interview with the Superintendent.
“Do any other relations come to see her?”
he asked. “A daughter, for instance?”
“I believe a daughter did come to see her in
my predecessor’s time, but her visit agitated
the patient so much that he advised her not to
come again. Since then everything is arranged
through solicitors.”
“And you’ve no idea where this Ruby
MacKenzie is now?”
The Superintendent shook his head.
“No idea whatsoever.”
“You’ve no idea whether she’s married,
for instance?”
“I don’t know, all I can do is to give you
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the address of the solicitors who deal with
us.”
Inspector Neele had already tracked down
those solicitors. They were unable, or said
they were unable, to tell him anything. A
trust fund had been established for Mrs.
MacKenzie which they managed. These
arrangements had been made some years
previously and they had not seen Miss
MacKenzie since.
Inspector Neele tried to get a description
of Ruby MacKenzie but the results were not
encouraging. So many relations came to visit
patients that after a lapse of years they were
bound to be remembered dimly, with the
appearance of one mixed up with the appearance
of another. The Matron who had been
there for many years, seemed to remember
that Miss MacKenzie was small and dark.
The only other nurse who had been there for
any length of time recalled that she was
heavily built and fair.
“So there we are, sir,” said Inspector Neele
as he reported to the Assistant Commissioner.
“There’s a whole crazy set up and it fits
together. It must mean something.”
The A.C. nodded thoughtfully.
“The blackbirds in the pie tying up with
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the Blackbird Mine, rye in the dead man’s
pocket, bread and honey with Adele Fortescue’s
tea—(not that that is conclusive.
After all, anyone might have had bread and
honey for tea!) The third murder, that girl
strangled with a clothes line and a clothes peg
nipped on her nose. Yes, crazy as the set up
is, it certainly can’t be ignored.”
“Haifa minute, sir,” said Inspector Neele.
“What is it?”
Neele was frowning.
“You know, what you’ve just said. It didn’t
ring true. It was wrong somewhere.” He
shook his head and sighed. “No. I can’t place
it.”
245
21
ANCE and Pat wandered round the well
kept grounds surrounding Yewtree
J Lodge.
L
“I hope I’m not hurting your feelings,
Lance,” Pat murmured, “if I say this is quite
the nastiest garden I’ve ever been in.”
“It won’t hurt my feelings,” said Lance. “Is
it? Really I don’t know. It seems to have three
gardeners working on it very industriously.”
Pat said:
“Probably that’s what’s wrong with it. No
expense spared, no signs of any individual
taste. All the right rhododendrons and all the
right bedding out done in the proper season, I
expect.”
“Well, what would you put in an English
garden. Pat, if you had one?”
“My garden,” said Pat, “would have
hollyhocks, larkspurs and Canterbury bells,
no bedding out and none of these horrible
yews.”
She glanced up at the dark yew hedges,
disparagingly.
246
“Association of ideas,” said Lance easily.
“There’s something awfully frightening
about a poisoner,” said Pat. “I mean it must
be a horrid, brooding revengeful mind.”
“So that’s how you see it? Funny! I just
think of it as businesslike and cold-blooded.”
“I suppose one could look at it that way.”
She resumed, with a slight shiver, “All the
same, to do three murders . . . Whoever did it
must be mad.”
“Yes,” said Lance, in a low voice. “I’m
afraid so.” Then breaking out sharply, he
said, “For God’s sake. Pat, do go away from
here. Go back to London. Go down to
Devonshire or up to the Lakes. Go to
Stratford-on-Avon or go and look at the
Norfolk Broads. The police wouldn’t mind
your going—you had nothing to do with all
this. You were in Paris when the old man was
killed and in London when the other two
died. I tell you it worries me to death to have
you here.”
Pat paused a moment before saying quietly:
“You know who it is, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“But you think you know. . . . That’s why