Treat yourself to a brand new seasonal whodunnit starring Agatha Christie's much loved Belgian detective Hercule Poirot and his little grey cells as he investigates Stanley Niven's murder in his hospital bed
One of Agatha Christie's most brilliant creations, the matchless Hercule Poirot, lives on in new books authorised by the Queen of Crime's estate and written by the novelist Sophie Hannah. Here we present the first instalment of a four-part Christmas serialisation of Hannah's latest book, Hercule Poirot's Silent Night, starring the world's greatest fictional detective . . .
December 19, 1931
Poirot and I were debating the relative merits of turkey and duck, and which should feature in our Christmas luncheon, when there came a knock at the door of his drawing room.
'I apologise for the interruption, Sir, but a lady is here to see you. She has no appointment but says it is a matter of the utmost importance. She believes it cannot wait, not even until tomorrow.'
'I can leave . . .' I said, half out of my chair.
'No, no, Catchpool. Stay. I am not inclined to receive an unexpected visitor this afternoon. I have noticed that, since the American stock market unpleasantness, most people are unable to measure accurately the urgency of their predicament.
'They come to my door insisting that they must have the help of Hercule Poirot. Eh bien, I listen patiently, and usually there is nothing more than an easily resolvable misunderstanding. Nothing to confound or delight the little grey cells.'
![Poirot and I were debating the relative merits of turkey and duck, and which should feature in our Christmas luncheon, when there came a knock at the door of his drawing room](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/12/23/01/79276599-12895631-image-a-2_1703294788242.jpg)
Poirot and I were debating the relative merits of turkey and duck, and which should feature in our Christmas luncheon, when there came a knock at the door of his drawing room
'What shall I tell Mrs Surtees?' George asked Poirot. 'That is the name of your visitor: Enid Surtees.'
Something inside my chest had tightened. Enid Surtees. How extraordinary: I had no idea who she was, but I was absolutely certain that I wanted George to give her her marching orders.
'Show her in, Georges,' said Poirot. Once the valet had left the room, he said: 'It was your evident reluctance that decided the matter in her favour, Catchpool. She is known to you, n'est-ce pas?'
'No.'
'Ah. Now I am curious. Your face tells a different story.'
The door opened and a woman walked in, wrapped in a navy blue woollen hat, coat and scarf. My mouth must have dropped open. I could not help making an undignified noise that no letters of the alphabet can adequately convey. Poirot rose to his feet and extended a hand, which was promptly shaken by the infuriating wretch of an intruder.
'Good afternoon, Madame Surtees.'
She was tall and bony, with gold-coloured hair, a square, pale face and piercingly bright blue eyes. She looked, to quote her own favoured refrain, 'not a day older than 60 — because I have always avoided the sun, you see, Edward. You should think about doing the same, or your face and neck will be as leathery as your father's by the time you are 40'. In fact, she was much closer to 70 than 60.
Her name was not Enid Surtees.
'Hello, Mother,' I said.
'Pardon?' said Poirot. 'La mère?' He turned from me to her. 'You are . . ?'
'My name is Cynthia Catchpool, Monsieur Poirot. Enid Surtees is an acquaintance of mine.'
That was where I had heard the name before.
!['Monsieur Niven was murdered in a hospital?' asked Poirot](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/12/23/01/79276601-12895631-image-a-1_1703294781115.jpg)
'Monsieur Niven was murdered in a hospital?' asked Poirot
'If you will permit me to say, Madame Catchpool . . .' The hard edge in Poirot's voice brought me back to our present predicament. 'Many people would object to a visitor who gains entry under false pretences. I am one such person.'
'And for that I commend you.' Mother beamed her approval at him. 'I, too, would object most strongly.' She sat herself down in the chair nearest to the fire. 'I much prefer to tell the truth wherever possible, but if I had given my real name, my son would have urged you to shoo me away.
'Shall we arrange for your man to bring us some tea?' Mother rattled on. She turned and looked expectantly at the closed drawing-room door. 'And perhaps a little bite of something delicious? And then we can get down to business — for we must soon be on our way.'
'On our way where?' I said. 'What business?'
Mother ignored me. 'Monsieur Poirot, I know what Edward has said about the two of you celebrating Christmas here, however you shall spend Christmas in Munby-on-Sea. Monsieur Poirot will insist upon it, once he has heard my story'. 'Quelle histoire, Madame? What story?'
