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    A Pocket Full of Rye: A Miss Marple Mystery
    A Pocket Full of Rye: A Miss Marple Mystery
    A Pocket Full of Rye: A Miss Marple Mystery
    Ebook255 pages3 hours

    A Pocket Full of Rye: A Miss Marple Mystery

    By Agatha Christie

    4/5

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    Rex Fortescue, king of a financial empire, was sipping tea in his “counting house” when he suffered an agonizing and sudden death. On later inspection, the pockets of the deceased were found to contain traces of cereals.

    Yet, it was the incident in the parlor which confirmed Miss Marple’s suspicion that here she was looking at a case of crime by rhyme. . . .

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateJun 14, 2011
    ISBN9780062113658
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

    Read more from Agatha Christie

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    Reviews for A Pocket Full of Rye

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    • 4/5
      Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye...Businessman Rex Fortescue is found dead in his office after drinking his morning tea. It doesn’t take long to determine that he’s been poisoned. But the really puzzling thing is the handful of rye that was found in his pocket. What purpose did it serve? Inspector Neele is on the case, and of course he’s interested in finding out who would gain by Fortescue’s death. His much younger widow, who doesn’t play golf yet has lots of golf dates with a handsome young man? His son and junior business partner? His daughter, who is in love with a young man with socialist views? Or his estranged son who has just reappeared on the scene from exile in Africa? Or maybe the murderer will be found among the household help, including the secretive housekeeper, Miss Dove, the butler, Crump, the cook, Mrs. Crump, or the young maid, Gladys? More deaths make it even more urgent to find the killer. Inspector Neele finally gets the breakthrough he needs once Miss Marple arrives on the scene.This is one of my favorite Miss Marple novels. I had read it years ago and still remembered the solution. What I didn’t remember is that Miss Marple doesn’t show up until about halfway through the book. As usual, she makes the most of her limited page time. Her insights into human nature from decades of village life help her spot individuals with character flaws that just might lead to murder under the right circumstances.
    • 4/5
      Rex Fortescue dies after a seizure at his office. The doctor determines poison to be the cause of death. Because of onset time, suspicion falls on those in the man's household. Inspector Neele arrives to question suspects. Two more deaths occur. Miss Marple, who read about the deaths, arrives to assist the inspector by doing what she does best--poking her nose in the household affairs. A nice complex mystery with a literary allusion to the nursery rhyme in the title. I listened to the audio version read by Richard Grant who did a great job.
    • 4/5
      A Pocketful Of Rye (1953) (Miss Marple #7) by Agatha Christie. Here is a delightful but deadly take on the child’s nursery rhyme. It goes, “Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.” But Dame Agatha has again taken something familiar from childhood and twisted it to her own dark ends. Rex Fortescue is the king of his family and his business, but he ends up at work, dead, poisoned that morning at breakfast. His second wife, twenty years younger than he, his two sons, one returned from Africa just after the murder, and their wives, and Rex’s daughter Jennifer, are the main cast of likely suspects, along with several family servants. In charge of the case is Inspector Neele and while he starts out on possibly the right path, his footing is taken away when his chief suspect becomes body #2. To his rescue comes kindly, frail Miss Jane Marple. She has read about a portion of the murders that has greatly upset her and so she is determined to become part of the investigation. While the police are skeptical at first, Miss Marple uses her charms to inveigle her way into the family, uncovers several secrets and delivers the surprising solution to the puzzle. This last bit is mostly speculation as there is a great lack of evidence, but later she receives confirmation of her ideas.This is another charming story with a confusing set of circumstances which lead to a very good read. Not the best, but four stars plus none the less.
    • 4/5
      This was a beautifully done murder mystery with an amazing puzzle, excellent characters and a perfect solution.
    • 3/5
      A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie
      3 stars
      This 1953 work by Agatha Christie is a Jane Marple murder mystery and based on a nursery rhyme. It’s a entertaining who done it and a quick read as Christie’s novels usually are. This story is about the Fortescue family and involves Inspector Neele investigating the poisoning death of Rex Fortescue soon followed by the death of his young, second wife and a household staff. This family is best described as quoted (from Alice in Wonderland) by Inspector Neele as “they’re all very unpleasant people”. Ms Jane Marple comes into the book a little over half way through. She really doesn’t feel like she fits in the investigation but together, Neele and Marple flesh out the murderer. This is the first Jane Marple mystery for me.

