Three Act Tragedy by Agatha Christie

but Beatrice remained vague. Miss Wills had poked and pried, but asked to produce a special instance of the poking, Beatrice seemed unable to do so. She merely repeated that Miss Wills pried into things that were no business of hers.
    They gave it up at last, and Mr. Satterthwaite said:
    “Young Mr. Manders arrived unexpectedly, didn’t he?”
    “Yes, sir, he had an accident with his car - just by the lodge gates, it was. He said it was a bit of luck its happening just here. The house was full, of course, but Miss Lyndon had a bed made up for him in the little study.”
    “Was everyone very surprised to see him?”
    “Oh, yes, sir, naturally, sir.”
    Asked her opinion of Ellis, Beatrice was non-committal. She’d seen very little of him. Going off the way he did looked bad, though why he should want to harm the master she couldn’t imagine. Nobody could.
    “What was he like, the doctor, I mean? Did he seem to be looking forward to the house party? Had he anything on his mind?”
    “He seemed particularly cheerful, sir. Smiled to himself, he did, as though he had some joke on. I even heard him make a joke with Mr. Ellis, a thing he’d never done with Mr. Baker. He was usually a bit brusque with the servants, kind always, but not speaking to them much.”
    “What did he say?” asked Mr. Satterthwaite eagerly.
    “Well, I forget exactly now, sir. Mr. Ellis had come up with a telephone message, and Sir Bartholomew asked him if he was sure he’d got the names right, and Mr. Ellis said quite sure - speaking respectful, of course. And the doctor he laughed and said, ‘You’re a good fellow, Ellis, a first-class butler. Eh, Beatrice, what do you think?’ And I was so surprised, sir, at the master speaking like that - quite unlike his usual self - that I didn’t know what to say.”
    “And Ellis?”
    “He looked kind of disapproving, sir, as though it was the kind of thing he hadn’t been used to. Stiff like.”
    “What was the telephone message?” asked Sir Charles.
    “The message, sir? Oh, it was from the Sanatorium - about a patient who had arrived there and had stood the journey well.”
    “Do you remember the name?”
    “It was a queer name, sir.” Beatrice hesitated. “Mrs. de Rushbridger - something like that.”
    “Ah, yes,” said Sir Charles soothingly. “Not an easy name to get right on the telephone. Well, thank you very much, Beatrice. Perhaps we could see Alice now.”
    When Beatrice had left the room Sir Charles and Mr. Satterthwaite compared notes by an interchange of glances.
    “Miss Wills poked and pried, Captain Dacres got drunk, Mrs. Dacres displayed no emotion. Anything there? Precious little.”
    “Very little indeed,” agreed Mr. Satterthwaite.
    “Let’s pin our hopes on Alice.”
    Alice was a demure, dark-eyed young woman of thirty. She was only too pleased to talk.
    She herself didn’t believe Mr. Ellis had anything to do with it. He was too much the gentleman. The police had suggested he was just a common crook. Alice was sure he was nothing of the sort.
    “You’re quite certain he was an ordinary honest-to-God butler?” asked Sir Charles.
    “Not ordinary, sir. He wasn’t like any butler I’ve ever worked with before. He arranged the work different.”
    “But you don’t think he poisoned your master.”
    “Oh, sir, I don’t see how he could have done. I was waiting at table with him, and he couldn’t have put anything in the master’s food without my seeing him.”
    “And the drinks?”
    “He went round with the wine, sir. Sherry first, with the soup, and then hock and claret. But what could he have done, sir? If there’d been anything in the wine he’d have poisoned everybody - or all those who took it. It’s not as though the master had anything that nobody else had. The same thing with the port. All the gentlemen had port, and some of the ladies.”
    “The wine glasses were taken out on a tray?”
    “Yes, sir, I held the tray and Mr. Ellis put the