Agatha Christie - Hickory Dickory Death Read online

  "That points to you, Nigel, my love, with an unerring finger." Nigel said, smirking a little, "If the shoe fits, wear it." "Nonsense," said Sally. "Nigel didn't take my shoe." "Of course he didn't," said Patricia angrily. "It's the most absurd idea." "I don't know about absurd," said Nigel.

  "Actually I didn't do anything of the kind-ag no doubt we shall all say." It was as thou hid Poirot had been waiting for just those words as an actor waits for his cue. His eyes rested thoughtfully on Len Bateson's flushed face, then they swept inquiringly over the rest of the students.

  He said, using his hands in a deliberately foreign gesture, ,'my position is delicate. I am a guest here. I have come at the invitation of Mrs.

  Hubbard-to spend a pleasant evening, that is all.

  And also, of course, to return a very charming pair of evening shoes to Mademoiselle. For anything further-was he paused. "Monsieur-Bateson? yes, Bateson-has asked me to say what I myself think of this-trouble. But it would be an impertinence for me to speak unless I were invited so to do not by one person alone, but by you all." Mr. Akibombo was seen to nod his black curled head in vigorous asseveration.

  "That is very correct procedure, yes," he said. "True democratic proceeding is to put matter to the voting of all present." The voice of Sally Finch rose impatiently.

  "Oh, shucks," she said. "This is a kind of party, all friends together. Let's hear what Mr.

  Poirot advises without any more fuss." "I couldn't agree with you more, Sally," said Nigel.

  Poirot bowed his head. c" Very well," he said. "Since you all ask me this question, I reply that my advice is quite simple. Mrs. Hubbard-or Mrs. Nicoletis rather-should call in the police at once. No time should be lost." THERE WAS NO DOUBT that Poirot's statement was unexpected. It caused not a ripple of protest or comment, but a sudden and uncomfortable silence.

  Under cover of that momentary paralysis, Poirot was taken by Mrs. Hubbard up to her own sitting, room, with only a quick polite "Good night to you all," to herald his departure.

  Mrs. Hubbard switched on the light, closed the door, and begged M, Poirot to take the arm chair by the fireplace. Her nice good humored face was puckered with doubt and anxiety. She offered her guest a cigarette, but Poirot refused politely, explaining that he preferred his own. He offered her one, but she refused, saying in an abstracted tone: "I don't smoke, M.

  Poirot." Then, as she sat down opposite him, she said, after a momentary hesitation: "I daresay you're right, Mr. Poirot. Perhaps we should get the police in on this-especially after this malicious ink business. But I rather wish you hadn't said so-right out like that." "Ah," said Poirot, as he lit one of his tiny cigarettes and watched the smoke ascend.

  "You think I should have dissembled?" "Well, I suppose it's nice to be fair and above board about things-but it seems to me it might have been better to keep quiet, and just ask an officer to come round and explain things privately to him. What I mean is, whoever's been doing these stupid things well, that person's warned now." "Perhaps, yes." "I should say quite certainly," said Mrs. Hubbard rather sharply. "No perhaps about it! Even if it's one of the servants or a student who wasn't here this evening, the word will get around. It always does." "So true. It always does." "And there's Mrs. Nicoletis, too. I really don't know what attitude she'll take up. One never does know with her." "It will be interesting to find out." "Naturally we can't call in the police unless she agrees-Oh, who's that now?" There had been a sharp authoritative tap on the door. It was repeated and almost before Mrs. Hubbard had called an irritable "Come in" the door opened and Colin Mcationabb, his pipe clenched firmly between his teeth and a scowl on his forehead, entered the room.

  Removing the pipe, and closing the door behind him, he said: "You'll excuse me, but I was anxious to just have a word with Mr. Poirot here." "With me?" Poirot turned his head in innocent surprise.

  "Ay, with you." Colin spoke grimly.

  He drew up a rather uncomfortable chair and sat squarely on it facing Hercule Poirot.

