Agatha Christie

Cat Among the Pigeons

A Hercule Poirot Mystery

Prologue

SUMMER TERM

I

It was the opening day of the summer term at Meadowbank school. The late afternoon sun shone down on the broad gravel sweep in front of the house. The front door was flung hospitably wide, and just within it, admirably suited to its Georgian proportions, stood Miss Vansittart, every hair in place, wearing an impeccably cut coat and skirt.

Some parents who knew no better had taken her for the great Miss Bulstrode herself, not knowing that it was Miss Bulstrodeâs custom to retire to a kind of holy of holies to which only a selected and privileged few were taken.

To one side of Miss Vansittart, operating on a slightly different plane, was Miss Chadwick, comfortable, knowledgeable, and so much a part of Meadowbank that it would have been impossible to imagine Meadowbank without her. It had never been without her. Miss Bulstrode and Miss Chadwick had started Meadowbank school together. Miss Chadwick wore pince-nez, stooped, was dowdily dressed, amiably vague in speech, and happened to be a brilliant mathematician.

Various welcoming words and phrases, uttered graciously by Miss Vansittart, floated through the house.

âHow do you do, Mrs. Arnold? Well, Lydia, did you enjoy your Hellenic cruise? What a wonderful opportunity! Did you get some good photographs?

âYes, Lady Garnett, Miss Bulstrode had your letter about the Art Classes and everythingâs been arranged.

âHow are you, Mrs. Bird? â¦ Well? I donât think Miss Bulstrode will have time today to discuss the point. Miss Rowan is somewhere about if youâd like to talk to her about it?

âWeâve moved your bedroom, Pamela. Youâre in the far wing by the apple treeâ¦.

âYes, indeed, Lady Violet, the weather has been terrible so far this spring. Is this your youngest? What is your name? Hector? What a nice aeroplane you have, Hector.

âTrÃ¨s heureuse de vous voir, Madame. Ah, je regrette, ce ne serait pas possible, cette aprÃ¨s-midi. Mademoiselle Bulstrode est tellement occupÃ©e.

âGood afternoon, Professor. Have you been digging up some more interesting things?â

II

In a small room on the first floor, Ann Shapland, Miss Bulstrodeâs secretary, was typing with speed and efficiency. Ann was a nice-looking young woman of thirty-five, with hair that fitted her like a black satin cap. She could be attractive when she wanted to be but life had taught her that efficiency and competence often paid better results and avoided painful complications. At the moment she was concentrating on being everything that a secretary to the headmistress of a famous girlsâ school should be.

From time to time, as she inserted a fresh sheet in her machine, she looked out of the window and registered interest in the arrivals.

âGoodness!â said Ann to herself, awed, âI didnât know there were so many chauffeurs left in England!â

Then she smiled in spite of herself, as a majestic Rolls moved away and a very small Austin of battered age drove up. A harassed-looking father emerged from it with a daughter who looked far calmer than he did.

As he paused uncertainly, Miss Vansittart emerged from the house and took charge.

âMajor Hargreaves? And this is Alison? Do come into the house. Iâd like you to see Alisonâs room for yourself. Iââ

Ann grinned and began to type again.

âGood old Vansittart, the glorified understudy,â she said to herself. âShe can copy all the Bulstrodeâs tricks. In fact sheâs word perfect!â

An enormous and almost incredibly opulent Cadillac, painted in two tones, raspberry fool and azure blue, swept (with difficulty owing to its length) into the drive and drew up behind Major the Hon. Alistair Hargreavesâ ancient Austin.

The chauffeur sprang to open the door, an immense bearded, dark-skinned man, wearing a flowing aba, stepped out, a Parisian fashion plate followed and then a slim dark girl.

Thatâs probably Princess Whatshername herself, thought Ann. Canât imagine her in school uniform, but I suppose the miracle will be apparent tomorrowâ¦.

Both Miss Vansittart and Miss Chadwick appeared on this occasion.

âTheyâll be taken to the Presence,â decided Ann.

Then she thought that, strangely enough, one didnât quite like making jokes about Miss Bulstrode. Miss Bulstrode was Someone.

âSo youâd better mind your P.s and Q.s, my girl,â she said to herself, âand finish these letters without making any mistakes.â

Not that Ann was in the habit of making mistakes. She could take her pick of secretarial posts. She had been P.A. to the chief executive of an oil company, private secretary to Sir Mervyn Todhunter, renowned alike for his erudition, his irritability and the illegibility of his handwriting. She numbered two Cabinet Ministers and an important Civil Servant among her employers. But on the whole, her work had always lain amongst men. She wondered how she was going to like being, as she put it herself, completely submerged in women. Wellâit was all experience! And there was always Dennis! Faithful Dennis returning from Malaya, from Burma, from various parts of the world, always the same, devoted, asking her once again to marry him. Dear Dennis! But it would be very dull to be married to Dennis.

She would miss the company of men in the near future. All these schoolmistressy charactersânot a man about the place, except a gardener of about eighty.

But here Ann got a surprise. Looking out of the window, she saw there was a man clipping the hedge just beyond the driveâclearly a gardener but a long way from eighty. Young, dark, good-looking. Ann wondered about himâthere had been some talk of getting extra labourâbut this was no yokel. Oh well, nowadays people did every kind of job. Some young man trying to get together some money for some project or other, or indeed just to keep body and soul together. But he was cutting the hedge in a very expert manner. Presumably he was a real gardener after all!

âHe looks,â said Ann to herself, âhe looks as though he might be amusingâ¦.â

Only one more letter to do, she was pleased to note, and then she might stroll round the gardenâ¦.

III

Upstairs, Miss Johnson, the matron, was busy allotting rooms, welcoming newcomers, and greeting old pupils.

She was pleased it was term time again. She never knew quite what to do with herself in the holidays. She had two married sisters with whom she stayed in turn, but they were naturally more interested in their own doings and families than in Meadowbank. Miss Johnson, though dutifully fond of her sisters, was really only interested in Meadowbank.

Yes, it was nice that term had startedâ

âMiss Johnson?â

âYes, Pamela.â

âI say, Miss Johnson. I think somethingâs broken in my case. Itâs oozed all over things. I think itâs hair oil.â

âChut, chut!â said Miss Johnson, hurrying to help.

IV

On the grass sweep of lawn beyond the gravelled drive, Mademoiselle Blanche, the new French mistress, was walking. She looked with appreciative eyes at the powerful young man clipping the hedge.

âAssez bien,â thought Mademoiselle Blanche.

Mademoiselle Blanche was slender and mouselike and not very noticeable, but she herself noticed everything.

Her eyes went to the procession of cars sweeping up to the front door. She assessed them in terms of money. This Meadowbank was certainly formidable! She summed up mentally the profits that Miss Bulstrode must be making.

Yes, indeed! Formidable!

V

Miss Rich, who taught English and Geography, advanced towards the house at a rapid pace, stumbling a little now and then because, as usual, she forgot to look where she was going. Her hair, also as usual, had escaped from its bun. She had an eager ugly face.

She was saying to herself:

âTo be back again! To be here â¦ It seems years â¦ â She fell over a rake, and the young gardener put out an arm and said:

âSteady, miss.â

Eileen Rich said âThank you,â without looking at him.

VI

Miss Rowan and Miss Blake, the two junior mistresses, were strolling towards the Sports Pavilion. Miss Rowan was thin and dark and intense, Miss Blake was plump and fair. They were discussing with animation their recent adventures in Florence: the pictures they had seen, the sculpture, the fruit blossom, and the attentions (hoped to be dishonourable) of two young Italian gentlemen.

âOf course one knows,â said Miss Blake, âhow Italians go on.â

âUninhibited,â said Miss Rowan, who had studied Psychology as well as Economics. âThoroughly healthy, one feels. No repressions.â

âBut Guiseppe was quite impressed when he found I taught at Meadowbank,â said Miss Blake. âHe became much more respectful at once. He has a cousin who wants to come here, but Miss Bulstrode was not sure she had a vacancy.â

âMeadowbank is a school that really counts,â said Miss Rowan, happily. âReally, the new Sports Pavilion looks most impressive. I never thought it would be ready in time.â

âMiss Bulstrode said it had to be,â said Miss Blake in the tone of one who has said the last word.

âOh,â she added in a startled kind of way.

The door of the Sports Pavilion had opened abruptly, and a bony young woman with ginger-coloured hair emerged. She gave them a sharp unfriendly stare and moved rapidly away.

âThat must be the new Games Mistress,â said Miss Blake. âHow uncouth!â

âNot a very pleasant addition to the staff,â said Miss Rowan. âMiss Jones was always so friendly and sociable.â

âShe absolutely glared at us,â said Miss Blake resentfully.

They both felt quite ruffled.

VII

Miss Bulstrodeâs sitting room had windows looking out in two directions, one over the drive and lawn beyond, and another towards a bank of rhododendrons behind the house. It was quite an impressive room, and Miss Bulstrode was rather more than quite an impressive woman. She was tall, and rather noble looking, with well-dressed grey hair, grey eyes with plenty of humour in them, and a firm mouth. The success of her school (and Meadowbank was one of the most successful schools in England) was entirely due to the personality of its Headmistress. It was a very expensive school, but that was not really the point. It could be put better by saying that though you paid through the nose, you got what you paid for.

Your daughter was educated in the way you wished, and also in the way Miss Bulstrode wished, and the result of the two together seemed to give satisfaction. Owing to the high fees, Miss Bulstrode was able to employ a full staff. There was nothing mass produced about the school, but if it was individualistic, it also had discipline. Discipline without regimentation, was Miss Bulstrodeâs motto. Discipline, she held, was reassuring to the young, it gave them a feeling of security; regimentation gave rise to irritation. Her pupils were a varied lot. They included several foreigners of good family, often foreign royalty. There were also English girls of good family or of wealth, who wanted a training in culture and the arts, with a general knowledge of life and social facility who would be turned out agreeable, well groomed and able to take part in intelligent discussion on any subject. There were girls who wanted to work hard and pass entrance examinations, and eventually take degrees and who, to do so, needed only good teaching and special attention. There were girls who had reacted unfavourably to school life of the conventional type. But Miss Bulstrode had her rules, she did not accept morons, or juvenile delinquents, and she preferred to accept girls whose parents she liked, and girls in whom she herself saw a prospect of development. The ages of her pupils varied within wide limits. There were girls who would have been labelled in the past as âfinished,â and there were girls little more than children, some of them with parents abroad, and for whom Miss Bulstrode had a scheme of interesting holidays. The last and final court of appeal was Miss Bulstrodeâs own approval.

She was standing now by the chimneypiece listening to Mrs. Gerald Hopeâs slightly whining voice. With great foresight, she had not suggested that Mrs. Hope should sit down.

âHenrietta, you see, is very highly strung. Very highly strung indeed. Our doctor saysââ

Miss Bulstrode nodded, with gentle reassurance, refraining from the caustic phrase she sometimes was tempted to utter.

âDonât you know, you idiot, that that is what every fool of a woman says about her child?â

She spoke with firm sympathy.

âYou need have no anxiety, Mrs. Hope. Miss Rowan, a member of our staff, is a fully trained psychologist. Youâll be surprised, Iâm sure, at the change youâll find in Henriettaâ (Whoâs a nice intelligent child, and far too good for you) âafter a term or two here.â

âOh I know. You did wonders with the Lambeth childâabsolutely wonders! So I am quite happy. And Iâoh yes, I forgot. Weâre going to the South of France in six weeksâ time. I thought Iâd take Henrietta. It would make a little break for her.â

âIâm afraid thatâs quite impossible,â said Miss Bulstrode, briskly and with a charming smile, as though she were granting a request instead of refusing one.

âOh! butââ Mrs. Hopeâs weak petulant face wavered, showed temper. âReally, I must insist. After all, sheâs my child.â

âExactly. But itâs my school,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âSurely I can take the child away from a school anytime I like?â

âOh yes,â said Miss Bulstrode. âYou can. Of course you can. But then, I wouldnât have her back.â

Mrs. Hope was in a real temper now.

âConsidering the size of the fees I pay hereââ

âExactly,â said Miss Bulstrode. âYou wanted my school for your daughter, didnât you? But itâs take it as it is, or leave it. Like that very charming Balenciaga model you are wearing. It is Balenciaga, isnât it? It is so delightful to meet a woman with real clothes sense.â

Her hand enveloped Mrs. Hopeâs, shook it, and imperceptibly guided her towards the door.

âDonât worry at all. Ah, here is Henrietta waiting for you.â (She looked with approval at Henrietta, a nice well-balanced intelligent child if ever there was one, and who deserved a better mother.) âMargaret, take Henrietta Hope to Miss Johnson.â

Miss Bulstrode retired into her sitting room and a few moments later was talking French.

âBut certainly, Excellence, your niece can study modern ballroom dancing. Most important socially. And languages, also, are most necessary.â

The next arrivals were prefaced by such a gust of expensive perfume as almost to knock Miss Bulstrode backwards.

âMust pour a whole bottle of the stuff over herself every day,â Miss Bulstrode noted mentally, as she greeted the exquisitely dressed dark-skinned woman.

âEnchantÃ©e, Madame.â

Madame giggled very prettily.

The big bearded man in Oriental dress took Miss Bulstrodeâs hand, bowed over it, and said in very good English, âI have the honour to bring to you the Princess Shaista.â

Miss Bulstrode knew all about her new pupil who had just come from a school in Switzerland, but was a little hazy as to who it was escorting her. Not the Emir himself, she decided, probably the Minister, or ChargÃ© dâAffaires. As usual when in doubt, she used that useful title Excellence, and assured him that Princess Shaista would have the best of care.

Shaista was smiling politely. She was also fashionably dressed and perfumed. Her age, Miss Bulstrode knew, was fifteen, but like many Eastern and Mediterranean girls, she looked olderâquite mature. Miss Bulstrode spoke to her about her projected studies and was relieved to find that she answered promptly in excellent English and without giggling. In fact, her manners compared favourably with the awkward ones of many English school girls of fifteen. Miss Bulstrode had often thought that it might be an excellent plan to send English girls abroad to the Near Eastern countries to learn courtesy and manners there. More compliments were uttered on both sides and then the room was empty again though still filled with such heavy perfume that Miss Bulstrode opened both windows to their full extent to let some of it out.

The next comers were Mrs. Upjohn and her daughter Julia.

Mrs. Upjohn was an agreeable young woman in the late thirties with sandy hair, freckles and an unbecoming hat which was clearly a concession to the seriousness of the occasion, since she was obviously the type of young woman who usually went hatless.

Julia was a plain freckled child, with an intelligent forehead, and an air of good humour.

The preliminaries were quickly gone through and Julia was despatched via Margaret to Miss Johnson, saying cheerfully as she went, âSo long, Mum. Do be careful lighting that gas heater now that Iâm not there to do it.â

Miss Bulstrode turned smilingly to Mrs. Upjohn, but did not ask her to sit. It was possible that, despite Juliaâs appearance of cheerful common sense, her mother, too, might want to explain that her daughter was highly strung.

âIs there anything special you want to tell me about Julia?â she asked.

Mrs. Upjohn replied cheerfully:

âOh no, I donât think so. Juliaâs a very ordinary sort of child. Quite healthy and all that. I think sheâs got reasonably good brains, too, but I daresay mothers usually think that about their children, donât they?â

âMothers,â said Miss Bulstrode grimly, âvary!â

âItâs wonderful for her to be able to come here,â said Mrs. Upjohn. âMy auntâs paying for it, really, or helping. I couldnât afford it myself. But Iâm awfully pleased about it. And so is Julia.â She moved to the window as she said enviously, âHow lovely your garden is. And so tidy. You must have lots of real gardeners.â

âWe had three,â said Miss Bulstrode, âbut just now weâre shorthanded except for local labour.â

âOf course the trouble nowadays,â said Mrs. Upjohn, âis that what one calls a gardener usually isnât a gardener, just a milkman who wants to do something in his spare time, or an old man of eighty. I sometimes thinkâWhy!â exclaimed Mrs. Upjohn, still gazing out of the windowââhow extraordinary!â

Miss Bulstrode paid less attention to this sudden exclamation than she should have done. For at that moment she herself had glanced casually out of the other window which gave on to the rhododendron shrubbery, and had perceived a highly unwelcome sight, none other than Lady Veronica Carlton-Sandways, weaving her way along the path, her large black velvet hat on one side, muttering to herself and clearly in a state of advanced intoxication.

Lady Veronica was not an unknown hazard. She was a charming woman, deeply attached to her twin daughters, and very delightful when she was, as they put it, herselfâbut unfortunately at unpredictable intervals, she was not herself. Her husband, Major Carlton-Sandways, coped fairly well. A cousin lived with them, who was usually at hand to keep an eye on Lady Veronica and head her off if necessary. On Sports Day, with both Major Carlton-Sandways and the cousin in close attendance, Lady Veronica arrived completely sober and beautifully dressed and was a pattern of what a mother should be.

But there were times when Lady Veronica gave her well-wishers the slip, tanked herself up and made a beeline for her daughters to assure them of her maternal love. The twins had arrived by train early today, but no one had expected Lady Veronica.

Mrs. Upjohn was still talking. But Miss Bulstrode was not listening. She was reviewing various courses of action, for she recognized that Lady Veronica was fast approaching the truculent stage. But suddenly, an answer to prayer, Miss Chadwick appeared at a brisk trot, slightly out of breath. Faithful Chaddy, thought Miss Bulstrode. Always to be relied upon, whether it was a severed artery or an intoxicated parent.

âDisgraceful,â said Lady Veronica to her loudly. âTried to keep me awayâdidnât want me to come down hereâI fooled Edith all right. Went to have my restâgot out carâgave silly old Edith slip â¦ regular old maid â¦ no man would ever look at her twice â¦ Had a row with police on the way â¦ said I was unfit to drive car â¦ nonshense â¦ Going to tell Miss Bulstrode Iâm taking the girls homeâwant âem home, mother love. Wonderful thing, mother loveââ

âSplendid, Lady Veronica,â said Miss Chadwick. âWeâre so pleased youâve come. I particularly want you to see the new Sports Pavilion. Youâll love it.â

Adroitly she turned Lady Veronicaâs unsteady footsteps in the opposite direction, leading her away from the house.

âI expect weâll find your girls there,â she said brightly. âSuch a nice Sports Pavilion, new lockers, and a drying room for the swim suitsââ their voices trailed away.

Miss Bulstrode watched. Once Lady Veronica tried to break away and return to the house, but Miss Chadwick was a match for her. They disappeared round the corner of the rhododendrons, headed for the distant loneliness of the new Sports Pavilion.

Miss Bulstrode heaved a sigh of relief. Excellent Chaddy. So reliable! Not modern. Not brainyâapart from mathematicsâbut always a present help in time of trouble.

She turned with a sigh and a sense of guilt to Mrs. Upjohn who had been talking happily for some timeâ¦.

â â¦ though, of course,â she was saying, ânever real cloak and dagger stuff. Not dropping by parachute, or sabotage, or being a courier. I shouldnât have been brave enough. It was mostly dull stuff. Office work. And plotting. Plotting things on a map, I meanânot the story telling kind of plotting. But of course it was exciting sometimes and it was often quite funny, as I just saidâall the secret agents followed each other round and round Geneva, all knowing each other by sight, and often ending up in the same bar. I wasnât married then, of course. It was all great fun.â

She stopped abruptly with an apologetic and friendly smile.

âIâm sorry Iâve been talking so much. Taking up your time. When youâve got such lots of people to see.â

She held out a hand, said good-bye and departed.

Miss Bulstrode stood frowning for a moment. Some instinct warned her that she had missed something that might be important.

She brushed the feeling aside. This was the opening day of summer term, and she had many more parents to see. Never had her school been more popular, more assured of success. Meadowbank was at its zenith.

There was nothing to tell her that within a few weeks Meadowbank would be plunged into a sea of trouble; that disorder, confusion and murder would reign there, that already certain events had been set in motionâ¦.

One

REVOLUTION IN RAMAT

About two months earlier than the first day of the summer term at Meadowbank, certain events had taken place which were to have unexpected repercussions in that celebrated girlsâ school.

In the Palace of Ramat, two young men sat smoking and considering the immediate future. One young man was dark, with a smooth olive face and large melancholy eyes. He was Prince Ali Yusuf, Hereditary Sheikh of Ramat, which, though small, was one of the richest states in the Middle East. The other young man was sandy haired and freckled and more or less penniless, except for the handsome salary he drew as private pilot to His Highness Prince Ali Yusuf. In spite of this difference in status, they were on terms of perfect equality. They had been at the same public school and had been friends then and ever since.

âThey shot at us, Bob,â said Prince Ali almost incredulously.

âThey shot at us all right,â said Bob Rawlinson.

âAnd they meant it. They meant to bring us down.â

âThe bastards meant it all right,â said Bob grimly.

Ali considered for a moment.

âIt would hardly be worthwhile trying again?â

âWe mightnât be so lucky this time. The truth is, Ali, weâve left things too late. You should have got out two weeks ago. I told you so.â

âOne doesnât like to run away,â said the ruler of Ramat.

âI see your point. But remember what Shakespeare or one of these poetical fellows said about those who run away living to fight another day.â

âTo think,â said the young Prince with feeling, âof the money that has gone into making this a Welfare State. Hospitals, schools, a Health Serviceââ

Bob Rawlinson interrupted the catalogue.

âCouldnât the Embassy do something?â

Ali Yusuf flushed angrily.

âTake refuge in your Embassy? That, never. The extremists would probably storm the placeâthey wouldnât respect diplomatic immunity. Besides, if I did that, it really would be the end! Already the chief accusation against me is of being pro-Western.â He sighed. âIt is so difficult to understand.â He sounded wistful, younger than his twenty-five years. âMy grandfather was a cruel man, a real tyrant. He had hundreds of slaves and treated them ruthlessly. In his tribal wars, he killed his enemies unmercifully and executed them horribly. The mere whisper of his name made everyone turn pale. And yetâhe is a legend still! Admired! Respected! The great Achmed Abdullah! And I? What have I done? Built hospitals and schools, welfare, housing â¦ all the things people are said to want. Donât they want them? Would they prefer a reign of terror like my grandfatherâs?â

âI expect so,â said Bob Rawlinson. âSeems a bit unfair, but there it is.â

âBut why, Bob? Why?â

Bob Rawlinson sighed, wriggled and endeavoured to explain what he felt. He had to struggle with his own inarticulateness.

âWell,â he said. âHe put up a showâI suppose thatâs it really. He wasâsort ofâdramatic, if you know what I mean.â

He looked at his friend who was definitely not dramatic. A nice quiet decent chap, sincere and perplexed, that was what Ali was, and Bob liked him for it. He was neither picturesque nor violent, but whilst in England people who are picturesque and violent cause embarrassment and are not much liked, in the Middle East, Bob was fairly sure, it was different.

âBut democracyââ began Ali.

âOh, democracyââ Bob waved his pipe. âThatâs a word that means different things everywhere. One thingâs certain. It never means what the Greeks originally meant by it. I bet you anything you like that if they boot you out of here, some spouting hot air merchant will take over, yelling his own praises, building himself up into God Almighty, and stringing up, or cutting off the heads of anyone who dares to disagree with him in any way. And, mark you, heâll say itâs a Democratic Governmentâof the people and for the people. I expect the people will like it too. Exciting for them. Lots of bloodshed.â

âBut we are not savages! We are civilized nowadays.â

âThere are different kinds of civilization â¦ â said Bob vaguely. âBesidesâI rather think weâve all got a bit of savage in usâif we can think up a good excuse for letting it rip.â

âPerhaps you are right,â said Ali sombrely.

âThe thing people donât seem to want anywhere, nowadays,â said Bob, âis anyone whoâs got a bit of common sense. Iâve never been a brainy chapâwell, you know that well enough, Aliâbut I often think that thatâs what the world really needsâjust a bit of common sense.â He laid aside his pipe and sat in his chair. âBut never mind all that. The thing is how weâre going to get you out of here. Is there anybody in the Army you can really trust?â

Slowly, Prince Ali Yusuf shook his head.

âA fortnight ago, I should have said âYes.â But now, I do not know â¦ cannot be sureââ

Bob nodded. âThatâs the hell of it. As for this palace of yours, it gives me the creeps.â

Ali acquiesced without emotion.

âYes, there are spies everywhere in palaces â¦ They hear everythingâtheyâknow everything.â

âEven down in the hangarsââ Bob broke off. âOld Achmedâs all right. Heâs got a kind of sixth sense. Found one of the mechanics trying to tamper with the planeâone of the men weâd have sworn was absolutely trustworthy. Look here, Ali, if weâre going to have a shot at getting you away, it will have to be soon.â

âI knowâI know. I thinkâI am quite certain nowâthat if I stay I shall be killed.â

He spoke without emotion, or any kind of panic: with a mild detached interest.

âWeâll stand a good chance of being killed anyway,â Bob warned him. âWeâll have to fly out north, you know. They canât intercept us that way. But it means going over the mountainsâand at this time of yearââ

He shrugged his shoulders. âYouâve got to understand. Itâs damned risky.â

Ali Yusuf looked distressed.

âIf anything happened to you, Bobââ

âDonât worry about me, Ali. Thatâs not what I meant. Iâm not important. And anyway, Iâm the sort of chap thatâs sure to get killed sooner or later. Iâm always doing crazy things. Noâitâs youâI donât want to persuade you one way or the other. If a portion of the Army is loyalââ

âI donât like the idea of running away,â said Ali simply. âBut I do not in the least want to be a martyr, and be cut to pieces by a mob.â

He was silent for a moment or two.

âVery well then,â he said at last with a sigh. âWe will make the attempt. When?â

Bob shrugged his shoulders.

âSooner the better. Weâve got to get you to the airstrip in some natural way â¦ How about saying youâre going to inspect the new road construction out at Al Jasar? Sudden whim. Go this afternoon. Then, as your car passes the airstrip, stop thereâIâll have the bus all ready and tuned up. The idea will be to go up to inspect the road construction from the air, see? We take off and go! We canât take any baggage, of course. Itâs got to be all quite impromptu.â

âThere is nothing I wish to take with meâexcept one thingââ

He smiled, and suddenly the smile altered his face and made a different person of him. He was no longer the modern conscientious Westernized young manâthe smile held all the racial guile and craft which had enabled a long line of his ancestors to survive.

âYou are my friend, Bob, you shall see.â

His hand went inside his shirt and fumbled. Then he held out a little chamois leather bag.

âThis?â Bob frowned and looked puzzled.

Ali took it from him, untied the neck, and poured the contents on the table.

Bob held his breath for a moment and then expelled it in a soft whistle.

âGood lord. Are they real?â

Ali looked amused.

âOf course they are real. Most of them belonged to my father. He acquired new ones every year. I, too. They have come from many places, bought for our family by men we can trustâfrom London, from Calcutta, from South Africa. It is a tradition of our family. To have these in case of need.â He added in a matter-of-fact voice: âThey are worth, at todayâs prices, about three-quarters of a million.â

âThree-quarters of a million pounds.â Bob let out a whistle, picked up the stones, let them run through his fingers. âItâs fantastic. Like a fairy tale. It does things to you.â

âYes.â The dark young man nodded. Again that age-long weary look was on his face. âMen are not the same when it comes to jewels. There is always a trail of violence to follow such things. Deaths, bloodshed, murder. And women are the worst. For with women it will not only be the value. It is something to do with the jewels themselves. Beautiful jewels drive women mad. They want to own them. To wear them round their throats, on their bosoms. I would not trust any woman with these. But I shall trust you.â

âMe?â Bob stared.

