Chapter Twenty
At the Pinewood Private Sanatorium,
Inspector1 Neele, sitting in the visit-
ors’ parlour, was facing a grey-haired, elderly lady. Helen MacKenzie was
sixty-three, though she looked younger. She had pale blue, rather vacant-
looking eyes, and a weak, indeterminate chin. She had a long upper lip
which occasionally
twitched2. She held a large book in her lap and was
looking down at it as Inspector Neele talked to her. In Inspector Neele’s
mind was the conversation he had just had with Dr. Crosbie, the head of
the establishment.
“She’s a voluntary patient, of course,” said Dr. Crosbie, “not
certified3.”
“She’s not dangerous, then?”
“Oh, no. Most of the time she’s as
sane4 to talk to as you or me. It’s one of
her good periods now so that you’ll be able to have a
perfectly5 normal con-
versation with her.”
Bearing this in mind, Inspector Neele started his first
conversational6 es-
say.
“It’s very kind of you to see me, madam,” he said. “My name is Neele.
I’ve come to see you about a Mr. Fortescue who has recently died. A Mr.
Rex Fortescue. I expect you know the name.”
Mrs. MacKenzie’s eyes were
fixed7 on her book. She said:
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mr. Fortescue, madam. Mr. Rex Fortescue.”
“No,” said Mrs. MacKenzie. “No. Certainly not.”
Inspector Neele was slightly taken aback. He wondered whether this
was what Dr. Crosbie called being completely normal.
“I think, Mrs. MacKenzie, you knew him a good many years ago.”
“Not really,” said Mrs. MacKenzie. “It was yesterday.”
“I see,” said Inspector Neele, falling back upon this formula rather un-
certainly. “I believe,” he went on, “that you paid him a visit many years
ago at his residence, Yewtree
Lodge8.”
“A very ostentatious house,” said Mrs. MacKenzie.
“Yes. Yes, you might call it that. He had been connected with your hus-
band, I believe, over a certain mine in Africa. The Blackbird Mine, I be-
lieve it was called.”
“I have to read my book,” said Mrs. MacKenzie. “There’s not much time
and I have to read my book.”
“Yes, madam. Yes, I quite see that.” There was a pause, then Inspector
Neele went on, “Mr. MacKenzie and Mr. Fortescue went out together to
Africa to survey the mine.”
“It was my husband’s mine,” said Mrs. MacKenzie. “He found it and
staked a claim to it. He wanted money to capitalize it. He went to Rex For-
tescue. If I’d been wiser, if I’d known more, I wouldn’t have let him do it.”
“No, I see that. As it was, they went out together to Africa, and there
your husband died of fever.”
“I must read my book,” said Mrs. MacKenzie.
“Do you think Mr. Fortescue swindled your husband over the Blackbird
Mine, Mrs. MacKenzie?”
Without raising her eyes from the book, Mrs. MacKenzie said:
“How stupid you are.”
“Yes, yes, I dare say … But you see it’s all a long time ago and making in-
quiries about a thing that is over a long time ago is rather difficult.”
“Who said it was over?”
“I see. You don’t think it is over?”
“No question is ever settled until it is settled right. Kipling said that.
Nobody reads Kipling nowadays, but he was a great man.”
“Do you think the question will be settled right one of these days?”
“Rex Fortescue is dead, isn’t he? You said so.”
“He was poisoned,” said Inspector Neele.
Rather disconcertingly, Mrs. MacKenzie laughed.
“What nonsense,” she said, “he died of fever.”
“I’m talking about Mr. Rex Fortescue.”
“So am I.” She looked up suddenly and her pale blue eyes fixed his.
“Come now,” she said, “he died in his bed, didn’t he? He died in his bed?”
“He died in St. Jude’s Hospital,” said Inspector Neele.
“Nobody knows where my husband died,” said Mrs. MacKenzie.
“Nobody knows how he died or where he was buried … All anyone knows
is what Rex Fortescue said. And Rex Fortescue was a
liar9!”
“Do you think there may have been
foul10 play?”
“Foul play, foul play,
fowls11 lay eggs, don’t they?”
“You think that Rex Fortescue was responsible for your husband’s
death?”
“I had an egg for breakfast this morning,” said Mrs. MacKenzie. “Quite
fresh, too. Surprising, isn’t it, when one thinks that it was thirty years
ago?”
Neele drew a deep breath. It seemed unlikely that he was ever going to
“Somebody put dead blackbirds on Rex Fortescue’s desk about a month
or two before he died.”
“That’s interesting. That’s very, very interesting.”
