Chapter 14 13

(Thirteen) Hercule Poirot got off the cab at 26 Hickory Road. Geronimo welcomed him as if he were an old friend when he opened the door.A constable stood in the hall, and Geronimo drew Poirot into the dining room. "Terrible," he said, helping Poirot off his coat. "The cops are here all the time! Asking questions, walking around, looking in cupboards, looking in drawers, even going into Mariel's kitchen. Mariel was so angry, she said she wanted to hit the cops with a rolling pin, but I said Still don't hit it well. I said the cops don't like being hit with a rolling pin, and if Mariel did that it would embarrass us even more."

"You have common sense," agreed Poirot. "Is Mrs. Hubbard free?" "I'll take you upstairs to meet her." "Wait a minute, do you remember the day some of the light bulbs went missing?" "Oh, I remember it was only a long time ago. One--two--three months ago." "What kind of light bulb was taken away?" "The one in the lobby, and the one in the saloon I think. Somebody took all the light bulbs down as a joke." "You don't remember the exact date?" "I don't remember. But I think it was the day the police came, one day in February..."

"What are the police doing here?" "He came to see Mrs. Nicoletis about a student. Very bad student, from Africa, not working, going to the employment agency to register, get a grant, and then find a woman to make him a living, Terrible. The police don't like it. I think he does it in Manchester or Sheffield and the police are looking for him, so he comes here. But the police came and they talked to Mrs Nicoletis About him. Yes, she said he didn't live here because she didn't like him driving him away." "I understand. They're after him." "Yes. They found him and put him in jail because he lived off women."

"So that was the day the light bulb went missing?" "Yes. Because I turned on the switch and there was no light. I went into the saloon and there were no light bulbs. I looked for spares in a drawer here and found the bulbs had been taken. So I went to the kitchen and asked Mariel, See if she knows where the spare bulb is--but she gets mad because she doesn't like the police coming, and says the spare bulb isn't her business, so I'll just light a candle." As Poirot spoke, he followed Geronimo upstairs to Mrs. Hubbard's room, digesting what he had said.

Poirot is greeted warmly by Mrs. Hubbard, who looks tired and troubled.As soon as she met, she handed him a piece of paper. "Mr. Poirot, I've tried my best to write these things down in order, but I can't say that I'm 100% correct. You know, after a few months, it is difficult to remember exactly when this happened. about that thing." "I am very grateful to you, ma'am. How is Mrs. Nicoletis?" "I sedated her and hoped she was sleeping now. She made a fuss about the search. She refused to open a cupboard in her room and the inspector pried it open and a lot of empty wine bottles rolled out."

"Ah," Poirot made an alert sound. He sat down and studied the paper Mrs. Hubbard had given him. "Ah, I see that rucksack is now at the top of the list." "Yeah. Not a terribly important thing, but I do remember now that it was before the jewels and that stuff disappeared. That sort of has something to do with the trouble we've had with a black student. He left here a day or two before this happened, and I remember thinking maybe it was an act of revenge before he left. There was -- uh -- a little bit of trouble." "Ah! Geronimo has told me in general. The police came to you, I believe?"

"Yeah, looks like they got an inquiry from Sheffield or Birmingham or something. It's all kind of a scandal. Immoral earnings stuff. He confessed to it all in court. Actually. He only stayed here for three or four days. Then I didn't like his behavior, the way he lived, so I told him his room was taken and he had to go. When the police came, I really didn't like it. I wasn't surprised at all. I couldn't tell them where he was, of course, but they tracked him down." "So you didn't find the rucksack until after that?" "Yeah, it's hard to remember. You know, when Ryan Bateson was going on a trip in someone else's car, and he couldn't find her knapsack everywhere, it was a big fuss, and everyone found it for him, and finally Gironi Don't find it cut to pieces and stuffed in the back of the boiler. Such a queer thing. So queer that it makes no sense."

"Yes, peculiar and unreasonable." Polo was silent for a while thoughtfully. "So it was the same day, the day the police came to ask about the African student, some light bulbs went missing - that's what Geronimo told me. Is that the day?" "Well, I don't really remember. Yes, I think you're right, because I remember that when I went downstairs with the police inspector into the saloon, it was polite to light candles. We thought we'd ask Akimbumber to see Did the young man talk to him or tell the others where to live?" "Who else is in the saloon?"

"I think most of the students were back by then. It was evening, exactly six o'clock. I asked Geronimo about the light bulb, and he said it had been taken away. I asked him why he didn't put it on anymore, He said he was out of bulbs. I was a bit annoyed because it seemed like a dumb joke that didn't make sense. I thought it was a joke, not a steal, but I was surprised we didn't have extra bulbs because, We usually stockpile quite a bit. But, I didn't take it seriously at the time." "Light bulbs and rucksacks," said Polo thoughtfully. "It seems possible to me, though," said Mrs. Hubbard, "that those two things had nothing to do with poor little Celia's little slip. You remember her very eager denial that she didn't even touch it at all." Never touched that rucksack.

