Hercule Poirot's Christmas Read online

  Poirot answered quietly:

  ‘I can assure you, M. Lee, that I am prepared to do my utmost to assist Colonel Johnson and Superintendent Sugden.’

  Alfred Lee said:

  ‘I want you to work for me. My father has got to be avenged.’

  He began to tremble violently. Lydia had come back. She went up to him and drew his arm through hers.

  ‘Come, Alfred,’ she said. ‘We must get the others.’

  Her eyes met Poirot’s. They were eyes that kept their own secrets. They did not waver.

  Poirot said softly:

  ‘Who would have thought the old man—’

  She interrupted him:

  ‘Stop! Don’t say that!’

  Poirot murmured:

  ‘You said it, madame.’

  She breathed softly:

  ‘I know…I remember…It was—so horrible.’

  Then she went abruptly out of the room, her husband beside her.

  IX

  George Lee was solemn and correct.

  ‘A terrible business,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘A terrible, terrible business. I can only believe that it must—er—have been the work of a lunatic!’

  Colonel Johnson said politely:

  ‘That is your theory?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, indeed. A homicidal maniac. Escaped, perhaps, from some mental home in the vicinity.’

  Superintendent Sugden put in:

  ‘And how do you suggest this—er—lunatic gained admittance to the house, Mr Lee? And how did he leave it?’

  George shook his head.

  ‘That,’ he said firmly, ‘is for the police to discover.’

  Sugden said:

  ‘We made the round of the house at once. All windows were closed and barred. The side door was locked, so was the front door. Nobody could have left by the kitchen premises without being seen by the kitchen staff.’

  George Lee cried:

  ‘But that’s absurd! You’ll be saying next that my father was never murdered at all!’

  ‘He was murdered all right,’ said Superintendent Sugden. ‘There’s no doubt about that.’

  The chief constable cleared his throat and took up the questioning.

  ‘Just where were you, Mr Lee, at the time of the crime?’

  ‘I was in the dining-room. It was just after dinner. No, I was, I think, in this room. I had just finished telephoning.’

  ‘You had been telephoning?’

  ‘Yes. I had put a call through to the Conservative agent in Westeringham—my constituency. Some urgent matters.’

  ‘And it was after that that you heard the scream?’

  George Lee gave a slight shiver.

  ‘Yes, very unpleasant. It—er—froze my marrow. It died away in a kind of choke or gurgle.’

  He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead where the perspiration had broken out.

  ‘Terrible business,’ he muttered.

  ‘And then you hurried upstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you see your brothers, Mr Alfred and Mr Harry Lee?’

  ‘No, they must have gone up just ahead of me, I think.’

  ‘When did you last see your father, Mr Lee?’

  ‘This afternoon. We were all up there.’

  ‘You did not see him after that?’

  ‘No.’

  The chief constable paused, then he said:

  ‘Were you aware that your father kept a quantity of valuable uncut diamonds in the safe in his bedroom?’

  George Lee nodded.

  ‘A most unwise procedure,’ he said pompously. ‘I often told him so. He might have been murdered for them—I mean—that is to say—’

  Colonel Johnson cut in: ‘Are you aware that these stones have disappeared?’

  George’s jaw dropped. His protuberant eyes stared.

  ‘Then he was murdered for them?’

  The chief constable said slowly:

  ‘He was aware of their loss and reported it to the police some hours before his death.’

  George said:

  ‘But, then—I don’t understand—I—…’

  Hercule Poirot said gently:

  ‘We, too, do not understand…’

  X

  Harry Lee came into the room with a swagger. For a moment Poirot stared at him, frowning. He had a feeling that somewhere he had seen this man before. He noted the features: the high-bridged nose, the arrogant poise of the head, the line of the jaw; and he realized that though Harry was a big man and his father had been a man of merely middle height, yet there had been a good deal of resemblance between them.

  He noted something else, too. For all his swagger, Harry Lee was nervous. He was carrying it off with a swing, but the anxiety underneath was real enough.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘What can I tell you?’

  Colonel Johnson said:

  ‘We shall be glad of any light you can throw on the events of this evening.’

  Harry Lee shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know anything at all. It’s all pretty horrible and utterly unexpected.’

  Poirot said:

  ‘You have recently returned from abroad, I think, Mr Lee?’

  Harry turned to him quickly.

  ‘Yes. Landed in England a week ago.’

  Poirot said:

  ‘You had been away a long time?’

  Harry Lee lifted up his chin and laughed.

  ‘You might as well hear straight away—someone will soon tell you! I’m the prodigal son, gentlemen! It’s nearly twenty years since I last set foot in this house.’