âYes. I do not want these stones to fall into the hands of my enemies. I do not know when the rising against me will take place. It may be planned for today. I may not live to reach the airstrip this afternoon. Take the stones and do the best you can.â

âBut look hereâI donât understand. What am I to do with them?â

âArrange somehow to get them out of the country.â

Ali stared placidly at his perturbed friend.

âYou mean, you want me to carry them instead of you?â

âYou can put it that way. But I think, really, you will be able to think of some better plan to get them to Europe.â

âBut look here, Ali, I havenât the first idea how to set about such a thing.â

Ali leaned back in his chair. He was smiling in a quietly amused manner.

âYou have common sense. And you are honest. And I remember, from the days when you were my fag, that you could always think up some ingenious idea â¦ I will give you the name and address of a man who deals with such matters for meâthat isâin case I should not survive. Do not look so worried, Bob. Do the best you can. That is all I ask. I shall not blame you if you fail. It is as Allah wills. For me, it is simple. I do not want those stones taken from my dead body. For the restââ he shrugged his shoulders. âIt is as I have said. All will go as Allah wills.â

âYouâre nuts!â

âNo. I am a fatalist, that is all.â

âBut look here, Ali. You said just now I was honest. But three-quarters of a million â¦ Donât you think that might sap any manâs honesty?â

Ali Yusuf looked at his friend with affection.

âStrangely enough,â he said, âI have no doubt on that score.â

Two

THE WOMAN ON THE BALCONY

I

As Bob Rawlinson walked along the echoing marble corridors of the Palace, he had never felt so unhappy in his life. The knowledge that he was carrying three-quarters of a million pounds in his trousers pocket caused him acute misery. He felt as though every Palace official he encountered must know the fact. He felt even that the knowledge of his precious burden must show in his face. He would have been relieved to learn that his freckled countenance bore exactly its usual expression of cheerful good nature.

The sentries outside presented arms with a clash. Bob walked down the main crowded street of Ramat, his mind still dazed. Where was he going? What was he planning to do? He had no idea. And time was short.

The main street was like most main streets in the Middle East. It was a mixture of squalor and magnificence. Banks reared their vast newly built magnificence. Innumerable small shops presented a collection of cheap plastic goods. Babiesâ bootees and cheap cigarette lighters were displayed in unlikely juxtaposition. There were sewing machines, and spare parts for cars. Pharmacies displayed flyblown proprietary medicines, and large notices of penicillin in every form and antibiotics galore. In very few of the shops was there anything that you could normally want to buy, except possibly the latest Swiss watches, hundreds of which were displayed crowded into a tiny window. The assortment was so great that even there one would have shrunk from purchase, dazzled by sheer mass.

Bob, still walking in a kind of stupor, jostled by figures in native or European dress, pulled himself together and asked himself again where the hell he was going?

He turned into a native cafÃ© and ordered lemon tea. As he sipped it, he began, slowly, to come to. The atmosphere of the cafÃ© was soothing. At a table opposite him an elderly Arab was peacefully clicking through a string of amber beads. Behind him two men played tric trac. It was a good place to sit and think.

And heâd got to think. Jewels worth three-quarters of a million had been handed to him, and it was up to him to devise some plan of getting them out of the country. No time to lose either. At any minute the balloon might go upâ¦.

Ali was crazy, of course. Tossing three-quarters of a million lightheartedly to a friend in that way. And then sitting back quietly himself and leaving everything to Allah. Bob had not got that recourse. Bobâs God expected his servants to decide on and perform their own actions to the best of the ability their God had given them.

What the hell was he going to do with those damned stones?

He thought of the Embassy. No, he couldnât involve the Embassy. The Embassy would almost certainly refuse to be involved.

What he needed was some person, some perfectly ordinary person who was leaving the country in some perfectly ordinary way. A business man, or a tourist would be best. Someone with no political connections whose baggage would, at most, be subjected to a superficial search or more probably no search at all. There was, of course, the other end to be considered â¦ Sensation at London Airport. Attempt to smuggle in jewels worth three-quarters of a million. And so on and so on. One would have to risk thatâ

Somebody ordinaryâa bona fide traveller. And suddenly Bob kicked himself for a fool. Joan, of course. His sister Joan Sutcliffe. Joan had been out here for two months with her daughter Jennifer who after a bad bout of pneumonia had been ordered sunshine and a dry climate. They were going back by âlong seaâ in four or five daysâ time.

Joan was the ideal person. What was it Ali had said about women and jewels? Bob smiled to himself. Good old Joan! She wouldnât lose her head over jewels. Trust her to keep her feet on the earth. Yesâhe could trust Joan.

Wait a minute, though â¦ could he trust Joan? Her honesty, yes. But her discretion? Regretfully Bob shook his head. Joan would talk, would not be able to help talking. Even worse. She would hint. âIâm taking home something very important, I mustnât say a word to anyone. Itâs really rather excitingâ¦.â

Joan had never been able to keep a thing to herself though she was always very incensed if one told her so. Joan, then, mustnât know what she was taking. It would be safer for her that way. Heâd make the stones up into a parcel, an innocent-looking parcel. Tell her some story. A present for someone? A commission? Heâd think of somethingâ¦.

Bob glanced at his watch and rose to his feet. Time was getting on.

He strode along the street oblivious of the midday heat. Everything seemed so normal. There was nothing to show on the surface. Only in the Palace was one conscious of the banked-down fires, of the spying, the whispers. The Armyâit all depended on the Army. Who was loyal? Who was disloyal? A coup dâÃ©tat would certainly be attempted. Would it succeed or fail?

Bob frowned as he turned into Ramatâs leading hotel. It was modestly called the Ritz Savoy and had a grand modernistic faÃ§ade. It had opened with a flourish three years ago with a Swiss manager, a Viennese chef, and an Italian MÃ¢itre dâhÃ´tel. Everything had been wonderful. The Viennese chef had gone first, then the Swiss manager. Now the Italian head waiter had gone too. The food was still ambitious, but bad, the service abominable, and a good deal of the expensive plumbing had gone wrong.

The clerk behind the desk knew Bob well and beamed at him.

âGood morning, Squadron Leader. You want your sister? She has gone on a picnic with the little girlââ

âA picnic?â Bob was taken abackâof all the silly times to go for a picnic.

âWith Mr. and Mrs. Hurst from the Oil Company,â said the clerk informatively. Everyone always knew everything. âThey have gone to the Kalat Diwa dam.â

Bob swore under his breath. Joan wouldnât be home for hours.

âIâll go up to her room,â he said and held out his hand for the key which the clerk gave him.

He unlocked the door and went in. The room, a large double-bedded one, was in its usual confusion. Joan Sutcliffe was not a tidy woman. Golf clubs lay across a chair, tennis racquets had been flung on the bed. Clothing lay about, the table was littered with rolls of film, postcards, paperbacked books and an assortment of native curios from the South, mostly made in Birmingham and Japan.

Bob looked round him, at the suitcases and the zip bags. He was faced with a problem. He wouldnât be able to see Joan before flying Ali out. There wouldnât be time to get to the dam and back. He could parcel up the stuff and leave it with a noteâbut almost immediately he shook his head. He knew quite well that he was nearly always followed. Heâd probably been followed from the Palace to the cafÃ© and from the cafÃ© here. He hadnât spotted anyoneâbut he knew that they were good at the job. There was nothing suspicious in his coming to the hotel to see his sisterâbut if he left a parcel and a note, the note would be read and the parcel opened.

Time â¦ time â¦ Heâd no timeâ¦.

Three-quarters of a million in precious stones in his trousers pocket.

He looked round the roomâ¦.

Then, with a grin, he fished out from his pocket the little tool kit he always carried. His niece Jennifer had some plasticine, he noted, that would help.

He worked quickly and skilfully. Once he looked up, suspicious, his eyes going to the open window. No, there was no balcony outside this room. It was just his nerves that made him feel that someone was watching him.

He finished his task and nodded in approval. Nobody would notice what he had doneâhe felt sure of that. Neither Joan nor anyone else. Certainly not Jennifer, a self-centred child, who never saw or noticed anything outside herself.

He swept up all evidences of his toil and put them into his pocket â¦ Then he hesitated, looking round.

He drew Mrs. Sutcliffeâs writing pad towards him and sat frowningâ

He must leave a note for Joanâ

But what could he say? It must be something that Joan would understandâbut which would mean nothing to anyone who read the note.

And really that was impossible! In the kind of thriller that Bob liked reading to fill up his spare moments, you left a kind of cryptogram which was always successfully puzzled out by someone. But he couldnât even begin to think of a cryptogramâand in any case Joan was the sort of commonsense person who would need the iâs dotted and the tâs crossed before she noticed anything at allâ

Then his brow cleared. There was another way of doing itâdivert attention away from Joanâleave an ordinary everyday note. Then leave a message with someone else to be given to Joan in England. He wrote rapidlyâ

Dear JoanâDropped in to ask if youâd care to play a round of golf this evening but if youâve been up at the dam, youâll probably be dead to the world. What about tomorrow? Five oâclock at the Club.

Yours, Bob.

A casual sort of a message to leave for a sister that he might never see againâbut in some ways the more casual the better. Joan mustnât be involved in any funny business, mustnât even know that there was any funny business. Joan could not dissimulate. Her protection would be the fact that she clearly knew nothing.

And the note would accomplish a dual purpose. It would seem that he, Bob, had no plan for departure himself.

He thought for a minute or two, then he crossed to the telephone and gave the number of the British Embassy. Presently he was connected with Edmundson, the third secretary, a friend of his.

âJohn? Bob Rawlinson here. Can you meet me somewhere when you get off? â¦ Make it a bit earlier than that? â¦ Youâve got to, old boy. Itâs important. Well, actually, itâs a girl â¦ â He gave an embarrassed cough. âSheâs wonderful, quite wonderful. Out of this world. Only itâs a bit tricky.â

Edmundsonâs voice, sounding slightly stuffed shirt and disapproving, said, âReally, Bob, you and your girls. All right, 2 oâclock do you?â and rang off. Bob heard the little echoing click as whoever had been listening in, replaced the receiver.

Good old Edmundson. Since all the telephones in Ramat had been tapped, Bob and John Edmundson had worked out a little code of their own. A wonderful girl who was âout of this worldâ meant something urgent and important.

Edmundson would pick him up in his car outside the new Merchants Bank at 2 oâclock and heâd tell Edmundson of the hiding place. Tell him that Joan didnât know about it but that, if anything happened to him, it was important. Going by the long sea route Joan and Jennifer wouldnât be back in England for six weeks. By that time the revolution would almost certainly have happened and either been successful or have been put down. Ali Yusuf might be in Europe, or he and Bob might both be dead. He would tell Edmundson enough, but not too much.

Bob took a last look around the room. It looked exactly the same, peaceful, untidy, domestic. The only thing added was his harmless note to Joan. He propped it up on the table and went out. There was no one in the long corridor.

II

The woman in the room next to that occupied by Joan Sutcliffe stepped back from the balcony. There was a mirror in her hand.

She had gone out on the balcony originally to examine more closely a single hair that had had the audacity to spring up on her chin. She dealt with it with tweezers, then subjected her face to a minute scrutiny in the clear sunlight.

It was then, as she relaxed, that she saw something else. The angle at which she was holding her mirror was such that it reflected the mirror of the hanging wardrobe in the room next to hers and in that mirror she saw a man doing something very curious.

So curious and unexpected that she stood there motionless, watching. He could not see her from where he sat at the table, and she could only see him by means of the double reflection.

If he had turned his head behind him, he might have caught sight of her mirror in the wardrobe mirror, but he was too absorbed in what he was doing to look behind himâ¦.

Once, it was true, he did look up suddenly towards the window, but since there was nothing to see there, he lowered his head again.

The woman watched him while he finished what he was doing. After a momentâs pause he wrote a note which he propped up on the table. Then he moved out of her line of vision but she could just hear enough to realize that he was making a telephone call. She couldnât catch what was said, but it sounded lightheartedâcasual. Then she heard the door close.

The woman waited a few minutes. Then she opened her door. At the far end of the passage an Arab was flicking idly with a feather duster. He turned the corner out of sight.

The woman slipped quickly to the door of the next room. It was locked, but she had expected that. The hairpin she had with her and the blade of a small knife did the job quickly and expertly.

She went in, pushing the door to behind her. She picked up the note. The flap had only been stuck down lightly and opened easily. She read the note, frowning. There was no explanation there.

She sealed it up, put it back, and walked across the room.

There, with her hand outstretched, she was disturbed by voices through the window from the terrace below.

One was a voice that she knew to be the occupier of the room in which she was standing. A decided didactic voice, fully assured of itself.

She darted to the window.

Below on the terrace, Joan Sutcliffe, accompanied by her daughter Jennifer, a pale solid child of fifteen, was telling the world and a tall unhappy looking Englishman from the British Consulate just what she thought of the arrangements he had come to make.

âBut itâs absurd! I never heard such nonsense. Everythingâs perfectly quiet here and everyone quite pleasant. I think itâs all a lot of panicky fuss.â

âWe hope so, Mrs. Sutcliffe, we certainly hope so. But H.E. feels that the responsibility is suchââ

Mrs. Sutcliffe cut him short. She did not propose to consider the responsibility of ambassadors.

âWeâve a lot of baggage, you know. We were going home by long seaânext Wednesday. The sea voyage will be good for Jennifer. The doctor said so. I really must absolutely decline to alter all my arrangements and be flown to England in this silly flurry.â

The unhappy looking man said encouragingly that Mrs. Sutcliffe and her daughter could be flown, not to England, but to Aden and catch their boat there.

âWith our baggage?â

âYes, yes, that can be arranged. Iâve got a car waitingâa station wagon. We can load everything right away.â

âOh well.â Mrs. Sutcliffe capitulated. âI suppose weâd better pack.â

âAt once, if you donât mind.â

The woman in the bedroom drew back hurriedly. She took a quick glance at the address on a luggage label on one of the suitcases. Then she slipped quickly out of the room and back into her own just as Mrs. Sutcliffe turned the corner of the corridor.

The clerk from the office was running after her.

âYour brother, the Squadron Leader, has been here, Mrs. Sutcliffe. He went up to your room. But I think that he has left again. You must just have missed him.â

âHow tiresome,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âThank you,â she said to the clerk and went on to Jennifer, âI suppose Bobâs fussing too. I canât see any sign of disturbance myself in the streets. This doorâs unlocked. How careless these people are.â

âPerhaps it was Uncle Bob,â said Jennifer.

âI wish I hadnât missed him â¦ Oh, thereâs a note.â She tore it open.

âAt any rate Bob isnât fussing,â she said triumphantly. âHe obviously doesnât know a thing about all this. Diplomatic windup, thatâs all it is. How I hate trying to pack in the heat of the day. This roomâs like an oven. Come on, Jennifer, get your things out of the chest of drawers and the wardrobe. We must just shove everything in anyhow. We can repack later.â

âIâve never been in a revolution,â said Jennifer thoughtfully.

âI donât expect youâll be in one this time,â said her mother sharply. âIt will be just as I say. Nothing will happen.â

Jennifer looked disappointed.

Three

INTRODUCING MR. ROBINSON

It was some six weeks later that a young man tapped discreetly on the door of a room in Bloomsbury and was told to come in.

It was a small room. Behind a desk sat a fat middle-aged man slumped in a chair. He was wearing a crumpled suit, the front of which was smothered in cigar ash. The windows were closed and the atmosphere was almost unbearable.

âWell?â said the fat man testily, and speaking with half-closed eyes. âWhat is it now, eh?â

It was said of Colonel Pikeaway that his eyes were always just closing in sleep, or just opening after sleep. It was also said that his name was not Pikeaway and that he was not a colonel. But some people will say anything!

âEdmundson, from the F.O., is here sir.â

âOh,â said Colonel Pikeaway.

He blinked, appeared to be going to sleep again and muttered:

âThird secretary at our Embassy in Ramat at the time of the Revolution. Right?â

âThatâs right, sir.â

âI suppose, then, Iâd better see him,â said Colonel Pikeaway without any marked relish. He pulled himself into a more upright position and brushed off a little of the ash from his paunch.

Mr. Edmundson was a tall fair young man, very correctly dressed with manners to match, and a general air of quiet disapproval.

âColonel Pikeaway? Iâm John Edmundson. They said youâerâmight want to see me.â

âDid they? Well, they should know,â said Colonel Pikeaway. âSiddown,â he added.

His eyes began to close again, but before they did so, he spoke:

âYou were in Ramat at the time of the Revolution?â

âYes, I was. A nasty business.â

âI suppose it would be. You were a friend of Bob Rawlinsonâs, werenât you?â

âI know him fairly well, yes.â

âWrong tense,â said Colonel Pikeaway. âHeâs dead.â

âYes, sir, I know. But I wasnât sureââ he paused.

âYou donât have to take pains to be discreet here,â said Colonel Pikeaway. âWe know everything here. Or if we donât, we pretend we do. Rawlinson flew Ali Yusuf out of Ramat on the day of the Revolution. Plane hasnât been heard of since. Could have landed in some inaccessible place, or could have crashed. Wreckage of a plane has been found in the Arolez mountains. Two bodies. News will be released to the Press tomorrow. Right?â

Edmundson admitted that it was quite right.

âWe know all about things here,â said Colonel Pikeaway. âThatâs what weâre for. Plane flew into the mountain. Could have been weather conditions. Some reason to believe it was sabotage. Delayed action bomb. We havenât got the full reports yet. The plane crashed in a pretty inaccessible place. There was a reward offered for finding it, but these things take a long time to filter through. Then we had to fly out experts to make an examination. All the red tape, of course. Applications to a foreign government, permission from ministers, palm greasingâto say nothing of the local peasantry appropriating anything that might come in useful.â

He paused and looked at Edmundson.

âVery sad, the whole thing,â said Edmundson. âPrince Ali Yusuf would have made an enlightened ruler, with democratic principles.â

âThatâs what probably did the poor chap in,â said Colonel Pikeaway. âBut we canât waste time in telling sad stories of the deaths of kings. Weâve been asked to make certainâinquiries. By interested parties. Parties, that is, to whom Her Majestyâs Government is well-disposed.â He looked hard at the other. âKnow what I mean?â

âWell, I have heard something.â Edmundson spoke reluctantly.

âYouâve heard perhaps, that nothing of value was found on the bodies, or amongst the wreckage, or as far as is known, had been pinched by the locals. Though as to that, you can never tell with peasants. They can clam up as well as the Foreign Office itself. And what else have you heard?â

âNothing else.â

âYou havenât heard that perhaps something of value ought to have been found? What did they send you to me for?â

âThey said you might want to ask me certain questions,â said Edmundson primly.

âIf I ask you questions I shall expect answers,â Colonel Pikeaway pointed out.

âNaturally.â

âDoesnât seem natural to you, son. Did Bob Rawlinson say anything to you before he flew out of Ramat? He was in Aliâs confidence if anyone was. Come now, letâs have it. Did he say anything?â

âAs to what, sir?â

Colonel Pikeaway stared hard at him and scratched his ear.

âOh, all right,â he grumbled. âHush up this and donât say that. Overdo it in my opinion! If you donât know what Iâm talking about, you donât know, and there it is.â

âI think there was somethingââ Edmundson spoke cautiously and with reluctance. âSomething important that Bob might have wanted to tell me.â

âAh,â said Colonel Pikeaway, with the air of a man who has at last pulled the cork out of a bottle. âInteresting. Letâs have what you know.â

âItâs very little, sir. Bob and I had a kind of simple code. Weâd cottoned on to the fact that all the telephones in Ramat were being tapped. Bob was in the way of hearing things at the Palace, and I sometimes had a bit of useful information to pass on to him. So if one of us rang the other up and mentioned a girl or girls, in a certain way, using the term âout of this worldâ for her, it meant something was up!â

âImportant information of some kind or other?â

âYes. Bob rang me up using those terms the day the whole show started. I was to meet him at our usual rendezvousâoutside one of the banks. But rioting broke out in that particular quarter and the police closed the road. I couldnât make contact with Bob or he with me. He flew Ali out the same afternoon.â

âI see,â said Pikeaway. âNo idea where he was telephoning from?â

âNo. It might have been anywhere.â

âPity.â He paused and then threw out casually:

âDo you know Mrs. Sutcliffe?â

âYou mean Bob Rawlinsonâs sister? I met her out there, of course. She was there with a schoolgirl daughter. I donât know her well.â

âWere she and Bob Rawlinson very close?â

Edmundson considered.

âNo, I shouldnât say so. She was a good deal older than he was, and rather much of the elder sister. And he didnât much like his brother-in-lawâalways referred to him as a pompous ass.â

âSo he is! One of our prominent industrialistsâand how pompous can they get! So you donât think it likely that Bob Rawlinson would have confided an important secret to his sister?â

âItâs difficult to sayâbut no, I shouldnât think so.â

âI shouldnât either,â said Colonel Pikeaway.

He sighed. âWell, there we are, Mrs. Sutcliffe and her daughter are on their way home by the long sea route. Dock at Tilbury on the Eastern Queen tomorrow.â

He was silent for a moment or two, whilst his eyes made a thoughtful survey of the young man opposite him. Then, as though having come to a decision, he held out his hand and spoke briskly.

âVery good of you to come.â

âIâm only sorry Iâve been of such little use. Youâre sure thereâs nothing I can do?â

âNo. No. Iâm afraid not.â

John Edmundson went out.

The discreet young man came back.

âThought I might have sent him to Tilbury to break the news to the sister,â said Pikeaway. âFriend of her brotherâsâall that. But I decided against it. Inelastic type. Thatâs the F.O. training. Not an opportunist. Iâll send round whatâs his name.â

âDerek?â

âThatâs right,â Colonel Pikeaway nodded approval. âGetting to know what I mean quite well, ainât you?â

âI try my best, sir.â

âTryingâs not enough. You have to succeed. Send me along Ronnie first. Iâve got an assignment for him.â

II

Colonel Pikeaway was apparently just going off to sleep again when the young man called Ronnie entered the room. He was tall, dark, muscular, and had a gay and rather impertinent manner.

Colonel Pikeaway looked at him for a moment or two and then grinned.

âHowâd you like to penetrate into a girlsâ school?â he asked.

âA girlsâ school?â The young man lifted his eyebrows. âThat will be something new! What are they up to? Making bombs in the chemistry class?â

âNothing of that kind. Very superior high-class school. Meadowbank.â

âMeadowbank!â the young man whistled. âI canât believe it!â

âHold your impertinent tongue and listen to me. Princess Shaista, first cousin and only near relative of the late Prince Ali Yusuf of Ramat, goes there this next term. Sheâs been at school in Switzerland up to now.â

âWhat do I do? Abduct her?â

âCertainly not. I think it possible she may become a focus of interest in the near future. I want you to keep an eye on developments. Iâll have to leave it vague. I donât know what or who may turn up, but if any of our more unlikeable friends seem to be interested, report it â¦ A watching brief, thatâs what youâve got.â

The young man nodded.

âAnd how do I get in to watch? Shall I be the drawing master?â

âThe visiting staff is all female.â Colonel Pikeaway looked at him in a considering manner. âI think Iâll have to make you a gardener.â

âA gardener?â

âYes. Iâm right in thinking you know something about gardening?â

âYes, indeed. I ran a column on Your Garden in the Sunday Mail for a year in my younger days.â

âTush!â said Colonel Pikeaway. âThatâs nothing! I could do a column on gardening myself without knowing a thing about itâjust crib from a few luridly illustrated Nurserymanâs catalogues and a Gardening Encyclopedia. I know all the patter. âWhy not break away from tradition and sound a really tropical note in your border this year? Lovely Amabellis Gossiporia, and some of the wonderful new Chinese hybrids of Sinensis Maka foolia. Try the rich blushing beauty of a clump of Sinistra Hopaless, not very hardy but they should be all right against a west wall.ââ He broke off and grinned. âNothing to it! The fools buy the things and early frost sets in and kills them and they wish theyâd stuck to wallflowers and forget-me-nots! No, my boy, I mean the real stuff. Spit on your hands and use the spade, be well acquainted with the compost heap, mulch diligently, use the Dutch hoe and every other kind of hoe, trench really deep for your sweet peasâand all the rest of the beastly business. Can you do it?â

âAll these things I have done from my youth upwards!â

âOf course you have. I know your mother. Well, thatâs settled.â

âIs there a job going as a gardener at Meadowbank?â

âSure to be,â said Colonel Pikeaway. âEvery garden in England is short staffed. Iâll write you some nice testimonials. Youâll see, theyâll simply jump at you. No time to waste, summer term begins on the 29th.â

âI garden and I keep my eyes open, is that right?â

âThatâs it, and if any oversexed teenagers make passes at you, Heaven help you if you respond. I donât want you thrown out on your ear too soon.â

He drew a sheet of paper towards him. âWhat do you fancy as a name?â

âAdam would seem appropriate.â

âLast name?â

âHow about Eden?â

âIâm not sure I like the way your mind is running. Adam Goodman will do very nicely. Go and work out your past history with Jenson and then get cracking.â He looked at his watch. âIâve no more time for you. I donât want to keep Mr. Robinson waiting. He ought to be here by now.â

Adam (to give him his new name) stopped as he was moving to the door.

âMr. Robinson?â he asked curiously. âIs he coming?â

âI said so.â A buzzer went on the desk. âThere he is now. Always punctual, Mr. Robinson.â

âTell me,â said Adam curiously. âWho is he really? Whatâs his real name?â

âHis name,â said Colonel Pikeaway, âis Mr. Robinson. Thatâs all I know, and thatâs all anybody knows.â

III

The man who came into the room did not look as though his name was, or could ever have been, Robinson. It might have been Demetrius, or Isaacstein, or Perennaâthough not one or the other in particular. He was not definitely Jewish, nor definitely Greek nor Portuguese nor Spanish, nor South American. What did seem highly unlikely was that he was an Englishman called Robinson. He was fat and well-dressed, with a yellow face, melancholy dark eyes, a broad forehead, and a generous mouth that displayed rather over-large very white teeth. His hands were well-shaped and beautifully kept. His voice was English with no trace of accent.

He and Colonel Pikeaway greeted each other rather in the manner of two reigning monarchs. Politenesses were exchanged.

Then, as Mr. Robinson accepted a cigar, Colonel Pikeaway said:

âIt is very good of you to offer to help us.â

Mr. Robinson lit his cigar, savoured it appreciatively, and finally spoke.

âMy dear fellow. I just thoughtâI hear things, you know. I know a lot of people, and they tell me things. I donât know why.â

Colonel Pikeaway did not comment on the reason why.

