details of where and when he
might have made her acquaintance, Constable Stanley
Beer delivered Henry Negus to Pleasant’s.
Mr. Negus was considerably more pleasing to the
eye than Samuel Kidd: a handsome man of around
fifty with iron-gray hair and a wise face. He was
smartly dressed and soft spoken. I liked him instantly.
His grief at the loss of his brother was palpable,
though he was a model of self-control throughout our
conversation.
“Please accept my condolences, Mr. Negus,” said
Poirot. “I am so sorry. It is a terrible thing to lose one
so close as a brother.”
Negus nodded his gratitude. “Anything I can do to
help—anything at all—I will gladly do. Mr.
Catchpool says that you have questions for me?”
“Yes, monsieur. The names Harriet Sippel and Ida
Gransbury—they are familiar to you?”
“Were they the other two who were. . . ?” Henry
Negus stopped talking as Fee Spring approached with
the cup of tea he had asked for on arrival.
Once she had retreated, Poirot said, “Yes. Harriet
Sippel and Ida Gransbury were also murdered at the
Bloxham Hotel yesterday evening.”
“The name Harriet Sippel means nothing to me. Ida
Gransbury and my brother were engaged to be
married years ago.”
“So you knew Mademoiselle Gransbury?” I heard
the flare of excitement in Poirot’s voice.
“No, I never met her,” said Henry Negus. “I knew
her name, of course, from Richard’s letters. He and I
rarely saw one another while he lived in Great
Holling. We wrote instead.”
I felt another piece of the puzzle slide into position
with a satisfying click. “Richard lived in Great
Holling?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice even.
If Poirot shared my surprise at this discovery, he did
not show it.
One village, linking all three murder victims. I
repeated its name several times in my mind: Great
Holling, Great Holling, Great Holling. Everything
seemed to point in its direction.
“Yes, Richard lived there until 1913,” said Negus.
“He had a law practice in the Culver Valley. It’s
where he and I grew up—in Silsford. Then in 1913 he
came to live in Devon with me, where he’s lived ever
since. I mean . . . where he lived,” he corrected
himself. His face looked suddenly haggard, as if the
knowledge of his brother’s death had landed violently
upon him once again, crushing him.
“Did Richard ever mention to you anyone from the
Culver Valley by the name of Jennie?” asked Poirot.
“Or anyone at all with that name, perhaps from Great
Holling or perhaps not?”
There was a pause that stretched forward. Then
Henry Negus said, “No.”
“What about a person with the initials PIJ?”
“No. The only one from the village that he ever
mentioned was Ida, his fiancée.”
“If I may ask a delicate question, monsieur: why
did your brother’s engagement not result in a
marriage?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. Richard and I were close
but we tended to discuss ideas more than anything
else. Philosophy, politics, theology . . . We did not
generally inquire into one another’s private business.
All he told me about Ida was that he was engaged to
be married to her, and then, in 1913, that they were no
longer engaged.”
“ Attendez. In 1913, his engagement to Ida
Gransbury ends, and also he leaves Great Holling to
move to Devon and live with you?”
“And my wife and children, yes.”
“Did he leave Great Holling in order to put more
distance between himself and Miss Gransbury?”
Henry Negus considered the question. “I think that
was part of it, but it wasn’t the whole story. Richard
hated Great Holling by the time he left it, and that
can’t have been only Ida Gransbury’s doing. He
loathed every inch of the place, he said. He didn’t tell
me why, and I didn’t ask. Richard had a way of letting
you know when he had said all he wanted to say. His
verdict on the village was delivered very much in the
spirit of
might have made her acquaintance, Constable Stanley
Beer delivered Henry Negus to Pleasant’s.
Mr. Negus was considerably more pleasing to the
eye than Samuel Kidd: a handsome man of around
fifty with iron-gray hair and a wise face. He was
smartly dressed and soft spoken. I liked him instantly.
His grief at the loss of his brother was palpable,
though he was a model of self-control throughout our
conversation.
“Please accept my condolences, Mr. Negus,” said
Poirot. “I am so sorry. It is a terrible thing to lose one
so close as a brother.”
Negus nodded his gratitude. “Anything I can do to
help—anything at all—I will gladly do. Mr.
Catchpool says that you have questions for me?”
“Yes, monsieur. The names Harriet Sippel and Ida
Gransbury—they are familiar to you?”
“Were they the other two who were. . . ?” Henry
Negus stopped talking as Fee Spring approached with
the cup of tea he had asked for on arrival.
Once she had retreated, Poirot said, “Yes. Harriet
Sippel and Ida Gransbury were also murdered at the
Bloxham Hotel yesterday evening.”
“The name Harriet Sippel means nothing to me. Ida
Gransbury and my brother were engaged to be
married years ago.”
“So you knew Mademoiselle Gransbury?” I heard
the flare of excitement in Poirot’s voice.
“No, I never met her,” said Henry Negus. “I knew
her name, of course, from Richard’s letters. He and I
rarely saw one another while he lived in Great
Holling. We wrote instead.”
I felt another piece of the puzzle slide into position
with a satisfying click. “Richard lived in Great
Holling?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice even.
If Poirot shared my surprise at this discovery, he did
not show it.
One village, linking all three murder victims. I
repeated its name several times in my mind: Great
Holling, Great Holling, Great Holling. Everything
seemed to point in its direction.
“Yes, Richard lived there until 1913,” said Negus.
“He had a law practice in the Culver Valley. It’s
where he and I grew up—in Silsford. Then in 1913 he
came to live in Devon with me, where he’s lived ever
since. I mean . . . where he lived,” he corrected
himself. His face looked suddenly haggard, as if the
knowledge of his brother’s death had landed violently
upon him once again, crushing him.
“Did Richard ever mention to you anyone from the
Culver Valley by the name of Jennie?” asked Poirot.
“Or anyone at all with that name, perhaps from Great
Holling or perhaps not?”
There was a pause that stretched forward. Then
Henry Negus said, “No.”
“What about a person with the initials PIJ?”
“No. The only one from the village that he ever
mentioned was Ida, his fiancée.”
“If I may ask a delicate question, monsieur: why
did your brother’s engagement not result in a
marriage?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. Richard and I were close
but we tended to discuss ideas more than anything
else. Philosophy, politics, theology . . . We did not
generally inquire into one another’s private business.
All he told me about Ida was that he was engaged to
be married to her, and then, in 1913, that they were no
longer engaged.”
“ Attendez. In 1913, his engagement to Ida
Gransbury ends, and also he leaves Great Holling to
move to Devon and live with you?”
“And my wife and children, yes.”
“Did he leave Great Holling in order to put more
distance between himself and Miss Gransbury?”
Henry Negus considered the question. “I think that
was part of it, but it wasn’t the whole story. Richard
hated Great Holling by the time he left it, and that
can’t have been only Ida Gransbury’s doing. He
loathed every inch of the place, he said. He didn’t tell
me why, and I didn’t ask. Richard had a way of letting
you know when he had said all he wanted to say. His
verdict on the village was delivered very much in the
spirit of
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