The Monogram Murders(55)

“I wouldn’t and I don’t. You’ve got to be careful what questions you ask the question-asking sort. Did you find out anything else about Jennie?”

“Nothing I can tell you, I’m afraid.”

“Then why don’t I tell you something instead? Mr. Poirot’ll want to know.” Fee propelled me toward an unoccupied table. We sat down. She said, “That night Jennie came in, when she was all sixes and sevens—last Thursday. I told Mr. Poirot I noticed something, and then it escaped me. Well, I’ve remembered what it was. It was dark, and I hadn’t pulled the curtains across. I never do. Might as well light up the alley, I always think. And folk who can see in are more likely to come in.”

“Especially if they catch sight of you in the window,” I teased her.

Her eyes widened. “That’s just it,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“After I made her shut the door, Jennie darted over to the window and stared out. She was acting as if someone out there was after her. She stared and stared out of the window, but all she would have seen was herself, this room, and me—my reflection, I mean. And I saw her. That’s how I knew who she was. You ask Mr. Poirot, he’ll tell you. I said, ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ before she’d turned round. The window was like a mirror, see, with it being all lit up in here and dark outside. Now, you might say that maybe she was trying to see outside even if she wasn’t having much luck, but that’s not true.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wasn’t looking out for anyone following her. She was watching me, like I was watching her. My eyes could see hers reflected, and hers could see mine—like with a mirror, if you know how that is?”

I nodded. “Whenever you can see someone in a mirror, they can always see you too.”

“Right enough. And Jennie was watching me, I swear: waiting to see what I’d say or do about her coming in all of a pet. This’ll sound funny, Mr. Catchpool, but it was like I could see more than her eyes. I could see her mind, if that don’t sound too fanciful. I’d swear she was waiting for me to take charge.”

“Anyone sensible would wait for you to take charge.” I smiled.

“Tschk.” Fee made a noise that suggested irritation. “I don’t know how I forgot it, if you must know. I want to grab hold of me and give me a good shaking for not remembering before now. I swear I didn’t imagine it. Her reflection was staring mine right in the eyes, as if . . .” Fee frowned. “As if I was the danger and not nobody outside on the street. But why would she look at me that way? Can you make sense of it? I can’t.”

AFTER LOOKING IN ON things at Scotland Yard, I returned to the lodging house to find Poirot endeavoring to leave it. He was standing by the open front door in his hat and coat, with high color in his face and an unsettled air about him, as if he was having trouble keeping still. This was a problem that did not normally afflict him. Unusually for her, Blanche Unsworth showed no interest in my arrival, and was instead fussing about a car that was late. She too was pink-faced.

“We must leave at once for the Bloxham Hotel, Catchpool,” said Poirot, adjusting his mustache with gloved fingers. “As soon as the car arrives.”

“It should have been here ten minutes ago,” said Blanche. “I suppose the boon of it being late is you can take Mr. Catchpool with you.”

“What is the emergency?” I asked.

“There has been another murder,” said Poirot. “At the Bloxham Hotel.”

“Oh, dear.” For several seconds, abject panic coursed through my veins. On it went: the laying out of the dead. One, two, three, four . . .

Eight lifeless hands, palms facing down . . .

“Hold his hand, Edward . . .”

“Is it Jennie Hobbs?” I asked Poirot, as the blood pounded in my ears.

I should have listened to him about the danger. Why didn’t I take him seriously?

“I do not know. Ah! So you too know her name. Signor Lazzari sent a summons by telephone, since when I have been unable to contact him. Bon, here at last is the car.”

As I moved toward it, I felt myself pulled back. Blanche Unsworth was tugging at my coat sleeve. “Be careful at that hotel, won’t you, Mr. Catchpool. I couldn’t bear it if you were to come to any harm.”

“I shall, of course.”

Her face set in a ferocious grimace. “You shouldn’t have to go there, if you ask me. What was this fellow doing there anyway, the one that got himself killed this time? Three people have been murdered already at the Bloxham, and only last week! Why didn’t he go and stay somewhere else if he didn’t want the same to happen to him? It’s not right, him ignoring the danger signs and putting you to all this bother.”

“I shall say so to his corpse in no uncertain terms.” I reasoned to myself that if I smiled and said all the right words, I might soon feel more settled.

“Say something to the other guests while you’re about it,” Blanche advised. “Tell them I’ve two spare rooms here. It might not be as grand as the Bloxham, but everybody’s still alive when they wake up in the morning.”

“Catchpool, please hurry,” Poirot called from the car.

Hurriedly, I handed my cases to Blanche and did as I was told.