He said:

âI gather youâve heard that Prince Ali Yusufâs plane has been found?â

âWednesday of last week,â said Mr. Robinson. âYoung Rawlinson was the pilot. A tricky flight. But the crash wasnât due to an error on Rawlinsonâs part. The plane had been tampered withâby a certain Achmedâsenior mechanic. Completely trustworthyâor so Rawlinson thought. But he wasnât. Heâs got a very lucrative job with the new rÃ©gime now.â

âSo it was sabotage! We didnât know that for sure. Itâs a sad story.â

âYes. That poor young manâAli Yusuf, I meanâwas ill equipped to cope with corruption and treachery. His public school education was unwiseâor at least that is my view. But we do not concern ourselves with him now, do we? He is yesterdayâs news. Nothing is so dead as a dead king. We are concerned, you in your way, I in mine, with what dead kings leave behind them.â

âWhich is?â

Mr. Robinson shrugged his shoulders.

âA substantial bank balance in Geneva, a modest balance in London, considerable assets in his own country now taken over by the glorious new rÃ©gime (and a little bad feeling as to how the spoils have been divided, or so I hear!), and finally a small personal item.â

âSmall?â

âThese things are relative. Anyway, small in bulk. Handy to carry upon the person.â

âThey werenât on Ali Yusufâs person, as far as we know.â

âNo. Because he had handed them over to young Rawlinson.â

âAre you sure of that?â asked Pikeaway sharply.

âWell, one is never sure,â said Mr. Robinson apologetically. âIn a palace there is so much gossip. It cannot all be true. But there was a very strong rumour to that effect.â

âThey werenât on young Rawlinsonâs person, eitherââ

âIn that case,â said Mr. Robinson, âit seems as though they must have been got out of the country by some other means.â

âWhat other means? Have you any idea?â

âRawlinson went to a cafÃ© in the town after he had received the jewels. He was not seen to speak to anyone or approach anyone whilst he was there. Then he went to the Ritz Savoy Hotel where his sister was staying. He went up to her room and was there for about 20 minutes. She herself was out. He then left the hotel and went to the Merchants Bank in Victory Square where he cashed a cheque. When he came out of the bank a disturbance was beginning. Students rioting about something. It was some time before the square was cleared. Rawlinson then went straight to the airstrip where, in company with Sergeant Achmed, he went over the plane.

âAli Yusuf drove out to see the new road construction, stopped his car at the airstrip, joined Rawlinson and expressed a desire to take a short flight and see the dam and the new highway construction from the air. They took off and did not return.â

âAnd your deductions from that?â

âMy dear fellow, the same as yours. Why did Bob Rawlinson spend twenty minutes in his sisterâs room when she was out and he had been told that she was not likely to return until evening? He left her a note that would have taken him at most three minutes to scribble. What did he do for the rest of the time?â

âYou are suggesting that he concealed the jewels in some appropriate place amongst his sisterâs belongings?â

âIt seems indicated, does it not? Mrs. Sutcliffe was evacuated that same day with other British subjects. She was flown to Aden with her daughter. She arrives at Tilbury, I believe, tomorrow.â

Pikeaway nodded.

âLook after her,â said Mr. Robinson.

âWeâre going to look after her,â said Pikeaway. âThatâs all arranged.â

âIf she has the jewels, she will be in danger.â He closed his eyes. âI so much dislike violence.â

âYou think there is likely to be violence?â

âThere are people interested. Various undesirable peopleâif you understand me.â

âI understand you,â said Pikeaway grimly.

âAnd they will, of course, double cross each other.â

Mr. Robinson shook his head. âSo confusing.â

Colonel Pikeaway asked delicately: âHave you yourself anyâerâspecial interest in the matter?â

âI represent a certain group of interests,â said Mr. Robinson. His voice was faintly reproachful. âSome of the stones in question were supplied by my syndicate to his late highnessâat a very fair and reasonable price. The group of people I represent who were interested in the recovery of the stones, would, I may venture to say, have had the approval of the late owner. I shouldnât like to say more. These matters are so delicate.â

âBut you are definitely on the side of the angels,â Colonel Pikeaway smiled.

âAh, angels! Angelsâyes.â He paused. âDo you happen to know who occupied the rooms in the hotel on either side of the room occupied by Mrs. Sutcliffe and her daughter?â

Colonel Pikeaway looked vague.

âLet me see nowâI believe I do. On the left hand side was SeÃ±ora Angelica de Toredoâa Spanishâerâdancer appearing at the local cabaret. Perhaps not strictly Spanish and perhaps not a very good dancer. But popular with the clientÃ¨le. On the other side was one of a group of schoolteachers, I understandââ

Mr. Robinson beamed approvingly.

âYou are always the same. I come to tell you things, but nearly always you know them already.â

âNo no.â Colonel Pikeaway made a polite disclaimer.

âBetween us,â said Mr. Robinson, âwe know a good deal.â

Their eyes met.

âI hope,â Mr. Robinson said rising, âthat we know enoughââ

Four

RETURN OF A TRAVELLER

I

âReally!â said Mrs. Sutcliffe, in an annoyed voice, as she looked out of her hotel window, âI donât see why it always has to rain when one comes back to England. It makes it all seem so depressing.â

âI think itâs lovely to be back,â said Jennifer. âHearing everyone talk English in the streets! And weâll be able to have a really good tea presently. Bread and butter and jam and proper cakes.â

âI wish you werenât so insular, darling,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âWhatâs the good of my taking you abroad all the way to the Persian Gulf if youâre going to say youâd rather have stayed at home?â

âI donât mind going abroad for a month or two,â said Jennifer. âAll I said was Iâm glad to be back.â

âNow do get out of the way, dear, and let me make sure that theyâve brought up all the luggage. Really, I do feelâIâve felt ever since the war that people have got very dishonest nowadays. Iâm sure if I hadnât kept an eye on things that man would have gone off with my green zip bag at Tilbury. And there was another man hanging about near the luggage. I saw him afterwards on the train. I believe, you know, that these sneak thieves meet the boats and if the people are flustered or seasick they go off with some of the suitcases.â

âOh, youâre always thinking things like that, Mother,â said Jennifer. âYou think everybody you meet is dishonest.â

âMost of them are,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe grimly.

âNot English people,â said the loyal Jennifer.

âThatâs worse,â said her mother. âOne doesnât expect anything else from Arabs and foreigners, but in England oneâs off guard and that makes it easier for dishonest people. Now do let me count. Thatâs the big green suitcase and the black one, and the two small brown and the zip bag and the golf clubs and the racquets and the holdall and the canvas suitcaseâand whereâs the green bag? Oh, there it is. And that local tin we bought to put the extra things inâyes, one, two, three, four, five, sixâyes, thatâs all right. All fourteen things are here.â

âCanât we have some tea now?â said Jennifer.

âTea? Itâs only three oâclock.â

âIâm awfully hungry.â

âAll right, all right. Can you go down by yourself and order it? I really feel I must have a rest, and then Iâll just unpack the things weâll need for tonight. Itâs too bad your father couldnât have met us. Why he had to have an important directorsâ meeting in Newcastle-on-Tyne today I simply cannot imagine. Youâd think his wife and daughter would come first. Especially as he hasnât seen us for three months. Are you sure you can manage by yourself?â

âGood gracious, Mummy,â said Jennifer, âwhat age do you think I am? Can I have some money, please? I havenât got any English money.â

She accepted the ten shilling note her mother handed to her, and went out scornfully.

The telephone rang by the bed. Mrs. Sutcliffe went to it and picked up the receiver.

âHallo â¦ Yes â¦ Yes, Mrs. Sutcliffe speakingâ¦.â

There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Sutcliffe said, âJust one momentâ to the receiver, laid it down and went over to the door. A young man in dark blue overalls was standing there with a small kit of tools.

âElectrician,â he said briskly. âThe lights in this suite arenât satisfactory. Iâve been sent up to see to them.â

âOhâall rightâ¦.â

She drew back. The electrician entered.

âBathroom?â

âThrough thereâbeyond the other bedroom.â

She went back to the telephone.

âIâm so sorry â¦ What were you saying?â

âMy name is Derek OâConnor. Perhaps I might come up to your suite, Mrs. Sutcliffe. Itâs about your brother.â

âBob? Is thereânews of him?â

âIâm afraid soâyes.â

âOh â¦ Oh, I see â¦ Yes, come up. Itâs on the third floor, 310.â

She sat down on the bed. She already knew what the news must be.

Presently there was a knock on the door and she opened it to admit a young man who shook hands in a suitably subdued manner.

âAre you from the Foreign Office?â

âMy nameâs Derek OâConnor. My chief sent me round as there didnât seem to be anybody else who could break it to you.â

âPlease tell me,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âHeâs been killed. Is that it?â

âYes, thatâs it, Mrs. Sutcliffe. He was flying Prince Ali Yusuf out from Ramat and they crashed in the mountains.â

âWhy havenât I heardâwhy didnât someone wireless it to the boat?â

âThere was no definite news until a few days ago. It was known that the plane was missing, that was all. But under the circumstances there might still have been hope. But now the wreck of the plane has been found â¦ I am sure you will be glad to know that death was instantaneous.â

âThe Prince was killed as well?â

âYes.â

âIâm not at all surprised,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. Her voice shook a little but she was in full command of herself. âI knew Bob would die young. He was always reckless, you knowâalways flying new planes, trying new stunts. Iâve hardly seen anything of him for the last four years. Oh well, one canât change people, can one?â

âNo,â said her visitor, âIâm afraid not.â

âHenry always said heâd smash himself up sooner or later,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. She seemed to derive a kind of melancholy satisfaction from the accuracy of her husbandâs prophecy. A tear rolled down her cheek and she looked for her handkerchief. âItâs been a shock,â she said.

âI knowâIâm awfully sorry.â

âBob couldnât run away, of course,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âI mean, heâd taken on the job of being the Princeâs pilot. I wouldnât have wanted him to throw in his hand. And he was a good flier too. Iâm sure if he ran into a mountain it wasnât his fault.â

âNo,â said OâConnor, âit certainly wasnât his fault. The only hope of getting the Prince out was to fly in no matter what conditions. It was a dangerous flight to undertake and it went wrong.â

Mrs. Sutcliffe nodded.

âI quite understand,â she said. âThank you for coming to tell me.â

âThereâs something more,â said OâConnor, âsomething Iâve got to ask you. Did your brother entrust anything to you to take back to England?â

âEntrust something to me?â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âWhat do you mean?â

âDid he give you anyâpackageâany small parcel to bring back and deliver to anyone in England?â

She shook her head wonderingly. âNo. Why should you think he did?â

âThere was a rather important package which we think your brother may have given to someone to bring home. He called on you at your hotel that dayâthe day of the Revolution, I mean.â

âI know. He left a note. But there was nothing in thatâjust some silly thing about playing tennis or golf the next day. I suppose when he wrote that note, he couldnât have known that heâd have to fly the Prince out that very afternoon.â

âThat was all it said?â

âThe note? Yes.â

âHave you kept it, Mrs. Sutcliffe?â

âKept the note he left? No, of course I havenât. It was quite trivial. I tore it up and threw it away. Why should I keep it?â

âNo reason,â said OâConnor. âI just wondered.â

âWondered what?â said Mrs. Sutcliffe crossly.

âWhether there might have been someâother message concealed in it. After allââ he smiled, ââThere is such a thing as invisible ink, you know.â

âInvisible ink!â said Mrs. Sutcliffe, with a great deal of distaste, âdo you mean the sort of thing they use in spy stories?â

âWell, Iâm afraid I do mean just that,â said OâConnor, rather apologetically.

âHow idiotic,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âIâm sure Bob would never use anything like invisible ink. Why should he? He was a dear matter-of-fact sensible person.â A tear dripped down her cheek again. âOh dear, where is my bag? I must have a handkerchief. Perhaps I left it in the other room.â

âIâll get it for you,â said OâConnor.

He went through the communicating door and stopped as a young man in overalls who was bending over a suitcase straightened up to face him, looking rather startled.

âElectrician,â said the young man hurriedly. âSomething wrong with the lights here.â

OâConnor flicked a switch.

âThey seem all right to me,â he said pleasantly.

âMust have given me the wrong room number,â said the electrician.

He gathered up his tool bag and slipped out quickly through the door to the corridor.

OâConnor frowned, picked up Mrs. Sutcliffeâs bag from the dressing table and took it back to her.

âExcuse me,â he said, and picked up the telephone receiver. âRoom 310 here. Have you just sent up an electrician to see to the light in this suite? Yes â¦ Yes, Iâll hang on.â

He waited.

âNo? No, I thought you hadnât. No, thereâs nothing wrong.â

He replaced the receiver and turned to Mrs. Sutcliffe.

âThereâs nothing wrong with any of the lights here,â he said. âAnd the office didnât send up an electrician.â

âThen what was that man doing? Was he a thief?â

âHe may have been.â

Mrs. Sutcliffe looked hurriedly in her bag. âHe hasnât taken anything out of my bag. The money is all right.â

âAre you sure, Mrs. Sutcliffe, absolutely sure that your brother didnât give you anything to take home, to pack among your belongings?â

âIâm absolutely sure,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe.

âOr your daughterâyou have a daughter, havenât you?â

âYes. Sheâs downstairs having tea.â

âCould your brother have given anything to her?â

âNo, Iâm sure he couldnât.â

âThereâs another possibility,â said OâConnor. âHe might have hidden something in your baggage among your belongings that day when he was waiting for you in your room.â

âBut why should Bob do such a thing? It sounds absolutely absurd.â

âItâs not quite so absurd as it sounds. It seems possible that Prince Ali Yusuf gave your brother something to keep for him and that your brother thought it would be safer among your possessions than if he kept it himself.â

âSounds very unlikely to me,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe.

âI wonder now, would you mind if we searched?â

âSearched through my luggage, do you mean? Unpack?â Mrs. Sutcliffeâs voice rose with a wail on that word.

âI know,â said OâConnor. âItâs a terrible thing to ask you. But it might be very important. I could help you, you know,â he said persuasively. âI often used to pack for my mother. She said I was quite a good packer.â

He exerted all the charm which was one of his assets to Colonel Pikeaway.

âOh well,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe, yielding, âI supposeâIf you say soâif, I mean, itâs really importantââ

âIt might be very important,â said Derek OâConnor. âWell, now,â he smiled at her. âSuppose we begin.â

II

Three-quarters of an hour later Jennifer returned from her tea. She looked round the room and gave a gasp of surprise.

âMummy, what have you been doing?â

âWeâve been unpacking,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe crossly. âNow weâre packing things up again. This is Mr. OâConnor. My daughter Jennifer.â

âBut why are you packing and unpacking?â

âDonât ask me why,â snapped her mother. âThere seems to be some idea that your Uncle Bob put something in my luggage to bring home. He didnât give you anything, I suppose, Jennifer?â

âUncle Bob give me anything to bring back? No. Have you been unpacking my things too?â

âWeâve unpacked everything,â said Derek OâConnor cheerfully, âand we havenât found a thing and now weâre packing them up again. I think you ought to have a drink of tea or something, Mrs. Sutcliffe. Can I order you something? A brandy and soda perhaps?â He went to the telephone.

âI wouldnât mind a good cup of tea,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe.

âI had a smashing tea,â said Jennifer. âBread and butter and sandwiches and cake and then the waiter brought me more sandwiches because I asked him if heâd mind and he said he didnât. It was lovely.â

OâConnor ordered the tea, then he finished packing up Mrs. Sutcliffeâs belongings again with a neatness and a dexterity which forced her unwilling admiration.

âYour mother seems to have trained you to pack very well,â she said.

âOh, Iâve all sorts of handy accomplishments,â said OâConnor smiling.

His mother was long since dead, and his skill in packing and unpacking had been acquired solely in the service of Colonel Pikeaway.

âThereâs just one thing more, Mrs. Sutcliffe. Iâd like you to be very careful of yourself.â

âCareful of myself? In what way?â

âWell,â OâConnor left it vague. âRevolutions are tricky things. There are a lot of ramifications. Are you staying in London long?â

âWeâre going down to the country tomorrow. My husband will be driving us down.â

âThatâs all right then. Butâdonât take any chances. If anything in the least out of the ordinary happens, ring 999 straight away.â

âOoh!â said Jennifer, in high delight. âDial 999. Iâve always wanted to.â

âDonât be silly, Jennifer,â said her mother.

III

Extract from account in a local paper.

A man appeared before the Magistrateâs court yesterday charged with breaking into the residence of Mr. Henry Sutcliffe with intent to steal. Mrs. Sutcliffeâs bedroom was ransacked and left in wild confusion whilst the members of the family were at Church on Sunday morning. The kitchen staff who were preparing the midday meal, heard nothing. Police arrested the man as he was making his escape from the house. Something had evidently alarmed him and he had fled without taking anything.

Giving his name as Andrew Ball of no fixed abode, he pleaded guilty. He said he had been out of work and was looking for money. Mrs. Sutcliffeâs jewellery, apart from a few pieces which she was wearing, is kept at her bank.

âI told you to have the lock of that drawing room french window seen to,â had been the comment of Mr. Sutcliffe in the family circle.

âMy dear Henry,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe, âyou donât seem to realize that I have been abroad for the last three months. And anyway, Iâm sure Iâve read somewhere that if burglars want to get in they always can.â

She added wistfully, as she glanced again at the local paper:

âHow beautifully grand âkitchen staffâ sounds. So different from what it really is, old Mrs. Ellis who is quite deaf and can hardly stand up and that half-witted daughter of the Bardwells who comes in to help on Sunday mornings.â

âWhat I donât see,â said Jennifer, âis how the police found out the house was being burgled and got here in time to catch him?â

âIt seems extraordinary that he didnât take anything,â commented her mother.

âAre you quite sure about that, Joan?â demanded her husband. âYou were a little doubtful at first.â

Mrs. Sutcliffe gave an exasperated sigh.

âItâs impossible to tell about a thing like that straight away. The mess in my bedroomâthings thrown about everywhere, drawers pulled out and overturned. I had to look through everything before I could be sureâthough now I come to think of it, I donât remember seeing my best Jacqmar scarf.â

âIâm sorry, Mummy. That was me. It blew overboard in the Mediterranean. Iâd borrowed it. I meant to tell you but I forgot.â

âReally, Jennifer, how often have I asked you not to borrow things without telling me first?â

âCan I have some more pudding?â said Jennifer, creating a diversion.

âI suppose so. Really, Mrs. Ellis has a wonderfully light hand. It makes it worthwhile having to shout at her so much. I do hope, though, that they wonât think you too greedy at school. Meadowbank isnât quite an ordinary school, remember.â

âI donât know that I really want to go to Meadowbank,â said Jennifer. âI knew a girl whose cousin had been there, and she said it was awful. They spent all their time telling you how to get in and out of Rolls-Royces, and how to behave if you went to lunch with the Queen.â

âThat will do, Jennifer,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âYou donât appreciate how extremely fortunate you are in being admitted to Meadowbank. Miss Bulstrode doesnât take every girl, I can tell you. Itâs entirely owing to your fatherâs important position and the influence of your Aunt Rosamond. You are exceedingly lucky. And if,â added Mrs. Sutcliffe, âyou are ever asked to lunch with the Queen, it will be a good thing for you to know how to behave.â

âOh well,â said Jennifer. âI expect the Queen often has to have people to lunch who donât know how to behaveâAfrican chiefs and jockeys and sheikhs.â

âAfrican chiefs have the most polished manners,â said her father, who had recently returned from a short business trip to Ghana.

âSo do Arab sheikhs,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âReally courtly.â

âDâyou remember that sheikhâs feast we went to,â said Jennifer. âAnd how he picked out the sheepâs eye and gave it to you, and Uncle Bob nudged you not to make a fuss and to eat it? I mean, if a sheikh did that with roast lamb at Buckingham Palace, it would give the Queen a bit of a jolt, wouldnât it?â

âThat will do, Jennifer,â said her mother and closed the subject.

IV

When Andrew Ball of no fixed abode had been sentenced to three months for breaking and entering, Derek OâConnor, who had been occupying a modest position at the back of the Magistrateâs Court, put through a call to a Museum number.

âNot a thing on the fellow when we picked him up,â he said. âWe gave him plenty of time too.â

âWho was he? Anyone we know?â

âOne of the Gecko lot, I think. Small time. They hire him out for this sort of thing. Not much brain but heâs said to be thorough.â

âAnd he took his sentence like a lamb?â At the other end of the line Colonel Pikeaway grinned as he spoke.

âYes. Perfect picture of a stupid fellow lapsed from the straight and narrow path. Youâd never connect him with any big time stuff. Thatâs his value, of course.â

âAnd he didnât find anything,â mused Colonel Pikeaway. âAnd you didnât find anything. It rather looks, doesnât it, as though there isnât anything to find? Our idea that Rawlinson planted these things on his sister seems to have been wrong.â

âOther people appear to have the same idea.â

âItâs a bit obvious really â¦ Maybe we are meant to take the bait.â

âCould be. Any other possibilities?â

âPlenty of them. The stuff may still be in Ramat. Hidden somewhere in the Ritz Savoy Hotel, maybe. Or Rawlinson passed it to someone on his way to the airstrip. Or there may be something in that hint of Mr. Robinsonâs. A woman may have got hold of it. Or it could be that Mrs. Sutcliffe had it all the time unbeknownst to herself, and flung it overboard in the Red Sea with something she had no further use for.

âAnd that,â he added thoughtfully, âmight be all for the best.â

âOh, come now, itâs worth a lot of money, sir.â

âHuman life is worth a lot, too,â said Colonel Pikeaway.

Five

LETTERS FROM MEADOWBANK SCHOOL

Letter from Julia Upjohn to her mother:

Dear Mummy,

Iâve settled in now and am liking it very much. Thereâs a girl who is new this term too called Jennifer and she and I rather do things together. Weâre both awfully keen on tennis. Sheâs rather good. She has a really smashing serve when it comes off, but it doesnât usually. She says her racquetâs got warped from being out in the Persian Gulf. Itâs very hot out there. She was in all that Revolution that happened. I said wasnât it very exciting, but she said no, they didnât see anything at all. They were taken away to the Embassy or something and missed it.

Miss Bulstrode is rather a lamb, but sheâs pretty frightening tooâor can be. She goes easy on you when youâre new. Behind her back everyone calls her The Bull or Bully. Weâre taught English literature by Miss Rich, whoâs terrific. When she gets in a real state her hair comes down. Sheâs got a queer but rather exciting face and when she reads bits of Shakespeare it all seems different and real. She went on at us the other day about Iago, and what he feltâand a lot about jealousy and how it ate into you and you suffered until you went quite mad wanting to hurt the person you loved. It gave us all the shiversâexcept Jennifer, because nothing upsets her. Miss Rich teaches us Geography, too. I always thought it was such a dull subject, but it isnât with Miss Rich. This morning she told us all about the spice trade and why they had to have spices because of things going bad so easily.

Iâm starting Art with Miss Laurie. She comes twice a week and takes us up to London to see picture galleries as well. We do French with Mademoiselle Blanche. She doesnât keep order very well. Jennifer says French people canât. She doesnât get cross, though, only bored. She says âEnfin, vous mâennuiez, mes enfants!â Miss Springer is awful. She does gym and P.T. Sheâs got ginger hair and smells when sheâs hot. Then thereâs Miss Chadwick (Chaddy)âsheâs been here since the school started. She teaches mathematics and is rather fussy, but quite nice. And thereâs Miss Vansittart who teaches History and German. Sheâs a sort of Miss Bulstrode with the pep left out.

There are a lot of foreign girls here, two Italians and some Germans, and a rather jolly Swede (sheâs a Princess or something) and a girl whoâs half Turkish and half Persian and who says she would have been married to Prince Ali Yusuf who got killed in that aeroplane crash, but Jennifer says that isnât true, that Shaista only says so because she was a kind of cousin, and youâre supposed to marry a cousin. But Jennifer says he wasnât going to. He liked someone else. Jennifer knows a lot of things but she wonât usually tell them.

I suppose youâll be starting on your trip soon. Donât leave your passport behind you like you did last time!!! And take your first aid kit in case you have an accident.

Love from Julia

Letter from Jennifer Sutcliffe to her mother:

Dear Mummy,

It really isnât bad here. Iâm enjoying it more than I expected to do. The weather has been very fine. We had to write a composition yesterday on âCan a good quality be carried to excess?â I couldnât think of anything to say. Next week it will be âContrast the characters of Juliet and Desdemona.â That seems silly too. Do you think I could have a new tennis racquet? I know you had mine restrung last Autumnâbut it feels all wrong. Perhaps itâs got warped. Iâd rather like to learn Greek. Can I? I love languages. Some of us are going to London to see the ballet next week. Itâs Swan Lake. The food here is jolly good. Yesterday we had chicken for lunch, and we had lovely homemade cakes for tea.

I canât think of anymore newsâhave you had anymore burglaries?

Your loving daughter,

Jennifer

Letter from Margaret Gore-West, Senior Prefect, to her mother:

Dear Mummy,

There is very little news. I am doing German with Miss Vansittart this term. There is a rumour that Miss Bulstrode is going to retire and that Miss Vansittart will succeed her but theyâve been saying that for over a year now, and Iâm sure it isnât true. I asked Miss Chadwick (of course I wouldnât dare ask Miss Bulstrode!) and she was quite sharp about it. Said certainly not and donât listen to gossip. We went to the ballet on Tuesday. Swan Lake. Too dreamy for words!

Princess Ingrid is rather fun. Very blue eyes, but she wears braces on her teeth. There are two new German girls. They speak English quite well.

Miss Rich is back and looking quite well. We did miss her last term. The new Games Mistress is called Miss Springer. Sheâs terribly bossy and nobody likes her much. She coaches you in tennis very well, though. One of the new girls, Jennifer Sutcliffe, is going to be really good, I think. Her backhandâs a bit weak. Her great friend is a girl called Julia. We call them the Jays!

You wonât forget about taking me out on the 20th, will you? Sports Day is June 19th.

Your Loving

Margaret

Letter from Ann Shapland to Dennis Rathbone:

Dear Dennis,

I shanât get any time off until the third week of term. I should like to dine with you then very much. It would have to be Saturday or Sunday. Iâll let you know.

I find it rather fun working in a school. But thank God Iâm not a schoolmistress! Iâd go raving mad.

Yours ever,

Ann

Letter from Miss Johnson to her sister:

Dear Edith,

Everything much the same as usual here. The summer term is always nice. The garden is looking beautiful and weâve got a new gardener to help old Briggsâyoung and strong! Rather good-looking, too, which is a pity. Girls are so silly.

Miss Bulstrode hasnât said anything more about retiring, so I hope sheâs got over the idea. Miss Vansittart wouldnât be at all the same thing. I really donât believe I would stay on.

Give my love to Dick and to the children, and remember me to Oliver and Kate when you see them.

Elspeth

Letter from Mademoiselle AngÃ¨le Blanche to RenÃ© Dupont, Post Restante, Bordeaux.

Dear RenÃ©,

All is well here, though I cannot say that I amuse myself. The girls are neither respectful nor well-behaved. I think it better, however, not to complain to Miss Bulstrode. One has to be on oneâs guard when dealing with that one!

There is nothing interesting at present to tell you.

Mouche

Letter from Miss Vansittart to a friend:

Dear Gloria,

The summer term has started smoothly. A very satisfactory set of new girls. The foreigners are settling down well. Our little Princess (the Middle East one, not the Scandinavian) is inclined to lack application, but I suppose one has to expect that. She has very charming manners.

