Chapter Ten
II t was about five minutes after leaving Le Bourget that Lance Fortescue opened his copy of the continental¹ DailyMail. A minute or two later he uttered a startled exclamation². Pat, in the seat beside him, turned her head inquiringly.
“It’s the old man,” said Lance. “He’s dead.”
“Dead! Your father?”
“Yes, he seems to have been taken suddenly ill at the office, was taken to St. Jude’s Hospital and died there soonafter arrival.”
“Darling, I’m so sorry. What was it, a stroke?”
“I suppose so. Sounds like it.”
“Had he ever had a stroke before?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“I thought people never died from a first one.”
“Poor old boy,” said Lance. “I never thought I was particularly fond of him, but somehow, now that he’s dead. . . .”
“Of course you were fond of him.”
“We haven’t all got your nice nature, Pat. Oh well, it looks as though my luck’s out again, doesn’t it.”
“Yes. It’s odd that it should happen now. Just when you were on the point of coming home.”
He turned his head sharply towards her.
“Odd? What do you mean by odd, Pat?”
She looked at him with slight surprise.
“Well, a sort of coincidence.”
“You mean that whatever I set out to do goes wrong?”
“No, darling, I didn’t mean that. But there is such a thing as a run of bad luck.”
“Yes, I suppose there is.”
Pat said again: “I’m so sorry.”
When they arrived at Heathrow and were waiting to disembark from the plane, an official of the air company calledout in a clear voice:
“Is Mr. Lancelot Fortescue abroad?”
“Here,” said Lance.
“Would you just step this way, Mr. Fortescue.”
Lance and Pat followed him out of the plane, preceding the other passengers. As they passed a couple in the lastseat, they heard the man whisper to his wife:
“Well-known smugglers, I expect. Caught in the act.”
II
“It’s fantastic,” said Lance. “Quite fantastic.” He stared across the table at Detective Inspector³ Neele.
Inspector Neele nodded his head sympathetically.
“Taxine—yewberries—the whole thing seems like some kind of

分享到：