The Monogram Murders: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery. Sophie Hannah

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СКАЧАТЬ of people eating ordinary things like toast and marmalade at the tables below a work of art such as this—not even looking up, perhaps, as they sliced the tops off their boiled eggs.

      I was trying to make sense of the complete design, and how the different parts of the ceiling related to one another, when a disconsolate Luca Lazzari rushed towards me, interrupting my admiration of the artistic symmetry above my head with his loud lament. ‘Mr Catchpool, Monsieur Poirot, I must apologize to you most profusely! I have hurried to assist you in your important work, and, in doing so, I have put forward a falsehood! It was simply, you see, that I heard many accounts, and my first attempt to collate them was not successful. My own foolishness was responsible! No one else was at fault. Ah—’

      Lazzari broke off and looked over his shoulder at the hundred or so men and women in the room. Then he moved to his left, so that he was standing directly in front of Poirot, and stuck out his chest in a funny sort of way. He put his hands on his hips. I think he was hoping to hide his entire staff from Poirot’s disapproving eye, on the principle that if they couldn’t be seen, they couldn’t be blamed for anything.

      ‘What was your mistake, Signor Lazzari?’ Poirot asked.

      ‘It was a grave error! You observed that it was surely not possible, and you were right. But I want you to understand that my excellent staff, whom you see here before you, told me the truth of what took place, and it was I who twisted that truth to mislead—but I did not do it deliberately!’

      ‘Je comprends. Now, to correct the mistake …?’ said Poirot hopefully.

      The ‘excellent’ staff, meanwhile, sat silently at large round tables, listening carefully to every word. The mood was sombre. I made a quick survey of the faces and saw not a single smile.

      ‘I told you that the three deceased guests asked to have dinner served in their rooms at a quarter past seven yesterday evening—each separately,’ Lazzari said. ‘This is not true! The three were together! They dined as a group! All in one room, Ida Gransbury’s room, number 317. One waiter, not three, saw them alive and well at a quarter past seven. Do you see, Monsieur Poirot? It is not the great coincidence that I conveyed to you, but, instead, a commonplace occurrence: three guests taking dinner together in the room of one!’

      ‘Bon.’ Poirot sounded satisfied. ‘That makes sense of that. And who was this one waiter?’

      A stout, bald man seated at one of the tables rose to his feet. He looked to be around fifty, and had the jowlish tendency and mournful eyes of a Basset Hound. ‘It was I, sir,’ he said.

      ‘What is your name, monsieur?’

      ‘Rafal Bobak, sir.’

      ‘You served dinner to Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard Negus in Room 317 at fifteen minutes past seven yesterday evening?’ Poirot asked him.

      ‘Not dinner, sir,’ said Bobak. ‘Afternoon tea—that was what Mr Negus ordered. Afternoon tea at dinner time. He asked if that was all right or if I was going to force them to have what he called “a dinner sort of dinner”. Told me that he and his friends were of one mind as not being in the mood for one of those. Said they’d rather have afternoon tea. I told him he could have whatever he wanted, sir. He asked for sandwiches—ham, cheese, salmon and cucumber—and an assortment of cakes. And scones, sir, with jam and cream.’

      ‘And beverages?’ Poirot asked.

      ‘Tea, sir. For all three of them.’

      ‘D’accord. And the sherry for Richard Negus?’

      Rafal Bobak shook his head. ‘No, sir. No sherry. Mr Negus didn’t ask me for a sherry. I didn’t take a glass of sherry up to Room 317.’

      ‘You are certain of this?’

      ‘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 СКАЧАТЬ