Mrs. Hubbard described what had happened.- Sally showed every sign of sympathetic anger.
"I'll say that's a mean thing to do. I wouldn't believe anyone would do a thing like that to our Bess. Everybody likes her. She's quiet and doesn't get around much, or join in, but I'm sure there's no one who dislikes her." "That's what I should have said." "Well-it's all of a piece, isn't it, with the other thineaeaS. That's why-was "That's why what?" Mrs. Hubbard asked as the girl stopped abruptly.
Sally said slowly, "That's why I'm getting out of here. Did Mrs.
Nick tell you?" "Yes. She was very upset about it. Seemed to think you hadn't given her the real reason." "Well, I didn't. No point in making her go up in smoke. You know what she's like. But that's the reason, ri-lit enoueaeahid. I just don't like what's going on here. Tt was odd losing my shoe, and then Valerie's scarf being all cut to bits-and Len's rucksack . . . it wasn't so much things being pinched-after all, that may happen any time-it's not nice but it's roughly normal-but this other isn't." She paused for a moment, smiling, and then suddenly grinned. "Akibombo's scared," she said. "He's always very superior and civilised-but there's a good old West African belief in Magic very close to the surface." "Tehah!" said Mrs. Hubbard crossly.
"I've no patience with superstitious nonsense.
Just some ordinary human beings making a nuisance of themselves. That's all there is to it." Sally's mouth curved up in a wide cat-like grin.
"The emphasis," she said, "is on ordinary.
I've a sort of feeling that there's a person in this house who isn't ordinary!" Mrs. Hubbard went on down the stairs. She turned into the students" common room on the ground floor. There were four people in the room. Valerie Hobhouse, prone on a sofa with her narrow, elegant feet stuck up over the arm of it; Nigel Chapman sitting at a table with a heavy book open in front of him; Patricia Lane leaning against the mantelpiece and a girl in a mackintosh who had just come in and who was pulling off a woolly cap as Mrs. Hubbard entered. She was a stocky, fair girl with brown eyes set wide apart and a mouth that was usually just a little open so that she seemed perpetually startled.
Valerie, removing a cigarette from her mouth, said in a lazy drawling voice: "Hullo, Ma, have you administered soothing syrup to the old devil, our revered proprietress?" Patricia Lane said: "Has she been on the war path?" "And how!" said Valerie and chuckled.
"Something very unpleasant has happened," said Mrs. Hubbard. "Nigel, I want you to help me." "Me, Ma'am?" Nigel looked up a-t her and shut his book. His thin, malicious face was suddenly illumined by a mischievous but surprisingly sweet smile. "What have I done?" "Nothing, I hope," said Mrs. Hubbard. "But ink has been deliberately and maliciously spilt all over Elizabeth Johnston's notes and it's green ink. You write with green ink, Nigel." He stared at her, his smile disappearing.
"Yes, I use green ink." "Horrid stuff," said Patricia. "I wish you wouldn't, Nigel. I've always told you I think it's horribly affected of you." "I like being affected," said Nigel. "Lilac ink would be even better, I think. I must try and get some. But are you serious, Mum? About the sabotage, I mean?" "Yes, I am serious. Was it your doing, Nigel?" "No, of course not. I like annoying people, as you kno ,, but I'd never do a filthy trick like that-and certainly not to Black Bess who minds her own business in a way that's an example to some people I could mention. Where is that ink of mine? I filled my pen yesterday evening, I remember. I usually keep it on the shelf over there." He sprang up and went across the room. "Here it is." He picked the bottle up, then whistled. "You're right. The bottle's nearly empty. It should be practically full." The girl in a mackintosh gave a little gasp.
"Oh dear," she said. "Oh dear. I don't like it-was Nigel wheeled at her accusingly.
"Have you got an alibi, Celia?" he said menacingly. The girl gave a gasp.
"I didn't do it. I really didn't do it.
Anyway, I've been at the Hospital all day. I couldn't-was "Now, Nigel," said Mrs. Hubbard.
"Don't tease Celia." , Patricia Lane said angrily, "I don't see why Nigel should be suspected.
