‘Yes, but what do all of these things have to do with each other?’ I shivered in my towels, envying Poirot his thick coat, hat and gloves.
‘That is the question we must answer.’ His tone was one of cheerful anticipation, not dread. ‘Think of Oliver Prowd’s confessions to Godfrey Laviolette, as described to me by Hester Semley. Think of Helen Acton pretending to be tired in order to escape from the Devonports’ unwelcoming company. She went to her bedroom, did she not? Then we have the two houses: Kingfisher’s View and Little Key. Why did the Devonports buy the Laviolettes’ house and not Hester Semley’s? And a more vital question still: why did the Laviolettes want to sell their home at Kingfisher Hill? Only one thing changed on the estate immediately before they decided they wished to sell their property here, one detail that could hardly be significant: the replacing of the gate porter. And do not forget Lavinia Stent!’
‘I suspect you of toying with me, Poirot. Are you deliberately filling my head with useless trivialities?’
‘Non. Pas du tout.’
‘I fail to see how Lavinia Stent, a woman who agreed with Hester Semley, though ineffectively, about the unsuitability of the new gate porter, might be involved in either the murder of Frank Devonport or the murder of Joan Blythe.’
Poirot nodded briskly. ‘Do not worry, my friend. I anticipated that you would not be able or willing to do the necessary thinking, so I have prepared for you a list of important tasks. Work your way through these items and you will help to move our investigation further forward, even if you understand only minimally. Simply do as I ask, following my instructions to the letter, and record accurately and in detail what results from your actions. This, surely, you are able to do?’
Poirot refused to hand over the list until I was dry and dressed. Once I was in a state of readiness that I hoped he would deem acceptable, I followed his first instruction and knocked on the door of his room at Little Key, which, I had learned yesterday from Verna Laviolette, was the one that Helen Acton had been assigned on the one unhappy occasion that she had come here. Verna told me that I had been allocated Frank Devonport’s room, and I had so far searched it twice in the hope of finding something helpful. Alas, I had found nothing.
Poirot and I had been given this temporary accommodation at Little Key in order that we could pursue our investigation, though it was clear we were not welcome. Sidney Devonport growled whenever he came upon either of us by chance, then turned and walked in the opposite direction. Daisy, depending on her mood, either glared at us or smirked as if she knew something we did not. Lilian and Richard Devonport both avoided our eye and Godfrey Laviolette had been very little in evidence. He had taken to locking himself into the room known as Peepers HQ for hours on end. Sidney, by contrast, had not been near that room and appeared to have lost all interest in his once-cherished board game. Oliver Prowd had at first been at our heels all the time, asking to be let in on the details of what we were doing and what was our current thinking about both murders. Then his manner had changed to one of frosty resentment as soon as he saw that Poirot and I were not going to include him in our deliberations.
The only person who seemed pleased to have us around was Verna Laviolette, who was happy to converse with us at length without demanding anything in return. It was strange: when I had first heard her described as ‘kind’, I had been unable to imagine it. She had seemed to me then to be acerbic and too sharp-edged to be capable of much kindness. More recently, though, I was noticing a softer side to her. With no servants in the house now that both Winnie and her scrawny replacement had gone, Verna, assisted by Daisy, was preparing all the food, and it was Verna who served every meal to Poirot and me. We had eaten on our own in the morning room since our return to Little Key—partly because it was our preference but mainly because Sidney Devonport had made it clear that he did not wish to share his dining room with us. Quite often, Verna opted to keep us company and eat with us instead of with her husband and the Devonports. On these occasions her manner was markedly less spiky than it had once been. Tragedy and disaster are said to bring out the best in some people—perhaps she was one of them.
Poirot did not respond to my first knock at his door, so I tried again. This time he answered immediately. ‘Ah, Catchpool! Come in, come in.’
