The Monogram Murders(20)
“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 toward the dining room’s double doors. I noticed that his arm was shaking. “Right outside here. I walked out and saw him going toward 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 toward 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.”
At this remark, intended as a comfort, both Luca Lazzari and Sturdy Tessie made anguished noises.
“We won’t keep you much longer, madam,” I said. “And I’m sure Mr. Lazzari will allow you to pay a visit to your children afterward, if that is what you feel you need to do.”
Lazzari indicated that this would be permissible, and Tessie sat down, slightly mollified.
I turned to Poirot and said, “Richard Negus did not leave Room 317 in order to clear up the matter of the bill. He ran into Thomas Brignell on his way back from somewhere, so he had already done whatever it was that he set out to do by that point. He then happened to spot Mr. Brignell and decided to clear up the matter of the bill.” I hoped, with this little speech, to demonstrate to all present that we had answers as well as questions. Perhaps not all the answers yet, but some, and some was better than none.
“Monsieur Brignell, did you have the impression that Mr. Negus happened to see you and take his opportunity, as Mr. Catchpool describes? He was not looking for you? It was you who attended to him when he arrived at the hotel on Wednesday, yes?
“That’s right, sir. No, he wasn’t looking for me.” Brignell seemed happier about speaking while seated. “He chanced upon me and thought, ‘Oh, there’s that chap again,’ if you know what I mean, sir.”