Just because his ink was taken-was Valerie said cattishly, "That's right, darling, defend your young." "But it's so unfair-was "But really I didn't have anything to do with it," Celia protested earnestly.
"Nobody thinks you did, infant," said Valerie impatiently. "All the same, you know," her eyes met Mrs. Hubbard's and exchanged a glance, "all this is getting beyond a joke. Something will have to be done about it." Something is going to be done," said Mrs. Hubbard grimly.
"'HERE YOU ARE, Mr. Poirot." Miss Lemon laid a small brown paper parcel before Poirot. He removed the paper and looked appraisingly at a well cut silver evening shoe.
"It was at Baker Street, just as you said." "That has saved us trouble," said Poirot. "Also it confirms my ideas." "Quite," said Miss Lemon who was sublimely incurious by nature.
She was, however, susceptible to the claims of family affection. She said, "If it is not troubling you too much, Mr.
Poirot, I received a letter from my sister. There- have been some new developments." "You permit that I read it?" She handed it to him and after reading it, he directed Miss Lemon to get her sister on the telephone.
Presently Miss Lemon indicated that the connection had been obtained. Poirot took the receiver.
"Mrs. Hubbard?" "Oh yes, Mr. Poirot. So kind of you to ring me up so promptly. I was really very-i" Poirot interrupted her.
"Where are you speaking from?" "Why-from 26 Hickory Road, of course.
Oh I see what you mean. I am in my own sitting room." "There is an extension?" "This is the extension. The main phone is downstairs in the hall." "Who is in the house who might listen in?" "All the students are out at this time of day. The cook is out marketing. Geronimo, her husbadd, understands very little English. There is a cleaning woman, but she is deaf and I'm quite sure wouldn't bother to listen in." "Very good, then. I can speak freely. Do you occasionally have lectures in the evening, or films?
Entertainments of some kind?" "We do have lectures occasionally. Miss Battrout, the explorer, came not long ago, with her coloured transparencies. And we had an appeal for Far Eastern Missions, though I am afraid quite a lot of the students went out that night." "Ah. Then this evening you will have prevailed on M.
Hercule Poirot, the employer of your sister, to come and discourse to your students on the more interesting of my cases." "That will be very nice, I'm sure, but do you think-was "It is not a question of thinking. I am sure!" That evening, students entering the Common Room found a notice tacked up on the Board which stood just inside the door.
M. Hercule Poirot, the celebrated private detective, has kindly consented to give a talk this evening on the theory and practice of successful detection, with an account of certain celebrated criminal cases.
Returning students made varied comments on this.
"Who's this private Eye?" "Never heard of him." "Oh, I have. There was a man who was condemned to death for the murder of a charwoman and this detective got him off at the last moment by finding the real person." "Sounds crumby to me." "I think it might be rather fun." "Colin ought to enjoy it. He's mad on criminal psychology." "I would not put it precisely like that, but I'll not deny that a man who has been closely acquainted with criminals might be interesting to interrogate." Dinner was at seven thirty and most of the students were already seated when Mrs. Hubbard came down from her sitting room (where sherry had been served to the distinguished guest) followed by a small elderly man with suspiciously black hair and a mustache of ferocious proportions which he twirled contentedly.
"These are some of our students, Mr. Poirot.
This is M. Hercule Poirot who is kindly going to talk to us after dinner." Salutations were exchanged and Poirot sat down by Mrs. Hubbard and busied himself with keeping his moustaches out of the excellent minestrone which was served by a small active Italian manservant from a big tureen.
This was followed by a piping hot dish of spaghetti and meat balls and it was then th
at a girl sitting on Poirot's right spoke shyly to him.
"Does Mrs. Hubbard's sister really work for you?" Poirot turned to her.
"But yes indeed. Miss Lemon has been my secretary for many years. She is the most efficient woman that ever lived. I am sometimes afraid of her." "Oh. I see. I wondered-was "Now what did you wonder, Mademoiselle?" He smiled upon her in paternal fashion, making a mental note as he did so.
"Pretty, worried, not too quick mentally, frightened . . ." He said, "May I know your name and what it is you are studying?" "Celia Austin. I don't study. I'm a dispenser at St.
