Anyway, that was only temper.” How did she know it was temper? Had she seen Len Bateson hacking at that rucksack? He came back to the present to hear Sharpe say, with a grin, and Mr. Ahmed Ali has some extremely pornographic literature and postcards which explains why he went up in the air over the search.” “There were many protests, no doubt?” “I should say there were. A French girl practically had hysterics and an Indian, Mr.
Chandra Lal, threatened to make an international incident of it. There were a few subversive pamphlets amongst his belongings-the usual half baked stuff-and one of the West Africans had some rather fearsome souvenirs and fetishes. Yes, a search warrant certainly shows you the peculiar side of human nature. You heard about Mrs.
Nicoletis and her private cupboard?” “Yes, I heard about that.” Inspector Sharpe grinned.
“Never seen so many empty brandy bottles in my life! And was she mad at us!” He laughed, and then, abruptly, became serious.
“But we didn’t find what we were after,” he said.
“No passports except strictly legitimate ones.” “You can hardly expect such a thing as a false passport to be left about for you to find, mon ami.
You never had occasion, did you, to make an official visit to 26 Hickory Road in connection with a passport?
Say, in the last six months?” “No. I’ll tell you the only occasions on which we did call round-within the times you mention.” He detailed them carefully.
Poirot listened with a frown.
“All that, it does not make sense,” he said.
He shook his head.
“Things will only make sense If we begin at the beginning.” “What do you call the beginning, Poirot?” “The rucksack, my friend,” said Poirot softly. “The rucksack. All this began with a cucksack.” MRS. NICOLETIS CAME Up the stairs from the basement where she had just succeeded in thoroughly infuriating both Geronimo and the temperamental Maria.
“Liars and thieves,” said Mrs. Nicoletis in a loud triumphant voice. “All Italians are liars and thieves!” Mrs. Hubbard who was just descending the stairs gave a short vexed sigh.
“It’s a pity,” she said, “to upset them just while they’re cooking the supper.” “What do I care?” said Mrs. Nicoletis.
“I shall not be here for supper.” Mrs. Hubbard suppressed the retort that rose to her lips.
“I shall come in as usual on Monday,” said Mrs. Nicoletis.
“Yes, Mrs. Nicoletis.” “And please get someone to repair my cupboard door first thing Monday morning. The bill for repairing it will go to the police, do you understand? To the police.” Mrs. Hubbard looked dubious.
“And I want fresh electric light bulbs put in the dark passages-stronger ones. The passages are too dark.” “You said especially that you wanted low power bulbs in the passages-for economy.” “Thia was last week,” snapped Mrs.
Nicoletis. “Now comx is different. Now I look over my shoulder-and I wonder, ‘Who is following me?”” Was her employer dramatising herself, Mrs.
Hubhard wondered, or was she really afraid of something or someone? Mrs. Nicoletis had such a habit of exaggerating everything that it was always hard to know how much relance to place on her statements.
Mrs. Hubbard said doubtfully, “Are you sure you ought to go home by yourself?
Would you tike me to come with you?” “I shall be safer there than here, I can teer you!” “But what is it you are afraid of? If I knew, perhaps I could-was “It is not your business. I tell you nothing. I find it insupportable the way you continually ask me questions.” “I’m sorry, I’m sure-was “Now you are offended.” Mrs. Nicoletis gave her a beaming smile. “I am bad tempered and rude-yes. But I have much to worry me. And remember I trust you and rely on you. What I should do without you, dear Mrs. Hubbard, I really do not know. See, I kiss my hand to you. Have a pleasant weekend. Good night.” Mrs. Hubbard watched her as she went out through the front door and pulled it to behind her. Relieving her feelings with a rather inadequate “Well, really!” Mrs. Hubbard turned toward the kitchen stairs.
Mrs. Nicoletis went down the front steps, out through the gate and turned to the left. Hickory Road was a fairly broad road. The houses in it were set back a little in their gardens. At the end of the road, a few minutes” walk from number 26, was one of London’s main thoroughfares, down which buses were roaring. There were traffic-lights at the end of the road and a public house. The Queen’s Necklace, at the corner. Mrs. Nicoletis walked in the middle of the pavement and from time to time sent a nervous glance over her shoulder, but there was no one in sight. Hickory Road appeared to be unusually deserted this evening.