“Have you any idea, madam, who might have done that?”
“Ideas aren’t any help to one. One has to have action. I brought them up
for that, you know, to take action.”
“You’re talking about your children?”
She nodded her head rapidly.
“Yes. Donald and
Ruby13. They were nine and seven and left without a
father. I told them. I told them every day. I made them swear it every
night.”
Inspector Neele leant forward.
“What did you make them swear?”
“That they’d kill him, of course.”
“I see.”
Inspector Neele
spoke14 as though it was the most reasonable remark in
the world.
“Did they?”
“Donald went to Dunkirk. He never came back. They sent me a wire say-
ing he was dead: ‘Deeply regret killed in action.’ Action, you see, the
wrong kind of action.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, madam. What about your daughter?”
“I haven’t got a daughter,” said Mrs. MacKenzie.
“You spoke of her just now,” said Neele. “Your daughter, Ruby.”
“Ruby. Yes, Ruby.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what I’ve done to
Ruby?”
“No, madam. What have you done to her?”
She whispered suddenly:
“Look here at the Book.”
He saw then that what she was holding in her lap was a Bible. It was a
very old Bible and as she opened it, on the front page, Inspector Neele saw
that various names had been written. It was obviously a family Bible in
which the old-fashioned custom had been continued of entering each new
“Donald MacKenzie” with the date of his birth, and “Ruby MacKenzie”
with the date of hers. But a thick line was
drawn17 through Ruby MacKen-
zie’s name.
“You see?” said Mrs. MacKenzie. “I struck her out of the Book. I cut her
off forever! The
Recording18 Angel won’t find her name there.”
“You cut her name out of the book? Now, why, madam?”
Mrs. MacKenzie looked at him cunningly.
“You know why,” she said.
“But I don’t. Really, madam, I don’t.”
“She didn’t keep faith. You know she didn’t keep faith.”
“Where is your daughter now, madam?”
“I’ve told you. I have no daughter. There isn’t such a person as Ruby
MacKenzie any longer.”
“You mean she’s dead?”
“Dead?” The woman laughed suddenly. “It would be better for her if she
were dead. Much better. Much, much better.” She sighed and turned rest-
lessly in her seat. Then her manner
reverting19 to a kind of formal courtesy,
she said: “I’m so sorry, but really I’m afraid I can’t talk to you any longer.
You see, the time is getting very short, and I must read my book.”
To Inspector Neele’s further remarks Mrs. MacKenzie returned no reply.
She merely made a faint gesture of
annoyance20 and continued to read her
Bible with her finger following the line of the verse she was reading.
Neele got up and left. He had another brief interview with the superin-
tendent.
“Do any of her relations come to see her?” he asked. “A daughter, for in-
stance?”
“I believe a daughter did come to see her in my predecessor’s time, but
her visit
agitated21 the patient so much that he advised her not to come
again. Since then everything is arranged through
solicitors22.”
“And you’ve no idea where this Ruby MacKenzie is now?”
“You’ve no idea whether she’s married, for instance?”
“I don’t know, all I can do is to give you the address of the solicitors who
deal with us.”
Inspector Neele had already tracked down those solicitors. They were
unable, or said they were unable, to tell him anything. A trust fund had
been established for Mrs. MacKenzie which they managed. These arrange-
ments had been made some years
previously25 and they had not seen Miss
MacKenzie since.
Inspector Neele tried to get a description of Ruby MacKenzie but the res-
ults were not encouraging. So many relations came to visit patients that
after a
lapse26 of years they were bound to be remembered dimly, with the
appearance of one mixed-up with the appearance of another. The matron
who had been there for many years seemed to remember that Miss MacK-
enzie was small and dark. The only other nurse who had been there for
any length of time recalled that she was heavily built and fair.
“So there we are, sir,” said Inspector Neele as he reported to the assist-
ant
commissioner27. “There’s a whole crazy setup and it fits together. It must
mean something.”
The AC nodded thoughtfully.
“The blackbirds in the pie tying up with the Blackbird Mine, rye in the
dead man’s pocket, bread and honey with Adele Fortescue’s tea—(not that
that is
conclusive28. After all, anyone might have had bread and honey for
tea!) The third murder, that girl strangled with a stocking and a clothes-
peg29 nipped onto her nose. Yes, crazy as the setup is, it certainly can’t be ig-
nored.”
“Half a minute, sir,” said Inspector Neele.
“What is it?”
Neele was frowning.
“You know, what you’ve just said. It didn’t ring true. It was wrong some-
where.” He shook his head and sighed. “No. I can’t place it.”
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