Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery by Agatha Christie
His voice died away. Superintendent Sugden, staring at him with round, startled eyes, said in an awed voice:
‘Funny—that’s what she said—the lady…’
Poirot said sharply:
‘What lady? What was it she said?’
Sugden answered: ‘Mrs Lee—Mrs Alfred. Stood over there by the door and half whispered it. It didn’t make sense to me.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Something about who would have thought the old gentleman had so much blood in him…’
Poirot said softly:
‘ “Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?” The words of Lady Macbeth. She said that…Ah, that is interesting…’
VIII
Alfred Lee and his wife came into the small study where Poirot, Sugden and the chief constable were standing waiting. Colonel Johnson came forward.
‘How do you do, Mr Lee? We’ve never actually met, but as you know, I’m chief constable of the county. Johnson’s my name. I can’t tell you how distressed I am by this.’
Alfred, his brown eyes like those of a suffering dog, said hoarsely:
‘Thank you. It’s terrible—quite terrible. I—this is my wife.’
Lydia said in her quiet voice:
‘It has been a frightful shock to my husband—to all of us—but particularly to him.’
Her hand was on her husband’s shoulder.
Colonel Johnson said:
‘Won’t you sit down, Mrs Lee? Let me introduce M. Hercule Poirot.’
Hercule Poirot bowed. His eyes went interestedly from husband to wife.
Lydia’s hands pressed gently on Alfred’s shoulder.
‘Sit down, Alfred.’
Alfred sat. He murmured:
‘Hercule Poirot. Now, who—who—?’
He passed his hand in a dazed fashion over his forehead.
Lydia Lee said:
‘Colonel Johnson will want to ask you a lot of questions, Alfred.’
The chief constable looked at her with approval. He was thankful that Mrs Alfred Lee was turning out to be such a sensible and competent woman.
Alfred said:
‘Of course. Of course…’
Johnson said to himself;
‘Shock seems to have knocked him out completely. Hope he can pull himself together a bit.’
Aloud he said:
‘I’ve got a list here of everybody who was in the house tonight. Perhaps you’ll tell me, Mr Lee, if it is correct.’
He made a slight gesture to Sugden and the latter pulled out his note-book and once more recited the list of names.
The businesslike procedure seemed to restore Alfred Lee to something more like his normal self. He had regained command of himself, his eyes no longer looked dazed and staring. When Sugden finished, he nodded in agreement.
‘That’s quite right,’ he said.
‘Do you mind telling me a little more about your guests? Mr and Mrs George Lee and Mr and Mrs David Lee are, I gather, relatives?’
‘They are my two younger brothers and their wives.’
‘They are staying here only?’
‘Yes, they came to us for Christmas.’
‘Mr Henry Lee is also a brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your two other guests? Miss Estravados and Mr Farr?’
‘Miss Estravados is my niece. Mr Farr is the son of my father’s one-time partner in South Africa.’
‘Ah, an old friend.’
Lydia intervened.
‘No, actually we have never seen him before.’
‘I see. But you invited him to stay with you for Christmas?’
Alfred hesitated, then looked towards his wife. She said clearly:
‘Mr Farr turned up quite unexpectedly yesterday. He happened to be in the neighbourhood and came to call upon my father-in-law. When my father-in-law found he was the son of his old friend and partner, he insisted on his remaining with us for Christmas.’
Colonel Johnson said:
‘I see. That explains the household. As regards the servants, Mrs Lee, do you consider them all trustworthy?’
Lydia considered for a moment before replying. Then she said:
‘Yes. I am quite sure they are all thoroughly reliable. They have mostly been with us for many years. Tressilian, the butler, has been here since my husband was a young child. The only newcomers are the betweenmaid, Joan, and the nurse-valet who attended on my father-in-law.’
‘What about them?’
‘Joan is rather a silly little thing. That is the worst that can be said of her. I know very little about Horbury. He has been here just over a year. He was quite competent at his job and my father-in-law seemed satisfied with him.’
Poirot said acutely:
‘But you, madame, were not so satisfied?’
Lydia shrugged her shoulders slightly.
‘It was nothing to do with me.’
‘But you are the mistress of the house, madame. The servants are your concern?’
‘Oh yes, of course. But Horbury was my father-in-law’s personal attendant. He did not come under my jurisdiction.’
‘I see.’
Colonel Johnson said:
‘We come now to the events of tonight. I’m afraid this will be painful for you, Mr Lee, but I would like your account of what happened.’
Alfred said in a low voice: ‘Of course.’
Colonel Johnson said, prompting him:
‘When, for instance, did you last see your father?’
A slight spasm of pain crossed Alfred’s face as he replied in a low voice:
‘It was after tea. I was with him for a short time. Finally I said goodnight to him and left him at—let me see—about a quarter to six.’
Poirot observed: ‘You said goodnight to him? You did not then expect to see him again that evening?’