    • 4/5
      When her former maid is caught up in a triple murder case, Miss Marple arrives on the scene to lend a hand.Agatha Christie is always a bit hit-or-miss, but I'd classify this one as a hit. She always does her best work when she tackles smaller, family-oriented mysteries like this one. The story itself isn't anything special in a literary sense, but I had a durned good time with it! The murders are cleverly plotted, the characters are fairly well-drawn, the family dynamics are revealed in an interesting manner, and the sleuth is perfectly chosen. Miss Marple's trademark blend of keen observation, scatterbrained social referencing and spot-on intuitive leaps works very well within this tight little mystery. Her insights help illuminate the facts in a way that makes sense but still provides the reader with some surprises.Definitely recommended to fans of old school mysteries. This book would be an excellent way to spend an afternoon or evening.
    • 4/5
      A good Miss Marple mystery. Though Miss Marple is not mentioned in it as often as I'd expect. At the center of a mystery is a very unpleasant family. They are not very likeable characters. The plot twists got me again, and the murderer turned out to be someone I did not want it to be! The very last page is priceless. Reading the last page made the whole book worthwhile. Don't know how Christie does that...
    • 4/5
      Although this is a Miss Marple story she does feel as if she has been crowbared into the plot, but its still a fun read and we get to see Miss Marple as an angry avenger of the dead, a role she takes on to great effect in A Caribbean Mystery and Nemisis
    • 4/5
      Very good, especially so because it's one of only a handful of Christie books that shows a servant with a life besides serving. More often than not, Christie's servants barely have a name (when it can be remembered), much less a personality fleshed out beyond the stereotypical uneducated emotional girl who either stole something or saw something. I found the end particularly moving in that regard - here and I believe for the first time, the police enters a servant's room to search her belongings and Miss Marple has a strong connection to this character which leads to a very bittersweet finale. The murderer made a lot of sense personality-wise and I thought Mary, the housekeeper, was quite an incredible character. Interesting plot too, I've always thought Christie's use of common proverbs and nursery rhymes to be really clever.
      Definitely one of her better ones.
    • 3/5
      Polizeiinspektor Neel ermittlet in Sachen Giftmord in wohlhabenden Kreisen. Seine Untersuchungen machen gewisse Fortschritte, aber entscheidende Hinweise liefert dann erst Miss Marple, die spät im Roman erscheint und auch nur gelgentlich in Erscheinung tritt. Es ist ein solider klassischer Wer-ist-der-Mörder-Kriminalroman, der dem Leser/der Leserin einige Möglichkeiten zur Spekulation bietet. Gelungen ist die Beschreibung der Verhältnisse im Hause des reichen Unternehmers. Die Beziehungen der Damen und Herren einerseits untereinander und zu den Angestellten sind der eigentliche Kern der Geschichte. All dies ist gut konstruiert und beschrieben und wird durch einige witzig-bissige Kommentare begleitet. Der Kriminalfall selbst ist eher unspektakulär. Unglücklich ist die Übersetzung des Titels ausgefallen (im Original: A Pocket full of Rye).
    • 3/5
      I definitely think that I'm starting to be able to pick up on the clues Agatha Christie gives -- or, alternately, the way she thinks: maybe the clues aren't really there, or not large enough to pick up on anyway, since when I started reading her books, I couldn't guess the culprit nearly so well.

      Anyway, I liked this one, if only because it made me feel clever. I wished it had more of Miss Marple in it, though. The way she gets involved in the mysteries is getting very contrived, by this point. Which is to be expected, 'cause she can't exactly sit at home and get involved in murder mysteries in one relatively quiet little village.

