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    Hickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Hickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Hickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Ebook251 pages3 hours

    Hickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition

    By Agatha Christie

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Hercule Poirot doesn’t need all his detective skills to realize something is troubling his secretary, Miss Lemon—she has made three mistakes in a simple letter. It seems an outbreak of kleptomania at the student hostel in which her sister works is distracting his usually efficient assistant.

    Deciding that desperate times call for desperate measures, the great detective agrees to investigate.Unknown to Poirot, however, desperation isa motive he shares with a killer. . . .

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateSep 27, 2011
    ISBN9780062124036
    Hickory Dickory Dock: A Hercule Poirot Mystery: The Official Authorized Edition
    Author

    Agatha Christie

    Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

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    Reviews for Hickory Dickory Dock

    3.5/5

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    • 3/5
      In which a rash of petty thefts at a student hostel mask greater crimes…

      "Hickory Dickory Dock" is by no means a masterpiece, falling squarely into that camp of run-of-the mill Christie stories that she churned out during the middle of her career. The good: a thorough characterisation of Poirot himself (one of only a few novels in which Miss Lemon actually appears; she’s primarily confined to the short stories); an overly healthy dose of misdirection; and, most importantly, a cast of characters in which all of them seem like viable suspects.

      The negatives: it’s one of those forcibly contrived novels in which a variety of criminals and people in disguise inhabit the same space; the eponymous nursery rhyme bears even less sense than usual (a painful element taken to extremes in the Suchet adaptation); and things feel far more routine than usual. The Suchet adaptation, similarly, plays well enough and holds the interest, but can’t help but feel like a by-the-numbers ‘murder mystery’, not aided by one of those “twenty years ago” opening scenes that lead the mind – consciously or otherwise – toward the denouement before it should arrive there.

      Suitable for Christie fans, but probably not an eye-catcher for novices. The U.S. title became "Hickory Dickory Death", furthering my theory that the publishers just wanted a pulpy title for every release. The Italian title, moreover, was "Poirot si annoia", or "Poirot is Bored". I’m not surprised.