  ‘But you returned—now. Will you tell us why?’ asked Poirot.

  With the same appearance of frankness Harry answered readily enough.

  ‘It’s the good old parable still. I got tired of the husks that the swine do eat—or don’t eat, I forget which. I thought to myself that the fatted calf would be a welcome exchange. I had a letter from my father suggesting that I come home. I obeyed the summons and came. That’s all.’

  Poirot said:

  ‘You came for a short visit—or a long one?’

  Harry said: ‘I came home—for good!’

  ‘Your father was willing?’

  ‘The old man was delighted.’ He laughed again. The corners of his eyes crinkled engagingly. ‘Pretty boring for the old man living here with Alfred! Alfred’s a dull stick—very worthy and all that, but poor company. My father had been a bit of a rip in his time. He was looking forward to my company.’

  ‘And your brother and his wife, were they pleased that you were to live here?’

  Poirot asked the question with a slight lifting of his eyebrows.

  ‘Alfred? Alfred was livid with rage. Don’t know about Lydia. She was probably annoyed on Alfred’s behalf. But I’ve no doubt she’d be quite pleased in the end. I like Lydia. She’s a delightful woman. I should have got on with Lydia. But Alfred was quite another pair of shoes.’ He laughed again. ‘Alfred’s always been as jealous as hell of me. He’s always been the good dutiful stay-at-home stick-in-the-mud son. And what was he going to get for it in the end?—what the good boy of the family always gets—a kick in the pants. Take it from me, gentlemen, virtue doesn’t pay.’ He looked from one face to another.

  ‘Hope you’re not shocked by my frankness. But after all, it’s the truth you’re after. You’ll drag out all the family dirty linen into the light of day in the end. I might as well display mine straight away. I’m not particularly broken-hearted by my father’s death—after all, I hadn’t seen the old devil since I was a boy—but nevertheless he was my father and he was murdered. I’m all out for revenge on the murderer.’ He stroked his jawbone, watching them. ‘We’re rather hot on revenge in our family. None of the Lees forget easily. I mean to make sure that my father’s murderer is caught and hanged.’

  ‘I think you can trust us to do our best in that line, Mr Lee,’ said Sugden.

  ‘If you don’t I shall take the law into my
own hands,’ said Harry Lee.

  The chief constable said sharply:

  ‘Have you any ideas on the subject of the murderer’s identity, then, Mr Lee?’

  Harry shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘No—I haven’t. You know it’s rather a jolt. Because I’ve been thinking about it—and I don’t see that it can have been an outside job…’

  ‘Ah,’ said Sugden, nodding his head.

  ‘And if so,’ said Harry Lee, ‘then someone here in the house killed him…But who the devil could have done it? Can’t suspect the servants. Tressilian has been here since the year one. The half-witted footman? Not on your life. Horbury, now, he’s a cool customer, but Tressilian tells me he was out at the pictures. So what do you come to? Passing over Stephen Farr (and why the devil should Stephen Farr come all the way from South Africa and murder a total stranger?) there’s only the family. And for the life of me I can’t see one of us doing it. Alfred? He adored Father. George? He hasn’t got the guts. David? David’s always been a moon dreamer. He’d faint if he saw his own finger bleed. The wives? Women don’t go and slit a man’s throat in cold blood. So who did? Blessed if I know. But it’s damned disturbing.’

  Colonel Johnson cleared his throat—an official habit of his—and said:

  ‘When did you last see your father this evening?’

  ‘After tea. He’d just had a row with Alfred—about your humble servant. The old man was no end bucked with himself. He always liked stirring up trouble. In my opinion, that’s why he kept my arrival dark from the others. Wanted to see the fur fly when I blew in unexpectedly! That’s why he talked about altering his will, too.’

  Poirot stirred softly. He murmured:

  ‘So your father mentioned his will?’

  ‘Yes—in front of the whole lot of us, watching us like a cat to see how we reacted. Just told the lawyer chap to come over and see him about it after Christmas.’

  Poirot asked:

  ‘What changes did he contemplate making?’

  Harry Lee grinned:

  ‘He didn’t tell us that! Trust the old fox! I imagine—or shall we say I hoped—that the change was to the advantage of your humble servant! I should imagine I’d been cut out of any former wills. Now, I rather fancy, I was to go back. Nasty blow for the others. Pilar, too—he’d taken a fancy to her. She was in for something good, I should imagine. You haven’t seen her yet? My Spanish niece. She’s a beautiful creature, Pilar—with the lovely warmth of the South—and its cruelty. Wish I wasn’t a mere uncle!’

