Lord Hammershield Dies (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 3)

by Frank Howell Evans

  Poiret, to his surprise, did not immediately agree. "Poiret has told you before that he conducts the interrogation with order and method. He looks at every possibility," he huffed and then began again in a calmer tone of voice. "Please to go and fetch Monsieur and Madame Reynolds."

  Haven acquiesced, still slightly ruffled, but his curiosity as always won from his indignation.

  Poiret took a slightly different line of questioning with the Reynolds than he had done with Mrs. St. Alban. Haven was always amazed by Poiret's ability to choose the method that was most likely to extract the most information from a suspect. With Mrs. St Alban he had asked direct questions, in James Reynolds's case he seemed to be choosing a more circumspect path.

  "On the night of the murder," Poiret began, "you did not play bridge. Why not?"

  James Reynolds looked understandably surprised. "I'm not very good at bridge," he confessed. "My wife is a much better player and I always feel it's rather unfair on her to have to play with me as she loves the game and likes to play to win.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I talked to Miranda Monteith instead. She’s rather good company."

  "Poiret, he agrees," Poiret replied. "About what subject were the two of you talking?"

  "Good lord, I can't remember! This and that. Careers, I suppose mostly. We talked about her son, Giles a bit. I had the impression she's a bit worried about him."

  "Worried?" asked Poiret.

  "Yes, she thinks he's wasting his life. I think he just needs to find the right young woman and he’ll be alright." He smiled at his wife. She grabbed his hand, lovingly.

  Haven glanced at them. He was unsure if they loved each other or if they were keeping up appearances.

  "Did you talk about Lord Hammershield?" Poiret asked.

  James Reynolds jerked his eyes back to Poiret. Mrs. Reynolds stopped breathing for a second. She let her husband’s hand go.

  "What? Oh…" James Reynolds replied. The room was suddenly filled with tension. "Look, I… We weren't being very nice about him, I’m afraid. It all seems a bit disrespectful now." He shifted uneasily in his seat.

  "Poiret, he understands," said Poiret gently, "Please to continue. Tell everything to Poiret." He paused. “You were arguing with him? About what, Mr. Reynolds?”

  Reynolds looked at him then at his wife for a moment and then started speaking fast. "He wished to sell the business. I asked him to reconsider.”

  “Sell the business? Lord Hammershield?” asked Haven incredulously.

  Reynolds leapt up. “That pompous old fool! I can’t afford to lose my salary. I’m eye ball high in debt, because of the house we’re building. I asked him, I begged him. He had no mercy.”

  He put his hands on his face in impotent anger. His wife gently pulled him back onto the sofa.

  “He’s selling everything. He’s cutting everyone out of his life. Even his family,” he continued.

  “For what reasons Lord Hammershield, he was making the changes?” Poiret asked.

  “He travelled to South America some months ago. After that he was never the same,” his wife said softly.

  Poiret nodded. "Bon! It does not matter. Now, would you tell me, Monsieur Reynolds, what time you went up to bed?"

  "It was about a quarter to eleven, I think. I read for a while then Victoria came up soon after and we put out the light about eleven o'clock."

  "And you heard anything?"

  James Reynolds shook his head. "Afraid not. This fresh mountain air makes you sleep like a log!"

  Poiret smiled. "Madame?”

  She shook her head. "It must’ve been nearly eleven o'clock. James was still awake so we exchanged some brief words and then put the light out and went straight to sleep."

  "So you do not have an alibi," Poiret said sharply.

  Reynolds leapt up. “What? Listen here, Poiret.” He pointed at Poiret, “Who do you think you are, accusing my wife of murder?”

  “Now, now,” interjected Haven putting his hands in the air.

  “Monsieur,” said Poiret, calmly looking at Mr. Reynolds, “if your wife has no alibi then neither have you.”

  Reynolds frowned. He took a deep angry breath, ready to pounce.

  Poiret stood up quickly, took Mrs. Reynolds’s hand and said, "Merci, Madame. Poiret, he has no more questions for you.”

  Haven put his hand on Reynolds’s back and softly pushed him to the door.

