The Real Ida Gransbury
SAMUEL KIDD CHUCKLED, TURNING round so that more people could see him. He said, “Mr. Poirot, for a man who takes pride in his powers of detection, you’re not the sharpest of instruments, are you? I’ve heard Jennie talk about this more often than you have, I think I can safely say. The plan was not for the killings to take place after a quarter past seven. I don’t know where you’ve caught hold of that idea. The plan was for them to happen just after six o’clock. The ordering of food at a quarter past seven wasn’t part of it either.”
“That’s right,” said Jennie. Offered a way out of the trap by her quick-thinking former fiancé, she appeared to have recovered her composure. “I can only conclude that my failure to arrive at six as agreed caused a delay. The others would have wanted to discuss my failure to present myself. I should have, in their place. The discussion about what to do might have taken some time.”
“Ah, bien s?r. You did not correct me a few moments ago, however, when I asserted that the deaths took place as planned: between a quarter past seven and eight o’clock. Neither did you say that the ordering of the very late afternoon tea was not part of the plan.”
“I’m sorry. I should have corrected you,” said Jennie. “I’m . . . I mean, this is all rather overwhelming.”
“You now say that the plan was for the three killings to take place at six o’clock?”
“Yes, and all be done by fifteen minutes before seven so that I could get to Pleasant’s by half past.”
“In that case, I have a different question for you, mademoiselle. Why did the plan require Mr. Kidd to wait a full hour once Harriet, Ida and Richard were all dead, and once you had left the hotel, before placing the note on the front desk? Why was it not agreed that Mr. Kidd should do this at, for example, a quarter past seven, or even half past seven? Why eight o’clock?”
Jennie recoiled as if from a blow. “Why not eight o’clock?” she said defiantly. “What was the harm in waiting a while?
“You ask some daft questions, Mr. Poirot,” said Sam Kidd.
“No harm whatever in waiting, mademoiselle—I agree entirely. Therefore we must ask ourselves: why leave a note at all? Why not wait for the hotel maids to find the three bodies the following morning? Jennie? Do not look at Samuel Kidd. Look at Hercule Poirot! Answer the question.”
“I . . . I don’t know! I think maybe Richard . . .”
“No! Not maybe Richard!” Poirot spoke over her. “If you will not answer my question, allow me to do so. You told Mr. Kidd to leave the note on the desk just after eight because it was always part of the plan for the murders to appear to have been committed between a quarter past seven and eight o’clock!”
Poirot turned once again to the silent, wide-eyed crowd. “Let us think about the afternoon tea for three that was ordered, and delivered to Room 317—Ida Gransbury’s room. Let us imagine that our three voluntary victims, puzzled by the absence of Jennie Hobbs, were unsure what to do, and so went to Ida Gransbury’s room to discuss the matter. Catchpool, if you were about to allow yourself to be executed for a past sin, would you order scones and cakes immediately beforehand?”
“No. I would be too nervous to eat or drink anything.”
“Perhaps our trio of executioners thought it important to keep up their strength for the important task ahead,” Poirot speculated. “Then, when the food arrived, they could not bring themselves to eat it. But to where did all this food disappear?”
“Are you asking me?” said Jennie. “I’m afraid I don’t know, since I wasn’t there.”
“To return to the timing of these killings,” said Poirot. “The police doctor’s view was that death occurred in all three cases between four and half past eight. Circumstantial evidence later narrowed this down to between a quarter past seven and ten past eight. Eh bien, let us examine that circumstantial evidence. The waiter Rafal Bobak saw all three victims alive at a quarter past seven when he made his delivery to Room 317, and Thomas Brignell saw Richard Negus alive at half past seven in the hotel lobby, when Negus complimented Brignell on his efficiency, asked him to make sure the tea and cakes were put on his bill, and requested a sherry. So it seems that none of the killings can have happened before fifteen minutes past seven, and that the murder of Richard Negus cannot have happened before half past.
“However, there are a handful of details that do not fit to make the neat picture. First, there is the disappearing food that we know was not eaten by Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard Negus. I do not believe that anyone about to kill for the first time would imagine he might first want to eat a scone. So why order food that one has no intention of eating unless to establish in the eyes of a witness that you are alive at a quarter past seven? And why should it be necessary for our three victims to be seen alive at that specific time? I can think of just one possible explanation that is consistent with Jennie Hobbs’s story: if our conspirators knew, somehow, that Nancy Ducane had no credible alibi for the hour between a quarter past seven and a quarter past eight, they might have wished to make it look as if that was when the killings took place. But Nancy Ducane has a very solid alibi for that hour, does she not, Lady Wallace?”
Louisa Wallace rose to her feet. “Yes, she does. She was with me and my husband until around ten o’clock that evening, dining in our home.”
“Merci beaucoup, madame. Alors, I can think of only one reason why it should be of such vital importance to create the appearance of the three deaths having taken place between a quarter past seven and ten past eight: between those times, Jennie Hobbs has an unshakeable alibi. I, Hercule Poirot, know perfectly well that she cannot have been at the Bloxham Hotel then. She was with me at Pleasant’s Coffee House between thirty-five and fifty minutes past seven, and I have already spoken about the traveling times involved.
