The Monogram Murders by Sophie Hannah Read Free Book Online

a point that is
    very interesting.”
    I did not think I had. It was an asinine joke and
    nothing more. Poirot seemed intent on congratulating
    me for my most absurd notions.
    “One, two, three,” said Poirot as we went up in the
    lift. “Harriet Sippel, Room 121. Richard Negus,
    Room 238. Ida Gransbury, Room 317. The hotel has a
    fourth and a fifth floor also, but our three murder
    victims are on the consecutive floors 1, 2 and 3. It is
    very neat.” Poirot usually approved of things that
    were neat, but he looked worried about this one.
    We examined the three rooms, which were
    identical in almost every respect. Each contained a
    bed, cupboards, a basin with an upturned glass sitting
    on one corner, several armchairs, a table, a desk, a
    tiled fireplace, a radiator, a larger table over by the
    window, a suitcase, clothes and personal effects, and
    a dead person.
    Each room’s door closed with a thud, trapping me
    inside . . .
    “Hold his hand, Edward.”
    I couldn’t bring myself to look too closely at the
    bodies. All three were lying on their backs, perfectly
    straight, with their arms flat by their sides and their
    feet pointing toward the door. Formally laid out.
    (Even writing these words, describing the posture
    of the bodies, produces in me an intolerable
    sensation. Is it any wonder I could not look closely at
    the three victims’ faces for more than a few seconds at
    a time? The blue undertone to the skin; the still, heavy
    tongues; the shriveled lips? Though I would have
    studied their faces in detail rather than look at their
    lifeless hands, and I would have done anything at all
    rather than wonder what I could not help wondering:
    whether Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard
    Negus would have wanted somebody to hold their
    hands once they were dead, or whether the idea
    would have horrified them. Alas, the human mind is a
    perverse, uncontrollable organ, and the contemplation
    of this matter pained me greatly.)
    Formally laid out . . .
    A thought struck me with great force. That was
    what was so grotesque about these three murder
    scenes, I realized: that the bodies had been laid out as
    a doctor might lay out his deceased patient, after
    tending him in his illness for many months. The
    bodies of Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard
    Negus had been arranged with meticulous care—or so
    it seemed to me. Their killer had ministered to them
    after their deaths, which made it all the more chilling
    that he had murdered them in cold blood.
    No sooner had I had this thought than I told myself
    I was quite wrong. It was not ministration that had
    taken place here; far from it. I was confusing the
    present and the past, mixing up this business at the
    Bloxham with my unhappiest childhood memories. I
    ordered myself to think only about what was here in
    front of me, and nothing else. I tried to see it all
    through Poirot’s eyes, without the distortion of my
    own experience.
    Each of the murder victims lay between a wing-
    backed armchair and a small table. On the three tables
    were two teacups with saucers (Harriet Sippel’s and
    Ida Gransbury’s) and one sherry glass (Richard
    Negus’s). In Ida Gransbury’s room, 317, there was a
    tray on the larger table by the window, loaded with
    empty plates and one more teacup and saucer. This
    cup was also empty. There was nothing on the plates
    but crumbs.
    “Aha,” said Poirot. “So in this room we have two
    teacups and many plates. Miss Ida Gransbury had
    company for her evening meal, most certainly.
    Perhaps she had the murderer’s company. But why is
    the tray still here, when the trays have been removed
    from the rooms of Harriet Sippel and Richard
    Negus?”
    “They might not have ordered food,” I said.
    “Maybe they only wanted drinks—the tea and the
    sherry—and no trays were left in their rooms in the
    first place. Ida Gransbury also brought twice as many
    clothes with her as the other two.” I gestured toward
    the cupboard, which