“That is very correct procedure, yes,” he said. “True democratic proceeding is to put matter to the voting of all present.” The voice of Sally Finch rose impatiently.
“Oh, shucks,” she said. “This is a kind of party, all friends together. Let’s hear what Mr.
Poirot advises without any more fuss.” “I couldn’t agree with you more, Sally,” said Nigel.
Poirot bowed his head. c” Very well,” he said. “Since you all ask me this question, I reply that my advice is quite simple. Mrs. Hubbard-or Mrs. Nicoletis rather-should call in the police at once. No time should be lost.” THERE WAS NO DOUBT that Poirot’s statement was unexpected. It caused not a ripple of protest or comment, but a sudden and uncomfortable silence.
Under cover of that momentary paralysis, Poirot was taken by Mrs. Hubbard up to her own sitting, room, with only a quick polite “Good night to you all,” to herald his departure.
Mrs. Hubbard switched on the light, closed the door, and begged M, Poirot to take the arm chair by the fireplace. Her nice good humored face was puckered with doubt and anxiety. She offered her guest a cigarette, but Poirot refused politely, explaining that he preferred his own. He offered her one, but she refused, saying in an abstracted tone: “I don’t smoke, M.
Poirot.” Then, as she sat down opposite him, she said, after a momentary hesitation: “I daresay you’re right, Mr. Poirot. Perhaps we should get the police in on this-especially after this malicious ink business. But I rather wish you hadn’t said so-right out like that.” “Ah,” said Poirot, as he lit one of his tiny cigarettes and watched the smoke ascend.
“You think I should have dissembled?” “Well, I suppose it’s nice to be fair and above board about things-but it seems to me it might have been better to keep quiet, and just ask an officer to come round and explain things privately to him. What I mean is, whoever’s been doing these stupid things well, that person’s warned now.” “Perhaps, yes.” “I should say quite certainly,” said Mrs. Hubbard rather sharply. “No perhaps about it! Even if it’s one of the servants or a student who wasn’t here this evening, the word will get around. It always does.” “So true. It always does.” “And there’s Mrs. Nicoletis, too. I really don’t know what attitude she’ll take up. One never does know with her.” “It will be interesting to find out.” “Naturally we can’t call in the police unless she agrees-Oh, who’s that now?” There had been a sharp authoritative tap on the door. It was repeated and almost before Mrs. Hubbard had called an irritable “Come in” the door opened and Colin Mcationabb, his pipe clenched firmly between his teeth and a scowl on his forehead, entered the room.
Removing the pipe, and closing the door behind him, he said: “You’ll excuse me, but I was anxious to just have a word with Mr. Poirot here.” “With me?” Poirot turned his head in innocent surprise.
“Ay, with you.” Colin spoke grimly.
He drew up a rather uncomfortable chair and sat squarely on it facing Hercule Poirot.
“You’ve given us an amusing talk tonight,” he said indulgently. “And I’ll not deny that you’re a man who’s had a varied and lengthy experience, but if you’ll excuse me for saying so, your methods and your ideas are both equally antiquated.” “Really, Colin,” said Mrs. Hubbard, colouring. “You’re extremely rude.” “I’m not meaning to give offence, but I’ve got to make thins clear. Crime and Punishment, Mr.
Poiro-t comt’s as far as your horizon stretches.” “They seem to me a natural sequence,” said Poirot.
“You take the narrow view of the Law-and what’s more of the Law at its most old fashioned.
Nowadays, even the Law has to keep itself co nizant of the newest and most up to date theories of what causes crime. It is the causes that are important, Mr. Poirot.” “But there,” cried Poirot, “to speak in your new fashioned phrase, I could not agree with you more!” “Then you’ve got to consider the cause of what has been happening in this house-you’ve got to find out why these things have been done.” “But I am still agreeing with you-yes, that is most important.” “Because there always is a reason, and it may be, to the person concerned, a very good reason.” At this point, Mrs. Hubbard, unable to contain herself, interjected sharply, “Rubbish.” “That’s where you’re wrong,” said Colin, turning slightly toward her. “You’ve got to take into account the psychological background.” “Psychological balderdash,” said Mrs.