      I think Agatha Christie's writing is actually stronger when she's writing from first person POV, instead of third. I've found the first person stories more compelling than the third person ones, like this one. I guess because the narrators tend to have an affectionate way of looking at the people involved, knowing their weaknesses and liking them all the same, and whatever.
    • 5/5
      A most interesting fact about my interpretation of detective books is that I'm not able to appreciate and rate with the consensus how good the outcome of an investigation is. Many people swear by the cleverness of the murderer's alibi. Not me; it's not a deliberate choice, I simply can't appreciate the subtlety of a water tight crime. The way I see it, is that if the journey is good, and if there are startling revelations, and if I can put a face to a well depicted character, then the said book would have fulfilled its purpose of providing me with a roller coaster ride. A Pocket Full of Rye does more than tick all the boxes.I did notice two jarring notes in this very entertaining book. First time ever, has Miss Marple been described as tall. I never imagined her as beyond 5 feet 10 inches, tops. Almost all female characters are regularly said to be tall. One impossible explanation that occurred to me was that the author somehow had the word ringing in her brain, and wrote the entire book in one sitting. The more plausible reason was that it was a reference to something from her life. She deliberately planted the word tall throughout her book. Anyway, I'll never imagine Miss Marple as taller than average, because she was old and she must have shrunk somewhat. Elementary, my dear.The second thing concerned the last sentence in the book: "...successfully reconstructed an extinct animal from a fragment of jawbone and a couple of teeth." That was a haphazard phrase thrown in making the last line look very abrupt. Moving on, I'd like to say that this Inspector Neele person is a super Lestrade. He is allowed one generous, clever deduction, and that was the blackmail of Jennifer Fortescue by Mary Dove. I also thought it was too much that the author made of Mary an accomplice to thieves. Too much going on, I would have liked Mary Dove to remain impassive to the end. Perhaps the author, having pitted Neele's wits against Mary's impassiveness, just had to make the Inspector put one over Mary Dove.Despite these middling things, I had great fun reading this mystery. This book is greater than the sum of its parts. The letter and photo scene near the end provided a vital clue but was also poignant. It was a little piteous to see tears in Miss Marple eyes.
    • 5/5
      Agatha Christie used nursery rhymes as titles of her novels several times (Ten Little Indians, Five Little Pigs, Hickory Dickory Dock, One Two Buckle My Shoe, Sing a Song of Sixpence, Three Blind Mice, There Was a Crooked Man - have I missed any?) and they serve to add a sense of direction to the novel as well as provide a clue to the identity of the suspect.Sing a song of sixpence,A pocket full of rye;Four and twenty blackbirdsBaked in a pie.When the pie was opened,They all began to sing.Now, wasn't that a dainty dishTo set before the King?The King was in his countinghouse,Counting out his money;The Queen was in the parlorEating bread and honey.The maid was in the garden,Hanging out the clothes.Along there came a big black birdAnd snipped off her nose!A POCKET FULL OF RYE is set in post World War II years, amid a really quite nasty family. It is filled with tales of frustration, revenge and greed.Miss Marple becomes part of the investigating team when she reads that the maid at Yewtree Lodge is one of three people murdered. The maid is an orphan whom Jane Marple helped train for private service. Miss Marple is particularly upset when the maid is found with a clothes peg on her nose. She makes a train journey from St. Mary Mead via London and presents herself at Yewtree Lodge: Crump [the butler] saw a tall, elderly lady wearing an old-fashioned tweed coat and skirt, a couple of scarves and a small felt hat with a bird’s wing. The old lady carried a capacious handbag and an aged but good-quality suitcase reposed by her feet. Crump recognized a lady when he saw one...The detective in charge of the case wisely decides to make use of Miss Marple's talents. Inspector Neele looked with some interest at the mild, earnest face of the old lady who confronted him now at Yewtree Lodge. He had been in two minds at first how to treat her, but he quickly made up his mind. Miss Marple would be useful to him. She was upright, of unimpeachable rectitude and she had, like most old ladies, time on her hands and an old maid’s nose for scenting bits of gossip. She’d get things out of servants, and out of the women of the Fortescue family perhaps, that he and his policemen would never get. Talk, conjecture, reminiscences, repetitions of things said and done, out of it all she would pick the salient facts. So Inspector Neele was gracious.I don't think the murderer's identity came as a surprise. I was surprised that he used three separate murder weapons, albeit two of them were poisons. The maid's murder felt more callous and was certainly more violent.
    • 4/5
      I really enjoyed Murder with Mirrors, so I jumped right into the next Miss Marple mystery as soon as I finished it. And, I was not disappointed. Rex Fortescue dies while in the office at his firm. He was poisoned by taxine, a derivative of the Yew Tree. Weirdly, some grains of rye are found in his coat pocket. Rex’s 30 year younger wife Adele is the prime suspect. However, the day prodigal son Lancelot returns home, Adele dies from Cyanide poisoning and the young maid is found strangled. Inspector Neele is hard at work on the case when Miss Marple arrives – she knew the maid, Gladys, and could perhaps throw some light on the matter. It is she who zeroes in on an old children's rhyme, “Sing a Song of Sixpence” wherein the pocketful of rye and other clues come in. There are several suspects including Rex’s sons, their wives, the house manager Miss Dove, and even the maid’s boyfriend. Money was a motive for killing Rex, but why the wife and maid?The mystery here was solid, but what I really enjoyed most was the scandalous, family drama. The conclusion was also interesting in that the culprit is identified by Miss Marple & the Inspector but is not classically revealed. They know who it is but cannot prove it – leading to an epilogue that wraps it all up. My only minor complaint, and it is one I have found in many of the Miss Marple mysteries, is that her appearance is highly contrived. And, as with many mysteries from this era, the police investigator welcomes her (a complete stranger) and shares details of the case with her. I couldn’t suspend my disbelief if this were a modern mystery, but it’s manageable for the time it is set and was written in. And Miss Marple is delightful, so I can live with a little contrivance.
    • 4/5
      This is standard Christie fare, which of course means great fun and plenty of false leads as to the identity of the killer. We find an interesting puzzle built around a poisoning.
    • 3/5
      The cruel poisoning of their patriarch shocks an upper-class family, but it’s only the beginning…