‘Let me see this list of tasks, then,’ I said with a strong sense of foreboding. I was not afraid of expending effort or energy, but, knowing Poirot well by now, I had no doubt that he was capable of asking me to do absolutely anything: the possible and the impossible. Since meeting him I have felt much less in command of my own life and am always poised for some new surprise or adventure. It is exciting and often stimulating, but also rather hard on the nerves.
Poirot handed me a piece of paper and I cast my eye over the list he had made for me. It read as follows:
Tasks for Catchpool
1. Find out who gave the book Midnight Gathering to Daisy Devonport as a gift.
2. Also ask Daisy: why did her father allow Richard to propose marriage to Helen Acton, and to remain engaged to her, when she had murdered his son?
3. Also: if Frank was so evil and dangerous that Daisy needed to kill him to protect her family from further betrayals, why then did she agree to marry his collaborator in the theft, Oliver Prowd? This is a contradiction that makes no sense.
4. Why did Sidney and Lilian Devonport want to see Frank and Helen alone for several hours on the morning of Frank’s murder?
5. Did anybody hear any arguments or raised voices in the hour before Frank was pushed to his death?
6. Was suicide ever considered by anybody as an explanation for Frank’s death?
7. Make a list of all who were present at Little Key at the time of Frank’s death. For each of the ten, write down a possible motive for murder.
I read the seven items on the list three times. Then I said to Poirot, ‘Ten people?’ I did a quick calculation in my mind. ‘You’re including Percy Semley?’
‘Mais oui. He was present.’
‘But he was downstairs. He, Oliver, Godfrey Laviolette, Richard, Winnie Lord—they were all downstairs and cannot possibly have pushed Frank from the balcony.’
‘That is true,’ Poirot agreed. Then he said, ‘Unless some of the information we have been given is false.’
‘Which brings me to the next problem,’ I said. ‘I shall do my best to get the answers you want, but you realize, I hope, that I can only ask questions. I have no way of making anybody answer, or answer truthfully.’
‘Of course you have the way! Are you not the Scotland Yard inspector in charge of both murder investigations?’
‘Theoretically, yes.’ I sighed. ‘You know I’m hardly the most authoritative chap at the best of times, Poirot, and it’s so much harder in this house, of all places. Every time I think about my first visit here, the ridiculous story you told Sidney Devonport about our deep interest in Peepers, I shudder with embarrassment. It’s a uniquely uncomfortable position to be in: to demand utmost veracity from those you have shamelessly deceived.’
‘Ah, you English with your excessively developed sense of shame!’ said Poirot. ‘Do not worry that people may lie to you. That will be as useful as if they tell the truth. Now, there is one more thing that I have not added to the list. It is something that I want you to tell Daisy Devonport—but not at the same time that you ask her these other questions. This is vitally important, Catchpool. It is why I have not put the final item on the list. Only once you have already done everything on the list should you proceed to this last instruction.’
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘You are to tell Mademoiselle Daisy that you have received a telegram from Sergeant Gidley.’
‘That says what?’
‘That Helen Acton has retracted her confession. She now admits, finally, that she did not murder Frank Devonport. What is more, she agrees that Daisy did and that she saw Daisy push Frank in a most violent fashion.’
‘None of this is true,
is it?’
‘It is wholly untrue,’ Poirot announced with pride. ‘It is my little invention. Please be as meticulous as possible when recording its effects.’
Shortly after issuing this order, Poirot set off for London with the help of our old friend Mr Alfred Bixby and the Kingfisher Coach Company. Tempted as I was to retreat to my quarters and avoid the rest of the household, I steeled myself and worked my way through the list of tasks that Poirot had assigned to me.
On several fronts, I was unlucky, or at least unsuccessful. (Poirot would no doubt have reminded me that mental attitude, order and method were more closely linked to success than was luck.) No one offered me any sort of answer to questions 2, 3 and 4 on Poirot’s list. Daisy scowled at me as if I were a rat that had appeared on her dinner plate when I asked her to explain the discrepancy of her being willing to marry Oliver Prowd at the same time as wanting to kill Frank for his betrayal. One look at her face was enough to make me give up all hope of getting an answer out of her.
