Colonel Johnson stifled a chuckle. It was one of the few occasions when he had seen the stolid superintendent taken aback.
‘But of course,’ Pilar continued regretfully, ‘he could never have been so big as you.’
Hercule Poirot sighed.
‘You like, then, big men, señorita?’ he inquired.
Pilar agreed enthusiastically.
‘Oh, yes, I like a man to be very big, tall, and the shoulders broad, and very, very strong.’
Colonel Johnson said sharply:
‘Did you see much of your grandfather when you arrived here?’
Pilar said:
‘Oh, yes. I went to sit with him. He told me things—that he had been a very wicked man, and all the things he did in South Africa.’
‘Did he ever tell you that he had diamonds in the safe in his room?’
‘Yes, he showed them to me. But they were not like diamonds—they were just like pebbles—very ugly—very ugly indeed.’
Superintendent Sugden said shortly:
‘So he showed them to you, did he?’
‘Yes.’
‘He didn’t give you any of them?’
Pilar shook her head.
‘No, he did not. I thought that perhaps one day he would—if I were very nice to him and came often to sit with him. Because old gentlemen they like very much young girls.’
Colonel Johnson said:
‘Do you know that those diamonds have been stolen?’
Pilar opened her eyes very wide.
‘Stolen?’
‘Yes, have you any idea who might have taken them?’
Pilar nodded her head.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘It would be Horbury.’
‘Horbury? You mean the valet?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Because he has the face of a thief. His eyes go so, from side to side, he walks softly and listens at doors. He is like a cat. And all cats are thieves.’
‘H’m,’ said Colonel Johnson. ‘We’ll leave it at that. Now I understand that all the family were up in your grandfather’s room this afternoon, and that some—er—angry words passed.’
Pilar nodded and smiled.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was great fun. Grandfather made them oh! so angry!’
‘Oh, you enjoyed it, did you?’
‘Yes. I like to see people get angry. I like it very much. But here in England they do not get angry like they do in Spain. In Spain they take out their knives and they curse and shout. In England they do nothing, just get very red in the face and shut up their mouths tight.’
‘Do you remember what was said?’
Pilar seemed rather doubtful.
‘I am not sure. Grandfather said they were no good—that they had not got any children. He said I was better than any of them. He liked me, very much.’
‘Did he say anything about money or a will?’
‘A will—no, I don’t think so. I don’t remember.’
‘What happened?’
‘They all went away—except Hilda—the fat one, David’s wife, she stayed behind.’
‘Oh, she did, did she?’
‘Yes. David looked very funny. He was all shaking and oh! so white. He looked as though he might be sick.’
‘And what then?’
‘Then I went and found Stephen. We danced to the gramophone.’
‘Stephen Farr?’
‘Yes. He is from South Africa—he is the son of Grandfather’s partner. He is very handsome too. Very brown and big, and he has nice eyes.’
Johnson asked:
‘Where were you when the crime occurred?’
‘You ask where I was?’
‘Yes.’
‘I had gone into the drawing-room with Lydia. And then I went up to my room and did my face. I was going to dance again with Stephen. And then, far away, I heard a scream and everyone was running, so I went too. And they were trying to break down Grandfather’s door. Harry did it with Stephen, they are both big strong men.’
‘Yes?’
‘And then—crash—down it went—and we all looked in. Oh, such a sight—everything smashed and knocked over, and Grandfather lying in a lot of blood, and his throat was cut like this’—she made a vivid dramatic gesture at her own neck—‘right up under his ear.’
She paused, having obviously enjoyed her narrative.
Johnson said:
‘The blood didn’t make you feel ill?’
She stared.
‘No, why should it? There is usually blood when people are killed. There was, oh! so much blood everywhere!’
Poirot said: ‘Did anyone say anything?’
Pilar said:
‘David said such a funny thing—what was it? Oh, yes. The mills of God—that is what he said’—she repeated it with emphasis on each word—‘The mills—of—God—What does that mean? Mills are what make flour, are they not?’
