Page 11 of Marble Hall Murders

‘That is indeed good detective work, James.’ Pünd reached for the envelope and tore it open. ‘It is something I have been expecting,’ he added.

‘A case?’

‘A lady who perhaps requires my help.’

He took out a single sheet of paper. The letter was handwritten in green ink, the words looping and leaning into each other, fighting for space on the line.

Chateau Belmar

Sunday, 28 May

My dear Mr Pünd,

I was so surprised to see you in Harley Street that I am not sure I enquired properly after your health. I very much hope that you are in better shape than me. You may recall that I was having problems with my heart when we met all those years ago. Unfortunately, it looks as if the beastly thing is about to give up altogether. I am on borrowed time.

So I hope you are well enough to consider this request, which I am making to you with … well, all my heart. I need your help. And I only hope that you will receive this before it is too late.

You never met my first husband, Henry. After he died – at the very end of the war – I thought I would never be happy again, but then I met Elmer Waysmith and we hit it off from the very start. We have been married for six years now and he has become my best friend and confidant: someone in whom I have complete trust.

But the day before I left for London, sitting on my balcony with the Mediterranean so beautiful in front of me, I overheard something that shocked me to my core and which I find impossible to believe. I was thinking of approaching the police, although I dreaded doing so. And then, against all the odds, I ran into you.

If you will come and stay with me at the Chateau Belmar (it is a beautiful place and we have an excellent chef), I will explaineverything. I must know the truth, Mr Pünd, and there is nobody else who can help.

Sincerely,

Margaret Chalfont

Pünd read the letter, then handed it to Fraser, who did the same.

‘She sounds a bit desperate,’ Fraser observed. ‘Will you go?’

Pünd took the letter back and gazed at it for a long time, not rereading it – he had already memorised every detail, down to the last comma and the double crease in the middle of the page where it had been folded into the envelope.I must know the truth, Mr Pünd.Those were the words that most troubled him. He had spent much of his life in a search for the truth and if there was one thing he had learned, it was this.

The truth can be dangerous.

He looked out of the window. It was not raining today, but the sky was still grey, the clouds threatening. He reflected that he had spent many hours sitting in the same chair in the same room, and although it was true that he had made good progress with his book, he was beginning to feel almost a prisoner … of both his illness and his work. Dr Benson had suggested to him that sunshine and a change of scenery might do him good. Pünd had never believed in coincidence, but he had to admit that the letter was remarkably well timed.

‘What is your opinion, James?’ he asked.

‘I’d love to know what she overheard,’ Fraser replied. ‘And it would be fascinating to find out what’s going on. It’s just ashame that you’ve decided to hang up your hat. Shall I write to her that you’re too busy to make the trip?’

Pünd thought for a moment, remembering what Dr Benson had said to him. He came to a decision. ‘On the contrary, James, you can send her a telegram to say that we will arrive the day after tomorrow.’

‘You mean, you’re going to take the case?’

‘A little sunshine will do me no harm, and Lady Chalfont is a friend. How can I refuse?’

‘That’s absolutely marvellous!’ Pünd could hardly believe how quickly his assistant cheered up again. ‘I haven’t been to the South of France since I was a boy and my parents sent me on one of those French exchanges. I spent six weeks with a family in Provence. The Duponts. They were very nice people, although they were always shouting. Dinner time was like being at the storming of the Bastille.’

‘How is your French?’

‘Rusty, but it’ll soon polish up. Do you want me to get plane tickets?’

‘I do not think I am quite well enough for the demands of air travel, James. I would prefer to take the train. You can book two first-class sleeper compartments on Le Train Bleu to Nice. Can you also inform Lady Chalfont that we shall be staying at the Grand-Hôtel?’

‘She’s offered to put you up at her chateau,’ Fraser reminded him.

‘It is most thoughtful of her, but I will be more comfortable in my own domain. I will need privacy and somewhere to rest. The gardens are very beautiful, I believe, and they have a swimming pool which I am sure you will enjoy.’

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