Poirot's Early Cases - Christie Agatha - Страница 21

Chapter VII. The Lemesurier Inheritance

In company with Poirot, I have investigated many strange eases, but none, I think, to compare with that extraordinary series of events which held our interest over a period of many years, and which culminated in the ultimate problem brought to Poirot to solve. Our attention was first drawn to the family history of the Lemesuriers one evening during the war. Poirot and I had but recently come together again, renewing the old days of our acquaintanceship in Belgium. He had been handling some little matter for the War Office - disposing of it to their entire satisfac-tion; and we had been dining at the Carlton with a Brass Hat who paid Poirot heavy compliments in the intervals of the meal. The Brass Hat had to rush away to keep an appointment with someone, and we finished our coffee in a leisurely fashion before following his example.

As we were leaving the room, I was hailed by a voice which struck a familiar note, and turned to see Captain Vincent Lemesurier, a young fellow whom I had known in France. He was with an older man whose likeness to him proclaimed him to be of the same family. Such proved to be the case, and he was introduced to us as Mr Hugo Lemesurier, uncle of my young friend.

I did not really know Captain Lemesurier at all intimately, but he was a pleasant young fellow, somewhat dreamy in manner, and I remembered hearing that he belonged to an old and exclusive family with a property in Northumberland which dated from before the Reformation. Poirot and I were not in a hurry, and at the younger man's invitation, we sat down at the table with our two new-found friends, and chattered pleasantly enough on various matters. The elder Lemesurier was a man of about forty, with a touch of the scholar in his stooping shoulders; he was engaged at the moment upon some chemical research work for the Government, it appeared.

Our conversation was interrupted by a tall dark young man who strode up to the table, evidently labouring under some agitation Of mind.

'Thank goodness I've found you bothl' he exclaimed.

'What's the matter, Roger?' 'Your guv'nor, Vincent. Bad fall. Young horse.' The rest trailed off, as he drew the other aside.

In a few minutes our two friends had hurriedly taken leave of us. Vincent Lemesurier's father had had a serious accident while trying a young horse, and was not expected to live until morning.

Vincent had gone deadly white, and appeared almost stunned by the news. In a way, I was surprised - for from the few words he had let fall on the subject while in France, I had gathered that he and his father were not on particularly friendly terms, and so his display of filial feeling now rather astonished me.

The dark young man, who had been introduced to us as a cousin, Mr Roger Lemesurier, remained behind, and we three strolled out together.

'Rather a curious business, this,' observed the young man. 'It would interest M. Poirot, perhaps. I've heard of you, you know, M. Poirot - from Higginson.' (Higginson was our Brass Hat friend.) 'He says you're a whale on psychology.' 'I study the psychology, yes,' admitted my friend cautiously.

'Did you see my cousin's face? He was absolutely bowled over, wasn't he? Do you know why? A good old-fashioned family cursel Would you care to hear about it?' 'It would be most kind of you to recount it to me.' Roger Lemesurier looked at his watch.

'Lots of time. I'm meeting them at King's Cross. Well, M.

Poirot, the Lemesuriers are an old family. Way back in medieval times, a Lemesurier became suspicious of his wife. He found the lady in a compromising situation. She swore that she was innocent, but old Baron Hugo didn't listen. She had one child, a son - and he swore that the boy was no child of his and should never inherit.

I forget what he did - some pleasing medieval fancy like walling

up the mother and son alive; anyway, he killed them both, and she died protesting her innocence and solemnly cursing the Lemesuriers forever. No first-born son of a Lemesurier should ever inherit - so the curse ran. Well, time passed, and the lady's innocence was established beyond doubt. I believe that Hugo wore a hair shirt and ended up his days on his knees in a monk's cell. But the curious thing is that from that day to this, no firstborn son ever has succeeded to the estate. It's gone to brothers, to nephews, to second sons - never to the eldest born. Vincent's father was the second of five sons, the eldest of whom died in infancy. Of course, all through the war, Vincent has been convinced that whoever else was doomed, he certainly was. But strangely enough, his two younger brothers have been killed, and he himself has remained unscathed.' 'An interesting family history,' said Poirot thoughtfully. 'But now his father is dying, and he, as the eldest son, succeeds?' 'Exactly. A curse has gone rusty - unable to stand the strain of modern life.' Poirot shook his head, as though deprecating the other's jesting tone. Roger Lemesurier looked at his watch again, and declared that he must be off.

The sequel to the story came on the morrow, when we learned of the tragic death of Captain Vincent Lemesurier. He had been travelling north by the Scotch mail-train, and during the night must have opened the door of the compartment and jumped out on the line. The shock of his father's accident coming on top of shell-shock was deemed to have caused temporary mental aberration.

The curious superstition prevalent in the Lemesurier family was mentioned, in connection with the new heir, his father's brother, Ronald Lemesurier, whose only son had died on the Somme.

I suppose our accidental meeting with young Vincent on the last evening of his life quickened our interest in anything that pertained to the Lemesurier family, for we noted with some interest two years later the death of Ronald Lemesurier, who had been a confirmed invalid at the time of his succession to the family estates. His brother John succeeded him, a, a hale, hearty man with a boy at Eton.

Certainly an evil destiny overadowedt,ed the Lemesuriers. On hi very next holiday the boy managed to to shoot himself fatally.

Hia father's death, which occurred quite iite suddenly after being stung by a wasp, gave the estate over to tl 0 the youngest brother of the five - Hugo, whom we remembered me,neeting on the fatal night at the Carlton.

Beyond commenting on the extraordinary, nary series of misfortunes which befell the Lemesuriers, we had takeaken no personal interest in the matter, but the time was now close:se at hand when we were to take a more active part.

One morning 'Mrs Lemesurier' was annos0nounced. She was a tall, active woman, possibly about thirty years qjrs of age, who conveyed by her demeanour a great deal of dete:etermination and strong common sense. She spoke with a faint tranansatlantic accent.

'M. Poirot? I am pleased to meet youvou' My husband, Hugo Lemesurier, met you once many years age, ago, but you will hardly remember the fact.' 'I recollect it perfectly, madame. It was as at the Carlton.' 'That's quite wonderful of you. NI. Poir.,oirot, I'm very worried.' 'What about, madame?' 'My elder boy - I've two boys, you kno-now' Ronald's eight, and Gerald's six.' 'Proceed, madame: why shouId you bd be worried about little Ronald?' 'M. Poirot, within the last six months he he has had three narrow escapes from death: once from drowning - v, - when we were all down at Cornwall this summer; once when he::he fell from the nursery window; and once from ptomaine poisoninlaing., Perhaps Poirot's face expressed rather to too eloquently what he thought, for Mrs Lemesurier hurried on wi with hardly a moment's pause: 'Of course I know you think I'm just gst a silly fool of a woman, making mountains out of molehills.' 'No, indeed, madame. Any mother mighight be excused for being upset at such occurrences, but I hardly see 'ee where I can be of any