Hickory Dickory Dock

"Trust our Jean to know all the dirt," said Nigel, approvingly.

"Well, that does explain why she was sometimes so odd in her manner," said Patricia.

Colin cleared his throat again.

"Ah! hem," he said. "Ihappened to observe her going into The Queen's Necklace on Saturday evening, when I was on my way home." "That's where she got tanked up, I suppose," said Nigel.

"I suppose she just died of drink, then?" said Jean.

Len Bateson shook his head.

"Cerebral haemorrhage? I rather doubt it." "For goodness' sake, you don't think she was murdered, too, do you?" said Jean.

"I bet she was," said Sally Finch. "Nothing would surprise me less." "Please," said Mr. Akibombo. "It is thought someone killed her? Is that right?" He looked from face to face.

"We've no reason to suppose anything of the sort yet," said Colin.

"But who would want to kill her?" demanded Genevieve. "Had she much money to leave? If she was rich it is possible, I suppose." "She was a maddening woman, my dear," said Nigel. "I'm sure everybody wccinted to kill her. I often did," he added, helping himself happily to marmalade.

"Please, Miss Sally, may I ask you a question? It is after what was said at breakfast. I have been thinking very much." "Well, I shouldn't think too much if I were you, Akibombo," said Sally. "It isn't healthy." Sally and Akibombo were partaking of an open air lunch in Regent's Park. Summer was officially supposed to have come and the restaurant was open.

"All this morning," said Akibombo mournfully, his have been much disturbed. I cannot answer my professor's questions good at all. He is not pleased at me. He says to me that I copy large bits out of books and do not think for myself. But I am here to acquire wisdom from much books and it seems to me that they say better in the books than the way I put it, because I have not good command of the English. And besides, this morning I find it very hard to think at all except for what goes on at Hickory Road and difficulties there." "I'll say you're right about that," said Sally. "I just couldn't concentrate myself, this morning." "So that is why I ask you please to tell me certain things, because as I say, I have been thinking very much." "Well, let's hear what you've been thinking about, then." "Well, it is this bor-ass-sic." "Bor-ass-sic? Oh, boracic! Yes.

What about it?" "Well, I do not understand very well. It is an acid, they say? An acid like sulphuric acid?" "Not like sulphuric acid, no," said Sally.

"It is not something for laboratory experiment only?" "I shouldn't imagine they ever did any experiments in laboratories with it. It's something quite mild and harmless." "You mean, even, you could put it in your eyes?" "That's right. That's just what one uses it for." "Ah, that explains that then. Mr. Chandra Lal, he have little white bottle with white powder, and he puts powder in hot water and bathes his eyes with it.

He keeps it in bathroom and then it is not there one day and he is very angry. That would be the bor-ac-ic, yes?" "What is all this about boracic?" "I tell you by and by. Please not now. I think some more." "Well, don't go sticking your neck out," said Sally.

"I don't want yours to be the next corpse, Akibombo." "Valerie, do you think you could give me some advice?" "Of course I could give you advice, Jean, though I don't know why anyone ever wants advice. They never take it." "It's really a matter of conscience," said Jean.

"Then I'm the last person you ought to ask. I haven't got any conscience to speak of." "Oh, Valerie, don't say things like that!" "Well, it's quite true," said Valerie. She stubbed out a cigarette as she spoke. "I smuggle clothes in from Paris aDd tell the most frightfullies about their faces to the hideous women who come to the salon. I even travel on buses without paying my fare when I'm hard up. But come on, tell me. What's it all about?" "It's what Nigel said at breakfast. If one knows something about someone else, do you think one ought to tell?" "What an idiotic question! You can't put a thing like that in general terms. What is it you want to tell, or don't want to tell?" "It's about a passport." "A passport?" Valerie sat up, surprised. "Whose passport?" "Nigel's. He's got a false passport." "Nigel?" Valerie sounded disbelieving. "I don't believe it. It seems most improbable." "But he has. And you know, Valerie, I believe there's some question-I think I beard the police saying that Celia had said something about a passport. Supposing she'd found out about it and he killed her?" "Sounds very melodramatic," said Valerie.

"But frankly, I don't believe a word of it.

What is this story about a passport?" "I saw it." "How did you see it?" "Well, it was absolutely an accident," said Jean. "I was looking for something in my despatch case a week or two ago, and by mistake I must have looked in Nigel's attache case instead. They were both on the shelf in the Common Room." Valerie laughed rather disagreeably.