A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie

excuse my asking, but did you resent your father’s remarriage, or did your brother do so?”
    Lance looked surprised.
    â€œI certainly didn’t, and I shouldn’t think Percy did either. After all, our own mother died when we were about—oh, ten, twelve years old. What I’m really surprised at is that the old man didn’t marry again before.”
    Inspector Neele murmured:
    â€œIt may be considered taking rather a risk to marry a woman very much younger than yourself.”
    â€œDid my dear brother say that to you? It sounds rather like him. Percy is a great master of the art of insinuation. Is that the setup, Inspector? Is my stepmother suspected of poisoning my father?”
    Inspector Neele’s face became blank.
    â€œIt’s early days to have any definite ideas about anything, Mr. Fortescue,” he said pleasantly. “Now, may I ask you what your plans are?”
    â€œPlans?” Lance considered. “I shall have to make new plans, I suppose. Where is the family? All down at Yewtree Lodge?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’d better go down there straight away.” He turned to his wife. “You’d better go to an hotel, Pat.”
    She protested quickly. “No, no, Lance, I’ll come with you.”
    â€œNo, darling.”
    â€œBut I want to.”
    â€œReally, I’d rather you didn’t. Go and stay at the—oh it’s so long since I stayed in London—Barnes’s. Barnes’s Hotel used to be a nice, quiet sort of place. That’s still going, I suppose?”
    â€œOh, yes, Mr. Fortescue.”
    â€œRight, Pat. I’ll settle you in there if they’ve got a room, then I’ll go on down to Yewtree Lodge.”
    â€œBut why can’t I come with you, Lance?”
    Lance’s face took suddenly a rather grim line.
    â€œFrankly, Pat, I’m not sure of my welcome. It was Father who invited me there, but Father’s dead. I don’t know who the place belongs to now. Percy, I suppose, or perhaps Adele. Anyway, I’d like to see what reception I get before I bring you there. Besides—”
    â€œBesides what?”
    â€œI don’t want to take you to a house where there’s a poisoner at large.”
    â€œOh, what nonsense.”
    Lance said firmly:
    â€œWhere you’re concerned, Pat, I’m taking no risks.”

Chapter Eleven
    I
    M r. Dubois was annoyed. He tore Adele Fortescue’s letter angrily across and threw it into the wastepaper basket. Then, with a sudden caution, he fished out the various pieces, struck a match and watched them burn to ashes. He muttered under his breath:
    â€œWhy have women got to be such damned fools? Surely common prudence . . .” But then, Mr. Dubois reflected gloomily, women never had any prudence. Though he had profited by this lack many a time, it annoyed him now. He himself had taken every precaution. If Mrs. Fortescue rang up they had instructions to say that he was out. Already Adele Fortescue had rung him up three times, and now she had written. On the whole, writing was far worse. He reflected for a moment or two, then he went to the telephone.
    â€œCan I speak to Mrs. Fortescue, please? Yes, Mr. Dubois.” A minute or two later he heard her voice.
    â€œVivian, at last!”
    â€œYes, yes, Adele, but be careful. Where are you speaking from?”
    â€œFrom the library.”
    â€œSure nobody’s listening in, in the hall?”
    â€œWhy should they?”
    â€œWell, you never know. Are the police still about the house?”
    â€œNo, they’ve gone for the moment, anyhow. Oh, Vivian dear, it’s been awful. ”
    â€œYes, yes, it must have I’m sure. But look here, Adele, we’ve got to be careful.”
    â€œOh, of course, darling.”
    â€œDon’t call me darling through the phone. It isn’t safe.”
    â€œAren’t you being a little bit panicky, Vivian? After all,