The Monogram Murders (43 page)

The Blue Jug and Bowl

A FEW PEOPLE CRIED out in alarm. There is a strong

chance that I was one of them. It is strange: I have

seen many dead bodies, thanks to my work for

Scotland Yard, and have on occasion found the sight

of them disturbing—yet no regular corpse could be as

horrifying a prospect as a dead woman propped up as

if alive and partaking of a jolly afternoon tea with

friends.

Poor Rafal Bobak looked rather shivery and

wobbly lipped, no doubt reflecting that he had been

closer to the monstrosity than any sane person would

wish to be.

“This is why the food had to be delivered to Ida

Gransbury’s room,” Poirot went on. “Richard Negus’s

room, 238, would have been the most convenient

meeting point for the three victims, as it was on the

second floor between the other two rooms. The

afternoon tea would then have been added to Mr.

Negus’s bill without his having to make a point of

requesting this. But of course Room 238 could not be

the room in which our three murder victims were seen

alive by Rafal Bobak at a quarter past seven! That

would have involved carrying Ida Gransbury’s dead

body from her room, 317, in which she had been

killed some hours earlier, through the corridors of the

hotel to Richard Negus’s room. It would have been

too great a risk. Someone would almost certainly

have seen.”

The shocked faces of the bewildered crowd were

something to behold. I wondered if Luca Lazzari

would soon be seeking new staff. I definitely had no

intention of returning to the Bloxham once this

unpleasant business was concluded, and I imagined

that many in the room felt the same way.

Poirot proceeded with his explanations. “Reflect,

ladies and gentlemen, upon the munificence, the

largesse
, of Mr. Richard Negus. Ah, how generous he

was, insisting on paying for the food and the tea, also

paying for Harriet and Ida each to travel alone to the

hotel in a car. Why would they not come by train

together and share a car to the hotel? And why should

Richard Negus care so passionately about making

sure that the bill for the food and beverages was sent

to him, when he knew that he, Harriet Sippel and Ida

Gransbury were all about to die?”

It was a very good question. All the points that

Poirot was making were pertinent, and, moreover,

were things I should have thought of myself.

Somehow, I had failed to notice that so many aspects

of Jennie Hobbs’s story did not fit with the facts of the

case. How could I have missed such glaring

inconsistencies?

Poirot said, “The man who impersonated Richard

Negus at fifteen minutes past seven for the benefit of

Rafal Bobak, and again at half past for the benefit of

Mr. Thomas Brignell, did not care about any bill! He

knew that neither he nor his accomplices would have

to pay it. He had been outside to dispose of the food.

How did he transport it? In a suitcase! Catchpool—do

you remember the tramp you saw near the hotel, when

we took our trip on a bus? A tramp eating food from a

suitcase,
non
? You described him as ‘the tramp that

got the cream.’ Tell me, did you see him eating cream

specifically?”

“Oh, my goodness. Yes, I did! He was eating a . . .

a cake, with cream in it.”

Poirot nodded. “From the suitcase he found

discarded near the Bloxham Hotel, pleasingly full of

afternoon tea for three! Now, here is another test for

your memory,
mon ami:
do you remember telling me,

on my first visit to the Bloxham, that Ida Gransbury

had brought enough clothes with her to fill an entire

wardrobe? And yet she had only one suitcase in her

room—the same number as Richard Negus and

Harriet Sippel, who had brought considerably fewer

clothes with them. This afternoon, I asked you to pack

Miss Gransbury’s garments into her case, and what

did you find?”

“They wouldn’t fit,” I said, feeling like a prize

chump. It seemed that I was doomed to feel idiotic in

relation to Ida Gransbury’s suitcase, but now for a

different reason from before.

“You blamed yourself,” said Poirot. “It is your

preference to do so always, but in fact it was

impossible for all the clothes to fit in, because they

had been brought to the Bloxham in two suitcases.

Even Hercule Poirot, he could not have made them

fit!”

To the assembled hotel staff, he said, “It was on

his way back from disposing of the suitcase full of

food that this man met the Bloxham’s assistant clerk,

Thomas Brignell, near the door to this room in which

we are gathered. Why did he engage Brignell in

discussion about the bill? For one reason only:
to

impress upon Brignell that Richard Negus was still

alive at half past seven
. Playing the role of Mr.

Negus, he said something inaccurate: that Negus could

afford to pay, whereas Harriet Sippel and Ida

Gransbury could not. This was not true! Henry Negus,

Richard’s brother, can confirm that Richard had no

income and very little family money left. But the man

impersonating Richard Negus did not know this. He

assumed that since Richard Negus was a gentleman,

once a lawyer by profession, he was bound to have

plenty of money.

“When Henry Negus first spoke to Catchpool and

myself, he told us that since moving to Devon, his

brother Richard had been morose and doom laden. He

was a recluse with no appetite for life—correct, Mr.

Negus?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Henry Negus.