Catherine's Hospital." "Ah, that is interesting work?" "Well, I don't know comperh it is." She sounded rather uncertain.
"And these others? Can you tell me something about them, perhaps? I understood this was a Home for Foreign Students, but these seem mostly to be English." "Some of the foreign ones are out. Mr. Chandra Lal and Mr. Gopal Ram-they're Indians-and Miss Reinleer who's Dutch-and Mr. comAhmed Ali who's Egyptian and frightfully political!" "And those who are here? Tell me about these." "Well, sitting on Mrs. Hubbard's left is Nigel Chapman. He's studying Mediaeval History and Italian at London University.
Then there's Patricia Lane, next to him, with the spectacles. She's taking a diploma in Archaeology. The big red-headed boy is Len Bateson, he's a medical and the dark girl is Valerie Hobhouse, she's in a Beauty Shop.
Next to her is Colin Mcationabb comhe's doing a post graduate course in psychiatry." There was a faint change in her voice as she described Colin. Poirggyt glanced keenly a-t her and saw that the colour had come up in her face.
He said to himself, "So-she is in love and she cannot easily conceal the f act.
He noticed that young Mcationabb never seemed to look at her across the table, being far too much taken up with his conversation with a laughing red-headed girl besidehim.
"That's Sally Finch. She's American-over here on a Fulbright. Then there's Genevieve Maricaud. She's doing English, and so is Rene Halle who sits next to her. The small fair girl is Jean Tomlinson-she's at St.
Catherine's too. She's a physiotherapist. The black man is Akibombo-he comes from West Africa and he's frightfully nice. Then there's Elizabeth Johnston, she's from Jamaica and she's studying law. Next to us on wy right are two Turkish st14dents who came about a week ago. They know hardly any English." "Thank you. And do you all get on well together?
Or do you have quarrels?" The lightness of his tone robbed the words of seriousness.
Celia said, "Oh, we're all too busy really to have fights, although-was "Although what, Miss Austin?" "Well-nigel-next to Mrs. Hubbard. He likes stirring people up and making them angry. And Len Bateson gets angry. He gets wild with rage sometimes. But he's very sweet really." "And Colin Mcationabb-does he too get annoyed?" "Oh no. Colin just raises his eyebrows and looks amused." "I see. And the young ladies, do you have your quarrels?" "Oh no, we all get on very well.
Genevieve has feelings sometimes. I think French people are inclined to be touchy-oh I mean-I'm sorry" Celia was the picture of confusion.
"Me, I am Belgian," said Poirot solemnly. He went on quickly, before Celia could recover control of herself.
"What did you mean just now, Miss Austin, when you said you wondered. You wondered-what?" She crumbled her bread nervously.
"Oh that-nothing-notlng really-just, there have been some silly practical jokes lately-I thought Mrs. Hubbard-But really, it was silly of me. I didn't mean anything." Poirot did not press her. He turned away to Mrs. Hubbard and was presently engaged in a three cornered conversation with her and with Nigel Chapman who introduced the controversial challenge that crime was a form of creative art-and that the misfits of society were really the police who only entered that profession because of their secret sadism. Poirot was amused to note that the anxious looking young woman in spectacles of about thirty-five who sat beside him tried desperately to explain away his remarks as fast as he made them. Nigel, however, took absolutely no notice of her.
Mrs. Hubbard looked benignantly amused.
"All you young people nowadays think of nothing but polities and psychology," she said. "When I was a girl we were much more lighthearted. We danced.
If you rolled back the carpet in the Common Room there's quite a good floor, and you could dance to the wireless, but you never do." Celia laughed and said with a tinge of malice, "But you used to dance, Nigel. I've danced with you myself once, though I don't expect you to remember." "You've danced with me," said Nigel incredulously.
"Where?" "At Cambridge-in May Week." "Oh, May Week!" Nigel waved away the follies of youth. "One goes through that adolescent phase. Mercifully it soon passes." his Nigel was clearly not much more than twenty-five now. Poirot concealed a smile in his mustache.
Patricia Lane said earnestly, "You see, Mrs. Hubbard, there is so much study to be done.