      Poirot ranking: 28th out of 38
    • 4/5
      Hickory Dickory Dock by Agatha Christie is another fun detective story featuring Hercule Poirot. He is brought into this case when his formidable secretary, Miss Lemon, actually hands him a letter with three typing mistakes! When he questions her about what is bothering her, she tells him about her sister who is house mother at a student hostel where a series of thefts and acts of vandalism have been occurring.Of course, these events eventually lead to a series of murders and before the book is through, Hercule Poirot has aided the police not only in revealing the murderer, but also in uncovering a smuggling ring. As is often the case in a Christie novel, there are plenty of suspicious characters and just about everyone has something to hide. Poirot and Inspector Sharpe must sift through the evidence and the testimony to put the pieces together. As always, I had some strong suspicions of my own but again like always, I was totally wrong.
    • 4/5
      I found this book to be very interesting, the characters were an odd lot, most all with something to hide...The story begins w/ Miss Lemon (M. Poirot's most perfect secretary) handing M. Poirot a letter w/ 3 mistakes in it. Miss Lemon is upset as her sister, who manages agroup of (mostly) students living in a boarding house, is in a quandary as to what to do about various people's belongings gone missing.....Miss Lemon asks M. Poirot to meet with her sister to discover who the thief is... but as soon as the thief reveals herself & her motives she is murdered...Although I didn't feel much for the characters, I didn't dislike them either.... What I did notice was the prejudice with which Christie painted the foreign students...... but it wasn't as blatant as in other of her books.
    • 3/5
      Very good fun but not one of her best. Two crucial parts of the solution seem to be simply intuited by Poirot out of nowhere - he never explains what led him to work out those two particular things, which weakens the denouement. But a very enjoyable read nonetheless.
    • 5/5
      Once again another Agatha! I just like the ways she tells stories. C'est bon! Hope that is acceptable French. Glad I've found another source that carries her books!
    • 3/5
      It was a good book but not one of her best it got better towards the end,but still a worthwhile read
    • 3/5
      Poirot is called in to investigate some petty thieving in a student hostel managed by the sister of his efficient secretary Miss Lemon and discovers something much more serious. Rather a lot of racial stereotyping and only a thin link to the nursery rhyme title but an enjoyable late Poirot.
    • 4/5
      Started when the efficient Miss Lemon makes mistakes in a letter, Poirot finds that she is concerned about her sister. Of course he offers to assist, and starts investigating a series of small but mysterious thefts at the youth hostel where Mrs. Hubbard is the manager. Then the deaths start. An excellent plot twist lifts this book above the average mystery. It’s not Christie’s best book, but certainly not a bad book. The least likely suspect...works every time.
    • 3/5
      A hostel in London. Students of various nationalities. Petty robberies. Murder. A perfect setting for Hercule Poirot. The mystery is thoroughly confusing and there are racist overtones. But all and all a classic Agatha Christie mystery. A 3/5 star rating. 
    • 3/5
      Hercule Poirot's Secretary Miss Lemon is troubled. Her sister Mrs Hubbard is a manager of a hostel which has suffered some thefts. Thefts of various strange items. Enough so that Poirot is intrigued. But events accelerate and the first murder is done.
      An enjoyable mystery
    • 3/5
      Nice complex plot, marred by some racism in the treatment of the international student characters
    • 4/5
      Hercule Poirots Sekretärin, eine sonst unfehlbare Person, macht in einem Brief drei Schreibfehler und zieht damit die Aufmerksamkeit des Detektivs auf sich. Ihre Schwester arbeitet in einem Studentenwohnheim, in dem verschiedene Dinge verschwinden, die scheinbar keinerlei Zusammenhang aufweisen. Poirot wird nun beauftragt, den Dieb oder die Diebin zu finden, doch diese stellt sich schnell selbst. Am nächsten Morgen jedoch findet man ihre Leiche und es stellt sich heraus, dass sie nicht alle Dinge auf der Liste gestohlen hat.Dieser Roman gehört zu einer Reihe, die den Namen „A Christie for Christmas“ trägt. Der damalige Verleger hatte angestrebt, zu Weihnachten einige Romane Christies herauszubringen und dies ist nun einer davon.In diesem Roman tritt der Detektiv ziemlich in den Hintergrund. Nur zu Beginn und zum Ende der Geschichte spielt er eine tragendere Rolle, ansonsten werden andere Personen und ihre Hintergründe abseits Poirots Blickfeld gezeigt. Ein interessanter Aspekt.Christie schafft in ihren Romanen etwas, das heute längst nicht mehr alle Autoren schaffen. Auf wenigen Seiten gelingt es ihr, Persönlichkeiten zu formen, deren Beweggründe und Charaktere dem Leser bereits nach der ersten Vorstellung klar sind. Alles ist nachvollziehbar und klar strukturiert, kein einziges Wort zuviel.Trotzdem keine meiner Lieblingsgeschichten.
