Agatha Christie - Hickory Dickory Dock

"Yes. It's not exactly a hard and fast rule, but it's fairly generally observed."

"The other side of the house is cut off from this side, except on the ground floor. Taking it that the conversation earlier between Nigel and Pat was overheard, it would in all probability be a woman who overheard it."

"Yes, I see what you mean. And some of the girls seem to spend half their time here listening at keyholes." She flushed and added apologetically, "That's rather too harsh. Actually, although these houses are solidly built, they've been cut up and partitioned, and all the new work is flimsy as anything, like paper. You can't help hearing through it.

Jean, I must admit, does do a good deal of snooping. She's the type. And of course, when Genevieve heard Nigel tell Pat his father had murdered his mother, she stopped and listened for all she was worth." The Inspector nodded. He had listened to the evidence of Sally Finch and Jean Tomlinson and Genevieve. He said: "Who occupies the rooms on either side of Patricia's?"

"Genevieve's is beyond it-but that's a good original wall. Elizabeth Johnston's is on the other side, nearer the stairs. That's only a partition wall."

"The narrows it down a bit," said the Inspector.

"The French girl heard the end of the conversation, Sally Finch was present earlier on, before she went out to post her letter. But the fact that those two girls were there automatically excludes anybody else having been able to snoop, except for a very short period.

Always with the exception of Elizabeth Johnston who could have heard everything through the partition wall if she'd been in her bedroom, but it seems to be fairly clear that she was already in the Common Room when Sally Finch went out to the post. She did not remain in the Common Room all the time?"

"No, she went upstairs again at some period to fetch a book she had forgotten. As usual, nobody can say when."

"It might have been any of them," said Mrs. Hubbard helplessly.

"As far as their statements go, yes-but we've got a little extra evidence." He took a small folded paper pacist out of his pocket.

Sharpe smiled. "What's that?" demanded Mrs. Hubbard.

"A couple of hairs-I took them from between Patricia Lane's fingers."

"You mean that-" There was a tap on the door.

"Come in," said the Inspector.

The door opened to admit Mr. Akibombo.

He was smiling broadly, all over his black face.

"Please," he said.

Inspector Sharpe said impatiently, "Yes, Mr.-er-um, what is it?"

"I think, please, I have statement to make. Of first class importance to elucidation of sad and tragic occurrence."

"Now, Mr. Akibombo," said Inspector Sharpe, resignedly, "let's hear, please, what all this is about." Mr. Akibombo had been provided with a chair.

He sat facing the others who were all looking at him with keen attention.

"Thank you. I begin now?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, it is, you see, that sometimes I have the disquieting sensations in my stomach. Sick to my stomach. That is what Miss Sally calls it. But I am not, you see, actually sick. I do not, that is, vomit." Inspector Sharpe restrained himself with difficulty while these medical details were elaborated.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Very sorry, I'm sure. But you want to tell us-"

"It is, perhaps, unaccustomed food. I feel very full here." Mr. Akibombo indicated exactly where. "I think myself, not enough meat, and too much what you call cardohydrates."

"Carbohydrates," the Inspector corrected him mechanically. "But I don't see-"

"Sometimes I take small pill, soda mint; and sometimes stomach powder. It does not matter very much what it is-so that a great pouf comes and much air like this." Mr. Akibombo gave a most realistic and gigantic belch. "After that," he smiled seraphically, "I feel much better, much better." The Inspector's face was becoming a congested purple. Mrs. Hubbard said authoritatively, "We understand all about that. Now get on to the next part."

"Yes. Certainly. Well, as I say, this happens to me early last week-I do not remember exactly which day. Very good macaroni and I eat a lot, and afterwards feel very bad. I try to do work for my Professor but difficult to think with fullness here." (again Akibombo indicated the spot.) "It is after supper in the Common Room and only Elizabeth there and I say to her, 'Have you bicarbonate or stomach powder? I have finished mine.' And she says, 'No. But," she says, "I saw some in Pat's drawer when I was putting back a handkerchief I borrowed from her. I will get it for you," she says. "Pat will not mind." So she goes upstairs and comes back with sodi bicarbonate bottle. Very little left, at bottom of bottle, almost empty. I thank her and go with it to the bathroom, and I put nearly all of it, about a teaspoonful in water and stir it up and drink it."

"A teaspoonful? A teaspoonful! My God!" The Inspector gazed at him fascinated.

Sergeant Cobb leaned forward with an astonished face. Mrs. Hubbard said obscurely, "Rasputin!"

"You swallowed a teaspoonful of morphia?"

"Naturally, I think it is bicarbonate."

"Yes, yes, what I can't understand is why you're sitting here now!"

"And then, afterwards, I was ill, but really ill. Not just the fulness. Pain, bad pain in my stomach."

"I can't make out why you're not dead!"

"Rasputin," said Mrs. Hubbard. "They used to give him poison again and again, lots of it, and it didn't kill him!" Mr. Akibombo was continuing.

"So then, next day, when I am better, I take the bottle and the tiny bit of powder that is left in it to a chemist and I say please tell me, what is this I have taken, that has made me feel so bad?"

"Yes?"

"And he says come back later, and when I do, he says, 'No wonder! This is not the bicarbonate. It is the Borasseek. The Acid Borasseek. You can put it in the eyes, yes, but if you swallow a teaspoonful it makes you ill."

"Boracic?" The Inspector stared at him stupefied. "But how did Boracic get into that bottle? What happened to the morphia?" He groaned, "Of all the haywire cases!"

"And I have been thinking, please," went on Akibombo.

The Inspector groaned again.

"You have been thinking," he said. "And what have you been thinking?"

"I have been thinking of Miss Celia and how she died, and that someone, after she was dead, must have come into her room and left there the empty morphia bottle and the little piece of paper that say she killed herself-" Akibombo paused and the Inspector nodded.

"And so I say-who could have done that? And I think if it is one of the girls it will be easy, but if a man not so easy, because he would have to go downstairs in our house and up the other stairs and someone might wake up and hear him or see him. So I think again, and I say, suppose it is someone in our house, but in the next room to Miss Celia's-only she is in this house, you understand?

Outside his window is a balcony and outside hers is a balcony, too, and she will sleep with her window open because that is hygienic practice. So if he is big and strong and athletic he could jump across."

"The room next to Celia's in the other house," said Mrs. Hubbard. "Let me see, that's Nigel's and and…"

"Len Bateson's," said the Inspector. His finger touched the folded paper in his hand. "Len Bateson."

"He is very nice, yes," said Mr. Akibombo sadly. "And to me most pleasant, but psychologically one does not know what goes on below top surface. That is so, is it not? That is modern theory. Mr. Chandra Lal very angry when his boracic for the eyes disappears and later, when I ask, he says he has been told that it was taken by Len Bateson…"

"The morphia was taken from Nigel's drawer and boracic was substituted for it, and then Patricia Lane came along and substituted sodi bicarbonate for what she thought was morphia bat which was really boracic powder… Yes… I see..."