flatfoot in Belgian tulips
The air was bright and clean, rain had fallen the previous night. Tucking my tunic down, brushing the morning dew from my brass, buttons. I step lively into the streets of Namur. I Hercules Poirot at age 20; am exiled to Namur after arresting a cousin of King Leopold for deviant child sex crimes. The honor graduate of Antwerp Police academy; the youngest aspirant inspector at nineteen. Am exiled to the provinces.
The city of Namur, hilly on the confluence of the Sambre and Meuse rivers. Much like my towns of my youth a river town, with ornate cathedrals, quaint shops. I was born in Vroenhoven, across from Maastricht Netherlands where my primary school took place.
My father, Louis Poirot, Railroad Police Inspector was gone most of my upbring, my mother died when I was very young, I have no real memories of her other than faded pictures. She seemed stern and unforgiving; much like her widowed sister who raised me In Vroenhoven. Father talked of her as harridan, perfectionist. From the books and journals, she left me, her brain was formidable; my father despite a lowly inspector has four university degrees. And a passion for philosophy and logic.
I suspect, they were evenly matched in brains, which caused problems in marriage. Although my father never remarried, or even to my knowledge looked at another woman. Every year on her dead, he drinks himself dead. Crying in his bed for her. My older brothers and sister where already nearing leaving when I was born. They speak of mother as a stern and brilliant, troubled by perfection and wanting her children to be just a perfect as her.
My parents were from Ellezelles (province of Hainaut, Belgium) originally; till His police work took him all over the country. Most of the family has settle in the Hainaut region. Although my oldest sister is in Washington DC. In America having married an America confectioner. My older Brother is a Shipping clerking in Amsterdam.
The day I graduated catholic primary school in Maastricht; I travel alone by train to Brussels. Entering High school summer program, the next day. I gradated early from Bervoets High School; attending the Antwerp Police Academy on the recommendation of the Chief Inspector of Brussels. The youngest cadet accepted at not yet sixteen; Served my first year and half in Antwerp, now I am thru diligent and adherence to the law; exiled to Namur, working liaison with the local police hunting anarchist and radical unionist. I spend my days wandering the city and countryside, and hour or two on useless paperwork. The only relieve is three afternoons a week at Facultés universitaires Notre-Dame de la Paix, sitting in classroom, being enlightened.
Today, I head to the water front on the Sambre river to read bulletin boards the unionist and radical post on. An interesting reading of misspelled words and grammatic malaises. This afternoon is the first university class on human psychology, The Motivational Drive of Man; with a lecture next month by Scottish surgeon and lecturer Dr. Joseph Bell. I can fill my time till I return to Brussels or Antwerp; where my talents can make real differences.
After lunch of local food. My Aunts cooking to say nothing of my father's dismal attempts; means if it's hot, I eat it, without wonder or taste. My boss is a finicky eater of Haute Cuisine. I am uncaring of food other than energy to fuel my passions for solving crimes, learning new thing, broadening my horizons as America Mark Twain says.
The day is bright this September day, heading uphill to class. Three weeks till Combat de l'Échasse d'Or (Fight for the Golden Stilt), which I have been drafted to participate in. Punishment for sending a twenty-year-old spoiled nephew of a rich industrialist to court for playing at anarchist, attacking glass works in Charleroi my first week here.
I walk in to the lecture hall; the professor is gabbing to several medical students from there smocks. I always sit in the back; in case I must leave. I set out my paper, pencil, leave thru the text books. Stare at the chalkboard, empty as yet the class bell has not rung. Close my mind to external things, think on the beauty of order and balance.
I feel a force tease my nose. I turn to the most ethereal blond angel sitting next to me. I stare dumbfounded at her. This enchanting creature in blue lace, young with clear pale skin, angelic profile. I long to see her eyes. She looks at me, blush's and turns back to the class.
Dumb-founded, staring at her; lost in the feeling coursing thru my soul and heart. Not waking till nearly half the classes done. I rush to finish notes. Looking up she is gone. I move quickly to find her, I cannot.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sitting in the café below the Citadel over the Meuse river. Watching the bargeman float by. I know something is wrong with one barge, I just can't say why. I stare at the bargeman steering the craft. Three local police constables join me, a happy lot. We young men in the beginning of our careers in the law. A rowdy lot according to the Café owner. I look as the barge passes the point, flashes off the bargeman belt, I look hard, I need a telescope to see what is shining in the fading dusk.