    • 3/5
      I found this in my area's newly-reopened Little Free Library. It'll be going back there as soon as I muster the nous to go out onto the boardwalk *early* in the morning when it's not crowded with unmasked future plague victims.This entry into Dame Agatha's nursery-rhyme titled mysteries (eg, A Pocket Full of Rye; One, Two, Buckle My Shoe) is only mildly related to the rhyme in question...the action centers on Hickory Street...and it's also a Poirot-lite tale. It does, unusually, feature Miss Lemon (the Ubersecretary with Major Filing Chops), previously only seen in short stories. Her family connection to the Hickory Street Ménage, the ickily-title Warden of the boarders being her sister, is the only entrée Poirot has to the case. In fact, it seems like an absurdly minor matter for Poirot to do more than merely acknowledge with a wintry little smile as Miss Lemon hands him her typo-riddled assignment.Miss Lemon? Typos?!And thus is Poirot engaged in what seems to be, but isn't, a wildly inappropriate chase after the thief of some boracic powder, a stethoscope, and some random weirdness like a single shoe. This is 1955's Dame Agatha, so there are quite a lot of baroque connections among the various players. Many of them, comme d'habitude, are ridiculously overdone...one boarder is a murder victim's unacknowledged child, oh really now!...but they serve to distract from the weird and fraught central relationship of killer and crime.At the end, I was diverted, amused, and irritated in equal measures by the resolution. A corking Dame Agatha experience? Mm...on balance no, but made me seek out the forty-years-newer TV adaptation.
    • 4/5
      Hickory Dickory Death (1955) (Poirot # 32) by Agatha Christie. Three simple mistakes in the typewritten letter that Miss Lemon has handed to Poirot leads to smuggling, theft and murder. Miss Lemon’s sister sees to the welfare of the dozen or more denizens of the hostel owned by Mrs. Nicoletis. As Miss Lemon is frazzled by the problems that her sister has talked to her about, Poirot decides to investigate so Miss Lemon may quickly become her normal, perfect self.There has been a series of small thefts at the hostel and the thief is quickly uncovered. But the thief admits to only taking about half of the items. Green ink, a stethoscope, light bulbs, boracic powder and a rucksack that was in turn cut apart were not on the list. Someone else has been using the first thefts to cover for the others. The question is why. But the day after this initial set of revelations appear, the confessor is found dead of morphine poisoning.Inspector Sharpe is called in to lead us along the path of red herrings, and there is a fish market full of them. The students begin acting in a fashion that draws attention to each and even Mrs. Nicoletis is acting in a strange manner. The morphine was stolen as part of a bet from the hospital where the med student works, but it was in turn stolen from him.And soon after another of the residents is killed Poirot discovers the secret of the rucksack and how it was used in a smuggling operation. The diamond ring that was stolen, and the zircon replica that replaced the stone, is also revealed.There are a series of minor confessions, false passports come forward, the ease with which all the students “borrow” from one another leads to revelations and reprisals, and at last Poirot solves the entire mystery in his usual adroit fashion.Not the best of the Poirot books but so chock full of personalities, misleading clues, coincidence and murder that it is a through;y enjoyable read. Poirot does a favor for Miss Lemon and he is rewarded with a “unique and beautiful problem”, just his meat and potatoes, so to speak.
    • 3/5
      There was a lot going on in this book and the conclusion tying everything up didn't really work for me. I have lots of unanswered questions. There were more people living in the hostel than I could really keep on top of and I am completely lost as to what went on with the morphia/boracic acid/sodium bicarbonate. The 'romance' in the final pages caught me entirely by surprise and added nothing to the plot.
    • 3/5
      Poirot begins by looking into odd thefts at the student hostel run by his valued secretary Miss Lemon's sister, but the case escalates to murder.
    • 3/5
      Hercule Poirot goes to a youth hostel to investigate a series of small thefts. He quickly determines who the culprit is, she apologizes and either returns the items or makes restitution. But the next morning she is dead – an apparent suicide. Or … was it murder?

