Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie [44]
Poirot clucked his tongue sympathetically.
Then he said, “It is just a little question I have to ask. You sent me a list of those things that had disappeared—and other queer happenings—what I have to ask is this, did you write that list in chronological order?”
“You mean?”
“I mean, were the things written down exactly in the order of their disappearance?”
“No, they weren’t. I’m sorry—I just put them down as I thought of them. I’m so sorry if I misled you.”
“I should have asked you before,” said Poirot. “But it did not strike me then as important. I have your list here. One evening shoe, bracelet, diamond ring, powder compact, lipstick, stethoscope, and so on. But you say that was not the order of disappearance?”
“No.”
“Can you remember now, or would it be too difficult for you, what was the proper order?”
“Well, I’m not sure if I could now, M. Poirot. You see it’s all some time ago. I should have to think it out. Actually, after I had talked with my sister and knew I was coming to see you, I made a list, and I should say that I put it down in the order of things as I remembered them. I mean, the evening shoe because it was so peculiar; and then the bracelet and the powder compact and the cigarette lighter and the diamond ring because they were all rather important things and looked as though we had a genuine thief at work; and then I remembered the other more unimportant things later and added them. I mean the boracic and the electric lightbulbs and the rucksack. They weren’t really important and I only really thought of them as a kind of afterthought.”
“I see,” said Poirot. “Yes, I see . . . Now what I would ask of you, madame, is to sit down now, when you have the leisure, that is. . . .”
“I dare say when I’ve got Mrs. Nicoletis to bed with a sedative and calmed down Geronimo and Maria, I shall have a little time. What is it you want me to do?”
“Sit down and try to put down, as nearly as you can, the chronological order in which the various incidents occurred.”
“Certainly, M. Poirot. The rucksack, I believe, was the first, and the electric light bulbs—which I really didn’t think had any connection with the other things—and then the bracelet and the compact, no—the evening shoe. But there, you don’t want to hear me speculate about it. I’ll put them down as best I can.”
“Thank you, madame, I shall be much obliged to you.”
Poirot hung up the phone.
“I am vexed with myself,” he said to Miss Lemon. “I have departed from the principles of order and method. I should have made quite sure from the start, the exact order in which these thefts occurred.”
“Dear, dear,” said Miss Lemon mechanically. “Are you going to finish these letters now, M. Poirot?”
But once again Poirot waved her indignantly away.
II
On arrival back at Hickory Road with a search warrant on Saturday morning, Inspector Sharpe had demanded an interview with Mrs. Nicoletis, who always came on Saturdays to do accounts with Mrs. Hubbard. He had explained what he was about to do.
Mrs. Nicoletis protested with vigour.
“But it is an insult, that! My students they will leave—they will all leave. I shall be ruined. . . .”
“No, no, madam. I’m sure they will be sensible. After all, this is a case of murder.”
“It is not murder—it is suicide.”
“And I’m sure once I’ve explained, no one will object. . . .”
Mrs. Hubbard put in a soothing word.
“I’m sure,” she said, “everyone will be sensible—except,” she added thoughtfully, “perhaps Mr. Achmed Ali and Mr. Chandra Lal.”
“Pah!” said Mrs. Nicoletis. “Who cares about them?”
“Thank you, madam,” said the inspector. “Then I’ll make a start here, in your sitting room.”
An immediate and violent protest came from Mrs. Nicoletis at the suggestion.
“You search where you please,” she said, “but here, no! I refuse.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Nicoletis, but I have to go through the house from top to bottom.”
“That is right, yes, but not in my room. I am above the law.