"Francoise, your empty beer mug please." He hands me it; I crudely use it as a telescope, not very good, but something in the man's belt is troubling. Placing the mug down. Standing "Gentleman, let's take a boat ride and see what is in the bargeman belt. Shall we." With that I take off running, the happy crew chases me. I see a row boat tied to the bank, we steal the boat and chase the barge.
"Stand To! In the name of the Law!" I scream, Henry laughs, standing up. "Mouse! STAND TO! IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!" He bellows.
The bargeman, turning to us. Leaps off the boat swimming for the opposite bank; to Jambes. Two other bargemen jump off as well. "After him" I point at the first one. Nearing the shore, we over take him, then we're capsized. I feel hands dragging me out of the water. I lay on the bank and drown man. Looking up into Henry face. "Parkour is dead, shot by him." I turn to the bargeman laying beaten on the bank. His eyes dead. A bloody hole in his gut. I sit up. Francoise is crying over our fallen comrade
Standing I see the gun, what was in the man's belt. A large British pistol. Who are you dead man, and why?
The barge with one ton of the new dynamite and blasting caps. Boxes of anti-government and anti-rich pamphlets seized before it hit a bridge. The anarchists are pushing hard into the industrial Wallonia region. The chief inspector congratulates us, lamenting Parkour death. The local Police commissioner treats us to a beer. Talking about the coming issues with these radicals.
"Ha, the lady of the hour, Miss Lelièvre. She who single handle recovered the barge from hitting the Pont de Jambes. Gentleman! Miss Lelièvre." I look up into the bluest eyes of my angel. I rise tongue tied in knots. "Madam"
She smiles at me, leaning up to me. "Your fly is open?" She whispers. I look down horrified at my open fly and hardon bulging outward. I turn and flee the bar. Horrified at myself for blowing my chance with this angel. Laughter chases my running feet.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Two days later, I sit in class, hoping to go unnoticed. I moved to the opposite side I was on. Hoping to not see her, or more importantly she not sees me. I smell her perfume and know she sits next to me. I turn to her; she smirks at me. "Evading me kind, Sir?"
"Yes."
"don't you like me?"
"Yes"
"You do or don't"
"I do"
"I am Cate, your Hercules. I shall call you Hunter. For that is what you are."
"I have never hunted in my life!" I say indigent at her impertinence.
"Hunter, you always hunt, search, not animals but men and crime. That is why you are exiled to Namur?"
"I am a policeman." showing my uniform.
"You are more than a flatfoot constable walking a beat and stealing apples. Your beautiful mind in a handsome clean-shaven face. So? Hunter after class, maybe coffee at the café down near St Aubin's Cathedral?"
"Too may America penny novelettes. Yes, but I am supposed to ask?"
"If I waited for you to ask, I would be old and grey. So; shut up, the class is starting." She smiles at me.
Taking notes, I feel her hand touch my thigh. I look at her, she touches my hand. I feel happy and calm. She smirks at me. Leaning over. "Your fly is open?"
I look down and find it is not so! I turn to her. She giggles at me. As class ends. She rises. "Care to join me?"
"Yes Cate."
"You're a man of few words."
"only around you, does my tongue, tie itself in knots and the gray brain cells are struck dumb by your beauty."
"Really, when I look at you all my filters and carefully crafted thoughts flee me." She touches my cheek. Leaning in we kiss; fleeting but heavenly. This is a woman for me. Taking her hand in the crook of my arm, we walk thru the streets of Namur.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Café across from St Aubin's Cathedral
She sits next to me, leaning on my shoulder. Laughing at my manners and stiff shocked expressions at her outrageous talking and conduct.
"You are one of those Woman suffragette? Are you not?"
"Yes, No. I think and therefore wish to be heard. Women in my social set are seen and never heard. My older sister is married to the Governor and can out think everyman in the government. My mother leads my father around business. She should be the Director of transportation for Société Anonyme des Hauts Fourneaux, Usines et Charbonnages de Marcinelle et Couille. Don't get me wrong I love my father but his ideas are so ancient and stoic. He believes ladies are adornments; yet asks Mam-Mama about every big decision. What of your parents?"
"Opined little thing, are you not. Cate, I think you believe yourself better than everyone around you." I huff.