      As is typical of a Poirot mystery, there are plenty of suspects what with all the students and young people living in the rooming house. The police investigate, but it will be Poirot who solves the crimes. Christie throws in a few false leads and keeps the reader guessing. The 1950s setting is a bit dated, especially the expressed attitudes towards “the coloreds.” It’s an entertaining cozy mystery, but not her best work.
    • 3/5
      Traditional Agatha Christie with lots of twists and turns. It's a bit hard to keep everyone straight because of she introduces so many characters to the story, but she was the master of surprising me. No one is innocent, but only one person is truly guilty, and every time I thought I had figured things out, she introduced another clue that proved me wrong.

      Special bonus for a little bit more look at the infallible Miss Lemon, and small subtraction for limited Poirot--I like the eggheaded, arrogant little man.
    • 2/5
      Always fun reading anything by Agatha Christie, even of it's okay it's never a waste of time, she always know how 2 write a mystery..
      Needed a well written, easy read story and got myself one, thx Christie 4 that, and more..
    • 3/5
      Hardly plausible and poorly plotted and somehow intriguing.
    • 4/5
      Started when the efficient Miss Lemon makes mistakes in a letter, Poirot finds that she is concerned about her sister. Of course he offers to assist, and starts investigating a series of small but mysterious thefts at the youth hostel where Mrs. Hubbard is the manager. Then the deaths start. An excellent plot twist lifts this book above the average mystery. It’s not Christie’s best book, but certainly not a bad book. The least likely suspect...works every time.
    • 4/5
      This novel begins with a lovely description of Hercule Poirot's very efficient secretary Miss Lemon.She is very much disturbed with a problem her sister Mrs Hubbard, who runs a student hostel in London, is facing. Hercule Poirot frowned. ‘Miss Lemon,’ he said. ‘Yes, M. Poirot?’ ‘There are three mistakes in this letter.’ His voice held incredulity. For Miss Lemon, that hideous and efficient woman, never made mistakes. She was never ill, never tired, never upset, never inaccurate. For all practical purposes, that is to say, she was not a woman at all. She was a machine – the perfect secretary. She knew everything, she coped with everything. She ran Hercule Poirot’s life for him, so that it, too, functioned like a machine. Order and method had been Hercule Poirot’s watchwords from many years ago. With George, his perfect manservant, and Miss Lemon, his perfect secretary, order and method ruled supreme in his life. Now that crumpets were baked square as well as round, he had nothing about which to complain.It is always interesting with these "nursey rhyme" novels to work out what is the connection between the title and the nursery rhyme. In this case, the student hostel is in Hickory Road but that is not the only connection: ‘Hickory, dickory, dock,’ said Nigel, ‘the mouse ran up the clock. The police said “Boo”, I wonder who, will eventually stand in the Dock?’There are two murders in the time frame of this novel and eventually a revelation about an earlier murder committed by the same person. The author cleverly moves the finger of suspicion from one person to another over the course of Poirot's investigation. The sad thing is that the two more recent murders could have been prevented if the opportunity had been taken earlier to report the murderer to the police.At the end Miss Lemon is returned to her usual efficient self by Hercule Poirot and the police discovering the identity of the murderer.I think that Agatha Christie was struggling with this story to create and maintain the nursery rhyme connection, and really didn't do it all that successfully.I read this as part of the Agatha Christie Reading Challenge. and this is my 47th novel read mainly in order of publication.My rating: 4.2I did some research into the origins of the nursery rhyme. Here is the most interesting one:Hickory Dickory Dock, is the Anglicisation of 8,9,10 in Cumbric ( North West England- the lake district) and devolved from the ancient Gaelic.. It was a language used by shepherds for their daily sheep count.I don't think that adds much in this case though
    • 4/5
      This was written in the 1950s and you can really get a feel for post WWII Britain, taxation and the social change bought about by the war as the hostel at the centre of the novel just would not have existed pre-War. Poirot gets involved in the mystery at the hostel in Hickory Road, because his curosity is piqued. Murder and mayhem ensue.
    • 4/5
      Miss Lemon makes 3 mistakes in Poirot correspondence. This is an unheard breach of character. We learn that her sister Mrs. Hubbard has been having some unpleasant things happening in the hostel that she is running. Poirot is intrigued by the story and decides to poke his nose in to see what he can see, and he finds murder.This is a good Agatha Christie, several twists and turns a couple deaths and Poirot catches everyone who is guilty.
    • 4/5
      Poirot solves another murder; quelle suprise! No matter how many times it happens, Christie always manages to deliver an entertaining book with style you expect from her.
    • 5/5
      Just reread this one. Poirot's efficient secretary Miss Lemon makes three typing mistakes one day. He is deeply puzzled. It turns out she is worried about her sister who runs a boarding house for students. A series of thefts and malicious mischief have upset the routine of the house. Poirot agrees to look into the matter. He is able to clear up some of the thefts almost at once. A young lady has taken things to attract the attention of a psychologically-minded young man. But then the girl is murdered. Something much more sinister is at work behind the scenes.

    Book preview

    Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie

    Chapter One

    Hercule Poirot frowned.

    Miss Lemon, he said.

    Yes, M. Poirot?

    There are three mistakes in this letter.

    His voice held incredulity. For Miss Lemon, that hideous and efficient woman, never made mistakes. She was never ill, never tired, never upset, never inaccurate. For all practical purposes, that is to say, she was not a woman at all. She was a machine—the perfect secretary. She knew everything, she coped with everything. She ran Hercule Poirot’s life for him, so that it, too, functioned like a machine. Order and method had been Hercule Poirot’s watchwords from many years ago. With George, his perfect manservant, and Miss Lemon, his perfect secretary, order and method ruled supreme in his life. Now that crumpets were baked square as well as round, he had nothing about which to complain.