Colonel Johnson said:
‘Well, I don’t think there is anything more just now, Miss Estravados.’
Pilar got up obediently. She flashed a quick charming smile at each man in turn.
‘I will go now, then.’ She went out.
Colonel Johnson said:
‘The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small. And David Lee said that!’
XV
As the door opened once more, Colonel Johnson looked up. For a moment he took the entering figure to be that of Harry Lee, but as Stephen Farr advanced into the room he saw his error.
‘Sit down, Mr Farr,’ he said.
Stephen sat. His eyes, cool, intelligent eyes, went from one to the other of the three men. He said:
‘I’m afraid I shan’t be much use to you. But please ask me anything that you think may help. Perhaps I’d better explain, to start with, who I am. My father, Ebenezer Farr, was Simeon Lee’s partner in South Africa in the old days. I’m talking of over forty years ago.’
He paused.
‘My dad talked to me a lot about Simeon Lee—what a personality he was. He and Dad cleaned up a good bit together. Simeon Lee went home with a fortune and my father didn’t do badly either. My father always told me that when I came to this country I was to look up Mr Lee. I said once that it was a long time ago and that he’d probably not know who I was, but Dad scoffed at the idea. He said, “When two men have been through what Simeon and I went through, they don’t forget.” Well, my father died a couple of years ago. This year I came over to England for the first time, and I thought I’d act on Dad’s advice and look up Mr Lee.’
With a slight smile he went on:
‘I was just a little nervous when I came along here, but I needn’t have been. Mr Lee gave me a warm welcome and absolutely insisted that I should stay with the family over Christmas. I was afraid I was butting in, but he wouldn’t hear of a refusal.’
He added rather shyly:
‘They were all very nice to me—Mr and Mrs Alfred Lee couldn’t have been nicer. I’m terribly sorry for them that all this should come upon them.’
‘How long have you been here, Mr Farr?’
‘Since yesterday.’
‘Did you see Mr Lee today at all?’
‘Yes, I had a chat with him this morning. He was in good spirits then and anxious to hear about a lot of people and places.’
‘That was the last time you saw him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he mention to you that he kept a quantity of uncut diamonds in his safe?’
‘No.’
He added before the other could speak:
‘Do you mean that this business was murder and robbery?’
‘We’re not sure yet,’ said Johnson. ‘Now to come to the events of this evening, will you tell me, in your own words, what you were doing?’
‘Certainly. After the ladies left the dining-room I stayed and had a glass of port. Then I realized that the Lees had family business they wanted to discuss and that my being
there was hampering them so I excused myself and left them.’
‘And what did you do then?’
Stephen Farr leaned back in his chair. His forefinger caressed his jaw. He said rather woodenly:
‘I—er—went along to a big room with a parquet floor—a kind of ballroom, I fancy. There’s a gramophone there and dance records. I put some records on.’
Poirot said:
‘It was possible, perhaps, that someone might join you there?’
A very faint smile curved Stephen Farr’s lips. He answered:
‘It was possible, yes. One always hopes.’
And he grinned outright.
Poirot said:
‘Señorita Estravados is very beautiful.’
Stephen answered:
‘She’s easily the best thing to look at that I’ve seen since I came to England.’
‘Did Miss Estravados join you?’ asked Colonel Johnson.
Stephen shook his head.
‘I was still there when I heard the rumpus. I came out into the hall and ran hell for leather to see what was the matter. I helped Harry Lee to break the door down.’
‘And that’s all you have to tell us?’
‘Absolutely all, I’m afraid.’
Hercule Poirot leaned forward. He said softly:
‘But I think, Monsieur Farr, that you could tell us a good deal if you liked.’
Farr said sharply:
‘What d’you mean?’
‘You can tell us something that is very important in this case—the character of Mr Lee. You say that your father talked much of him to you. What manner of a man was it that he described to you?’