In answer to the question of why Sidney and Lilian had wanted Frank and Helen all to themselves for the morning, everyone I asked said the same thing (apart from Sidney, who turned and marched off without a word): there was no particular reason. They had simply wanted it because they wanted it.
Asked on a separate occasion why he had allowed the two engagements—Daisy’s to Oliver and Richard’s to Helen—Sidney Devonport had barked at me, ‘Mind your own damn business!’
Daisy had said, ‘I suspect you are too stupid and lacking in experience to understand, even if I were willing to explain it to you, which I am not.’
Richard had mumbled something to the effect that it was not his place to try to understand his father. ‘The truth is, I cannot make sense of my own behaviour most of the time,’ he said.
The suggestion that Frank Devonport might have taken his own life by choice was met with voluble derision from all quarters. No one had loved life more than Frank, I was told by all.
I had more success in relation to items 1 and 5 on Poirot’s list. Everybody apart from Sidney was happy to inform me that they had not heard any arguments, raised voices or anything untoward in the house in the hour before Frank’s death or at any time during the day. I had the impression that they were all telling the truth on this point.
As for Midnight Gathering, nobody could tell me who had given Daisy her copy of the book, though Oliver Prowd and Verna Laviolette both volunteered that Daisy had given them a copy as a gift. Oliver’s, he said, was presently in his house in London, and Verna told me hers was at Hester Semley’s house, which of course I already knew.
Daisy, when asked, took the opportunity to tease me. ‘A man called Humphrey gave it to me.’ Then she laughed and said, ‘I am talking nonsense, Inspector Catchpool. Nobody gave it to me. I gave it to myself. There is no such person as Humphrey.’ I reminded her that she had told Poirot the book had been a gift. She merely shrugged and said, ‘I must have been lying. I probably decided it was none of his business and made something up.’
Throughout all of my exchanges with Daisy Devonport, she made it abundantly clear that she was not afraid of me or of anything much. Her manner seemed to say, ‘I have confessed to the murder of my brother already, so there is really nothing else for me to be afraid of.’
When I attempted item 7, the list of motives, I found some people easier than others to invent motives for.
Frank Devonport’s murder—possible motives for those present
Sidney Devonport (on balcony at time of Frank’s death)—revenge for the theft. Frank was thriving, and Sidney decided after some time that mere banishment from the family was not sufficient punishment. He lured Frank back home with talk of a second chance, but his intention was always to murder him.
Lilian Devonport (on balcony at time of Frank’s death)—exactly the same motive as above. Possibly shared with Sidney, if they acted together. Or (highly unlikely but just about possible given the madness into which some people descend) Lilian could not bear to ‘abandon’ her most beloved child, and she knew she had not long to live. She wanted to ‘take Frank with her’, as it were.
Helen Acton (on balcony at time of Frank’s death)—cannot think of a motive. Unless her ‘lie’ about falling in love with Richard Devonport was a double bluff. Perhaps, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, the two of them had been acquainted for some time and grown to love one another. Why this would require Helen to kill Frank rather than simply end her engagement to him, I cannot imagine.
Daisy Devonport (on balcony at time of Frank’s death)—her stated motive. She had convinced herself that Frank presented a grave danger to the family. Perhaps also revenge for the theft, if she saw her parents’ money as also hers.
Richard Devonport (in library at time of Frank’s death)—as the less stellar Devonport brother, did he perhaps fear that Frank’s return would eclipse him altogether? That Frank would once again run Sidney’s business affairs and he, Richard, would be ousted? Also maybe revenge for theft of family money.
Oliver Prowd (in entrance hall below balcony at time of Frank’s death)—jealousy of Daisy’s affection for Frank, as Hester Semley described to Poirot. Fear that Daisy would lose interest in him now that Frank had returned.
Winnie Lord (in kitchen at time of Frank’s death)—exactly the same motive as Oliver Prowd, according to Hester Semley.
