Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie [56]
Poirot drew a deep breath.
“That was exactly what I thought,” he said.
“I wish that I hadn’t done it now,” said Valerie sombrely. “But I really did mean well. That’s an atrocious thing to say and just like Jean Tomlinson, but there it is.”
“And now,” said Poirot, “we come to this business of Patricia’s ring. Celia gave it to you. You were to find it somewhere and return it to Patricia. But before returning it to Patricia,” he paused. “What happened?”
He watched her fingers nervously plaiting and unplaiting the end of a fringed scarf that she was wearing round her neck. He went on, in an even more persuasive voice:
“You were hard up, eh, was that it?”
Without looking up at him she gave a short nod of the head.
“I said I’d come clean,” she said and there was bitterness in her voice. “The trouble with me is, M. Poirot, I’m a gambler. That’s one of the things that’s born in you and you can’t do anything much about it. I belong to a little club in Mayfair—oh, I shan’t tell you just where—I don’t want to be responsible for getting it raided by the police or anything of that kind. We’ll just let it go at the fact that I belong to it. There’s roulette there, baccarat, all the rest of it. I’ve taken a nasty series of losses one after the other. I had this ring of Pat’s. I happened to be passing a shop where there was a zircon ring. I thought to myself, ‘if this diamond was replaced with a white zircon Pat would never know the difference!’ You never do look at a ring you know really well. If the diamond seems a bit duller than usual you just think it needs cleaning or something like that. All right, I had an impulse. I fell. I prised out the diamond and sold it. Replaced it with a zircon and that night I pretended to find it in my soup. That was a damn silly thing to do, too, I agree. There! Now you know it all. But honestly, I never meant Celia to be blamed for that.”
“No, no, I understand.” Poirot nodded his head. “It was just an opportunity that came your way. It seemed easy and you took it. But you made there a great mistake, mademoiselle.”
“I realise that,” said Valerie drily. Then she broke out unhappily:
“But what the hell! Does that matter now? Oh, turn me in if you like. Tell Pat. Tell the inspector. Tell the world! But what good is it going to do? How’s it going to help us with finding out who killed Celia?”
Poirot rose to his feet.
“One never knows,” he said, “what may help and what may not. One has to clear out of the way so many things that do not matter and that confuse the issue. It was important for me to know who had inspired the little Celia to play the part she did. I know that now. As to the ring, I suggest that you go yourself to Miss Patricia Lane and that you tell her what you did and express the customary sentiments.”
Valerie made a grimace.
“I dare say that’s pretty good advice on the whole,” she said. “All right, I’ll go to Pat and I’ll eat humble pie. Pat’s a very decent sort. I’ll tell her that when I can afford it again I’ll replace the diamond. Is that what you want, M. Poirot?”
“It is not what I want, it is what is advisable.”
The door opened suddenly and Mrs. Hubbard came in.
She was breathing hard and the expression in her face made Valerie exclaim:
“What’s the matter, Mum? What’s happened?”
Mrs. Hubbard dropped into a chair.
“It’s Mrs. Nicoletis.”
“Mrs. Nick? What about her?”
“Oh, my dear. She’s dead.”
“Dead?” Valerie’s voice came harshly. “How? When?”
“It seems she was picked up in the street last night—they took her to the police station. They thought she was—was—”
“Drunk? I suppose. . . .”
“Yes—she had been drinking. But anyway—she died—”
“Poor old Mrs. Nick,” said Valerie. There was a tremor in her husky voice.
Poirot said gently:
“You were fond of her, mademoiselle?”
“It’s odd in a way—she could be a proper old devil