The new Games Mistress, Miss Springer, is not a success. The girls dislike her and she is far too high-handed with them. After all, this is not an ordinary school. We donât stand or fall by P.T.! She is also very inquisitive, and asks far too many personal questions. That sort of thing can be very trying, and is so ill bred. Mademoiselle Blanche, the new French Mistress, is quite amiable but not up to the standard of Mademoiselle Depuy.

We had a near escape on the first day of term. Lady Veronica Carlton-Sandways turned up completely intoxicated!! But for Miss Chadwick spotting it and heading her off, we might have had a most unpleasant incident. The twins are such nice girls, too.

Miss Bulstrode has not said anything definite yet about the futureâbut from her manner, I think her mind is definitely made up. Meadowbank is a really fine achievement, and I shall be proud to carry on its traditions.

Give my love to Marjorie when you see her.

Yours ever,

Eleanor

Letter to Colonel Pikeaway, sent through the usual channels:

Talk about sending a man into danger! Iâm the only able-bodied male in an establishment of, roughly, some hundred and ninety females.

Her Highness arrived in style. Cadillac of squashed strawberry and pastel blue, with Wog Notable in native dress, fashion-plate-from-Paris wife, and junior edition of same (H.R.H.).

Hardly recognized her the next day in her school uniform. There will be no difficulty in establishing friendly relations with her. She has already seen to that. Was asking me the names of various flowers in a sweet innocent way, when a female Gorgon with freckles, red hair, and a voice like a corncrake bore down upon her and removed her from my vicinity. She didnât want to go. Iâd always understood these Oriental girls were brought up modestly behind the veil. This one must have had a little worldly experience during her schooldays in Switzerland, I think.

The Gorgon, alias Miss Springer, the Games Mistress, came back to give me a raspberry. Garden staff were not to talk to the pupils, etc. My turn to express innocent surprise. âSorry, Miss. The young lady was asking what these here delphiniums was. Suppose they donât have them in the parts she comes from.â The Gorgon was easily pacified, in the end she almost simpered. Less success with Miss Bulstrodeâs secretary. One of these coat and skirt country girls. French mistress is more cooperative. Demure and mousy to look at, but not such a mouse really. Also have made friends with three pleasant gigglers, Christian names, Pamela, Lois and Mary, surnames unknown, but of aristocratic lineage. A sharp old warhorse called Miss Chadwick keeps a wary eye on me, so Iâm careful not to blot my copybook.

My boss, old Briggs, is a crusty kind of character whose chief subject of conversation is what things used to be in the good old days, when he was, I suspect, the fourth of a staff of five. He grumbles about most things and people, but has a wholesome respect for Miss Bulstrode herself. So have I. She had a few words, very pleasant, with me, but I had a horrid feeling she was seeing right through me and knowing all about me.

No sign, so far, of anything sinisterâbut I live in hope.

Six

EARLY DAYS

I

In the Mistressesâ Common Room news was being exchanged. Foreign travel, plays seen, Art Exhibitions visited. Snapshots were handed round. The menace of coloured transparencies was in the offing. All the enthusiasts wanted to show their own pictures, but to get out of being forced to see other peopleâs.

Presently conversation became less personal. The new Sports Pavilion was both criticized and admired. It was admitted to be a fine building, but naturally everybody would have liked to improve its design in one way or another.

The new girls were then briefly passed in review, and, on the whole, the verdict was favourable.

A little pleasant conversation was made to the two new members of the staff. Had Mademoiselle Blanche been in England before? What part of France did she come from?

Mademoiselle Blanche replied politely but with reserve.

Miss Springer was more forthcoming.

She spoke with emphasis and decision. It might almost have been said that she was giving a lecture. Subject: The excellence of Miss Springer. How much she had been appreciated as a colleague. How headmistresses had accepted her advice with gratitude and had reorganized their schedules accordingly.

Miss Springer was not sensitive. A restlessness in her audience was not noticed by her. It remained for Miss Johnson to ask in her mild tones:

âAll the same, I expect your ideas havenât always been accepted in the way theyâerâshould have been.â

âOne must be prepared for ingratitude,â said Miss Springer. Her voice, already loud, became louder. âThe trouble is, people are so cowardlyâwonât face facts. They often prefer not to see whatâs under their noses all the time. Iâm not like that. I go straight to the point. More than once Iâve unearthed a nasty scandalâbrought it into the open. Iâve a good noseâonce Iâm on the trail, I donât leave itânot till Iâve pinned down my quarry.â She gave a loud jolly laugh. âIn my opinion, no one should teach in a school whose life isnât an open book. If anyoneâs got anything to hide, one can soon tell. Oh! youâd be surprised if I told you some of the things Iâve found out about people. Things that nobody else had dreamed of.â

âYou enjoyed that experience, yes?â said Mademoiselle Blanche.

âOf course not. Just doing my duty. But I wasnât backed up. Shameful laxness. So I resignedâas a protest.â

She looked round and gave her jolly sporting laugh again.

âHope nobody here has anything to hide,â she said gaily.

Nobody was amused. But Miss Springer was not the kind of woman to notice that.

II

âCan I speak to you, Miss Bulstrode?â

Miss Bulstrode laid her pen aside and looked up into the flushed face of the matron, Miss Johnson.

âYes, Miss Johnson.â

âItâs that girl Shaistaâthe Egyptian girl or whatever she is.â

âYes?â

âItâs herâerâunderclothing.â

Miss Bulstrodeâs eyebrows rose in patient surprise.

âHerâwellâher bust bodice.â

âWhat is wrong with her brassiÃ¨re?â

âWellâit isnât an ordinary kindâI mean it doesnât hold her in, exactly. Itâerâwell it pushes her upâreally quite unnecessarily.â

Miss Bulstrode bit her lip to keep back a smile, as so often when in colloquy with Miss Johnson.

âPerhaps Iâd better come and look at it,â she said gravely.

A kind of inquest was then held with the offending contraption held up to display by Miss Johnson, whilst Shaista looked on with lively interest.

âItâs this sort of wire andâerâboning arrangement,â said Miss Johnson with disapprobation.

Shaista burst into animated explanation.

âBut you see my breasts they are not very bigânot nearly big enough. I do not look enough like a woman. And it is very important for a girlâto show she is a woman and not a boy.â

âPlenty of time for that. Youâre only fifteen,â said Miss Johnson.

âFifteenâthat is a woman! And I look like a woman, do I not?â

She appealed to Miss Bulstrode who nodded gravely.

âOnly my breasts, they are poor. So I want to make them look not so poor. You understand?â

âI understand perfectly,â said Miss Bulstrode. âAnd I quite see your point of view. But in this school, you see, you are amongst girls who are, for the most part, English, and English girls are not very often women at the age of fifteen. I like my girls to use makeup discreetly and to wear clothes suitable to their stage of growth. I suggest that you wear your brassiÃ¨re when you are dressed for a party or for going to London, but not every day here. We do a good deal of sports and games here and for that your body needs to be free to move easily.â

âIt is too muchâall this running and jumping,â said Shaista sulkily, âand the P.T. I do not like Miss Springerâshe always says, âFaster, faster, do not slack.â I get tired.â

âThat will do, Shaista,â said Miss Bulstrode, her voice becoming authoritative. âYour family has sent you here to learn English ways. All this exercise will be very good for your complexion, and for developing your bust.â

Dismissing Shaista, she smiled at the agitated Miss Johnson.

âItâs quite true,â she said. âThe girl is fully mature. She might easily be over twenty by the look of her. And that is what she feels like. You canât expect her to feel the same age as Julia Upjohn, for instance. Intellectually Julia is far ahead of Shaista. Physically, she could quite well wear a liberty bodice still.â

âI wish they were all like Julia Upjohn,â said Miss Johnson.

âI donât,â said Miss Bulstrode briskly. âA schoolful of girls all alike would be very dull.â

Dull, she thought, as she went back to her marking of Scripture essays. That word had been repeating itself in her brain for some time now. Dullâ¦.

If there was one thing her school was not, it was dull. During her career as its headmistress, she herself had never felt dull. There had been difficulties to combat, unforeseen crises, irritations with parents, with children: domestic upheavals. She had met and dealt with incipient disasters and turned them into triumphs. It had all been stimulating, exciting, supremely worthwhile. And even now, though she had made up her mind to it, she did not want to go.

She was physically in excellent health, almost as tough as when she and Chaddy (faithful Chaddy!) had started the great enterprise with a mere handful of children and backing from a banker of unusual foresight. Chaddyâs academic distinctions had been better than hers, but it was she who had had the vision to plan and make of the school a place of such distinction that it was known all over Europe. She had never been afraid to experiment, whereas Chaddy had been content to teach soundly but unexcitingly what she knew. Chaddyâs supreme achievement had always been to be there, at hand, the faithful buffer, quick to render assistance when assistance was needed. As on the opening day of term with Lady Veronica. It was on her solidity, Miss Bulstrode reflected, that an exciting edifice had been built.

Well, from the material point of view, both women had done very well out of it. If they retired now, they would both have a good assured income for the rest of their lives. Miss Bulstrode wondered if Chaddy would want to retire when she herself did? Probably not. Probably, to her, the school was home. She would continue, faithful and reliable, to buttress up Miss Bulstrodeâs successor.

Because Miss Bulstrode had made up her mindâa successor there must be. Firstly associated with herself in joint rule and then to rule alone. To know when to goâthat was one of the great necessities of life. To go before oneâs powers began to fail, oneâs sure grip to loosen, before one felt the faint staleness, the unwillingness to envisage continuing effort.

Miss Bulstrode finished marking the essays and noted that the Upjohn child had an original mind. Jennifer Sutcliffe had a complete lack of imagination, but showed an unusually sound grasp of facts. Mary Vyse, of course, was scholarship classâa wonderful retentive memory. But what a dull girl! Dullâthat word again. Miss Bulstrode dismissed it from her mind and rang for her secretary.

She began to dictate letters.

Dear Lady Valence. Jane has had some trouble with her ears. I enclose the doctorâs reportâetc.

Dear Baron Von Eisenger. We can certainly arrange for Hedwig to go to the Opera on the occasion of Hellsternâs taking the role of Isoldaâ

An hour passed swiftly. Miss Bulstrode seldom paused for a word. Ann Shaplandâs pencil raced over the pad.

A very good secretary, Miss Bulstrode thought to herself. Better than Vera Lorrimer. Tiresome girl, Vera. Throwing up her post so suddenly. A nervous breakdown, she had said. Something to do with a man, Miss Bulstrode thought resignedly. It was usually a man.

âThatâs the lot,â said Miss Bulstrode, as she dictated the last word. She heaved a sigh of relief.

âSo many dull things to be done,â she remarked. âWriting letters to parents is like feeding dogs. Pop some soothing platitude into every waiting mouth.â

Ann laughed. Miss Bulstrode looked at her appraisingly.

âWhat made you take up secretarial work?â

âI donât quite know. I had no special bent for anything in particular, and itâs the sort of thing almost everybody drifts into.â

âYou donât find it monotonous?â

âI suppose Iâve been lucky. Iâve had a lot of different jobs. I was with Sir Mervyn Todhunter, the archaeologist, for a year, then I was with Sir Andrew Peters in Shell. I was secretary to Monica Lord, the actress, for a whileâthat really was hectic!â She smiled in remembrance.

âThereâs a lot of that nowadays amongst you girls,â said Miss Bulstrode. âAll this chopping and changing.â She sounded disapproving.

âActually, I canât do anything for very long. Iâve got an invalid mother. Sheâs ratherâwellâdifficult from time to time. And then I have to go back home and take charge.â

âI see.â

âBut all the same, Iâm afraid I should chop and change anyway. I havenât got the gift for continuity. I find chopping and changing far less dull.â

âDull â¦ â murmured Miss Bulstrode, struck again by the fatal word.

Ann looked at her in surprise.

âDonât mind me,â said Miss Bulstrode. âItâs just that sometimes one particular word seems to crop up all the time. How would you have liked to be a schoolmistress?â she asked, with some curiosity.

âIâm afraid I should hate it,â said Ann frankly.

âWhy?â

âIâd find it terribly dullâOh, I am sorry.â

She stopped in dismay.

âTeaching isnât in the least dull,â said Miss Bulstrode with spirit. âIt can be the most exciting thing in the world. I shall miss it terribly when I retire.â

âBut surelyââ Ann stared at her. âAre you thinking of retiring?â

âItâs decidedâyes. Oh, I shanât go for another yearâor even two years.â

âButâwhy?â

âBecause Iâve given my best to the schoolâand had the best from it. I donât want second best.â

âThe school will carry on?â

âOh yes. I have a good successor.â

âMiss Vansittart, I suppose?â

âSo you fix on her automatically?â Miss Bulstrode looked at her sharply, âThatâs interestingââ

âIâm afraid I hadnât really thought about it. Iâve just overheard the staff talking. I should think sheâll carry on very wellâexactly in your tradition. And sheâs very striking-looking, handsome and with quite a presence. I imagine thatâs important, isnât it?â

âYes, it is. Yes, Iâm sure Eleanor Vansittart is the right person.â

âSheâll carry on where you leave off,â said Ann gathering up her things.

But do I want that? thought Miss Bulstrode to herself as Ann went out. Carry on where I leave off? Thatâs just what Eleanor will do! No new experiments, nothing revolutionary. That wasnât the way I made Meadowbank what it is. I took chances. I upset lots of people. I bullied and cajoled, and refused to follow the pattern of other schools. Isnât that what I want to follow on here now? Someone to pour new life into the school. Some dynamic personality â¦ likeâyesâEileen Rich.

But Eileen wasnât old enough, hadnât enough experience. She was stimulating, though, she could teach. She had ideas. She would never be dullâNonsense, she must get that word out of her mind. Eleanor Vansittart was not dullâ¦.

She looked up as Miss Chadwick came in.

âOh, Chaddy,â she said. âI am pleased to see you!â

Miss Chadwick looked a little surprised.

âWhy? Is anything the matter?â

âIâm the matter. I donât know my own mind.â

âThatâs very unlike you, Honoria.â

âYes, isnât it? Howâs the term going, Chaddy?â

âQuite all right, I think.â Miss Chadwick sounded a little unsure.

Miss Bulstrode pounced.

âNow then. Donât hedge. Whatâs wrong?â

âNothing. Really, Honoria, nothing at all. Itâs justââ Miss Chadwick wrinkled up her forehead and looked rather like a perplexed Boxer dogââOh, a feeling. But really itâs nothing that I can put a finger on. The new girls seem a pleasant lot. I donât care for Mademoiselle Blanche very much. But then I didnât like GeneviÃ¨ve Depuy, either. Sly.â

Miss Bulstrode did not pay very much attention to this criticism. Chaddy always accused the French mistresses of being sly.

âSheâs not a good teacher,â said Miss Bulstrode. âSurprising really. Her testimonials were so good.â

âThe French never can teach. No discipline,â said Miss Chadwick. âAnd really Miss Springer is a little too much of a good thing! Leaps about so. Springer by nature as well as by nameâ¦.â

âSheâs good at her job.â

âOh yes, first class.â

âNew staff is always upsetting,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âYes,â agreed Miss Chadwick eagerly. âIâm sure itâs nothing more than that. By the way, that new gardener is quite young. So unusual nowadays. No gardeners seem to be young. A pity heâs so good-looking. We shall have to keep a sharp eye open.â

The two ladies nodded their heads in agreement. They knew, none better, the havoc caused by a good-looking young man to the hearts of adolescent girls.

Seven

STRAWS IN THE WIND

I

âNot too bad, boy,â said old Briggs grudgingly, ânot too bad.â

He was expressing approval of his new assistantâs performance in digging a strip of ground. It wouldnât do, thought Briggs, to let the young fellow get above himself.

âMind you,â he went on, âyou donât want to rush at things. Take it steady, thatâs what I say. Steady is what does it.â

The young man understood that his performance had compared rather too favourably with Briggsâs own tempo of work.

âNow, along this here,â continued Briggs, âweâll put some nice asters out. She donât like astersâbut I pay no attention. Females has their whims, but if you donât pay no attention, ten to one they never notice. Though I will say She is the noticing kind on the whole. Youâd think she âad enough to bother her head about, running a place like this.â

Adam understood that âSheâ who figured so largely in Briggsâs conversation referred to Miss Bulstrode.

âAnd who was it I saw you talking to just now?â went on Briggs suspiciously, âwhen you went along to the potting shed for them bamboos?â

âOh, that was just one of the young ladies,â said Adam.

âAh. One of them two Eye-ties, wasnât it? Now you be careful, my boy. Donât you get mixed up with no Eye-ties, I know what Iâm talkinâ about. I knew Eye-ties, I did, in the first war and if Iâd known then what I know now Iâd have been more careful. See?â

âWasnât no harm in it,â said Adam, putting on a sulky manner. âJust passed the time of day with me, she did, and asked the names of one or two things.â

âAh,â said Briggs, âbut you be careful. Itâs not your place to talk to any of the young ladies. She wouldnât like it.â

âI wasnât doing no harm and I didnât say anything I shouldnât.â

âI donât say you did, boy. But I say a lot oâ young females penned up together here with not so much as a drawing master to take their minds off thingsâwell, youâd better be careful. Thatâs all. Ah, here comes the Old Bitch now. Wanting something difficult, Iâll be bound.â

Miss Bulstrode was approaching with a rapid step. âGood morning, Briggs,â she said. âGood morningâerââ

âAdam, miss.â

âAh yes, Adam. Well, you seem to have got that piece dug very satisfactorily. The wire nettingâs coming down by the far tennis court, Briggs. Youâd better attend to that.â

âAll right, maâam, all right. Itâll be seen to.â

âWhat are you putting in front here?â

âWell maâam, I had thoughtââ

âNot asters,â said Miss Bulstrode, without giving him time to finish âPom Pom dahlias,â and she departed briskly.

âComing alongâgiving orders,â said Briggs. âNot that she isnât a sharp one. She soon notices if you havenât done work properly. And remember what Iâve said and be careful, boy. About Eye-ties and the others.â

âIf sheâs any fault to find with me, Iâll soon know what I can do,â said Adam sulkily. âPlenty oâ jobs going.â

âAh. Thatâs like you young men all over nowadays. Wonât take a word from anybody. All I say is, mind your step.â

Adam continued to look sulky, but bent to his work once more.

Miss Bulstrode walked back along the path towards the school. She was frowning a little.

Miss Vansittart was coming in the opposite direction.

âWhat a hot afternoon,â said Miss Vansittart.

âYes, itâs very sultry and oppressive.â Again Miss Bulstrode frowned. âHave you noticed that young manâthe young gardener?â

âNo, not particularly.â

âHe seems to meâwellâan odd type,â said Miss Bulstrode thoughtfully. âNot the usual kind around here.â

âPerhaps heâs just come down from Oxford and wants to make a little money.â

âHeâs good-looking. The girls notice him.â

âThe usual problem.â

Miss Bulstrode smiled. âTo combine freedom for the girls and strict supervisionâis that what you mean, Eleanor?â

âYes.â

âWe manage,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âYes, indeed. Youâve never had a scandal at Meadowbank, have you?â

âWeâve come near it once or twice,â said Miss Bulstrode. She laughed. âNever a dull moment in running a school.â She went on, âDo you ever find life dull here, Eleanor?â

âNo indeed,â said Miss Vansittart. âI find the work here most stimulating and satisfying. You must feel very proud and happy, Honoria, at the great success you have achieved.â

âI think I made a good job of things,â said Miss Bulstrode thoughtfully. âNothing, of course, is ever quite as one first imagined itâ¦.

âTell me, Eleanor,â she said suddenly, âif you were running this place instead of me, what changes would you make? Donât mind saying. I shall be interested to hear.â

âI donât think I should want to make any changes,â said Eleanor Vansittart. âIt seems to me the spirit of the place and the whole organization is well-nigh perfect.â

âYouâd carry on on the same lines, you mean?â

âYes, indeed. I donât think they could be bettered.â Miss Bulstrode was silent for a moment. She was thinking to herself: I wonder if she said that in order to please me. One never knows with people. However close to them you may have been for years. Surely, she canât really mean that. Anybody with any creative feeling at all must want to make changes. Itâs true, though, that it mightnât have seemed tactful to say so â¦ And tact is very important. Itâs important with parents, itâs important with the girls, itâs important with the staff. Eleanor certainly has tact.

Aloud, she said, âThere must always be adjustments, though, mustnât there? I mean with changing ideas and conditions of life generally.â

âOh, that, yes,â said Miss Vansittart. âOne has, as they say, to go with the times. But itâs your school, Honoria, youâve made it what it is and your traditions are the essence of it. I think tradition is very important, donât you?â

Miss Bulstrode did not answer. She was hovering on the brink of irrevocable words. The offer of a partnership hung in the air. Miss Vansittart, though seeming unaware in her well-bred way, must be conscious of the fact that it was there. Miss Bulstrode did not know really what was holding her back. Why did she so dislike to commit herself? Probably, she admitted ruefully, because she hated the idea of giving up control. Secretly, of course, she wanted to stay, she wanted to go on running her school. But surely nobody could be a worthier successor than Eleanor? So dependable, so reliable. Of course, as far as that went, so was dear Chaddyâreliable as they came. And yet you could never envisage Chaddy as headmistress of an outstanding school.

âWhat do I want?â said Miss Bulstrode to herself. âHow tiresome I am being! Really, indecision has never been one of my faults up to now.â

A bell sounded in the distance.

âMy German class,â said Miss Vansittart. âI must go in.â She moved at a rapid but dignified step towards the school buildings. Following her more slowly, Miss Bulstrode almost collided with Eileen Rich, hurrying from a side path.

âOh, Iâm so sorry, Miss Bulstrode. I didnât see you.â Her hair, as usual, was escaping from its untidy bun. Miss Bulstrode noted anew the ugly but interesting bones of her face, a strange, eager, compelling young woman.

âYouâve got a class?â

âYes. Englishââ

âYou enjoy teaching, donât you?â said Miss Bulstrode.

âI love it. Itâs the most fascinating thing in the world.â

âWhy?â

Eileen Rich stopped dead. She ran a hand through her hair. She frowned with the effort of thought.

âHow interesting. I donât know that Iâve really thought about it. Why does one like teaching? Is it because it makes one feel grand and important? No, no â¦ itâs not as bad as that. No, itâs more like fishing, I think. You donât know what catch youâre going to get, what youâre going to drag up from the sea. Itâs the quality of the response. Itâs so exciting when it comes. It doesnât very often, of course.â

Miss Bulstrode nodded in agreement. She had been right! This girl had something!

âI expect youâll run a school of your own some day,â she said.

âOh, I hope so,â said Eileen Rich. âI do hope so. Thatâs what Iâd like above anything.â

âYouâve got ideas already, havenât you, as to how a school should be run?â

âEveryone has ideas, I suppose,â said Eileen Rich. âI daresay a great many of them are fantastic and theyâd go utterly wrong. That would be a risk, of course. But one would have to try them out. I would have to learn by experience â¦ The awful thing is that one canât go by other peopleâs experience, can one?â

âNot really,â said Miss Bulstrode. âIn life one has to make oneâs own mistakes.â

âThatâs all right in life,â said Eileen Rich. âIn life you can pick yourself up and start again.â Her hands, hanging at her sides, clenched themselves into fists. Her expression was grim. Then suddenly it relaxed into humour. âBut if a schoolâs gone to pieces, you canât very well pick that up and start again, can you?â

âIf you ran a school like Meadowbank,â said Miss Bulstrode, âwould you make changesâexperiment?â

Eileen Rich looked embarrassed. âThatâsâthatâs an awfully hard thing to say,â she said.

âYou mean you would,â said Miss Bulstrode. âDonât mind speaking your mind, child.â

âOne would always want, I suppose, to use oneâs own ideas,â said Eileen Rich. âI donât say theyâd work. They mightnât.â

âBut it would be worth taking a risk?â

âItâs always worth taking a risk, isnât it?â said Eileen Rich. âI mean if you feel strongly enough about anything.â

âYou donât object to leading a dangerous life. I see â¦ â said Miss Bulstrode.

âI think Iâve always led a dangerous life.â A shadow passed over the girlâs face. âI must go. Theyâll be waiting.â She hurried off.

Miss Bulstrode stood looking after her. She was still standing there lost in thought when Miss Chadwick came hurrying to find her.

âOh! there you are. Weâve been looking everywhere for you. Professor Anderson has just rung up. He wants to know if he can take Meroe this next weekend. He knows itâs against the rules so soon but heâs going off quite suddenly toâsomewhere that sounds like Azure Basin.â

âAzerbaijan,â said Miss Bulstrode automatically, her mind still on her own thoughts.

âNot enough experience,â she murmured to herself. âThatâs the risk. What did you say, Chaddy?â

Miss Chadwick repeated the message.

âI told Miss Shapland to say that weâd ring him back, and sent her to find you.â

âSay it will be quite all right,â said Miss Bulstrode. âI recognize that this is an exceptional occasion.â

Miss Chadwick looked at her keenly.

âYouâre worrying, Honoria.â

âYes, I am. I donât really know my own mind. Thatâs unusual for meâand it upsets me â¦ I know what Iâd like to doâbut I feel that to hand over to someone without the necessary experience wouldnât be fair to the school.â

âI wish youâd give up this idea of retirement. You belong here. Meadowbank needs you.â

âMeadowbank means a lot to you, Chaddy, doesnât it?â

âThereâs no school like it anywhere in England,â said Miss Chadwick. âWe can be proud of ourselves, you and I, for having started it.â

Miss Bulstrode put an affectionate arm round her shoulders. âWe can indeed, Chaddy. As for you, youâre the comfort of my life. Thereâs nothing about Meadowbank you donât know. You care for it as much as I do. And thatâs saying a lot, my dear.â

Miss Chadwick flushed with pleasure. It was so seldom that Honoria Bulstrode broke through her reserve.

II

âI simply canât play with the beastly thing. Itâs no good.â

Jennifer flung her racquet down in despair.

âOh, Jennifer, what a fuss you make.â

âItâs the balance,â Jennifer picked it up again and waggled it experimentally. âIt doesnât balance right.â

âItâs much better than my old thing,â Julia compared her racquet. âMineâs like a sponge. Listen to the sound of it.â She twanged. âWe meant to have it restrung, but Mummy forgot.â

âIâd rather have it than mine, all the same.â Jennifer took it and tried a swish or two with it.

âWell, Iâd rather have yours. I could really hit something then. Iâll swap, if you will.â

âAll right then, swap.â

The two girls peeled off the small pieces of adhesive plaster on which their names were written, and reaffixed them, each to the otherâs racquet.

âIâm not going to swap back again,â said Julia warningly. âSo itâs no use saying you donât like my old sponge.â

III

Adam whistled cheerfully as he tacked up the wire netting round the tennis court. The door of the Sports Pavilion opened and Mademoiselle Blanche, the little mousy French Mistress, looked out. She seemed startled at the sight of Adam. She hesitated for a moment and then went back inside.

âWonder what sheâs been up to,â said Adam to himself. It would not have occurred to him that Mademoiselle Blanche had been up to anything, if it had not been for her manner. She had a guilty look which immediately roused surmise in his mind. Presently she came out again, closing the door behind her, and paused to speak as she passed him.

