II
Inspector Neele was finishing a telephone
conversation with Scotland Yard.
The Assistant Commissioner at the other
end said:
“We ought to be able to get that
information for you–by circularising the
various private sanatoriums. Of course she may be dead.”
“Probably is. It’s a long time ago.”
Old sins cast long shadows. Miss Ramsbottom
had said that–said it with significance, too–as though she was giving him a
hint.
“It’s a fantastic theory,” said the A.C.
217
“Don’t I know it, sir. But I don’t feel we
can ignore it altogether. Too much fits
m-
“Yes — yes — rye — blackbirds — the man’s
Christian name—-”
Neele said:
“I’m concentrating on the other lines too–
Dubois is a possibility–so is Wright–the girl
Gladys could have caught sight of either of
them outside the side door–she could have
left the tea-tray in the hall and gone out to
see who it was and what they were doing–
whoever it was could have strangled her then
and there and carried her body round to the
clothes line and put the peg on her
nose5»
“A crazy thing to do in all conscience! A
nasty one too.”
“Yes, sir. That’s what upset the old
lady–Miss Marple, I mean. Nice old lady–
and very shrewd. She’s moved into the
house–to be near old Miss Ramsbottom–
and I’ve no doubt she’ll get to hear anything
that’s going.”
“What’s your next move, Neele?”
“I’ve an appointment with the London
solicitors. I want to find out a little more
about Rex Fortescue’s affairs. And though
218
it’s old history, I want to hear a little more
about the Blackbird Mine.”
Ill
Mr. Billingsley, of Billingsley, Horsethorpe
& Walters, was an urbane man whose discretion
was concealed habitually by a misleading
forthcoming manner. It was the second interview
that Inspector Neele had had with him,
and on this occasion Mr. Billingsley’s
discretion was less noticeable than it had been
on the former one. The triple tragedy at
Yewtree Lodge had shaken Mr. Billingsley
out of his professional reserve. He was now
only too anxious to put all the facts he could
before the police.
“Most extraordinary business, this whole
thing,” he said. “A most extraordinary
business. I don’t remember anything like it in
all my professional career.”
“Frankly, Mr. Billingsley,” said Inspector
Neele, “we need all the help we can get.”
“You can count on me, my dear sir. I shall
be only too happy to assist you in every way I
can.”
u.
“First let me ask you how well you knew
219
the late Mr. Fortescue, and how well do you
know the affairs of his firm?”
“I knew Rex Fortescue fairly well. That is
to say I’ve known him for a period of, well, sixteen years I should say. Mind you, we are
not the only firm of solicitors he employed, not by a long way.”
Inspector Neele nodded. He knew that.
Billingsley, Horsethorpe & Walters were
what one might describe as Rex Fortescue’s
reputable solicitors. For his less reputable dealings he had employed several different
and slightly less scrupulous firms.
“Now what do you want to know?” continued
Mr. Billingsley. “I’ve told you about
his will. Percival Fortescue is the residuary
legatee.”
“I’m interested now,” said Inspector
Neele, “in the will of his widow. On Mr.
Fortescue’s death she came into the sum of
one hundred thousand pounds, I understand?”
Billingsley nodded his head.
“A considerable sum of money,” he said, “and I may tell you in confidence. Inspector, that it is one the firm could ill have afforded
to pay out.”
“The firm, then, is not prosperous?”
“Frankly,” said Mr. Billingsley, “and
220
strictly between ourselves, it’s drifting on to
the rocks and has been for the last year and a
half.”
“For any particular reason?”
“Why yes. I should say the reason was Rex
Fortescue himself. For the last year Rex
Fortescue’s been acting like a madman.
Selling good stock here, buying speculative
stuff there, talking big about it all the time in
the most extraordinary way. Wouldn’t listen
to advice. Percival—the son, you know—he
came here urging me to use my influence
with his father. He’d tried, apparently and
been swept aside. Well, I did what I could,