English Rose (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 13)
Page 8
A hand touched her. She turned. Poiret took her hand and led her away into the vestibule.
He said, “Tomorrow, Madame, please to embrace your stepdaughter as you always have.”
“No, not that,” she moaned. “Never that. I couldn’t.”
Lady Hassocks wept. He took her hand in his trying to console her.
“Please not to cry. All, it is not lost. Someone, he did leave the mansion this morning.”
“Oh, Mr. Poiret! How is that possible?”
“As we did not find anything inside, it was necessary to find something outside.”
“And you have found it?”
“Bien sur. The webs of the spiders.”
“Spiders?”
“Exactement. You understand Madame, that in the garden the first thing that strikes Poiret in the face as he walks into it was the web of the spider. Poiret, he says to himself, “Attention! No one has walked this way,” and so Poiret, he goes to search the other places. The webs, they stop him everywhere in the garden. But, outside the garden, they kept out of the way of Poiret and they let him pass undisturbed down the pathway, which it leads to the road. Then Poiret, he says to himself, “Now, have the spiders by accident overlooked their work in the pathway?” Poiret, he finds the shreds of the webs hanging to the bushes.”
“Where to?”
“To the mansion, where Monsieur Ian and Monsieur Adam, they both live.”
“Ah, it was from there someone came?”
There was a silence between them.
She asked, “Ian?”
“It was someone, who came from the mansion and who returned there. Monsieur Ian or Monsieur Adam or another.”
Her customary anxiety reasserted itself.
She demanded ardently, “And you are sure that he came in here and that he left?”
“Yes, Poiret, he is sure of it.”
“How did he get in?”
“By using the window of the sitting room.”
“That’s impossible, because we found it locked.”
“It is possible, if someone, he closes it behind him.”
“Ah!” She began to shake again and said brutally, “Why did you keep me from throwing myself on him as he opened the door? Ah, I would have... we would know.”
“Non, Madame. The noise, it would have warned him. He would have closed the door. A turn of the key and he would have escaped forever. And he would have been forewarned.”
“Why then, if you knew he was going to come, didn’t you leave me in the bedroom and you watch him from below?”
“Because so long as Poiret, he is below he would not have come. He only comes, when there is no one downstairs.”
“Ah, Good God, have pity on a poor woman! Who do you think it is, then? I can’t think anymore. Tell me that. You know everything. Come, I demand the truth. Who? The communists?”
“Poiret, he wishes only it was so simple!” said Poiret quietly. “What have you done, Madame, with the glass with the sleeping medicine?”
“The sleeping medicine? I locked it in my room, in the cupboard. It’s safe!”
“Ah, but, Madame, it is necessary to replace it where you took it from.”
“What!”
“Oui, after pouring the poison into the small, empty bottle, please to wash the glass and to fill it with the other sleeping medicine.”
“You’re right. You think of everything. If my husband wakes up and wants his sleeping medicine, he must not be suspicious of anything. He must have his drink.”
“Madame, Poiret, he was thinking of the murderer. To him it must appear that the medicine, it was not drunk, because your husband he had no need of it this night. It must appear, Madame, like the pure chance, that he has not been poisoned.”
“Yes, yes. Good God!”
“When, someone, he comes into the room of your husband in the morning, please to openly and casually throw away the sleeping medicine. Please to tell to your husband that it is of no use and that it gives to him the nightmares. This will explain to all, why your husband he continues to enjoy the excellent health.”
“And what will I do with the bottle with the poison?”
“Please to bring it to Poiret, now.”
She went for it and returned five minutes later.
“He’s still asleep.”
“Tres bien. Please to close the door as Poiret, he has to talk to you, Madame.”
“But if someone goes back up the servants’ staircase…”
“Calm yourself, Madame. The murderers, they think he has been poisoned already. This night, it will be the first night Poiret, he can breathe, how do you say, without the care in the world.”
“But what shall we do about Kimberley? I dare ask you that, you and you alone.”
“Rien, Madame.”
“Rien?”
“We will watch her.”
“Ah, yes, yes.”
“But attention, Lady Hassocks, Please to let Poiret watch her by himself.”
After some hesitation, she said, “Yes, yes, I promise you. I will not pay any attention to her. That is promised. It’s better that way. Please, she…”
“Madame, Madame, you think of nothing but Kimberley. You have promised to Poiret not to watch her. Please to also promise to Poiret not to think about her.”
“Why, why did you say, “If it was only that?”
“Because, Madame, if it was only the Communists, who wished to murder your husband the police, who are experts in finding the usual suspects, they would have already found the culprits. This murderer, he is trying to mask his trail. He is trying to not be found out. The communists, they would have used the crude method to reach their goal, not thinking of the consequences or how many victims there are. That is the method of the communist. Madame, it is certain that his object, it lies beyond the act of murder itself, beyond the bomb, beyond the poison.”
“But this man, does he come in as he pleases, by day and by night? Do you know who he is?”