    And yet, this morning, Miss Lemon had made three mistakes in typing a perfectly simple letter, and moreover, had not even noticed those mistakes. 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 not happen—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 face right 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 of my sister."

    Your sister?

    Another shock. Poirot had never conceived of Miss Lemon’s having a sister. Or, for that matter, having a father, mother, or even grandparents. Miss Lemon, somehow, was so completely machine made—a precision instrument so to speak—that to think of her having affections, or anxieties, or family worries, seemed quite ludicrous. It was well known that the whole of Miss Lemon’s heart and mind was given, when she was not on duty, to the perfection of a new filing system which was to be patented and bear her name.

    Your sister? Hercule Poirot repeated, therefore, with an incredulous note 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 was in the rubber business there.

    Hercule Poirot nodded understandingly. It seemed to him appropriate that Miss Lemon’s sister should have spent most of her life in Singapore. That was what places like Singapore were for. The sisters of women like Miss Lemon married men in Singapore, so that the Miss Lemons of this world could devote themselves with machinelike efficiency to their employers’ affairs (and of course to the invention 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 get her fixed up in a very nice little flat at quite a reasonable rent—

    (Of course Miss Lemon would manage to do just that almost impossible thing.)

    She is reasonably well off—though money doesn’t go as far as it did, but her tastes aren’t expensive and she has enough to be quite comfortable if she is careful.

    Miss Lemon paused and then continued:

    But the truth is, of course, she was lonely. She had never lived in England and she’d got no old friends or cronies and of course she had a lot of time on her hands. Anyway, she told me about six months ago that she was thinking of taking up this job.

    Job?

    Warden, I think they call it—or matron—of a hostel for students. It was owned 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 where that is. Poirot did not. It used to be a superior neighbourhood once, and the houses are 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 did not 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’s arguments. She’s never been one to sit with her hands crossed all day long 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 money into it or anything like that. It was purely a salaried position—not a high salary, but she didn’t need that, and there was no hard physical work. She’s always been fond of young people and good with them, and having lived in the East so long she understands racial differences and people’s susceptibilities. Because these students at the hostel are of all nationalities; mostly English, but some of them actually black, I believe."

    Naturally, said Hercule Poirot.

    Half the nurses in our hospitals seem to be black nowadays, said Miss Lemon doubtfully, and I understand much pleasanter and more attentive than the English ones. But that’s neither here nor there. We talked the scheme over and finally my sister moved in. Neither she nor I cared very much for the proprietress, Mrs. Nicoletis, a woman of very uncertain temper, sometimes charming and sometimes, I’m sorry to say, quite the reverse—and both cheeseparing and impractical. Still, naturally, if she’d been a thoroughly competent woman, she wouldn’t have needed any assistance. My sister is not one to let people’s tantrums and vagaries worry her. She can hold her own with anyone and she never stands any nonsense.

    Poirot nodded. He felt a vague resemblance to Miss Lemon showing in this account of Miss Lemon’s sister—a Miss Lemon softened as it were by marriage and the climate of Singapore, but a woman with the same hard core of sense.

    So your sister took the job? he asked.

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

    Hercule Poirot listened. So far the adventure of Miss Lemon’s sister had been disappointingly tame.

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

    Why?

    Well, you see, M. Poirot, she doesn’t like the things that are going on.

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

    "Oh no, M. Poirot, I don’t mean that! One is always prepared for difficulties of that kind, one expects them! No, you see, things have been disappearing."

    Disappearing?

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

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

    Yes.

    Have the police been called in?

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

    Yes, said Poirot thoughtfully. I can quite see that. But that does not explain, if I may say so, your own anxiety which I take to be a reflex of your sister’s anxiety.

    I don’t like the situation, M. Poirot. I don’t like it at all. I cannot help feeling that something is going on which I do not understand. No ordinary explanation seems quite to cover the facts—and I really cannot imagine what other explanation there can be.

    Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

    Miss Lemon’s Heel of Achilles had always been her imagination. She had none. On questions of fact she was invincible. On questions of surmise, she was lost. Not for her the state of mind of Cortez’s men upon the peak of Darien.

