Well... Here is the
story... Please enjoy! Well... Here is the
story... Please enjoy!
In the Style of Agatha Christie: "Let Him Eat Cake" By: Elena Jubinville
"I say Dubonnet, what is this retreat all about?" Mr. James asked while seated opposite his friend on the train out of London. Monsieur LeDubonnet sat well poised in an elegant suit, stroking his black goatee.
"I’m really not sure, mon ami. I believe it is a surprise." The dapper detective replied as he crossed his long legs, "Or perhaps it is a Mystery, n’est ce pas?"
Wearing a dark brown three piece suit, Mr. James looked reasonably presentable, considering he was a beat-cop in Soho, London. He sat with a confused look on his face as, yet again, Monsieur LeDubonnet had said something which made little or no sense to him. The two men were linked by their keen interest in solving mysteries although, from time to time, the policeman appeared to have trouble keeping facts straight. They had met in a London pub one evening, over an intense discussion about a most vexing murder case.
Both Mr. James and Monsieur LeDubonnet had received invitations to a large country estate just outside London. The letter read:
'Dear Mr. . . . , This is an invitation for you to be a guest at my beautiful country home. The rooms are all set up to receive you, and I personally can’t wait to see you. Come and have a great time away from the city. Sincerely, Mr. Winterbourne.'
"I still would like to know who this Winterbourne fellow is." Mr. James said, "I really do find this whole situation to be a bit of a mystery. I mean, Dubonnet, do you know any man named Winterbourne?"
"No, my dear Mr. James, I have no idea who this Monsieur Winterbourne is…" LeDubonnet replied, "but I cannot wait to find out."
When Mr. James and Monsieur LeDubonnet arrived, the large entrance hall at Mr. Winterbourne’s country estate was filled with luggage and, of course, guests. The front door stood open. A tall man in a bowler hat holding a walking stick stood near a young couple who seemed to be oblivious to everything but each other.
"I can hardly believe the turnout." a voice coming from the stairs announced.
"This is outstanding." The guests looked up to see a portly middle-aged gentleman dressed in plaid plus fours slowly making his way down the steps.
"Psst… Mr. James, doesn’t Monsieur remind you of anyone?" Monsieur LeDubonnet asked. Mr. James nodded and replied, "Yes my dear fellow, but I do not know whom." At that exact moment there was a movement from the front door and a voice said, "Tally-ho, pip, pip, and all that. We’re here!" All five people in the entrance hall spun around in unison to see an elderly couple, clad in heavy tweeds, beaming in the doorway.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the man in plaid spoke yet again, this time in a distinctive American drawl, "Glad to see ya’ll could all make it. I’m your host, Edgar Winterbourne. Welcome to my humble abode."
A few hours later, after the seven guests had been shown their rooms by Mr. Winterbourne’s valet and had time to freshen up they were summoned to dinner by the sound of a gong.
Mr. Winterbourne and his companions arranged themselves around a massive oak dinning room table. The food was served by Mr. Winterbourne’s valet, who looked rather prim and aristocratic.
"Soup, sir," the butler said as he placed a bowl in front of his master, and signaled the maid to begin ladling soup into the dishes of the visitors.
"I must ask this, my dear Mr. Winterbourne, why have you invited us here?" Mr. James asked.
"There is a really easy answer to that, sir. I would like to be known in British society and felt that inviting some of Britain’s finest to a weekend retreat would be the best way to do it. What do you think?" Mr. Winterbourne replied.
"I believe this is going to be jolly good fun," roared the aging, tweedy gentleman seated to his left. "So, I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I am Mr. Wey, and this is my wife," he said, motioning to the lady beside him, dressed in a light blue evening gown. Introductions proceeded around the table.
"That’s fair enough. My dear fellows, I am Mr. James and this is the famous detective Monsieur LeDubonnet" said the policeman. "Nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Wey." The tall man, now minus his bowler hat confidently announced: "Scott is the name, banking is my game. Pleased to meet you all." Only the young couple remained silent, smiling at each other.
"Well Hello down there…" called Mr. Wey, "and you young ones are called…"
"Ohhh… what?? Us.." stuttered the young man, "This is my wife Mrs. Cabernet, and I am of course Mr. Cabernet. We just got married." Dinner progressed rather uneventfully, until the end of the main course.
"I have an announcement to make," Mr. Winterbourne said as he tapped his wine glass with a fork, "To success in life. All the best."
"Here, here," everyone replied and taking large sips of the excellent wine.
"Now if my valet, Mr. Wilde would just bring in the cake, we can begin dessert," the host added with gusto. Slices of an elaborate, heavily iced cake were brought out on a trolley and Mr. Wilde carefully placed one on a plate in front of his master. The rest were distributed amongst the guests. Mr. Winterbourne took a mouthful of cake and smiled. Monsieur LeDubonnet smiled back at his host as he contemplated his dessert. This gathering seemed to be rather interesting and mysterious. It appeared that the guests barely knew or could not recall their generous host.