“I put all this together with my conviction that the three deaths did not occur between a quarter past seven and ten minutes past eight, and I begin to wonder: why go to such trouble to make it look as if Jennie Hobbs could not have committed these murders, unless in fact she did commit them?”
Jennie leapt up out of her chair. “I didn’t kill anybody! I swear I didn’t! Of course they died between quarter past seven and eight o’clock—it’s clear to everybody but you!”
“Sit down and remain silent, Miss Hobbs, unless I ask you a direct question,” said Poirot coldly.
Samuel Kidd’s face was contorted with rage. “You’re making all this up, Mr. Poirot! How do you know they didn’t order that food because they were ravenous hungry? Just because you wouldn’t be or I wouldn’t be, doesn’t mean they weren’t.”
“Then why did they not eat the food, Mr. Kidd?” I asked. “Where did all those sandwiches and cakes vanish to?”
“The finest afternoon tea in all of London!” murmured Luca Lazzari.
“I will tell you where it went, Catchpool,” said Poirot. “Our murderer made a mistake relating to the afternoon tea—one of many. If the food had been left on the plates in Room 317 for the police to find, there would have been no mystery. It would have been assumed that the killer arrived and interrupted the happy occasion before the feast could begin. But the killer thinks it will arouse suspicion, all that uneaten food. He does not want anyone to ask the question, “Why order food and then not eat it?”
“Then what became of the food?” I asked. “Where did it disappear to?”
“The conspirators removed it from the scene. Oh, yes, ladies and gentlemen, there was most assuredly a conspiracy to commit these three murders! In case I have not yet made it clear: Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard Negus were all dead long before a quarter past seven o’clock on the Thursday in question.”
Luca Lazzari stepped forward. “Monsieur Poirot, please forgive my intrusion, but I must tell you that Rafal Bobak, my most loyal of waiters, would not lie. He saw the three murder victims alive and well when he delivered the food at a quarter past seven. Alive and well! You must be mistaken in what you are saying.”
“I am not mistaken. Though in one respect you are correct: your waiter Rafal Bobak is indeed an exemplary witness. He certainly saw three people in Room 317 when he delivered the afternoon tea—but those people were not Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard Negus.”
All over the room there were gasps of shock. I gave one myself, wracking my brains to think who else the three might have been. Not Jennie Hobbs, for she would have been on her way to Pleasant’s Coffee House at that time. Who, then?
“Poirot,” I said nervously. “Is it your contention that three people impersonated the murder victims in order to make it look as if they were still alive when the food was delivered?”
“Not precisely, no. In fact, two people impersonated two of the murder victims. The third person, Ida Gransbury . . . she was not an impersonation, I am sorry to say. No, she was unfortunately the real Ida Gransbury. Mr. Bobak, do you remember what you told me about what you overheard and what you witnessed when you took the afternoon tea to Room 317? I recall every word, since you have given me your account twice. Would you mind if I repeat it now for the benefit of us all?”
“No, sir, I would not.”
“Merci. You arrived to find the three murder victims apparently alive and talking about people they knew. You heard Harriet Sippel, or the woman later referred to as ‘Harriet’ by the man in the room, say, ‘She had no choice, did she? She’s no longer the one he confides in. He’d hardly be interested in her now—she’s let herself go, and she’s old enough to be his mother. No, if she wanted to find out what was going on in his mind, she had no choice but to receive the woman he does confide in, and talk to her.’ This was when the man in the room broke off from attending to you and to the food, and said, ‘Oh, Harriet, that’s hardly fair. Ida’s easily shocked. Go easy on her.’ Have I been accurate so far, Mr. Bobak?”
“You have, sir.”
“You then told me that either Ida or Harriet said something else that you could not remember, and then the man you assumed was Richard Negus said, ‘His mind? I’d argue he has no mind. And I dispute the old-enough-to-be-his-mother claim. I dispute it utterly.’ At which point the woman going by the name of Harriet laughed and said, ‘Well, neither of us can prove we’re right, so let’s agree to disagree!’ Correct?”
Rafal Bobak confirmed that, once again, Poirot had got it right.
“Bon. May I suggest to you, Mr. Bobak, that the remark made by either Ida or Harriet that you do not remember was in fact made by Harriet? I am convinced—absolutely convinced!—that you did not hear Ida Gransbury speak one single word while you were in that room, and that you did not see her face because she was sitting with her back facing the door.”
Bobak frowned, concentrating. Eventually he said, “I think you are right, Mr. Poirot. No, I did not see the face of Miss Ida Gransbury. And . . . I don’t think I heard her speak at all, now that you bring it up.”
“You did not hear her speak, monsieur—for the simple reason that Ida Gransbury, propped up in a chair with her back facing the door, was already murdered by a quarter past seven. The third person in Room 317 when you took up the afternoon tea was a dead woman!”