âAh, you repair the netting, I see.â

âYes, miss.â

âThey are very fine courts here, and the swimming pool and the pavilion too. Oh! le sport! You think a lot in England of le sport, do you not?â

âWell, I suppose we do, miss.â

âDo you play tennis yourself?â Her eyes appraised him in a definitely feminine way and with a faint invitation in her glance. Adam wondered once more about her. It struck him that Mademoiselle Blanche was a somewhat unsuitable French Mistress for Meadowbank.

âNo,â he said untruthfully, âI donât play tennis. Havenât got the time.â

âYou play cricket, then?â

âOh well, I played cricket as a boy. Most chaps do.â

âI have not had much time to look around,â said AngÃ¨le Blanche. âNot until today and it was so fine I thought I would like to examine the Sports Pavilion. I wish to write home to my friends in France who keep a school.â

Again Adam wondered a little. It seemed a lot of unnecessary explanation. It was almost as though Mademoiselle Blanche wished to excuse her presence out here at the Sports Pavilion. But why should she? She had a perfect right to go anywhere in the school grounds that she pleased. There was certainly no need to apologize for it to a gardenerâs assistant. It raised queries again in his mind. What had this young woman been doing in the Sports Pavilion?

He looked thoughtfully at Mademoiselle Blanche. It would be a good thing perhaps to know a little more about her. Subtly, deliberately, his manner changed. It was still respectful but not quite so respectful. He permitted his eyes to tell her that she was an attractive-looking young woman.

âYou must find it a bit dull sometimes working in a girlsâ school, miss,â he said.

âIt does not amuse me very much, no.â

âStill,â said Adam, âI suppose you get your times off, donât you?â

There was a slight pause. It was as though she were debating with herself. Then, he felt it was with slight regret, the distance between them was deliberately widened.

âOh yes,â she said, âI have adequate time off. The conditions of employment here are excellent.â She gave him a little nod of the head. âGood morning.â She walked off towards the house.

âYouâve been up to something,â said Adam to himself, âin the Sports Pavilion.â

He waited till she was out of sight, then he left his work, went across to the Sports Pavilion and looked inside. But nothing that he could see was out of place. âAll the same,â he said to himself, âshe was up to something.â

As he came out again, he was confronted unexpectedly by Ann Shapland.

âDo you know where Miss Bulstrode is?â she asked.

âI think sheâs gone back to the house, miss. She was talking to Briggs just now.â

Ann was frowning.

âWhat are you doing in the Sports Pavilion?â

Adam was slightly taken aback. Nasty suspicious mind sheâs got, he thought. He said, with a faint insolence in his voice:

âThought Iâd like to take a look at it. No harm in looking, is there?â

âOughtnât you to be getting on with your work?â

âIâve just about finished nailing the wire round the tennis court.â He turned, looking up at the building behind him. âThis is new, isnât it? Must have cost a packet. The best of everything the young ladies here get, donât they?â

âThey pay for it,â said Ann dryly.

âPay through the nose, so Iâve heard,â agreed Adam.

He felt a desire he hardly understood himself, to wound or annoy this girl. She was so cool always, so self-sufficient. He would really enjoy seeing her angry.

But Ann did not give him that satisfaction. She merely said:

âYouâd better finish tacking up the netting,â and went back towards the house. Halfway there, she slackened speed and looked back. Adam was busy at the tennis wire. She looked from him to the Sports Pavilion in a puzzled manner.

Eight

MURDER

I

On night duty in Hurst St. Cyprian Police Station, Sergeant Green yawned. The telephone rang and he picked up the receiver. A moment later his manner had changed completely. He began scribbling rapidly on a pad.

âYes? Meadowbank? Yesâand the name? Spell it, please. S-P-R-I-N-G-for greengage?-E-R. Springer. Yes. Yes, please see that nothing is disturbed. Someoneâll be with you very shortly.â

Rapidly and methodically he then proceeded to put into motion the various procedures indicated.

âMeadowbank?â said Detective Inspector Kelsey when his turn came. âThatâs the girlsâ school, isnât it? Who is it whoâs been murdered?â

âDeath of a Games Mistress,â said Kelsey, thoughtfully. âSounds like the title of a thriller on a railway bookstall.â

âWhoâs likely to have done her in, dâyou think?â said the Sergeant. âSeems unnatural.â

âEven Games Mistresses may have their love lives,â said Detective Inspector Kelsey. âWhere did they say the body was found?â

âIn the Sports Pavilion. I suppose thatâs a fancy name for the gymnasium.â

âCould be,â said Kelsey. âDeath of a Games Mistress in the Gymnasium. Sounds a highly athletic crime, doesnât it? Did you say she was shot?â

âYes.â

âThey find the pistol?â

âNo.â

âInteresting,â said Detective Inspector Kelsey, and having assembled his retinue, he departed to carry out his duties.

II

The front door at Meadowbank was open, with light streaming from it, and here Inspector Kelsey was received by Miss Bulstrode herself. He knew her by sight, as indeed most people in the neighbourhood did. Even in this moment of confusion and uncertainty, Miss Bulstrode remained eminently herself, in command of the situation and in command of her subordinates.

âDetective Inspector Kelsey, madam,â said the Inspector.

âWhat would you like to do first, Inspector Kelsey? Do you wish to go out to the Sports Pavilion or do you want to hear full details?â

âThe doctor is with me,â said Kelsey. âIf you will show him and two of my men to where the body is, I should like a few words with you.â

âCertainly. Come into my sitting room. Miss Rowan, will you show the doctor and the others the way?â She added, âOne of my staff is out there seeing that nothing is disturbed.â

âThank you, madam.â

Kelsey followed Miss Bulstrode into her sitting room. âWho found the body?â

âThe matron, Miss Johnson. One of the girls had earache and Miss Johnson was up attending to her. As she did so, she noticed the curtains were not pulled properly and going to pull them she observed that there was a light on in the Sports Pavilion which there should not have been at 1 a.m.,â finished Miss Bulstrode dryly.

âQuite so,â said Kelsey. âWhere is Miss Johnson now?â

âShe is here if you want to see her?â

âPresently. Will you go on, madam.â

âMiss Johnson went and woke up another member of my staff, Miss Chadwick. They decided to go out and investigate. As they were leaving by the side door they heard the sound of a shot, whereupon they ran as quickly as they could towards the Sports Pavilion. On arrival thereââ

The Inspector broke in. âThank you, Miss Bulstrode. If, as you say, Miss Johnson is available, I will hear the next part from her. But first, perhaps, you will tell me something about the murdered woman.â

âHer name is Grace Springer.â

âShe has been with you long?â

âNo. She came to me this term. My former Games Mistress left to take up a post in Australia.â

âAnd what did you know about this Miss Springer?â

âHer testimonials were excellent,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âYou didnât know her personally before that?â

âNo.â

âHave you any idea at all, even the vaguest, of what might have precipitated this tragedy? Was she unhappy? Any unfortunate entanglements?â

Miss Bulstrode shook her head. âNothing that I know of. I may say,â she went on, âthat it seems to me most unlikely. She was not that kind of a woman.â

âYouâd be surprised,â said Inspector Kelsey darkly.

âWould you like me to fetch Miss Johnson now?â

âIf you please. When Iâve heard her story Iâll go out to the gymâor theâwhat dâyou call itâSports Pavilion?â

âIt is a newly built addition to the school this year,â said Miss Bulstrode. âIt is built adjacent to the swimming pool and it comprises a squash court and other features. The racquets, lacrosse and hockey sticks are kept there, and there is a drying room for swim suits.â

âWas there any reason why Miss Springer should be in the Sports Pavilion at night?â

âNone whatever,â said Miss Bulstrode unequivocally.

âVery well, Miss Bulstrode. Iâll talk to Miss Johnson now.â

Miss Bulstrode left the room and returned bringing the matron with her. Miss Johnson had had a sizeable dollop of brandy administered to her to pull her together after her discovery of the body. The result was a slightly added loquacity.

âThis is Detective Inspector Kelsey,â said Miss Bulstrode. âPull yourself together, Elspeth, and tell him exactly what happened.â

âItâs dreadful,â said Miss Johnson, âitâs really dreadful. Such a thing has never happened before in all my experience. Never! I couldnât have believed it, I really couldnâtâve believed it. Miss Springer too!â

Inspector Kelsey was a perceptive man. He was always willing to deviate from the course of routine if a remark struck him as unusual or worth following up.

âIt seems to you, does it,â he said, âvery strange that it was Miss Springer who was murdered?â

âWell yes, it does, Inspector. She was soâwell, so tough, you know. So hearty. Like the sort of woman one could imagine taking on a burglar single-handedâor two burglars.â

âBurglars? Hâm,â said Inspector Kelsey. âWas there anything to steal in the Sports Pavilion?â

âWell, no, really I canât see what there can have been. Swim suits of course, sports paraphernalia.â

âThe sort of thing a sneak thief might have taken,â agreed Kelsey. âHardly worth breaking in for, I should have thought. Was it broken into, by the way?â

âWell, really, I never thought to look,â said Miss Johnson. âI mean, the door was open when we got there andââ

âIt had not been broken into,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âI see,â said Kelsey. âA key was used.â He looked at Miss Johnson. âWas Miss Springer well-liked?â he asked.

âWell, really, I couldnât say. I mean, after all, sheâs dead.â

âSo, you didnât like her,â said Kelsey perceptively, ignoring Miss Johnsonâs finer feelings.

âI donât think anyone could have liked her very much,â said Miss Johnson. âShe had a very positive manner, you know. Never minded contradicting people flatly. She was very efficient and took her work very seriously I should say, wouldnât you, Miss Bulstrode?â

âCertainly,â said Miss Bulstrode.

Kelsey returned from the bypath he had been pursuing. âNow, Miss Johnson, letâs hear just what happened.â

âJane, one of our pupils, had earache. She woke up with a rather bad attack of it and came to me. I got some remedies and when Iâd got her back to bed, I saw the window curtains were flapping and thought perhaps it would be better for once if her window was not opened at night as it was blowing rather in that direction. Of course the girls always sleep with their windows open. We have difficulties sometimes with the foreigners, but I always insist thatââ

âThat really doesnât matter now,â said Miss Bulstrode. âOur general rules of hygiene would not interest Inspector Kelsey.â

âNo, no, of course not,â said Miss Johnson. âWell, as I say I went to shut the window and what was my surprise to see a light in the Sports Pavilion. It was quite distinct, I couldnât mistake it. It seemed to be moving about.â

âYou mean it was not the electric light turned on but the light of a torch or flashlight?â

âYes, yes, thatâs what it must have been. I thought at once âDear me, whatâs anyone doing out there at this time of night?â Of course I didnât think of burglars. That would have been a very fanciful idea, as you said just now.â

âWhat did you think of?â asked Kelsey.

Miss Johnson shot a glance at Miss Bulstrode and back again.

âWell, really, I donât know that I had any ideas in particular. I mean, wellâwell really, I mean I couldnât thinkââ

Miss Bulstrode broke in. âI should imagine that Miss Johnson had the idea that one of our pupils might have gone out there to keep an assignation with someone,â she said. âIs that right, Elspeth?â

Miss Johnson gasped. âWell, yes, the idea did come into my head just for the moment. One of our Italian girls, perhaps. Foreigners are so much more precocious than English girls.â

âDonât be so insular,â said Miss Bulstrode. âWeâve had plenty of English girls trying to make unsuitable assignations. It was a very natural thought to have occurred to you and probably the one that would have occurred to me.â

âGo on,â said Inspector Kelsey.

âSo I thought the best thing,â went on Miss Johnson, âwas to go to Miss Chadwick and ask her to come out with me and see what was going on.â

âWhy Miss Chadwick?â asked Kelsey. âAny particular reason for selecting that particular mistress?â

âWell, I didnât want to disturb Miss Bulstrode,â said Miss Johnson, âand Iâm afraid itâs rather a habit of ours always to go to Miss Chadwick if we donât want to disturb Miss Bulstrode. You see, Miss Chadwickâs been here a very long time and has had so much experience.â

âAnyway,â said Kelsey, âyou went to Miss Chadwick and woke her up. Is that right?â

âYes. She agreed with me that we must go out there immediately. We didnât wait to dress or anything, just put on pullovers and coats and went out by the side door. And it was then, just as we were standing on the path, that we heard a shot from the Sports Pavilion. So we ran along the path as fast as we could. Rather stupidly we hadnât taken a torch with us and it was hard to see where we were going. We stumbled once or twice but we got there quite quickly. The door was open. We switched on the light andââ

Kelsey interrupted. âThere was no light then when you got there. Not a torch or any other light?â

âNo. The place was in darkness. We switched on the light and there she was. Sheââ

âThatâs all right,â said Inspector Kelsey kindly, âyou neednât describe anything. I shall be going out there now and I shall see for myself. You didnât meet anyone on your way there?â

âNo.â

âOr hear anybody running away?â

âNo. We didnât hear anything.â

âDid anybody else hear the shot in the school building?â asked Kelsey looking at Miss Bulstrode.

She shook her head. âNo. Not that I know of. Nobody has said that they heard it. The Sports Pavilion is some distance away and I rather doubt if the shot would be noticeable.â

âPerhaps from one of the rooms on the side of the house giving on the Sports Pavilion?â

âHardly, I think, unless one were listening for such a thing. Iâm sure it wouldnât be loud enough to wake anybody up.â

âWell, thank you,â said Inspector Kelsey. âIâll be going out to the Sports Pavilion now.â

âI will come with you,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âDo you want me to come too?â asked Miss Johnson. âI will if you like. I mean itâs no good shirking things, is it? I always feel that one must face whatever comes andââ

âThank you,â said Inspector Kelsey, âthereâs no need, Miss Johnson. I wouldnât think of putting you to any further strain.â

âSo awful,â said Miss Johnson, âit makes it worse to feel I didnât like her very much. In fact, we had a disagreement only last night in the Common Room. I stuck to it that too much P.T. was bad for some girlsâthe more delicate girls. Miss Springer said nonsense, that they were just the ones who needed it. Toned them up and made new women of them, she said. I said to her that really she didnât know everything though she might think she did. After all I have been professionally trained and I know a great deal more about delicacy and illness than Miss Springer doesâdid, though Iâve no doubt that Miss Springer knows everything about parallel bars and vaulting horses and coaching tennis. But, oh dear, now I think of whatâs happened, I wish I hadnât said quite what I did. I suppose one always feels like that afterwards when something dreadful has occurred. I really do blame myself.â

âNow sit down there, dear,â said Miss Bulstrode, settling her on the sofa. âYou just sit down and rest and pay no attention to any little disputes you may have had. Life would be very dull if we agreed with each other on every subject.â

Miss Johnson sat down shaking her head, then yawned. Miss Bulstrode followed Kelsey into the hall.

âI gave her rather a lot of brandy,â she said, apologetically. âItâs made her a little voluble. But not confused, do you think?â

âNo,â said Kelsey. âShe gave quite a clear account of what happened.â

Miss Bulstrode led the way to the side door.

âIs this the way Miss Johnson and Miss Chadwick went out?â

âYes. You see it leads straight on to the path through the rhododendrons there which comes out at the Sports Pavilion.â

The Inspector had a powerful torch and he and Miss Bulstrode soon reached the building where the lights were now glaring.

âFine bit of building,â said Kelsey, looking at it.

âIt cost us a pretty penny,â said Miss Bulstrode, âbut we can afford it,â she added serenely.

The open door led into a fair-sized room. There were lockers there with the names of the various girls on them. At the end of the room there was a stand for tennis racquets and one for lacrosse sticks. The door at the side led off to showers and changing cubicles. Kelsey paused before going in. Two of his men had been busy. A photographer had just finished his job and another man who was busy testing for fingerprints looked up and said,

âYou can walk straight across the floor, sir. Youâll be all right. We havenât finished down this end yet.â

Kelsey walked forward to where the police surgeon was kneeling by the body. The latter looked up as Kelsey approached.

âShe was shot from about four feet away,â he said. âBullet penetrated the heart. Death must have been pretty well instantaneous.â

âYes. How long ago?â

âSay an hour or thereabouts.â

Kelsey nodded. He strolled round to look at the tall figure of Miss Chadwick where she stood grimly, like a watchdog, against one wall. About fifty-five, he judged, good forehead, obstinate mouth, untidy grey hair, no trace of hysteria. The kind of woman, he thought, who could be depended upon in a crisis though she might be overlooked in ordinary everyday life.

âMiss Chadwick?â he said.

âYes.â

âYou came out with Miss Johnson and discovered the body?â

âYes. She was just as she is now. She was dead.â

âAnd the time?â

âI looked at my watch when Miss Johnson roused me. It was ten minutes to one.â

Kelsey nodded. That agreed with the time that Miss Johnson had given him. He looked down thoughtfully at the dead woman. Her bright red hair was cut short. She had a freckled face, with a chin which jutted out strongly, and a spare, athletic figure. She was wearing a tweed skirt and a heavy, dark pullover. She had brogues on her feet with no stockings.

âAny sign of the weapon?â asked Kelsey.

One of his men shook his head. âNo sign at all, sir.â

âWhat about the torch?â

âThereâs a torch there in the corner.â

âAny prints on it?â

âYes. The dead womanâs.â

âSo sheâs the one who had the torch,â said Kelsey thoughtfully. âShe came out here with a torchâwhy?â He asked it partly of himself, partly of his men, partly of Miss Bulstrode and Miss Chadwick. Finally he seemed to concentrate on the latter. âAny ideas?â

Miss Chadwick shook her head. âNo idea at all. I suppose she might have left something hereâforgotten it this afternoon or eveningâand come out to fetch it. But it seems rather unlikely in the middle of the night.â

âIt must have been something very important if she did,â said Kelsey.

He looked round him. Nothing seemed disturbed except the stand of racquets at the end. That seemed to have been pulled violently forward. Several of the racquets were lying about on the floor.

âOf course,â said Miss Chadwick, âshe could have seen a light here, like Miss Johnson did later, and have come out to investigate. That seems the most likely thing to me.â

âI think youâre right,â said Kelsey. âThereâs just one small matter. Would she have come out here alone?â

âYes.â Miss Chadwick answered without hesitation.

âMiss Johnson,â Kelsey reminded her, âcame and woke you up.â

âI know,â said Miss Chadwick, âand thatâs what I should have done if Iâd seen the light. I would have woken up Miss Bulstrode or Miss Vansittart or somebody. But Miss Springer wouldnât. She would have been quite confidentâindeed would have preferred to tackle an intruder on her own.â

âAnother point,â said the Inspector. âYou came out through the side door with Miss Johnson. Was the side door unlocked?â

âYes, it was.â

âPresumably left unlocked by Miss Springer?â

âThat seems the natural conclusion,â said Miss Chadwick.

âSo we assume,â said Kelsey, âthat Miss Springer saw a light out here in the gymnasiumâSports Pavilionâwhatever you call itâthat she came out to investigate and that whoever was here shot her.â He wheeled round on Miss Bulstrode as she stood motionless in the doorway. âDoes that seem right to you?â he asked.

âIt doesnât seem right at all,â said Miss Bulstrode. âI grant you the first part. Weâll say Miss Springer saw a light out here and that she went out to investigate by herself. Thatâs perfectly probable. But that the person she disturbed here should shoot herâthat seems to me all wrong. If anyone was here who had no business to be here they would be more likely to run away, or to try to run away. Why should someone come to this place at this hour of night with a pistol? Itâs ridiculous, thatâs what it is. Ridiculous! Thereâs nothing here worth stealing, certainly nothing for which it would be worthwhile doing murder.â

âYou think it more likely that Miss Springer disturbed a rendezvous of some kind?â

âThatâs the natural and most probable explanation,â said Miss Bulstrode. âBut it doesnât explain the fact of murder, does it? Girls in my school donât carry pistols about with them and any young man they might be meeting seems very unlikely to have a pistol either.â

Kelsey agreed. âHeâd have had a flick knife at most,â he said. âThereâs an alternative,â he went on. âSay Miss Springer came out here to meet a manââ

Miss Chadwick giggled suddenly. âOh no,â she said, ânot Miss Springer.â

âI do not mean necessarily an amorous assignment,â said the Inspector dryly. âIâm suggesting that the murder was deliberate, that someone intended to murder Miss Springer, that they arranged to meet her here and shot her.â

Nine

CAT AMONG THE PIGEONS

I

Letter from Jennifer Sutcliffe to her mother:

Dear Mummy,

We had a murder last night. Miss Springer, the gym mistress. It happened in the middle of the night and the police came and this morning theyâre asking everybody questions.

Miss Chadwick told us not to talk to anybody about it but I thought youâd like to know.

With love,
Jennifer

II

Meadowbank was an establishment of sufficient importance to merit the personal attention of the Chief Constable. While routine investigation was going on Miss Bulstrode had not been inactive. She rang up a Press magnate and the Home Secretary, both personal friends of hers. As a result of those manoeuvres, very little had appeared about the event in the papers. A games mistress had been found dead in the school gymnasium. She had been shot, whether by accident or not was as yet not determined. Most of the notices of the event had an almost apologetic note in them, as though it were thoroughly tactless of any games mistress to get herself shot in such circumstances.

Ann Shapland had a busy day taking down letters to parents. Miss Bulstrode did not waste time in telling her pupils to keep quiet about the event. She knew that it would be a waste of time. More or less lurid reports would be sure to be penned to anxious parents and guardians. She intended her own balanced and reasonable account of the tragedy to reach them at the same time.

Later that afternoon she sat in conclave with Mr. Stone, the Chief Constable, and Inspector Kelsey. The police were perfectly amenable to having the Press play the thing down as much as possible. It enabled them to pursue their inquiries quietly and without interference.

âIâm very sorry about this, Miss Bulstrode, very sorry indeed,â said the Chief Constable. âI suppose itâsâwellâa bad thing for you.â

âMurderâs a bad thing for any school, yes,â said Miss Bulstrode. âItâs no good dwelling on that now, though. We shall weather it, no doubt, as we have weathered other storms. All I do hope is that the matter will be cleared up quickly.â

âDonât see why it shouldnât, eh?â said Stone. He looked at Kelsey.

Kelsey said, âIt may help when we get her background.â

âDâyou really think so?â asked Miss Bulstrode dryly.

âSomebody may have had it in for her,â Kelsey suggested.

Miss Bulstrode did not reply.

âYou think itâs tied up with this place?â asked the Chief Constable.

âInspector Kelsey does really,â said Miss Bulstrode. âHeâs only trying to save my feelings, I think.â

âI think it does tie up with Meadowbank,â said the Inspector slowly. âAfter all, Miss Springer had her times off like all the other members of the staff. She could have arranged a meeting with anyone if she had wanted to do so at any spot she chose. Why choose the gymnasium here in the middle of the night?â

âYou have no objection to a search being made of the school premises, Miss Bulstrode?â asked the Chief Constable.

âNone at all. Youâre looking for the pistol or revolver or whatever it is, I suppose?â

âYes. It was a small pistol of foreign make.â

âForeign,â said Miss Bulstrode thoughtfully.

âTo your knowledge, do any of your staff or any of the pupils have such a thing as a pistol in their possession?â

âCertainly not to my knowledge,â said Miss Bulstrode. âI am fairly certain that none of the pupils have. Their possessions are unpacked for them when they arrive and such a thing would have been seen and noted, and would, I may say, have aroused considerable comment. But please, Inspector Kelsey, do exactly as you like in that respect. I see your men have been searching the grounds today.â

The Inspector nodded. âYes.â

He went on: âI should also like interviews with the other members of your staff. One or other of them may have heard some remark made by Miss Springer that will give us a clue. Or may have observed some oddity of behaviour on her part.â

He paused, then went on, âThe same thing might apply to the pupils.â

Miss Bulstrode said: âI had formed the plan of making a short address to the girls this evening after prayers. I would ask that if any of them has any knowledge that might possibly bear upon Miss Springerâs death that they should come and tell me of it.â

âVery sound idea,â said the Chief Constable.

âBut you must remember this,â said Miss Bulstrode, âone or other of the girls may wish to make herself important by exaggerating some incident or even by inventing one. Girls do very odd things: but I expect you are used to dealing with that form of exhibitionism.â

âIâve come across it,â said Inspector Kelsey. âNow,â he added, âplease give me a list of your staff, also the servants.â

III

âIâve looked through all the lockers in the Pavilion, sir.â

âAnd you didnât find anything?â said Kelsey.

âNo, sir, nothing of importance. Funny things in some of them, but nothing in our line.â

âNone of them were locked, were they?â

âNo, sir, they can lock. There were keys in them, but none of them were locked.â

Kelsey looked round the bare floor thoughtfully. The tennis and lacrosse sticks had been replaced tidily on their stands.

âOh well,â he said, âIâm going up to the house now to have a talk with the staff.â

âYou donât think it was an inside job, sir?â

âIt could have been,â said Kelsey. âNobodyâs got an alibi except those two mistresses, Chadwick and Johnson and the child Jane that had the earache. Theoretically, everyone else was in bed and asleep, but thereâs no one to vouch for that. The girls all have separate rooms and naturally the staff do. Any one of them, including Miss Bulstrode herself, could have come out and met Springer here, or could have followed her here. Then, after sheâd been shot, whoever it was could dodge back quietly through the bushes to the side door, and be nicely back in bed again when the alarm was given. Itâs motive thatâs difficult. Yes,â said Kelsey, âitâs motive. Unless thereâs something going on here that we donât know anything about, there doesnât seem to be any motive.â

He stepped out of the Pavilion and made his way slowly back to the house. Although it was past working hours, old Briggs, the gardener, was putting in a little work on a flower bed and he straightened up as the Inspector passed.

âYou work late hours,â said Kelsey, smiling.

âAh,â said Briggs. âYoung âuns donât know what gardening is. Come on at eight and knock off at fiveâthatâs what they think it is. Youâve got to study your weather, some days you might as well not be out in the garden at all, and thereâs other days as you can work from seven in the morning until eight at night. That is if you love the place and have pride in the look of it.â

âYou ought to be proud of this one,â said Kelsey. âIâve never seen anyplace better kept these days.â

âThese days is right,â said Briggs. âBut Iâm lucky I am. Iâve got a strong young fellow to work for me. A couple of boys, too, but theyâre not much good. Most of these boys and young men wonât come and do this sort of work. All for going into factories, they are, or white collars and working in an office. Donât like to get their hands soiled with a bit of honest earth. But Iâm lucky, as I say. Iâve got a good man working for me as come and offered himself.â

âRecently?â said Inspector Kelsey.

âBeginning of the term,â said Briggs. âAdam, his name is. Adam Goodman.â

âI donât think Iâve seen him about,â said Kelsey.

âAsked for the day off today, he did,â said Briggs. âI give it him. Didnât seem to be much doing today with you people tramping all over the place.â

âSomebody should have told me about him,â said Kelsey sharply.

âWhat do you mean, told you about him?â

âHeâs not on my list,â said the Inspector. âOf people employed here, I mean.â

âOh, well, you can see him tomorrow, mister,â said Briggs. âNot that he can tell you anything, I donât suppose.â

âYou never know,â said the Inspector.

A strong young man who had offered himself at the beginning of the term? It seemed to Kelsey that here was the first thing that he had come across which might be a little out of the ordinary.

