Chapter 15 14

(fourteen) Mrs. Nicoletis climbed up from the basement where she had just managed to piss off Geronimo and the irascible Mariel. "Liars and thieves," said Mrs. Nicoletis triumphantly. "All Italians are liars and thieves." Mrs. Hubbard, who was just going down the stairs, let out a short, unkind sigh. "It's a pity," she said, "to annoy them while they're making dinner." "What do I care? I'm not here for dinner." Mrs. Hubbard suppressed a retort. "I'll be back on Monday as usual," Mrs. Nicoletis said. "Yes, Mrs. Nicoletis."

"Please get someone to fix my cabinets early Monday morning. Bill the repairs to the police, you understand?" Mrs. Hubbard looked hesitant. "And I want all the dark aisles to have new bulbs - brighter ones. These aisles are dark." "You specifically said you wanted lower-wattage light bulbs in the walkways—to save money." "That was last week," blurted Mrs. Nicoletis. "Now — it's different. Now every time I turn around — I'm like, 'Who's stalking me?'" Mrs. Hubbard secretly wondered if her employer was posturing, or was she really afraid of something or someone?Mrs. Nicoletis's habit of exaggerating everything made it always difficult to know how reliable her statements were.

Mrs. Hubbard said suspiciously: "Are you sure you should go home alone? Would you like me to accompany you?" "I'll be safer there than here, I can tell you!" "But what are you afraid of? If I knew, maybe I could—" "It's none of your business. I'm not going to tell you anything. It's unbearable that you keep asking me questions." "Sorry, I'm sure..." "Now you're angry." Mrs. Nicoletis smiled at her. "I have a bad temper and a rough manner--yes. But I have a lot of troubles. You remember, I trust you. What would I do without you, dear Mrs. Hubbard, I really don't know. Look, I Blow you a kiss. Have a nice weekend. Good night."

Mrs. Hubbard watched her go through the front door and helped her close it.Mrs. Hubbard relieved herself with an inappropriate "Well, really!" and turned to walk up the stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Nicoletis went down the front steps, passed through the iron gate, and turned left.Hickory Road is a fairly wide road.The houses on either side are set back somewhat in the garden.At the end of the road, a few minutes from number 26, is one of London's main roads, and buses roar to and fro.There are traffic signals etc and a pub at the end of the road. The "Queen's Necklace" is just around the corner.Mrs. Nicoletis was walking in the middle of the sidewalk, looking back nervously from time to time, but seeing no one.Hickory Road looked particularly deserted this evening.She quickened her pace a little and approached the "Queen's Necklace".After another quick glance around, she slipped into the bar guiltily.

Sipping her double brandy, she recovered.She no longer looked the frightened woman she had been not so long ago.However, her ill feeling towards the police has not diminished."Gestapo! I want them to pay," she muttered under her breath, before finishing her drink.She ordered another drink, thinking carefully about what had happened recently.Unfortunately, the police had suddenly discovered her treasure out of nowhere, and it was hard to hope that word would not reach the students.Mrs. Hubbard would keep it a secret, maybe, but then again, maybe not, because, really, who could trust anyone?Word always goes around.Geronimo knew.He might have told his wife, and she would have told the cleaning woman, and so on until she was startled by a voice behind her, who said:

"Oh, Mrs. Nicole, I didn't know this was your haunt!" She turned around sharply and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, it's you," she said, "I thought..." "Who do you think? Big Bad Wolf? What are you drinking? Another drink is mine." "Everything is troublesome," explained Mrs. Nicoletis solemnly. "Everyone is troubled when these police come to search my house. My poor heart. I must be very careful with my heart. I don't like to drink, I'm really feeling rather weak out there though. I'd like some brandy..."

"Brandy is the best. Come, this glass is yours." Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Nicoletis left the "Queen's Necklace" feeling genuinely happy and refreshed.She decided not to take the bus. It was such a beautiful night, and the air outside was good for her.She didn't feel any unsteadiness on her feet, just a little uncertain.Perhaps it would be better to skip a glass of brandy just now, but it doesn't matter, the air outside will soon clear her mind.After all, why shouldn't a lady have a quiet drink every now and then in her own room?She was never seen drunk.Besides, anyway, if they didn't like it, if they dared to reprimand her, she'd tell them to shut up right away!She knows something, doesn't she?If she's happy, just say it!Mrs. Nicoletis shook her head pugnaciously, then dodged a post box maliciously blocking her way.Undoubtedly, her head was a little up and down.Perhaps she should stop and rest against the wall?If she closes her eyes for a moment...