"O' Henri; two of Geraardsbergse mattentaart; Please"
"I don't like them too sweet. I like couque de Dinant."
"Hunter how can you reject mattentaart; small puff pastry pie with a tender, almond-flavored cheese curd filling. Here let me educate you on sweets." She leans up and kiss my lips. Sitting back, she blushes.
"I meant to do that the first time I saw you at the Citadel, looking all hot in your uniform. Then you were in my class and I couldn't deny myself anymore. I had to meet you. See what your like. Kiss that mouth, that tease me."
"forward aren't you?" I say shocked that she kissed me, and I crave her. I want her so bad. I take her hand, as the waiter places two pastries before us. "Henri more Coffee"
"Would it, if surprises you, if you're the first person I've talked like this to. Most people complain I never talk, just listen, and read my life away. You make me believe in the books I've read, like Austin or Hardy."
"You find your voice and I losses mine. With you I feel complete. Is that strange, too?"
"Who knows, now What do you make of class. Can you deduce what those two rough characters sitting on the Cathedral steps are?"
I look at the two men, from here looking like out of work laborers. Dozens of men like that wander thru the towns looking for work. I look deeper, applying the Distinguished Dr. Bell's methods. Cate brings a pastry to my lips. I bite and feel the sweetness for the first time, making me want more. More so for her to feed me these treats.
My brain rotates on the questions. I jump up, drawing my gun and charge across the square.
"Hands up! In the name of the law. Cate call the constables." I hold the two men. Both look at me, short me. I would bet they tower over me.
I feel Cate next to me. "The constables are coming. I have your back. Partner!" I can't take my eyes off them, but I know she's smirking behind me. The constables arrive.
"Search them. They are criminals from Liege, wanted for robbery and murder. Your boots gave you away. Laborers don't wear riding boots. Nor have blankets rolled long around carbine rifles?"
"Yes, sir Inspector Poirot. Come with us." they take the men away. I turn to Cate putting a pistol back in tote bag.
"let's finish our coffee and treats, escort me home and then you may go to the station and do your paperwork."
"I should go to the station and do the paperwork now."
"then I would pout and get enormous eating both pastries alone." Cate tease me. How can I deny her anything.
"We must not have you pout. You could use a few pounds?" I say ducking the hand flying for my head. Retreating to our table. Henri produces some galettes campinoises with cream. We finish the treats. Walking hand in hand. On clouds of love. She is everything I could wish in a wife. She will be my wife.
Rue Pepin: I stop at her door. She leans back against the frame. "tomorrow evening I'm attending the lecture on Charlemagne's Saxon Wars. I would like a consort, I mean escort?" Cate smirks at the slip of her tongue, biting her lip.
"I shall attempt to escort you, if duty allows. Goodnight my lady Katherine." I bow, stepping back, she steps forward taking my lips in hers. "I shall duty allowing be please at your service. Inspector Poirot.
I walk away happy beyond believe, at her kisses, touch, and everything about her. She is perfect.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Police headquarters, office of the federal Police commissioner
"Poirot you are a pain in my ass. First the dilettante anarchist, then losing an officer to anarchist bargeman: Who was Phillipe Kessler, wanted in half the countries in Europe doing on that barrage. The Germany's and Hungarians are sending you and the other ten thousand Goldmark. How will it be divided?"
"Sir, I believe most should go to Officer Parkours family. The rest to the Police retirement homes. We were doing are jobs. Nothing more, nothing less. Sir"
"Amazing, Thomas get that done, notified the chief commissioner of the aspirant inspector wishes. Now the two-last night, the French are requesting we sent them to France, we only have them on robbery and assault. The French have them on Murder, two prostitutes murder in Charleville-Mézières are tied to them. Your view?"
"Save us the prison expense, Madam Guillotine would welcome them."
"Blood thirst little thing are you not?"
"No sir. But we suspect them of at least ten murders in France and Luxembourg. Justice is more than just right and wrong. It is what separates us from the beast."
"Thomas, ask the magistrate for a little time later this morning to discusses extradition." He looks about.
"Thomas close the door behind you."
"Hercule, I've known your father for forty-years, since we entered the police force together. What are you doing with Auguste Lelièvre cousin and Louis Lelièvre daughter? You have no social position like them. You have been seen taking liberties with her. IN PUBLIC!"