  "You've given us an amusing talk tonight," he said indulgently. "And I'll not deny that you're a man who's had a varied and lengthy experience, but if you'll excuse me for saying so, your methods and your ideas are both equally antiquated." "Really, Colin," said Mrs. Hubbard, colouring. "You're extremely rude." "I'm not meaning to give offence, but I've got to make thins clear. Crime and Punishment, Mr.

  Poiro-t comt's as far as your horizon stretches." "They seem to me a natural sequence," said Poirot.

  "You take the narrow view of the Law-and what's more of the Law at its most old fashioned.

  Nowadays, even the Law has to keep itself co nizant of the newest and most up to date theories of what causes crime. It is the causes that are important, Mr. Poirot." "But there," cried Poirot, "to speak in your new fashioned phrase, I could not agree with you more!" "Then you've got to consider the cause of what has been happening in this house-you've got to find out why these things have been done." "But I am still agreeing with you-yes, that is most important." "Because there always is a reason, and it may be, to the person concerned, a very good reason." At this point, Mrs. Hubbard, unable to contain herself, interjected sharply, "Rubbish." "That's where you're wrong," said Colin, turning slightly toward her. "You've got to take into account the psychological background." "Psychological balderdash," said Mrs.

  Hubbard. "I've no patience with all that sort of talk!" "That's because you know precisely nothing about it," comsd Colin in a gravely rebuking fashion. He returned his gaze to Poirot.

  "I'm interested in these subjects. I am at present taking a post graduate course in psychiatry and psychology. We come across the most involved and astounding cases, and what I'm pointing out to you, M.

  Poirot, is that you can't just dismiss the criminal with a doctrine of original sin, or wilful disregard of the laws of the land. You've got to have an understanding of the root of the trouble if you're ever to effect a cure of the young delinquent. These ideas were not known or thought of in your day and I've no doubt you find them hard to accept-was can' Stealing's stealing," put in Mrs. Hubbard stubbornly.

  Colin frowned impatiently.

  Poirot said meekly, "My ideas are doubtless old fashioned, but I am perfectly prepared to listen to you, Mr.

  Mcationabb." Colin looked areeably surprised.

  C, "That's very fairly said, Mr. Poirot. Now I'll try to make this matter clear to you, usin, very simple terms." I coneaThank you," said Poirot meekly.

  "For convenience's sake, I'll start with the pair of shoes you brought with you tonight and returned to Sally Finch. If you remember, one shoe was stolen.

  Only one." "I remember being struck by the fact," said Poirot.

  Colin Mcationabb leaned forward, his dour but handsome features were lit up by eagerness.

  "Ah, but you didn't see the significance of it.

  It's one of the prettiest and most satisfying examples anyone could wish to come across. We have here, very definitcly, a Cinderella complex. You are maybe acquainted with the Cinderella fairy story." "Of French origin-mais oui.

  "Cinderella, the unpd drudge, sits by the fire, her sisters dressed in their fitiery, go to the Prince's ball. A Fairy Godiuother sends Cinderella too, to that ball. At the stroke of midnight, her finery turns back to rags-she escapes hurriedly, leaving behind her one slipper.

  So here we have a mind that compares itself to Cinderella (unconsciously, of course). Here we have frustration, envy, the sense of inferiority. The girl steals a slipper. Why?" "A girl?" was But naturally, a girl. That," said Colin reprovingly, should be clear to the meanest intelligence." coneaReally, Colin!was said Mrs. Hubbard.

  'Pray continue," said Poirot, courteously.

  "Probably she herself does not know why she does it-but the inner wish is clear. She wants to be the Princess, to be identified by the Prince and claimed by him. Another significant fact, the slipper is stolen from an attractive girl who is going to a Ball." Colin's pipe had long since gone out. He waved it now with mou
nting enthusiasm.

  "And now we'll take a few of the other happenings. A magpie acquiring of pretty things-all things associated with attractive feminity. A powder compact, lipsticks, earrings, a bracelet, a ring-there is a twofold significance here. The girl wants to be noticed.