IV

The girls filed into the hall for prayers that evening as usual, and afterwards Miss Bulstrode arrested their departure by raising her hand.

âI have something to say to you all. Miss Springer, as you know, was shot last night in the Sports Pavilion. If any of you has heard or seen anything in the past weekâanything that has puzzled you relating to Miss Springer, anything Miss Springer may have said or someone else may have said of her that strikes you as at all significant, I should like to know it. You can come to me in my sitting room anytime this evening.â

âOh,â Julia Upjohn sighed, as the girls filed out, âhow I wish we did know something! But we donât, do we, Jennifer?â

âNo,â said Jennifer, âof course we donât.â

âMiss Springer always seemed so very ordinary,â said Julia sadly, âmuch too ordinary to get killed in a mysterious way.â

âI donât suppose it was so mysterious,â said Jennifer. âJust a burglar.â

âStealing our tennis racquets, I suppose,â said Julia with sarcasm.

âPerhaps someone was blackmailing her,â suggested one of the other girls hopefully.

âWhat about?â said Jennifer.

But nobody could think of any reason for blackmailing Miss Springer.

V

Inspector Kelsey started his interviewing of the staff with Miss Vansittart. A handsome woman, he thought, summing her up. Possibly forty or a little over; tall, well-built, grey hair tastefully arranged. She had dignity and composure, with a certain sense, he thought, of her own importance. She reminded him a little of Miss Bulstrode herself: she was the schoolmistress type all right. All the same, he reflected, Miss Bulstrode had something that Miss Vansittart had not. Miss Bulstrode had a quality of unexpectedness. He did not feel that Miss Vansittart would ever be unexpected.

Question and answer followed routine. In effect, Miss Vansittart had seen nothing, had noticed nothing, had heard nothing. Miss Springer had been excellent at her job. Yes, her manner had perhaps been a trifle brusque, but not, she thought, unduly so. She had not perhaps had a very attractive personality but that was really not a necessity in a Games Mistress. It was better, in fact, not to have mistresses who had attractive personalities. It did not do to let the girls get emotional about the mistresses. Miss Vansittart, having contributed nothing of value, made her exit.

âSee no evil, hear no evil, think no evil. Same like the monkeys,â observed Sergeant Percy Bond, who was assisting Inspector Kelsey in his task.

Kelsey grinned. âThatâs about right, Percy,â he said.

âThereâs something about schoolmistresses that gives me the hump,â said Sergeant Bond. âHad a terror of them ever since I was a kid. Knew one that was a holy terror. So upstage and la-di-da you never knew what she was trying to teach you.â

The next mistress to appear was Eileen Rich. Ugly as sin was Inspector Kelseyâs first reaction. Then he qualified it; she had a certain attraction. He started his routine questions, but the answers were not quite so routine as he had expected. After saying No, she had not heard or noticed anything special that anyone else had said about Miss Springer or that Miss Springer herself had said, Eileen Richâs next answer was not what he anticipated. He had asked:

âThere was no one as far as you know who had a personal grudge against her?â

âOh no,â said Eileen Rich quickly. âOne couldnât have. I think that was her tragedy, you know. That she wasnât a person one could ever hate.â

âNow just what do you mean by that, Miss Rich?â

âI mean she wasnât a person one could ever have wanted to destroy. Everything she did and was, was on the surface. She annoyed people. They often had sharp words with her, but it didnât mean anything. Not anything deep. Iâm sure she wasnât killed for herself, if you know what I mean.â

âIâm not quite sure that I do, Miss Rich.â

âI mean if you had something like a bank robbery, she might quite easily be the cashier that gets shot, but it would be as a cashier, not as Grace Springer. Nobody would love her or hate her enough to want to do away with her. I think she probably felt that without thinking about it, and thatâs what made her so officious. About finding fault, you know, and enforcing rules and finding out what people were doing that they shouldnât be doing, and showing them up.â

âSnooping?â asked Kelsey.

âNo, not exactly snooping.â Eileen Rich considered. âShe wouldnât tiptoe round on sneakers or anything of that kind. But if she found something going on that she didnât understand sheâd be quite determined to get to the bottom of it. And she would get to the bottom of it.â

âI see.â He paused a moment. âYou didnât like her yourself much, did you, Miss Rich?â

âI donât think I ever thought about her. She was just the Games Mistress. Oh! What a horrible thing that is to say about anybody! Just thisâjust that! But thatâs how she felt about her job. It was a job that she took pride in doing well. She didnât find it fun. She wasnât keen when she found a girl who might be really good at tennis, or really fine at some form of athletics. She didnât rejoice in it or triumph.â

Kelsey looked at her curiously. An odd young woman, this, he thought.

âYou seem to have your ideas on most things, Miss Rich,â he said.

âYes. Yes, I suppose I do.â

âHow long have you been at Meadowbank?â

âJust over a year and a half.â

âThereâs never been any trouble before?â

âAt Meadowbank?â She sounded startled.

âYes.â

âOh no. Everythingâs been quite all right until this term.â

Kelsey pounced.

âWhatâs been wrong this term? You donât mean the murder, do you? You mean something elseââ

âI donâtââ she stoppedââYes, perhaps I doâbut itâs all very nebulous.â

âGo on.â

âMiss Bulstrodeâs not been happy lately,â said Eileen slowly. âThatâs one thing. You wouldnât know it. I donât think anybody else has even noticed it. But I have. And sheâs not the only one whoâs unhappy. But that isnât what you mean, is it? Thatâs just peopleâs feelings. The kind of things you get when youâre cooped up together and think about one thing too much. You meant, was there anything that didnât seem right just this term. Thatâs it, isnât it?â

âYes,â said Kelsey, looking at her curiously, âyes, thatâs it. Well, what about it?â

âI think there is something wrong here,â said Eileen Rich slowly. âItâs as though there were someone among us who didnât belong.â She looked at him, smiled, almost laughed and said, âCat among the pigeons, thatâs the sort of feeling. Weâre the pigeons, all of us, and the catâs amongst us. But we canât see the cat.â

âThatâs very vague, Miss Rich.â

âYes, isnât it? It sounds quite idiotic. I can hear that myself. What I really mean, I suppose, is that there has been something, some little thing that Iâve noticed but I donât know what Iâve noticed.â

âAbout anyone in particular?â

âNo, I told you, thatâs just it. I donât know who it is. The only way I can sum it up is to say that thereâs someone here, whoâsâsomehowâwrong! Thereâs someone hereâI donât know whoâwho makes me uncomfortable. Not when Iâm looking at her but when sheâs looking at me because itâs when sheâs looking at me that it shows, whatever it is. Oh, Iâm getting more incoherent than ever. And anyway, itâs only a feeling. Itâs not what you want. It isnât evidence.â

âNo,â said Kelsey, âit isnât evidence. Not yet. But itâs interesting, and if your feeling gets anymore definite, Miss Rich, Iâd be glad to hear about it.â

She nodded. âYes,â she said, âbecause itâs serious, isnât it? I mean, someoneâs been killedâwe donât know whyâand the killer may be miles away, or, on the other hand, the killer may be here in the school. And if so that pistol or revolver or whatever it is, must be here too. Thatâs not a very nice thought, is it?â

She went out with a slight nod. Sergeant Bond said,

âCrackersâor donât you think so?â

âNo,â said Kelsey, âI donât think sheâs crackers. I think sheâs whatâs called a sensitive. You know, like the people who know when thereâs a cat in the room long before they see it. If sheâd been born in an African tribe she might have been a witch doctor.â

âThey go round smelling out evil, donât they?â said Sergeant Bond.

âThatâs right, Percy,â said Kelsey. âAnd thatâs exactly what Iâm trying to do myself. Nobodyâs come across with any concrete facts so Iâve got to go about smelling out things. Weâll have the French woman next.â

Ten

FANTASTIC STORY

Mademoiselle AngÃ¨le Blanche was thirty-five at a guess. No makeup, dark brown hair arranged neatly but unbecomingly. A severe coat and skirt.

It was Mademoiselle Blancheâs first term at Meadowbank, she explained. She was not sure that she wished to remain for a further term.

âIt is not nice to be in a school where murders take place,â she said disapprovingly.

Also, there did not seem to be burglar alarms anywhere in the houseâthat was dangerous.

âThereâs nothing of any great value, Mademoiselle Blanche, to attract burglars.â

Mademoiselle Blanche shrugged her shoulders.

âHow does one know? These girls who come here, some of them have very rich fathers. They may have something with them of great value. A burglar knows about that, perhaps, and he comes here because he thinks this is an easy place to steal it.â

âIf a girl had something of value with her it wouldnât be in the gymnasium.â

âHow do you know?â said Mademoiselle. âThey have lockers there, do they not, the girls?â

âOnly to keep their sports kit in, and things of that kind.â

âAh yes, that is what is supposed. But a girl could hide anything in the toe of a gym shoe, or wrapped up in an old pullover or in a scarf.â

âWhat sort of thing, Mademoiselle Blanche?â

But Mademoiselle Blanche had no idea what sort of thing.

âEven the most indulgent fathers donât give their daughters diamond necklaces to take to school,â the Inspector said.

Again Mademoiselle Blanche shrugged her shoulders.

âPerhaps it is something of a different kind of valueâa scarab, say, or something that a collector would give a lot of money for. One of the girls has a father who is an archaeologist.â

Kelsey smiled. âI donât really think thatâs likely, you know, Mademoiselle Blanche.â

She shrugged her shoulders. âOh well, I only make the suggestion.â

âHave you taught in any other English schools, Mademoiselle Blanche?â

âOne in the north of England some time ago. Mostly I have taught in Switzerland and in France. Also in Germany. I think I will come to England to improve my English. I have a friend here. She went sick and she told me I could take her position here as Miss Bulstrode would be glad to find somebody quickly. So I came. But I do not like it very much. As I tell you, I do not think I shall stay.â

âWhy donât you like it?â Kelsey persisted.

âI do not like places where there are shootings,â said Mademoiselle Blanche. âAnd the children, they are not respectful.â

âThey are not quite children, are they?â

âSome of them behave like babies, some of them might be twenty-five. There are all kinds here. They have much freedom. I prefer an establishment with more routine.â

âDid you know Miss Springer well?â

âI knew her practically not at all. She had bad manners and I conversed with her as little as possible. She was all bones and freckles and a loud ugly voice. She was like caricatures of English-women. She was rude to me often and I did not like it.â

âWhat was she rude to you about?â

âShe did not like me coming to her Sports Pavilion. That seems to be how she feels about itâor felt about it, I meanâthat it was her Sports Pavilion! I go there one day because I am interested. I have not been in it before and it is a new building. It is very well arranged and planned and I am just looking round. Then Miss Springer she comes and says âWhat are you doing here? This is no business of yours to be in here.â She says that to meâme, a mistress in the school! What does she think I am, a pupil?â

âYes, yes, very irritating, Iâm sure,â said Kelsey, soothingly.

âThe manners of a pig, that is what she had. And then she calls out âDo not go away with the key in your hand.â She upset me. When I pull the door open the key fell out and I pick it up. I forget to put it back, because she has offended me. And then she shouts after me as though she thinks I was meaning to steal it. Her key, I suppose, as well as her Sports Pavilion.â

âThat seems a little odd, doesnât it?â said Kelsey. âThat she should feel like that about the gymnasium, I mean. As though it were her private property, as though she were afraid of people finding something she had hidden there.â He made the faint feeler tentatively, but AngÃ¨le Blanche merely laughed.

âHide something thereâwhat could you hide in a place like that? Do you think she hides her love letters there? I am sure she has never had a love letter written to her! The other mistresses, they are at least polite. Miss Chadwick, she is old-fashioned and she fusses. Miss Vansittart, she is very nice, grande dame, sympathetic. Miss Rich, she is a little crazy I think, but friendly. And the younger mistresses are quite pleasant.â

AngÃ¨le Blanche was dismissed after a few more unimportant questions.

âTouchy,â said Bond. âAll the French are touchy.â

âAll the same, itâs interesting,â said Kelsey. âMiss Springer didnât like people prowling about her gymnasiumâSports PavilionâI donât know what to call the thing. Now why?â

âPerhaps she thought the Frenchwoman was spying on her,â suggested Bond.

âWell, but why should she think so? I mean, ought it to have mattered to her that AngÃ¨le Blanche should spy on her unless there was something she was afraid of AngÃ¨le Blanche finding out?

âWho have we got left?â he added.

âThe two junior mistresses, Miss Blake and Miss Rowan, and Miss Bulstrodeâs secretary.â

Miss Blake was young and earnest with a round good-natured face. She taught Botany and Physics. She had nothing much to say that could help. She had seen very little of Miss Springer and had no idea of what could have led to her death.

Miss Rowan, as befitted one who held a degree in psychology, had views to express. It was highly probable, she said, that Miss Springer had committed suicide.

Inspector Kelsey raised his eyebrows.

âWhy should she? Was she unhappy in any way?â

âShe was aggressive,â said Miss Rowan, leaning forward and peering eagerly through her thick lenses. âVery aggressive. I consider that significant. It was a defence mechanism, to conceal a feeling of inferiority.â

âEverything Iâve heard so far,â said Inspector Kelsey, âpoints to her being very sure of herself.â

âToo sure of herself,â said Miss Rowan darkly. âAnd several of the things she said bear out my assumption.â

âSuch as?â

âShe hinted at people being ânot what they seemed.â She mentioned that at the last school where she was employed, she had âunmaskedâ someone. The Headmistress, however, had been prejudiced, and refused to listen to what she had found out. Several of the other mistresses, too, had been what she called âagainst her.â

âYou see what that means, Inspector?â Miss Rowan nearly fell off her chair as she leaned forward excitedly. Strands of lank dark hair fell forward across her face. âThe beginnings of a persecution complex.â

Inspector Kelsey said politely that Miss Rowan might be correct in her assumptions, but that he couldnât accept the theory of suicide, unless Miss Rowan could explain how Miss Springer had managed to shoot herself from a distance of at least four feet away, and had also been able to make the pistol disappear into thin air afterwards.

Miss Rowan retorted acidly that the police were well known to be prejudiced against psychology.

She then gave place to Ann Shapland.

âWell, Miss Shapland,â said Inspector Kelsey, eyeing her neat and businesslike appearance with favour, âwhat light can you throw upon this matter?â

âAbsolutely none, Iâm afraid. Iâve got my own sitting room, and I donât see much of the staff. The whole thingâs unbelievable.â

âIn what way unbelievable?â

âWell, first that Miss Springer should get shot at all. Say somebody broke into the gymnasium and she went out to see who it was. Thatâs all right, I suppose, but whoâd want to break into the gymnasium?â

âBoys, perhaps, some young locals who wanted to help themselves to equipment of some kind or another, or who did it for a lark.â

âIf thatâs so, I canât help feeling that what Miss Springer would have said was: âNow then, what are you doing here? Be off with you,â and theyâd have gone off.â

âDid it ever seem to you that Miss Springer adopted any particular attitude about the Sports Pavilion?â

Ann Shapland looked puzzled. âAttitude?â

âI mean did she regard it as her special province and dislike other people going there?â

âNot that I know of. Why should she? It was just part of the school buildings.â

âYou didnât notice anything yourself? You didnât find that if you went there she resented your presenceâanything of that kind?â

Ann Shapland shook her head. âI havenât been out there myself more than a couple of times. I havenât the time. Iâve gone out there once or twice with a message for one of the girls from Miss Bulstrode. Thatâs all.â

âYou didnât know that Miss Springer had objected to Mademoiselle Blanche being out there?â

âNo, I didnât hear anything about that. Oh yes, I believe I did. Mademoiselle Blanche was rather cross about something one day, but then she is a little bit touchy, you know. There was something about her going into the drawing class one day and resenting something the drawing mistress said to her. Of course she hasnât really very much to doâMademoiselle Blanche, I mean. She only teaches one subjectâFrench, and she has a lot of time on her hands. I thinkââ she hesitated, âI think she is perhaps rather an inquisitive person.â

âDo you think it likely that when she went into the Sports Pavilion she was poking about in any of the lockers?â

âThe girlsâ lockers? Well, I wouldnât put it past her. She might amuse herself that way.â

âDoes Miss Springer herself have a locker out there?â

âYes, of course.â

âIf Mademoiselle Blanche was caught poking about in Miss Springerâs locker, then I can imagine that Miss Springer would be annoyed?â

âShe certainly would!â

âYou donât know anything about Miss Springerâs private life?â

âI donât think anyone did,â said Ann. âDid she have one, I wonder?â

âAnd thereâs nothing elseânothing connected with the Sports Pavilion, for instance, that you havenât told me?â

âWellââ Ann hesitated.

âYes, Miss Shapland, letâs have it.â

âItâs nothing really,â said Ann slowly. âBut one of the gardenersânot Briggs, the young one. I saw him come out of the Sports Pavilion one day, and he had no business to be in there at all. Of course it was probably just curiosity on his partâor perhaps an excuse to slack off a bit from workâhe was supposed to be nailing down the wire on the tennis court. I donât suppose really thereâs anything in it.â

âStill, you remembered it,â Kelsey pointed out. âNow why?â

âI thinkââ she frowned. âYes, because his manner was a little odd. Defiant. Andâhe sneered at all the money that was spent here on the girls.â

âThat sort of attitude â¦ I see.â

âI donât suppose thereâs really anything in it.â

âProbably notâbut Iâll make a note of it, all the same.â

âRound and round the mulberry bush,â said Bond when Ann Shapland had gone. âSame thing over and over again! For goodnessâ sake letâs hope we get something out of the servants.â

But they got very little out of the servants.

âItâs no use asking me anything, young man,â said Mrs. Gibbons, the cook. âFor one thing I canât hear what you say, and for another I donât know a thing. I went to sleep last night and I slept unusually heavy. Never heard anything of all the excitement there was. Nobody woke me up and told me anything about it.â She sounded injured. âIt wasnât until this morning I heard.â

Kelsey shouted a few questions and got a few answers that told him nothing.

Miss Springer had come new this term, and she wasnât as much liked as Miss Jones whoâd held the post before her. Miss Shapland was new, too, but she was a nice young lady, Mademoiselle Blanche was like all the Frenchiesâthought the other mistresses were against her and let the young ladies treat her something shocking in class. âNot a one for crying, though,â Mrs. Gibbons admitted. âSome schools Iâve been in the French mistresses used to cry something awful!â

Most of the domestic staff were dailies. There was only one other maid who slept in the house, and she proved equally uninformative, though able to hear what was said to her. She couldnât say, she was sure. She didnât know nothing. Miss Springer was a bit sharp in her manner. She didnât know nothing about the Sports Pavilion nor what was kept there, and sheâd never seen nothing like a pistol nowhere.

This negative spate of information was interrupted by Miss Bulstrode. âOne of the girls would like to speak to you, Inspector Kelsey,â she said.

Kelsey looked up sharply. âIndeed? She knows something?â

âAs to that Iâm rather doubtful,â said Miss Bulstrode, âbut you had better talk to her yourself. She is one of our foreign girls. Princess Shaistaâniece of the Emir Ibrahim. She is inclined to think, perhaps, that she is of rather more importance than she is. You understand?â

Kelsey nodded comprehendingly. Then Miss Bulstrode went out and a slight dark girl of middle height came in.

She looked at them, almond-eyed and demure.

âYou are the police?â

âYes,â said Kelsey smiling, âwe are the police. Will you sit down and tell me what you know about Miss Springer?â

âYes, I will tell you.â

She sat down, leaned forward, and lowered her voice dramatically.

âThere have been people watching this place. Oh, they do not show themselves clearly, but they are there!â

She nodded her head significantly.

Inspector Kelsey thought that he understood what Miss Bulstrode had meant. This girl was dramatizing herselfâand enjoying it.

âAnd why should they be watching the school?â

âBecause of me! They want to kidnap me.â

Whatever Kelsey had expected, it was not this. His eyebrows rose.

âWhy should they want to kidnap you?â

âTo hold me to ransom, of course. Then they would make my relations pay much money.â

âErâwellâperhaps,â said Kelsey dubiously. âButâerâsupposing this is so, what has it got to do with the death of Miss Springer?â

âShe must have found out about them,â said Shaista. âPerhaps she told them she had found out something. Perhaps she threatened them. Then perhaps they promised to pay her money if she would say nothing. And she believed them. So she goes out to the Sports Pavilion where they say they will pay her the money, and then they shoot her.â

âBut surely Miss Springer would never have accepted blackmail money?â

âDo you think it is such fun to be a schoolteacherâto be a teacher of gymnastics?â Shaista was scornful. âDo you not think it would be nice instead to have money, to travel, to do what you want? Especially someone like Miss Springer who is not beautiful, at whom men do not even look! Do you not think that money would attract her more than it would attract other people?â

âWellâerââ said Inspector Kelsey, âI donât know quite what to say.â He had not had this point of view presented to him before.

âThis is justâerâyour own idea?â he said. âMiss Springer never said anything to you?â

âMiss Springer never said anything except âStretch and bend,â and âFaster,â and âDonât slack,ââ said Shaista with resentment.

âYesâquite so. Well, donât you think you may have imagined all this about kidnapping?â

Shaista was immediately much annoyed.

âYou do not understand at all! My cousin was Prince Ali Yusuf of Ramat. He was killed in a revolution, or at least in fleeing from a revolution. It was understood that when I grew up I should marry him. So you see I am an important person. It may be perhaps the Communists who come here. Perhaps it is not to kidnap. Perhaps they intend to assassinate me.â

Inspector Kelsey looked still more incredulous.

âThatâs rather far-fetched, isnât it?â

âYou think such things could not happen? I say they can. They are very very wicked, the Communists! Everybody knows that.â

As he still looked dubious, she went on:

âPerhaps they think I know where the jewels are!â

âWhat jewels?â

âMy cousin had jewels. So had his father. My family always has a hoard of jewels. For emergencies, you comprehend.â

She made it sound very matter of fact.

Kelsey stared at her.

âBut what has all this got to do with youâor with Miss Springer?â

âBut I already tell you! They think, perhaps, I know where the jewels are. So they will take me prisoner and force me to speak.â

âDo you know where the jewels are?â

âNo, of course I do not know. They disappeared in the Revolution. Perhaps the wicked Communists take them. But again, perhaps not.â

âWho do they belong to?â

âNow my cousin is dead, they belong to me. No men in his family anymore. His aunt, my mother, is dead. He would want them to belong to me. If he were not dead, I marry him.â

âThat was the arrangement?â

âI have to marry him. He is my cousin, you see.â

âAnd you would have got the jewels when you married him?â

âNo, I would have had new jewels. From Cartier in Paris. These others would still be kept for emergencies.â

Inspector Kelsey blinked, letting this Oriental insurance scheme for emergencies sink into his consciousness.

Shaista was racing on with great animation.

âI think that is what happens. Somebody gets the jewels out of Ramat. Perhaps good person, perhaps bad. Good person would bring them to me, would say: âThese are yours,â and I should reward him.â

She nodded her head regally, playing the part.

Quite a little actress, thought the Inspector.

âBut if it was a bad person, he would keep the jewels and sell them. Or he would come to me and say: âWhat will you give me as a reward if I bring them to you?â And if it worthwhile, he bringsâbut if not, then not!â

âBut in actual fact, nobody has said anything at all to you?â

âNo,â admitted Shaista.

Inspector Kelsey made up his mind.

âI think, you know,â he said pleasantly, âthat youâre really talking a lot of nonsense.â

Shaista flashed a furious glance at him.

âI tell you what I know, that is all,â she said sulkily.

âYesâwell, itâs very kind of you, and Iâll bear it in mind.â

He got up and opened the door for her to go out.

âThe Arabian Nights arenât in it,â he said, as he returned to the table. âKidnapping and fabulous jewels! What next?â

Eleven

CONFERENCE

When Inspector Kelsey returned to the station, the sergeant on duty said:

âWeâve got Adam Goodman here, waiting, sir.â

âAdam Goodman? Oh yes. The gardener.â

A young man had risen respectfully to his feet. He was tall, dark and good-looking. He wore stained corduroy trousers loosely held up by an aged belt, and an open-necked shirt of very bright blue.

âYou wanted to see me, I hear.â

His voice was rough, and as that of so many young men of today, slightly truculent.

Kelsey said merely:

âYes, come into my room.â

âI donât know anything about the murder,â said Adam Goodman sulkily. âItâs nothing to do with me. I was at home and in bed last night.â

Kelsey merely nodded noncommittally.

He sat down at his desk, and motioned to the young man to take the chair opposite. A young policeman in plainclothes had followed the two men in unobtrusively and sat down a little distance away.

âNow then,â said Kelsey. âYouâre Goodmanââ he looked at a note on his deskââAdam Goodman.â

âThatâs right, sir. But first, Iâd like to show you this.â

Adamâs manner had changed. There was no truculence or sulkiness in it now. It was quiet and deferential. He took something from his pocket and passed it across the desk. Inspector Kelseyâs eyebrows rose very slightly as he studied it. Then he raised his head.

âI shanât need you, Barbar,â he said.

The discreet young policeman got up and went out. He managed not to look surprised, but he was.

âAh,â said Kelsey. He looked across at Adam with speculative interest. âSo thatâs who you are? And what the hell, Iâd like to know, are youââ

âDoing in a girlsâ school?â the young man finished for him. His voice was still deferential, but he grinned in spite of himself. âItâs certainly the first time Iâve had an assignment of that kind. Donât I look like a gardener?â

âNot around these parts. Gardeners are usually rather ancient. Do you know anything about gardening?â

âQuite a lot. Iâve got one of these gardening mothers. Englandâs speciality. Sheâs seen to it that Iâm a worthy assistant to her.â

âAnd what exactly is going on at Meadowbankâto bring you on the scene?â

âWe donât know, actually, that thereâs anything going on at Meadowbank. My assignment is in the nature of a watching brief. Or wasâuntil last night. Murder of a Games Mistress. Not quite in the schoolâs curriculum.â

âIt could happen,â said Inspector Kelsey. He sighed. âAnything could happenâanywhere. Iâve learnt that. But Iâll admit that itâs a little off the beaten track. Whatâs behind all this?â

Adam told him. Kelsey listened with interest.

âI did that girl an injustice,â he remarkedââBut youâll admit it sounds too fantastic to be true. Jewels worth between half a million and a million pounds? Who do you say they belong to?â

âThatâs a very pretty question. To answer it, youâd have to have a gaggle of international lawyers on the jobâand theyâd probably disagree. You could argue the case a lot of ways. They belonged, three months ago, to His Highness Prince Ali Yusuf of Ramat. But now? If theyâd turned up in Ramat theyâd have been the property of the present Government, theyâd have made sure of that. Ali Yusuf may have willed them to someone. A lot would then depend on where the will was executed and whether it could be proved. They may belong to his family. But the real essence of the matter is, that if you or I happened to pick them up in the street and put them in our pockets, they would for all practical purposes belong to us. That is, I doubt if any legal machine exists that could get them away from us. They could try, of course, but the intricacies of international law are quite incredibleâ¦.â

âYou mean that, practically speaking, itâs findings are keepings?â asked Inspector Kelsey. He shook his head disapprovingly. âThatâs not very nice,â he said primly.