"I have done nothing wrong. Miss Lelièvre has encouraged my suit. I am happy with her, She with me. Are you demanding I break off my pursuit of the Lady?"
"No! But you need to be careful. Rich people are different. Lelièvre family is not to played with understand. Is it serious?"
"I pray it is. We seem to be on the same level. She makes me feel things."
"Ok, but make a more proper approach. I suggest to you, this afternoon stop and see her parents. I understand they may be home at four pm; to accept visitors. Make sure your dressed perfect, Louis Lelièvre is a fastidious person. Make sure you don't smell, or have food on your tunic." He dismisses me. I rush to make sure I have clean cloths and wash before I meet her parents.
Xxxxxxxxx
I arrive to find myself invited to dine with them, I now thank god, the Maastricht priest harped on proper table manners and eating. Cate is quiet and demur, but I see the spark in her eyes. Alight with mischievous thoughts. I think I did proper enough to escort the lady.
We leave, with three bruisers chaperoning us. I take her hand on my elbow as we talk about the coming classes and lectures. Sitting next to her enlightens me in mind and heart. We laugh at the lectures lost notes, and red face shouting about Saxon wars crimes against the German people. We wander the campus and sitting at a nice café sipping tea and snacking on slices of rustic bread and with soft cheese (Tartines/Boterhammen). Talking about history, plants, people, and just the histories of the region and country. Places we want to travel to see.
Talking till the chaperones demand we leave. The Church clocks strike midnight. I escort her home; her parents are waiting at the door. Stern frowns greet us. I take her face in my hands and kiss her. Despite the bruiser and her father, this is what I waited all day to do. "Till tomorrow my Cate."
"till tomorrow hunter."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I spent the next week in Hainaut, staying with my second brother, a farmer outside the town center. Chasing rumors of radical unionist causing trouble. I find instead two embezzlers, four robbers and one deviant child rapist hiding behind priest cloth.
Cate and I send messages back a forth thru trusted friends and the royal mail service. The family is upset at our relationship. She sends me French postcard (porn-o-graphic picture postcards); the little minks, taunting me. I send her postcards of flowers and cows. She is convinced the gardener down the street is planning to murder his mistress. Seems the old bat is crazy and wants the plants dug up and replanted daily in different places, then days later moved back.
Her Father and mother are planning her brother's wedding to a rich family out of Bruges. They leave in two months for a month long calendar of pre-wedding, wedding and reception. Her mother is harping on her twenty-year-old status, unwed and unbetrothed. I inquire if I may make application for her hand to her Parents. She laments they will not accept my suit, to low socially to have her. She talks about eloping to America with me.
Tomorrow I return to Namur. Tomorrow we have the lecture of DR. Bell. At least my exile to Hainaut got me out of the joust on silts. Tomorrow I will escort Cate to class and try to steal kisses.
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Facultés universitaires Notre-Dame de la Paix, Dr. Bells lecture on Observation method of diagnose.
We walk along the river bank, letting the night close in on us. Talking about the lecture, our future. I let the night cloak us in dreams of love. I will take her next month near Christmas to Hainaut, my family and father will be there this year. After New Year's; she will be in Ghent and Bruges for nearly two months. Dawn is breaking as we wander down the road to her house. Her father is angry; we were out all night, his bruiser chaperones were with us the whole time. We kiss and she heads into sleep.
I arrive at the station to work; the first stepping stone of spring horrors has fallen. If I knew this was it, I would have worked harder to solve it.
"Poirot, head to Floriffoux. Four men were killed last night on the railroad tracks. According to the local constables, the four men were tied head only over the running rail; alive. The train could not stop in time." The desk sergeant tells me.
The scene is gruesome, brutal sadist from the bodies. Tortured before being tied head first over the running rails of the train tracks. The men's bags are found near by ransacked. All the men's papers are poor fakes, I find several loose pistol ammos about. They're armed; I have pictures taken to pass around; someone must know them.
I find tracks to the river, a boat maybe. Looking about I find only one set of foot prints unaccounted for. Heavy workers boot with a strange pattern, the shoes must be men's 13 or 14, yet the depression seems lite, tall big footed man slender and lite, petite maybe. Looking across the river I see several people watching us, too far away to recognize anyone. I must get a telescope or binoculars.
