Chapter Seven
I nspector Neele was still holding the telegraph message in his hand when he heard a car drive up to the front door andstop with a careless scrunching¹ of brakes.
Mary Dove, “That will be Mrs. Fortescue now.”
Inspector² Neele moved forwards to the front door. Out of the tail of his eye, he saw Mary Dove melt unobtrusivelyinto the background and disappear. Clearly she intended to take no part in the forthcoming scene. A remarkabledisplay of tact⁴ and discretion—and also a rather remarkable³ lack of curiosity. Most women, Inspector Neele decided,would have remained. . . .
As he reached the front door he was aware of the butler, Crump, coming forward from the back of the hall. So hehad heard the car.
The car was a Rolls Bentley sports model coupé. Two people got out of it and came towards the house. As theyreached the door, it opened. Surprised, Adele Fortescue stared at Inspector Neele.
He realized at once that she was a very beautiful woman, and he realized too the force of Mary Dove’s commentwhich had so shocked him at the time. Adele Fortescue was a sexy piece. In figure and type she resembled the blondeMiss Grosvenor, but whereas Miss Grosvenor was all glamour⁵ without and all respectability within, Adele Fortescuewas glamour all through. Her appeal was obvious, not subtle. It said simply to every man “Here am I. I’m a woman.”
She spoke⁶ and moved and breathed sex—and yet, within it all, her eyes had a shrewd appraising⁷ quality. AdeleFortescue, he thought, liked men—but she would always like money even better.
His eyes went on to the figure behind her who carried her golf clubs. He knew the type very well. It was the typethat specialized⁸ in the young wives of rich and elderly men. Mr. Vivian Dubois, if this was he, had that rather forcedmasculinity which is, in reality, nothing of the kind. He was the type of man who “understands” women.

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