âNo,â said Adam firmly. âItâs not very nice. Thereâs more than one lot after them, too. None of them scrupulous. Wordâs got around, you see. It may be a rumour, it may be true, but the story is that they were got out of Ramat just before the bust up. There are a dozen different tales of how.â

âBut why Meadowbank? Because of little Princess Butter-wonât-melt-in-my-mouth?â

âPrincess Shaista, first cousin of Ali Yusuf. Yes. Someone may try and deliver the goods to her or communicate with her. There are some questionable characters from our point of view hanging about the neighbourhood. A Mrs. Kolinsky, for instance, staying at the Grand Hotel. Quite a prominent member of what one might describe as International Riff Raff Ltd. Nothing in your line, always strictly within the law, all perfectly respectable, but a grand picker-up of useful information. Then thereâs a woman who was out in Ramat dancing in cabaret there. Sheâs reported to have been working for a certain foreign government. Where she is now we donât know, we donât even know what she looks like, but thereâs a rumour that she might be in this part of the world. Looks, doesnât it, as though it were all centring round Meadowbank? And last night, Miss Springer gets herself killed.â

Kelsey nodded thoughtfully.

âProper mix-up,â he observed. He struggled a moment with his feelings. âYou see this sort of thing on the telly â¦ far-fetchedâthatâs what you think â¦ canât really happen. And it doesnâtânot in the normal course of events.â

âSecret agents, robbery, violence, murder, double crossing,â agreed Adam. âAll preposterousâbut that side of life exists.â

âBut not at Meadowbank!â

The words were wrung from Inspector Kelsey.

âI perceive your point,â said Adam. âLese-majesty.â

There was a silence, and then Inspector Kelsey asked:

âWhat do you think happened last night?â

Adam took his time, then he said slowly:

âSpringer was in the Sports Pavilionâin the middle of the night. Why? Weâve got to start there. Itâs no good asking ourselves who killed her until weâve made up our minds why she was there, in the Sports Pavilion at that time of night. We can say that in spite of her blameless and athletic life she wasnât sleeping well, and got up and looked out of her window and saw a light in the Sports Pavilionâher window does look out that way?â

Kelsey nodded.

âBeing a tough and fearless young woman, she went out to investigate. She disturbed someone there who wasâdoing what? We donât know. But it was someone desperate enough to shoot her dead.â

Again Kelsey nodded.

âThatâs the way weâve been looking at it,â he said. âBut your last point had me worried all along. You donât shoot to killâand come prepared to do so, unlessââ

âUnless youâre after something big? Agreed! Well, thatâs the case of what we might call Innocent Springerâshot down in the performance of duty. But thereâs another possibility. Springer, as a result of private information, gets a job at Meadowbank or is detailed for it by her bossesâbecause of her qualificationâShe waits until a suitable night, then slips out to the Sports Pavilion (again our stumbling-block of a questionâwhy?)âSomebody is following herâor waiting for herâsomeone who carries a pistol and is prepared to use it â¦ But againâwhy? What for? In fact, what the devil is there about the Sports Pavilion? Itâs not the sort of place that one can imagine hiding anything.â

âThere wasnât anything hidden there, I can tell you that. We went through it with a tooth combâthe girlsâ lockers, Miss Springerâs ditto. Sports equipment of various kinds, all normal and accounted for. And a brand new building! There wasnât anything there in the nature of jewellery.â

âWhatever it was it could have been removed, of course. By the murderer,â said Adam. âThe other possibility is that the Sports Pavilion was simply used as a rendezvousâby Miss Springer or by someone else. Itâs quite a handy place for that. A reasonable distance from the house. Not too far. And if anyone was noticed going out there, a simple answer would be that whoever it was thought they had seen a light, etc., etc. Letâs say that Miss Springer went out to meet someoneâthere was a disagreement and she got shot. Or, a variation, Miss Springer noticed someone leaving the house, followed that someone, intruded upon something she wasnât meant to see or hear.â

âI never met her alive,â said Kelsey, âbut from the way everyone speaks of her, I get the impression that she might have been a nosey woman.â

âI think thatâs really the most probable explanation,â agreed Adam. âCuriosity killed the cat. Yes, I think thatâs the way the Sports Pavilion comes into it.â

âBut if it was a rendezvous, thenââ Kelsey paused.

Adam nodded vigorously.

âYes. It looks as though there is someone in the school who merits our very close attention. Cat among the pigeons, in fact.â

âCat among the pigeons,â said Kelsey, struck by the phrase. âMiss Rich, one of the mistresses, said something like that today.â

He reflected a moment or two.

âThere were three newcomers to the staff this term,â he said. âShapland, the secretary. Blanche, the French Mistress, and, of course, Miss Springer herself. Sheâs dead and out of it. If there is a cat among the pigeons, it would seem that one of the other two would be the most likely bet.â He looked towards Adam. âAny ideas, as between the two of them?â

Adam considered.

âI caught Mademoiselle Blanche coming out of the Sports Pavilion one day. She had a guilty look. As though sheâd been doing something she ought not to have done. All the same, on the wholeâI think Iâd plump for the other. For Shapland. Sheâs a cool customer and sheâs got brains. Iâd go into her antecedents rather carefully if I were you. What the devil are you laughing for?â

Kelsey was grinning.

âShe was suspicious of you,â he said. âCaught you coming out of the Sports Pavilionâand thought there was something odd about your manner!â

âWell, Iâm damned!â Adam was indignant. âThe cheek of her!â

Inspector Kelsey resumed his authoritative manner.

âThe point is,â he said, âthat we think a lot of Meadowbank round these parts. Itâs a fine school. And Miss Bulstrodeâs a fine woman. The sooner we can get to the bottom of all this, the better for the school. We want to clear things up and give Meadowbank a clean bill of health.â

He paused, looking thoughtfully at Adam.

âI think,â he said, âweâll have to tell Miss Bulstrode who you are. Sheâll keep her mouth shutâdonât fear for that.â

Adam considered for a moment. Then he nodded his head.

âYes,â he said. âUnder the circumstances, I think itâs more or less inevitable.â

Twelve

NEW LAMPS FOR OLD

I

Miss Bulstrode had another faculty which demonstrated her superiority over most other women. She could listen.

She listened in silence to both Inspector Kelsey and Adam. She did not so much as raise an eyebrow. Then she uttered one word.

âRemarkable.â

Itâs you who are remarkable, thought Adam, but he did not say so aloud.

âWell,â said Miss Bulstrode, coming as was habitual to her straight to the point. âWhat do you want me to do?â

Inspector Kelsey cleared his throat.

âItâs like this,â he said. âWe felt that you ought to be fully informedâfor the sake of the school.â

Miss Bulstrode nodded.

âNaturally,â she said, âthe school is my first concern. It has to be. I am responsible for the care and safety of my pupilsâand in a lesser degree for that of my staff. And I would like to add now that if there can be as little publicity as possible about Miss Springerâs deathâthe better it will be for me. This is a purely selfish point of viewâthough I think my school is important in itselfânot only to me. And I quite realize that if full publicity is necessary for you, then you will have to go ahead. But is it?â

âNo,â said Inspector Kelsey. âIn this case I should say the less publicity the better. The inquest will be adjourned and weâll let it get about that we think it was a local affair. Young thugsâor juvenile delinquents, as we have to call them nowadaysâout with guns amongst them, trigger happy. Itâs usually flick knives, but some of these boys do get hold of guns. Miss Springer surprised them. They shot her. Thatâs what I should like to let it go atâthen we can get to work quiet-like. Not more than can be helped in the Press. But of course, Meadowbankâs famous. Itâs news. And murder at Meadowbank will be hot news.â

âI think I can help you there,â said Miss Bulstrode crisply, âI am not without influence in high places.â She smiled and reeled off a few names. These included the Home Secretary, two Press barons, a bishop and the Minister of Education. âIâll do what I can.â She looked at Adam. âYou agree?â

Adam spoke quickly.

âYes, indeed. We always like things nice and quiet.â

âAre you continuing to be my gardener?â inquired Miss Bulstrode.

âIf you donât object. It puts me right where I want to be. And I can keep an eye on things.â

This time Miss Bulstrodeâs eyebrows did rise.

âI hope youâre not expecting anymore murders?â

âNo, no.â

âIâm glad of that. I doubt if any school could survive two murders in one term.â

She turned to Kelsey.

âHave you people finished with the Sports Pavilion? Itâs awkward if we canât use it.â

âWeâve finished with it. Clean as a whistleâfrom our point of view, I mean. For whatever reason the murder was committedâthereâs nothing there now to help us. Itâs just a Sports Pavilion with the usual equipment.â

âNothing in the girlsâ lockers?â

Inspector Kelsey smiled.

âWellâthis and thatâcopy of a bookâFrenchâcalled Candideâwithâerâillustrations. Expensive book.â

âAh,â said Miss Bulstrode. âSo thatâs where she keeps it! Giselle dâAubray, I suppose?â

Kelseyâs respect for Miss Bulstrode rose.

âYou donât miss much, Mâam,â he said.

âShe wonât come to harm with Candide,â said Miss Bulstrode. âItâs a classic. Some forms of pornography I do confiscate. Now I come back to my first question. You have relieved my mind about the publicity connected with the school. Can the school help you in any way? Can I help you?â

âI donât think so, at the moment. The only thing I can ask is, has anything caused you uneasiness this term? Any incident? Or any person?â

Miss Bulstrode was silent for a moment or two. Then she said slowly:

âThe answer, literally, is: I donât know.â

Adam said quickly:

âYouâve got a feeling that somethingâs wrong?â

âYesâjust that. Itâs not definite. I canât put my finger on any person, or any incidentâunlessââ

She was silent for a moment, then she said:

âI feelâI felt at the timeâthat Iâd missed something that I ought not to have missed. Let me explain.â

She recited briefly the little incident of Mrs. Upjohn and the distressing and unexpected arrival of Lady Veronica.

Adam was interested.

âLet me get this clear, Miss Bulstrode. Mrs. Upjohn, looking out of the window, this front window that gives on the drive, recognized someone. Thereâs nothing in that. You have over a hundred pupils and nothing is more likely than for Mrs. Upjohn to see some parent or relation that she knew. But you are definitely of the opinion that she was astonished to recognize that personâin fact, that it was someone whom she would not have expected to see at Meadowbank?â

âYes, that was exactly the impression I got.â

âAnd then through the window looking in the opposite direction you saw one of the pupilsâ mothers, in a state of intoxication, and that completely distracted your mind from what Mrs. Upjohn was saying?â

Miss Bulstrode nodded.

âShe was talking for some minutes?â

âYes.â

âAnd when your attention did return to her, she was speaking of espionage, of Intelligence work she had done in the war before she married?â

âYes.â

âIt might tie up,â said Adam thoughtfully. âSomeone she had known in her war days. A parent or relation of one of your pupils, or it could have been a member of your teaching staff.â

âHardly a member of my staff,â objected Miss Bulstrode.

âItâs possible.â

âWeâd better get in touch with Mrs. Upjohn,â said Kelsey. âAs soon as possible. You have her address, Miss Bulstrode?â

âOf course. But I believe she is abroad at the moment. WaitâI will find out.â

She pressed her desk buzzer twice, then went impatiently to the door and called to a girl who was passing.

âFind Julia Upjohn for me, will you, Paula?â

âYes, Miss Bulstrode.â

âIâd better go before the girl comes,â Adam said. âIt wouldnât be natural for me to assist in the inquiries the Inspector is making. Ostensibly heâs called me in here to get the lowdown on me. Having satisfied himself that heâs got nothing on me for the moment, he now tells me to take myself off.â

âTake yourself off and remember Iâve got my eye on you!â growled Kelsey with a grin.

âBy the way,â said Adam, addressing Miss Bulstrode as he paused by the door, âwill it be all right with you if I slightly abuse my position here? If I get, shall we say, a little too friendly with some members of your staff?â

âWith which members of my staff?â

âWellâMademoiselle Blanche, for instance.â

âMademoiselle Blanche? You think that sheâ?â

âI think sheâs rather bored here.â

âAh!â Miss Bulstrode looked rather grim. âPerhaps youâre right. Anyone else?â

âI shall have a good try all round,â said Adam cheerfully. âIf you should find that some of your girls are being rather silly, and slipping off to assignations in the garden, please believe that my intentions are strictly sleuthialâif there is such a word.â

âYou think the girls are likely to know something?â

âEverybody always knows something,â said Adam, âeven if itâs something they donât know they know.â

âYou may be right.â

There was a knock on the door, and Miss Bulstrode calledââCome in.â

Julia Upjohn appeared, very much out of breath.

âCome in, Julia.â

Inspector Kelsey growled.

âYou can go now, Goodman. Take yourself off and get on with your work.â

âIâve told you I donât know a thing about anything,â said Adam sulkily. He went out, muttering âBlooming Gestapo.â

âIâm sorry Iâm so out of breath, Miss Bulstrode,â apologized Julia. âIâve run all the way from the tennis courts.â

âThatâs quite all right. I just wanted to ask you your motherâs addressâthat is, where can I get in touch with her?â

âOh! Youâll have to write to Aunt Isabel. Motherâs abroad.â

âI have your auntâs address. But I need to get in touch with your mother personally.â

âI donât see how you can,â said Julia, frowning. âMotherâs gone to Anatolia on a bus.â

âOn a bus?â said Miss Bulstrode, taken aback.

Julia nodded vigorously.

âShe likes that sort of thing,â she explained. âAnd of course itâs frightfully cheap. A bit uncomfortable, but Mummy doesnât mind that. Roughly, I should think sheâd fetch up in Van in about three weeks or so.â

âI seeâyes. Tell me, Julia, did your mother ever mention to you seeing someone here whom sheâd known in her war service days?â

âNo, Miss Bulstrode, I donât think so. No, Iâm sure she didnât.â

âYour mother did Intelligence work, didnât she?â

âOh, yes. Mummy seems to have loved it. Not that it sounds really exciting to me. She never blew up anything. Or got caught by the Gestapo. Or had her toenails pulled out. Or anything like that. She worked in Switzerland, I thinkâor was it Portugal?â

Julia added apologetically: âOne gets rather bored with all that old war stuff; and Iâm afraid I donât always listen properly.â

âWell, thank you, Julia. Thatâs all.â

âReally!â said Miss Bulstrode, when Julia had departed. âGone to Anatolia on a bus! The child said it exactly as though she were saying her mother had taken a 73 bus to Marshall and Snelgroveâs.â

II

Jennifer walked away from the tennis courts rather moodily, swishing her racquet. The amount of double faults she had served this morning depressed her. Not, of course, that you could get a hard serve with this racquet, anyway. But she seemed to have lost control of her service lately. Her backhand, however, had definitely improved. Springerâs coaching had been helpful. In many ways it was a pity that Springer was dead.

Jennifer took tennis very seriously. It was one of the things she thought about.

âExcuse meââ

Jennifer looked up, startled. A well-dressed woman with golden hair, carrying a long flat parcel, was standing a few feet away from her on the path. Jennifer wondered why on earth she hadnât seen the woman coming along towards her before. It did not occur to her that the woman might have been hidden behind a tree or in the rhododendron bushes and just stepped out of them. Such an idea would not have occurred to Jennifer, since why should a woman hide behind rhododendron bushes and suddenly step out of them?

Speaking with a slightly American accent the woman said, âI wonder if you could tell me where I could find a girl calledââshe consulted a piece of paperââJennifer Sutcliffe.â

Jennifer was surprised.

âIâm Jennifer Sutcliffe.â

âWhy! How ridiculous! That is a coincidence. That in a big school like this I should be looking for one girl and I should happen upon the girl herself to ask. And they say things like that donât happen.â

âI suppose they do happen sometimes,â said Jennifer, uninterested.

âI was coming down to lunch today with some friends down here,â went on the woman, âand at a cocktail party yesterday I happened to mention I was coming, and your auntâor was it your godmother?âIâve got such a terrible memory. She told me her name and Iâve forgotten that too. But anyway, she said could I possibly call here and leave a new tennis racquet for you. She said you had been asking for one.â

Jenniferâs face lit up. It seemed like a miracle, nothing less.

âIt must have been my godmother, Mrs. Campbell. I call her Aunt Gina. It wouldnât have been Aunt Rosamond. She never gives me anything but a mingy ten shillings at Christmas.â

âYes, I remember now. That was the name. Campbell.â

The parcel was held out. Jennifer took it eagerly. It was quite loosely wrapped. Jennifer uttered an exclamation of pleasure as the racquet emerged from its coverings.

âOh, itâs smashing!â she exclaimed. âA really good one. Iâve been longing for a new racquetâyou canât play decently if you havenât got a decent racquet.â

âWhy I guess thatâs so.â

âThank you very much for bringing it,â said Jennifer gratefully.

âIt was really no trouble. Only I confess I felt a little shy. Schools always make me feel shy. So many girls. Oh, by the way, I was asked to bring back your old racquet with me.â

She picked up the racquet Jennifer had dropped.

âYour auntânoâgodmotherâsaid she would have it restrung. It needs it badly, doesnât it?â

âI donât think that itâs really worthwhile,â said Jennifer, but without paying much attention.

She was still experimenting with the swing and balance of her new treasure.

âBut an extra racquet is always useful,â said her new friend. âOh dear,â she glanced at her watch. âIt is much later than I thought. I must run.â

âHave youâdo you want a taxi? I could telephoneââ

âNo, thank you, dear. My car is right by the gate. I left it there so that I shouldnât have to turn in a narrow space. Good-bye. So pleased to have met you. I hope you enjoy the racquet.â

She literally ran along the path towards the gate. Jennifer called after her once more. âThank you very much.â

Then, gloating, she went in search of Julia.

âLook,â she flourished the racquet dramatically.

âI say! Where did you get that?â

âMy godmother sent it to me. Aunt Gina. Sheâs not my aunt, but I call her that. Sheâs frightfully rich. I expect Mummy told her about me grumbling about my racquet. It is smashing, isnât it? I must remember to write and thank her.â

âI should hope so!â said Julia virtuously.

âWell, you know how one does forget things sometimes. Even things you really mean to do. Look, Shaista,â she added as the latter girl came towards them. âIâve got a new racquet. Isnât it a beauty?â

âIt must have been very expensive,â said Shaista, scanning it respectfully. âI wish I could play tennis well.â

âYou always run into the ball.â

âI never seem to know where the ball is going to come,â said Shaista vaguely. âBefore I go home, I must have some really good shorts made in London. Or a tennis dress like the American champion Ruth Allen wears. I think that is very smart. Perhaps I will have both,â she smiled in pleasurable anticipation.

âShaista never thinks of anything except things to wear,â said Julia scornfully as the two friends passed on. âDo you think we shall ever be like that?â

âI suppose so,â said Jennifer gloomily. âIt will be an awful bore.â

They entered the Sports Pavilion, now officially vacated by the police, and Jennifer put her racquet carefully into her press.

âIsnât it lovely?â she said, stroking it affectionately.

âWhat have you done with the old one?â

âOh, she took it.â

âWho?â

âThe woman who brought this. Sheâd met Aunt Gina at a cocktail party, and Aunt Gina asked her to bring me this as she was coming down here today, and Aunt Gina said to bring up my old one and sheâd have it restrung.â

âOh, I see â¦ â But Julia was frowning.

âWhat did Bully want with you?â asked Jennifer.

âBully? Oh, nothing really. Just Mummyâs address. But she hasnât got one because sheâs on a bus. In Turkey somewhere. Jenniferâlook here. Your racquet didnât need restringing.â

âOh, it did, Julia. It was like a sponge.â

âI know. But itâs my racquet really. I mean, we exchanged. It was my racquet that needed restringing. Yours, the one Iâve got now, was restrung. You said yourself your mother had had it restrung before you went abroad.â

âYes, thatâs true.â Jennifer looked a little startled. âOh well, I suppose this womanâwhoever she wasâI ought to have asked her name, but I was so entrancedâjust saw that it needed restringing.â

âBut you said that she said that it was your Aunt Gina who had said it needed restringing. And your Aunt Gina couldnât have thought it needed restringing if it didnât.â

âOh, wellââ Jennifer looked impatient. âI supposeâI supposeââ

âYou suppose what?â

âPerhaps Aunt Gina just thought that if I wanted a new racquet, it was because the old one wanted restringing. Anyway what does it matter?â

âI suppose it doesnât matter,â said Julia slowly. âBut I do think itâs odd, Jennifer. Itâs likeâlike new lamps for old. Aladdin, you know.â

Jennifer giggled.

âFancy rubbing my old racquetâyour old racquet, I mean, and having a genie appear! If you rubbed a lamp and a genie did appear, what would you ask him for, Julia?â

âLots of things,â breathed Julia ecstatically. âA tape recorder, and an Alsatianâor perhaps a Great Dane, and a hundred thousand pounds, and a black satin party frock, and oh! lots of other things â¦ What would you?â

âI donât really know,â said Jennifer. âNow Iâve got this smashing new racquet, I donât really want anything else.â

Thirteen

CATASTROPHE

I

The third weekend after the opening of term followed the usual plan. It was the first weekend on which parents were allowed to take pupils out. As a result Meadowbank was left almost deserted.

On this particular Sunday there would only be twenty girls left at the school itself for the midday meal. Some of the staff had weekend leave, returning late Sunday night or early Monday morning. On this particular occasion Miss Bulstrode herself was proposing to be absent for the weekend. This was unusual since it was not her habit to leave the school during term time. But she had her reasons. She was going to stay with the Duchess of Welsham at Welsington Abbey. The duchess had made a special point of it and had added that Henry Banks would be there. Henry Banks was the Chairman of the Governors. He was an important industrialist and he had been one of the original backers of the school. The invitation was therefore almost in the nature of a command. Not that Miss Bulstrode would have allowed herself to be commanded if she had not wished to do so. But as it happened, she welcomed the invitation gladly. She was by no means indifferent to duchesses and the Duchess of Welsham was an influential duchess, whose own daughters had been sent to Meadowbank. She was also particularly glad to have the opportunity of talking to Henry Banks on the subject of the schoolâs future and also to put forward her own account of the recent tragic occurrence.

Owing to the influential connections at Meadowbank the murder of Miss Springer had been played down very tactfully in the Press. It had become a sad fatality rather than a mysterious murder. The impression was given, though not said, that possibly some young thugs had broken into the Sports Pavilion and that Miss Springerâs death had been more accident than design. It was reported vaguely that several young men had been asked to come to the police station and âassist the police.â Miss Bulstrode herself was anxious to mitigate any unpleasant impression that might have been given to these two influential patrons of the school. She knew that they wanted to discuss the veiled hint that she had thrown out of her coming retirement. Both the duchess and Henry Banks were anxious to persuade her to remain on. Now was the time, Miss Bulstrode felt, to push the claims of Eleanor Vansittart, to point out what a splendid person she was, and how well fitted to carry on the traditions of Meadowbank.

On Saturday morning Miss Bulstrode was just finishing off her correspondence with Ann Shapland when the telephone rang. Ann answered it.

âItâs the Emir Ibrahim, Miss Bulstrode. Heâs arrived at Claridgeâs and would like to take Shaista out tomorrow.â

Miss Bulstrode took the receiver from her and had a brief conversation with the Emirâs equerry. Shaista would be ready anytime from eleven thirty onwards on Sunday morning, she said. The girl must be back at the school by eight p.m.

She rang off and said:

âI wish Orientals sometimes gave you a little more warning. It has been arranged for Shaista to go out with Giselle dâAubray tomorrow. Now that will have to be cancelled. Have we finished all the letters?â

âYes, Miss Bulstrode.â

âGood, then I can go off with a clear conscience. Type them and send them off, and then you, too, are free for the weekend. I shanât want you until lunchtime on Monday.â

âThank you, Miss Bulstrode.â

âEnjoy yourself, my dear.â

âIâm going to,â said Ann.

âYoung man?â

âWellâyes.â Ann coloured a little. âNothing serious, though.â

âThen there ought to be. If youâre going to marry, donât leave it too late.â

âOh this is only an old friend. Nothing exciting.â

âExcitement,â said Miss Bulstrode warningly, âisnât always a good foundation for married life. Send Miss Chadwick to me, will you?â

Miss Chadwick bustled in.

âThe Emir Ibrahim, Shaistaâs uncle, is taking her out tomorrow Chaddy. If he comes himself, tell him she is making good progress.â

âSheâs not very bright,â said Miss Chadwick.

âSheâs immature intellectually,â agreed Miss Bulstrode. âBut she has a remarkably mature mind in other ways. Sometimes, when you talk to her, she might be a woman of twenty-five. I suppose itâs because of the sophisticated life sheâs led. Paris, Teheran, Cairo, Istanbul and all the rest of it. In this country weâre inclined to keep our children too young. We account it a merit when we say: âSheâs still quite a child.â It isnât a merit. Itâs a grave handicap in life.â

âI donât know that I quite agree with you there, dear,â said Miss Chadwick. âIâll go now and tell Shaista about her uncle. You go away for your weekend and donât worry about anything.â

âOh! I shanât,â said Miss Bulstrode. âItâs a good opportunity, really, for leaving Eleanor Vansittart in charge and seeing how she shapes. With you and her in charge nothingâs likely to go wrong.â

âI hope not, indeed. Iâll go and find Shaista.â

Shaista looked surprised and not at all pleased to hear that her uncle had arrived in London.

âHe wants to take me out tomorrow?â she grumbled. âBut Miss Chadwick, it is all arranged that I go out with Giselle dâAubray and her mother.â

âIâm afraid youâll have to do that another time.â

âBut I would much rather go out with Giselle,â said Shaista crossly. âMy uncle is not at all amusing. He eats and then he grunts and it is all very dull.â

âYou mustnât talk like that. It is impolite,â said Miss Chadwick. âYour uncle is only in England for a week, I understand, and naturally he wants to see you.â

âPerhaps he has arranged a new marriage for me,â said Shaista, her face brightening. âIf so, that would be fun.â

âIf that is so, he will no doubt tell you so. But you are too young to get married yet awhile. You must first finish your education.â

âEducation is very boring,â said Shaista.

II

Sunday morning dawned bright and sereneâMiss Shapland had departed soon after Miss Bulstrode on Saturday. Miss Johnson, Miss Rich and Miss Blake left on Sunday morning.

Miss Vansittart, Miss Chadwick, Miss Rowan and Mademoiselle Blanche were left in charge.

âI hope all the girls wonât talk too much,â said Miss Chadwick dubiously. âAbout poor Miss Springer I mean.â

âLet us hope,â said Eleanor Vansittart, âthat the whole affair will soon be forgotten.â She added: âIf any parents talk to me about it, I shall discourage them. It will be best, I think, to take quite a firm line.â

The girls went to church at 10 oâclock accompanied by Miss Vansittart and Miss Chadwick. Four girls who were Roman Catholics were escorted by AngÃ¨le Blanche to a rival religious establishment. Then, about half past eleven, the cars began to roll into the drive. Miss Vansittart, graceful, poised and dignified, stood in the hall. She greeted mothers smilingly, produced their offspring and adroitly turned aside any unwanted references to the recent tragedy.

âTerrible,â she said, âyes, quite terrible, but, you do understand, we donât talk about it here. All these young mindsâsuch a pity for them to dwell on it.â

Chaddy was also on the spot greeting old friends among the parents, discussing plans for the holidays and speaking affectionately of the various daughters.

