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III
“Cyanide—potassium cyanide probably—in the tea.”
“Cyanide,” muttered Neele.
The doctor looked at him with slight curiosity.
“You’re taking this hard—any special reason—”
“She was cast as a murderess,” said Neele.
“And she turns out to be a victim. Hm. You’ll have to think again, won’t
you?”
Poisoned! Right under his nose. Taxine in Rex Fortescue’s breakfast cof-
fee, cyanide in Adele Fortescue’s tea. Still an intimate family affair. Or so it
seemed.
Adele Fortescue, Jennifer Fortescue, Elaine Fortescue and the newly ar-
rived Lance Fortescue had had tea together in the library. Lance had gone
up to see Miss Ramsbottom, Jennifer had gone to her own sitting room to
write letters, Elaine had been the last to leave the library. According to her
Adele had then been in perfect health and had just been pouring herself
out a last cup of tea.
A last cup of tea! Yes, it had indeed been her last cup of tea.
And after that a blank twenty minutes, perhaps, until Mary Dove had
come into the room and discovered the body.
And during that twenty minutes—
Inspector Neele swore to himself and went out into the kitchen.
Sitting in a chair by the kitchen table, the vast figure of Mrs. Crump, her
“Where’s that girl? Has she come back yet?”
“Gladys? No—she’s not back—Won’t be, I suspect, until eleven o’clock.”
“She made the tea, you say, and took it in.”
“I didn’t touch it, sir, as God’s my witness. And what’s more I don’t be-
lieve Gladys did anything she shouldn’t. She wouldn’t do a thing like that
—not Gladys. She’s a good enough girl, sir—a bit foolish like, that’s all—
not wicked.”
No, Neele did not think that Gladys was wicked. He did not think that
Gladys was a poisoner. And in any case the cyanide had not been in the
teapot.
“But what made her go off suddenly—like this? It wasn’t her day out,
you say.”
“No, sir, tomorrow’s her day out.”
“Does Crump—”
Mrs. Crump’s belligerence suddenly revived. Her voice rose wrathfully.
“Don’t you go fastening anything on Crump. Crump’s out of it. He went
off at three o’clock—and thankful I am now that he did. He’s as much out
of it as Mr. Percival himself.”
Percival Fortescue had only just returned from London—to be greeted
by the astounding6 news of this second tragedy.
“I wasn’t accusing Crump,” said Neele mildly. “I just wondered if he
knew anything about Gladys’s plans.”
“She had her best nylons on,” said Mrs. Crump. “She was up to some-
thing. Don’t tell me! Didn’t cut any sandwiches for tea, either. Oh yes, she
was up to something. I’ll give her a piece of my mind when she comes
back.”
When she comes back—
Neele went back into Adele’s bedroom, and through the door on the
farther side of the room into her sitting room.
The room was furnished in Empire style with a rose pile carpet. Neele
tention on the preceding day—with special attention paid to the small el-
egant desk.
rose pile carpet was a small piece of caked mud.
Neele went over to it and picked it up. The mud was still damp.
He looked round—there were no footprints visible—only this one isol-
ated fragment of wet earth.
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