‘No. My father’s supper, a light meal, was always brought to him at seven. After that he sometimes went to bed early or sometimes sat up in his chair, but he did not expect to see any members of the family again unless he specially sent for them.’
‘Did he often send for them?’
‘Sometimes. If he felt like it.’
‘But it was not the ordinary procedure?’
‘No.’
‘Go on, please, Mr Lee.’
Alfred continued:
‘We had our dinner at eight o’clock. Dinner was over and my wife and the other ladies had gone into the drawing-room.’ His voice faltered. His eyes began to stare again. ‘We were sitting there—at the table…Suddenly there was the most astounding noise overheard. Chairs overturning, furniture crashing, breaking glass and china, and then—Oh, God’—he shuddered—‘I can hear it still—my father screamed—a horrible, long-drawn scream—the scream of a man in mortal agony…’
He raised shaking hands to cover his face. Lydia stretched out her hand and touched his sleeve. Colonel Johnson said gently: ‘And then?’
Alfred said in a broken voice:
‘I think—just for a moment we were stunned. Then we sprang up and went out of the door and up the stairs to my father’s room. The door was locked. We couldn’t get in. It had to be broken open. Then, when we did get in, we saw—’
His voice died away.
Johnson said quickly:
‘There’s no need to go into that part of it, Mr Lee. To go back a little, to the time you were in the dining-room. Who was there with you when you heard the cry?’
‘Who was there? Why, we were all—No, let me see. My brother was there—my brother Harry.’
‘Nobody else?’
‘No one else.’
‘Where were the other gentlemen?’
Alfred sighed and frowned in an effort of remembrance.
‘Let me see—it seems so long ago—yes, like years—what did happen? Oh, of course, George had gone to telephone. Then we began to talk of family matters, and Stephen Farr said something about seeing we wanted to discuss thi
‘And your brother David?’
Alfred frowned.
‘David? Wasn’t he there? No, of course, he wasn’t. I don’t quite know when he slipped away.’
Poirot said gently:
‘So you had the family matters to discuss?’
‘Er—yes.’
‘That is to say, you had matters to discuss with one member of your family?’
Lydia said:
‘What do you mean, M. Poirot?’
He turned quickly to her.
‘Madame, your husband says that Mr Farr left them because he saw they had affairs of the family to discuss. But it was not a conseil de famille, since M. David was not there and M. George was not there. It was, then, a discussion between two members of the family only.’
Lydia said:
‘My brother-in-law, Harry, had been abroad for a great number of years. It was natural that he and my husband should have things to talk over.’
‘Ah! I see. It was like that.’
She shot him a quick glance, then turned her eyes away.
Johnson said:
‘Well, that seems clear enough. Did you notice anyone else as you ran upstairs to your father’s room?’
‘I—really I don’t know. I think so. We all came from different directions. But I’m afraid I didn’t notice—I was so alarmed. That terrible cry…’
Colonel Johnson passed quickly to another subject.
‘Thank you, Mr Lee. Now, there is another point. I understand that your father had some valuable diamonds in his possession.’
Alfred looked rather surprised.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is so.’
‘Where did he keep them?’
‘In the safe in his room.’
‘Can you describe them at all?’
‘They were rough diamonds—that is, uncut stones.’
‘Why did your father have them there?’
‘It was a whim of his. They were stones he had brought with him from South Africa. He never had them cut. He just liked keeping them in his possession. As I say, it was a whim of his.’
‘I see,’ said the chief constable.
From his tone it was plain that he did not see. He went on: ‘Were they of much value?’
‘My father estimated their value at about ten thousand pounds.’
‘In fact, they were very valuable stones?’
‘Yes.’
‘It seems a curious idea to keep such stones in a bedroom safe.’
Lydia interposed.
‘My father-in-law, Colonel Johnson, was a somewhat curious man. His ideas were not the conventional ones. It definitely gave him pleasure to handle those stones.’
‘They recalled, perhaps, the past to him,’ said Poirot.
She gave him a quick appreciative look.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think they did.’
‘Were they insured?’ asked the chief constable.
‘I think not.’
Johnson leaned forward. He asked quietly:
‘Did you know, Mr Lee, that those stones had been stolen?’
‘What?’ Alfred Lee stared at him.
‘Your father said nothing to you of their disappearance?’
‘Not a word.’
‘You did not know that he had sent for Superintendent Sugden here and had reported the loss to him?’
‘I hadn’t the faintest idea of such a thing!’
The chief constable transferred his gaze.
‘What about you, Mrs Lee?’
Lydia shook her head.
‘I heard nothing about it.’
‘As far as you knew, the stones were still in the safe?’
‘Yes.’
She hesitated and then asked:
‘Is that why he was killed? For the sake of those stones?’
Colonel Johnson said:
‘That is what we are going to find out!’
He went on:
‘Have you any idea, Mrs Lee, who could have engineered such a theft?’
She shook her head.
‘No, indeed. I am sure the servants are all honest. In any case, it would be very difficult for them to get at the safe. My father-in-law was always in his room. He never came downstairs.’
