Hickory Dickory Dock

"I said I'd come clean," she said and there was bitterness in her voice. "The trouble with me is, MoDsieur Poirot, I'm a gambler. That's one of the things that's born in you and you can't do anything much about it. I belong to a little club in Mayfair-oh, I shall't tell you just where-I don't want to be responsible for getting it raided by the police or anything of that kind. We'll just let it go at the fact that I belong to it. There's roulette there, baccarat, all the rest of it. I've taken a nasty series of losses one after the other. I had this ring of Pat's.

I happened to be passing a shop where there was a zircon ring. I thought to myself, 'If this diamond was replaced with a white zircon Pat would never know the difference!" You never do look at a ring you know really well. If the diamond seems a bit duller than usual you just think it needs cleaning or something like that. All right, I had an impulse. I fell.

I prised out the diamond and sold it. Replaced it with a zircon and that night I pretended to find it in my soup. That was a damn silly thing to do, too, I agree. There! Now you know it all. But honestly, I never meant Celia to be blamed for that." "No, no, I understand." Poirot nodded his head. "It was just an opportunity that came your way. It seemed easy and you took it. But you made there a great mistake, Mademoiselle." "I real-'Ise that," said Valerie drily.

Then she broke out unhappily, "But what the hell! Does that matter now? Oh, turn me in if you like. Tell Pat. Tell the Inspector. Tell the world! But what good is it going to do? How's it going to help us with finding out who killed Celia?" Poirot rose to his feet.

"One never knows," he said, "what may help and what may not. One has to clear out of the way so many things that do not matter and that confuse the issue. It was important for me to know who had inspired the little Celia to play the part she did. I know that now. As to the ring, I suggest that you go yourself to Miss Patricia Lane and that you tell her what you did and express the customary sentiments." Valerie made a grimace.

"I daresay that's pretty good advice on the whole," she said. "All right, I'll go to Pat and I'll eat humble pie. Pat's a very decent sort. I'll tell her that when I can afford it again I'll replace the diamond. Is that what you want, Mr. Poirot?" "It is not - what I want, it is what is advisable." The door opened suddenly and Mrs. Hubbard came in.

She was breathing hard and the expression on her face made Valerie exclaim, "What's the matter, Mum? What's happened?" Mrs. Hubbard dropped into a chair.

"It's Mrs. Nicoletis." "Mrs. Nick? What about her?" "Oh, my dear. She's dead." "Dead?" Valerie's voice came harshly.

"How?

When?" "It seems she was picked up in the street last night comthey took her to the police station. Theythought she was-was-was "Drunk? I suppose.

"Yes-she had been drinking. But anyway-she died-was "Poor old Mrs. Nick," said Valerie.

There was a tremor in her husky voice.

Poirot said gently, "You were fond of her, Mademoiselle?" "It's odd in a way-she could be a proper old devil comb yes-I was… When I first came herethree years ago, she wasn't nearly as-as temperamental as she became later-She was good company-amusing comwarm-hearted- She's changed a lot in the last year-was Valerie looked at Mrs. Hubbard.

"I suppose that's because she'd taken to drinking on the quiet-they found a lot of bottles and things in her room, didn't they?":, Yes," Mrs. Hubbard hesitated, then burst out, 'I do blame myself-letting her go off home alone last ni lit-she was afraid of something, you know." "Afraid?" Poirot and Valerie said it in unison.

Mrs. Hubbard nodded unhappily.

Her mild round face was troubled.

"Yes. She kept saying she wasn't safe.

I asked her to tell me what she was afraid of-and she snubbed me. And one never knew with her, of course, how much was exaggeration-But now-I wonder-was Valerie said, "You don't think that she-that she, too-that she was-was She broke off with a look of horror in her eyes.

Poirot asked, "What did they say was the cause of death?" Mrs. Hubbard said unhappily, "They-they didn't say- There's to be an inquest comon Tuesday-was IN A QUIET ROOM at New Scotland Yard, four men were sitting round a table.

Presiding over the conference was Superintendent Wilding of the Narcotics squad. Next to him was Sergeant Bell, a young man of great energy and optimiswho looked rather like an eager greyhound.

Leaning back in his chair, quiet and alert, was Inspector Sharpe. The fourth man was Hercule Poirot. On the table was a rucksack.

Superintendent Wilding stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"It's an interesting idea, Mr. Poirot," he said cautiously. "Yes, it's an interesting idea." "It is, as I say, simply an idea," said Poirot.

Wilding nodded.

"We've outlined the general position," he said.