  She wants, even, to be punished-as is frequently the case with very young juvenile delinquents. These things are none of them what you would call ordinary criminal thefts. It is not the value of these things that is wanted. In just such a way do well-to-do women go into department stores and steal things they could perfectly well afford to pay for." "Nonsense," said Mrs. Hubbard belligerently. "Some people are just plain dishonest, that's all there is to it." "Yet a diamond ring of some value was amoneaeast the things stolen," said Poirot, ignoring Mrs. Hubbard's interpolation.

  "That was returned." "And surely, Mr. Mcationabb, you would not say that a stethoscope is a feminine pretty pretty?" "That had a deeper significance. Women who feel they are, deficient in feminine attraction can find sublimation in the pursuit of a career." "And the cookery book?" "A symbol of home life, husband and family." "And boracic powder?" Colin said irritably, "My dear Mr. Poirot. Nobody would steal boracic powder! Why should they?" "That is what I have asked myself. I must admit, Mr. Mcationabb, that you seem to have an answer for everythin,. Explain to me, then, the significance of the disappearance of an old pair of flannel trousers your flannel trousers, I understand." For the first time, Colin appeared ill at ease.

  He blushed and cleared his throat.

  "I could explain that-but it would be somewhat involved, and perhapser well, rather embarrassing." "Ah, you spare my blushes." Suddenly Poirot leaned forward and tapped the young man on the knee. was And the ink that is spilt over another student's papers, the silk scarf that is cut and slashed. Do these things cause you no disquietude?" The complacence and superiority of Colin's manner underwent a sudden and not unlikeable change.

  "They do," he said. "Believe me, they do.

  It's serious. She ought to have treatment-at once. But medical treatment, that's the point. It's not a case for the police. The poor little devil doesn't even know what it's all about. She's all tied up in knots. If I Poirot interrupted him.

  "You know then who she is?" "Well, I have a very strong suspicion." Poirot murmured with the air of one who is recapitulating.

  "A girl who is not outstandingly successful with the other sex. A shy girl. An affectionate girl.

  A girl whose brain is inclined to be slow in its reactions. A girl who feels frustrated and lonely. A girl . .

  There was a tap on the door. Poirot broke off. The tap was repeated.

  "Come in," said Mrs. Hubbard.

  The door opened and Celia Austin came in.

  "Ah," said Poirot, nodding his head.

  "Exactly. Miss Celia Austin." Celia looked at Colin with agonised eyes.

  "I didn't know you were here," she said breathlessly.

  "I camel came..." She took a deep breath and rushed to Mrs.

  Hubbard.

  "Please, please don't send for the police.

  It's me. I've been taking those things. I don't know why. I can't imagine. I didn't want to.

  It just-it just came over me." She whirled round on Colin. "So now you know what I'm like ... and I suppose you'll never speak to me a am. I know I'm awful..." ,eaOch! not a bit of it," said Colin.

  His rich voice was warm and friendly. "You're just a bit mixed up, that's all. It's just a kind of illness you've had, from not looking at things clearly.

  If you'll trust me, Celia, I'll soon be able to put you right." "Oh, Colin-really?" Celia looked at him with unconcealed adoration.

  "I've been so dreadfully worried." He took her hand in a slightly avuncular manner.

  "Well, there's no need to worry any more." Rising to his feet he drew Celia's hand through his arm and looked sternly at Mrs. Hubbard.

  "I hope now," he said, "that there'll be no more foolish talk of calling in the police. Nothing's been stolen of any real worth and what has been taken, Celia will return." "I can't return the bracelet and the powder compact," said Celia anxiously. "I pushed them down a gutter. But I'll buy new ones." "And the stethoscope?" said Pggjirot. "Where did you put that?" Celia flushed.

