“So ready that I have decided to cut off the corner.”
“The corner of what. Oh, I see what you mean.”
“Oui. I thought a little while ago that I would speak once more to Zillah Hunt. Then I realized it was unnecessary. I wished only to ask her what happened in that room on 8 September.”
“Arnold Laurier’s room? When Nurse Zillah was in there with the five Lauriers?”
Poirot nodded. “I asked Vivienne Laurier the same question. The account she gave me confirmed all of my suspicions. I do not require further confirmation from Zillah Hunt. I am sure even you could tell me what was said in that room, Catchpool, though you were not there.” He chuckled. “Entertain your friend Poirot. Imagine that you were there. Describe the scene. Act for me the little play.”
“Poirot, there is no possible way I could—”
“Do not prevaricate, Catchpool.”
Had he always been quite so demanding? Was it likely he would get worse as he got older?
Wanting it over and done with, I gritted my teeth and invented an argument between Douglas and Maddie on one side and Jonathan and Janet on the other, about the merits and drawbacks of a hospital room with a courtyard view. I made every good argument I could think of on both sides.
When I had finished, Poirot said, “Which side do you imagine Vivienne Laurier was on?”
I considered the question. “Douglas and Maddie’s.”
“Indeed? I am intrigued. Tell me why.”
“Arnold would have liked to see other people, and shewould have known that,” I guessed aloud. “Also, she is fonder of Maddie and Douglas than she is of Jonathan and Janet. Though come to think of it, I only know that because Janet told me. And Maddie said Janet believes Vivienne prefers her and Douglas because they are both eldest siblings and so is she.”
“Janet might be wrong,” said Poirot. “Let us assume you are right, though: so Vivienne took Maddie and Douglas’s side in this argument, you believe?”
“Well, not in public, no. She would have said nothing, apart from maybe begging them all not to fight. She said nothing at dinner, remember, on our first night at Frelly? She sat in agonized silence until she could stand the verbal savaging no longer, and then fled.”
“Very good.” Poirot clapped his hands together. “You have just proved it, Catchpool: you are more than capable of identifying our elusive murderer all by yourself.”
“Murderer? Only one? Then—”
“Yes, Catchpool: the same person killed both Stanley Niven and Arnold Laurier. And I will offer you a clue to help you on your way: apply your clever ‘Now that it’s there’ theory not only to Christmas decorations on trees and your relationship with your mother, but also to this case. If you do that, you will reach the correct conclusion. Trust Poirot!”
Chapter 34
Human Objects
Two hours later we were gathered in the library of Frellingsloe House, Poirot having decided once again that he wanted everyone seated around the table. I was sitting with Douglas Laurier on my left and Dr. Osgood on my right. To be at the table with the others felt like an accurate representation of my status in relation to the two murders; despite having thought furiously for some time, I had failed to come up with a single viable theory. I was as unenlightened as everyone else here—with the obvious exceptions of Poirot and the murderer.
Poirot had positioned himself by the window, beside the Christmas tree. He had dressed for the occasion; looking at him, one could be forgiven for thinking he was about to make his debut at the Fortune Theatre. Apart from him and me, the following people were present in the library: Inspector Mackle; Mother; Vivienne, Douglas, Jonathan, Maddie and Janet Laurier; Enid and Terence Surtees; Dr. Robert Osgood; Felix Rawcliffe; Nurse Olga Woodruff and Nurse Zillah Hunt.
In the sitting room a short distance along the hall were three more people who were not allowed to be seen by the others until Poirot gave permission: Nurse Bee Haskins and Miss Verity Hunt (owner of Duluth Cottage), and one of Inspector Mackle’s men, whose name I had been told but forgotten. This young constable’s task, as I understood it, was to supervise his charges until he received orders to bring them into the library to join the rest of us.
“Mesdames et messieurs,” said Poirot. “I have been an investigator of serious crimes for many, many years, and I am sorry to say that the business with which we concern ourselves today—the murders of Stanley Niven and Arnold Laurier—are without doubt the two saddest murders I have encountered in my career so far. Why? For two reasons. The first is that these were two truly happy men. Both had a talent for making the most of each day, each moment; both possessed a contagious sort of contentment that spread to those around them. The world was made a better place by their presence in it.”
Vivienne Laurier nodded for several seconds upon hearing these words—rather violently. Enid Surtees had tears in her eyes. She and her husband, Terence, were murmuring their agreement. Had they forgotten, I wondered, that until as recently as yesterday they had been unable to utter Arnold’s name without spewing forth a flood of vitriol?
I was pleased when Poirot reminded them of this: “Of course, even the best people are often disliked,” he said. “Enid and Terence Surtees felt a deep resentment toward Arnold Laurier, as they told me this morning. And one ofMr. Niven’s customers from the post office took against him when he allowed letters to be posted to her that she did not wish to receive. Nevertheless,mes amis... happy people who have a talent for making others happy rarely become murder victims, becauseno one wants them dead. Day-to-day annoyances, family grievances—these are a quite usual and unavoidable part of life. Taking umbrage is a world away from risking one’s liberty and one’s soul to cause the death of another human being. And nobody, let me tell you—no one in this room or anywhere in the world hated Stanley Niven or Arnold Laurier enough to want to murder them.”
“Well, then, perhaps no crime has been committed.” Inspector Mackle sounded relieved. “If what you are saying is that both men were killed accidentally, Mr. Prarrow...” He frowned. “Wait. That is impossible.”
“Indeed,” said Poirot. “Both Mr. Niven and Mr. Laurier were quite deliberately killed. Neither death was an accident.”
The inspector looked confused. “But you just said—”
“Listen carefully, please: both men were murdered on purposeby someone who did not want them dead in the slightest.”