With lectures to attend and one's notes to write up, there's really no time for anything but what is really worth while." "Well, my dear, one's only young once," said Mrs. Hubbard.
A chocolate pudding succeeded the spaghetti and afterwards they all went into the Common Room, and helped themselves to coffee from an urnthat stood on a table.
Poirot was then invited to begin his discourse. The two Turks politely excused themselves. The rest seated themselves and looked expectant.
Poirot rose to his feet and spoke with his usual aplomb. The sound of his own voice was always pleasant to him, and he spoke for three quarters of an hour in a light and amusing fashion, recallin, those of his experiences that lent themselves to an agreeable exaggeration. If he managed to suggest, in a subtle fashion, that he was, perhaps, something of a mountebank, it was not too obviously contrived.
"And so, you see," he finished, "I say to this City gentleman that I am reminded of a soap manufacturer I knew in L16ge who poisoned his wife in order to marry a beautiful blond secretary. I say it very lightly, but at once I get a reaction. He presses upon me the stolen money I had just recovered for him. He goes pale and there is fear in his eyes. 'I will give this money," I say, "to a deserving charity." 'Do anything you like with it," he says. And I say to him then, and I say it very significantly, "It will be advisable, Monsieur, to be very careful." He nods, speechless, and as I go out, I see that he wipes his forehead. He has had the big fright, and H have saved his life. For though he is infatuated with his blond secretary he will not now try and poison his stupid and disagreeable wife.
Prevention, always, is betaer than cure. We want to prevent murders-not wait until they have been committed." He bowed and spread out his hands.
"There, I have wearied you long enough." The students clapped him vigorously. Poirot bowed.
And then, as he was about to sit down, Colin Mcationabb took his pipe from between his teeth and observed, "And now, perhaps, you'll talk about what you're really here for!" There was a momentary silence and then Patricia said reproachfully, "Colin." "Well, we can all guess, can't we?" He looked round scornfully. "M. Poirot's given us a very amusing little talk, but that's not what he came for. He's on the job. You don't really think, Mr. Poirot, that we're not wise to that?" "You speak for yourself, Colin," said Sally.
"It's true, isn't it?" said Colin.
Again Poirot spread out his hands in a graceful acknowledging gesture.
"I will admit," he said, "that my kind hostess has confided to me that certain events have caused herworry." Len Bateson got up, his face heavy and truculent.
"Look here," he said, "what's all this? Has this been planted on us?" "Have you really only just tumbled to that, Bateson?" asked Nigel sweetly.
Celia gave a frightened gasp and said, "Then I was right!" Mrs. Hubbard spoke with decisive authority.
"I asked Mr. Poirot to give us a talk, but I also wanted to ask him his advice about various things that have happened lately. Something's got to be done and it seems to me that the only other alternative is-the police." At once a violent altercation broke out.
Genevieve burst into hea
ted French. "It was a disgrace, shameful, to go to the police!" Other voices chimed in, for or against. In a final lull Leonard Bateson's voice was raised with decision.
"Let's hear what Mr. Poirot has to say about our trouble." Mrs. Hubbard said, "I've given Mr. Poirot all the facts.
If he wants to ask any questions, I'm sure none of you will object." Poirot bowed to her.
"Thank you." With the air of a conjurer he brought out a pair of evening shoes and handed them to Sally Finch.
"Your shoes, Mademoiselle?" "Why-yes-both of them? Where did the missing one come from?" "From the Lost Property Office at Baker Street Station." "But what made you think it might be there, M.
Poirot?" "A very simple process of deduction. Someone takes a shoe from your room. Why? Not to wear and not to sell. And since the house will be searched by everyone to try and find it, then the shoe must be got out of the house, or destroyed. But it is not so easy to destroy a shoe. The easiest way is to take it in a bus or train in a parcel in the rush hour and leave it thrust down under a seat. That was my first guess and it proved right-so I knew that I was on safe groundthe shoe was taken, as your poet says, 'ffannoy, because he knows it teases." his Valerie gave a short laugh.
Agatha Christie - Hickory Dickory Death Page 3