“A recluse! I ask you, does this sound like a man

who would indulge himself in sherry and cake, and

gossip in a cavalier fashion with two women in a

fancy London hotel? No! The man who received the

afternoon tea from Rafal Bobak, and for whom

Thomas Brignell fetched the sherry, was not Richard

Negus. This man, he complimented Mr. Brignell on

his efficiency and said something approximating the

following: ‘I know I can rely on you to sort this out,

since you are so efficient—bill the food and

beverages to me, Richard Negus, Room 238.’ His

words were calculated to make Thomas Brignell

believe that this man, this Richard Negus, was

familiar with his level of efficiency,
and that

therefore they must have encountered one another

before
. Mr. Brignell might feel a little guilty, perhaps,

because he does not remember his previous dealings

with Mr. Negus—and he will resolve not to forget

him again. He will remember from now on this man

whom he has met twice. Naturally, working in a large

London hotel, he meets people all the time, hundreds

every day! It often happens, I am sure, that guests

know his name and face while he has forgotten theirs

—after all, they are simply,
en masse,
‘the guests’!”

“Excuse me, Monsieur Poirot, I beg your pardon.”

Luca Lazzari hurried forward. “Broadly speaking, you

are quite right, but not, as chance would have it, in the

case of Thomas Brignell. He has an exceptional

memory for faces and names. Exceptional!”

Poirot smiled appreciatively. “Is that so?
Bon.

Then I am right.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Be patient and listen, Catchpool. I will explain

the sequence of events. The man impersonating

Richard Negus was in the lobby of the hotel when Mr.

Negus checked in on Wednesday, the day before the

murders. Probably he wanted to survey the territory in

preparation for the role he was to play later. In any

case, he saw Richard Negus arrive. How did he know

it was Richard Negus? I will come back to that point.

Suffice to say, he knew. He saw
Thomas Brignell

undertake the necessary paperwork and then hand Mr.

Negus the key to his room. The following evening,

after posing as Mr. Negus to receive the afternoon tea

and then going outside to dispose of it, this man is on

his way back to Room 317 and he passes Thomas

Brignell. He is a quick-thinking individual, and he

sees a superb opportunity to consolidate the

misleading of the police. He approaches Brignell and

addresses him as if he, this impostor, were Richard

Negus. He reminds Brignell of his name and alludes

to a previous meeting.

“In fact, Thomas Brignell has never met this man

before, but he remembers the name from when he

gave the real Richard Negus his room key. Here,

suddenly, is a man speaking to him in a confident,

friendly and knowledgeable fashion and calling

himself by that same name. Thomas Brignell
assumes

that he must be Richard Negus
. He does not recall

his face, but he blames only himself for this lapse.”

Thomas Brignell’s face had turned as red as claret.

Poirot went on, “The man impersonating Richard

Negus asked for a glass of sherry. Why? To extend his

encounter with Brignell a little, thereby imprinting it

more strongly on the clerk’s memory? To soothe

agitated nerves with some liquor? Maybe for both of

these reasons.

“Now, if you will permit me a small digression: in

the remains of this glass of sherry, the poison cyanide

was found, as it was in Harriet Sippel’s and Ida

Gransbury’s cups of tea. But it was not the tea or the

sherry that killed the three murder victims. It cannot

have been. These beverages arrived too late to kill,

long after the murders had been committed. The

sherry glass and the two teacups on the occasional

tables next to the three bodies—they were essential

for the staging of the crime scenes, to give the false

impression that the killings must have occurred
after

a quarter past seven. In fact, the cyanide that killed

Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard Negus

was given to them much earlier and by another means.

There is a water glass by the basin in each room of

the hotel, is there not, Signor Lazzari?”

“
Si,
Monsieur Poirot. Yes, there is.”

“Then I expect that is how the poison was

consumed: in water. The glass, in each case, was then

carefully washed and replaced by the basin. Mr.

Brignell,” Poirot addressed him unexpectedly,

causing the assistant clerk to duck in his seat as if

someone had taken a shot at him. “You do not like to

speak in public, but you plucked up the courage to do

so the first time we all gathered in this room. You told

us of your encounter with Mr. Negus in the corridor,

but
you did not mention the sherry, even though I

had specifically asked about it.
Later, you sought me

out and added the detail about the sherry to your story.

When I asked you why you did not originally mention

it, you gave me no answer. I did not understand why,

but my friend here, Catchpool—he said something

most perceptive and illuminating. He said that you are

a conscientious man
who would only withhold

information in a murder enquiry if it caused you

great personal embarrassment, and if you were sure

it had nothing to do with the murder case
. He hit

upon the head of the nail with this assessment, did he

not?”

Brignell gave a small nod.

“Allow me to explain.” Poirot raised his voice,

though it was quite loud enough in the first place.

“When we met here in this room before, I asked if

anybody had taken sherry to Mr. Negus in his room.

No one spoke up. Why did Thomas Brignell not say,

‘I did not take it up to his room, but I did fetch for him

a glass of sherry?’ Poirot will tell you! He did not do

so because he had doubts in his mind, and he did not

want to risk saying something that was not true.

“Mr. Brignell was the only member of the hotel

staff to see any of the three murder victims more than

once—or, to be more precise,
he
had been led to

believe
that he had seen Richard Negus more than