Officer Porter swaggers about on his patrol, accompanied by a timid-looking underling. "There's a woman over here, sir. Really—she looks sick or something. She's slumped in a heap on the floor." Officer Porter turned his vigorous steps that way, leaning over the body lying on the ground.A strong smell of brandy confirmed his suspicions. "Passed out," he said, "drunk. Ah, don't worry, we'll take care of it." Hercule Poirot, having had his Sunday breakfast, carefully brushed the scum of chocolate from his beard, and went into the drawing room.

There were four rucksacks neatly arranged on the table, each with a bill attached—the result of what he had ordered George the day before.Polo took out the rucksack he had bought the day before from the wrapping paper, and put it together with the other four, and the result was very interesting.The knapsacks he bought from Mr. Hicks did not seem to him any worse than the ones George got from various other firms.But much cheaper. "Interesting," said Hercule Poirot. He stared at the rucksacks. Then he examines them carefully.Feel the seams, pockets, handles, front and back, left and right, inside and out.Then he got up, went into the bathroom, and brought back a sharp knife.He turned inside out the rucksack he'd bought from Hicks's and cut the bottom with a knife.Between the lining and the bottom was a solid wrinkled thing that looked somewhat like corrugated paper.Polo looked at the dismembered rucksack with great interest.

He then proceeded to cut other rucksacks. Finally he sat down and reviewed the damage he had just done. Then he moved the phone close to him and, after a brief delay, finally got through to Inspector Sharp. "Morning, friend," said he, "I just want to know two things." There was what seemed to be Inspector Sharpe's belly laugh coming from the receiver. "'There are two things I know about horses.'" "Excuse me, what did you say," said Hercule Poirot in surprise. "Nothing, just a rhyme I know well. What are the two points you want to know?"

