Prologue.
Hercule Poirot frowned.
"Miss Lemon," he said.
"Yes, Mr. Poirot?"
"I can see that there are three mistakes on this document."
He was disappointed, but more so surprised and confused. For Miss Lemon, his secretary of a woman who was less than a woman and more a functioning machine, never made mistakes. She was one of the few people who could keep up to speed with his line of thinking and processing, not much the intricacies of his mind, but more so the information he spouted. Order and method were practically Poirot's gods, and he specifically chose Miss Lemon for her abilities to do so as well, especially with her filing system.
And yet, here it was this morning, three visible mistakes plastered on her computer laptop, and even for such a simple email to be sent within the hour. He could understand that, but for her to not even notice them? Just what was going on with his secretary?!
Presently, another man came stomping into Miss Lemon's office. It was Poirot's temporary flatmate, Chief Inspector Japp.
"Morning, Poirot," he greeted. "Is something the matter this morning?"
"Yes, Chief Inspector," Poirot replied. "There are three visible mistakes on Miss Lemon's email to be sent, and she had not noticed them in the first place!"
Japp took his growing bewilderment, as he as well never expected Miss Lemon to fumble even once in her line of work.
"Well, you can't fault her for that. These things happen to everyone."
"Not to Hercule Poirot, they do not!"
He threw up his hands in bemusement before storming out of the office past Japp who was standing in the doorway. Taking in intrigue, he waltzed over to the laptop, and sure enough, there were three errors underlined in the dreaded squiggled red.
"Huh," he noted.
Miss Lemon emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea cups. She offered one to Japp, which he accepted.
"Thank you," he smiled, before taking a sip. "Mmm, beautiful cupper, this. Is everything all right this morning?"
"Oh, I suppose you've noticed my little...fumbles," she blushed. Since when dud Miss Lemon blush? "To be honest, I've been preoccupied all morning."
"Preoccupied with what?"
"With my sister, Florence."
Poirot looked over from where he stood, looking down from the window behind his own desk, but still entranced in the conversation. It was one shock after another. After all these years of having Miss Lemon as his secretary, he never conceived the notion that she would have any living family members, or familial affections of any kind for that matter! The whole matter on the whole seemed quite ludicrous.
"Your sister, Miss Lemon?" he repeated, very much incredulous.
"Yes," she nodded, setting down her tea tray onto Poirot's desk. "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."
Poirot nodded.
Chief Inspector Japp chuckled. "Fitting that a sister to a woman such as yourself would marry into that sort of business."
Trust the Chief Inspector and his habit of being overly-obvious, Poirot thought. "I comprehend. Please proceed."
"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 accomplish such an almost impossible task. She truly is remarkable.)
"She is reasonably 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."
She paused and then continued.
"But the truth is, of course, she was lonely."
"I would figure," Japp commented.
Both Miss Lemon and Poirot gave him a venomous look, which he ignored.
"Anyway, she told about six months ago that she was thinking of taking up a job."
"Job?" Poirot asked.
"Warden, I think they call it-or Matron of a Hostel for Students. Her boss is a woman who is part Greek, I believe, who was after someone to run it for her. Manage the catering and all that. I checked it out: it's a old fashioned roomy house-in Hickory Road, if you know where that is-" Poirot did not- "And she was given quite nice accommodations, from what she emailed me about. She took the job, despite my arguments. But, lately her emails sounded like not all was quite right."
"Such as?" Poirot asked.
"I can answer that, actually," Japp responded. "One of the constables on the beat of Hickory Road was called in a few nights ago to investigate a call he received about a string of thefts that have been occurring at that very Hostel."
"Thefts, Chief Inspector?"
"It's quite strange really."
"How strange?"
"What I mean is that the things that were stolen were nothing more than just...quite honestly the most ridiculous things."
"Such as?"
"A shoe, a pencil, a lightbulb, a stethoscope among others, but you see what I mean."
"Oui, Chief Inspector."
He did see what Japp meant. Stuff like a pencil and a lightbulb were the most ridiculous things to be a part of thievery...unless they had some meaning behind them, which they obviously did.
"She's not only confused about the thefts, but also what they mean for the safety of the youths," Miss Lemon continued. "She is fond of these young people-some of them, that is-and she would much prefer to straighten things out by herself; par police involvement."
Poirot's thinking was interrupted by a noise from the street below. He looked out his window and down below to see what was another sight that buzzed his little grey cells: the chanting of the most terrible singing from the American Summer Student Exchange Program.
"Sacre Bleu, is it that time of year already?!" He waved his furiously above his head.
"What's the matter, Poirot?" Japp asked.
"It is nothing more than the little American scamps who have come overseas to taint the serenity of London!"
"I hate to break it to you, old man, but London isn't exactly the kind of place where serenity is concerned."
Poirot looked to the Chief Inspector with much incredulous eyes.
"Why must they always come here, to where my Little Grey Cells can never get a proper rest?!"
"Their just looking for a place to set up lodgings, Mr. Poirot," Miss Lemon spoke up.
"That is what the Hostels of Hickory Road are for!"
Miss Lemon stood in shock, before regaining herself. "Well, if you must know, this year in particular poses a problem for them as the Hostels all around the city are fully booked!"
"Well, what do you propose I am do to about it?"
Miss Lemon tilted her head while a smirk curled on her lips. Poirot never liked that particular look; it always spelt mischievousness.
"How about I put in advertisement out, saying that your apartment is looking to take in a lodger."
Poirot immediately shriveled his face, while Japp shrugged his head.
"Miss Lemon! You will well to know that you are under my employment! I am Hercule Poirot, the Greatest Detective in the world. I do not concern myself with taking in a youthful lodger! It would nothing but impugn my Little Grey Cells from working there tasks!"
"What about me, Poirot?" Japp asked.
"I am letting you stay as a favor, Chief Inspector, but this...this is where I draw the line!"
"Oh, come on! Don't be like that, Poirot! Give it try, maybe one of them will surprise you."
Poirot looked to the Chief Inspector, then to his secretary, while he stood in silence regaining his near-matching composure.
"Miss Lemon," he said. "How would it be, if you were to invite your sister for tea this afternoon, perhaps? Not here, but at a small restaurant down the street? I might be able to acquire a better insight to this mystery."
Miss Lemon smiled a smile that Japp might have mistaken it for giddiness. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Poirot. I'll let her know immediately, she's always free for afternoons."
Miss Lemon scurried back to her office space and began opening up a new email draft, this time much more focused on the errors that were spotted.
Japp looked back to Poirot. "At least think about the Summer Exchange Students," he said. "Not all of them are a bad lot."
Poirot turned back to his window, looking down to the street where the students were walking, calling for a cab, or outright hitchhiking. Some carried simple rucksacks, others simple backpacks, others simple suitcases, and others had a hodgepodge of one and the other or all of them.
Maybe, he thought. Perhaps, one lucky among them might indeed surprise me. Me, the Great Detective Hercule Poirot.