Valerie said with a short laugh, “And we’ll all live happy ever afterwards.” Then they got up and went into the Common Room.
There was quite a little competition to give Celia her coffee. Then the wireless was turned on, some students left to keep appointments or to work and finally the inhabitants of 24 and 26 Hickory Road got to bed.
It had been, Mrs. Hubbard reffected, as she climbed gratefully betweenthe sheets, a long wearying day.
“But thank goodness,” she said to herself. “It’s all over now.” Miss LEMON WAS SELDOM, if ever, unpunctual. Fog, storm, epidemics of flu, transport breakdowns-none of these things seemed to affect that remarkable woman. But this morning Miss Lemon arrived, breathless, at five minutes past ten instead of on the stroke of ten o’clock. She was profusely apologetic and for her, quite ruffled.
“I’m extremely sorry, Mr.
Poirot-really extremely sorry. I was just about to leave the flat when my sister rang up.” “Ah, she is in good health and spirits, I trust?” “Well, frankly no.” Poirot looked inquiring. “In fact, she’s very distressed. One of the students has committed suicide.” Poirot stared at her. He muttered something softly under his breath.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Poirot?” :, What is the name of the student?” “A girl called Celia Austin.” “How?” “They think she took morphia.” “Could it have been an accident?” “Oh no. She left a note, it seems.” Poirot said softly, “It was not this I expected, no, it was not this … and yet it is true, I expected something.” He looked up to find Miss Lemon at attention, waiting with pencil poised above her pad.
He sighed and shook his head.
“No, I will hand you here this morning’s mail.
File them, please, and answer what you can. Me, I shall go round to Hickory Road.” Geronimo let Poirot in and recognizing him as the honoured guest of two nights before became at once voluble in a sibilant conspirational whisper.
“Ah, Signor, it is you. We have here the trouble the big trouble. The little Signorina, she is dead in her bed this morning. First the doctor come. He shake his head. Now comes an Inspector of the Police.
He is upstairs with the Signora and the Padrona.
Why should she wish to kill herself, the poverina? When last night all is so gay and the betrothment is made?” “Betrothment?” “Si, si. To Mr. Colin-you know combig, dark, always smoke the pipe.” “I know.” Geronimo opened the door of the Common Room and introduced Poirot into it with a redoublement of the conspiratorial manner.
“You stay here, yes? Presently, when the police go, I tell the Signora you are here. That is good, yes?” Poirot said that it was good and Geronimo withdrew.
Left to himself, Poirot who had no scruples of delicacy, made as minute an examination as possible of everything in the room with special attention to everything belonging to the students. His rewards were mediocre. The students kept most of their belongings and personal papers in their bedrooms.
Upstairs, Mrs. Hubbard was sitting facing Inspector Sharpe who was asking questions in a soft apologetic voice. He was a big, confidential looking man with a deceptively mild manner.
“It’s very awkward and distressing for you, I know,” he said soothingly. “But you see, as Dr. Coles has already told you, there will have to be an inquest, and we have just to get the picture right, so to speak. Now this girl had been distressed and unhappy lately, you say?” “Yes.” “Love affair?” “Not exactly.” Mrs. Hubbard hesitated.
“You’d better tell me, you know,” said Inspector Sharpe, persuasively. “As I say, we’ve got to get the picture. There was a reason, or she thought there was, for taking her own life? Any possibility that she might have been pregnant?” “It wasn’t that kind of thing at all. I hesitated, Inspector Sharpe, simply because the child had done some very foolish things and I hoped it needn’t be necessary to bring them out in the open.” Inspector Sharpe coughed.
“We have a good deal of discretion, and the Coroner is a man of wide experience. But we have to know.” “Yes, of course. I was being foolish. The truth is that for some time past, three months or more, things have been disappeariny-smah things, I mearmothing very important.” “Trinkets, you mean, finery, nylon stockings and all that? Money, too?” “No money as far as I know.” “Ah. And this girl was responsible?” “Yes.