Page 81 of Marble Hall Murders

Voltaire walked back into the house, leaving Pünd and Fraser alone.

‘It is sad,’ Pünd muttered, almost to himself.

‘You mean the death of Lady Chalfont.’

‘More than that.’ Pünd waved a hand at the gazebo. ‘All of this is beautiful, is it not? It could have come out of one of the paintings that Mr Waysmith and his son sell in their gallery. A Fragonard, perhaps, or a Watteau. But what will people remember it for, a hundred, two hundred years from now?’

‘Murder.’

‘Exactly, James. Buildings, like people, can be scarred with the mark of Cain and it will never leave them. We remember the houses where people became ill and died and the memory brings sadness and a sense of loss. But with murder it is something different. We do not wish to enter such a place. It carries with it a sense of fear and even revulsion.’

‘Do you think Harry Lyttleton murdered Alice Carling?’

‘I think he knows more than he is telling us. Judith Lyttleton too.’

‘Maybe they were the ones who cut open the letter that Lady Chalfont sent you, inviting you here.’

‘It is possible, James. And it was not the only communication that was intercepted. You will recall the letter that she wrote to me, summoning me to the Chateau Belmar. That, too, had been read.’

‘How do you know?’

‘There were two creases in the centre of the page. It had been folded, then taken out of the envelope and folded a second time. It suggested to me from the very start that somebody had been keeping a close watch on Lady Chalfont, the same person who took my reply and opened it using a knife with a serrated edge.’

‘That could only have been her husband.’ Fraser gave a start. ‘I say, Mr Pünd. I’ve just thought of something! Harry Lyttleton told us that he saw Elmer in the Place Masséna and that he was in a tearing hurry. That was when he was on his way to have lunch with his son. But the woman in the gallery – Madame Dubois or whatever her name was – said that he usually parked his car in the square and he was completely relaxed when he arrived.’

‘There is indeed a contradiction here.’

Before Pünd could continue, they were interrupted by two sharp explosions. Fraser twisted round to see a gun pointing at them from the side of the pagoda. He frowned. ‘Are you really sure this is the right time to go around the place shooting people?’ he asked.

Cedric Chalfont stepped into sight, carrying the cap pistol he had just fired at them. The eight-year-old was wearing a cowboy hat and had a sheriff’s star pinned to his shirt. In his imagination, he was far away from the South of France, searching for outlaws. He wasn’t put off by Fraser’s criticism. ‘You’re both dead!’ he exclaimed.

‘I think you missed,’ Fraser remarked. ‘Anyway, Mr Pünd here is a very famous detective. You’d be in a lot of trouble if you shot him.’

Cedric lowered the gun. He knew who Pünd was and he was glad to meet him. ‘Am I a suspect?’ he asked.

‘You tell me,’ Pünd replied. ‘Should you be?’

‘Yes!’ Cedric nodded vigorously. ‘I didn’t like Grandma. She made us come out to the chateau every year and I don’t enjoy it here. I’m on my own the whole time. Nobody ever plays with me. I’m bored.’ Another thought occurred to him. ‘I know lots about poisons. I can help you, if you like.’

‘We most certainly need help,’ Pünd replied. ‘I understand that there are a great many poisons growing in this garden.’

‘Do you want to see?’

‘If you can show us, I would be most grateful.’

Cedric tucked his gun away. He was now imagining himself as a detective’s assistant, which was much more fun. ‘Follow me!’ he said.

They set off, moving further away from the house and into the wilder stretches of the grounds.

‘There are lots of varieties,’ Cedric said. ‘Sometimes Bruno shows them to me. He’s the head gardener and he doesn’t like it here either because he says they don’t pay him enough. He gave me some deadly nightshade once.Atropa belladonna.’ Heenunciated the syllables carefully. ‘I brought it in for dinner, but Grandma took it off me and made me wash my hands. There’s white lilies over there. They’re poisonous to dogs.’ He pointed to an orchard. ‘And there’s something called “a shiverful of eyes” that Bruno told me about, although I haven’t found any yet.’

‘A shiverful of eyes?’ Fraser asked.

‘It is possible that Cedric meanschèvrefeuille des haies,’ Pünd explained. ‘It is a toxic plant which I came across when I was writingThe Landscape of Criminal Investigation. There is a chapter on poisons, although it appears only in the glossary.’

‘I’m not sure which sounds worse,’ Fraser muttered.

Cedric was hurrying ahead and finally reached a fruit and vegetable garden with nets stretched out over ripening clumps of raspberries. He stopped just outside the entrance and pulled a handful of leaves out of a piece of rough ground. ‘Here you are!’ he announced proudly. ‘This is monkshood.’

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