A Pocket Full of Rye Read Online Free Page A

was a long time ago. Mr. Lance was just young and high-spirited and didn’t really realize what he was doing.”
    Inspector Neele had heard that view before and didn’t agree with it. But he passed on to fresh questions.
    â€œTell me a little more about the staff here.”
    Miss Griffith, hurrying to get away from her indiscretion, poured out information about the various personalities in the firm. Inspector Neele thanked her and then said he would like to see Miss Grosvenor again.
    Detective Constable Waite sharpened his pencil. He remarked wistfully that this was a Ritzy joint. His glance wandered appreciatively over the huge chairs, the big desk and the indirect lighting.
    â€œAll these people have got Ritzy names, too,” he said. “Grosvenor—that’s something to do with a Duke. And Fortescue—that’s a classy name, too.”
    Inspector Neele smiled.
    â€œHis father’s name wasn’t Fortescue. Fontescu—and he came from somewhere in Central Europe. I suppose this man thought Fortescue sounded better.”
    Detective Constable Waite looked at his superior officer with awe.
    â€œSo you know all about him?”
    â€œI just looked up a few things before coming along on the call.”
    â€œNot got a record, had he?”
    â€œOh no. Mr. Fortescue was much too clever for that. He’s had certain connections with the black market and put through one or two deals that are questionable to say the least of it, but they’ve always been just within the law.”
    â€œI see,” said Waite. “Not a nice man.”
    â€œA twister,” said Neele. “But we’ve got nothing on him. The Inland Revenue have been after him for a long time but he’s been too clever for them. Quite a financial genius, the late Mr. Fortescue.”
    â€œThe sort of man,” said Constable Waite, “who might have enemies?”
    He spoke hopefully.
    â€œOh yes—certainly enemies. But he was poisoned at home, remember. Or so it would seem. You know, Waite, I see a kind of pattern emerging. An old-fashioned familiar kind of pattern. The good boy, Percival. The bad boy, Lance—attractive to women. The wife who’s younger than her husband and who’s vague about which course she’s going to play golf on. It’s all very familiar. But there’s one thing that sticks out in a most incongruous way.”
    Constable Waite asked “What’s that?” just as the door opened and Miss Grosvenor, her poise restored, and once more her glamorous self, inquired haughtily:
    â€œYou wished to see me?”
    â€œI wanted to ask you a few questions about your employer—your late employer, perhaps I should say.”
    â€œPoor soul,” said Miss Grosvenor unconvincingly.
    â€œI want to know if you had noticed any difference in him lately.”
    â€œWell, yes. I did, as a matter of fact.”
    â€œIn what way?”
    â€œI couldn’t really say . . . He seemed to talk a lot of nonsense. I couldn’t really believe half of what he said. And then he lost his temper very easily—especially with Mr. Percival. Not with me, because of course I never argue. I just say, ‘Yes, Mr. Fortescue,’ whatever peculiar thing he says—said, I mean.”
    â€œDid he—ever—well—make any passes at you?”
    Miss Grosvenor replied rather regretfully:
    â€œWell, no, I couldn’t exactly say that. ”
    â€œThere’s just one other thing, Miss Grosvenor. Was Mr. Fortescue in the habit of carrying grain about in his pocket?”
    Miss Grosvenor displayed a lively surprise.
    â€œGrain? In his pocket? Do you mean to feed pigeons or something?”
    â€œIt could have been for that purpose.”
    â€œOh, I’m sure he didn’t. Mr. Fortescue? Feed pigeons? Oh no.”
    â€œCould he have had barley—or rye—in his pocket today for any special reason? A sample, perhaps? Some