"Yes, that's true. How long after this did the thefts begin?" "My God, Mr. Poirot, you don't know how hard it is to remember all this. Let me see - it was March, no, February - the end of February. Yes, I think Genevieve was in About a week or so after that said she lost her bracelet. Yes, between February 20th and 25th." "And the thefts were pretty constant after that?" "yes." "That rucksack was born by Rain Bate?" "yes." "He was very annoyed?" "Well, then you can't take it seriously," said Mrs. Hubbard with a slight smile. "Rain Bateson was one of those boys, you know, warm-hearted, generous, reckless, but with that violent, mean-spirited temper."

"This rucksack—what's so special about it?" "Oh, no, it's just the normal kind." "Can you show me the same one?" "Well, yes. Colin's got one, I think, just like that one. Nigel's got one too—in fact Ryan's got one now because he's had to go get another one. The students usually end up at the end of the road It’s a great place to buy all kinds of camping and hiking gear. Shorts, sleeping bags, everything. And it’s very cheap—much cheaper than any big store.” "May I have a look at that knapsack, ma'am?" Mrs. Hubbard obediently led him to Colin Macna's room.Colin himself was not in the room, but Mrs. Hubbard opened the wardrobe door, picked up a knapsack, and handed it to Poirot. "Here it is. It's exactly the same as the one we found cut up after we lost it." "It takes a lot of work to cut it into pieces," Polo murmured, touching the rucksack, "it's not done with a pair of embroidery scissors." "Oh no, it's not like you're thinking—er, girls, for example. It must have taken a lot of effort, I'm sure. Strength and—er—maliciousness, you know." "I know. It's unpleasant." "Later, when Valerie's silk scarf was found cut to pieces as well, it was, well, it really looked -- how should I put it -- out of balance." "Ah," said Poirot, "but I think you're mistaken, madam. I don't think there's anything unbalanced about it. I think there's an aim and an end and a method, let's say." "Well, maybe you know more about these things than I do. All I can say is, I don't like this kind of thing. As far as I can tell, we have very good students here, and to think that one of them is--er, no As I think he or she is, I would be very sad." Poirot had wandered to the window.He opened the window and stepped out onto the old-fashioned balcony. The window of this room faces the back of the house.Below is a small garden with black and white. "I think it's quieter here than in front?" "You could say that. Hickory Road isn't a noisy road, though. It's just the side that's full of cats at night, screaming, you know, knocking the lids off the trash cans." Polo looked down at the four battered trash cans and other assorted backyard waste. "Where is the boiler room?" "Just go in through that door, next to the coal house." "I see." He looked down, thinking. "Who else has a room facing this way?" "Nigel Chapman and Ryan Bate live next door to this room." "Where are they going?" "The next house beyond that--the girls' rooms. Celia's room first, Elizabeth Johnston's room down, and Patricia Lane's room down there. Valli Ray and Jane Tomlinson's room faced the front." Polo nodded and went back into the room. "He's neat, young man," he murmured, looking around. "Yes, Colin's rooms are always very tidy. Some of the boys' rooms are a mess. You should see Ryan Bateson's room," added Mrs. Hubbard calmly, "but he's a good boy. " "You said you bought these rucksacks from a shop at the end of the road?" "yes." "What's the name of that store?" "Oh, really, Mr. Poirot, I can't remember when you ask me that. Marbury, I think. Or Kelso. I know they sound very different names, but in my It's the same kind of name in my mind. Really, yes, because I know someone named Kelso and another named Marbury, and they look alike." "Ah, that's one of the things that always fascinates me about something, unseen connections." He looked out of the window again, into the garden, and took his leave of Mrs. Hubbard. He went down Hickory Road, turned the corner, and turned onto the Avenue.He had no trouble recognizing the shop Mrs. Hubbard had described.The store displays a vast array of picnic baskets, rucksacks, thermoses, sports equipment of all kinds, shorts, jungle shirts, sunhats, tents, swimwear, bicycle lights and flashlights; Everything you need.He noticed that the name on the shop sign was neither Marbury nor Kelso, but Hicks.After a careful study of the objects displayed in the window, Poirot went in, presenting himself as a sort of customer buying a knapsack for his invented nephew. "He likes the field," said Poirot, as foreign as possible. "He went on hikes with the other students, carried everything he could use on his back, and gave him a lift from passing cars." The submissive shop owner was quick to answer. "Ah, hitchhiking," he said. "They do it all these days, must have cost the bus and train a lot of money. Some of these young men have hitchhiked all over Europe. What you want is a rucksack, sir. A normal rucksack will do." ?” "I suppose so. Do you have any other forms here?" "Well, we have one or two extra light ones for the ladies, but this one is what we usually sell. Well made, strong, durable, and really, really cheap, though I said it myself, but absolutely It's not