Stephen Farr said slowly:
‘I think I see what you’re driving at. What was Simeon Lee like in his young days? Well—you want me to be frank, I suppose?’
‘If you please.’
‘Well, to begin with, I don’t think that Simeon Lee was a highly moral member of society. I don’t mean that he was exactly a crook, but he sailed pretty near the wind. His morals were nothing to boast about anyway. He had charm, though, a good deal of it. And he was fantastically generous. No one with a hard-luck story ever appealed to him in vain. He drank a bit, but not over-much, was attractive to women, and had a sense of humour. All the same, he had a queer revengeful streak in him. Talk of the elephant never forgets and you talk of Simeon Lee. My father told me of several cases where Lee waited years to get even with someone who’d done him a nasty turn.’
Superintendent Sugden said:
‘Two might play at that game. You’ve no knowledge, I suppose, Mr Farr, of anyone who Simeon Lee had done a bad turn to out there? Nothing out of the past that could explain the crime committed here this evening?’
Stephen Farr shook his head.
‘He had enemies, of course, must have had, being the man he was. But I know of no specific case. Besides,’ his eyes narrowed, ‘I understand (as a matter of fact, I’ve been questioning Tressilian) there have been no strangers in or near the house this evening.’
Hercule Poirot said:
‘With the exception of yourself, M. Farr.’
Stephen Farr swung round upon him.
‘Oh, so that’s it? Suspicious stranger within the gates! Well, you won’t find anything of that kind. No back history of Simeon Lee doing Ebenezer Farr down, and Eb’s son coming over to revenge his dad! No,’ he shook his head. ‘Simeon and Ebenezer had nothing against each other. I came here, as I’ve told you, out of sheer curiosity. And moreover, I should imagine a gramophone is as good an alibi as anything else. I never stopped putting on records—somebody must have heard them. One record wouldn’t give me time to race away upstairs—these passages are a mile long, anyway—slit an old man’s throat, wash off the blood, and get back again before the others came rushing up. The idea’s farcical!’
Colonel Johnson said:
‘We’re not making any insinuations against you, Mr Farr.’
Stephen Farr said:
‘I didn’t care much for the tone of Mr Hercule Poirot’s voice.’
‘That,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘is unfortunate!’
He smiled benignly at the other.
Stephen Farr looked angrily at him.
Colonel Johnson interposed quickly:
‘Thank you, Mr Farr. That will be all for the present. You will, of course, not leave this house.’
Stephen Farr nodded. He got up and left the room, walking with a freely swinging stride.
As the door closed behind him, Johnson said:
‘There goes X, the unknown quantity. His story seems straightforward enough. All the same, he’s the dark horse. He might have pinched those diamonds—might have come here with a bogus story just to gain admittance. You’d better get his fingerprints, Sugden, and see if he’s known.’
‘I’ve already got them,’ said the superintendent with a dry smile.
‘Good man. You don’t overlook much. I suppose you’re on to all the obvious lines?’
Superintendent Sugden checked off on his fingers.
‘Check up on those telephone calls—times, etc. Check up on Horbury. What time he left, who saw him go. Check up all entrances and exits. Check up on staff generally. Check up financial position of members of family. Get on to the lawyers and check up on will. Search house for the weapon and for bloodstains on clothing—also possibly diamonds hidden somewhere.’
‘That covers everything, I think,’ said Colonel Johnson approvingly. ‘Can you suggest anything, M. Poirot?’
Poirot shook his head. He said:
‘I find the superintendent admirably thorough.’
Sugden said gloomily:
‘It won’t be any joke looking through this house for the missing diamonds. Never saw so many ornaments and knick-knacks in my life.’
‘The hiding-places are certainly abundant,’ Poirot agreed.
‘And there’s really nothing you would suggest, Poirot?’
The chief constable looked a little disappointed—rather like a man whose dog has refused to do its trick.
