Agatha Christie - Hickory Dickory Dock

A small amount of money came to him under his mother's will, and he never wrote to his father or went near him again. Of course, I think that was a pity in a way, but there's no doubt that his father is a very unpleasant man. I don't wonder that that's made Nigel bitter and difficult to get on with. Since his mother died, he's never had anyone to care for him, and look after him. His health's not been good though his mind is brilliant. He is handicapped in life and he just can't show himself as he really is." Patricia Lane stopped. She was flushed and a little breathless as the result of her long earnest speech. Inspector Sharpe looked at her thoughtfully. He had come across many Patricia Lanes before. "In love with the chap," he thought to himself. "Don't suppose he cares twopence for her, but probably accepts being mothered. Father certainly sounds a cantankerous old cuss, but I daresay the mother was a foolish woman who spoilt her son and by doting on him, widened the breach between him and his father. I've seen enough of that kind of thing." He wondered if Nigel Chapman had been attracted at all to Celia Austin. It seemed unlikely, but it might be so. 'And if so," he thought, "Patricia Lane might have bitterly resented the fact." Resented it enough to wish to do Celia an injury?

Resented it enough to do murder? Surely not-and in any case, the fact that Celia had got engaged to Colin McNabb would surely wash that out as a possible motive for murder. He dismissed Patricia Lane and asked for Jean Tomlinson.

Miss Tomlinson was a severe-looking young woman of twenty-seven with fair hair, regular features and a rather pursed-up mouth.

She sat down and said primly, "Yes, Inspector? What can I do for you?"

"I wonder if you can help us at all, Miss Tomlinson, about this very tragic matter."

"It's shocking. Really quite shocking," said Jean. "It was bad enough when we thought Celia had committed suicide, but now that it's supposed to be murder..." She stopped and shook her head, sadly.

"We are fairly sure that she did not poison herself," said Sharpe. "You know where the poison came from?" Jean nodded.

"I gather it came from St. Catherine's Hospital, where she works. But surely that makes it seem more like suicide?"

"It was intended to, no doubt," said the Inspector.

"But who else could possibly have got that poison except Celia?"

"Quite a lot of people," said Inspector Sharpe, "if they were determined to do so. Even you, yourself, Miss Tomlinson," he said, "might have managed to help yourself to it if you had wished to do so."

"Really, Inspector Sharpe!" Jean's tones were sharp with indignation.

"Well, you visited the Dispensary fairly often, didn't you, Miss Tomlinson?"

"I went in there to see Mildred Carey, yes. But naturally I would never have dreamed of tampering with the poison cupboard."

"But you could have done so?"

"I certainly couldn't have done anything of the kind!"

"Oh, come now, Miss Tomlinson. Say that your friend was busy packing up the ward baskets and the other girl was at the Outpatients window. There are frequent times when there are only two dispensers in the front room. You could have wandered casually round the back of the shelves of bottles that run across the middle of the floor. You could have nipped a hottle out of the cupboard and into your pocket, and neither of the two dispensers would have dreamed of what you had done."

"I resent what you say very much, Inspector Sharpe. It's-it's a-disgraceful accusation."

"But it's not an accusation, Miss Tomlinson. It's nothing of the kind. You mustn't misunderstand me. You said to me that it wasn't possible for you to do such a thing, and I'm trying to show you that it was possible. I'm not suggesting for a moment that you did do so. After all," he added, "why should you?"

"Quite so. You don't seem to realise, Inspector Sharpe, that I was a friend of Celia's."

"Quite a lot of people get poisoned by their friends. There's a certain question we have to ask ourselves sometimes. 'When is a friend not a friend?'"

"There was no disagreement between me and Celia, nothing of the kind. I liked her very much."

"Had you any reason to suspect it was she who had been responsible for these thefts in the house?"

"No, indeed. I was never so surprised in my life. I always thought Celia had high principles. I wouldn't have dreamed of her doing such a thin,."

"Of course," said Sharpe, watching her carefully, "kleptomaniacs can't really help themselves, can they?" Jean Tomlinson's lips pursed themselves together even more closely. Then she opened them and spoke.

"I can't say I can quite subscribe to that idea, Inspector Sharpe. I'm old-fashioned in my views and believe that stealing is stealing."

"You think that Celia stole things because, frankly, she wanted to take them?"

"Certainly I do."

"Plain dishonest, in fact?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Ah!" said Inspector Sharpe, shaking his head.

"That's bad."

"Yes, it's always upsetting when you feel you're disappointed in anyone."

"There was a question, I understand, of our being called in-the police, I, mean."

"Yes. That would have been the right thing to do, in my opinion."

"Perhanps you think it ought to have been done anyway?"

"I think it would have been the right thing. Yes, I don't think, you know, people ought to be allowed to get away with these things."

"With calling oneself a kleptomaniac when one is really a thief, do you mean?"

"Well, more or less, yes-that is what I mean."

"Instead of which everything was ending happily and Miss Austin had wedding bells ahead."

"Of course, one isn't surprised at anything Colin McNabb does," said Jean Tomlinson viciously. "I'm sure he's an atheist and a most disbelieving, mocking, unpleasant young man. He's rude to everybody. It's my opinion that he's a Communist!"

"Ah!" said Inspeetor Sharpe. "Bad!" He shook his head.

"He backed up Celia, I think, because he hasn't got any proper feeling about property. He probably thinks everyone should help themselves to everything they want."

"Still, at any rate," said Inspector Sharpe, "Miss Austin did own up."

"After she was found out. Yes," said Jean, sharply.

"Who found her out?"

"That Mr.-what-was-his-name Poirot, who came."

"But why do you think he found her out, Miss Tomlinson? He didn't say so. He just advised calling in the police."

"He must have shown her that he knew. She obviously knew the game was up and rushed off to confess."

"What about the ink on Elizabeth Johnston's papers? Did she confess to that?"

"I really don't know. I suppose so."

"You suppose wrong," said Sharpe. "She denied most vehemently that she had anything to do with that."

"Well, perhaps that may be so. I must say it doesn't seem very likely."

"You think it is more likely that it was Nigel Chapman?"

"No, I don't think Nigel would do that either. I think it's much more likely to be Mr. Akibombo."

"Really? Why should he do it?"

"Jealousy. All these coloured people are very jealous of each other and very hysterical."

"That's interesting, Miss Tomlinson. When was the last time you saw Celia Austin?"

"After dinner on Friday night."

"Who went up to bed first? Did she or did you?"

"I did's "You did not go to her room or see her after you'd left the Common Room?"

"No."

"And you've no idea who could have introduced morphia into her coffee?-if it was given that way?"

"No idea at all."

"You never saw this morphia lying about the house or in anyone's room?"

"No. No, I don't think so."

"You don't think so? What do you mean by that, Miss Tomlinson?"

"Well, I just wondered. There was that silly bet, you know."

"What bet?"