Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie [55]
“That is possible,” said Hercule Poirot, “but I do not think it is what happened.”
“Well, M. Poirot, if we’re guessing, what do you think happened?”
“I think,” said Poirot, “that the ring was taken by Mademoiselle Celia and that the diamond was deliberately removed and the zircon substituted before the ring was returned.”
Valerie sat up very straight.
“You think that Celia stole that diamond deliberately?”
Poirot shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I think you stole it, mademoiselle.”
Valerie Hobhouse caught her breath sharply:
“Well, really!” she exclaimed. “That seems to me pretty thick. You’ve no earthly evidence of any kind.”
“But, yes,” Poirot interrupted her. “I have evidence. The ring was returned in a plate of soup. Now me, I dined here one evening. I noticed the way the soup was served. It was served from a tureen on the side table. Therefore, if anyone found a ring in their soup plate it could only have been placed there either by the person who was serving the soup (in this case Geronimo) or by the person whose soup plate it was. You! I do not think it was Geronimo. I think that you staged the return of the ring in the soup in that way because it amused you. You have, if I may make the criticism, rather too humorous a sense of the dramatic. To hold up the ring! To exclaim! I think you indulged your sense of humour there, mademoiselle, and did not realise that you betrayed yourself in so doing.”
“Is that all?” Valerie spoke scornfully.
“Oh, no, it is by no means all. You see, when Celia confessed that evening to having been responsible for the thefts here, I noticed several small points. For instance, in speaking of this ring she said, ‘I didn’t realise how valuable it was. As soon as I knew I managed to return it.’ How did she know, Miss Valerie? Who told her how valuable the ring was? And then again in speaking of the cut scarf, little Miss Celia said something like, ‘That didn’t matter, Valerie didn’t mind . . . ’ Why did you not mind if a good quality silk scarf belonging to you was cut to shreds? I formed the impression then and there that the whole campaign of stealing things, of making herself out to be a kleptomaniac, and so attracting the attention of Colin McNabb, had been thought out for Celia by someone else. Someone with far more intelligence than Celia Austin had and with a good working knowledge of psychology. You told her the ring was valuable; you took it from her and arranged for its return. In the same way it was at your suggestion that she slashed a scarf of yours to pieces.”
“These are all theories,” said Valerie, “and rather farfetched theories at that. The inspector has already suggested to me that I put Celia up to doing these tricks.”
“And what did you say to him?”
“I said it was nonsense,” said Valerie.
“And what do you say to me?”
Valerie looked at him searchingly for a moment or two. Then she gave a short laugh, stubbed out her cigarette, leaned back thrusting a cushion behind her back, and said:
“You’re quite right. I put her up to it.”
“May I ask you why?”
Valerie said impatiently:
“Oh, sheer foolish good nature. Benevolent interfering. There Celia was, mooning about like a little ghost, yearning over Colin who never looked at her. It all seemed so silly. Colin’s one of those conceited opinionated young men wrapped up in psychology and complexes and emotional blocks and all the rest of it, and I thought it would be really rather fun to egg him on and make a fool of him. Anyway I hated to see Celia look so miserable, so I got hold of her, gave her a talking-to, explained in outline the whole scheme, and urged her on to it. She was a bit nervous, I think, about it all, but rather thrilled at the same time. Then, of course, one of the first things the little idiot does is to find Pat’s ring left in the bathroom and pinch that—a really valuable piece of jewellery about which there’d be a lot of hoo-haa and the police would be called in and the whole