Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie [69]
The inspector nodded. He had listened to the evidence of Sally Finch and Jean Tomlinson and Genevieve. He said:
“Who occupies the rooms on either side of Patricia’s?”
“Genevieve’s is beyond it—but that’s a good original wall. Elizabeth Johnston’s is on the other side, nearer the stairs. That’s only a partition wall.”
“That narrows it down a bit,” said the inspector.
“The French girl heard the end of the conversation. Sally Finch was present earlier on before she went out to post her letter. But the fact that those two girls were there automatically excludes anybody else having been able to snoop, except for a very short period. Always with the exception of Elizabeth Johnston, who could have heard everything through the partition wall if she’d been in her bedroom, but it seems to be fairly clear that she was already in the common room when Sally Finch went out to the post.”
“She did not remain in the common room all the time?”
“No, she went upstairs again at some period to fetch a book she had forgotten. As usual, nobody can say when.”
“It might have been any of them,” said Mrs. Hubbard helplessly.
“As far as their statements go, yes—but we’ve got a little extra evidence.”
He took a small folded paper packet out of his pocket.
“What’s that?” demanded Mrs. Hubbard.
Sharpe smiled.
“A couple of hairs—I took them from between Patricia Lane’s fingers.”
“You mean that—”
There was a tap on the door.
“Come in,” said the inspector.
The door opened to admit Mr. Akibombo. He was smiling broadly, all over his black face.
“Please,” he said.
Inspector Sharpe said impatiently:
“Yes, Mr.—er—um, what is it?”
“I think, please, I have a statement to make. Of first-class importance to elucidation of sad and tragic occurrence.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Now, Mr. Akibombo,” said Inspector Sharpe, resignedly, “let’s hear, please, what all this is about.”
Mr. Akibombo had been provided with a chair. He sat facing the others who were all looking at him with keen attention.
“Thank you. I begin now?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well, it is, you see, that sometimes I have the disquieting sensations in my stomach.”
“Oh.”
“Sick to my stomach. That is what Miss Sally calls it. But I am not, you see, actually sick. I do not, that is, vomit.”
Inspector Sharpe restrained himself with difficulty while these medical details were elaborated.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Very sorry, I’m sure. But you want to tell us—”
“It is, perhaps, unaccustomed food. I feel very full here.” Mr. Akibombo indicated exactly where. “I think myself, not enough meat, and too much what you call cardohydrates.”
“Carbohydrates,” the inspector corrected him mechanically. “But I don’t see—”
“Sometimes I take small pill, soda mint; and sometimes stomach powder. It does not matter very much what it is—so that a great pouf comes and much air—like this.” Mr. Akibombo gave a most realistic and gigantic belch. “After that,” he smiled seraphically, “I feel much better, much better.”
The inspector’s face was becoming a congested purple. Mrs. Hubbard said authoritatively:
“We understand all about that. Now get on to the next part.”
“Yes. Certainly. Well, as I say, this happens to me early last week—I do not remember exactly which day. Very good macaroni and I eat a lot, and afterwards feel very bad. I try to do work for my professor but difficult to think with fullness here.” (Again Akibombo indicated the spot.) “It is after supper in the common room and only Elizabeth there and I say to her, ‘Have you bicarbonate or stomach powder, I have finished mine.’ And she says, ‘No. But,’ she says, ‘I saw some in Pat’s drawer when I was putting back a handkerchief I borrowed from her. I will get it for you,’ she says. ‘Pat will not mind.’ So she goes upstairs and comes back with soda bicarbonate bottle. Very little left, at bottom of bottle, almost empty. I thank her and go with it to the bathroom, and I put nearly all of it about a teaspoonful in water and stir it up and drink it.”
“A teaspoonful? A teaspoonful! My God!”
The inspector gazed at him fascinated. Sergeant Cobb leaned