‘Who attended to the room?’
‘Horbury. He made the bed and dusted. The second housemaid went in to do the grate and lay the fire every morning, otherwise Horbury did everything.’
Poirot said:
‘So Horbury would be the person with the best opportunity?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think that it was he who stole the diamonds, then?’
‘It is possible. I suppose…He had the best opportunity. Oh! I don’t know what to think.’
Colonel Johnson said:
‘Your husband has given us his account of the evening. Will you do the same, Mrs Lee? When did you last see your father-in-law?’
‘We were all up in his room this afternoon—before tea. That was the last time I saw him.’
‘You did not see him later to bid him goodnight?’
‘No.’
Poirot said:
‘Do you usually go and say goodnight to him?’
Lydia said sharply:
‘No.’
The chief constable went on:
‘Where were you when the crime took place?’
‘In the drawing-room.’
‘You heard the noise of the struggle?’
‘I think I heard something heavy fall. Of course my father-in-law’s room is over the dining-room, not the drawing-room, so I shouldn’t hear so much.’
‘But you heard the cry?’
Lydia shuddered.
‘Yes, I heard that…It was horrible—like—like a soul in hell. I knew at once something dreadful had happened. I hurried out and followed my husband and Harry up the stairs.’
‘Who else was in the drawing-room at the time?’
Lydia frowned.
‘Really—I can’t remember. David was next door in the music-room, playing Mendelssohn. I think Hilda had gone to join him.’
‘And the other two ladies?’
Lydia said slowly:
‘Magdalene went to telephone. I can’t remember whether she had come back or not. I don’t know where Pilar was.’
Poirot said gently:
‘In fact, you may have been quite alone in the drawing-room?’
‘Yes—yes—as a matter of fact, I believe I was.’
Colonel Johnson said:
‘About these diamonds. We ought, I think, to make quite sure about them. Do you know the combination of your father’s safe, Mr Lee? I see it is of a somewhat old-fashioned pattern.’
‘You will find it written down in a small note-book he carried in the pocket of his dressing-gown.’
‘Good. We will go and look presently. It will be better, perhaps, if we interview the other members of the house-party first. The ladies may want to get to bed.’
Lydia stood up.
‘Come, Alfred.’ She turned to them. ‘Shall I send them in to you?’
‘One by one, if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs Lee.’
‘Certainly.’
She moved towards the door. Alfred followed her.
Suddenly, at the last moment, he swung round.
‘Of course,’ he said. He came quickly back to Poirot. ‘You are Hercule Poirot! I don’t know where my wits have been. I should have realized at once.’
He spoke quickly, in a low, excited voice.
‘It’s an absolute godsend your being here! You must find out the truth, M. Poirot. Spare no expense! I will be responsible for any expense. But find out…My poor father—killed by someone—killed with the utmost brutality! You must find out, M. Poirot. My father has got to be avenged.’
Poirot answered quietly:
‘I can assure you, M. Lee, that I am prepared to do my utmost to assist Colonel Johnson and Supe
Alfred Lee said:
‘I want you to work for me. My father has got to be avenged.’
He began to tremble violently. Lydia had come back. She went up to him and drew his arm through hers.
‘Come, Alfred,’ she said. ‘We must get the others.’
Her eyes met Poirot’s. They were eyes that kept their own secrets. They did not waver.
Poirot said softly:
‘Who would have thought the old man—’
She interrupted him:
‘Stop! Don’t say that!’
Poirot murmured:
‘You said it, madame.’
She breathed softly:
‘I know…I remember…It was—so horrible.’
Then she went abruptly out of the room, her husband beside her.
IX
George Lee was solemn and correct.
‘A terrible business,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘A terrible, terrible business. I can only believe that it must—er—have been the work of a lunatic!’
Colonel Johnson said politely:
‘That is your theory?’
‘Yes. Yes, indeed. A homicidal maniac. Escaped, perhaps, from some mental home in the vicinity.’
Superintendent Sugden put in:
‘And how do you suggest this—er—lunatic gained admittance to the house, Mr Lee? And how did he leave it?’
George shook his head.
‘That,’ he said firmly, ‘is for the police to discover.’
Sugden said:
‘We made the round of the house at once. All windows were closed and barred. The side door was locked, so was the front door. Nobody could have left by the kitchen premises without being seen by the kitchen staff.’
George Lee cried:
‘But that’s absurd! You’ll be saying next that my father was never murdered at all!’
‘He was murdered all right,’ said Superintendent Sugden. ‘There’s no doubt about that.’
The chief constable cleared his throat and took up the questioning.
‘Just where were you, Mr Lee, at the time of the crime?’
‘I was in the dining-room. It was just after dinner. No, I was, I think, in this room. I had just finished telephoning.’
‘You had been telephoning?’
‘Yes. I had put a call through to the Conservative agent in Westeringham—my constituency. Some urgent matters.’