He arrived in time to hear Geronimo say, "The gentleman who came to supper the other night, the gentleman with the moustaches, he is downstairs waiting to see you." "Eh? What?" Mrs. Hubbard sounded abstracted. "Oh, thank you, Geronimo. I'll be down in a minute or two.

"Gentleman with the moustaches, eh," said Sharpe to himself, grinning. "I bet I know who that is." He went downstairs and into the Common Room.

"Hullo, Mr. Poirot," he said. "It's a long time since we met." Poircyt rose without visible discomposure from a kneeling position by the bottom shelf near the fireplace.

"Aha," he said. "But surely-yes, it is Inspector Sharpe, is it not? But you were not formerly in this division?" "Transferred two years ago. Remember that business down at Crays Hill?" "Ah yes. That is a long time ago now. You are still a young man, Inspector" "Getting on, getting on." hiscomand I am an old one. Alas!" Poirot si,eaeahe'd.

"But still active, eh, Mr. Poirot.

Active in certain ways, shall we say?" "Now what do you mean by that?" "I mean that I'd like to know why you came along here the other night to give a andM on criminology to students." Poirot smiled.

"But there is such a simple explanation. Mrs.

Hubhard here is the sister of my much valued secretary, Miss Lemon. So when she asked me-was "When she asked you to look into what had been going on here, you came along. That's it really, isn't it?" "You are quite correct." "But why? That's what I want to know. What was there in it for you?" "To interest me, you mean?" "That's what I mean. Here's a silly kid who's been pinching a few things here and there. Happens all the time. Rather small beer for you, Mr.

Poirot, isn't it?" Poirot shook his head.

"Why not? What isn't simple about it?" "It is not so simple as that." Poirot sat down on a chair. With a slight frown he dusted the knees of his trousers.

"I wish I knew," he said simply.

Sharpe frowned.

"I don't understand," he said.

"No, and I do not understand. The things that were taken" he shook his head. "They did not make a pattern-they did not make sense. It is like seeing a trail of footprints and they are not all made by the same feet. There is, quite clearly, the print of what you have called "a silly kid"-but there is more than that. Other things happened that were meant to fit in with the pattern of Celia Austin-but they did not fit in. They were meaningless, apparently purposeless.

There was evidence, too, of malice. And Celia was not malicious." "She was a kleptomaniac?" "I should very much doubt it." coneaJust an ordinary petty thief, then?" "Not in the way you mean. I give it to you as my opinion that all this pilfering of petty objects was done to attract the attention of a certain young man." 'Colin Mcationabb?" disccallyes. She was desperately in love with Colin Meationabb. Colin never noticed her.