“Plans?” Lance considered. “I shall have
to make new plans, I suppose. Where is the
family? All down at Yewtree Lodge?-”
“Yes.”
104
“I’d better go down there straight away.”
He turned to his wife. “You’d better go to an
hotel. Pat.”
She protested quickly. “No, no. Lance, I’ll
come with you.”
“No, darling.”
“But I want to.”
“Really, I’d rather you didn’t. Go and stay
at the—oh it’s so long since I stayed in
London—Barnes’s. Barnes’s Hotel used to be
a nice, quiet sort of place. That’s still going, I
suppose?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Fortescue.”
“Right, Pat, I’ll settle you in there if
they’ve got a room, then I’ll go on down to
Yewtree Lodge.”
“But why can’t I come with you. Lance?”
Lance’s face took suddenly a rather grim
line.
“Frankly, Pat, I’m not sure of my welcome.
It was Father who invited me there, but
Father’s dead. I don’t know who the place
belongs to now. Percy, I suppose, or perhaps
Adele. Anyway, I’d like to see what reception
I get before I bring you there. Besides——”
“Besides what?”
“I don’t want to take you to a house where
there’s a poisoner at large.”
105
“Oh, what nonsense.”
Lance said firmly:
“Where you’re concerned. Pat, I’m taking
no risks.”
106
11
MR. DUBOIS was annoyed. He tore
Adele Fortescue’s letter angrily
across and threw it into the wastepaper
basket. Then, with a sudden caution,
he fished out the various pieces, struck a
match and watched them burn to ashes. He
muttered under his breath:
“Why have women got to be such damned
fools? Surely common prudence …” But
then, Mr. Dubois reflected gloomily, women
never had any prudence. Though he had
profited by this lack many a time, it annoyed
him now. He himself had taken every
precaution. If Mrs. Fortescue rang up they
had instructions to say that he was out.
Already Adele Fortescue had rung him up
three times, and now she had written. On the
whole, writing was far worse. He reflected for
a moment or two, then he went to the
telephone.
“Can I speak to Mrs. Fortescue, please?
Yes, Mr. Dubois.” A minute or two later he
heard her voice.
107
“Vivian, at last!”
“Yes, yes, Adele, but be careful. Where are
you speaking from?”
“From the library.”
“Sure nobody’s listening in, in the
hall?”
“Why should they?”
“Well, you never know. Are the police still
about the house?”
“No, they’ve gone for the moment,
anyhow. Oh, Vivian dear, it’s been awful.”
“Yes, yes, it must have I’m sure. But look
here, Adele, we’ve got to be careful.”
“Oh, of course, darling.”
“Don’t call me darling through the phone.
It isn’t safe.”
“Aren’t you being a little bit panicky,
Vivian? After all, everybody says darling
nowadays.”
“Yes, yes, that’s true enough. But listen.
Don’t telephone to me and don’t write.”
“But Vivian——”
“It’s just for the present, you understand.
We must be careful.”
“Oh. All right.” Her voice sounded
offended.
“Adele, listen. My letters to you. You did
burn them, didn’t you?”
108
There was a momentary hesitation before
Adele Fortescue said:
“Of course. I told you I was going to do
so.”
“That’s all right, then. Well I’ll ring off
now. Don’t phone and don’t write. You’ll
hear from me in good time.”
He put the receiver back in its hook. He
stroked his cheek thoughtfully. He didn’t like
that moment’s hesitation. Had Adele burnt
his letters? Women were all the same. They
promised to burn things and then didn’t.
Letters, Mr. Dubois thought to himself.
Women always wanted you to write them
letters. He himself tried to be careful but
sometimes one could not get out of it. What
had he said exactly in the few letters he had
written to Adele Fortescue? “It was the usual
sort of gup,” he thought, gloomily. But were
there any special words—special phrases that
the police could twist to make them say what
they wanted them to say? He remembered the
Edith Thompson case. His letters were
innocent enough, he thought, but he could
not be sure. His uneasiness grew. Even if
Adele had not already burnt his letters, would
she have the sense to burn them now? Or had