A POCKET FULL OF RYE BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

“Are both sons married?”

“Yes. Mr. Percival has been married for

three years. He and his wife occupy a selfcontained

flat in Yewtree Lodge, though they

are moving into their own house at Baydon

Heath very shortly.”

“You were not able to get in touch with

Mrs. Percival Fortescue when you rang this

morning?”

“She had gone to London for the day.”

21

men. It had an excellent train service, was

only twenty miles from London and was comparatively

easy to reach by car even in the

rush of morning and evening traffic.

“The exact address, please, and the

telephone number?”

“Baydon Heath 3400. The name of the

house is Yewtree Lodge.”

“What?” The sharp query slipped out

before Inspector Neele could control it. “Did

you say Yewtree Lodge?”

“Yes.”

Miss Griffith looked faintly curious, but

Inspector Neele had himself in hand again.

“Can you give me particulars of his

family?”

“Mrs. Fortescue is his second wife. She is

much younger than he is. They were married

about two years ago. The first Mrs. Fortescue

has been dead a long time. There are two sons

and a daughter of the first marriage. The

daughter lives at home and so does the elder

son who is a partner in the firm. Unfortunately

he is away in the North of England today

on business. He is expected to return tomorrow.”

“When did he go away?”

“The day before yesterday.”

20

“Have you tried to get in touch with him?”

“Yes. After Mr. Fortescue was removed to

hospital I rang up the Midland Hotel in Manchester

where I thought he might be staying,

but he had left early this morning. I believe

he was also going to Sheffield and Leicester,

but I am not sure about that. I can give you

the names of certain firms in those cities

whom he might be visiting.”

Certainly an efficient woman, thought the

Inspector, and if she murdered a man she

would probably murder him very efficiently,

too. But he forced himself to abandon these

speculations and concentrate once more on

Mr. Fortescue’s home front.

“There is a second son you said?”

“Yes. But owing to a disagreement with his

father he lives abroad.”

“Are both sons married?”

“Yes. Mr. Percival has been married for

three years. He and his wife occupy a selfcontained

flat in Yewtree Lodge, though they

are moving into their own house at Baydon

Heath very shortly.”

“You were not able to get in touch with

Mrs. Percival Fortescue when you rang this

morning?”

“She had gone to London for the day.”

21

Miss Griffith went on, “Mr. Lancelot got

married less than a year ago. To the widow of

Lord Frederick Anstice. I expect you’ve seen

pictures of her. In the Tatler–with horses, you know. And at point-to-points.”

Miss Griffith sounded a little breathless

and her cheeks were faintly flushed. Neele,

who was quick to catch the moods of human

beings, realised that this marriage had

thrilled the snob and the romantic in Miss

Griffith. The aristocracy was the aristocracy

to Miss Griffith and the fact that the late

Lord Frederick Anstice had had a somewhat

unsavoury reputation in sporting circles was

almost certainly not known to her. Freddie

Anstice had blown his brains out just before

an inquiry by the Stewards into the running

of one of his horses. Neele remembered something

vaguely about his wife. She had been

the daughter of an Irish Peer and had been

married before to an airman who had been

killed in the Battle of Britain.

And now, it seemed, she was married to the

black sheep of the Fortescue family, for Neele

assumed that the disagreement with his father

referred to primly by Miss Griffith, stood for

some disgraceful incident in young Lancelot

Fortescue’s career.

22

Lancelot Fortescue! What a name! And

what was the other son–Percival? He wondered

what the first Mrs. Fortescue had been

like? She’d had a curious taste in Christian

names. . . .

He drew the phone towards him and dialled

tol. He asked for Baydon Heath 3400.

Presently a man’s voice said:

“Baydon Heath 3400.”

“I want to speak to Mrs. Fortescue or Miss

Fortescue.”

“Sorry. They aren’t in, either of ’em.”

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