Fortescue had been like? She’d had
He drew the phone towards him and dialled TOL. He asked for Baydon
Heath 3400.
Presently a man’s voice said:
“Baydon Heath 3400.”
“I want to speak to Mrs. Fortescue or Miss Fortescue.”
“Sorry. They aren’t in, either of ’em.”
“Are you the butler?”
“That’s right.”
“Mr. Fortescue has been taken seriously ill.”
“I know. They rung up and said so. But there’s nothing I can do about it.
Mr. Val’s away up North and Mrs. Fortescue’s out playing golf. Mrs. Val’s
gone up to London but she’ll be back for dinner and Miss Elaine’s out with
her Brownies.”
“Is there no one in the house I can speak to about Mr. Fortescue’s ill-
ness? It’s important.”
“Well—I don’t know.” The man sounded doubtful. “There’s Miss Rams-
bottom—but she don’t ever speak over the phone. Or there’s Miss Dove—
she’s what you might call the ’ousekeeper.”
“I’ll speak to Miss Dove, please.”
“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 wo-
man’s voice spoke.
“This is Miss Dove speaking.”
Neele formed a favourable64 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—”
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
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 morn-
ing.”
“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 of-
fice in the city. I am Detective Inspector Neele of the CID 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 wo-
man 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 in-
He hung up.
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