      Agatha Christie sure loved a good gallery of grotesques. As in the superior "Hercule Poirot’s Christmas" (of which this novel is highly evocative), "A Pocket Full of Rye" lets a murderer loose amongst the upper class and, in doing so, reveals their inherent greediness and unpleasantness. I’m not personally enamoured by blood and gore, but there was something freeing during the ’50s and ’60s, when Christie was able to become a bit more gruesome with her crimes, and when she set about examining the darker side of human nature. All of the characters in this novel are intriguing, if soulless, and there’s more misdirection than you can shake a stick at.

      As for the title… I was tempted, at first, to say that using a nursery rhyme indicates an average novel that Christie decided to bolster with a slightly contrived structure. However, I realised that no less than three of my all-time favourite Christies incorporate a rhyme, so it can’t be as simple as that. Suffice it to say that while the nursery rhyme is used creepily, it never amounts to all that much.

      Marple ranking: 6th out of 14
    • 4/5
      When Rex Fortescue is discovered to have been murdered by poison in his office, Inspector Neele of Scotland Yard is quite sure he knows exactly who's behind it. But when two more members of Fortescue's household are also found dead, Neele is suddenly left quite perplexed. When Miss Marple arrives to aid the investigation due to her knowledge of one of the victims, the astute insights of the innocuous-looking old woman are likely to set everything on its ear.Yet another thoroughly satisfying Miss Marple outing. As ever, she had me fully stumped on the whodunnit and her ability to create fantastic characters who feel utterly real from the moment they appear on the page is astounding. Christie continues her run of being unable to disappoint.
    • 5/5
      Same old good Agatha Cristie book. Easy read and impossible to be put down. I really missed reading the Agatha Cristie books :D
    • 4/5
      I love Miss Marple so very much :)
    • 4/5
      First I liked the fact that Miss Marple was not that involved in this book, mostly the CID Neel and it was his going around talking to everyone that made the story better for me.

      A rich eccentric businessman is dead by poison at this office (found with a handful of Rye in his pocket), but the poison used was one with a delayed reaction.... so someone tampered w/ his breakfast. He wasn't mean nor tightfisted toward his family, just suddenly making bad business decisions and was known to cheat in his dealings to get what he wanted.

      Two other murders take place which seem to be mimicking the nursery rhyme..... The wife (eating bread & honey) and Miss Marple's former housemaid, Gladys (in the garden, but not hanging out the clothes).

      The year prior, blackbirds baked into a pie, and four on the old man's desk...... The Blackbird mine deal......

      Family & household members seeming to be whom they might not be, with hidden pasts.

      As I said, Miss Marple wasn't in evidence as the main character, so it made the story much more enjoyable for me. Good plot twists!

