Free The Monogram Murders by Sophie Hannah Page B

is important, monsieur. Every detail that you
    can tell me about these three people is important.”
    “Well . . . they were being a bit catty, sir. Laughing
    about it, too.”
    “You mean they were being spiteful? How so?”
    “One of them was, yes. And Mr. Negus, he seemed
    to find it entertaining. It was something about an older
    woman and a younger man. It wasn’t my business so I
    didn’t listen.”
    “Do you remember what precisely was said? At
    whom was the cattishness directed?”
    “I couldn’t tell you, sir, I’m sorry. An old woman
    that might be pining for the love of a young man, that
    was the sense I got. It sounded like gossip to me.”
    “Monsieur,” said Poirot in his most authoritative
    voice. “If you should happen to remember anything
    else about this conversation, anything at all, please
    inform me without delay.”
    “I shall, sir. Now that I think about it, the young
    man might have deserted the older woman and eloped
    with another woman. Idle gossip, that’s all it was.”
    “So . . .” Poirot started to pace the length of the
    room. It was strange to see more than a hundred heads
    turn slowly, then turn back as he retraced his steps.
    “We have Richard Negus, Harriet Sippel and Ida
    Gransbury—one man and two women—in Room 317,
    talking cattily about one man and two women!”
    “But what’s the significance of that, Poirot?” I
    asked.
    “It might not be significant. It is interesting,
    however. And the idle gossip, the laughter, the
    afternoon tea for dinner . . . This tells us that our three
    murder victims were not strangers but acquaintances
    on friendly terms, unaware of the fate that would
    shortly befall them.”
    A sudden movement startled me. At the table
    immediately in front of where Poirot and I were
    standing, a black-haired, pale-faced young man had
    bounced out of his seat as if propelled from
    underneath. I would have assumed he was eager to
    say something were it not for the terror-frozen
    expression on his face.
    “This is one of our junior clerks, Mr. Thomas
    Brignell,” said Lazzari, presenting the man with a
    flourish of his hand.
    “They were more than on friendly terms, sir,”
    Brignell breathed after a protracted silence. No one
    sitting behind him could have heard what he said, his
    voice was so quiet. “They were good friends. They
    knew each other well.”
    “Of course they were good friends!” Lazzari
    announced to the room. “They ate a meal together!”
    “Many people eat meals every day with those they
    dislike profoundly,” said Poirot. “Please continue,
    Mr. Brignell.”
    “When I met Mr. Negus last night, he was
    concerned for the two ladies as only a good friend
    would be,” Thomas Brignell whispered at us.
    “You met him?” I said. “When? Where?”
    “Half past seven, sir.” He pointed toward the
    dining room’s double doors. I noticed that his arm
    was shaking. “Right outside here. I walked out and
    saw him going toward the lift. He saw me and
    stopped, called me over. I assumed he was making his
    way back to his room.”
    “What did he say to you?” Poirot asked.
    “He . . . he asked me to make sure that the meal
    was charged to him and not to either of the ladies. He
    could afford it, he said, but Mrs. Sippel and Miss
    Gransbury could not.”
    “Was that all he said, monsieur?”
    “Yes.” Brignell looked as if he might faint if he
    was required to produce one more word.
    “Thank you, Mr. Brignell,” I said as warmly as I
    could. “You’ve been very helpful.” Immediately I felt
    guilty for not having thanked Rafal Bobak in a similar
    manner, so I added, “As have you, Mr. Bobak. As
    have you all.”
    “Catchpool,” Poirot murmured. “Most people in
    this room have said nothing.”
    “They have listened attentively and applied their
    minds to the problems presented to them. I think they
    deserve credit for that.”
    “You have faith in their minds, yes? Perhaps these
    are the hundred people you call