'The one about Stanley Niven. It is causing great distress to everybody, and I mean to put a stop to it.'
'Who is Stanley Niven?' Poirot asked. 'Of what problem is he the cause to everybody?'
'He was murdered. Now, Mr Niven himself is not important at all. He is a complete stranger, and neither here nor there. However, by getting himself murdered where he did — in that room in that ward — he has created a substantial problem for a very good friend of mine. I am staying with her and her family at Frellingsloe House.'
'Monsieur Niven was murdered in a hospital?' asked Poirot.
'Yes, a little place: St Walstan's Cottage Hospital. As far as I can tell, the staff at St Walstan's have come up with no ideas that might result in the catching of the murderer, and neither have the Norfolk constabulary.'
She threw up her hands.
![Adapted by Katharine Spurrier from Hercule Poirot's Silent Night by Sophie Hannah](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/12/23/01/79276615-12895631-image-a-3_1703294902215.jpg)
Adapted by Katharine Spurrier from Hercule Poirot's Silent Night by Sophie Hannah
'Stanley Niven was murdered on September 8, and the police don't know any more now than they did on that day. It is pitiful! And my friend Vivienne has been subjected to intolerable anguish.'
'Why, if this Niven chap was a stranger to her?' I asked.
'If I explain now, we shall miss our train,' said Mother.
Two hours and 45 minutes later, Poirot, Mother and I were on a train bound for Norfolk. I had been sure until the very last moment that Poirot was minded to decline her request.
At a certain juncture, however, Mother had said something that had aroused his interest. I watched it happen. The light in his eyes changed. I could not work out what had made the difference. She had been talking about Stanley Niven who, according to Mother, had possessed a sunny nature and a generous and delightful temperament. His happiness was such that one could not help but feel jolly in his presence.
Poirot had asked her to explain the connection between the murder in the hospital and her friend's anguish: 'Why has your friend Vivienne become a shell in great distress?'
'Because if this crime is not solved before the start of the new year, then her husband might be murdered, too — or, at least, that is what Vivienne believes.'
Poirot had not replied straight away. Instead, he had muttered to himself: 'One could not help but feel jolly in his presence.' After a moment, to Mother he had said: 'So, Stanley Niven was expected to recover from whatever he was being treated for at St Walstan's Hospital before he was killed?'
'Yes, but all I know is that his case was quite different from Arnold's.'
'Who is Arnold?' asked Poirot.
'Vivienne's husband.'
'Arnold is also sick?' said Poirot.
'Dying,' I guessed aloud.
'Yes, the poor man has very little time left, and he is soon to be moved to St Walstan's, where he will spend the remainder of his life,' said Mother. 'On Ward 6, in fact. That is why this is such a pressing problem.
'Arnold does not seem to mind, however. When Dr Osgood told him that his time was running out, the first thing he said was, 'Ah, but what a time I have had, Robert. What a time.'
![Poirot had not replied straight away. Instead, he had muttered to himself: 'One could not help but feel jolly in his presence.' After a moment, to Mother he had said: 'So, Stanley Niven was expected to recover from whatever he was being treated for at St Walstan's Hospital before he was killed?' (Stock Image)](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/12/23/01/79276707-12895631-image-a-5_1703295313042.jpg)
Poirot had not replied straight away. Instead, he had muttered to himself: 'One could not help but feel jolly in his presence.' After a moment, to Mother he had said: 'So, Stanley Niven was expected to recover from whatever he was being treated for at St Walstan's Hospital before he was killed?' (Stock Image)
Poirot looked especially alert as he asked: 'Might those who know him describe Arnold as jolly?'
'The word could have been invented to describe him,' said Mother.
'This, then, is a quality he shares — shared — with Stanley Niven?'
'You are right,' said Mother. 'Please, do not mention this . . . temperamental similarity to Vivienne. She is already beside herself with worry about the other thing.'
'The other what?' I asked.
'The other thing that Arnold and Stanley Niven have in common: the room in which he was murdered is the very next room to the one reserved for Arnold. The two are separated by a wall.'
We were met at the railway station by two men who introduced themselves as Robert Osgood and Felix Rawcliffe. Felix Rawcliffe was the curate lodger at Frellingsloe House.
Dr Osgood was Arnold Laurier's doctor and also a lodger in his home. It struck me as peculiar that these two gentlemen had been sent to collect us — almost rude, even. One did not send guests to fetch guests, though of course lodgers were not guests in the strictest sense.