    • 3/5
      This is a mystery based on the nursery rhyme 'Sing a song of Sixpence.' I'm just not a fan of Christie and this particular book is dryer than most.
    • 4/5
      City businessman Rex Fortescue has a nice cup of tea at the office, and dies of poisoning. The peculiar points to this are the poison used, and the fact that the dead man's pocket had grains of rye amongst the contents. Inspector Neele sets about investigating the dead man's household, which provides a good selection of potential suspects. Alas, one of the best suspects is next on the murderer's list, and then there's a third death.Miss Marple doesn't appear until nearly half way through the book. Her interest in the matter is the housemaid who was murdered, who happened to be one of the many girls Miss Marple has trained as a maid over the years. When she arrives to provide information on the girl's background, Inspector Neele recognises her as someone who has a great deal of common sense and the ability to get people who wouldn't dream of talking to a policeman to reveal secrets to her. The resulting interplay between Neele's investigation and Miss Marple's investigation is most entertaining. Neele's no fool, even if he's happy to play one in public, but it's Miss Marple's experience of human behaviour that allows them to unravel who, how and why.Well plotted, with one or two twists on the resolution of the red herrings which make them interesting little tales in their own right, rather than just a distraction from the true identity of the murderer.
    • 3/5
      Murders are tied to a nursery rhyme in A Pocket Full Rye, a Miss Marple Mystery. I found the story interesting, but the ending, surprising as it was, lacked meaning. Definitely not a favorite from the Queen of Crime.
    • 3/5
      Agatha Christie for beginners. Point One: don't trust anyone recently returned from the colonies. Point Two: anyone who buys a new pair a nylons is going to die.To criticise Agatha Christie of being formulaic is like criticising Anne Rice of being obsessed with sexually ambiguous vampires. The truth of the charge can't be denied but the accuser is missing the point. The genius of Agatha Christie lies in threading a believable motive through a morass of misdirection. Her murders work, not because they are particulary realistic or 'gritty' (the adjective of the hour for contemporary crime writing) but because they place incredible events in a mudane and credible setting. The fact that she got away with using the same narrative structure over the course of hundreds of novels, without her twists becoming transparent or her books lacking that vital page-turning ability is testament to her very great skill. Perfect sofa reading for those who enjoy sudoku, mulling over the poularity of Miley Cyrus or any other of life's great enigmas.
    • 3/5
      A very hot day, very sleepy, some Agatha Christie the perfect reading material. They are all very unpleasant people but the mystery and use of "Sing a Song of Sixpence" is fun!
    • 3/5
      An unpleasant man is murdered, followed by his unpleasant wife, leaving behind a dysfunctional family full of suspects. Miss Marple eventually appears and solves the case. Competently done but not one of my favorites.
    • 4/5
      I'm not a huge Miss Marple fan, but I liked this episode in her series. That's probably because she wasn't involved that much in the story. She tended to slow the plot down when she did appear, but since it wasn't that often, the story kept my interest. I loved the inclusion of the nursery rhyme into the murder. But my favorite part of the story was how it ended. Nicely done, Ms. Christie.
    • 3/5
      This is a mystery based on the nursery rhyme 'Sing a song of Sixpence.' I'm just not a fan of Christie and this particular book is dryer than most.
    • 4/5
      Mr. Rex Fortescue has been murdered. With a pocket full of rye found in his pocket. Was there something in his tea? Or was he poisoned prior to coming into the office. He was a big financier and made quite a lot of enemies. He was widely disliked and his family as a whole was rather odious. What follows is a well played out whodunit. Can the detective in charge find the culprit? Bodies are starting to pile up so let’s hope so. I rather enjoyed the police officer in this story, he was not so condescending. I didn't like that Miss Marple’s appearance was not until 50% into the book. I suppose it is something I won’t get used too. She is the titular character but seems to rarely be in them. She made quick work of the plot and in true Jane fashion befriended all she met. Overall a great story, with a decent red herring to throw you off until just quite near the end.
    • 5/5
      I think this is Christie's best book.

    Book preview

    A Pocket Full of Rye - Agatha Christie

    Chapter One

    It was Miss Somers’s turn to make the tea. Miss Somers was the newest and the most inefficient of the typists. She was no longer young and had a mild worried face like a sheep. The kettle was not quite boiling when Miss Somers poured the water onto the tea, but poor Miss Somers was never quite sure when a kettle was boiling. It was one of the many worries that afflicted her in life.

    She poured out the tea and took the cups round with a couple of limp, sweet biscuits in each saucer.

    Miss Griffith, the efficient head typist, a grey-haired martinet who had been with Consolidated Investments Trust for sixteen years, said sharply: "Water not boiling again, Somers! and Miss Somers’s worried meek face went pink and she said, Oh dear, I did think it was boiling this time."

    Miss Griffith thought to herself: "She’ll last for another month, perhaps, just while we’re so busy . . . But really! The mess the silly idiot made of that letter to Eastern Developments—a perfectly straightforward job, and always so stupid over the tea. If it weren’t so difficult to get hold of any intelligent typists—and the biscuit tin lid wasn’t shut tightly last time, either. Really—"

    Like so many of Miss Griffith’s indignant inner communings the sentence went unfinished.

    At that moment Miss Grosvenor sailed in to make Mr. Fortescue’s sacred tea. Mr. Fortescue had different tea, and different china and special biscuits. Only the kettle and the water from the cloakroom tap were the same. But on this occasion, being Mr. Fortescue’s tea, the water boiled. Miss Grosvenor saw to that.

    Miss Grosvenor was an incredibly glamorous blonde. She wore an expensively cut little black suit and her shapely legs were encased in the very best and most expensive black-market nylons.

    She sailed back through the typists’ room without deigning to give anyone a word or a glance. The typists might have been so many blackbeetles. Miss Grosvenor was Mr. Fortescue’s own special personal secretary; unkind rumour always hinted that she was something more, but actually this was not true. Mr. Fortescue had recently married a second wife, both glamorous and expensive, and fully capable of absorbing all his attention. Miss Grosvenor was to Mr. Fortescue just a necessary part of the office décor—which was all very luxurious and very expensive.

    Miss Grosvenor sailed back with the tray held out in front of her like a ritual offering. Through the inner office and through the waiting room, where the more important clients were allowed to sit, and through her own anteroom, and finally with a light tap on the door she entered the holy of holies, Mr. Fortescue’s office.

