X

A POCKET FULL OF RYE BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

patiently waiting.

Then without warning a deep bass roar

caused him to shift the receiver an inch or

two away from his ear.

13

“Hallo, Neele, you old vulture. At it again

with your corpses?”

Inspector Neele and Professor Bernsdorff

of St. Jude’s had been brought together over a

case of poisoning just over a year ago and had

remained on friendly terms.

“Our man’s dead, I hear, doc.”

“Yes. We couldn’t do anything by the time

he got here.”

“And the cause of death?”

“There will have to be an autopsy, naturally.

Very interesting case. Very interesting

indeed. Glad I was able to be in on it.”

The professional gusto in Bernsdorff’s rich

tones told Inspector Neele one thing at least.

“I gather you don’t think it was natural

death,” he said dryly.

“Not a dog’s chance of it,” said Dr. Bernsdorff

robustly. “I’m speaking unofficially, of

course,” he added with belated caution.

“Of course. Of course. That’s understood.

He was poisoned?”

“Definitely. And what’s more–this is quite

unofficial you understand–just between you

and me–I’d be prepared to make a bet on

what the poison was.”

“Indeed?”

“Taxine, my boy. Taxine.”

14

“Taxine? Never heard of it.”

“I know. Most unusual. Really delightfully

unusual! I don’t say I’d have spotted it myself

if I hadn’t had a case only three or four weeks

ago. Couple of kids playing dolls’ teaparties—pulled

berries off a yew tree and

used them for tea.”

“Is that what it is? Yew berries?”

“Berries or leaves. Highly poisonous.

Taxine, of course, is the alkaloid. Don’t think

I’ve heard of a case where it was used

deliberately. Really most interesting and

unusual . . . You’ve no idea, Neele, how tired

one gets of the inevitable weed-killer. Taxine

is a real treat. Of course, I may be

wrong—don’t quote me, for Heaven’s sakebut I don’t think so. Interesting for you, too, I

should think. Varies the routine!”

“A good time is to be had by all, is that the

idea? With the exception of the victim.”

“Yes, yes, poor fellow.” Dr. Bernsdorff’s

tone was perfunctory. “Very bad luck on

him.”

“Did he say anything before he died?”

“Well, one of your fellows was sitting by

him with a notebook. He’ll have the exact

details. He muttered something once about

tea—that he’d been given something in his tea

15

at the office–but that’s nonsense, of course.”

“Why is it nonsense?” Inspector Neele, who had been reviewing speculatively the

picture of the glamorous Miss Grosvenor

adding yew berries to a brew of tea, and finding

it incongruous, spoke sharply.

“Because the stuff couldn’t possibly have

worked so soon. I understand the symptoms

came on immediately he had drunk the tea?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Well, there are very few poisons that act

as quickly as that apart from the cyanides, of

course–and possibly pure nicotine—-”

“And it definitely wasn’t cyanide or

nicotine?”

“My dear fellow. He’d have been dead

before the ambulance arrived. Oh no, there’s

no question of anything of that kind. I did suspect strychnine, but the convulsions were

not at all typical. Still unofficial, of course,

but I’ll stake my reputation it’s taxine.”

“How long would that take to work?”

“Depends. An hour. Two hours, three

hours. Deceased looked like a hearty eater. If

he had a big breakfast, that would slow things

up.”

“Breakfast,” said Inspector Neele thoughtfully.

“Yes, it looks like breakfast.”

16

“Breakfast with the Borgias.” Dr. BernsdorfF

laughed cheerfully. “Well, good hunting,

my lad.”

“Thanks, doctor. I’d like to speak to my

sergeant before you ring off.”

Again there were clicks and buzzes and faroff

ghostly voices. And then the sound of

heavy breathing came through, an inevitable

prelude to Sergeant Hay’s conversation.

“Sir,” he said urgently. “Sir:9

“Neele here. Did the deceased say anything

I ought to know?”

“Said it was in the tea. The tea he had at

the office. But the M.O. says not …”

“Yes, I know about that. Nothing else?”

“No, sir. But there’s one thing that’s odd.

The suit he was wearing–I checked the contents

of the pockets. The usual stuff–handkerchief,

keys, change wallet–but there was

one thing that’s downright peculiar. The

right-hand pocket of his jacket. It had cereal

Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

Categories: Christie, Agatha
curiosity: