MURDER AT CHRISTMAS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23274, 17 February 1939, Page 21

MURDER AT CHRISTMAS

By AGATHA CHRISTIE

A mystery story in which Herculo Poirot appears again.

(COP7IUGBT)

TWENTY-FOURTH INSTALMENT—

Stephen had gone dead white. He said, and his voice was broken and husky:— "Yea, I've always wondered what kind of a man my father was . . . Mother spoke about him sometimes. It grew into a kind of obsession with me—to see what he was like! I made a bit of money and I came to England. I wasn't, going to let him know who I was. I pretended to be old Eb's son. I came here for one reason only—to 6ee the man who was my father. . v" Superintendent •Sugden said in almost a whisper: "Lord, I've been blind . . . t can see it now. Twice I've taken you for Mr. Harry Lee, and then seen my mistake, and yet I never guessed!" He turned on Pilar. "That was it, wasn't it? It was Stephen Farr you saw standing outside that door? You hesitated, I remember, and looked at him before you said it was a woman.' It was Farr you saw, and you weren't going to give him away." There was* a gentle rustle. Hilda Lee's deep voice spoke. "No," she said. "You're wrong. It was I whom Pilar saw. . ." Poirot said: "You madame? Ye 3, I thought so. . ." Hilda said quietly: "Self preservation is a curious thing. I wouldn't believe I could be such a coward. To keep silence just because I was afraid!" Poirot said: "You will tell us now?" She nodded. "I was with David in the music room. He was playing. He was in a very queer mood. I was a little frightened, and I felt my responsibility very keenly, because it was I who had insisted on coming here. David began to play the Dead March, and suddenly I made up my mind. However odd it might seem, I determined that we would both leave at once—that night. I went quietly out of the music room and upstairs. I meant to go to old Mr. Lee and tell him quite plainly why we were going. I went along the corridor to his room and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I knocked again a little louder. There was still no answer. Then I tried the door-handle. The door was locked. And then,'as I stood hesitating, I heard a sound inside the room- "

She stopped. "You won't believe me, but it's true! Someone was in these —assaulting Mr. Lee. I heard tables and chairs overturned and the crash of glass and china, and then I heard that one last horrible cry that died away to nothing and then silence.

"I stood there paralysed! I couldn't move! And then Mr. Farr came running along and Magdalene and all the others and Mr. Farr and Harry began to batter on the door. It went down and we saw the room and there was no one in it —except Mr. Lee lying dead in all that blood."

Her quiet voice rose higher. She cried: >■

"There was no one else there—llo one, you understand! And no one had come out of the room. . ." Superintendent Sugden drew a deep breath. He said: "Either I'm going mad or everybody else is! What you've said, Mrs. Lee, is just plumb impossible. It's crazy!" j Hilda Lee cried: "I tell you I heard them fighting in ! there and I heard the old man scream when his throat was cut —and no one came out and no one was in the room!" Hercule Poirot said: "And all this time you have 6aid nothing." Hilda Lee's face was white but she said steadily: "No, because if I told you what had happened there's only one thing you could say or think —that it was I who killed him. . ." Poirot shook his head. "No," ho said, "you did not kill him. His son killed him." Stephen Farr said: "I swear before God I never touched him!" "Not you," Baid Poirot. "He had other sons!" Harry said: "What the hell- " George stared. David drew his hand across his eyes. Alfred blinked twice. Poirot said: "The very first night I was here—the night of the murder—l saw a ghost. It was the ghost of the dead man. When I first saw Harry Lee I was puzzled. I felt I had seen him before. Then I noted his features carefully and I realised how like his father he was, and I told myself that that was what caused the feeling of familiarity. "But yesterday a man sitting opposite me threw back his head and laughed—and I knew who it was Harry Lee reminded me of. And I traced again, in another face, the features of the dead man.

"No wonder poor old Tressilian felt confused when he answered the door not to two but to three men who resembled each other closely. No vronder he confessed to getting muddled about people when there were three men in the house who, at a little distance, could pass for each other! The same build, the same gestures (one in particular, a trick of stroking the 1 jaw), the same habit of the head thrown back, the same distinctive high-bridged nose. Yet the similarity was not always easy to see—for the third man had. a moustache."

Ho leaned forward. "One forgets sometimes that police officers are men, that they have wives and children, mothers" he paused "—and fathers. . . Remember Simeon Lee's local reputation: A man who broke his wife's heart because of his affairs with women. A son, born the wrong side of the blanket, may inherit many things. He may inherit his father's features and even his gestures. He may inherit his pride and his patience and his revengeful spirit!" His voice rose.

"All your life, Sugden, you've resented the wrong your father did you. I think you determined long ago to kill him. You come from the next county, not very far away. Doubtless your mother, with the money Simeon Lee gave her so generously, was able to find a husband who would stand father to her. child. Easy for you to enter the Middleshire Police Force and wait your opportunity. A police superintendent t has a grand opportunity of committing a murder and getting away with it."

Sugden's face had gone white as paper. He said:— "You're mad! I was outside the house when he was killed." Poirot shook his head.

"No, you killed him before you left the house the first time. No one saw him alive after you left. It was all so easy for you. Simeon Lee expected you, yes, but he never sent for you. It was you who rang him up and spoke vaguely about an attempt at robbery. You said you would call upon him just before eight that night and would pretend to be collecting for a police charity. Simeon Lee had no suspicions, lie did not know you were his son. You came and told him a tale of substituted diamonds. He opened the safe to show you that the real diamonds were safe in his possession. You apologised, came back to _ the hearth with him, and catching him unawares you cut his throat, holding your hand over his mouth so that he shouldn't cry out. Child's play to a man of your powerful physique. "Then you set the scene. You took the diamonds. You piled up tables and chairs, lamps and glasses, and twined a very thin rope or cord which you had brought in coiled round your body in and out between them. You had with you a bottle of some freshly killed animal's blood to which you had added a quantity of sodium citrate. You sprinkled this about freely and added more sodium citrate to the pool of blood which flowed from Simeon Lee's wound. You made up the fire so that the body, should keep its warmth. Then you passed the two ends of the cord out through the narrow slit at the bottom of the window and let them hang down the wall. You left the room and turned the key from the outside. That was vital, since no one must by any chance enter that room.

"Then you went out and hid the diamonds in the stone sink garden. If, sooner or later, they were discovered there, they would only focus suspicion more strongly where you wanted it—on the members of Simeon Lee's legitimate family. A little before nine-fifteen yon.,returned and, going up to the wall underneath the window, you pulled on the cord. That dislodged the carefully piled up structure you had arranged. Furniture and china fell with a crash. You pulled on one end of the cord and rewound it round your body under your coat and waistcoat. "You had one further device!" He turned to the others. "Do you remember, all of you, how each of you described the dying scream of Mr. Lee in a different way. You, Mr. Lee, described it as the cry of a man in mortal agony. Your wife and David Lee both used* the expression, a soul in hell. Mrs. David Lee, on the contrary, said it was the cry of some one who had no soul. She said it was inhuman like a beast. It was Harry Lee who came nearest to_ the truth, He said it sounded like killing a pig. (To be concluded.)