Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie [30]
“What is your home address, Mr. Chapman?”
“No home address, my dear sir. I have a papa, but he and I have quarrelled, and his address is therefore no longer mine. So 26 Hickory Road and Coutts Bank, Leadenhall Street Branch, will always find me, as one says to travelling acquaintances whom you hope you will never meet again.”
Inspector Sharpe displayed no reaction towards Nigel’s airy impertinence. He had met Nigels before and shrewdly suspected that Nigel’s impertinence masked a natural nervousness of being questioned in connection with murder.
“How well did you know Celia Austin?” he asked.
“That’s really quite a difficult question. I knew her very well in the sense of seeing her practically every day, and being on quite cheerful terms with her, but actually I didn’t know her at all. Of course, I wasn’t in the least bit interested in her and I think she probably disapproved of me, if anything.”
“Did she disapprove of you for any particular reason?”
“Well, she didn’t like my sense of humour very much. Then, of course, I wasn’t one of those brooding, rude young men like Colin McNabb. That kind of rudeness is really the perfect technique for attracting women.”
“When was the last time you saw Celia Austin?”
“At dinner yesterday evening. We’d all given her the big hand, you know. Colin had got up and hemmed and hawed and finally admitted, in a coy and bashful way, that they were engaged. Then we all ragged him a bit, and that was that.”
“Was that at dinner or in the common room?”
“Oh, at dinner. Afterwards, when we went into the common room Colin went off somewhere.”
“And the rest of you had coffee in the common room.”
“If you call the fluid they serve coffee—yes,” said Nigel.
“Did Celia Austin have coffee?”
“Well, I suppose so. I mean, I didn’t actually notice her having coffee, but she must have had it.”
“You did not personally hand her her coffee, for instance?”
“How horribly suggestive all this is! When you said that and looked at me in that searching way, d’you know I felt quite certain that I had handed Celia her coffee and had filled it up with strychnine, or whatever it was. Hypnotic suggestion, I suppose, but actually, Mr. Sharpe, I didn’t go near her—and to be frank, I didn’t even notice her drinking coffee, and I can assure you, whether you believe me or not, that I have never had any passion for Celia myself and that the announcement of her engagement to Colin McNabb aroused no feelings of murderous revenge in me.”
“I’m not really suggesting anything of the kind, Mr. Chapman,” said Sharpe mildly. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, there’s no particular love angle to this, but somebody wanted Celia Austin out of the way. Why?”
“I simply can’t imagine why, Inspector. It’s really most intriguing because Celia was really a most harmless kind of girl, if you know what I mean. Slow on the uptake; a bit of a bore; thoroughly nice; and absolutely, I should say, not the kind of girl to get herself murdered.”
“Were you surprised when you found that it was Celia Austin who had been responsible for the various disappearances, thefts, etcetera, in this place?”
“My dear man, you could have knocked me over with a feather! Most uncharacteristic, that’s what I thought.”
“You didn’t, perhaps, put her up to doing these things?”
Nigel’s stare of surprise seemed quite genuine.
“I? Put her up to it? Why should I?”
“Well, that would be rather the question, wouldn’t it? Some people have a funny sense of humour.”
“Well, really, I may be dense, but I can’t see anything amusing about all this silly pilfering that’s been