A Pocket Full of Rye Read Online Free

house before you arrive, what do you want me to tell her?”
    Practical as they make ’em, thought Inspector Neele.
    Aloud he said:
    â€œJust tell her that in a case of sudden death we have to make a few inquiries. Routine inquiries.”
    He hung up.

Chapter Three
    N eele pushed the telephone away and looked sharply at Miss Griffith.
    â€œSo they’ve been worried about him lately,” he said. “Wanted him to see a doctor. You didn’t tell me that.”
    â€œI didn’t think of it,” said Miss Griffith, and added: “He never seemed to me really ill —”
    â€œNot ill—but what?”
    â€œWell, just off. Unlike himself. Peculiar in his manner.”
    â€œWorried about something?”
    â€œOh no, not worried. It’s we who were worried—”
    Inspector Neele waited patiently.
    â€œIt’s difficult to say, really,” said Miss Griffith. “He had moods, you know. Sometimes he was quite boisterous. Once or twice, frankly, I thought he had been drinking . . . He boasted and told the most extraordinary stories which I’m sure couldn’t possibly have been true. For most of the time I’ve been here he was always very close about his affairs—not giving anything away, you know. But lately he’s been quite different, expansive, and positively—well—flinging money about. Most unlike his usual manner. Why, when the office boy had to go to his grandmother’s funeral, Mr. Fortescue called him in and gave him a five pound note and told him to put it on the second favourite and then roared with laughter. He wasn’t—well, he just wasn’t like himself. That’s all I can say.”
    â€œAs though, perhaps, he had something on his mind?”
    â€œNot in the usual meaning of the term. It was as though he were looking forward to something pleasurable—exciting—”
    â€œPossibly a big deal that he was going to pull off?”
    Miss Griffith agreed with more conviction.
    â€œYes—yes, that’s much more what I mean. As though everyday things didn’t matter anymore. He was excited. And some very odd-looking people came to see him on business. People who’d never been here before. It worried Mr. Percival dreadfully.”
    â€œOh, it worried him, did it?”
    â€œYes. Mr. Percival’s always been very much in his father’s confidence, you see. His father relied on him. But lately—”
    â€œLately they weren’t getting along so well.”
    â€œWell, Mr. Fortescue was doing a lot of things that Mr. Percival thought unwise. Mr. Percival is always very careful and prudent. But suddenly his father didn’t listen to him anymore and Mr. Percival was very upset.”
    â€œAnd they had a real row about it all?”
    Inspector Neele was still probing.
    â€œI don’t know about a row . . . Of course, I realize now Mr. Fortescue can’t have been himself—shouting like that.”
    â€œShouted, did he? What did he say?”
    â€œHe came right out in the typists’ room—”
    â€œSo that you all heard?”
    â€œWell—yes.”
    â€œAnd he called Percival names—abused him—swore at him.”
    â€œWhat did he say Percival had done?”
    â€œIt was more that he hadn’t done anything . . . he called him a miserable pettifogging little clerk. He said he had no large outlook, no conception of doing business in a big way. He said: ‘I shall get Lance home again. He’s worth ten of you— and he’s married well. Lance has got guts even if he did risk a criminal prosecution once—’ Oh dear, I oughtn’t to have said that!” Miss Griffith, carried away as others before her had been under Inspector Neele’s expert handling, was suddenly overcome with confusion.
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Inspector Neele comfortingly. “What’s past is past.”
    â€œOh yes, it