"You mentioned yesterday that the police have made several inquiries into Hickory Road during the past three months. Could you give me the date and time?" "Okay—uh—it shouldn't be difficult. It's in the file. Wait, I'll check it out." Soon the inspector's voice came through again: "The first time I inquired about Indian students spreading reactionary leaflets was at 3:30 pm on December 18 last year." "That was a long time ago." "Inquiry about Eurasian Montague Jones, wanted in connection with the murder of Mrs Alice Campbell, Cambridge - 5:30 p.m., February 24th. Inquiry about William Robinson - Native West African, wanted by Sheffield Police - 11am on March 6th." "Ah! Thank you." "However, if you think that any of these cases are implicated in . . . " Poirot interrupted him. "No, they're not connected. I'm just interested in when they happened." "What are you doing, Polo?" "I'm dissecting a rucksack, my friend. It's fun." He gently put down the microphone. He drew from his notebook the corrected watch that Mrs. Hubbard had handed him the day before.This table records as follows: Rucksack (born by Rain Bate) Bulb Bracelet (Miss Reisdorf's) Diamond Ring (Patricia's) Compact (Genevieve's) Evening shoes (Sally's) Lipstick (Elizabeth Johnston's) Earrings (Valieri's) Stethoscope (Rain Bateson's) bath salts(?) Chopped Silk Scarf (Valerie's) cookbook(?) Boron Powder (Chandra Lal's) Chestpiece (Sally) Ink poured over Elizabeth's notes. (This is the best I can come up with. Not quite right. L. Hubbard.) Polo looked at the watch for a long time. He sighed and muttered to himself, "Well...surely...we have to get rid of the irrelevant things..." He thought of who could do it for him.Today is Sunday.Most of the students probably are. He dialed 26 Hickory Road and asked to speak to Miss Valerie Hobhouse.A thick, somewhat guttural voice came over and said that she didn't know if she was up, and said that she would go and have a look. Presently he heard a low, rough voice say: "I'm Valerie Hobhouse." "I'm Hercule Poirot. You remember me?" "Of course, Mr. Poirot. What's the matter?" "I'd like to talk to you, if I may." "of course can." "Then, may I go to Hickory Road?" "Yes. I'll wait for you. I'll tell Geronimo to show you to my room. There aren't many private conversations here on Sundays." "Thank you, Miss Ho Haos." Geronimo opened the door for Poirot with flamboyance, then leaned forward and spoke with his usual conspiratorial air. "I'll take you quietly up to Miss Valerie's room, hush—" He put a finger on his lips and led him upstairs into a good-sized room overlooking Hickory Road.The rooms are tastefully furnished, with just the right amount of luxury, and a small sitting area within a bedroom.The bed was covered with an old and beautiful Persian rug, and a charming Queen Anne table in walnut, which Poirot judged was unlikely to be the original furniture of Twenty-six Hickory Road. Valerie Holmes was already standing there to meet him.She looks tired, he thought, with dark circles around her eyes. Polo said after greeting her. "Chic. Tasteful." Valerie smiled. "I've lived here a long time," she said. "Two and a half years, almost three years. I kind of put my head down and bought some of my stuff." "You're not a student, are you?" "Oh no. Pure businessman. I have a job." "In a—cosmetics company, isn't it?" "Yes. I'm one of the buyers at the Serena Mall—it's a beauty salon. I actually have a small stake in it. In addition to beauty supplies, we also do some side products, like accessories, Parisian curiosities, that's the department I work in." "And you go often to Paris and to the Continent?" "Oh yes, about once a month, sometimes more often." "You must forgive me if I seem too curious..." "Why does it matter? We must tolerate curiosity in these circumstances. I answered many of Inspector Sharp's questions yesterday. It looks as if you would prefer high-backed chairs, Mr. Poirot, to low-armchairs. " "You have vision, miss." Polo sat down on a high-backed armchair carefully and steadily. Valerie sat on the low bed.She offered him a cigarette and lit one herself.He watched her attentively.There was a sense of tension and haggardness in her elegance, which touched his heart more than just a good-looking appearance.A bright, attractive young woman, he thought.He didn't know whether her nervousness was the result of the latest investigation or something inherent in her attitude.He remembered thinking about her the same way he did now when he came here for dinner that night. "Inspector Sharp questioned you?" he asked. "good." "You've told him everything you know?" "certainly." "I doubt if this is true." She looked at him with a sarcastic expression. "Since you did not hear my answer to Inspector Sharp's questioning, it is unlikely that you will be able to judge," she said. "Ah, yes. That's a little idea of ​​mine. I have, you know—a little idea. Here." He tapped his head. It can be noticed that Poirot is deliberately playing the role of charlatan, as he sometimes does.However, Valerie didn't smile.She stared straight at him.When she opened her mouth, she seemed a little abrupt. "Shall we get straight to the point? I really don't know what you're going to say." "Of course, Miss Ho Haos." He