    Not ordinary petty thieving? A kleptomaniac, perhaps?

    I do not think so. I read up the subject, said the conscientious Miss Lemon, "in the Encyclopaedia Britannica and in a medical work. But I was not convinced."

    Hercule Poirot was silent for a minute and a half.

    Did he wish to embroil himself in the troubles of Miss Lemon’s sister and the passions and grievances of a polyglot hostel? But it was very annoying and inconvenient to have Miss Lemon making mistakes in typing his letters. He told himself that if he were to embroil himself in the matter, that would be the reason. He did not admit to himself that he had been rather bored of late and that the very triviality of the business attracted him.

    ‘The parsley sinking into the butter on a hot day,’ he murmured to himself.

    Parsley? Butter? Miss Lemon looked startled.

    A quotation from one of your classics, he said. You are acquainted, no doubt, with the Adventures, to say nothing of the Exploits, of Sherlock Holmes.

    You mean these Baker Street societies and all that, said Miss Lemon. "Grown men being so silly! But there, that’s men all over. Like the model railways they go on playing with. I can’t say I’ve ever had time to read any of the stories. When I do get time for reading, which isn’t very often, I prefer an improving book."

    Hercule Poirot bowed his head gracefully.

    How would it be, Miss Lemon, if you were to invite your sister here for some suitable refreshment—afternoon tea, perhaps? I might be able to be of some slight assistance to her.

    That’s very kind of you, M. Poirot. Really very kind indeed. My sister is always free in the afternoons.

    Then shall we say tomorrow, if you can arrange it?

    And in due course, the faithful George was instructed to provide a meal of square crumpets richly buttered, symmetrical sandwiches, and other suitable components of a lavish English afternoon tea.

    Chapter Two

    Miss Lemon’s sister, whose name was Mrs. Hubbard, had a definite resemblance to her sister. She was a good deal yellower of skin, she was plumper, her hair was more frivolously done, and she was less brisk in manner, but the eyes that looked out of a round and amiable countenance were the same shrewd eyes that gleamed through Miss Lemon’s pince-nez.

    This is very kind of you, I’m sure, M. Poirot, she said. "Very kind. And such a delicious tea, too. I’m sure I’ve eaten far more than I should—well, perhaps just one more sandwich—tea? Well, just half a cup."

    First, said Poirot, we make the repast—afterwards we get down to business.

    He smiled at her amiably and twirled his moustache, and Mrs. Hubbard said:

    You know, you’re exactly like I pictured you from Felicity’s description.

    After a moment’s startled realisation that Felicity was the severe Miss Lemon’s Christian name, Poirot replied that he should have expected no less given Miss Lemon’s efficiency.

    Of course, said Mrs. Hubbard absently, taking a second sandwich, "Felicity has never cared for people. I do. That’s why I’m so worried."

    Can you explain to me exactly what does worry you?

    Yes, I can. It would be natural enough for money to be taken—small sums here and there. And if it were jewellery that’s quite straightforward too—at least, I don’t mean straightforward, quite the opposite—but it would fit in—with kleptomania or dishonesty. But I’ll just read you a list of the things that have been taken, that I’ve put down on paper.

    Mrs. Hubbard opened her bag and took out a small notebook.

    Evening shoe (one of a new pair)

    Bracelet (costume jewellery)

    Diamond ring (found in plate of soup)

    Powder compact

    Lipstick

    Stethoscope

    Earrings

    Cigarette lighter

    Old flannel trousers

    Electric lightbulbs

    Box of chocolates

    Silk scarf (found cut to pieces)

    Rucksack (ditto)

    Boracic powder

    Bath salts

    Cookery book

    Hercule Poirot drew in a long deep breath.

    Remarkable, he said, and quite—quite fascinating.

    He was entranced. He looked from the severe disapproving face of Miss Lemon to the kindly, distressed face of Mrs. Hubbard.

    I congratulate you, he said warmly to the latter.

    She looked startled.

    But why, M. Poirot?

    I congratulate you on having such a unique and beautiful problem.

