The Monogram Murders(94)

“Isn’t that stretching it a bit?” I said. “I mean, without the ‘now’ it makes perfect sense: he’d hardly be interested in her—she’s let herself go and she’s old enough to be his mother.”

“But, mon ami, what you say, it is ridiculous,” Poirot spluttered. “It is not logical. The ‘now’ was there, in the sentence. We cannot pretend to be without it when we are with it. We cannot ignore a ‘now’ that is right in front of our ears!”

“I’m afraid I disagree with you,” I said with some trepidation. “If I had to guess, I should say that the intended meaning was something along these lines: before she let herself go, this chap didn’t especially mind or notice the age difference between them. Maybe it wasn’t quite so visible. However, now that she is no longer in tip-top shape, the chap has moved on to a younger, more attractive companion, the one he now confides in—”

Poirot had begun to speak over me, red faced and impatient. “There is no point in your guessing, Catchpool, when I know! Listen to Poirot! Listen one more time to exactly what was said, and in what order: ‘He’d hardly be interested in her now—she’s let herself go, and she’s old enough to be his mother!’ Reason one that he would no longer be interested in her, followed by reason two! The construction of the sentence makes it clear that both of these unfortunate circumstances that are the case now were once not the case.”

“There is no need to shout at me, Poirot. I have grasped your point, and I still disagree. Not everybody is as precise in their speech as you are. My interpretation has to be the correct one, and yours incorrect, because, as you have pointed out, it makes no sense otherwise. You said it yourself: if she is old enough to be his mother now, then she must always have been old enough to be his mother.”

“Catchpool, Catchpool. How I begin to despair of you! Think of what came later in the same conversation. Rafal Bobak heard Samuel Kidd, posing as Richard Negus, say, ‘I dispute the old-enough-to-be-his-mother claim. I dispute it utterly.’ To which Nancy, posing as Harriet, replied, ‘Well, neither of us can prove we’re right, so let’s agree to disagree!’ But why could neither prove they were right? Surely it is a matter of simple biological fact whether or not a woman is old enough to be a man’s mother? If she is four years older than him, then she is not old enough. No one would dispute this! If she is twenty years older, then she is old enough to be his mother—that is equally certain.”

“What if she were thirteen years older?” said Jennie Hobbs, who had closed her eyes. “Or twelve? One does hear of rare cases . . . That does not apply here, of course.”

So Jennie knew where Poirot was going with all this. I was the only ignorant one in the room.

“Thirteen, twelve—it is irrelevant! One asks a doctor, a medical expert: is it theoretically possible for a female of thirteen, or twelve, to give birth to a child? The answer is either yes or no. Please let us not debate the borderline cases of potential childbearing ages! Have you forgotten the other intriguing statement made by Samuel Kidd in connection with this allegedly younger man: ‘His mind? I’d argue he has no mind.’ No doubt you will say that Mr. Kidd meant nothing more than that the man in question was an imbecile.”

“No doubt I will,” I said peevishly. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m missing, since you’re so much cleverer than I am?”

Poirot made a dismissive clicking noise. “Sacré tonnerre. The couple under discussion in Room 317 were Harriet Sippel and her husband George. The conversation was not a serious debate—it was mockery. George Sippel died when he and Harriet were both very young. Samuel Kidd argues that he has no mind because, if George Sippel exists at all after his death, it is not in human form. He is a ghost, n’est-ce pas? Since the mind is inside the brain, and the soul does not possess human organs, George Sippel the ghost cannot have a mind.”

“I . . . Oh, heavens. Yes, now I see.”

“Samuel Kidd introduces his point of view in the way that he does—‘I would argue . . .’—because he expects Nancy Ducane to disagree. She might well have said, “Of course a ghost must have a mind. Ghosts have agency, do they not, and free will? From where do these things come if not the mind?”

Philosophically, it was an interesting point. In different circumstances, I could imagine taking a view on the matter myself.

Poirot continued: “Nancy’s ‘old-enough-to-be-his-mother’ remark was based on her belief that, when a man dies, his age is then fixed forevermore. In the afterlife, he does not age. George Sippel, if he were to return as a spirit to visit his widow, would be a young man in his twenties, the age he was when he died. And she, as a woman in her forties, is now old enough to be his mother.”

“Bravo,” said Jennie in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “I was not there, but the conversation was continued later in my presence. Monsieur Poirot really is formidably perceptive, Mr. Catchpool. I hope you appreciate him.” To Poirot, she said, “The argument went on . . . oh, just for ever! Nancy insisted she was right, but Sam would not concede the point. He said ghosts do not exist in the dimension of age—they are timeless, so it is incorrect to say that anyone could be old enough to be a ghost’s mother.”

Poirot said to me, “It is distasteful, is it not, Catchpool? When Rafal Bobak delivered the food, Nancy Ducane, with the dead body of Ida Gransbury propped up in a chair beside her, was mocking the woman in whose murder she had conspired earlier that same day. Poor stupid Harriet: her husband is not interested in talking directly to her from beyond the grave. No, he will speak only to Jennie Hobbs, leaving Harriet with no choice if she wants to receive his message: she must meet Jennie at the Bloxham, and, in doing so, meet her own doom.”