Agatha Christie - Hickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (The Hercule Poirot Mystery)

Hickory Dickory Dock

Agatha Christie

Chapter 1

Hercule Poirot frowned.

"Miss Lemon," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Poirot?"

"There are three mistakes in this letter."

His voice held incredulity. For Miss Lemon, that hideous and efficientwoman, never made mistakes. She was never ill, never tired, neverupset, never inaccurate. For all practical purposes, that is to say, shewas not a woman at all. She was a machine - the perfect secretary.She knew everything, she coped with everything. She ran HerculePoirot's life for him, so that it, too, functioned like a machine. Orderand method had been Hercule Poirot's watchwords from many yearsago. With George, his perfect manservant, and Miss Lemon, hisperfect secretary, order and method ruled supreme in his life. Nowthat crumpets were baked square as well as round, he had nothingabout which to complain.

And yet, this morning Miss Lemon had made three mistakes in typing aperfectly simple letter, and moreover, had not even noticed thosemistakes. The stars stood still in their courses!

Hercule Poirot held out the offending document. He was not annoyed,he was merely bewildered. This was one of the things that could nothappen - but it had happened!

Miss Lemon took the letter. She looked at it. For the first time in his life,Poirot saw her blush; a deep ugly unbecoming flush that dyed her faceright up to the roots of her strong grizzled hair.

"Oh, dear," she said. "I can't think how - at least, I can. It's because ofmy sister."

"Your sister?"

Another shock. Poirot had never conceived of Miss Lemon's having asister. Or, for that matter, having a father, mother or evengrandparents. Miss Lemon, somehow, was so completely machinemade - a precision instrument, so to speak - that to think of her havingaffections, or anxieties, or family worries, seemed quite ludicrous. Itwas well known that the whole of Miss Lemon's heart and mind wasgiven, when she was not on duty, to the perfection of a new filingsystem which was to be patented and bear her name.

"Your sister?" Hercule Poirot repeated, therefore, with an incredulousnote in his voice.

Miss Lemon nodded a vigorous assent.

"Yes," she said. "I don't think I've ever mentioned her to you.Practically all her life has been spent in Singapore. Her husband wasin the rubber business there."

Hercule Poirot nodded understandingly. It seemed to him appropriatethat Miss Lemon's sister should have spent most of her life inSingapore. That was what places like Singapore were for. The sistersof women like Miss Lemon married men in business in Singapore, sothat the Miss Lemons of this world could devote themselves withmachine-like efficiency to their employers' affairs (and of course to theinvention of filing systems in their moments of relaxation).

"I comprehend," he said. "Proceed."

Miss Lemon proceeded.

"She was left a widow four years ago. No children. I managed to gether fixed up in a very nice little flat at quite a reasonable rent -" (ofcourse Miss Lemon would manage to do just that almost impossiblething.)

"She is reasonably off - though money doesn't go as far as it did, buther tastes aren't expensive and she has enough to be quitecomfortable if she is careful."

Miss Lemon paused and then continued:

"But the truth is, of course, she was lonely. She had never lived inEngland and she'd got no old friends or cronies and of course she hada lot of time on her hands. Anyway, she told me about six months agothat she was thinking of taking up this job."

"Job?"

"Warden, I think they call it - or Matron of a Hostel for Students. It wasowned by a woman who was partly Greek and she wanted someone to

run it for her. Manage the catering and see that things went smoothly.It's an old fashioned roomy house - in Hickory Road, if you know wherethat is -"

Poirot did not.

"It used to be quite a superior neighbourhood once, and the housesare well built. My sister was to have very nice accommodation,bedroom and sitting room and a tiny bath kitchenette of her own -"

Miss Lemon paused. Poirot made an encouraging noise. So far this didnot seem at all like a tale of disaster.

"I wasn't any too sure about it myself, but I saw the force of my sister'sarguments. She's never been one to sit with her hands crossed all daylong and she's a very practical woman and good at running things -and of course it wasn't as though she were thinking of putting moneyinto it or anything like that. It was formerly a salaried position with ahigh salary, but she didn't need that, and there was no hard physicalwork. She's always been fond of young people and good with them,and having lived in the East so long she understands racial differencesand people's susceptibilities. Because these students at the Hostelwere of all nationalities; mostly English, but some of them actually areblack, I believe."

"Naturally," said Hercule Poirot.

"Half the nurses in our hospitals seem to be black nowadays," saidMiss Lemon, doubtfully, "and I understand much pleasanter and moreattentive than the English ones. But that's neither here nor there. Wetalked the scheme over and finally my sister moved in. Neither she norI cared very much for the proprietress, Mrs. Nicoletis, a woman of veryuncertain temper, sometimes charming and sometimes, I'm sorry tosay, quite the reverse - and both cheese-paring and impractical. Still,naturally, if she'd been a thoroughly competent woman, she wouldn'thave needed any assistance. My sister is not one to let people'stantrums and vagaries worry her. She can hold her own with anyoneand she never stands any nonsense."

Poirot nodded. He felt a vague resemblance to Miss Lemon showing inthis account of Miss Lemon's sister. Miss Lemon softened as it were,by marriage and the climate of Singapore, but a woman with the samehard core of sense.

"So your sister took the job?" he asked.

"Yes, she moved into 26 Hickory Road about six months ago. On thewhole, she liked her work there and found it interesting."

Hercule Poirot listened. So far the adventures of Miss Lemon's sisterhad been disappointingly tame.

"But for some time now she's been badly worried. Very badly worried."

"Why?"

"Well, you see, Mr. Poirot, she doesn't like the things that are goingon."

"There are students there of both sexes?" Poirot inquired delicately.

"Oh no, Mr. Poirot, I don't mean that! One is always prepared fordifficulties of that kind, one expects them! No, you see, things havebeen disappearing."

"Disappearing?"

"Yes. And such odd things... And all in rather an unnatural way."

"When you say things have been disappearing, you mean things havebeen stolen?"

"Yes."

"Have the police been called in?"

"No. Not yet. My sister hopes that it may not be necessary. She is fondof these young people - of some of them, that is - and she would verymuch prefer to straighten things out by herself."