    Well, perhaps it makes sense to you, M. Poirot, but—

    It does not make sense at all. It reminds me of nothing so much as a round game I was recently persuaded to play by some young friends during the Christmas season. It was called, I understand, the Three Horned Lady. Each person in turn uttered the following phrase, ‘I went to Paris and bought—’ adding some article. The next person repeated that and added a further article and the object of the game was to memorise in their proper order the articles thus enumerated, some of them, I may say, of a most monstrous and ridiculous nature. A piece of soap, a white elephant, a gate-legged table and a Muscovy duck were, I remember, some of the items. The difficulty of memorisation lay, of course, in the totally unrelated nature of the objects—the lack of sequence, so to speak. As in the list you have just shown me. By the time that, say, twelve objects had been mentioned, to enumerate them in their proper order became almost impossible. A failure to do so resulted in a paper horn being handed to the competitor and he or she had to continue the recitation next time in the terms, ‘I, a one horned lady, went to Paris,’ etc. After three horns had been acquired, retirement was compulsory, the last left in was the winner.

    I’m sure you were the winner, M. Poirot, said Miss Lemon, with the faith of a loyal employee.

    Poirot beamed.

    That was, in fact, so, he said. To even the most haphazard assembly of objects one can bring order, and with a little ingenuity, sequence, so to speak. That is: one says to oneself mentally, ‘With a piece of soap I wash the dirt from a large white marble elephant which stands on a gatelegged table’—and so on.

    Mrs. Hubbard said respectfully: Perhaps you could do the same thing with the list of things I’ve given you.

    "Undoubtedly I could. A lady with her right shoe on, puts a bracelet on her left arm. She then puts on powder and lipstick and goes down to dinner and drops her ring in the soup, and so on—I could thus commit your list to memory—but that is not what we are seeking. Why was such a haphazard collection of things stolen? Is there any system behind it? Some fixed idea of any kind? We have here primarily a process of analysis. The first thing to do is to study the list of objects very carefully."

    There was a silence whilst Poirot applied himself to study. Mrs. Hubbard watched him with the rapt attention of a small boy watching a conjurer, waiting hopefully for a rabbit or at least streams of coloured ribbons to appear. Miss Lemon, unimpressed, withdrew into consideration of the finer points of the system.

    When Poirot finally spoke, Mrs. Hubbard jumped.

    The first thing that strikes me is this, said Poirot. Of all these things that disappeared, most of them were of small value (some quite negligible) with the exception of two—a stethoscope and a diamond ring. Leaving the stethoscope aside for a moment, I should like to concentrate on the ring. You say a valuable ring—how valuable?

    Well, I couldn’t say exactly, M. Poirot. It was a solitaire diamond, with a cluster of small diamonds top and bottom. It had been Miss Lane’s mother’s engagement ring, I understand. She was most upset when it was missing, and we were all relieved when it turned up the same evening in Miss Hobhouse’s plate of soup. Just a nasty practical joke, we thought.

    "And so it may have been. But I myself consider that its theft and return are significant. If a lipstick, or a powder compact or a book are missing—it is not sufficient to make you call in the police. But a valuable diamond ring is different. There is every chance that the police will be called in. So the ring is returned."

    But why take it if you’re going to return it? said Miss Lemon, frowning.

    Why indeed, said Poirot. But for the moment we will leave the questions. I am engaged now on classifying these thefts, and I am taking the ring first. Who is this Miss Lane from whom it was stolen?

    Patricia Lane? She’s a very nice girl. Going in for a what-do-you-call-it, a diploma in history or archaeology or something.

    Well off?

    Oh no. She’s got a little money of her own, but she’s very careful always. The ring, as I say, belonged to her mother. She has one or two nice bits of jewellery but she doesn’t have many new clothes, and she’s given up smoking lately.

    What is she like? Describe her to me in your own words.

    Well, she’s sort of betwixt and between in colouring. Rather washed-out looking. Quiet and ladylike, but not much spirit to her. What you’d call rather a—well, an earnest type of girl.

    And the ring turned up again in Miss Hobhouse’s plate of soup. Who is Miss Hobhouse?

    "Valerie Hobhouse? She’s a clever dark girl with rather a sarcastic way of talking. She works in a beauty parlour. Sabrina

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