“Poiret, he may know him, perhaps, but at the moment, he does not know who he is.”
“Are you not curious, Mr. Poiret, to find out, who is able to enter the house as he wishes, even at night, because someone opens the window for him? You say he comes from the mansion, where Ian and Adam live.” Mrs. Hassocks trembled. “Ah, poor miserable Lady Hassocks! Why don’t they murder me instead? My husband! They are his friends! They come in the night to murder their friend. Aided by, whom? I want you to understand, Mr. Poiret, that I’m not able to believe anything so horrible. No, no, by Jesus Christ, who died on the Cross and who searches our hearts, I don’t believe that Ian, who wants to marry our daughter or Adam, who is a doctor, an honest man, would stoop to the level of a murderer. And who helps them? Everything looks very bad!”
It was silent for a moment. Poiret opened his cigarette case and took out a cigarette. He didn’t offer Mrs. Hassocks one. He took a match from his pocket.
“Madame, it is not wise to suspect anyone. We must watch, wait and see. There is always the time, once we have caught the perpetrator, to ask, how do you say, whether it is the hare or the grouse. Madame, we must first find out what is in the small medicine bottle. Where is it?”
“Here it is.”
She turned around and took it from her bosom. He stowed it in his pocket.
“Poiret, he will leave you. He will be back in two hours at the latest. Please, above all, not to tell your husband what it is that has happened tonight.”
After he left, she went up to her husband’s room, but came down at least ten times to see if Poiret had not returned. Two hours later he was back, as he had promised. She went to him immediately.
“Calm yourself, Madame. Poiret, he now knows the contents of the small medicine bottle?”
“What was it?”
“Arsenic, Madame, enough to murder ten people.”
“Holy Mary!”
“Please, Madame, not so loud. We must go to your husband and watch over him.”
“It’s true. I had dreadful dreams. But you, papa, did you sleep well? Did you take your sleeping medicine?”
“No, no, I haven’t touched a drop of it.”
“Oh, I see. Well, that is good.”
Lady Hassocks, as though hypnotized by Poiret’s order, took the glass from the table and ostentatiously carried it to the dressing room and threw it out. She leaned heavily on the sink, trying to regain her composure.
Kimberley continued, “You see, papa, now you will be able to live just like everyone else finally. The thing was to clear away the police, the atrocious police. Isn’t that so, Mr. Poiret?”
“Poiret, he believes too, the danger, it has subsided. Mademoiselle Kimberley, she is correct. As long as you take the normal precautions, you will not be in the danger. Now that Monsieur Hassocks, he is healing, it is the time for Poiret to leave. He thanks you for the hospitality.”
“Ah, but you are not going? Surely…!” Lady Hassocks had already set herself to protest, when a meaning glance from the consulting detective cut her words short.
“Poiret, he shall remain in the town for one week to write the report for the Prime Minister. He has engaged the room at the Hotel Royal Pavilion. Poiret, he will visit here from time to time.”
“You are then quite at ease,” demanded the arms manufacturer gravely, “at leaving me all alone?”
“Entirely so, Monsieur. But, Poiret, he does not leave you all alone. He leaves you with Madame Hassocks and Mademoiselle Kimberley. Please to remain the three of you.” Poiret looked at them. The scene, a picture of familial happiness. He smiled wistfully. “No more of the police, or at least as few as possible.”
“He’s right, he’s right,” repeated Kimberley.
At this moment there were knocks at the door of Lady Hassocks’s room. It was Carswell, who announced that his Excellency the Secretary for Armaments, George Bromley, wished to see Mr. Hassocks.
“Go and receive Mr. Bromley, Kimberley and tell him that your father will be downstairs in a moment.”
Kimberley and Poiret went downstairs and found Mr. Bromley in the drawing room. He was a diminutive, greying, middle aged man. He looked in all directions and at the furniture. He was quite evidently worried. He moved forward immediately to meet the young lady, inquiring about her father’s health.
“It’s all good news,” replied Kimberley. “Everybody here is splendid. But what news have you, Your Excellency? You appear preoccupied.”
The minister shook Poiret’s hand.
“Do you have my grapes?” he demanded of Kimberley.
“What grapes?”
“I arrive here very anxious. I brought you yesterday, from Maidstone, some grapes that Stephen Hassocks enjoys so much. This morning I learned that the eldest son of Stansfield, the grocer, had been taken ill from eating those same grapes. Imagine my dismay. So when I learned of young Stansfield’s illness this morning, I took the first train and came straight here.”
“But, your Excellency,” interrupted Kimberley, “we have not seen your grapes.”
“Ah, then they have not been served yet? All the better. Thank goodness!”
At this moment the arms manufacturer came down the stairs, clinging to the banister and supported by Lady Hassocks.
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Poiret, watching Kimberley. “The pesticide, sprayed on the grapes to kill the bugs, it is made of the arsenic.”
“Oh, God!” cried Kimberley.
