Hickory Dickory Dock by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page A

need to worry any more.”
    Rising to his feet he drew Celia's hand through his arm and looked sternly at Mrs. Hubbard.
    “I hope now,” he said, “that there'll be no more foolish talk of calling in the police. Nothing's been stolen of any real worth and what has been taken, Celia will return.”
    “I can't return the bracelet and the powder compact,” said Celia anxiously. “I pushed them down a gutter. But I'll buy new ones.”
    “And the stethoscope?” said Poirot. “Where did you put that?”
    Celia flushed.
    “I never took any stethoscope. What should I want with a silly old stethoscope?” Her flush deepened. “And it wasn't me who spilt ink all over Elizabeth's papers. I'd never do a - a malicious thing like that.”
    “Yet you cut and slashed Miss Hobhouse's scarf, Mademoiselle.”
    Celia looked uncomfortable. She said rather uncertainly, “That was different. I mean - Valèrie didn't mind.”
    “And the rucksack?”
    “Oh, I didn't cut that up. That was just temper.”
    Poirot took out the list he had copied from Mrs. Hubbard's little book.
    “Tell me,” he said, “and this time it must be the truth. What are you or are you not responsible for - of these happenings?”
    Celia glanced down the list and her answer came at once.
    “I don't know anything about the rucksack, or the electric light bulbs, or boracic or bath salts, and the ring was just a mistake. When I realised it was valuable I returned it.”
    “I see.”
    “Because really I didn't mean to be dishonest. It was only -”
    “Only what?”
    A faintly wary look came into Celia's eyes.
    “I don't know, really I don't. I'm all mixed up.”
    Colin cut in in a peremptory manner.
    “I'll be thankful if you'll not catechise her. I can promise you that there will be no recurrence of this business. From now on I'll definitely make myself responsible for her.”
    “Oh Colin, you are good to me.”
    “I'd like you to tell me a great deal about yourself, Celia. Your early home life, for instance. Did your father and mother get on well together?”
    “Oh no, it was awful - at home -”
    “Precisely. And -”
    Mrs. Hubbard cut in. She spoke with the voice of authority.
    “That will do now, both of you. I'm glad, Celia, that you've come and owned up. You've caused a great deal of worry and anxiety, though, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. But I'll say this. I accept your word that you didn't spill ink deliberately on Elizabeth's notes. I don't believe you'd do a thing like that. Now take yourselves off, you and Colin. I've had enough of you both for this evening.”
    As the door closed behind them, Mrs. Hubbard drew a deep breath.
    “Well,” she said. “What do you think of that?”
    There was a twinkle in Hercule Poirot's eye. He said, “I think - that we have assisted at a love scene, modern style.”
    Mrs. Hubbard made an ejaculation of disapproval.
    “Autres temps, autres moeurs,” murmured Poirot. “In my young day the young men lent the girls books on Theosophy or discussed Maeterlinck's Bluebird. All was sentiment and high ideals. Nowadays it is the maladjusted lives and the complexes which bring a boy and girl together.”
    “All such nonsense,” said Mrs. Hubbard.
    Poirot dissented.
    “No, it is not all nonsense. The underlying principles are sound enough - but when one is an earnest young researcher like Colin one sees nothing but complexes and the victim's unhappy home life.”
    “Celia's father died when she was four years old,” said Mrs. Hubbard. “And she's had a very agreeable childhood with a nice but stupid mother.”
    “Ah, but she is wise enough not to say so to the young McNabb! She will say what he wants to hear. She is very much in love.”
    “Do you believe all this hooey, Mr. Poirot?”
    “I do not believe that Celia had a Cinderella complex or that she stole things without knowing what she was doing. I think she took the risk of stealing unimportant trifles with the object of attracting the