“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 liar!”
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“Do you think there may have been foul
play?”
“Foul play, foul play, fowls 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 get
anywhere at this rate, but he persevered.
“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 Ruby. They were nine
and seven and left without a father. I told
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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 spoke 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 saying 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
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been written. It was obviously a family Bible
in which the old-fashioned custom had been
continued of entering each new birth. Mrs.
MacKenzie’s thin forefinger pointed to the
two last names. “Donald MacKenzie” with
the date of his birth, and “Ruby MacKenzie”
with the date of hers. But a thick line was
drawn through Ruby MacKenzie’s name.
“You see?” said Mrs. MacKenzie. “I
struck her out of the Book. I cut her off for
ever! The Recording 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 restlessly in her seat. Then
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her manner reverting 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 annoyance 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