Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie [51]
He detailed them carefully.
Poirot listened with a frown.
“All that, it does not make sense,” he said.
He shook his head.
“Things will only make sense if we begin at the beginning.”
“What do you call the beginning, Poirot?”
“The rucksack, my friend,” said Poirot softly. “The rucksack. All this began with a rucksack.”
Chapter Fourteen
I
Mrs. Nicoletis came up the stairs from the basement, where she had just succeeded in thoroughly infuriating both Geronimo and the temperamental Maria.
“Liars and thieves,” said Mrs. Nicoletis, in a loud triumphant voice. “All Italians are liars and thieves!”
Mrs. Hubbard, who was just descending the stairs, gave a short vexed sigh.
“It’s a pity,” she said, “to upset them just while they’re cooking the supper.”
Mrs. Hubbard suppressed the retort that rose to her lips.
“I shall come in as usual on Monday,” said Mrs. Nicoletis.
“Yes, Mrs. Nicoletis.”
“And please get someone to repair my cupboard door first thing Monday morning. The bill for repairing it will go to the police, do you understand? To the police.”
Mrs. Hubbard looked dubious.
“And I want fresh electric lightbulbs put in the dark passages—stronger ones. The passages are too dark.”
“You said especially that you wanted low power bulbs in the passages—for economy.”
“That was last week,” snapped Mrs. Nicoletis. “Now—it is different. Now I look over my shoulder—and I wonder ‘Who is following me?’ ”
Was her employer dramatising herself, Mrs. Hubbard wondered, or was she really afraid of something or someone? Mrs. Nicoletis had such a habit of exaggerating everything that it was always hard to know how much reliance to place on her statements.
Mrs. Hubbard said doubtfully:
“Are you sure you ought to go home by yourself? Would you like me to come with you?”
“I shall be safer there than here, I can tell you!”
“But what is it you are afraid of? If I knew, perhaps I could—”
“It is not your business. I tell you nothing. I find it insupportable the way you continually ask me questions.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure—”
“Now you are offended.” Mrs. Nicoletis gave her a beaming smile. “I am bad tempered and rude—yes. But I have much to worry me. And remember I trust you and rely on you. What I should do without you, dear Mrs. Hubbard, I really do not know. See, I kiss my hand to you. Have a pleasant weekend. Good night.”
Mrs. Hubbard watched her as she went out through the front door and pulled it to behind her. Relieving her feelings with a rather inadequate “Well, really!” Mrs. Hubbard turned towards the kitchen stairs.
Mrs. Nicoletis went down the front steps, out through the gate and turned to the left. Hickory Road was a fairly broad road. The houses in it were set back a little in their gardens. At the end of the road, a few minutes’ walk from number 26, was one of London’s main thoroughfares, down which buses were roaring. There were traffic lights at the end of the road and a public house, The Queen’s Necklace, at the corner. Mrs. Nicoletis walked in the middle of the pavement and from time to time sent a nervous glance over her shoulder, but there was no one in sight. Hickory Road appeared to be unusually deserted this evening. She quickened her steps a little as she drew near The Queen’s Necklace. Taking another hasty glance round she slipped rather guiltily through into the saloon bar.
Sipping the double brandy that she had asked for, her spirits revived. She no longer looked the frightened and uneasy woman that she had a short time previously. Her animosity against the police, however, was not lessened. She murmured under her breath, “Gestapo! I shall make them pay. Yes, they shall pay!” and finished off her drink. She ordered another and brooded over recent happenings. Unfortunate, extremely unfortunate, that the police should have been so tactless as to discover her secret hoard, and too much to hope that word would not get around amongst the students and the rest of them. Mrs. Hubbard would be discreet, perhaps, or again perhaps not, because really,