took a small bag out of his pocket. "Perhaps, you can guess what's inside me?" "I'm not clairvoyant, Mister Poirot. I can't see through paper bags." "Inside me is Patricia Lane's stolen ring." "Patricia's engagement ring? I'm good, her mother's engagement ring? But how did it get to you?" "I asked her to lend me a day or two." Valerie raised her eyebrows again in surprise. "Really," she said. "I'm interested in the ring, in its disappearance, its recovery, and other things related. So I asked Miss Lane to lend it to me. She readily agreed. I took it to mine at once. A jeweler friend." "How about it?" "I want him to examine the diamonds on it. A rather large one, if you remember, with little clusters of diamonds on either side. You remember—ma'am?" "I suppose so. I don't really remember very well." "But you took it, didn't you? In your soup plate." "That's right! I remember. I almost swallowed it." Valerie gave a short laugh. "As I said, I took the ring to my jeweler friend and asked his opinion on the diamond. Do you know what his answer was?" "how could I know?" "His answer was that it wasn't a diamond. It was just a zircon. A white zircon." "Oh!" She stared at him.Then he continued, somewhat uncertainly, "You mean—Patricia thought it was a diamond, but it was just a zircon, or..." Polo shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. As I understand it, it was Miss Patricia Lane's mother's engagement ring. Miss Patricia Lane came from a good family, and her parents, I should say, were in the most recent tax regime. Well, sure, before the announcement. In those circles, ma'am, money is spent on engagement rings. Engagement rings have to be expensive and beautiful rings--diamonds or other gemstones. I'm pretty sure Miss Lane's papa Will not give her mom any other rings other than a valuable engagement ring." "I couldn't agree more with you on that. Patricia's father was a little country gentleman, I believe." "Therefore, it appears that the diamonds in this ring must have been swapped later." "I think," Valerie said slowly, "Maybe Patricia lost the gemstone on the ring, and she didn't have the money to set another diamond, so she had to use zircon instead." "It's possible, but I don't think it's actually the case." "Oh, Mr. Poirot, if we were to guess, what do you think it is?" "I think the ring was stolen by Miss Celia. Before returning the ring, she deliberately removed the diamond and replaced it with zircon." Valerie sat up straight. "You think Celia deliberately stole the diamond?" Polo shook his head. "No," he said, "I think you stole it, miss." Valerie Holmes gasped. "Really!" she exclaimed, "you seem to be taking it too far. You have no proof at all." "But," interrupted Poirot, "I have proof. The ring was returned in a soup bowl. I, I ate here one night. I noticed how the soup was served. From the side from the large soup dish on the table. Therefore, if anyone finds a ring in his soup dish, it could only have been put in by the soup holder (Geronimo, for that matter) or used The soup plate guy put it in. That's you! I don't think it was Geronimo. I think you arranged for the ring to be returned in the soup because you thought it was fun. If I may criticize you Too much melodramatic sense of humor. Hold up the ring! Shout out! I think you're taking too much of your sense of humor in this, miss, and you're giving yourself away by not understanding." "That's all?" Valerie said sarcastically. "Oh, no, it's more than that. You know, when Celia admitted that night that she was responsible for the theft here, I noticed little things. Like, talking about the ring, she said, 'I didn't know how valuable it was. As soon as I found out, I returned it.' How did she know, Miss Valerie? Who told her how valuable the ring was? Speaking of the shredded silk scarf When Miss Celia said 'It doesn't matter. Valerie doesn't mind...' Why don't you mind if one of your fine silk scarves is cut into pieces? I had the impression then that the whole theft The act of making her pretend to be a kleptomaniac to attract the attention of Colin Marker was conceived by someone for Celia. Someone far smarter than Celia Austin, and really has A man of good practical knowledge of psychology. You tell her the ring is valuable; you take it from her, and arrange for its return. At the same time, you propose that she cut one of your silk scarves into pieces." "These are all speculations, and somewhat far-fetched ones at that. The Inspector has already hinted to me that I was instigating Celia to play these tricks." "Then what did you tell him?" "I said that was nonsense." "Then what did you tell me?" Valerie looked at him for a moment with searching eyes.Then he gave a short laugh, put out his cigarette, put a pillow behind his back, leaned back and said: "You're quite right. I set her on." "May I ask you why?" Valerie said impatiently: "Oh, pure stupid kindness. Well-intentioned interference. Celia was there, staring at the moon like a little ghost, thinking of Colin who never looked at her. It all seemed so Stupid. Colin was one of those pompous, opinionated young men who got caught up in psychology, complexes, emotional disorders, etc., and I really thought it would be fun to egg him on and