"Nobody thinks you did, infant," said Valerie impatiently. "All the same, you know," her eyes met Mrs. Hubbard's and exchanged a glance, "all this is getting beyond a joke. Something will have to be done about it."
"Something is going to be done," said Mrs. Hubbard grimly.
"'HERE YOU ARE, Mr. Poirot." Miss Lemon laid a small brown paper parcel before Poirot. He removed the paper and looked appraisingly at a well cut silver evening shoe.
"It was at Baker Street, just as you said."
"That has saved us trouble," said Poirot. "Also it confirms my ideas."
"Quite," said Miss Lemon who was sublimely incurious by nature.
She was, however, susceptible to the claims of family affection. She said, "If it is not troubling you too much, Mr. Poirot, I received a letter from my sister. There- have been some new developments."
"You permit that I read it?" She handed it to him and after reading it, he directed Miss Lemon to get her sister on the telephone.
Presently Miss Lemon indicated that the connection had been obtained. Poirot took the receiver.
"Mrs. Hubbard?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Poirot. So kind of you to ring me up so promptly. I was really very-" Poirot interrupted her.
"Where are you speaking from?"
"Why-from 26 Hickory Road, of course. Oh I see what you mean. I am in my own sitting room."
"There is an extension?"
"This is the extension. The main phone is downstairs in the hall."
"Who is in the house who might listen in?"
"All the students are out at this time of day. The cook is out marketing. Geronimo, her husband, understands very little English. There is a cleaning woman, but she is deaf and I'm quite sure wouldn't bother to listen in."
"Very good, then. I can speak freely. Do you occasionally have lectures in the evening, or films? Entertainments of some kind?"
"We do have lectures occasionally. Miss Battrout, the explorer, came not long ago, with her coloured transparencies. And we had an appeal for Far Eastern Missions, though I am afraid quite a lot of the students went out that night."
"Ah. Then this evening you will have prevailed on M. Hercule Poirot, the employer of your sister, to come and discourse to your students on the more interesting of my cases."
"That will be very nice, I'm sure, but do you think-"
"It is not a question of thinking. I am sure!" That evening, students entering the Common Room found a notice tacked up on the Board which stood just inside the door.
M. Hercule Poirot, the celebrated private detective, has kindly consented to give a talk this evening on the theory and practice of successful detection, with an account of certain celebrated criminal cases.
Returning students made varied comments on this.
"Who's this private Eye?"
"Never heard of him."
"Oh, I have. There was a man who was condemned to death for the murder of a charwoman and this detective got him off at the last moment by finding the real person."
"Sounds crumby to me."
"I think it might be rather fun."
"Colin ought to enjoy it. He's mad on criminal psychology."
"I would not put it precisely like that, but I'll not deny that a man who has been closely acquainted with criminals might be interesting to interrogate." Dinner was at seven thirty and most of the students were already seated when Mrs. Hubbard came down from her sitting room (where sherry had been served to the distinguished guest) followed by a small elderly man with suspiciously black hair and a mustache of ferocious proportions which he twirled contentedly.
"These are some of our students, Mr. Poirot. This is M. Hercule Poirot who is kindly going to talk to us after dinner." Salutations were exchanged and Poirot sat down by Mrs. Hubbard and busied himself with keeping his moustaches out of the excellent minestrone which was served by a small active Italian manservant from a big tureen.
This was followed by a piping hot dish of spaghetti and meat balls and it was then that a girl sitting on Poirot's right spoke shyly to him. "Does Mrs. Hubbard's sister really work for you?" Poirot turned to her.
"But yes indeed. Miss Lemon has been my secretary for many years. She is the most efficient woman that ever lived. I am sometimes afraid of her."
"Oh. I see. I wondered-"
"Now what did you wonder, Mademoiselle?" He smiled upon her in paternal fashion, making a mental note as he did so.
"Pretty, worried, not too quick mentally, frightened…"
He said, "May I know your name and what it is you are studying?"
"Celia Austin. I don't study. I'm a dispenser at St. Catherine's Hospital."
"Ah, that is interesting work?"
"Well, I don't know comperh it is." She sounded rather uncertain.
"And these others? Can you tell me something about them, perhaps? I understood this was a Home for Foreign Students, but these seem mostly to be English."
"Some of the foreign ones are out. Mr. Chandra Lal and Mr. Gopal Ram-they're Indians-and Miss Reinleer who's Dutch-and Mr. Ahmed Ali who's Egyptian and frightfully political!"
"And those who are here? Tell me about these."
"Well, sitting on Mrs. Hubbard's left is Nigel Chapman. He's studying Mediaeval History and Italian at London University.
Then there's Patricia Lane, next to him, with the spectacles. She's taking a diploma in Archaeology. The big red-headed boy is Len Bateson, he's a medical and the dark girl is Valerie Hobhouse, she's in a Beauty Shop.
Next to her is Colin McNabb, he's doing a post graduate course in psychiatry." There was a faint change in her voice as she described Colin. Poirot glanced keenly at her and saw that the colour had come up in her face.
He said to himself, "So-she is in love and she cannot easily conceal the fact."
He noticed that young McNabb never seemed to look at her across the table, being far too much taken up with his conversation with a laughing red-headed girl beside him. "That's Sally Finch. She's American-over here on a Fulbright. Then there's Genevieve Maricaud. She's doing English, and so is Rene Halle who sits next to her. The small fair girl is Jean Tomlinson-she's at St. Catherine's too. She's a physiotherapist. The black man is Akibombo-he comes from West Africa and he's frightfully nice. Then there's Elizabeth Johnston, she's from Jamaica and she's studying law. Next to us on wy right are two Turkish students who came about a week ago. They know hardly any English."
"Thank you. And do you all get on well together? Or do you have quarrels?" The lightness of his tone robbed the words of seriousness.
Celia said, "Oh, we're all too busy really to have fights, although-"
"Although what, Miss Austin?"
"Well-Higel-next to Mrs. Hubbard. He likes stirring people up and making them angry. And Len Bateson gets angry. He gets wild with rage sometimes. But he's very sweet really."
"And Colin McNabb-does he too get annoyed?"
"Oh no. Colin just raises his eyebrows and looks amused."
"I see. And the young ladies, do you have your quarrels?"
"Oh no, we all get on very well. Genevieve has feelings sometimes. I think French people are inclined to be touchy-oh I mean-I'm sorry" Celia was the picture of confusion.
"Me, I am Belgian," said Poirot solemnly. He went on quickly, before Celia could recover control of herself.
"What did you mean just now, Miss Austin, when you said you wondered. You wondered-what?" She crumbled her bread nervously.
"Oh that-nothing-notlng really-just, there have been some silly practical jokes lately-I thought Mrs. Hubbard-But really, it was silly of me. I didn't mean anything." Poirot did not press her. He turned away to Mrs. Hubbard and was presently engaged in a three cornered conversation with her and with Nigel Chapman who introduced the controversial challenge that crime was a form of creative art-and that the misfits of society were really the police who only entered that profession because of their secret sadism. Poirot was amused to note that the anxious looking young woman in spectacles of about thirty-five who sat beside him tried desperately to explain away his remarks as fast as he made them. Nigel, however, took absolutely no notice of her.