It is near midnight when my head hits my pillow. I dream of Cate in tulips field and summer sunlight on the grass knoll beyond the town. Quiet glens of reflection and private moments of sinful lust. Cate naked on the blanket, perfect in the sunlight. Perfect as I lean down to make love to my wife. I must work hard and find a ring.
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The case stalls as information dries up; the holidays season starts. I find myself in uncharted waters, as I escort Cate to Galas and parties. Teas and sled rides. Ice skating the canals and lakes with other young people are age. Many of our friends are from the university.
I discover my Cate's public persona. The quiet, bookworm, delicate manners, passion for food. Shadow in the background. A teacher at heart. Quiet words massive insightful meaning. We enjoy the season; her family is still not happy at her dating a lowly police officer. A relatively poor compared to them police officer.
I find myself taking on Cate passion for foods, her eccentric obsession with eggs. An addiction to sweets. She teaches me to use the new Remington No. 2 typewriters instead of Rev. Rasmus Malling-Hansen of Denmark Hansen Writing Ball used by the police. I teach her to love country walks, picnic lunches on the grass slopes outside of Annevoie Castle. The quiet forest treks or boat rides down the rivers and canals. Cate is the natural sailor. The beauty of flowers along the side of the tracks and roads that most think of as weeds.
Our chaperons still trail us, but we learn to lose them with easily choregraphed maneuvers. Till her parents have no less than ten men trailing us. But still, we evade them. Learn to hide in plain sight and shadows. Learn the beauty of walking holding hands, lite meaningful kisses, and teasing gestures.
Sitting in our café looking across at the cathedral. Sipping coffee and munchies sweets. Cate unmans me again; by paying the bill. I pout till she kisses me. Our usually routine.
"Well? Hercule. Introduces us." A harsh voice startles me, looking up into my father's eyes. I stand, looking him up and down for a moment. The newly frocked Deputy Commissioner of Railroads Police Louis Poirot impassively ignores me. Studying Cate instead.
"Why are you here?"
"Manner's boy. Introduce us." he growls in his Father be damned, you will obey me voice.
"Why are you here? Now? Father!" I step up to him, he towers over me a good foot. It sucks to be the runt in the Poirot family. But still he backs up.
"Auguste Lelièvre and Auguste Vergote asked me to talk sense into you about dating the princess. She will not settle in the family any more than you in hers. So why are you dating?" He demands, shit she heard him. I raise up, to punch my father for the first time in our relationship, how dare he say those things to Cate.
I feel her hand on my shoulder. She steps into my arms; I curl my left arm around her waist. Feeling peace and contentment. "Herr Poirot, I am Katerine Lelièvre: I have money of my own. I am of age. And I am your son's fiancé, not some dalliance or fling. I hope you and your family as well as mine might attend are nuptials in the fall. Good day sirs. Hercules are coffee is getting cold." Cate slams down my father who retreats.
"When did I propose?" I ask
"The day you kissed me at my door. You are everything I want, need. My hunter." I take her hand and kiss it. "when do you wish to announce it publicly?"
"We may stop by the paper this afternoon before class, everything is ready with the editor." She giggles, taking my lips. Till the bruiser bark us apart. My lady is always stepping ahead of me.
"Let us be off. My lady Katherine." I stand and we head out this glorious day.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
All Hallow day mass.
St Aubin's Cathedral, lite in the false summer of fall. Sitting with the Lelièvre family; Katherine dressed in demur white flander lace, bible, and psalms books on her lap. I sit next to her in my dress federal police uniform. She threatened to break her mother prized Grecian vase, if I wasn't allowed to escort her to church today and any other day.
I look up at the ornamented frieze, carved with swags of fruit and flowers between the Corinthian capitals runs in an unbroken band entirely round the church. The church unlike the one in Brussel or Maastricht: here in Namur all color is avoided; replaced by architectural enrichments and the bas-reliefs in the pendentives of the dome. I like the stark feel, stripped of human deceitfulness. Here bare stone and simple reliefs force man to see the world in simple terms: right and wrong.
Cate strokes my side rising at the priest command. I quickly follow. The service is over; we wander out, greeting the priest and other church officials. The family's headed to a formal lunch at Val Saint Lambert glass office in Namur with cousin Auguste Lelièvre.
