A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie Page A

that,” said Mary. “I’ll go and do it now.”
    The lights had not been turned on in the drawing room though Adele Fortescue was still sitting on the sofa behind the tea tray.
    â€œShall I switch the lights on, Mrs. Fortescue?” Mary asked. Adele did not answer.
    Mary switched on the lights and went across to the window, where she pulled the curtains across. It was only then that she turned her head and saw the face of the woman who had sagged back against the cushions. A half-eaten scone spread with honey was beside her and her tea cup was still half full. Death had come to Adele Fortescue suddenly and swiftly.
    III
    â€œWell?” demanded Inspector Neele impatiently.
    The doctor said promptly:
    â€œCyanide—potassium cyanide probably—in the tea.”
    â€œCyanide,” muttered Neele.
    The doctor looked at him with slight curiosity.
    â€œYou’re taking this hard—any special reason—”
    â€œShe was cast as a murderess,” said Neele.
    â€œAnd she turns out to be a victim. Hm. You’ll have to think again, won’t you?”
    Neele nodded. His face was bitter and his jaw was grimly set.
    Poisoned! Right under his nose. Taxine in Rex Fortescue’s breakfast coffee, cyanide in Adele Fortescue’s tea. Still an intimate family affair. Or so it seemed.
    Adele Fortescue, Jennifer Fortescue, Elaine Fortescue and the newly arrived 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 belligerence pricked like a balloon, hardly stirred as he came in.
    â€œWhere’s that girl? Has she come back yet?”
    â€œGladys? No—she’s not back—Won’t be, I suspect, until eleven o’clock.”
    â€œShe made the tea, you say, and took it in.”
    â€œI didn’t touch it, sir, as God’s my witness. And what’s more I don’t believe 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.
    â€œBut what made her go off suddenly—like this? It wasn’t her day out, you say.”
    â€œNo, sir, tomorrow’s her day out.”
    â€œDoes Crump—”
    Mrs. Crump’s belligerence suddenly revived. Her voice rose wrathfully.
    â€œDon’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 astounding news of this second tragedy.
    â€œI wasn’t accusing Crump,” said Neele mildly. “I just wondered if he knew anything about Gladys’s plans.”
    â€œShe had her best nylons on,” said Mrs. Crump. “She was up to something. 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—
    A faint uneasiness possessed Neele. To shake it off he went upstairs to Adele Fortescue’s bedroom. A lavish apartment—all rose brocade hanging