Poirot said:
‘You will permit that I take a line of my own?’
‘Certainly—certainly,’ said Johnson at the same moment as Superintendent Sugden said rather suspiciously:
‘What line?’
‘I would like,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘to converse—very often—very frequently—with members of the family.’
‘You mean you’d like to have another shot at questioning them?’ asked the colonel, a little puzzled.
‘No, no, not to question—to converse!’
‘Why?’ asked Sugden.
Hercule Poirot waved an emphatic hand.
‘In conversation, points arise! If a human being converses much, it is impossible for him to avoid the truth!’
Sugden said:
‘Then you think someone is lying?’
Poirot sighed.
‘Mon cher, everyone lies—in parts like the egg of the English curate. It is profitable to separate the harmless lies from the vital ones.’
Colonel Johnson said sharply:
‘All the same, it’s incredible, you know. Here’s a particularly crude and brutal murder—and whom have we as suspects? Alfred Lee and his wife—both charming, well-bred, quiet people. George Lee, who’s a Member of Parliament and the essence of respectability. His wife? She’s just an ordinary modern lovely. David Lee seems a gentle creature and we’ve got his brother Harry’s word for it that he can’t stand the sight of blood. His wife seems a nice sensible woman—quite commonplace. Remains the Spanish niece and the man from South Africa. Spanish beauties have hot tempers, but I don’t see that attractive creature slitting the old man’s neck in cold blood, especially as from what has come out she had every reason to keep him alive—at any rate until he had signed a new will. Stephen Farr’s a possibility—that is to say, he may be a professional crook and have come here after the diamonds. The old man discovered the loss and Farr slit his throat to
keep him quiet. That could have been so—that gramophone alibi isn’t too good.’
Poirot shook his head.
‘My dear friend,’ he said. ‘Compare the physique of M. Stephen Farr and old Simeon Lee. If Farr decided to kill the old man he could have done it in a minute—Simeon Lee couldn’t possibly have put up that fight against him. Can one believe that that frail old man and that magnificent specimen of humanity struggled for some minutes overturning chairs and breaking china? To imagine such a thing is fantastic!’
Colonel Johnson’s eyes narrowed.
‘You mean,’ he said, ‘that it was a weak man who killed Simeon Lee?’
‘Or a woman!’ said the superintendent.
XVI
Colonel Johnson looked at his watch.
‘Nothing much more that I can do here. You’ve got things well in hand, Sugden. Oh, just one thing. We ought to see the butler fellow. I know you’ve questioned him, but we know a bit more about things now. It’s important to get confirmation of just where everybody says he was at the time of the murder.’
Tressilian came in slowly. The chief constable told him to sit down.
‘Thank you, sir. I will, if you don’t mind. I’ve been feeling very queer—very queer indeed. My legs, sir, and my head.’
Poirot said gently: ‘You have had the shock, yes.’
The butler shuddered. ‘Such—such a violent thing to happen. In this house! Where everything has always gone on so quietly.’
Poirot said:
‘It was a well-ordered house, yes? But not a happy one?’
‘I wouldn’t like to say that, sir.’
‘In the old days when all the family was at home, it was happy then?’
Tressilian said slowly:
‘It wasn’t perhaps what one would call very harmonious, sir.’
‘The late Mrs Lee was somewhat of an invalid, was she not?’
‘Yes, sir, very poorly she was.’
‘Were her children fond of her?’
‘Mr David, he was devoted to her. More like a daughter than a son. And after she died he broke away, couldn’t face living here any longer.’
Poirot said: ‘And Mr Harry? What was he like?’
‘Always rather a wild young gentleman, sir, but good-hearted. Oh, dear, gave me quite a turn, it did, when the bell rang—and then again, so impatient like, and I opened the door and there was a strange man, and then Mr Harry’s voice said, “Hallo, Tressilian. Still here, eh?” Just the same as ever.’
Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery Page 11