After lunch: I want to punch several older men; but cannot. My father was invited as well as the head of the local police and my boss. All discounted me and Cate's views and discourses. We retreat to walk the nearby Annevoie Castle grounds. Venting! We scare the birds and our chaperones. I worry, I will be transferred to Dreef on the river Mark. The most exiled posting in the country. The last four federal policeman sent there, quit, and left the country. Two volunteered for Matías de Gálvez: a Belgian colonial port city in Guatemala. Belgians who settled there died of yellow fever and malaria, which is endemic to Amatique Bay off the Gulf of Honduras: a failed Belgian colony by 1880.
"Hunter, I think the first problem is your youthful face. I think a mustache, a grand mustache!" Cate tease me. Also, I think you should be more properly attired. We will stop at father's tailor and get you more suitable clothes."
"Cate, I have not the money for cloths like that. I will not allow you to buy me clothes. I am not a pauper!"
"Hunter? Hercules Poirot you will accept my gifts. Because they are my gifts to you. You are not a pauper, nor rich like my family. But if we are to have a future. You must look like you belong; if for no other reason because I love you and wish to grow old and gray in your strong arms."
I have lost the argument; a distraction to prevent a fight. "Mustaches you think. Would not a beard be better?"
"No beard, Hercules. Would swallow your face and make you look like an English garden gnome."
"Yes, an English garden gnome. I should fear being mistaken for them. They are so much taller." I quip
Laughing we, stop at a path side food stand. Roasted chestnuts. Snacking we wander and no more talk of family and personal things. Instead, we apply Dr. Bell method to the people we see along are trek, late into the day.
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Second week of December:
Tis two in the morning; I am roused from my slumber by my friend, local policeman Henri; A terrible triple murder has occurred in town. We rush to the Meuse bridge to find three ropes tied to the parapet. One body has been recovered. The man was tied hand and foot, with the long rope tied to his feet. From his face I suspect he was alive when throw over the side. The downstream current drowns the man.
I interview all the witness about at two am. Few: A drunk sleeping in the gutter near the bridge talks about a horse drawn cart passing him, with men pleading for their life's. I head back out of town the way the cart must have come. I find a place where the wagon sat, drag marks the soil from the bush. I find luggage and packs. All union radical ransacks. Like the train deaths. I head back into town and the bridge. The three bodies, recovered and the chiefs of police stands over them look at me, in a sea of police brass and senior Sergeants.
"Well Poirot?"
"Three radical unionists, from Brussel. Taken outside of town, from the bodies and the bloody evidence at the campsite. Tortured. Taken here and throw over the bridge alive. From witness and rain, I believe here was around 1pm. I have backtracked to the campsite. I believe two to three men. I will move to Jambes side and see how far we can track them. Sirs?"
"Go." They argue ignoring me. I head out, just past the café Jambes, Cate walks with me, handing me some German binoculars. The other policeman looks at me like I am crazy. We near the edge of town.
"You should go home."
"It is a beautifully day. The rain has washed away the scents of putrid humanity. Let us wander the road to Dave-Saint-Martin. If nothing pops up. I will return Namur." arguing with her, is like sweeping the stone beach of the sea, as the tide rolls in.
Offering my arm, she takes it we wander down the road. How we will find one wagon track among dozens after the heavy rains before dawn. But we will try.
Near Rue du Sart Hulet: We find a track take an unused path into the woods. From the rain; it was made long before the last rains. The ruts still hold clean water. We follow, seeing the broken pad on one wheel: I observed at the campsite. We start to head into the woods.
"Cate go home." I say she refuses. "Cate?"
"where you go; I go. Hunter, please lead the way." Stubborn woman.
I head in, using the field glass to move slowly and surely: Just a hundred paces at a time. I spot a small cabin, smoke from the chimney. We move forward, slowly. "Bang. Bang!" Shot ring out. I shove Cate into the forest much. "Stay there!" I charge forward with the rest of the police; Gun drawn. Henri, taking a unsawed log about three feet and eight inches round to the door. Shattered swinging inward we rush in. To two men, eating breakfast with holes in their foreheads. After searching about we find a where a horse was tethered, the weird shoe prints from the train killing are here.
"Hercule?"
"The leader, seeing us approached, killer his henchman. Deadman tell no tails. He fled deeper into the woods. With the new rain tracking would be impossible in the terrain. We are dead ended again." I punch the wall.
