A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie Page B

some.”
    Cutting himself a slice, he asked:
    “Is Aunt Effie alive still?”
    “Oh, yes, Lance. She won't come down and have meals with us or anything, but she's quite well. Only she's getting very peculiar.”
    “She always was peculiar,” said Lance. “I must go up and see her after tea.”
    Jennifer Fortescue murmured:
    “At her age one does really feel that she ought to be in some kind of home. I mean somewhere where she will be properly looked after.”
    “Heaven help any old ladies' home that got Aunt Effie in their midst,” said Lance. He added, “Who's the demure piece of goods who let me in?”
    Adele looked surprised.
    “Didn't Crump let you in? The butler? Oh no, I forgot. It's his day out today. But surely Gladys -”
    Lance gave a description. “Blue eyes, hair parted in the middle, soft voice, butter wouldn't melt in the mouth. What goes on behind it all, I wouldn't like to say.”
    “That,” said Jennifer, “would be Mary Dove.”
    Elaine said:
    “She sort of runs things for us.”
    “Does she, now?”
    Adele said:
    “She's really very useful.”
    “Yes,” said Lance thoughtfully, “I should think she might be.”
    “But what is so nice is,” said Jennifer, “that she knows her place. She never presumes, if you know what I mean.”
    “Clever Mary Dove,” said Lance, and helped himself to another piece of chocolate cake.

A Pocket of Rye

Chapter 12
    “So you've turned up again like a bad penny,” said Miss Ramsbottom.
    Lance grinned at her. “Just as you say. Aunt Effie.”
    “Humph!” Miss Ramsbottom sniffed disapprovingly. “You've chosen a nice time to do it. Your father got himself murdered yesterday, the house is full of police poking about everywhere, grubbing in the dustbins, even. I've seen them out of the window.” She paused, sniffed again, and asked, “Got your wife with you?”
    “No. I left Pat in London.”
    “That shows some sense. I shouldn't bring her here if I were you. You never know what might happen.”
    “To her? To Pat?”
    “To anybody,” said Miss Ramsbottom.
    Lance Fortescue looked at her thoughtfully.
    “Got any ideas about it all, Aunt Effie?” he asked.
    Miss Ramsbottom did not reply directly. “I had an Inspector here yesterday asking me questions. He didn't get much change out of me. But he wasn't such a fool as he looked, not by a long way.” She added with some indignation, “What your grandfather would feel if he knew we had the police in the house - it's enough to make him turn in his grave. A strict Plymouth Brother he was all his life. The fuss there was when he found out I'd been attending Church of England services in the evening! And I'm sure that was harmless enough compared to murder.”
    Normally Lance would have smiled at this, but his long, dark face remained serious. He said:
    “D'you know, I'm quite in the dark after having been away so long. What's been going on here of late?”
    Miss Ramsbottom raised her eyes to heaven.
    “Godless doings,” she said firmly.
    “Yes, yes, Aunt Effie, you would say that anyway. But what gives the police the idea that Dad was killed here, in this house?”
    “Adultery is one thing and murder is another,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “I shouldn't like to think it of her, I shouldn't indeed.”
    Lance looked alert. “Adele?” he asked.
    “My lips are sealed,” said Miss Ramsbottom.
    “Come on, old dear,” said Lance. “It's a lovely phrase, but it doesn't mean a thing. Adele had a boy friend? Adele and the boy friend fed him henbane in the morning tea. Is that the set up?”
    “I'll trouble you not to joke about it.”
    “I wasn't really joking, you know.”
    “I'll tell you one thing,” said Miss Ramsbottom suddenly. “I believe that girl knows something about it.”
    “Which girl?” Lance looked surprised.
    “The one that sniffs,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “The one that ought to have brought me up my tea this afternoon, but didn't. Gone out without leave, so they say. I