the kitchen where he can make inquiries as to
the food served.”
Her eyes met his for a moment, thoughtfully, then she nodded.
“Of course,” she said. She turned to the
uneasily hovering butler. “Crump, will you
take Sergeant Hay out and show him whatever
he wants to see.”
The two men departed together. Mary
Dove said to Neele:
“Will you come in here?”
She opened the door of a room and preceded
him into it. It was a characterless apartment, clearly labelled “Smoking Room,” with
panelling, rich upholstery, large stuffed
chairs, and a suitable set of sporting prints on
the walls.
“Please sit down.”
He sat and Mary Dove sat opposite him.
She chose, he noticed, to face the light. An
unusual preference for a woman. Still more
40
unusual if a woman had anything to hide. But
perhaps Mary Dove had nothing to hide.
“It is very unfortunate,” she said, “that
none of the family is available. Mrs. Fortescue
may return at any minute. And so may
Mrs. Val. I have sent wires to Mr. Percival
Fortescue at various places.”
“Thank you. Miss Dove.”
“You say that Mr. Fortescue’s death was
caused by something he may have eaten for
breakfast? Food poisoning, you mean?”
“Possibly.” He watched her.
She said composedly, “It seems unlikely.
For breakfast this morning there were bacon
and scrambled eggs, coffee, toast and
marmalade. There was also a cold ham on the
sideboard, but that had been cut yesterday,
and no one felt any ill effects. No fish of any
kind was served, no sausages—nothing like
that.”
“I see you know exactly what was served.”
“Naturally. I order the meals. For dinner
last night——”
“No.” Inspector Neele interrupted her. “It
would not be a question of dinner last night.”
“I thought the onset of food poisoning
could sometimes be delayed as much as
twenty-four hours.”
41
“Not in this case. . . . Will you tell me
exactly what Mr. Fortescue ate and drank
before leaving the house this morning?”
“He had early tea brought to his room at
eight o’clock. Breakfast was at a quarter past
nine. Mr. Fortescue, as I have told you, had
scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, toast and
marmalade.”
“Any cereal?”
“No, he didn’t like cereals.”
“The sugar for the coffee–is it lump sugar
or granulated?”
“Lump. But Mr. Fortescue did not take
sugar in his coffee.”
“Was he in the habit of taking any medicines
in the morning? Salts? A tonic? Some
digestive remedy?”
“No, nothing of that kind.”
“Did you have breakfast with him also?”
“No. I do not take meals with the family.”
“Who was at breakfast?”
“Mrs. Fortescue. Miss Fortescue. Mrs. Val
Fortescue. Mr. Percival Fortescue, of course, was away.”
“And Mrs. and Miss Fortescue ate the
same things for breakfast?”
“Mrs. Fortescue has only coffee, orange
juice and toast, Mrs. Val and Miss Fortescue
42
always eat a hearty breakfast. Besides eating
scrambled eggs and cold ham, they would
probably have a cereal as well. Mrs. Val
drinks tea, not coffee.”
Inspector Neele reflected for a moment.
The opportunities seemed at least to be
narrowing down. Three people and three
people only had had breakfast with the
deceased, his wife, his daughter and his
daughter-in-law. Either of them might have
seized an opportunity to add taxine to his cup
of coffee. The bitterness of the coffee would
have masked the bitter taste of the taxine.
There was the early morning tea, of course,
but Bernsdorff had intimated that the taste
would be noticeable in tea. But perhaps, first
thing in the morning, before the senses were
alert … He looked up to find Mary Dove
watching him.
“Your questions about tonic and medicines
seem to me rather odd. Inspector,” she said.
“It seems to imply that either there was
something wrong with a medicine, or that
something had been added to it. Surely
neither of those processes could be described
as food poisoning.”
Neele eyed her steadily.
43
“I did not say–definitely–that Mr. Fortescue
died of food poisoning.”
“But some kind of poisoning. In fact–just
poisoning.”
She repeated softly “Poisoning. …”
She appeared neither startled nor dismayed, merely interested. Her attitude was of
one sampling a new experience.