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in a deliberately foreign gesture,
    “My position is delicate. I am a guest here. I have come at the invitation of Mrs. Hubbard - to spend a pleasant evening, that is all. And also, of course, to return a very charming pair of evening shoes to Mademoiselle. For anything further -” he paused.
    “Monsieur - Bateson? yes, Bateson - has asked me to say what I myself think of this - trouble. But it would be an impertinence for me to speak unless I were invited so to do not by one person alone, but by you all.”
    Mr. Akibombo was seen to nod his black curled head in vigorous asseveration.
    “That is very correct procedure, yes,” he said. “True democratic proceeding is to put matter to the voting of all present.”
    The voice of Sally Finch rose impatiently.
    “Oh, shucks,” she said. “This is a kind of party, all friends together. Let's hear what Mr. Poirot advises without any more fuss.”
    “I couldn't agree with you more, Sally,” said Nigel.
    Poirot bowed his head.
    “ Very well,” he said. “Since you all ask me this question, I reply that my advice is quite simple. Mrs. Hubbard - or Mrs. Nicoletis rather - should call in the police at once. No time should be lost.”

Hickory Dickory Dock

Chapter 5
    There was no doubt that Poirot's statement was unexpected. It caused not a ripple of protest or comment, but a sudden and uncomfortable silence.
    Under cover of that momentary paralysis, Poirot was taken by Mrs. Hubbard up to her own sitting, room, with only a quick polite “Good night to you all,” to herald his departure.
    Mrs. Hubbard switched on the light, closed the door, and begged M. Poirot to take the arm chair by the fireplace. Her nice good humored face was puckered with doubt and anxiety. She offered her guest a cigarette, but Poirot refused politely, explaining that he preferred his own. He offered her one, but she refused, saying in an abstracted tone: “I don't smoke, M. Poirot.”
    Then, as she sat down opposite him, she said, after a momentary hesitation:
    “I daresay you're right, Mr. Poirot. Perhaps we should get the police in on this - especially after this malicious ink business. But I rather wish you hadn't said so - right out like that.”
    “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