The Monogram Murders(28)
Poirot came to a standstill. He had been walking too fast and was out of breath. “Catchpool,” he gasped, mopping his brow with a neatly folded handkerchief that he had pulled from his vest pocket. “Ask yourself what is the first event in this chain of events that I have presented to you. Is it not the tragic deaths of the vicar and his wife?”
“Well, yes, but only if we allow that they’re part of the same story as the three Bloxham murders. There’s no evidence of that, Poirot. I still contend that this poor vicar chap might be neither here nor there.”
“Just as la pauvre Jennie may be neither there nor here?”
“Exactly.”
We continued along the street.
“Have you ever tried to do a crossword puzzle, Poirot? Because . . . well, you know I’m trying to knock one together at the moment, one of my own?”
“It would be impossible to reside in such proximity to you as I do and not know, mon ami.”
“Yes. Right. Well, I’ve noticed something that happens when you’re trying to puzzle out a crossword clue. It’s interesting. Let’s say you have the clue ‘Kitchen utensil, three letters,’ and you have the letter ‘P’ as the first letter. It’s very easy to think, ‘Well, it has to be “pot” because that has three letters and begins with “P,” and a pot is a kitchen utensil.’ So you tell yourself it must be true, when all the while the right answer is ‘pan’—also three letters, also a kitchen utensil beginning with P. Do you see?”
“That example does not serve you well, Catchpool. In the situation you describe, I would think of both ‘pot’ and ‘pan’ as being equally likely to be correct. Only a fool would consider one and not the other when both fit perfectly.”
“All right, if you want something equally likely to be correct, how about this theory: Richard Negus refused to go to church or have a Bible in his room because whatever misfortune had afflicted him in Great Holling had dented his faith a little? Doesn’t that sound as if it could also be a perfect fit? And it might have nothing to do with the deaths of the vicar and his wife. Richard Negus wouldn’t be the first to find himself in sore straits and wonder if God loved him quite as much as he seems to love everyone else!” That came out more vehemently than I had intended.
“Have you wondered this yourself, Catchpool?” Poirot laid his hand on my sleeve to stop me marching along. I sometimes forget that my legs are much longer than his.
“As a matter of fact, I have. It didn’t stop me going to church, but I can see how it would with some people.” For instance, those who would object rather than silently concur if told their brains were pincushions, I thought. To Poirot I said, “I suppose it all depends whether you hold yourself or God responsible for your problems.”
“Did your predicament involve a woman?”
“Several fine specimens, all of whom my parents fervently hoped I would marry. I stood firm and inflicted myself upon none of them.” I started to walk again, briskly.
Poirot hurried to catch me up. “So according to your wisdom, we must forget about the tragically deceased vicar and his wife? We must pretend we do not know about this event in case we are led by it to a mistaken conclusion? And we must forget about Jennie for the same reason?”
“Well, no, I wouldn’t say that’s the right course of action. I’m not suggesting we forget anything, only that—”
“I will tell you the right action! You must go to Great Holling. Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard Negus, they are not simply three pieces of a puzzle. They are not merely objects we move around in an attempt to fit them into a pattern. Before their deaths, they were people with lives and emotions: the foolish predispositions, perhaps the moments of great wisdom and insight. You must go to the village where they all lived and find out who they are, Catchpool.”
“Me? You mean us?”
“Non, mon ami. Poirot, he will stay in London. I need only to move my mind, not my body, in order to make progress. No, you will go, and you will bring back to me the fullest account of your travels. That will be sufficient. Take with you two lists of names: guests at the Bloxham Hotel on Wednesday and Thursday nights, and employees of the Bloxham Hotel. Find out if anyone in this cursed village recognizes any of the names. Ask about Jennie and PIJ. Make sure not to return until you have discovered the story about this vicar and his wife and their tragic deaths in 1913.”
“Poirot, you’ve got to come with me,” I said rather desperately. “I’m out of my depth with this Bloxham business. I am relying on you.”
“You may continue to do so, mon ami. We will go to the house of Mrs. Blanche Unsworth and there we will assemble our thoughts so that you do not arrive in Great Holling unprepared.”
He always called it “the house of Mrs. Blanche Unsworth.” Every time he did, it reminded me that I too had once thought of it in those terms, before I started to call it “home.”
“ASSEMBLING OUR THOUGHTS” TURNED out to mean Poirot standing by the fire in the excessively lavender-fringed drawing room and dictating to me, while I sat in a chair nearby and wrote down every word he said. I have never, before or since, heard anyone speak in such a perfectly orderly way. I tried to protest that he was making me write down many things of which I was already fully aware, and I got the benefit of his long and earnest disquisition on the subject of “the importance of the method.” Apparently my pincushion brain cannot be expected to remember anything, so I need a written record to refer to.