Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie [3]
“I congratulate you,” he said warmly to the latter.
She looked startled.
“But why, M. Poirot?”
“I congratulate you on having such a unique and beautiful problem.”
“Well, perhaps it makes sense to you, M. Poirot, but—”
“It does not make sense at all. It reminds me of nothing so much as a round game I was recently persuaded to play by some young friends during the Christmas season. It was called, I understand, the Three Horned Lady. Each person in turn uttered the following phrase, ‘I went to Paris and bought—’ adding some article. The next person repeated that and added a further article and the object of the game was to memorise in their proper order the articles thus enumerated, some of them, I may say, of a most monstrous and ridiculous nature. A piece of soap, a white elephant, a gate-legged table and a Muscovy duck were, I remember, some of the items. The difficulty of memorisation lay, of course, in the totally unrelated nature of the objects—the lack of sequence, so to speak. As in the list you have just shown me. By the time that, say, twelve objects had been mentioned, to enumerate them in their proper order became almost impossible. A failure to do so resulted in a paper horn being handed to the competitor and he or she had to continue the recitation next time in the terms, ‘I, a one horned lady, went to Paris,’ etc. After three horns had been acquired, retirement was compulsory, the last left in was the winner.”
“I’m sure you were the winner, M. Poirot,” said Miss Lemon, with the faith of a loyal employee.
Poirot beamed.
“That was, in fact, so,” he said. “To even the most haphazard assembly of objects one can bring order, and with a little ingenuity, sequence, so to speak. That is: one says to oneself mentally, ‘With a piece of soap I wash the dirt from a large white marble elephant which stands on a gatelegged table’—and so on.”
Mrs. Hubbard said respectfully: “Perhaps you could do the same thing with the list of things I’ve given you.”
“Undoubtedly I could. A lady with her right shoe on, puts a bracelet on her left arm. She then puts on powder and lipstick and goes down to dinner and drops her ring in the soup, and so on—I could thus commit your list to memory—but that is not what we are seeking. Why was such a haphazard collection of things stolen? Is there any system behind it? Some fixed idea of any kind? We have here primarily a process of analysis. The first thing to do is to study the list of objects very carefully.”
There was a silence whilst Poirot applied himself to study. Mrs. Hubbard watched him with the rapt attention of a small boy watching a conjurer, waiting hopefully for a rabbit or at least streams of coloured ribbons to appear. Miss Lemon, unimpressed, withdrew into consideration of the finer points of the system.
When Poirot finally spoke, Mrs. Hubbard jumped.
“The first thing that strikes me is this,” said Poirot. “Of all these things that disappeared, most of them were of small value (some quite negligible) with the exception of two—a stethoscope and a diamond ring. Leaving the stethoscope aside for a moment, I should like to concentrate on the ring. You say a valuable ring—how valuable?”
“Well, I couldn’t say exactly, M. Poirot. It was a solitaire diamond, with a cluster of small diamonds top and bottom. It had been Miss Lane’s mother’s engagement ring, I understand. She was most upset when it was missing, and we were all relieved when it turned up the same evening in Miss Hobhouse’s plate of soup. Just a nasty practical joke, we thought.”
“And so it may have been. But I myself consider that its theft and return are significant. If a lipstick, or a powder compact or a book are missing—it is not sufficient to make you call in the police. But a valuable diamond ring is different. There is every chance that the police will be called in. So the ring is returned.”
“But why take it if you’re going to return it?” said Miss Lemon, frowning.
“Why indeed,” said Poirot. “But for the moment we will leave the questions. I am engaged now on classifying these thefts,