  "I never took any stethoscope. What should I want with a silly old stethoscope?" Her flush deepened. "And it wasn't me who spilt ink all over Elizabeth's papers. I'd never do a-a malicious thing like that." "Yet you cut and slashed Miss Hobhouse's scarf, Mademoiselle." Celia looked uncomfortable. She said rather uncertainly, "That was dill erent. I mean-Valerie didn't mind." "And the rucksack?" "Oh, I didn't cut that up. That was just temper." Poirot took out the list he had copied from Mrs. Hubbard's little book.

  "Tell me," he said, "and this time it must be the truth. What are you or are you not responsible forof these happenings?" Celia glanced down the list and her answer came at once. was I don't know anything about the racksack, or the electric light bulbs, or boracic or bath salts, and the ring was just a mistake. When I realesed it was valuable I returned it." "I see." "Because really I didn't mean to be dishonest. It was only-was "Only what?" A faintly wary look came into Celia's eyes.

  "I don't know comreally I don't. I'm all mixed up." Colin cut in in a peremptory manner.

  "I'll be thankful if you'll not catechise her.

  I can promise you that there will be no recurrence of this business. From now on I'll definitely make myself responsible for her." "Oh Colin, you are good to me." "I'd like you to tell me a great deal about yourself, Celia. Your early home life, for instance. Did your father and mother get on well together?" "Oh no, it was awful-at home-was "Precisely. And-was Mrs. Hubbard cut in. She spoke with the voice of authority.

  "That will do now, both of you. I'm glad, Celia, that you've come and owned up. You've caused a great deal of worry and anxiety, though, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. But I'll say this. I accept your word that you didn't spill ink deliberately on Elizabeth's notes.

  I don't believe you'd do a thing like that. Now take yourselves off, you and Colin. I've had enough of you both for this evening." As the door closed behind them, Mrs. Hubbard drew a deep breath.

  "Well," she said. "What do you think of that?" There was a twinkle in Hercule Poirot's eye. He said, "I think-that we have assisted at a love scene commodern style." Mrs. Hubbard made an ejaculation of disapproval.

  "Autres temps, autres moeurs," murmured Poirot. "In my young day the young men lent the girls books on Theosophy or discussed Maeterlinck's Bluebird. All was sentiment and high ideals. Nowadays it is the maladjusted lives and the complexes which bring a boy and girl together." "All such nonsense," said Mrs. Hubbard.

  Poirot dissented.

  "No, it is not all nonsense. The underlying principles are sound enough-but when one is an earnest young researcher like Colin one sees nothing but complexes and the victim's unhappy home life." "Celia's father died when she was four years old," said Mrs. Hubbard. "And she's had a very agreeable childhood with a nice but stupid mother." "Ah, but she is wise enough not to say so to the young Mcationabb! She will say what he wants to hear.

  She is very much in love." "Do you believe all this hooey, Mr.

  Poirot?" "I do not believe that Celia had a Cinderella complex or that she stole things without knowing what she was doing. I think she took the risk of stealing unimportant trifles with the object of attracting the attention of the earnest Colin Mcationabb-in which object she has been successful. Had she remained a pretty shy ordinary irl be might never have looked at her.

  In my opinion," said Poiro t, "a girl is entitled to attempt desperate measures to get her man." "I shouldn't have thought she had the brains to think it up," said Mrs. Hubbard.

  Poirot did not reply. He frowned. Mrs.

  Hubbard went on.

  "So the whole thing's been a mare's nest! I really do apologise, M. Poirot, for taking p your time over such a trivial business.

  Anyway, all's well that ends well." "N
o, no." Poirot shook his head. "I do not think we are at the end yet. We have cleared out of the way somethin, rather trivial that was at the front of the Z, picture. But there are things still that are not explained and me, I have the impression that we have here something serious-really serious." Mrs. Hubbard's face clouded over again.

  "Oh, Mr. Poirot, do you really think so?" "It is my impression. . . . I wonder, Madame, if I could speak to Miss Patricia Lane. I would like to examine the ring that was stolen." "Why, of course, Mr. Poirot. I'll go down and send her up to you. I want to speak to Len Bateson about something." Patricia Lane came in shortly afterward with an inquiring look on her face.