The Clocks - Agatha Christie [91]
“I suppose this is second childhood,” I remarked coldly. “I’ll buy you a balloon and a woolly rabbit this afternoon.”
“I do not think you enjoy my surprise. You express no joy, no delight at seeing me.”
“Did you expect me to?”
“Pourquoi pas? Come, let us be serious, now that I have had my little piece of foolery. I hope to be of assistance. I have called up the chief constable who has been of the utmost amiability, and at this moment I await your friend, Detective Inspector Hardcastle.”
“And what are you going to say to him?”
“It was in my mind that we might all three engage in conversation.”
I looked at him and laughed. He might call it conversation—but I knew who was going to do the talking.
Hercule Poirot!
II
Hardcastle had arrived. We had had the introduction and the greetings. We were now settled down in a companionable fashion, with Dick occasionally glancing surreptitiously at Poirot with the air of a man at the Zoo studying a new and surprising acquisition. I doubt if he had ever met anyone quite like Hercule Poirot before!
Finally, the amenities and politeness having been observed, Hardcastle cleared his throat and spoke.
“I suppose, M. Poirot,” he said cautiously, “that you’ll want to see—well, the whole setup for yourself? It won’t be exactly easy—” He hesitated. “The chief constable told me to do everything I could for you. But you must appreciate that there are difficulties, questions that may be asked, objections. Still, as you have come down here specially—”
Poirot interrupted him—with a touch of coldness.
“I came here,” he said, “because of the reconstruction and decoration of my apartment in London.”
I gave a horse laugh and Poirot shot me a look of reproach.
“M. Poirot doesn’t have to go and see things,” I said. “He has always insisted that you can do it all from an armchair. But that’s not quite true, is it, Poirot? Or why have you come here?”
Poirot replied with dignity.
“I said that it was not necessary to be the foxhound, the bloodhound, the tracking dog, running to and fro upon the scent. But I will admit that for the chase a dog is necessary. A retriever, my friend. A good retriever.”
He turned towards the inspector. One hand twirled his moustache in a satisfied gesture.
“Let me tell you,” he said, “that I am not like the English, obsessed with dogs. I, personally, can live without the dog. But I accept, nevertheless, your ideal of the dog. The man loves and respects his dog. He indulges him, he boasts of the intelligence and sagacity of his dog to his friends. Now figure to yourself, the opposite may also come to pass! The dog is fond of his master. He indulges that master! He, too, boasts of his master, boasts of his master’s sagacity and intelligence. And as a man will rouse himself when he does not really want to go out, and take his dog for a walk because the dog enjoys the walk so much, so will the dog endeavour to give his master what that master pines to have.
“It was so with my kind young friend Colin here. He came to see me, not to ask for help with his own problem; that he was confident that he could solve for himself, and has, I gather, done so. No, he felt concern that I was unoccupied and lonely so he brought to me a problem that he felt would interest me and give me something to work upon. He challenged me with it—challenged me to do what I had so often told him it was possible to do—sit still in my chair and—in due course—resolve that problem. It may be, I suspect it is, that there was a little malice, just a small harmless amount, behind that challenge. He wanted, let us say, to prove to me that it was not so easy after all. Mais oui, mon ami, it is true, that! You wanted to mock yourself at me—just a little! I do not reproach you. All I say is, you did not know your Hercule Poirot.”
He thrust out his chest and twirled his moustaches.
I looked at him and grinned affectionately.
“All right then,” I said.