To my great relief, I was roundly ignored by everybody as soon as we were inside the motorcar. Dr Osgood turned in his seat and addressed Poirot.
'Mrs Catchpool has assured us that you will be able to solve the murder of Stanley Niven where the police have failed.'
'I shall do my best to resolve the matter, Monsieur. You have perhaps heard that my best is of the highest level of excellence?'
'I hope you are as talented a detective as we have been led to believe,' he told Poirot. 'I have more faith in you than I do in our local police, but even so . . . I fear this will not be an easy case to solve, even for the most agile mind.'
'Why do you think so?' Poirot asked him.
'Only because of the facts of the case, which, were they not firmly established, I would call impossible,' said Osgood. 'Stanley Niven was seen alive at two o'clock. Between then and 20 minutes after two, I was standing in the ward corridor talking to various people, and I can tell you for certain that no one entered or left Mr Niven's room.
'No one noticed anything out of place or suspicious. Inspector Mackle is convinced the killer is a close relation of Niven's, but he has been unable to prove it and I for one think he is wrong.'
![We were met at the railway station by two men who introduced themselves as Robert Osgood and Felix Rawcliffe. Felix Rawcliffe was the curate lodger at Frellingsloe House (Stock Image)](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/12/23/01/79276725-12895631-image-a-6_1703295478072.jpg)
We were met at the railway station by two men who introduced themselves as Robert Osgood and Felix Rawcliffe. Felix Rawcliffe was the curate lodger at Frellingsloe House (Stock Image)
'Justice can be done,' said Poirot. 'I am here to ensure that it is.'
'I hope you have more luck than Inspector Mackle,' said Felix Rawcliffe.
'Fortunately, I do not need to rely on luck, Monsieur. I have the little grey cells.' Poirot pointed to his head. 'They never let me down.'
'My main concern now is for the health and happiness of the living,' said Dr Osgood. 'I am talking about mental welfare as well as physical. Monsieur Poirot: please do everything you can to solve this murder expeditiously. Vivienne's future sanity depends upon your being able to do so. A baffling irrationality has taken hold of her. She says she is afraid, but it is a fear that makes no sense.'
'Afraid of what?' I asked.
'She believes that someone will murder Arnold if he so much as sets foot in St Walstan's Hospital,' said Dr Osgood.
'If Mother has briefed us correctly, Arnold Laurier has assigned himself the task of solving Stanley Niven's murder,' I said. 'Might that be what his wife is frightened of — that he will make himself an irresistible target for the killer?'
'No,' said Osgood. 'From the moment we learned that Stanley Niven had been murdered, Vivienne was terrified for Arnold. I was standing right beside her when she was given the news.
'Arnold had not yet announced his intention to meddle in the investigation but I saw how Vivienne reacted, Monsieur Poirot: she was not merely concerned, not simply anxious as anyone would have been. She was immediately in a state of terror. As if . . .' Osgood stopped.
'Continue, please,' said Poirot.
'I was going to say: as if she knew exactly who the killer was, why he had killed Stanley Niven and why he would be coming for Arnold next,' said the doctor.
Mother laughed. 'You men really are determined to complicate matters, aren't you? Here I am — Vivienne's best friend in the whole world — and yet none of you has thought to ask me.
'She admits that in her bones she is horribly afraid Arnold will be the killer's next victim and that it makes no sense. She knows of no reason why anyone should wish to kill Arnold, yet she is convinced it is the case — chiefly because the first murder happened when it did, on September 8 during the very hour that she was there, in the room next door. No more than a coincidence of course, but . . .'
'Attendez! What did you say, Madame? Please repeat it,' exclaimed Poirot before asking: 'Vivienne Laurier was on Ward 6 of St Walstan's Hospital when Stanley Niven was killed?'
'Yes, they all were,' Mother said. 'Have I not already told you that? I thought I had.'
'Non, Madame. Who are 'they all'?'
'The Lauriers. They had been invited for a tour of the place,' said Mother. 'To meet the doctors and nurses, see the facilities.'
'Who was in the room?' Poirot asked Mother. 'Name them: 'all of them'.'
Mother reeled them off: 'Vivienne; her and Arnold's two sons, Douglas and Jonathan; and their wives, Madeline and Janet.'
Once in Frellingsloe House a tall, buxom young woman had appeared from the corridor and was striding towards us, carrying a cup and saucer in each hand.