  “What a horrible, little man,” said Reynolds under his breath.

  His wife followed him hurriedly.

  Haven looked at Poiret. “Lord Hammershield never told me he wished to begin a new life in South America. He loves his estates here.”

  “What was it that has made him change the mind?” asked Poiret out loud, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

  “He has no debts as far as I know,” said Haven.

  “A woman?” asked Poiret still thinking out loud.

  “Couldn’t possibly be,” said Haven.

  “Old men do foolish things,” said Mrs. St. Alban. She had come in with coffee. “They’re scared of death, you know? They want to cling to life no matter what the costs.”

  She put the tray with coffee on the table. She sat down and poured the coffee in the cups.

  “What do you know, Madame?” asked Poiret.

  “Sugar, milk?”

  “Three of the sugar and little milk, Madame.”

  She put the sugar in the cup and added the milk. She handed him the cup. Poiret took a sip and nodded his head. He dabbed his moustache clean with his handkerchief.

  “Madame, what do you know? Tell it to Poiret.”

  “Captain Haven?”

  “Lots of sugar, lots of milk, please.”

  She gave Haven his cup.

  “I was talking in general. Men of a certain age, you see…” She stood up abruptly and left the room.

  “Comment?”

  “Her husband left her some years ago. That’s why the lord allowed her to live with him. She has no money of her own.”

  “And Madame Monteith?” asked Poiret.

  “Her husband died overseas. Brilliant military career. Tough luck.”

  Poiret nodded and drank his coffee. “This coffee, mon ami, is magnifique.”

  Next was Miranda Monteith. She was crying. “I loved my brother so much, Mr. Poiret,” she said dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.”

  “Even after the changes, Madame?”

  Miranda Monteith looked up at Poiret.

  “I wasn’t happy with the changes. Not so much for me. For my son, you see. He came to see his uncle as a father.”

  "And this is the conversation you had with James Reynolds last night?" Poiret prompted.

  "Yes, something along those lines," replied Miranda Monteith hesitantly.

  Poiret then asked the usual finishing questions. She had gone up to bed fairly early, about ten fifteen and her light was out by half past. She didn't leave the room again until she went for breakfast and hadn't heard anything unusual, she responded between tears.

  Giles Monteith was next.

  "I think it must’ve been half eleven by the time I went up. I didn't really want to leave Miss Faulkner on her own, but I was jolly tired and she insisted she would be alright.”

  “Why, Monsieur?”

  We were the last up, you see and I didn't want Lord Hammershield to come back down and find her by herself."

  Giles grimaced and looked towards Haven. "I suppose you've told Mr. Poiret about his awful behaviour towards her the other day?"

  Haven replied quickly, “I sure did.”

  “I suppose some men are just like that. Don’t get me wrong. I still loved my uncle, regardless."

  “And you are interested in the wellbeing of Mademoiselle Faulkner?” asked Poiret point blank.

  Haven, half way taking a sip of his coffee, froze.

  “Well,” Giles hesitated, “I can’t deny I have feelings for her.”

  Haven put t
he cup down on the table and stood up. He walked to the window. Poiret watched him as if he was a specimen in a laboratory.

  "And you did not hear anything after you went up to bed?" Poiret continued the interrogation.

  Giles leaned forward in his seat.

  "Well, that's just it, Mr. Poiret, I think I did!"

  “Lord Hammershield's room is next to yours,” Haven cut in eagerly, happy to change the subject from Miss Faulkner to the dead man.

  "I was half asleep, you see? I wasn't sure, but I thought I heard some sort of muffled thump and a cry coming from next door.”

  “And you do not raise the alarm while your uncle, he is butchered like an animal, when he is defenseless in bed at night, sleeping?”

  Giles leapt up and cried, “I didn’t know!" Then he sat down again. "It doesn't make sense, I know, but it must’ve been nearly midnight by then and I was half asleep, so it may be all wrong."

  "Please to continue."

  “That’s it. Next day I get up and my poor uncle doesn’t.”

  “And your uncle, he has taken care of you in his will?” Poiret looked at Giles intently.

  “Definitely! I’m his closest male relative, so I get the title and the estates.”