    It was a large room with a gleaming expanse of parquet floor on which were dotted expensive oriental rugs. It was delicately panelled in pale wood and there were some enormous stuffed chairs upholstered in pale buff leather. Behind a colossal sycamore desk, the centre and focus of the room, sat Mr. Fortescue himself.

    Mr. Fortescue was less impressive than he should have been to match the room, but he did his best. He was a large flabby man with a gleaming bald head. It was his affectation to wear loosely cut country tweeds in his city office. He was frowning down at some papers on his desk when Miss Grosvenor glided up to him in her swanlike manner. Placing the tray on the desk at his elbow, she murmured in a low impersonal voice, Your tea, Mr. Fortescue, and withdrew.

    Mr. Fortescue’s contribution to the ritual was a grunt.

    Seated at her own desk again Miss Grosvenor proceeded with the business in hand. She made two telephone calls, corrected some letters that were lying there typed ready for Mr. Fortescue to sign and took one incoming call.

    Ay’m afraid it’s impossible just now, she said in haughty accents. Mr. Fortescue is in conference.

    As she laid down the receiver she glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes past eleven.

    It was just then that an unusual sound penetrated through the almost soundproof door of Mr. Fortescue’s office. Muffled, it was yet fully recognizable, a strangled agonized cry. At the same moment the buzzer on Miss Grosvenor’s desk sounded in a long-drawn frenzied summons. Miss Grosvenor, startled for a moment into complete immobility, rose uncertainly to her feet. Confronted by the unexpected, her poise was shaken. However, she moved towards Mr. Fortescue’s door in her usual statuesque fashion, tapped and entered.

    What she saw upset her poise still further. Her employer behind his desk seemed contorted with agony. His convulsive movements were alarming to watch.

    Miss Grosvenor said, Oh dear, Mr. Fortescue, are you ill? and was immediately conscious of the idiocy of the question. There was no doubt but that Mr. Fortescue was very seriously ill. Even as she came up to him, his body was convulsed in a painful spasmodic movement.

    Words came out in jerky gasps.

    Tea—what the hell—you put in the tea—get help—quick get a doctor—

    Miss Grosvenor fled from the room. She was no longer the supercilious blonde secretary—she was a thoroughly frightened woman who had lost her head.

    She came running into the typists’ office crying out:

    Mr. Fortescue’s having a fit—he’s dying—we must get a doctor—he looks awful—I’m sure he’s dying.

    Reactions were immediate and varied a good deal.

    Miss Bell, the youngest typist, said, If it’s epilepsy we ought to put a cork in his mouth. Who’s got a cork?

    Nobody had a cork.

    Miss Somers said, At his age it’s probably apoplexy.

    Miss Griffith said, "We must get a doctor—at once."

    But she was hampered in her usual efficiency because in all her sixteen years of service it had never been necessary to call a doctor to the city office. There was her own doctor but that was at Streatham Hill. Where was there a doctor near here?

    Nobody knew. Miss Bell seized a telephone directory and began looking up Doctors under D. But it was not a classified directory and doctors were not automatically listed like taxi ranks. Someone suggested a hospital—but which hospital? It has to be the right hospital, Miss Somers insisted, or else they won’t come. Because of the National Health, I mean. It’s got to be in the area.

    Someone suggested 999 but Miss Griffith was shocked at that and said it would mean the police and that would never do. For citizens of a country which enjoyed the benefits of Medical Service for all, a group of quite reasonably intelligent women showed incredible ignorance of correct procedure. Miss Bell started looking up Ambulances under A. Miss Griffith said, "There’s his own doctor—he must have a doctor." Someone rushed for the private address book. Miss Griffith instructed the office boy to go out and find a doctor—somehow, anywhere. In the private address book, Miss Griffith found Sir Edwin Sandeman with an address in Harley Street. Miss Grosvenor, collapsed in a chair, wailed in a voice whose accent was noticeably less Mayfair than usual, I made the tea just as usual—really I did—there couldn’t have been anything wrong in it.

    "Wrong in it? Miss Griffith paused, her hand on the dial of the telephone. Why do you say that?"

    "He said it—Mr. Fortescue—he said it was the tea—"

    Miss Griffith’s hand hovered irresolutely between Welbeck and 999. Miss Bell, young and hopeful, said: "We ought to give him some mustard and water—now. Isn’t there any mustard in the office?"

    There was no mustard in the office.

    Some short while later Dr. Isaacs of Bethnal Green, and Sir Edwin Sandeman met in the elevator just as two different ambulances drew up in front of the building. The telephone and the office boy had done their work.

