The Monogram Murders(81)

Nancy Ducane made her way back to her chair and sat down. Louisa Wallace patted her arm.

“And now,” said Poirot, “another woman who knew and loved Patrick Ive will speak: his former servant, Jennie Hobbs. Mademoiselle Hobbs?”

Jennie stood up and went to stand where Nancy had stood. She too looked unsurprised to be asked. In a shaking voice, she said. “I loved Patrick Ive as much as Nancy did. But he did not reciprocate my love. To him, I was no more than a loyal servant. It was I who started the wicked rumors about him. I told an unforgivable lie. I was jealous because he loved Nancy and not me. Although I did not kill him with my own hands, I believe that, in slandering him as I did, I caused his death. I and three others: Harriet Sippel, Richard Negus and Ida Gransbury, the three people who were murdered at this hotel. All four of us later came to regret what we had done. We regretted it profoundly. And so we made a plan to put things right.”

I watched the astonished faces of the Bloxham Hotel staff as Jennie described the same plan that she had described to Poirot and me at Samuel Kidd’s house, as well as how and why it went wrong. Louisa Wallace squealed in horror at the part about framing Nancy Ducane for the three murders and making sure she hanged. “Arranging for an innocent woman to be put to death for three murders she didn’t commit is not righting a wrong!” St. John Wallace called out. “That is depravity!”

Nobody disagreed with him, at least not out loud. Fee Spring, I noticed, did not look as shocked as most people did. She seemed to be listening intently.

“I never wanted to frame Nancy,” said Jennie. “Never! You may believe that or not, as you wish.”

“Mr. Negus,” said Poirot. “Mr. Henry Negus—do you think it likely that your brother Richard would make such a plan as you have heard?”

Henry Negus stood up. “I would not like to say, Monsieur Poirot. The Richard I knew would not have dreamed of killing anyone, of course, but the Richard who came to live with me in Devon sixteen years ago was not the Richard I knew. Oh, the physicality of him was the same, but he was not the same man on the inside. I’m afraid to say that I never got to know the man that he had become. I cannot, therefore, comment on how likely he was to behave in a particular way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Negus. And thank you, Miss Hobbs,” Poirot added with a marked absence of enthusiasm. “You may now sit down.”

He turned to the crowd. “So you see, ladies and gentlemen, that Miss Hobbs’s story, if true, leaves us with no murderer to arrest and convict. Ida Gransbury killed Harriet Sippel—with her permission. Richard Negus killed Ida Gransbury—again, with her permission—and then killed himself when Jennie Hobbs did not arrive to kill him as she was supposed to. He took his own life and made it look like murder by first locking his door and hiding the key behind a loose tile in the fireplace, and then opening the window. The police were supposed to think that the murderer—Nancy Ducane—took the key with her and escaped through the open window and down a tree. But there was no murderer, according to Jennie Hobbs—nobody who killed without permission of the victim!”

Poirot looked around the room. “No murderer,” he repeated. “However, even if this were true, there would still be two criminals who are alive and deserving of punishment: Jennie Hobbs and Samuel Kidd, who conspired to frame Nancy Ducane.”

“I hope you’re going to lock them both up, Monsieur Poirot!” called out Louisa Wallace.

“I do not lock or unlock the prison gate, madame. That is the job of my friend Catchpool and his associates. I unlock only the secrets and the truth. Mr. Samuel Kidd, please stand.”

Kidd, looking uncomfortable, rose to his feet.

“Your part in the plan was to place a note on the front desk of this hotel, was it not? ‘MAY THEY NEVER REST IN PEACE. 121. 238. 317.’ ”

“Yes, sir. It was, like Jennie said.”

“You had been given the note by Jennie in good time to do this?”

“Yes. She gave it to me earlier in the day. In the morning.”

“And you were to put it on the desk when?”

“Shortly after eight o’clock in the evening, like Jennie said. As soon as I could after eight, but first making sure no one was close enough to see me put it there.”

“You had this instruction from whom?” Poirot asked.

“Jennie.”

“And also from Jennie you had the instruction to plant the room keys in the pocket of Nancy Ducane?”

“That’s right,” said Kidd in a sullen voice. “I don’t know why you’re asking me all this when she’s only just now finished telling you.”

“I will explain. Bon. According to the original plan, as we have all heard Jennie Hobbs say, the keys to all three rooms—121, 238 and 317—would be removed from Richard Negus’s room by Jennie after she had killed him, and given to Samuel Kidd, who would place them somewhere that would implicate Nancy Ducane—her coat pocket, as it turned out. But Jennie Hobbs did not go to the Bloxham Hotel at all on the night of the murders, according to her story. She was not brave enough. I therefore ask you, Mr. Kidd: how did you get hold of the keys to rooms 121 and 317?”

“How did I . . . how did I get hold of the two keys?”

“Yes. That is the question I asked you. Please answer it.”