Suddenly Mr. Winterbourne began to choke on his cake, his face rapidly turning a unique shade of blue. Mr. James jumped up and tried to help by striking him on the back, but it did not seem to work. Then the rest of the guests jumped up and quickly moved towards their unfortunate host.
After several minutes of panic, Mr. Winterbourne died, his head falling into his plate of half-eaten cake.
"This is all quite intriguing, don’t you think Mr. James," said Monsieur LeDubonnet, "I think I shall investigate."
"But whatever for Dubonnet? The poor man died from choking on his cake. That was obvious to everyone," said Mr. James, but the his friend was already up and walking towards Mr. Winterbourne’s body. The detective began his investigation by removing the victim’s head from his cake. After making sure there were no wounds, Monsieur LeDubonnet began an inspection of the food.
"He was poisoned…"Monsieur LeDubonnet exclaimed, "poisoned with cyanide." Sniffing the cake, he continued, "This evil poison has a distinctive odour - that of the bitter almonds - but it was disguised by the almond icing on this cake."
"But who would kill him," said Mr. Scott, "I’ve done business with him in the past, but I never wanted to kill him, even though he was a pompous ass." The shocked guests looked at one another.
"Well I didn’t do it and neither did my tulip here, did you darling?" said Mr. Cabernet, "We were together all afternoon."
"Monsieur LeDubonnet didn’t blame anyone now, did he." Mr. James said, "We just want to know where everyone was this afternoon." There was a shuffle of feet, then Mr. Scott spoke up, "I was reading in the Library all afternoon. With the stress of banking sometimes I just like to read a good book. The maid checked in on me around 5:00 p.m."
"I say chaps, I was out on a walk with Mrs. Wey after we settled in. Did you know that out back there is a large forest? Actually we were almost late for dinner because of those damn trees. There are rather a lot of them." The group began taking all at once, arguing on who must have killed him.
"Well my dear Mr. James we have a mystery on our hands," Monsieur LeDubonnet said, "but I believe I know the murderer!"
"How can you say he was murdered? He choked to death… I just don’t understand you old chap," replied Mr. James.
"Just wait, mon ami. The truth is not too far away," Monsieur LeDubonnet replied then said to the rest of the guests, "I suggest we move Mr. Winterbourne’s body to the floor and cover the cake as it is evidence." Nobody was about to ignore the detective and soon the rotund body was lifted from the chair and placed on the floor in one corner of the room.
"Mr. Wilde, who did the cooking this evening?" asked Mr. James.
"This evening I was serving. Cook prepared the meal early so she could visit a sick friend," the butler replied.
"So I am right in assuming that you were involved in the preparation of the meal?" Monsieur LeDubonnet pressed. Mr. Wilde seemed to fidget at that comment but he eventually answered, "Yes that is true." Monsieur LeDubonnet did not speak, but walked past the butler and right into the empty kitchen. He then began a thorough search of the cupboards, drawers and shelves. He found nothing unusual in the cupboards but noticed the valet’s nervous movements and a wet patch on his jacket.
"What happened to your jacket?" LeDubonnet asked the butler, "Where did that wet spot come from?" Mr. Wilde looked down at his jacket an noticed the growing wet patch. By this time the rest of the guests had gathered in the kitchen doorway, watching the proceedings.
"I say, Wilde… what happened to that jacket?" Mr. Wey exclaimed after he saw the dark patch under the lapel.
"Well… I …" stumbled Mr. Wilde, "I…". Monsieur LeDubonnet walked over to the valet and said, "May I see what is in your shirt pocket, s’il vous plait?"
"No, don’t you bloody touch me!" Wilde shouted in a heavy Cockney accent.
This, however, did not keep Monsieur LeDubonnet from approaching close enough for him to smell the strong poison which killed their host.
"I do believe I smell the poison on you, Mr. Wilde," Monsieur LeDubonnet half smiled. "Je pense…that we will find a broken vial in our good butler’s shirt pocket." With that, Monsieur LeDubonnet grabbed the valet’s wrist and asked his question again.
After enduring a few minutes of intense stares from all the guests, Mr. Wilde broke down in tears, and removed a broken glass bottle from his breast pocket.
"I’ll tell you what that bloody American did to me… I hate him, even now that he is dead," Mr. Wilde began. "Winterbourne hired me four months ago when he first came to England. When my pay day came up he refused to pay my wages, but that was just the beginning. Then that pig decided that his money was too good for me. I’ll never forget the day he sent my family away to God knows where and didn’t tell me. He deserved to die… he deserved it!"
"I believe my dear James, that I have once again solved a mystery," purred Mr. LeDubonnet. "Let us call Scotland yard.
"How did you do it, Dubonnet… There was not enough evidence."
"Maybe not big clues, moi ami… but there were definitely enough." replied Monsieur LeDubonnet.