'Hello,' she said. 'I'm Madeline Laurier, but please call me Maddie. Everyone does apart from my enemies, declared and covert, so if you address me as Madeline I shall know that you mean me harm. Haha!
'I've brought you each a cup of tea. Now, has anyone told you that we are eating in 20 minutes? We delayed the evening meal in your honour.' Maddie smiled.
After she had gone, down the stairs came bounding towards us a skeletally thin elderly man with a full head of reddish brown hair and a face so crumpled and lined that his features looked odd poking out from amid the creases. His eyes were large, grey and bright.
'Hercule Poirot? Is it really you? It is! It is the great, the remarkable, Poirot, here at Frelly! This truly is the greatest moment of my life. Welcome, welcome, gentlemen! I am Arnold Laurier.
'I could not be more thrilled to meet you both and to welcome you to my home. It is important that I speak to you both before supper — and before anyone else gets hold of you.'
!['I've brought you each a cup of tea. Now, has anyone told you that we are eating in 20 minutes? We delayed the evening meal in your honour.' Maddie smiled (Stock Image)](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/12/23/01/79276681-12895631-image-a-4_1703295130725.jpg)
'I've brought you each a cup of tea. Now, has anyone told you that we are eating in 20 minutes? We delayed the evening meal in your honour.' Maddie smiled (Stock Image)
Arnold Laurier wasted no time once the three of us were in his study with the door closed. Like Frellingsloe House's entrance hall, this study contained a vertiginous Christmas tree, decorated minimally and only at the bottom.
'Gentlemen, I should like you to know, I have felt a thousand times better since I started to apply my mind to this unsolved murder,' Laurier said.
'Now, my wife would have you believe that it would be in my best interests if you were to solve Niven's murder instead of me. She hopes to prolong my life by an extra three weeks, or four or five, or some such pointlessness.'
He paused before continuing: 'I would be immensely grateful if the two of us — the three of us — could make a bargain here in this room today. We work on the case together. I proceed to St Walstan's after Christmas as planned, and I act as your agent on the inside.
'The three of us — you, me and Catchpool here — put our heads together and work as a team of detectives.
'I shall be in hospital as a patient. That is all anyone will think I am. No one will suspect me of investigating anything.'
'It's difficult to find things out if you don't ask questions,' I told him.
'Ah, yes, but the way in which one asks a question makes all the difference.' Laurier smiled. 'It was by listening to Stanley Niven himself that I was able to pick up an excellent lead.'
'I was told that you did not accompany your family to the hospital on September 8, the day of the murder,' questioned Poirot.
'No. I was supposed to, but I felt exceptionally unwell that day. I met Niven only once — in August. He was taking his daily constitutional around the ward and noticed that I had been waiting for rather a long time so decided to keep me company.'
'You say you picked up an excellent lead while listening to him?' asked Poirot.
'Yes, yes.' Laurier looked guarded suddenly. 'I trust we have an agreement in place, Poirot?'
'What exactly do you mean, Mr Laurier?'
'Will you permit me to become a member of your investigative operation?' said Laurier. 'An equal partner with you and Inspector Catchpool here?'
I had to give full credit to Poirot: if he was shocked by the suggestion that I might be his equal, he hid it well.
'The first step will be to tell my wife that, in your expert opinion, I must go to St Walstan's after Christmas as planned,' said Laurier. 'I can hardly be your man on the inside if I'm twiddling my thumbs here at Frelly.'
'If you wish to be of any assistance to me at all, you must understand this, Monsieur: whether they are on the inside or on the outside, my 'men' do not withhold information from me in order to compel me to enter into agreements that, otherwise, I should not consider.'
Laurier's face seemed to fold in on itself. He was silent for a few seconds. Then he said: 'Yes, I can see how that might rub you up the wrong way. I am sorry, Poirot. You are right: it was an unfair tactic. Please accept my apology.'
Poirot inclined his head graciously. 'It is forgotten, Monsieur. I understand your predicament and I sympathise.'
At that moment, the door of Arnold Laurier's study opened and in walked a woman who might have been anywhere between 60 and 70. She had hollow cheeks, large green eyes, and seemed much too thin for her height. 'Vivienne!' Arnold seemed delighted by her arrival. 'I was just . . .'