  “That’s strange, because the others told us your uncle was making many changes,” said Haven.

  “Changes? What changes?” Giles looked surprised.

  “Merci, Monsieur or should I say Lord Hammershield?”

  Poiret took Giles’s arm and pushed him towards the door. “We will talk to you again later.”

  When Giles had left, Poiret turned to Haven. "You see, Haven? It begins to make the sense!"

  Haven looked back with a puzzled look on his face.

  “Mademoiselle Faulkner is last,” said Poiret, “Mon ami, please to excuse yourself. Poiret, he does not want you to have the ache of the heart.”

  Haven opened his mouth to say something, but she already came walking through the door.

  “Giles told me you wished to ask me some questions too,” she said and sat down.

  Miss Faulkner agreed that she had been the last up. She watched the fire die down for a few minutes and then went up to her room. That was just after half past eleven. She went straight to bed and didn’t hear anything.

  "To tell the truth, Mr. Poiret," she said, "I had rather too much brandy talking to Giles."

  “And you like Giles very much?” asked Poiret sweetly.

  Miss Faulkner opened her mouth.

  “How did you come to be invited by Lord Hammershield in the first place?” asked Haven, desperately trying to change the subject.

  “He’s my husband,” she said.

  It took Haven’s breath away. He sat down on a chair and stared at her with open mouth.

  “Mademoiselle? Excusez-moi. Madame!” stammered Poiret. Even he, the great one had not known this fact.

  “When on the boat, I thought you were not married.”

  “I wasn’t, Captain Haven. Lord Hammershield and I married a month ago in the presence of my family in South America.”

  “Does his family know?” asked Haven.

  “My husband asked me not to say anything until he had made all the necessary changes and we had moved to our new place in London.”

  Behind them Mrs. St. Alban fainted and the tray with the tea pot and cups she was carrying fell on the floor. They rushed to her aid. They were able to carry her to the sofa.

  “Captain Haven, to call the doctor. Vite!”

  Mrs. St. Alban’s illness took up most of their attention that day and kept them inside the hunting lodge.

  The next day saw the beginning of an attempt at returning to normal. Poiret saw no point in confining the occupants of the hunting lodge to the house any longer as the atmosphere was getting increasingly tense and so the majority of the party departed for a day of hunting not long after breakfast.

  When they had left, Poiret turned to Haven. "Et maintenant, Haven, we conduct the search!" He led the way to Lord Hammershield's room. "There will be something of use to us in here, mon ami," he said.

  Haven aided him as he rifled through drawers and cupboards with very little idea what they were looking for. Poiret uttered an exclamation as he stepped back out of the wardrobe.

  “Ha! This is of great interest!" He beamed at Haven as he held a tie in his hand.

  Haven stretched his hand out to take a closer look at the tie, but Poiret hid the tie in his jacket pocket and continued searching. He found several sheets of paper and a little book, which seemed to be of great interest to him and which he put away in the same pocket as the tie. He seemed satisfied with the search. He left the room without saying a word. He stopped at the Reynolds’s door and took out his passkey.

  “I say, Poiret, are you sure this is necessary? There’s something called privacy, you know?”

  “Oui,” Poiret said. He opened the door and entered. Haven reluctantly followed him inside. They began to search the bedroom carefully.

  “What are we looking for?” asked Haven after some time.

  “My dear Haven, look for anything not usual.”

  Haven pointed out a few medicine bottles, which he saw amongst the belongings of Mrs. Reynolds.

  “Tres interessant,” said Poiret. He took out his glasses and carefully examined the bottles and the pills inside.

  Their next target was Giles Monteith, the new Lord Hammershield. In Giles’s luggage Poiret found a photograph of Miss Faulkner and a lock of hair. Haven kept a stiff upper lip as Poiret showed it to him, trying to gage his reaction. Poiret seemed disappointed. They also searched the other guest rooms.

  It was nearing lunchtime when Poiret looked at his pocket watch and announced that the search was completed. They were in the hallway when Miss Faulkner appeared suddenly.

