"Ah," said Poirot, as he lit one of his tiny cigarettes and watched the smoke ascend. "You think I should have dissembled?"
"Well, I suppose it's nice to be fair and above board about things-but it seems to me it might have been better to keep quiet, and just ask an officer to come round and explain things privately to him. What I mean is, whoever's been doing these stupid things well, that person's warned now."
"Perhaps, yes."
"I should say quite certainly," said Mrs. Hubbard rather sharply. "No perhaps about it! Even if it's one of the servants or a student who wasn't here this evening, the word will get around. It always does."
"So true. It always does."
"And there's Mrs. Nicoletis, too. I really don't know what attitude she'll take up. One never does know with her."
"It will be interesting to find out."
"Naturally we can't call in the police unless she agrees-Oh, who's that now?" There had been a sharp authoritative tap on the door. It was repeated and almost before Mrs. Hubbard had called an irritable "Come in" the door opened and Colin McNabb, his pipe clenched firmly between his teeth and a scowl on his forehead, entered the room. Removing the pipe, and closing the door behind him, he said: "You'll excuse me, but I was anxious to just have a word with Mr. Poirot here."
"With me?" Poirot turned his head in innocent surprise.
"Ay, with you." Colin spoke grimly.
He drew up a rather uncomfortable chair and sat squarely on it facing Hercule Poirot.
"You've given us an amusing talk tonight," he said indulgently. "And I'll not deny that you're a man who's had a varied and lengthy experience, but if you'll excuse me for saying so, your methods and your ideas are both equally antiquated."
"Really, Colin," said Mrs. Hubbard, colouring. "You're extremely rude."
"I'm not meaning to give offence, but I've got to make thins clear. Crime and Punishment, Mr. Poirot it's as far as your horizon stretches."
"They seem to me a natural sequence," said Poirot.
"You take the narrow view of the Law-and what's more of the Law at its most old fashioned.
Nowadays, even the Law has to keep itself cognizant of the newest and most up to date theories of what causes crime. It is the causes that are important, Mr. Poirot."
"But there," cried Poirot, "to speak in your new fashioned phrase, I could not agree with you more!"
"Then you've got to consider the cause of what has been happening in this house-you've got to find out why these things have been done."
"But I am still agreeing with you-yes, that is most important."
"Because there always is a reason, and it may be, to the person concerned, a very good reason." At this point, Mrs. Hubbard, unable to contain herself, interjected sharply, "Rubbish."
"That's where you're wrong," said Colin, turning slightly toward her. "You've got to take into account the psychological background."
"Psychological balderdash," said Mrs. Hubbard. "I've no patience with all that sort of talk!"
"That's because you know precisely nothing about it," comsd Colin in a gravely rebuking fashion. He returned his gaze to Poirot.
"I'm interested in these subjects. I am at present taking a post graduate course in psychiatry and psychology. We come across the most involved and astounding cases, and what I'm pointing out to you, M. Poirot, is that you can't just dismiss the criminal with a doctrine of original sin, or wilful disregard of the laws of the land. You've got to have an understanding of the root of the trouble if you're ever to effect a cure of the young delinquent. These ideas were not known or thought of in your day and I've no doubt you find them hard to accept-"
"Stealing's stealing," put in Mrs. Hubbard stubbornly.
Colin frowned impatiently.
Poirot said meekly, "My ideas are doubtless old fashioned, but I am perfectly prepared to listen to you, Mr. McNabb." Colin looked areeably surprised.
"That's very fairly said, Mr. Poirot. Now I'll try to make this matter clear to you, using very simple terms."
"Thank you," said Poirot meekly.
"For convenience's sake, I'll start with the pair of shoes you brought with you tonight and returned to Sally Finch. If you remember, one shoe was stolen. Only one."
"I remember being struck by the fact," said Poirot.
Colin McNabb leaned forward, his dour but handsome features were lit up by eagerness.
"Ah, but you didn't see the significance of it.
It's one of the prettiest and most satisfying examples anyone could wish to come across. We have here, very definitcly, a Cinderella complex. You are maybe acquainted with the Cinderella fairy story."
"Of French origin-mais oui.
"Cinderella, the unpd drudge, sits by the fire, her sisters dressed in their finery, go to the Prince's ball. A Fairy Godmother sends Cinderella too, to that ball. At the stroke of midnight, her finery turns back to rags-she escapes hurriedly, leaving behind her one slipper.
So here we have a mind that compares itself to Cinderella (unconsciously, of course). Here we have frustration, envy, the sense of inferiority. The girl steals a slipper. Why?"
"A girl?"
"But naturally, a girl. That," said Colin reprovingly, should be clear to the meanest intelligence."
"Really, Colin!" said Mrs. Hubbard.
"Pray continue," said Poirot, courteously.
"Probably she herself does not know why she does it-but the inner wish is clear. She wants to be the Princess, to be identified by the Prince and claimed by him. Another significant fact, the slipper is stolen from an attractive girl who is going to a Ball." Colin's pipe had long since gone out. He waved it now with mounting enthusiasn. "And now we'll take a few of the other happenings. A magpie acquiring of pretty things-all things associated with attractive feminity. A powder compact, lipsticks, earrings, a bracelet, a ring-there is a twofold significance here. The girl wants to be noticed.
She wants, even, to be punished-as is frequently the case with very young juvenile delinquents. These things are none of them what you would call ordinary criminal thefts. It is not the value of these things that is wanted. In just such a way do well-to-do women go into department stores and steal things they could perfectly well afford to pay for."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Hubbard belligerently. "Some people are just plain dishonest, that's all there is to it."
"Yet a diamond ring of some value was amongst the things stolen," said Poirot, ignoring Mrs. Hubbard's interpolation.
"That was returned."
"And surely, Mr. McNabb, you would not say that a stethoscope is a feminine pretty pretty?"
"That had a deeper significance. Women who feel they are, deficient in feminine attraction can find sublimation in the pursuit of a career."
"And the cookery book?"
"A symbol of home life, husband and family."
"And boracic powder?" Colin said irritably, "My dear Mr. Poirot. Nobody would steal boracic powder! Why should they?"
"That is what I have asked myself. I must admit, Mr. McNabb, that you seem to have an answer for everything. Explain to me, then, the significance of the disappearance of an old pair of flannel trousers - your flannel trousers, I understand." For the first time, Colin appeared ill at ease.
He blushed and cleared his throat.
"I could explain that-but it would be somewhat involved, and perhaps- er... well, rather embarrassing."
"Ah, you spare my blushes." Suddenly Poirot leaned forward and tapped the young man on the knee. "And the ink that is spilt over another student's papers, the silk scarf that is cut and slashed. Do these things cause you no disquietude?" The complacence and superiority of Colin's manner underwent a sudden and not unlikeable change.
"They do," he said. "Believe me, they do.