"If you apply Dr. Bell. Hercule: Hunter would see that this cabin has no unionist or anarchist thing, books, pamphlets or other radical. All the victims were unionist, anarchist. These men are type hired by the industrialist to fight the radicals." Cate smirks at me.
"yes; I see your point. Could the industrialist be waging a secret war with the radicals. A why would they hide it now; they have not in the past been so secret?"
"Look here at the guns these men have on them, British army issues." I point out to Cate. All the dead seem to have a British flavor.
"Perhaps? Hunter we should seek information from the British intelligence or newly formed Scotland Yard. The real question. Why the public killings?" Cate asks me; She is right. The killing makes no sense.
Xxxxxxxx
"STAND UP STRAIT. ATTENTION YOU SCUM SUCKING MAGGOT! POIROT WHAT WERE YOU THINKING TAKING MISS KATHERINE LELIÈVRE ON A POLICE INVESTIGATES! MUCH LESS A RAID ON ARMED MURDERS!" My boss screams at me, while my father smirks near the door.
"No excuse!"
"No excuse? No excuse? You little know it all shit for brains. You never take a civilian on a murder hunt; much less your fiancée! What was your pea size brain thinking?"
"MISS KATHERINE LELIÈVRE has a fine brain, and is excellent practitioner of Dr. Bell's methods. She has key insight and suggestion on the cases." I bark back, putting them on their heels as they say.
"She is as good as me, or even better using her brain to solve these crimes. Would you forbid me to use ever tool in the box to fix the house?"
"Hercule; just use more caution about her. Her mother has complained to the Queen Marie Henriette. About a lowly policeman leading her daughter astray and into danger. You are on the night train to Brussel for an inquest of you actions by the Queen and the head commissioner." Father destroys me.
I walk out the door, pack, and head to the train station, I have two hours to wait before the train arrives. I feel dejected. I wonder what the Congo is like, would I like it.
"Hunter? Our train is here." I look up to Cate with a travel bag. I raise my eyebrows?
"If we must face the Queen, then we shall do so as couple. Shall we alight?"
"yes, my dear. What's the worst they can do now; shoot me. I died a happy man."
We sleep arm in arm as the Ardennes country side breaks to Brussels forest lawns. In three hours, I will be present to the Queen and the Chief Inspector, and head commissioner of the federal police. Hopeful I'm not on a slow boat to a colony or worse shot at dawn.
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The trip into the north suburb of Brussel, Laeken. We're escorted to the Royal Greenhouses of Laeken, on the park of the Royal Castle. The Queen sits before a breakfast table among the exotic foliage. Three little dogs race about, while one sits listless. We approach: I bow as Cate curtesy.
"Your Majesty; You are well. My Queen" Cate speaks, with a familiar.
"Kathrine my child, what is this I'm told you are enamor with this simple policeman."
"I am engaged to Aspirant Inspector Hercule Poirot, the most brilliant Police Detective in the country. From a well-respected Police and middle-class family of Walloon." Cate defends me.
"We shall test your skills Poirot. Yesterday in this exact spot: I lost an emerald ring while entertaining my good friend Sophia of Prussia and Louise, Princess Royal and Duchess of Fife. If you are the Such a great Detective. Where is my ring?" Queen speaks. The Police brass stand mute and menacing behind her.
"Please Pardon My questions. Your Majesty: You were dining while visiting with the Princess?" I inquire
"Yes."
"The ring was perhaps loose on your finger?"
"Yes, I suppose it was."
"If I may My Queen" I point to the dog at her foot. She nods I reach down and pick up the listless one. I gentle squeeze her side. "Yelp!" Tries to bite me. I hand the dog to Cate.
"Careful! She is feeling unwell!" The Queen barks.
"I fear your Majesty. Your little friend has mistaken your emerald ring for a treat. She has swallowed it."
The Queen is stunned "Summon my veterinary. Please sit and talk." Cate leads the conversation.
"you are not talkative Hercule?"
"In your august presents and beauty; Madam, My Queen; I am speechless." I try to not squeak like a stomped mouse.
"When he speaks Kathrine, the shy flirter. I am married young man. But you are engaged to Kathrine here. A most luck young man. My dear. I believe your marriage will be long and happy. Two such intellects matched."
"thank you, Your majesty" Cate grins at me.
"So; tell me about these unsolved grisly murders?"
