Page 29 of Marble Hall Murders

‘And Béatrice was serving the tea,’ Lola added.

‘Where was the younger Mr Waysmith?’ Pünd asked.

‘He went into Nice for lunch with his father. I don’t know what time he got back.’

‘I didn’t see him until after the police arrived,’ Judith said. ‘He was probably at the swimming pool. He likes to keep himself fit.’

‘You should ask Bruno,’ Lola added.

‘Bruno is the gardener?’

‘Yes – but he does the pool too. There’s a sort of Swiss chalet thing next to it and Robert uses it to get changed. It’s quite possible Bruno will have seen him.’

‘But whether he did or not, your questions are ridiculous!’ Judith scowled. ‘Robert would never have hurt Mama, not in a million years. None of us would. Mama died of natural causes and your presence here is both intrusive and irrelevant.’

There seemed to be nothing more to say. Pünd stood up and, with a brief nod of thanks, Voltaire moved to the door. Pünd followed, James Fraser close behind.

‘Well, that wasn’t very helpful,’ James said, glancing at the notes he had made once they were back in the corridor.

‘I am not so sure, James.’ Pünd shook his head. ‘Do you not see how it all begins to fit together?’

‘But Judith Lyttleton does have a point. We still don’t know if Lady Chalfont was really poisoned!’

Pünd turned to Voltaire. ‘When do you expect the results of the analysis, Monsieur Voltaire?’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Then let us continue.’ Pünd looked up and down the corridor, past the gold-framed mirrors, oil paintings and engravings. ‘I would very much like to see Lady Chalfont’s room.’

‘Follow me.’

The French detective was moving more slowly than ever, as if already exhausted by the investigation. He led them to the back of the house and through a door that opened into a magnificent suite of rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, a dressing room and a small sitting area, all of them exquisitely furnished. But more glorious than any of this was the panoramic view of the garden on the other side of the three Romanesque arches. This was a room to wake up in. It would be impossible to start the day without a sense of inspiration.

There was a brown envelope on a table beside the bed and Pünd recognised it at once. The envelope was empty now, but it had the wordsPOST OFFICE TELEGRAMSprinted in red above the royal coat of arms. He showed it to Voltaire. ‘You left this here?’ he asked.

‘I left it where I found it,’ Voltaire replied. ‘It was here when I arrived. I brought the telegram with me when I came to the hotel.’

Pünd ran a finger across the top of the envelope, feeling the edge. ‘I wonder who opened this telegram,’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘I do not believe it was Lady Chalfont.’

Voltaire scowled. ‘It has been severed with a knife,’ he said. ‘I think it’s quite likely that Lady Chalfont would have had a paper knife in her possession.’

‘Then where is it, Monsieur Voltaire? And if you look at the way the paper has been cut, you will clearly see that the knife that was used had a serrated edge. That would suggest to me that it was a bread knife or perhaps a fruit knife, and it is unclear to me why, if she opened the telegram in this room, Lady Chalfont would have had either such implement anywhere near her.’

‘But if someone had cut it open before it was given to her, she would have known.’

‘If that person was certain that she would be dead within a few hours, it would not matter.’

Voltaire was about to reply when Pünd held up a hand for silence. He could hear voices coming from outside and, gesturing at Fraser to accompany him, he stepped out onto the balcony.

In the distance, he could hear the fall of water fromthe fountain, but much closer two voices were raised in argument.

‘I don’t like it here. I want to go back to Norfolk.’ It was a child who had spoken and Pünd knew at once that this must be Cedric, Jeffrey and Lola’s son, talking to someone in thegrand salon.

‘We can’t go back yet.’ Jeffrey Chalfont’s voice was unmistakable. ‘Even if we wanted to, it wouldn’t be allowed.’

‘Because Granny’s dead?’

‘Exactly, Cedric. And you could try to show a little more sympathy.’

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