  ‘You say your father took to her?’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘She knew how to get round the old man. Sat up there with him a good deal. I bet she knew just what she was after! Well, he’s dead now. No wills can be altered in Pilar’s favour—nor mine either, worse luck.’

  He frowned, paused a minute, and then went on with a change of tone.

  ‘But I’m wandering from the point. You wanted to know what was the last time I saw my father? As I’ve told you, it was after tea—might have been a little past six. The old man was in good spirits then—a bit tired, perhaps. I went away and left him with Horbury. I never saw him again.’

  ‘Where were you at the time of his death?’

  ‘In the dining-room with brother Alfred. Not a very harmonious after-dinner session. We were in the middle of a pretty sharp argument when we heard the noise overhead. Sounded as though ten men were wrestling up there. And then poor old Father screamed. It was like killing a pig. The sound of it paralysed Alfred. He just sat there with his jaw dropping. I fairly shook him back to life, and we started off upstairs. The door was locked. Had to break it open. Took some doing, too. How the devil that door came to be locked, I can’t imagine! There was no one in the room but Father, and I’m damned if anyone could have got away through the windows.’

  Superintendent Sugden said:

  ‘The door was locked from the outside.’

  ‘What?’ Harry stared. ‘But I’ll swear the key was on the inside.’

  Poirot murmured:

  ‘So you noticed that?’

  Harry Lee said sharply:

  ‘I do notice things. It’s a habit of mine.’

  He looked sharply from one face to the other.

  ‘Is there anything more you want to know, gentlemen?’

  Johnson shook his head.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Lee, not for the moment. Perhaps you will ask the next member of the family to come along?’

  ‘Certainly I will.’

  He walked to the door and went out without looking back.

  The three men looked at each other.

  Colonel Johnson said:

  ‘What about it, Sugden?’

  The superintendent shook his head doubtfully. He said:

  ‘He’s afraid of something. I wonder why?…’

  XI

  Magdalene Lee paused effectively in the doorway. One long slender hand touched the burnished platinum sheen of her hair. The leaf-green velvet frock she wore clung to the delicate lines of her figure. She looked very young and a little frightened.

  The three men were arrested for a moment looking at her. Johnson’s eyes showed a sudden surprised admiration. Superintendent Sugden’s showed no animation, merely the impatience of a man anxious to get on with his job. Hercule Poirot’s eyes were deeply appreciative (as she saw) but the appreciation was not for her beauty, but for the effective use she made of it. She did not know that he was thinking to himself:

  ‘Jolie mannequin, la petite. Mais elle a les yeux durs.’

  Colonel Johnson was thinking:

  ‘Damned good-looking girl. George Lee will have trouble with her if he doesn’t look out. Got an eye for a man all right.’

  Superintendent Sugden was thinking:

  ‘Empty-headed vain piece of goods. Hope we get through with her quickly.’

  ‘Will you sit down, Mrs Lee? Let me see, you are—?’

  ‘Mrs George Lee.’

  She accepted the chair with a warm smile of thanks. ‘After all,’ the glance seemed to say, ‘although you are a man and a policeman, you are not so dreadful after all.’

  The tail-end of the smile included Poirot. Foreigners were so susceptible where women were concerned. About Superintendent Sugden she did not bother.

  She murmured, twisting her hands together in a pretty distress:

  ‘It’s all so terrible. I feel so frightened.’

  ‘Come, come, Mrs Lee,’ said Colonel Johnson kindly but briskly. ‘It’s been a shock, I know, but it’s all over now. We just want an account from you of what happened this evening.’

  She cried out:

  ‘But I don’t know anything about it—I don’t indeed.’

  For a moment the chief constable’s eyes narrowed. He said gently: ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘We only arrived here yesterday. George would make me come here for Christmas! I wish we hadn’t. I’m sure I shall never feel the same again!’

  ‘Very upsetting—yes.’

  ‘I hardly know George’s family, you see. I’ve only seen Mr Lee once or twice—at our wedding and once since. Of course I’ve seen Alfred and Lydia more often, but they’re really all quite strangers to me.’

  Again the wide-eyed frightened-child look. Again Hercule Poirot’s eyes were appreciative—and again he thought to himself:

  Elle joue très bien la comédie, cette petite…’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Colonel Johnson. ‘Now just tell me about the last time you saw your father-in-law—Mr Lee—alive.’

  ‘Oh, that! That was this afternoon. It was dreadful!’

  Johnson said quickly:

  ‘Dreadful? Why?’

  ‘They were so angry!’

  ‘Who was angry?’

  ‘Oh, all of them…I don’t mean George. His father didn’t say anything to him. But all the others.’

  ‘What happened exactly?’