Hercule Poirot's Christmas

‘Mais oui,’ said Poirot. ‘I know what you mean. Mrs George Lee, she let the cat out of the bag more than she knew! She gave us a pretty impression of that last family meeting. She indicates – oh! so naively – that Alfred was angry with his father – and that David looked as “though he could murder him”. Both those statements I think were true. But from them we can draw our own reconstruction. What did Simeon Lee assemble his family for? Why should they have arrived in time to hear him telephoning to his lawyer? Parbleu, it was no error, that. He wanted them to hear it! The poor old one, he sits in his chair and he has lost the diversions of his younger days. So he invents a new diversion for himself. He amuses himself by playing upon the cupidity and the greed of human nature – yes, and on its emotions and its passions, too! But from that arises one further deduction. In his game of rousing the greed and emotion of his children, he would not omit anyone. He must, logically and necessarily, have had his dig at Mr George Lee as well as at the others! His wife is carefully silent about that. At her, too, he may have shot a poisoned arrow or two. We shall find out, I think, from others, what Simeon Lee had to say to George Lee and George Lee’s wife–’

He broke off. The door opened and David Lee came in.

XII

David Lee had himself well in hand. His demeanour was calm – almost unnaturally so. He came up to them, drew a chair forward and sat down, looking with grave interrogation at Colonel Johnson.

The electric light touched the fair peak of hair that grew on his forehead and showed up the sensitive modelling of the cheek bones. He looked absurdly young to be the son of that shrivelled old man who lay dead upstairs.

‘Yes, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘what can I tell you?’

Colonel Johnson said:

‘I understand, Mr Lee, that there was a kind of family meeting held in your father’s room this afternoon?’ 

‘There was. But it was quite informal. I mean, it was not a family council or anything of that kind.’

‘What took place there?’

David Lee answered calmly:

‘My father was in a difficult mood. He was an old man and an invalid, of course, one had to make allowances for him. He seemed to have assembled us there in order to – well – vent his spite upon us.’

‘Can you remember what he said?’

David said quietly:

‘It was really all rather foolish. He said we were no use – any of us – that there wasn’t a single man in the family! He said Pilar (that is my Spanish niece) was worth two of any of us. He said–’ David stopped.

Poirot said:

‘Please, Mr Lee, the exact words, if you can.’

David said reluctantly:

‘He spoke rather coarsely – said he hoped that somewhere in the world he had better sons – even if they were born the wrong side of the blanket…’

His sensitive face showed distaste for the words he was repeating. Superintendent Sugden looked up, suddenly alert. Leaning forward, he said:

‘Did your father say anything in particular to your brother, Mr George Lee?’

‘To George? I don’t remember. Oh, yes, I believe he told him he would have to cut down expenses in future; he’d have to reduce his allowance. George was very upset, got as red as a turkey cock. He spluttered and said he couldn’t possibly manage with less. My father said quite coolly that he’d have to. He said he’d better get his wife to help him economize. Rather a nasty dig, that – George has always been the economical one – saves and stints on every penny. Magdalene, I fancy, is a bit of a spender – she has extravagant tastes.’

Poirot said:

‘So that she, too, was annoyed?’

‘Yes. Besides, my father worded something else rather crudely – mentioned her as having lived with a naval officer. Of course he really meant her father, but it sounded rather dubious. Magdalene went scarlet. I don’t blame her.’

Poirot said:

‘Did your father mention his late wife, your mother?’

The red blood ran in waves up David’s temples. His hands clenched themselves on the table in front of him, trembling slightly.

He said in a low choked voice:

‘Yes, he did. He insulted her.’

Colonel Johnson said:

‘What did he say?’

David said abruptly:

‘I don’t remember. Just some slighting reference.’

Poirot said softly: 

‘Your mother has been dead some years?’

David said shortly:

‘She died when I was a boy.’

‘She was not – perhaps – very happy in her life here?’

David gave a scornful laugh:

‘Who could be happy with a man like my father? My mother was a saint. She died a broken-hearted woman.’

Poirot went on:

‘Your father was, perhaps, distressed by her death?’

David said abruptly:

‘I don’t know. I left home.’

He paused and then said:

‘Perhaps you may not be aware of the fact that when I came on this visit I had not seen my father for nearly twenty years. So you see I can’t tell you very much about his habits or his enemies or what went on here.’

Colonel Johnson asked:

‘Did you know that your father kept a lot of valuable diamonds in the safe in his bedroom?’

David said indifferently:

‘Did he? Seems a foolish sort of thing to do.’

Johnson said: