The Monogram Murders Read Free

her tearful blue eyes on him. “Does it
    count as murder if I give in and let it happen? I’m so
    tired of running, of hiding, of being so dreadfully
    afraid . I want it to be over with if it’s going to
    happen, and it is, because it must. It’s the only way to
    make things right. It’s what I deserve.”
    “This cannot be so,” said Poirot. “Without
    knowing the particulars of your predicament, I
    disagree with you. Murder can never be right. My
    friend, the policeman—you must allow him to help
    you.”
    “No! You mustn’t speak a word about this to him,
    or to anybody. Promise me that you won’t!”
    Hercule Poirot was not in the habit of making
    promises he could not keep.
    “What could you possibly have done that calls for
    the punishment of murder? Have you murdered
    somebody yourself?”
    “There would be no difference if I had! Murder
    isn’t the only thing that’s unforgivable, you know. I
    don’t expect you’ve ever done anything truly
    unforgivable, have you?”
    “Whereas you have? And you believe you must
    pay with your own life? Non. This is not right. If I
    could persuade you to accompany me to my lodging
    house—it is very near. My friend from Scotland Yard,
    Mr. Catchpool—”
    “No!” Jennie leaped up out of her chair.
    “Please sit, mademoiselle.”
    “No. Oh, I’ve said too much! How stupid I am! I
    only told you because you look so kind, and I thought
    you couldn’t do anything. If you hadn’t said you were
    retired and from another country, I’d never have said
    a word! Promise me this: if I’m found dead, you’ll
    tell your friend the policeman not to look for my
    killer.” She pressed her eyes shut and clasped her
    hands together. “Oh, please let no one open their
    mouths! This crime must never be solved. Promise me
    you’ll tell your policeman friend that, and make him
    agree? If you care about justice, please do as I ask.”
    She made a dash for the door. Poirot stood up to
    follow, then, noticing the distance she’d covered in
    the time it took him to extract himself from his chair,
    sat down again with a heavy sigh. It was futile. Jennie
    was gone, out into the night. He would never catch
    her.
    The door to the kitchen opened and Flyaway Hair
    appeared with Poirot’s dinner. The smell offended his
    stomach; he had lost every last scrap of his appetite.
    “Where’s Jennie?” Flyaway Hair asked him, as if
    he were somehow responsible for her having
    vanished. He did, in fact, feel responsible. If he had
    moved faster, if he had chosen his words more
    carefully . . .
    “This is the limit!” Flyaway Hair slammed
    Poirot’s meal down on the table and marched back to
    the kitchen door. Pushing it open she yelled, “That
    Jennie’s upped and gone without paying!”
    “But what is it that she must pay for?” Hercule
    Poirot muttered to himself.
    ONE MINUTE LATER, AFTER a brief unsuccessful attempt
    to take an interest in his beef chop with vermicelli
    soufflé, Poirot knocked at the door of Pleasant’s
    kitchen. Flyaway Hair opened it narrowly, so that
    nothing was visible beyond her slender form in the
    doorway.
    “Something wrong with your dinner, sir?”
    “Allow me to pay for the tea that Mademoiselle
    Jennie has abandoned,” Poirot offered. “In return, if
    you would be kind enough to answer one or two
    questions?”
    “D’you know Jennie, then? I’ve not seen you and
    her together before.”
    “ Non. I do not know her. That is why I ask you.”
    “Why’d you go and sit with her, then?”
    “She was afraid, and in great distress. I found it
    troubling to see. I hoped I might be able to offer some
    assistance.”
    “The likes of Jennie can’t be helped,” Flyaway
    Hair said. “All right, I’ll answer your questions, but
    I’ll ask you one first: where was it you were a
    policeman?”
    Poirot did not point out that she had already asked
    him three questions. This was the fourth.
    She peered at him through narrowed eyes.
    “Somewhere they