    Chapter Two

    Inspector Neele sat in Mr. Fortescue’s sanctum behind Mr. Fortescue’s vast sycamore desk. One of his underlings with a notebook sat unobstrusively against the wall near the door.

    Inspector Neele had a smart soldierly appearance with crisp brown hair growing back from a rather low forehead. When he uttered the phrase just a matter of routine those addressed were wont to think spitefully: "And routine is about all you’re capable of!" They would have been quite wrong. Behind his unimaginative appearance, Inspector Neele was a highly imaginative thinker, and one of his methods of investigation was to propound to himself fantastic theories of guilt which he applied to such persons as he was interrogating at the time.

    Miss Griffith, whom he had at once picked out with an unerring eye as being the most suitable person to give him a succinct account of the events which had led to his being seated where he was, had just left the room having given him an admirable résumé of the morning’s happenings. Inspector Neele propounded to himself three separate highly coloured reasons why the faithful doyenne of the typists’ room should have poisoned her employer’s mid-morning cup of tea, and rejected them as unlikely.

    He classified Miss Griffith as (a) Not the type of a poisoner, (b) Not in love with her employer, (c) No pronounced mental instability, (d) Not a woman who cherished grudges. That really seemed to dispose of Miss Griffith except as a source of accurate information.

    Inspector Neele glanced at the telephone. He was expecting a call from St. Jude’s Hospital at any moment now.

    It was possible, of course, that Mr. Fortescue’s sudden illness was due to natural causes, but Dr. Isaacs of Bethnal Green had not thought so and Sir Edwin Sandeman of Harley Street had not thought so.

    Inspector Neele pressed a buzzer conveniently situated at his left hand and demanded that Mr. Fortescue’s personal secretary should be sent in to him.

    Miss Grosvenor had recovered a little of her poise, but not much. She came in apprehensively, with nothing of the swanlike glide about her motions, and said at once defensively:

    I didn’t do it!

    Inspector Neele murmured conversationally: No?

    He indicated the chair where Miss Grosvenor was wont to place herself, pad in hand, when summoned to take down Mr. Fortescue’s letters. She sat down now with reluctance and eyed Inspector Neele in alarm. Inspector Neele, his mind playing imaginatively on the themes Seduction? Blackmail? Platinum Blonde in Court? etc., looked reassuring and just a little stupid.

    There wasn’t anything wrong with the tea, said Miss Grosvenor. There couldn’t have been.

    "I see, said Inspector Neele. Your name and address, please?"

    Grosvenor. Irene Grosvenor.

    How do you spell it?

    Oh. Like the Square.

    And your address?

    14 Rushmoor Road, Muswell Hill.

    Inspector Neele nodded in a satisfied fashion.

    No seduction, he said to himself. No Love Nest. Respectable home with parents. No blackmail.

    Another good set of speculative theories washed out.

    And so it was you who made the tea? he said pleasantly.

    Well, I had to. I always do, I mean.

    Unhurried, Inspector Neele took her closely through the morning ritual of Mr. Fortescue’s tea. The cup and saucer and teapot had already been packed up and dispatched to the appropriate quarter for analysis. Now Inspector Neele learned that Irene Grosvenor and only Irene Grosvenor had handled that cup and saucer and teapot. The kettle had been used for making the office tea and had been refilled from the cloakroom tap by Miss Grosvenor.

    And the tea itself?

    It was Mr. Fortescue’s own tea, special China tea. It’s kept on the shelf in my room next door.

    Inspector Neele nodded. He inquired about sugar and heard that Mr. Fortescue didn’t take sugar.

    The telephone rang. Inspector Neele picked up the receiver. His face changed a little.

    St. Jude’s?

    He nodded to Miss Grosvenor in dismissal.

    That’s all for now, thank you, Miss Grosvenor.

    Miss Grosvenor sped out of the room hurriedly.

    Inspector Neele listened carefully to the thin unemotional tones speaking from St. Jude’s Hospital. As the voice spoke he made a few cryptic signs with a pencil on the corner of the blotter in front of him.

    Died five minutes ago, you say? he asked. His eye went to the watch on his wrist. Twelve forty-three, he wrote on the blotter.

    The unemotional voice said that Dr. Bernsdorff himself would like to speak to Inspector Neele.

    Inspector Neele said, Right. Put him through, which rather scandalized the owner of the voice, who had allowed a certain amount of reverence to seep into the official accents.

    There were then various clicks, buzzes, and far-off ghostly murmurs. Inspector Neele sat patiently waiting.

    Then without warning a deep bass roar caused him to shift the receiver an inch or two away from his ear.

    Hallo, Neele, you old vulture. At it again with your corpses?

    Inspector Neele and Professor Bernsdorff of St. Jude’s had been brought together over a case of poisoning just over a year ago and had remained on friendly terms.

    Our man’s dead, I hear, doc.

    Yes. We couldn’t do anything by the time he got here.

    And the cause of death?

    There will have to be an autopsy, naturally. Very interesting case. Very interesting indeed. Glad I was able to be in on it.

    The professional gusto in Bernsdorff’s rich tones told Inspector Neele one thing at least.

    I gather you don’t think it was natural death, he said dryly.

    Not a dog’s chance of it, said Dr. Bernsdorff robustly. I’m speaking unofficially, of course, he added with belated caution.

    Of course. Of course. That’s understood. He was poisoned?

    Definitely. And what’s more—this is quite unofficial, you understand—just between you and me—I’d be prepared to make a bet on what the poison was.

    In-deed?

    Taxine, my boy. Taxine.

    Taxine? Never heard of it.

    "I know. Most unusual. Really delightfully unusual! I don’t say I’d have spotted it myself if I hadn’t had a case only three or four weeks ago. Couple of kids playing dolls’ tea parties—pulled berries off a yew tree and used them for tea."

    Is that what it is? Yew berries?

    "Berries or leaves. Highly poisonous. Taxine, of course, is the alkaloid. Don’t think I’ve heard of a case where it was used deliberately. Really most interesting and unusual . . . You’ve no idea, Neele, how tired one gets of the inevitable weed killer. Taxine is a real treat. Of course, I may be wrong—don’t quote me, for Heaven’s sake—but I don’t think so. Interesting for you, too, I should think. Varies the routine!"

    A good time is to be had by all, is that the idea? With the exception of the victim.

    Yes, yes, poor fellow. Dr. Bernsdorff’s tone was perfunctory. Very bad luck on him.

    Did he say anything before he died?

    Well, one of your fellows was sitting by him with a notebook. He’ll have the exact details. He muttered something once about tea—that he’d been given something in his tea at the office—but that’s nonsense, of course.

    Why is it nonsense? Inspector Neele, who had been reviewing speculatively the picture of the glamorous Miss Grosvenor adding yew berries to a brew of tea, and finding it incongruous, spoke sharply.

    Because the stuff couldn’t possibly have worked so soon. I understand the symptoms came on immediately he had drunk the tea?

    That’s what they say.

    Well, there are very few poisons that act as quickly as that, apart from the cyanides, of course—and possibly pure nicotine—

    And it definitely wasn’t cyanide or nicotine?

    "My dear fellow. He’d have been dead before the ambulance arrived. Oh no, there’s no question of anything of that kind. I did suspect strychnine, but the convulsions were not at all typical. Still unofficial, of course, but I’ll stake my reputation it’s taxine."

    How long would that take to work?

    Depends. An hour. Two hours, three hours. Deceased looked like a hearty eater. If he had had a big breakfast, that would slow things up.

    Breakfast, said Inspector Neele thoughtfully. Yes, it looks like breakfast.

    Breakfast with the Borgias. Dr. Bernsdorff laughed cheerfully. Well, good hunting, my lad.

    Thanks, doctor. I’d like to speak to my sergeant before you ring off.

    Again there were clicks and buzzes and far-off ghostly voices. And then the sound of heavy breathing came through, an inevitable prelude to Sergeant Hay’s conversation.

    Sir, he said urgently. Sir.

    Neele here. Did the deceased say anything I ought to know?

    Said it was the tea. The tea he had at the office. But the M.O. says not. . . .

    Yes, I know about that. Nothing else?

    "No, sir. But there’s one thing that’s odd. The suit he was wearing—I checked the contents of the pockets. The usual stuff—handkerchief, keys, change, wallet—but there was one thing that’s downright peculiar. The right-hand pocket of his jacket. It had cereal in it."

    Cereal?

    Yes, sir.

    What do you mean by cereal? Do you mean a breakfast food? Farmer’s Glory or Wheatifax. Or do you mean corn or barley—

    That’s right, sir. Grain it was. Looked like rye to me. Quite a lot of it.

    I see . . . Odd . . . But it might have been a sample—something to do with a business deal.

    Quite so, sir—but I thought I’d better mention it.

    Quite right, Hay.

    Inspector Neele sat staring ahead of him for a few moments after he had replaced the telephone receiver. His orderly mind was moving from Phase I to Phase II of the inquiry—from suspicion of poisoning to certainty of poisoning. Professor Bernsdorff’s words may have been unofficial, but Professor Bernsdorff was not a man to be mistaken in his beliefs. Rex Fortescue had been poisoned and the

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