Lao Wang selling melons." He produced a sturdy canvas object, which, as Poirot judged, was exactly like the one he had seen in Colin's room.Polo looked it over, asked some questions frequently asked by outsiders, and finally paid for it on the spot. "Ah yes, we sell a lot of these bags," said the owner as he packed them. "There are many students living around here, right?" "Yes, there are many students around here." "I believe there's a school on Hickory Road?" "Oh yes, I sold some to the young men there and the ladies there. They usually come here to buy the gear they need before they go. My prices are cheaper than the big stores. Packed sir, I believe Your nephew will be very pleased with it." Polo thanked him and went out with his bag. He had only taken a few steps when a hand fell on his shoulder. It's Inspector Sharp. "Just the guy I wanted to see," Sharpe said. "Have you finished searching the house?" "I've searched, though I don't know how much I've done. There's a fancy sandwich and coffee place over there. Come with me if you're not too busy. I want to talk to you." The sandwich shop was almost empty.Two men came to a small table in the corner with glasses and plates. Sharpe recounts the results of his interviews with the students. "The only person we have adverse testimony to is Young Chapman," he said. "And the evidence we've got is a little too much. Three poisons passed through his hands. But there's no reason to believe he had any animosity toward Celia Austin, and I doubt he'd be that frank about the guilt." Tell him about his actions." "Though, that opens up all sorts of other possibilities." "Yeah—so the medicines are lying around in the drawers. Young fool!" He went on to Elizabeth Johnston and what she said Celia had told her. "If she's telling the truth, it means a lot." "It means a lot," agreed Poirot. The Inspector was quoted as saying: "Tomorrow I'll know more." "The result—tomorrow never came for the poor girl! Did your search of the house yield any results?" "One or two things—how shall I say? Unexpected, maybe." "For example?" "Elizabeth Johnston was a member of the Communist Party and we found her party card." "Well," said Polo thoughtfully. "That's interesting." "You don't expect that. I didn't until I asked her yesterday. She has a lot of personality." "I rather think she's a precious newcomer to the party," said Hercule Poirot. "She's a young woman with a pretty good intellect, I should say." "It interested me because she apparently never boasted of her status. She kept a very calm down in Hickory Road. I don't see any connection to the Celia Austin case--however, I I mean, it’s something worth keeping in mind.” "What else did you find?" Inspector Sharp shrugged. "Miss Patricia Lane, in her drawer, has a handkerchief quite stained with green ink." Polo raised his eyebrows. "Green ink? Patricia Lane! So maybe she spilled ink on Elizabeth Joneston's papers and wiped her hands with a handkerchief afterwards. But of course..." "Of course she doesn't think so. Of course, someone else may have put that handkerchief in her drawer." "Possible enough." "What else?" "Uh," Sharp thought for a moment. "It seems that Ryan Bateson's father lives in the Canggu Mental Hospital, a patient who has been certified by a doctor. I don't think it has any special meaning, but..." "But Ryan Bateson's father was insane. Perhaps it's of no importance, as you say, but a fact worth remembering. It might even be interesting to see whether he was mentally ill or not. .” "Bateson's a good young man, but of course his temper is a little, well, out of control." Polo nodded.Suddenly, he remembered vividly what Celia Austin had said "Of course I wouldn't cut that rucksack. That would be pure folly. Anyway, it would be nothing more than a tantrum".How did she know it was a tantrum?Did she see Rain Bateson cutting that rucksack?His mind returned to his eyes, and he heard Sharp grinning and saying: "...and Mr. Ahmed Ali has some pornography and pictures, which explains why he was angry about the raid." "No doubt there were many protests?" "Showers, I should say. A French girl is hysterical, and an Indian, Mr. Chandra Lal, threatens to turn it into an international affair. He has some anti-propaganda in his stuff - half-baked stuff in general. --And a West African student who has some pretty scary memorabilia and fetishes. Yes, a search does show you a special side of humanity. You've heard about Mrs. Nicoletis and his private cupboard? " "Well, I've heard of it." Inspector Sharp grinned. "I've never seen so many blank brandy bottles in my life! And she's mad at us." He laughed, and then suddenly became serious. "But we didn't find what we were looking for, no fake passports." "You can hardly expect something like a fake passport to be out there for you to find, man. You've never been to 26 Hickory Road officially to look up passports, have you? Like, for the last six In the middle of the month?" "No. I'll tell you the few times we did go—during the time you mentioned." He speaks in detail. Poirot frowned and listened carefully. "That's all, it doesn't make sense," he said. Polo shook his head. "Everything only makes sense when we start from scratch." "What do you mean by starting from scratch?" "The rucksack, my friend," said Poirot gently. "It all started with that rucksack."