As for Lady Hassocks, she uttered a low exclamation and let go of her husband, who almost fell down the staircase. Everybody rushed towards him.
“Papa!” cried Kimberley and went up the stairs. She took him firmly by the arm. “You could’ve broken your neck!”
The arms manufacturer laughed. Lady Hassocks, under the harsh look of Kimberley, stammered that she had suddenly felt faint.
They went into the patio. The arms manufacturer settled back on a sofa.
“Well, now, were you just saying something, my dear friend, about some grapes you have brought me?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Kimberley, quite frightened, “and what he said isn’t pleasant at all. The son of the grocer from whom His Excellency bought the grapes, has just been poisoned by the same grapes.”
“Grapes? What grapes? I haven’t seen any grapes! Did you eat any?” exclaimed Lady Hassocks, transpiration appearing on her forehead. Her husband shook his head. She continued, “I noticed you, yesterday, Mr. Bromley, out in the garden, but you went away almost immediately and I was surprised that you didn’t come in.”
“Well, we must clear this matter up. It’s absolutely necessary that we know what happened to those grapes.”
“But where are they? Whom did you give them to?” asked Mr. Hassocks.
“I carried them in a white cardboard box. I came here yesterday, but you were out. I returned again later with the box and you were resting. I was late for my train and Mr. Ashby and Mr. Spencer were in the garden, so I asked them to give you the grapes. I laid the box down near them on the little garden table.”
“It’s terrible!” said Lady Hassocks, trembling. “Where can the grapes be? We must find them.”
She signaled for the butler and whispered a few words in his ear. He left quickly.
“We must ask Ian and Adam,” said Kimberley. “Good God! I hope they haven’t eaten them! Perhaps they are sick.”
“Here they are,” said the arms manufacturer.
All turned. Adam and Ian were coming up the steps. Poiret, who was in the shadow of the table umbrella, didn’t lose sight of a single change in the expression on the two faces. Both faces were smiling.
“Adam! Ian! Come here, gentlemen,” cried Stephen Hassocks imperiously. “What have you done with the grapes from His Excellency?”
They both looked at him, not understanding the brusque tone in his voice. They seemed not to understand what he meant at first then, suddenly recalling the events of the previous day, they declared very casually that they had left the grapes on the garden table and had not thought about them.
“You forgot my request, then?” said Mr. Bromley severely. “Do you know what has happened to young grocer Stansfield with those grapes? He is ill, poisoned. Do you understand now why we are anxious to know what has become of my grapes?”
“But they ought to be out there on the table,” said Adam. He added, “Where we left them.”
“The servants are looking for them,” declared Lady Hassocks, who, no less than Poiret, watched the two young men. “How did it happen that you went away yesterday evening without saying goodbye?”
“Milady,” said Adam coldly, “we have ample excuse to offer you. You will pardon us, Mr. Hassocks, I’m sure. Ian and I happened to quarrel yesterday. We were discussing how to end it most promptly, when Mr. Bromley entered the garden. As soon as he was gone we had only one thought, to get away from here to settle our difference.”
“Without speaking to me about it!” said the arms manufacturer. “You are both guests in my house. I cannot pardon that.”
“You fight at such a time, when my husband is threatened? How selfish!” added Lady Hassocks.
“Milady,” said Ian, “we didn’t fight. Someone pointed out my fault and I offered my excuses to Mr. Ashby, who generously accepted them. Is that not so, Mr. Ashby?”
“And who pointed out your fault?” demanded Mr. Hassocks.
“Kimberley.”
“Bra
vo, Kimberley. Come, embrace me, my daughter.”
The arms manufacturer took his daughter affectionately to his chest.
“And I hope you will have no more quarrels,” he said, looking over Kimberley’s shoulder at the young men.
“I promise you that, sir,” declared Ian, “on my honor as a gentleman.”
Mr. Hassocks nodded.
“You did well, Kimberley. Let us get some breakfast and forget our worries. I had an excellent night. I slept till Lady Hassocks woke me up this morning.”
“That is true,” said Lady Hassocks slowly. “He slept like a child even without drinking his sleeping medicine.”
“And my leg is almost well.”
“All the same, it’s strange that those grapes should have disappeared,” insisted the secretary.
“Carswell,” called Lady Hassocks.
The old servant appeared again.
“Have you found the grapes?”
“No, Milady.”
“And the servants? Are any of them sick?”
“No one is sick, Milady.”
“No one sick! That is strange!”
Poiret came forward and gave the only explanation that was plausible, for the others.
“But, Madame, that is not strange at all. The grapes, they have been stolen and eaten by some domestic and if the servant, he is not sick, it is because he washed the grapes thoroughly. That is the whole mystery.”
“Our Right Honorable Friend may be right,” cried the delighted secretary.
But the “Right Honorable Friend” took advantage of the arrival of John Colliver and Richard Monk to leave the mansion. He gripped in his pocket the small medicine bottle, which held what was required to make grapes flourish or to murder an arms manufacturer, who was in excellent health.