A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie Page B

all depends, I suppose,” she said, “where they’ll have the funeral. Down here, I suppose. Or will it be in London?”
    â€œThat will be for the family to say.”
    â€œOf course. I only just wondered.” For the first time she took direct cognisance of the man who was speaking to her.
    â€œAre you from the office?” she asked. “You’re not a doctor, are you?”
    â€œI’m a police officer. Mr. Fortescue’s death was very sudden and—”
    She interrupted him.
    â€œDo you mean he was murdered? ”
    It was the first time that word had been spoken. Neele surveyed her eager questioning face carefully.
    â€œNow why should you think that, madam?”
    â€œWell, people are sometimes. You said sudden. And you’re police. Have you seen her about it? What did she say?”
    â€œI don’t quite understand to whom you are referring?”
    â€œAdele, of course. I always told Val his father was crazy to go marrying a woman years younger than himself. There’s no fool like an old fool. Besotted about that awful creature, he was. And now look what comes of it . . . A nice mess we’re all in. Pictures in the paper and reporters coming round.”
    She paused, obviously visualizing the future in a series of crude highly coloured pictures. He thought that the prospect was still not wholly unpleasing. She turned back to him.
    â€œWhat was it? Arsenic?”
    In a repressive voice Inspector Neele said:
    â€œThe cause of death has yet to be ascertained. There will be an autopsy and an inquest.”
    â€œBut you know already, don’t you? Or you wouldn’t come down here.”
    There was a sudden shrewdness in her plump rather foolish face.
    â€œYou’ve been asking about what he ate and drank, I suppose? Dinner last night. Breakfast this morning. And all the drinks, of course.”
    He could see her mind ranging vividly over all the possibilities. He said, with caution:
    â€œIt seems possible that Mr. Fortescue’s illness resulted from something he ate at breakfast.”
    â€œBreakfast?” She seemed surprised. “That’s difficult. I don’t see how. . . .”
    She paused and shook her head.
    â€œI don’t see how she could have done it, then . . . unless she slipped something into the coffee—when Elaine and I weren’t looking. . . .”
    A quiet voice spoke softly beside them:
    â€œYour tea is all ready in the library, Mrs. Val.”
    Mrs. Val jumped.
    â€œOh thank you, Miss Dove. Yes, I could do with a cup of tea. Really, I feel quite bowled over. What about you, Mr.—Inspector—”
    â€œThank you, not just now.”
    The plump figure hesitated and then went slowly away.
    As she disappeared through a doorway, Mary Dove murmured softly:
    â€œI don’t think she’s ever heard of the term slander.”
    Inspector Neele did not reply.
    Mary Dove went on:
    â€œIs there anything I can do for you?”
    â€œWhere can I find the housemaid, Ellen?”
    â€œI will take you to her. She’s just gone upstairs.”
    II
    Ellen proved to be grim but unafraid. Her sour old face looked triumphantly at the inspector.
    â€œIt’s a shocking business, sir. And I never thought I’d live to find myself in a house where that sort of thing has been going on. But in a way I can’t say that it surprises me. I ought to have given my notice in long ago and that’s a fact. I don’t like the language that’s used in this house, and I don’t like the amount of drink that’s taken, and I don’t approve of the goings on there’ve been. I’ve nothing against Mrs. Crump, but Crump and that girl Gladys just don’t know what proper service is. But it’s the goings on that I mind about most.”
    â€œWhat goings on do you mean exactly?”
    â€œYou’ll soon hear about them if you don’t know already. It’s common talk