  "Captain Haven!" she said happily. "I was just coming to fetch you. Are you coming out this afternoon?"

  A smile appeared on Haven’s face.

  "Uh, well, actually…" Haven began, glancing at Poiret.

  Poiret completed Haven’s sentence, "Why do you not join us for lunch, Madame?"

  Miss Faulkner looked in the distance for a second and then refused politely. "I'm afraid I really should be joining the hunting party again,” she said hastily. She left. Poiret looked at her with some interest.

  They spent the afternoon sitting in relative silence in the garden of the hunting lodge. Poiret was wrapped in a blanket. There was a pot of hot chocolate nearby to help him with the thinking process. Haven played bowls, sighing and thinking about Miss Faulkner. Poiret looked at him from time to time and smiled. Poiret went over the case. "There is something most curious, mon ami. Giles, he says he hears the noise from next door in the middle of the night. Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, they are on the other side of the room of the victim, they hear nothing. How is this possible?"

  "Well, it seems fairly obvious to me," Haven responded. "One of them must be lying!"

  Poiret looked at him. "C’est evident. But which one? And why?"

  Then he said, “Miss Faulkner, she has changed much from the young lady you met on the boat?”

  Haven’s face became red. He excused himself quickly and rushed inside the house. Once inside his room, he shut the door firmly, locked it and started to pace around in agitation.

  There was a knock at the door. Haven started, coming back to reality with a jolt. He walked over to the door, opening it just a crack.

  "Haven?" It was Poiret. He looked at him with concern. "You are unwell?"

  “Well,” started Haven.

  At that moment Mrs. Reynolds and Miranda Monteith entered the house.

  "Ah, good afternoon, Mesdames," Poiret beamed, "Poiret hopes you have had the pleasant day."

  "Not too bad, Mr. Poiret," replied Miranda Monteith cheerfully, "Just doing a little shopping or what passes for shopping up here anyway!"

  Poiret turned to the other lady. "And you, Madame Reynolds? You have been to the pharmacy, perhaps?"


  Mrs. Reynolds looked stunned. "Why yes!" she replied, "I was picking up some more sleeping tablets as I seem to have less than I thought I did. How did you know?" she asked, obviously stunned at Poiret's seeming omniscience.

  "Just the guess," he shrugged innocently. "There are not many shops here!"

  Miranda Monteith laughed.

  "You're right about that Mr. Poiret," Mrs. Reynolds said gravely, "It makes you wonder how the locals manage!" Still chattering, the two women took their leave and went into the kitchen.

  "I say, Poiret, how on earth did you know she'd been to the pharmacy?" Haven was as stunned as the ladies had been.

  Poiret merely smiled his most enigmatic smile and said, "All in good time, mon ami. Poiret, he was merely checking the facts. That is all."

  After supper that evening, Poiret asked everyone to gather in the salon. As usual he positioned Captain Haven next to the fireplace.

  "Mesdames et Messieurs," Poiret began, bowing to the occupants of the room. "Poiret, he knows who murdered Lord Hammershield.”

  The guests stopped chattering. They put their cups of coffee and glasses of brandy down and listened attentively.

  "Let us go over it again,” Poiret continued. “Lord Hammershield, he is stabbed just before midnight, a time when everybody, they have already retired to bed and so the crime, it is not noted until the next morning. The weapon, it is accessible to all as it is hanging on the wall.”

  Poiret pointed to the one remaining knife above the fireplace.

  “Not one sees or hears anything, except for Monsieur Giles, who thinks he hears the thump, but he is half asleep at that time."

  Poiret looked at Giles. Giles seemed rather alarmed at having his name brought into it and looked at Haven with a frown.

  Poiret turned to Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds. "In the room on the other side, nobody hears anything. Pourquoi? This curious, is it not?”

  Poiret walked closer to them and looked at them one by one. “Who is lying?” he asked brusquely and repeated the question. Again he looked from one to the other.

  Mr. Reynolds stood up. “Listen here, you horrible irritant!”

  Poiret turned and walked to the other side of the room and continued unperturbed, “Poiret, he realises that you, Madame Reynolds take the sleeping tablets, do you not?"