Godfrey Laviolette (in entrance hall below balcony at time of Frank’s death)—cannot think of any possible reason, unless related to the Laviolettes’ secret reason for wishing to leave Kingfisher Hill.
Verna Laviolette (on balcony at time of Frank’s death)—same as for Godfrey above.
Percy Semley (in entrance hall below balcony at time of Frank’s death)—cannot think of any motive Percy might have had.
I reread what I had written for each person. ‘Whoever it was, why did they do it in front of a large audience?’ I said aloud to myself. ‘People on the balconied landing, people in the hall below. It could hardly have been more public. Why?’
As for Joan-Blythe-from-the-coach, I could think of no reason why any Devonport, Laviolette, Lord, Prowd or Semley should want to bludgeon her to death so violently.
I waited until the following morning to tackle the final task that Poirot had assigned to me—the one he deemed so important that he had not put it on the list at all. After breakfast I set off in search of Daisy. I found her in the Peepers room, sitting in a chair by the window, staring out at the garden.
‘Not you again,’ she said flatly. ‘More questions, I suppose.’
‘No. There is news that I thought you would want to hear immediately. From Sergeant Gidley. It arrived by telegram a few minutes ago.’
‘What news?’ She stood up. My expression must have alarmed her; it had occurred to me as I was speaking, and therefore too late, that she might demand to see the telegram. What would I do in that eventuality?
The answer came to me: I would refuse, of course. If Gidley had sent me a telegram, I would be under no obligation to show it to anybody.
‘Helen Acton has admitted to lying,’ I said.
‘Lying?’ Daisy walked slowly towards me. ‘Lying about what?’
‘She has retracted her confession. She now admits that she did not murder Frank, and has given a new statement in which she says that …’ I cleared my throat. Poirot would have been able to pull off this act with far more aplomb. Still, that was no use to me; he was in London. I was the one staring into the avid, relentless eyes of Daisy Devonport. ‘Helen Acton has confirmed that you are telling the truth: you were the one who pushed Frank, and she saw you do it,’ I said. There, it was done.
Daisy gasped. Her hands started to shake.
‘I appreciate that it must be rather a shock,’ I said.
‘Where is Poirot?’ she said in a new, ragged voice that I had not heard before. ‘I need to speak to him as a matter of urgency.’
‘He has gone to take care of some business in London. Any
thing you wish you tell him, you can tell me. He and I are—’
‘Bring him back,’ said Daisy. “I need to speak to him now. Right now.’
CHAPTER 15
A New Confession
At eleven the following morning, a driver dropped Poirot off at the gates of Little Key. He had telephoned at eight to alert me to his likely arrival time, and I was waiting for him.
‘All is as I expected it to be, mon ami,’ he said. ‘My investigations have been fruitful. Every one of my suspicions has been confirmed. Godfrey Laviolette’s financial situation is more than satisfactory. His banker tells me that it has always been so. As for our Joan Blythe from the Kingfisher coach, I had a most enlightening conversation with her mother. The green hat and coat were brand new, as I knew they would be. They had not been worn before the day that you and I first saw her wearing them. Ah—I see you wonder why this is important. Soon you will see!’ Poirot handed me his suitcase and started to walk towards the house. I hurried after him.
‘I spent a delightful hour with the publisher of Midnight Gathering,’ he went on. ‘He was able to furnish me with essential information about the other Joan Blythe, the writer of the book. Most helpful of all was the former doctor to the deceased Otto Prowd, Dr Ephgrave, to whom I spoke at length. What he told me was the ice upon the cake. Alors, all is in hand. Tomorrow, Sergeant Gidley will arrive, and he will bring with him Helen Acton. Then we will clear up once and for all the perplexing affair of the killings at Kingfisher Hill. Now, tell me, Catchpool, how have you fared in my absence? Wait! Not now. Anyone might overhear us.’ This was true. We were by now standing in the entrance hall of Little Key. ‘I shall unpack my things and then we will talk.’
The Killings at Kingfisher Hill Page 22