"They are focused on foreign nationals, radical unionist. Are only lead being two dead thugs previously employed by several industrials' companies and groups. None admit to currently employing them. Katherine research: There have been several suspicious deaths of moderates in the union, and industrialist factions. We believe some external faction is playing the two sides against each other: for what purpose we know not." I explain to her majesty the Queen of Belgium.
"You both have worked this out?" Speaks the head Police Commissioner.
"Yes"
"What would you think is the best course?" The Chief Inspector asks.
"We, believe that we could make more head way by inquiring with Scotland Yard. Much of the weapons and material is British in nature" Kathrine speaks.
"Poirot?"
"I concur with Miss Lelièvre. Also inquire of German and Netherlands Police about radical anarchist and unionist transiting their countries." I defend my lady
"Make it so Chief inspector" the Queen demands and the veterinary arrives, check the dog.
"Your majesty: I believe a cathartic will release the ring from Little mademoiselle here. If I may?" He asks
"Yes. Hopeful She will survive. I love the little thing; she was a gift from the Archduke Otto Franz Joseph Karl Ludwig Maria of Austria. A most gentle young man."
We nod. The vet leaves as does most of the crowd following Queen and Princess to look at some recent flower from the Congo.
"I shall tell your mother that Hercule is a good match and exceptional young man with a bright future. I can tell how happy you both are. Besides if not yoked, one or both of your intellects will bend to evil and destroy the world. So, go and enjoy the morning before you return to Namur." The Queen parting shot.
"Oh! Hercule I adore that beautiful mustaches you've started. I would bet it rival my husband in a short time. Kathrine? Tell your mother I would adore her fonteinen oude kriek jam."
I blush at the Queen. Cate leans into me. "told you so!" Giggling like a school girl. I stifle pout at her, then giggle as well to the horror of my bosses.
Leaving just Commissioner, Chief Inspector, and us. We make are manners and retreat with the Chief Inspector, my bosses' boss.
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Train station Brussels.
This is Madam Teller; she shall escort Miss Katherine Lelièvre home to Namur. You Poirot are going with Inspector Louis 'Guy' Coëme, the man who arrested Hippolyte Visart de Bocarmé; to London and Scotland yard. Don't worry you should be home for Christmas." Chief inspector speaks at us. We hug and kiss and part.
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The channel crossing was a nightmare of storms. The train ride into London was wet a miserable. Inspector Coëme is more interested in his sleep and ale than anything else. I find Scotland yard to be a bit of a letdown. The rabbit warren of 4, 3, 5, 21 and 22 Whitehall Place; 8 and 9 Great Scotland Yard, and several stables. Soon they are moving to modern building on Victoria Embankment, overlooking the River Thames.
Inspector Baynes greets us, after discussion he laments that the expert on these radicals has sail the day before for Gibraltar. "If only Lieutenant Hasting had delayed his trip. But duty calls. Several Spanish Anarchist are causing problems on the rock."
We find the estimable Hasting has left a book on the photos we sent Scotland yard, with names, and profiles. The strangest thing, all seem more guns for hire than true unionist. Each group seems to have been sent from the same Unionist group in Ireland thru Liverpool. The yard inspectors have no idea why. Hasting note suspect a Dutch radical named Hendrik Terbrugghen working out of Delfzijl.
Terbrugghen is the mastermind of the unionist activity in north Europe. I will have to travel to Delfzijl Netherlands.
The trip to Rotterdam was worse than the trip to London. How the ocean can storm in all direction at the same time. Arriving at Rotterdam, we receive a telegram from the Commissioner, and confirmation from the Dutch police. Hendrik Terbrugghen was killed by two German thugs from Hamburg with axes. Both Germans were killed by the police. Four Dutch officers we're wounded. The house was burned to cinder, no evidence exists.
I just make the train to Namur and arrive, washing on the train, dressing in my apartment into one of my new suits. The double cufflink frustrates me; But Cate thinks they make me a more fitting gentleman. I rush to the Cathedral.
Arriving as the Lelièvre clan arrives in their carriage. I offer Kathrine my arm, escorting her into Christmas Eve Mass. Sitting in the Lelièvre family pew. Holding her hand. She slips me a note: I read and blush, checking my fly again, it is correct and secure. I look into her eyes. Mischievous sparkles at me.
By Christmas mass; I have a decent mustache that Mademoiselle Kathrine gifts me a trimming and styling set to make it more regal. She giggles at the tickling her nose.