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II
sitting with his wife in the library. They were playing chess together.
“I don’t want to interrupt you,” said Neele, apologetically.
Pat nodded.
“I expect you’ll think it’s rather a foolish question I’m asking you,” said
Neele. “Do you know anything about blackbirds, Mr. Fortescue?”
“Blackbirds?” Lance looked amused. “What kind of blackbirds? Do you
mean genuine birds, or the slave trade?”
“I’m not sure what I mean, Mr. Fortescue. It’s just that a mention of
blackbirds has turned up.”
“Good Lord.” Lancelot looked suddenly alert. “Not the old Blackbird
Mine, I suppose?”
Inspector Neele said sharply:
“The Blackbird Mine? What was that?”
Lance frowned in a puzzled fashion.
“The trouble is, Inspector, that I can’t really remember much myself. I
just have a vague idea about some shady transaction in my papa’s past.
Something on the West Coast of Africa. Aunt Effie, I believe, once threw it
in his teeth, but I can’t remember anything definite about it.”
“Aunt Effie? That will be Miss Ramsbottom, won’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go and ask her about it,” said Inspector Neele. He added ruefully:
“She’s rather a formidable old lady, Mr. Fortescue. Always makes me feel
quite nervous.”
Lance laughed.
“Yes. Aunt Effie is certainly a character, but she may be helpful to you,
into the past. She’s got an excellent memory, she takes a positive pleasure
in remembering anything that’s detrimental5 in any way.” He added
thoughtfully: “There’s something else. I went up to see her, you know,
soon after I got back here. Immediately after tea that day, as a matter of
fact. And she was talking about Gladys. The maid who got killed. Not that
we knew she was dead then, of course. But Aunt Effie was saying she was
quite convinced that Gladys knew something that she hadn’t told the po-
lice.”
“That seems fairly certain,” said Inspector Neele. “She’ll never tell it
now, poor girl.”
“No. It seems Aunt Effie had given her good advice as to spilling any-
thing she knew. Pity the girl didn’t take it.”
Marple there. The two ladies appeared to be discussing foreign missions.
“I’ll go away, Inspector.” Miss Marple rose hurriedly to her feet.
“No need, madam,” said Inspector Neele.
“I’ve asked Miss Marple to come and stay in the house,” said Miss Rams-
bottom. “No sense in spending money in that ridiculous Golf Hotel. A
wicked nest of profiteers, that is. Drinking and card playing all the even-
room next door to mine. Dr. Mary Peters, the missionary9, had it last.”
“It’s very, very kind of you,” said Miss Marple, “but I really think I
“Mourning? Fiddlesticks,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “Who’ll weep for Rex
in this house? Or Adele either? Or is it the police you’re worried about?
Any objections, Inspector?”
“None from me, madam.”
“There you are,” said Miss Ramsbottom.
“It’s very kind of you,” said Miss Marple gratefully. “I’ll go and telephone
to the hotel to cancel my booking.” She left the room and Miss Ramsbot-
tom said sharply to the inspector:
“Well, and what do you want?”
“I wondered if you could tell me anything about the Blackbird Mine,
ma’am.”
“Ha. You’ve got on to that, have you! Took the hint I gave you the other
day. Well, what do you want to know about it?”
“Anything you can tell me, madam.”
“I can’t tell you much. It’s a long time ago now—oh, twenty to twenty-
five years maybe. Some concession12 or other in East Africa. My brother-in-
law went into it with a man called MacKenzie. They went out there to in-
vestigate the mine together and MacKenzie died out there of fever. Rex
came home and said the claim or the concession or whatever you call it
was worthless. That’s all I know.”
“I think you know a little more than that, ma’am,” said Neele persuas-
ively.
told.”
“We’re not in court yet, ma’am.”
“Well, I can’t tell you anything. The MacKenzies kicked up a fuss. That’s
all I know. They insisted that Rex had swindled MacKenzie. I daresay he
did. He was a clever, unscrupulous fellow, but I’ve no doubt whatever he
did it was all legal. They couldn’t prove anything. Mrs. MacKenzie was an
unbalanced sort of woman. She came here and made a lot of threats of re-
venge. Said Rex had murdered her husband. Silly, melodramatic fuss! I
not long after. Came here dragging along a couple of young children who
looked scared to death. Said she’d bring up her children to have revenge.
Something like that. Tomfoolery, all of it. Well, that’s all I can tell you. And
mind you, the Blackbird Mine wasn’t the only swindle that Rex put over in
his lifetime. You’ll find a good many more if you look for them. What put
you on to the Blackbird? Did you come across some trail leading to the
MacKenzies?”
“You don’t know what became of the family, ma’am?”
“No idea,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “Mind you, I don’t think Rex would
have actually murdered MacKenzie, but he might have left him to die. The
same thing before the Lord, but not the same thing before the law. If he
did, retribution’s caught up with him. The mills of God grind slowly, but
they grind exceeding small—you’d better go away now, I can’t tell you
anymore and it’s no good your asking.”
“Thank you very much for what you have told me,” said Inspector
Neele.
“Send that Marple woman back,” Miss Ramsbottom called after him.
run a charity in a sensible way.”
Inspector Neele made a couple of telephone calls, the first to Ansell and
and told him that he was leaving the house for a short period.
“I’ve a call to pay at a solicitor’s office—after that, you can get me at the
Golf Hotel if anything urgent turns up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And find out anything you can about blackbirds,” added Neele over his
shoulder.
“Blackbirds, sir?” Sergeant Hay repeated, thoroughly17 mystified.
“That’s what I said—not blackberry jelly—blackbirds.”
“Very good, sir,” said Sergeant Hay bewilderedly.
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