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 adventures 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, Mr. Poirot, she doesn't like the things that are going on."
"There are students there of both sexes?" Poirot inquired delicately.
"Oh no, Mr. 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, Mr. 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 Cortes' 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 Encyclopedia 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.