' . . .disregarding all danger, and my feelings,' she finished his sentence for him in a voice much quieter and softer than I had expected. 'Telling Monsieur Poirot and Inspector Catchpool that you are quite happy to be murdered.'
'Must you be so dramatic, dear?' Laurier's tone was gentle.
'I am not here to argue with you, Arnold,' said his wife. 'Did I not say this morning that I have given up? I meant it. I am here only to tell you that Enid has announced dinner as being ready. Which means it will be ready in about half an hour, I expect. Our guests have not yet been up to their rooms or unpacked. They will be grateful for a chance to settle in before we eat. You can speak to them later this evening. After dinner there will be plenty of time.'
!['I was told that you did not accompany your family to the hospital on September 8, the day of the murder,' questioned Poirot (Stock Image)](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/12/23/01/79276831-12895631-image-a-21_1703296507727.jpg)
'I was told that you did not accompany your family to the hospital on September 8, the day of the murder,' questioned Poirot (Stock Image)
Poirot gave me a familiar order with his eyes: this was the one he reserved for occasions when he believed urgent action of the physical sort was required. His message was clear: 'Now, without delay.'
'Mrs Laurier!'
Finally, I had caught up and could see her.
I realised I did not know what Poirot would have me say to her next. I resolved to proceed as impartially as I could.
Vivienne Laurier reached out and touched my arm with no apparent purpose in mind: one light tap with the tips of her fingers.
'I am so sorry,' she said. 'So dreadfully sorry.' She looked distraught. 'What a reprehensible way for me to greet guests who have travelled all the way from London in this hellish weather.
'I should have said a proper hello and welcome to you and Monsieur Poirot.
'Sometimes I forget that not everybody is trapped in my nightmare with me. Please forgive me. I am glad to have you here. I shall say so to Monsieur Poirot when I see him at dinner.'
'Thank you. And there is nothing at all to forgive.'
The cloud of pain surrounding Vivienne Laurier was heavy.
'Tell me, does Monsieur Poirot believe that he can solve Stanley Niven's murder?' Vivienne asked. 'Does he always succeed, once he applies himself to a . . . problem of this kind?'
'So you have not given up, then,' I said.
'Pardon?'
'In the study, earlier, you told your husband that you had given up.'
'Trying to talk him round — yes, since Stanley Niven was killed, I have tried and failed hundreds of times to change his mind about going to St Walstan's.' A tear had escaped from the corner of her eye.
'Your sons and their wives agree with your husband, then, that he should go to St Walstan's?'
'Everyone agrees with him, apart from Cynthia and me.' Listlessly, she continued: 'Family is everything, Edward. When Arnold and I met, I had nobody left. I was 29 years old and completely alone in the world. Arnold became my family — my whole world. I will be utterly lost without him. He is the life force in me.' Pain blazed from her eyes.
'One does not realise until one loses a loved one how precious they are, how precious every moment is.'
'Well, you can trust Hercule Poirot,' I told her. 'I have never known him to fail. May I ask you a question?'
She nodded warily.
'Why are you afraid that Stanley Niven's killer will try to kill your husband?'
'Is it not obvious? If Arnold is determined to find out who did it, and if you were the murderer — a person who has already killed once — what on earth would stop you trying it again?'
I took a risk. 'Forgive me,' I said, 'but were you not frightened for Arnold even before he announced his intention to investigate Stanley Niven's murder?'
Vivienne's eyes widened. 'Ah. You have been speaking to Robert, I see. Very well, then: yes. Yes, I was afraid for Arnold from the moment I was told that Mr Niven had been murdered.
'And now you will ask me why, and I shall get my hopes up that perhaps at last someone will listen to me and take the threat to Arnold seriously — only to have you tell me, no doubt, that I imagined it all and there is nothing to worry about.'
'Whatever you say, I shall not dismiss it out of hand,' I assured her.
'Thank you. It was the other patient — what he said to me, and the way he looked when he said it. There was no mistaking it: he meant to warn me. He was trying to tell me that Arnold would be next. No one will believe me, because he did not use those words, but . . .'
'Wait,' I said. 'I am a little lost. Which other patient are you talking about?'
'Mr Hurt-His-Head,' said Vivienne.
'Dinner is ready!' a voice called up from the hall below.
Adapted by Katharine Spurrier from Hercule Poirot's Silent Night by Sophie Hannah (HarperCollins, £22). © Sophie Hannah 2023. To order a copy for £19.80 (offer valid to 06/01/2024; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.