The Monogram Murders: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery

‘Absolutely, sir.’

Being on display in front of all those pairs of eyes was making me feel a touch awkward. I was painfully aware that I had not yet asked a question. Letting Poirot run the show was all very well, but if I didn’t participate at all, I would look feeble. I cleared my throat and addressed the room: ‘Did any of you take a cup of tea to Harriet Sippel’s room, number 121, at any point? Or a sherry to Richard Negus’s room? Either yesterday or Wednesday, the day before?’

Heads began to shake. Unless someone was lying, it seemed that the only delivery to any of the three victims’ rooms was the one of afternoon-tea-for-dinner made by Rafal Bobak to Room 317 at 7.15 p.m. on Thursday.

I tried to sort it out in my mind: the teacup in Harriet Sippel’s room wasn’t a problem. That must have been one of the three brought by Bobak, since only two cups were found in Ida Gransbury’s room after the murders. But how did the sherry glass make its way to Richard Negus’s room unless transported there by a waiter?

Did the killer arrive at the Bloxham with a glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream in his hand, as well as a pocket full of monogrammed cufflinks and poison? It seemed far-fetched.

Poirot appeared to have fixed on the same problem. ‘To be absolutely clear: not one of you gave a glass of sherry to Mr Richard Negus, either in his room or anywhere else in the hotel?’

There was more head-shaking.

‘Signor Lazzari, can you tell me please, was the glass found in Mr Negus’s room one that belonged to the Bloxham Hotel?’

‘Yes, it was, Monsieur Poirot. This is all very perplexing. I would suggest that perhaps a waiter who is absent today gave the glass of sherry to Mr Negus on Thursday or Wednesday, but everybody is here now who was here then.’

‘It is, as you say, perplexing,’ Poirot agreed. ‘Mr Bobak, perhaps you could tell us what happened when you took the evening-afternoon-tea to Ida Gransbury’s room.’

‘I set it out on the table and then I left them to it, sir.’

‘They were all three in the room? Mrs Sippel, Miss Gransbury and Mr Negus?’

‘They were, yes, sir.’

‘Describe to us the scene.’

‘The scene, sir?’

Seeing that Rafal Bobak was at a loss, I chipped in with: ‘Which one of them opened the door?’

‘Mr Negus opened the door, sir.’

‘And where were the two women?’ I asked.

‘Oh, they were sitting in the two chairs over by the fireplace. Talking to each other. I had no dealings with them. I spoke only to Mr Negus. Laid everything out on the table by the window, and then I left, sir.’

‘Can you recall what the two ladies talked about?’ asked Poirot.

Bobak lowered his eyes. ‘Well, sir …’

‘It is important, monsieur. Every detail that you can tell me about these three people is important.’

‘Well … they were being a bit cattish, sir. Laughing about it, too.’

‘You mean they were being spiteful? How so?’

‘One of them was, yes. And Mr Negus, he seemed to find it entertaining. It was something about an older woman and a younger man. It wasn’t my business so I didn’t listen.’

‘Do you remember what precisely was said? At whom was the cattishness directed?’

‘I couldn’t tell you, sir, I’m sorry. An old woman that might be pining for the love of a young man, that was the sense I got. It sounded like gossip to me.’

‘Monsieur,’ said Poirot in his most authoritative voice. ‘If you should happen to remember anything else about this conversation, anything at all, please inform me without delay.’

‘I shall, sir. Now that I think about it, the young man might have deserted the older woman and eloped with another woman. Idle gossip, that’s all it was.’

‘So …’ Poirot started to pace the length of the room. It was strange to see more than a hundred heads turn slowly, then turn back as he retraced his steps. ‘We have Richard Negus, Harriet Sippel and Ida Gransbury—one man and two women—in Room 317, talking cattishly about one man and two women!’

‘But what’s the significance of that, Poirot?’ I asked.

‘It might not be significant. It is interesting, however. And the idle gossip, the laughter, the afternoon tea for dinner … This tells us that our three murder victims were not strangers but acquaintances on friendly terms, unaware of the fate that would shortly befall them.’

A sudden movement startled me. At the table immediately in front of where Poirot and I were standing, a black-haired, pale-faced young man had bounced out of his seat as if propelled from underneath. I would have assumed he was eager to say something were it not for the terror-frozen expression on his face.

‘This is one of our junior clerks, Mr Thomas Brignell,’ said Lazzari, presenting the man with a flourish of his hand.

‘They were more than on friendly terms, sir,’ Brignell breathed after a protracted silence. No one sitting behind him could have heard what he said, his voice was so quiet. ‘They were good friends. They knew each other well.’

‘Of course they were good friends!’ Lazzari announced to the room. ‘They ate a meal together!’

‘Many people eat meals every day with those they dislike profoundly,’ said Poirot. ‘Please continue, Mr Brignell.’

‘When I met Mr Negus last night, he was concerned for the two ladies as only a good friend would be,’ Thomas Brignell whispered at us.

‘You met him?’ I said. ‘When? Where?’

‘Half past seven, sir.’ He pointed towards the dining room’s double doors. I noticed that his arm was shaking. ‘Right outside here. I walked out and saw him going towards the lift. He saw me and stopped, called me over. I assumed he was making his way back to his room.’

‘What did he say to you?’ Poirot asked.

‘He … he asked me to make sure that the meal was charged to him and not to either of the ladies. He could afford it, he said, but Mrs Sippel and Miss Gransbury could not.’

‘Was that all he said, monsieur?’

‘Yes.’ Brignell looked as if he might faint if he was required to produce one more word.

‘Thank you, Mr Brignell,’ I said as warmly as I could. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’ Immediately I felt guilty for not having thanked Rafal Bobak in a similar manner, so I added, ‘As have you, Mr Bobak. As have you all.’

‘Catchpool,’ Poirot murmured. ‘Most people in this room have said nothing.’

‘They have listened attentively and applied their minds to the problems presented to them. I think they deserve credit for that.’

‘You have faith in their minds, yes? Perhaps these are the hundred people you call upon when we disagree? Bien, if we were to ask these hundred people …’ Poirot turned back to the crowd. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have heard that Richard Negus, Harriet Sippel and Ida Gransbury were friends, and that their food was delivered to Room 317 at fifteen minutes past seven. Yet at half past seven, Mr Brignell saw Richard Negus on this floor of the hotel, walking towards the lift. Mr Negus must have been returning, n’est-ce pas,either to his own room, 238, or to Room 317 to join his two friends? But returning from where? His sandwiches and cakes were delivered only fifteen minutes earlier! Did he abandon them immediately and set off somewhere? Or did he eat his share of the food in only three or four minutes before rushing off? And to where did he rush? What was the important errand for which he left Room 317? Was it to ensure that the food should not end up on the bill of Harriet Sippel or Ida Gransbury? He could not wait twenty or thirty minutes, or an hour, before setting off to attend to this matter?’

A sturdily built woman with curly brown hair and severe eyebrows sprang to her feet at the back of the room. ‘You keep asking all these questions as if I might know the answer, as if we all might know the answers, and we don’t know nothing!’ Her eyes darted around the room as she spoke, settling on one person after another, though her words were addressed to Poirot. ‘I want to go home, Mr Lazzari,’ she wailed. ‘I want to look in on my kiddies and see that they’re safe!’

A younger woman sitting beside her put a hand on her arm and tried to calm her. ‘Sit down, Tessie,’ she said. ‘The gentleman’s only trying to help. Your bairns won’t have come to any harm, not if they’ve been nowhere near the Bloxham.’