fool him. Anyway, I hated to see Celia in such a miserable state, so I went to her, talked her out, gave her the whole plan, and urged her to do it. I think she was a little nervous about all this, and at the same time A little tremor. And then, of course, one of the first things the little idiot did was find Patricia's forgotten ring in the bathroom and snag him over - a real piece of jewelry that would cause a fuss , then call the police, the whole thing could get serious. So I grabbed the ring and told her I would find a way to return it, while urging her to find some costume jewelry and cosmetics in the future, and willingly let her destroy it Something of mine that won't get her into trouble." Polo took a deep breath. "That's exactly what I was thinking," he said. "Now I wish I hadn't done that," Valerie said sullenly. "But I really mean it. It's a nasty thing to say, and like Jane Tomlinson, but I'll say it anyway." "Now, we're talking about Patricia's ring. Celia gave it to you. You're going to try to return it to Patricia. But before you give it back to Patricia," he paused, "what's the matter? " He watched her fingers nervously twist the end of a quilted scarf around her neck.He continued in a more persuasive tone: "You're tight, aren't you?" She didn't look at him, but nodded slightly. "I thought I was clever," she said, with mournful tones. "My trouble, Mr. Poirot, is that I'm a gambler. It's an instinct, and you can't do anything about it. I'm a Members of the club - oh, I won't tell you where - I don't want it to be raided by the police or something. Let's skip it and just say I'm a member. There's roulette, poker, etc. All bets. I lost badly over and over again. I had Patricia's ring. I happened to pass by a store that had a zircon ring. I thought, 'If you replace this diamond with a zircon, Patricia Sia couldn't see it at all.' You know you never really look at a ring very closely. If the diamond looks a little bit duller than usual, you just think it needs a cleaning or something. Well, I had a momentary shock .I couldn't resist.I pried open the diamond and sold it.Substituted a zircon I pretended to find in my soup that night.It's a stupid thing to do too,I agree.Okay!Now You know all about it. But to be honest, I never meant to blame Celia." "No, I understand." Polo nodded. "It's just that you just happened upon an opportunity. It seemed easy, and you took advantage of it. But you made a big mistake, miss." "I know," Valerie said dryly.Then she suddenly exclaimed in displeasure: "But fuck it! What does it matter now? Oh, hand me over to the police if you like. Tell Patricia, tell the Inspector, tell the world! But what good does it do?" How is that going to help us find out who killed Celia?" Polo stood up. "Who knows," he said, "what might help and what might not. So many irrelevant things that complicate the problem have to be cleared up first. For me, knowing who is instigating little Celie It is important that you play that part, now I know. As for the ring, I suggest that you go to Patricia Lane yourself, and tell her what you have done, and at the same time give her the customary expression." Valerie made a bitter face. "Maybe that's pretty good advice on the whole," she said. "Well, I'll go to Patricia and bow my head and apologize. Patricia is very noble. I'll tell her I'll put the diamond back when I have the money." .Do you want me to do this, Mr. Poirot?" "It's not that I want you to do this, but it's wiser to do so." Suddenly the door opened and Mrs. Hubbard entered. She was breathing heavily, and the look on her face made Valerie cry out. "What's the matter, Mother? What's the matter?" Mrs. Hubbard slumped into a chair. "Mrs. Nicoletis." "Mrs. Nicole? What's the matter with her?" "Oh my God. She's dead." "Dead?" Valerie's voice became harsh, "How did you die? When?" "Looks like she was picked up from the street last night—they took her to the police station. They thought she—she—" "Drunk? I think maybe..." "Yes—she drank. But anyway—she died—" "Poor old Mrs. Nicole," said Valerie.His rough voice trembled. Polo said softly: "You like her, miss?" "It's eccentric in a way - she might be an old devil - but yeah - I like... When I first came here - three years ago, she wasn't - like she was later easily pissed off - she was a good mate - funny - warm - she's changed a lot in the past year..." Valerie looked at Mrs. Hubbard. "I guess it's because she got into the habit of drinking secretly—they found a lot of wine and empty bottles in her room, didn't they?" "Yes," said Mrs. Hubbard, after a moment's hesitation, aloud: "It's all my fault—let her go home by herself last night—what's she afraid of, you know." "afraid?" Polo and Valerie said in unison. Mrs. Hubbard nodded sullenly.Her gentle round face was full of worry. "Yes. She kept saying she wasn't safe. I asked her to tell me what she was afraid of - and she taunted me. Of course, no one ever knew how much she was exaggerating - but now - I suspect ..." Valerie says: "You wouldn't think she—she was—she was—" She stopped suddenly, her eyes full of terror. Poirot asked: "What did they say was the cause of death?" Mrs. Hubbard said sadly: "They—they didn't say—there would be an inquiry—on Tuesday—"