âI do think Aunt Isabel might have come and taken me out,â said Julia who with Jennifer was standing with her nose pressed against the window of one of the classrooms, watching the comings and goings on the drive outside.

âMummyâs going to take me out next weekend,â said Jennifer. âDaddyâs got some important people coming down this weekend so she couldnât come today.â

âThere goes Shaista,â said Julia, âall togged up for London. Oo-ee! Just look at the heels on her shoes. I bet old Johnson doesnât like those shoes.â

A liveried chauffeur was opening the door of a large Cadillac. Shaista climbed in and was driven away.

âYou can come out with me next weekend, if you like,â said Jennifer. âI told Mummy Iâd got a friend I wanted to bring.â

âIâd love to,â said Julia. âLook at Vansittart doing her stuff.â

âTerribly gracious, isnât she?â said Jennifer.

âI donât know why,â said Julia, âbut somehow it makes me want to laugh. Itâs a sort of copy of Miss Bulstrode, isnât it? Quite a good copy, but itâs rather like Joyce Grenfell or someone doing an imitation.â

âThereâs Pamâs mother,â said Jennifer. âSheâs brought the little boys. How they can all get into that tiny Morris Minor I donât know.â

âTheyâre going to have a picnic,â said Julia. âLook at all the baskets.â

âWhat are you going to do this afternoon?â asked Jennifer. âI donât think I need write to Mummy this week, do you, if Iâm going to see her next week?â

âYou are slack about writing letters, Jennifer.â

âI never can think of anything to say,â said Jennifer.

âI can,â said Julia, âI can think of lots to say.â She added mournfully, âBut there isnât really anyone much to write to at present.â

âWhat about your mother?â

âI told you sheâs gone to Anatolia in a bus. You canât write letters to people who go to Anatolia in buses. At least you canât write to them all the time.â

âWhere do you write to when you do write?â

âOh, consulates here and there. She left me a list. Stamboul is the first and then Ankara and then some funny name.â She added, âI wonder why Bully wanted to get in touch with Mummy so badly? She seemed quite upset when I said where sheâd gone.â

âIt canât be about you,â said Jennifer. âYou havenât done anything awful, have you?â

âNot that I know of,â said Julia. âPerhaps she wanted to tell her about Springer.â

âWhy should she?â said Jennifer. âI should think sheâd be jolly glad that thereâs at least one mother who doesnât know about Springer.â

âYou mean mothers might think that their daughters were going to get murdered too?â

âI donât think my motherâs quite as bad as that,â said Jennifer. âBut she did get in quite a flap about it.â

âIf you ask me,â said Julia, in a meditative manner, âI think thereâs a lot that they havenât told us about Springer.â

âWhat sort of things?â

âWell, funny things seem to be happening. Like your new tennis racquet.â

âOh, I meant to tell you,â said Jennifer, âI wrote and thanked Aunt Gina and this morning I got a letter from her saying she was very glad Iâd got a new racquet but that she never sent it to me.â

âI told you that racquet business was peculiar,â said Julia triumphantly, âand you had a burglary, too, at your home, didnât you?â

âYes, but they didnât take anything.â

âThat makes it even more interesting,â said Julia. âI think,â she added thoughtfully, âthat we shall probably have a second murder soon.â

âOh really, Julia, why should we have a second murder?â

âWell, thereâs usually a second murder in books,â said Julia. âWhat I think is, Jennifer, that youâll have to be frightfully careful that it isnât you who gets murdered.â

âMe?â said Jennifer, surprised. âWhy should anyone murder me?â

âBecause somehow youâre mixed up in it all,â said Julia. She added thoughtfully, âWe must try and get a bit more out of your mother next week, Jennifer. Perhaps somebody gave her some secret papers out in Ramat.â

âWhat sort of secret papers?â

âOh, how should I know,â said Julia. âPlans or formulas for a new atomic bomb. That sort of thing.â

Jennifer looked unconvinced.

III

Miss Vansittart and Miss Chadwick were in the Common Room when Miss Rowan entered and said:

âWhere is Shaista? I canât find her anywhere. The Emirâs car has just arrived to call for her.â

âWhat?â Chaddy looked up surprised. âThere must be some mistake. The Emirâs car came for her about three-quarters of an hour ago. I saw her get into it and drive off myself. She was one of the first to go.â

Eleanor Vansittart shrugged her shoulders. âI suppose a car must have been ordered twice over, or something,â she said.

She went out herself and spoke to the chauffeur. âThere must be some mistake,â she said. âThe young lady has already left for London three-quarters of an hour ago.â

The chauffeur seemed surprised. âI suppose there must be some mistake, if you say so, madam,â he said. âI was definitely given instructions to call at Meadowbank for the young lady.â

âI suppose thereâs bound to be a muddle sometimes,â said Miss Vansittart.

The chauffeur seemed unperturbed and unsurprised. âHappens all the time,â he said. âTelephone messages taken, written down, forgotten. All that sort of thing. But we pride ourselves in our firm that we donât make mistakes. Of course, if I may say so, you never know with these Oriental gentlemen. Theyâve sometimes got quite a big entourage with them, and orders get given twice and even three times over. I expect thatâs what must have happened in this instance.â He turned his large car with some adroitness and drove away.

Miss Vansittart looked a little doubtful for a moment or two, but she decided there was nothing to worry about and began to look forward with satisfaction to a peaceful afternoon.

After luncheon the few girls who remained wrote letters or wandered about the grounds. A certain amount of tennis was played and the swimming pool was well patronized. Miss Vansittart took her fountain pen and her writing pad to the shade of the cedar tree. When the telephone rang at half past four it was Miss Chadwick who answered it.

âMeadowbank School?â The voice of a well-bred young Englishman spoke. âOh, is Miss Bulstrode there?â

âMiss Bulstrodeâs not here today. This is Miss Chadwick speaking.â

âOh, itâs about one of your pupils. I am speaking from Claridgeâs, the Emir Ibrahimâs suite.â

âOh yes? You mean about Shaista?â

âYes. The Emir is rather annoyed at not having got a message of any kind.â

âA message? Why should he get a message?â

âWell, to say that Shaista couldnât come, or wasnât coming.â

âWasnât coming! Do you mean to say she hasnât arrived?â

âNo, no, sheâs certainly not arrived. Did she leave Meadowbank then?â

âYes. A car came for her this morningâoh, about half past eleven I should think, and she drove off.â

âThatâs extraordinary because thereâs no sign of her here â¦ Iâd better ring up the firm that supplies the Emirâs cars.â

âOh dear,â said Miss Chadwick, âI do hope there hasnât been an accident.â

âOh, donât letâs assume the worst,â said the young man cheerfully. âI think youâd have heard, you know, if thereâd been an accident. Or we would. I shouldnât worry if I were you.â

But Miss Chadwick did worry.

âIt seems to me very odd,â she said.

âI supposeââ the young man hesitated.

âYes?â said Miss Chadwick.

âWell, itâs not quite the sort of thing I want to suggest to the Emir, but just between you and me thereâs noâerâwell, no boyfriend hanging about, is there?â

âCertainly not,â said Miss Chadwick with dignity.

âNo, no, well I didnât think there would be, but, well one never knows with girls, does one? Youâd be surprised at some of the things Iâve run into.â

âI can assure you,â said Miss Chadwick with dignity, âthat anything of that kind is quite impossible.â

But was it impossible? Did one ever know with girls?

She replaced the receiver and rather unwillingly went in search of Miss Vansittart. There was no reason to believe that Miss Vansittart would be any better able to deal with the situation than she herself but she felt the need of consulting with someone. Miss Vansittart said at once,

âThe second car?â

They looked at each other.

âDo you think,â said Chaddy slowly, âthat we ought to report this to the police?â

âNot to the police,â said Eleanor Vansittart in a shocked voice.

âShe did say, you know,â said Chaddy, âthat somebody might try to kidnap her.â

âKidnap her? Nonsense!â said Miss Vansittart sharply.

âYou donât thinkââ Miss Chadwick was persistent.

âMiss Bulstrode left me in charge here,â said Eleanor Vansittart, âand I shall certainly not sanction anything of the kind. We donât want anymore trouble here with the police.â

Miss Chadwick looked at her without affection. She thought Miss Vansittart was being shortsighted and foolish. She went back into the house and put through a call to the Duchess of Welshamâs house. Unfortunately everyone was out.

Fourteen

MISS CHADWICK LIES AWAKE

I

Miss Chadwick was restless. She turned to and fro in her bed counting sheep, and employing other time-honoured methods of invoking sleep. In vain.

At eight oâclock, when Shaista had not returned, and there had been no news of her, Miss Chadwick had taken matters into her own hands and rung up Inspector Kelsey. She was relieved to find that he did not take the matter too seriously. She could leave it all to him, he assured her. It would be an easy matter to check up on a possible accident. After that, he would get in touch with London. Everything would be done that was necessary. Perhaps the girl herself was playing truant. He advised Miss Chadwick to say as little as possible at the school. Let it be thought that Shaista was staying the night with her uncle at Claridgeâs.

âThe last thing you want, or that Miss Bulstrode would want, is anymore publicity,â said Kelsey. âItâs most unlikely that the girl has been kidnapped. So donât worry, Miss Chadwick. Leave it all to us.â

But Miss Chadwick did worry.

Lying in bed, sleepless, her mind went from possible kidnapping back to murder.

Murder at Meadowbank. It was terrible! Unbelievable! Meadowbank. Miss Chadwick loved Meadowbank. She loved it, perhaps, even more than Miss Bulstrode did, though in a somewhat different way. It had been such a risky, gallant enterprise. Following Miss Bulstrode faithfully into the hazardous undertaking, she had endured panic more than once. Supposing the whole thing should fail. They hadnât really had much capital. If they did not succeedâif their backing was withdrawnâMiss Chadwick had an anxious mind and could always tabulate innumerable ifs. Miss Bulstrode had enjoyed the adventure, the hazard of it all, but Chaddy had not. Sometimes, in an agony of apprehension, she had pleaded for Meadowbank to be run on more conventional lines. It would be safer, she urged. But Miss Bulstrode had been uninterested in safety. She had her vision of what a school should be and she had pursued it unafraid. And she had been justified in her audacity. But oh, the relief to Chaddy when success was a fait accompli. When Meadowbank was established, safely established, as a great English institution. It was then that her love for Meadowbank had flowed most fully. Doubts, fears, anxieties, all slipped from her. Peace and prosperity had come. She basked in the prosperity of Meadowbank like a purring tabby cat.

She had been quite upset when Miss Bulstrode had first begun to talk of retirement. Retire nowâwhen everything was set fair? What madness! Miss Bulstrode talked of travel, of all the things in the world to see. Chaddy was unimpressed. Nothing, anywhere, could be half as good as Meadowbank! It had seemed to her that nothing could affect the well-being of MeadowbankâBut nowâMurder!

Such an ugly violent wordâcoming in from the outside world like an ill-mannered storm wind. Murderâa word associated by Miss Chadwick only with delinquent boys with flick knives, or evil-minded doctors poisoning their wives. But murder hereâat a schoolâand not any schoolâat Meadowbank. Incredible.

Really, Miss Springerâpoor Miss Springer, naturally it wasnât her faultâbut, illogically, Chaddy felt that it must have been her fault in some way. She didnât know the traditions of Meadowbank. A tactless woman. She must in some way have invited murder. Miss Chadwick rolled over, turned her pillow, said âI mustnât go on thinking of it all. Perhaps I had better get up and take some aspirin. Iâll just try counting to fiftyâ¦.â

Before she had got to fifty, her mind was off again on the same track. Worrying. Would all thisâand perhaps kidnapping tooâget into the papers? Would parents, reading, hasten to take their daughters awayâ¦.

Oh dear, she must calm down and go to sleep. What time was it? She switched on her light and looked at her watchâJust after a quarter to one. Just about the time that poor Miss Springer â¦ No, she would not think of it anymore. And, how stupid of Miss Springer to have gone off by herself like that without waking up somebody else.

âOh dear,â said Miss Chadwick. âIâll have to take some aspirin.â

She got out of bed and went over to the washstand. She took two aspirins with a drink of water. On her way back, she pulled aside the curtain of the window and peered out. She did so to reassure herself more than for any other reason. She wanted to feel that of course there would never again be a light in the Sports Pavilion in the middle of the night.

But there was.

In a minute Chaddy had leapt to action. She thrust her feet into stout shoes, pulled on a thick coat, picked up her electric torch and rushed out of her room and down the stairs. She had blamed Miss Springer for not obtaining support before going out to investigate, but it never occurred to her to do so. She was only eager to get out to the Pavilion and find out who the intruder was. She did pause to pick up a weaponânot perhaps a very good one, but a weapon of kinds, and then she was out of the side door and following quickly along the path through the shrubbery. She was out of breath, but completely resolute. Only when she got at last to the door, did she slacken up and take care to move softly. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it further open and looked inâ¦.

II

At about the time when Miss Chadwick was rising from bed in search of aspirin, Ann Shapland, looking very attractive in a black dance frock, was sitting at a table in Le Nid Sauvage eating Supreme of Chicken and smiling at the young man opposite her. Dear Dennis, thought Ann to herself, always so exactly the same. It is what I simply couldnât bear if I married him. He is rather a pet, all the same. Aloud she remarked:

âWhat fun this is, Dennis. Such a glorious change.â

âHow is the new job?â said Dennis.

âWell, actually, Iâm rather enjoying it.â

âDoesnât seem to me quite your sort of thing.â

Ann laughed. âIâd be hard put to it to say what is my sort of thing. I like variety, Dennis.â

âI never can see why you gave up your job with old Sir Mervyn Todhunter.â

âWell, chiefly because of Sir Mervyn Todhunter. The attention he bestowed on me was beginning to annoy his wife. And itâs part of my policy never to annoy wives. They can do you a lot of harm, you know.â

âJealous cats,â said Dennis.

âOh no, not really,â said Ann. âIâm rather on the wivesâ side. Anyway I liked Lady Todhunter much better than old Mervyn. Why are you surprised at my present job?â

âOh, a school. Youâre not scholastically minded at all, I should have said.â

âIâd hate to teach in a school. Iâd hate to be penned up. Herded with a lot of women. But the work as the secretary of a school like Meadowbank is rather fun. It really is a unique place, you know. And Miss Bulstrodeâs unique. Sheâs really something, I can tell you. Her steel-grey eye goes through you and sees your innermost secrets. And she keeps you on your toes. Iâd hate to make a mistake in any letters Iâd taken down for her. Oh yes, sheâs certainly something.â

âI wish youâd get tired of all these jobs,â said Dennis. âItâs quite time, you know, Ann, that you stopped all this racketing about with jobs here and jobs there andâand settled down.â

âYou are sweet, Dennis,â said Ann in a noncommittal manner.

âWe could have quite fun, you know,â said Dennis.

âI daresay,â said Ann, âbut Iâm not ready yet. And anyway, you know, thereâs my mamma.â

âYes, I wasâgoing to talk to you about that.â

âAbout my mamma? What were you going to say?â

âWell, Ann, you know I think youâre wonderful. The way you get an interesting job and then you chuck it all up and go home to her.â

âWell, I have to now and again when she gets a really bad attack.â

âI know. As I say, I think itâs wonderful of you. But all the same there are places, you know, very good places nowadays whereâwhere people like your mother are well looked after and all that sort of thing. Not really loony bins.â

âAnd which cost the earth,â said Ann.

âNo, no, not necessarily. Why, even under the Health Schemeââ

A bitter note crept into Annâs voice. âYes, I daresay it will come to that one day. But in the meantime Iâve got a nice old pussy who lives with Mother and who can cope normally. Mother is quite reasonable most of the timeâAnd when sheâisnât, I come back and lend a hand.â

âSheâsâshe isnâtâsheâs neverâ?â

âAre you going to say violent, Dennis? Youâve got an extraordinarily lurid imagination. No. My dear mamma is never violent. She just gets fuddled. She forgets where she is and who she is and wants to go for long walks, and then as like as not sheâll jump into a train or a bus and take off somewhere andâwell, itâs all very difficult, you see. Sometimes itâs too much for one person to cope with. But sheâs quite happy, even when she is fuddled. And sometimes quite funny about it. I remember her saying: âAnn, darling, it really is very embarrassing. I knew I was going to Tibet and there I was sitting in that hotel in Dover with no idea how to get there. Then I thought why was I going to Tibet? And I thought Iâd better come home. Then I couldnât remember how long ago it was when I left home. It makes it very embarrassing, dear, when you canât quite remember things.â Mummy was really very funny over it all, you know. I mean she quite sees the humorous side herself.â

âIâve never actually met her,â Dennis began.

âI donât encourage people to meet her,â said Ann. âThatâs the one thing I think you can do for your people. Protect them fromâwell, curiosity and pity.â

âItâs not curiosity, Ann.â

âNo, I donât think it would be that with you. But it would be pity. I donât want that.â

âI can see what you mean.â

âBut if you think I mind giving up jobs from time to time and going home for an indefinite period, I donât,â said Ann. âI never meant to get embroiled in anything too deeply. Not even when I took my first post after my secretarial training. I thought the thing was to get really good at the job. Then if youâre really good you can pick and choose your posts. You see different places and you see different kinds of life. At the moment Iâm seeing school life. The best school in England seen from within! I shall stay there, I expect, about a year and a half.â

âYou never really get caught up in things, do you, Ann?â

âNo,â said Ann thoughtfully, âI donât think I do. I think Iâm one of those people who is a born observer. More like a commentator on the radio.â

âYouâre so detached,â said Dennis gloomily. âYou donât really care about anything or anyone.â

âI expect I shall some day,â said Ann encouragingly.

âI do understand more or less how youâre thinking and feeling.â

âI doubt it,â said Ann.

âAnyway, I donât think youâll last a year. Youâll get fed up with all those women,â said Dennis.

âThereâs a very good-looking gardener,â said Ann. She laughed when she saw Dennisâs expression. âCheer up, Iâm only trying to make you jealous.â

âWhatâs this about one of the mistresses having been killed?â

âOh, that.â Annâs face became serious and thoughtful.

âThatâs odd, Dennis. Very odd indeed. It was the Games Mistress. You know the type. I-am-a-plain-Games Mistress. I think thereâs a lot more behind it than has come out yet.â

âWell, donât you get mixed up in anything unpleasant.â

âThatâs easy to say. Iâve never had any chance at displaying my talents as a sleuth. I think I might be rather good at it.â

âNow, Ann.â

âDarling, Iâm not going to trail dangerous criminals. Iâm just going toâwell, make a few logical deductions. Why and who. And what for? That sort of thing. Iâve come across one piece of information thatâs rather interesting.â

âAnn!â

âDonât look so agonized. Only it doesnât seem to link up with anything,â said Ann thoughtfully. âUp to a point it all fits in very well. And then, suddenly, it doesnât.â She added cheerfully, âPerhaps thereâll be a second murder, and that will clarify things a little.â

It was at exactly that moment that Miss Chadwick pushed open the Sports Pavilion door.

Fifteen

MURDER REPEATS ITSELF

âCome along,â said Inspector Kelsey, entering the room with a grim face. âThereâs been another.â

âAnother what?â Adam looked up sharply.

âAnother murder,â said Inspector Kelsey. He led the way out of the room and Adam followed him. They had been sitting in the latterâs room drinking beer and discussing various probabilities when Kelsey had been summoned to the telephone.

âWho is it?â demanded Adam, as he followed Inspector Kelsey down the stairs.

âAnother mistressâMiss Vansittart.â

âWhere?â

âIn the Sports Pavilion.â

âThe Sports Pavilion again,â said Adam. âWhat is there about this Sports Pavilion?â

âYouâd better give it the once-over this time,â said Inspector Kelsey. âPerhaps your technique of searching may be more successful than ours has been. There must be something about that Sports Pavilion or why should everyone get killed there?â

He and Adam got into his car. âI expect the doctor will be there ahead of us. He hasnât so far to go.â

It was, Kelsey thought, like a bad dream repeating itself as he entered the brilliantly lighted Sports Pavilion. There, once again, was a body with the doctor kneeling beside it. Once again the doctor rose from his knees and got up.

âKilled about half an hour ago,â he said. âForty minutes at most.â

âWho found her?â said Kelsey.

One of his men spoke up. âMiss Chadwick.â

âThatâs the old one, isnât it?â

âYes. She saw a light, came out here, and found her dead. She stumbled back to the house and more or less went into hysterics. It was the matron who telephoned, Miss Johnson.â

âRight,â said Kelsey. âHow was she killed? Shot again?â

The doctor shook his head. âNo. Slugged on the back of the head, this time. Might have been a cosh or a sandbag. Something of that kind.â

A golf club with a steel head was lying near the door. It was the only thing that looked remotely disorderly in the place.

âWhat about that?â said Kelsey, pointing. âCould she have been hit with that?â

The doctor shook his head. âImpossible. Thereâs no mark on her. No, it was definitely a heavy rubber cosh or a sandbag, something of that sort.â

âSomethingâprofessional?â

âProbably, yes. Whoever it was, didnât mean to make any noise this time. Came up behind her and slugged her on the back of the head. She fell forward and probably never knew what hit her.â

âWhat was she doing?â

âShe was probably kneeling down,â said the doctor. âKneeling in front of this locker.â

The Inspector went up to the locker and looked at it. âThatâs the girlâs name on it, I presume,â he said. âShaistaâlet me see, thatâs theâthatâs the Egyptian girl, isnât it? Her Highness Princess Shaista.â He turned to Adam. âIt seems to tie in, doesnât it? Wait a minuteâthatâs the girl they reported this evening as missing?â

âThatâs right, sir,â said the Sergeant. âA car called for her here, supposed to have been sent by her uncle whoâs staying at Claridgeâs in London. She got into it and drove off.â

âNo reports come in?â

âNot as yet, sir. Got a network out. And the Yard is on it.â

âA nice simple way of kidnapping anyone,â said Adam. âNo struggle, no cries. All youâve got to know is that the girlâs expecting a car to fetch her and all youâve got to do is to look like a high-class chauffeur and arrive there before the other car does. The girl will step in without a second thought and you can drive off without her suspecting in the least whatâs happening to her.â

âNo abandoned car found anywhere?â asked Kelsey.

âWeâve had no news of one,â said the Sergeant. âThe Yardâs on it now as I said,â he added, âand the Special Branch.â

âMay mean a bit of a political schemozzle,â said the Inspector. âI donât suppose for a minute theyâll be able to take her out of the country.â

âWhat do they want to kidnap her for anyway?â asked the doctor.

âGoodness knows,â said Kelsey gloomily. âShe told me she was afraid of being kidnapped and Iâm ashamed to say I thought she was just showing off.â

âI thought so, too, when you told me about it,â said Adam.

âThe trouble is we donât know enough,â said Kelsey. âThere are far too many loose ends.â He looked around. âWell, there doesnât seem to be anything more that I can do here. Get on with the usual stuffâphotographs, fingerprints, etc. Iâd better go along to the house.â

At the house he was received by Miss Johnson. She was shaken but preserved her self-control.

âItâs terrible, Inspector,â she said. âTwo of our mistresses killed. Poor Miss Chadwickâs in a dreadful state.â

âIâd like to see her as soon as I can.â

âThe doctor gave her something and sheâs much calmer now. Shall I take you to her?â

âYes, in a minute or two. First of all, just tell me what you can about the last time you saw Miss Vansittart.â

âI havenât seen her at all today,â said Miss Johnson. âIâve been away all day. I arrived back here just before eleven and went straight up to my room. I went to bed.â

âYou didnât happen to look out of your window towards the Sports Pavilion?â

âNo. No, I never thought of it. Iâd spent the day with my sister whom I hadnât seen for some time and my mind was full of home news. I took a bath and went to bed and read a book, and I turned off the light and went to sleep. The next thing I knew was when Miss Chadwick burst in, looking as white as a sheet and shaking all over.â

âWas Miss Vansittart absent today?â

âNo, she was here. She was in charge. Miss Bulstrodeâs away.â

âWho else was here, of the mistresses, I mean?â

Miss Johnson considered a moment. âMiss Vansittart, Miss Chadwick, the French mistress, Mademoiselle Blanche, Miss Rowan.â

âI see. Well, I think youâd better take me to Miss Chadwick now.â

Miss Chadwick was sitting in a chair in her room. Although the night was a warm one the electric fire had been turned on and a rug was wrapped round her knees. She turned a ghastly face towards Inspector Kelsey.

âSheâs deadâshe is dead? Thereâs no chance thatâthat she might come round?â

Kelsey shook his head slowly.

âItâs so awful,â said Miss Chadwick, âwith Miss Bulstrode away.â She burst into tears. âThis will ruin the school,â she said. âThis will ruin Meadowbank. I canât bear itâI really canât bear it.â

Kelsey sat down beside her. âI know,â he said sympathetically, âI know. Itâs been a terrible shock to you, but I want you to be brave, Miss Chadwick, and tell me all you know. The sooner we can find out who did it, the less trouble and publicity there will be.â

âYes, yes, I can see that. You see, IâI went to bed early because I thought it would be nice for once to have a nice long night. But I couldnât go to sleep. I was worrying.â

âWorrying about the school?â

âYes. And about Shaista being missing. And then I began thinking of Miss Springer and whetherâwhether her murder would affect the parents, and whether perhaps they wouldnât send their girls back here next term. I was so terribly upset for Miss Bulstrode. I mean, sheâs made this place. Itâs been such a fine achievement.â

âI know. Now go on telling meâyou were worried, and you couldnât sleep?â

âNo, I counted sheep and everything. And then I got up and took some aspirin and when Iâd taken it I just happened to draw back the curtains from the window. I donât quite know why. I suppose because Iâd been thinking about Miss Springer. Then you see, I saw â¦ I saw a light there.â

âWhat kind of a light?â

âWell, a sort of dancing light. I meanâI think it must have been a torch. It was just like the light that Miss Johnson and I saw before.â

âIt was just the same, was it?â

âYes. Yes, I think so. Perhaps a little feebler, but I donât know.â

âYes. And then?â

âAnd then,â said Miss Chadwick, her voice suddenly becoming more resonant, âI was determined that this time I would see who it was out there and what they were doing. So I got up and pulled on my coat and my shoes, and I rushed out of the house.â

âYou didnât think of calling anyone else?â

âNo. No, I didnât. You see I was in such a hurry to get there, I was so afraid the personâwhoever it wasâwould go away.â

âYes. Go on, Miss Chadwick.â

âSo I went as fast as I could. I went up to the door and just before I got there I went on tiptoe so thatâso that I should be able to look in and nobody would hear me coming. I got there. The door was not shutâjust ajar and I pushed it very slightly open. I looked round it andâand there she was. Fallen forward on her face, deadâ¦.â

She began to shake all over.

âYes, yes, Miss Chadwick, itâs all right. By the way, there was a golf club out there. Did you take it out? Or did Miss Vansittart?â

âA golf club?â said Miss Chadwick vaguely. âI canât rememberâOh, yes, I think I picked it up in the hall. I took it out with me in caseâwell, in case I should have to use it. When I saw Eleanor I suppose I just dropped it. Then I got back to the house somehow and I found Miss JohnsonâOh! I canât bear it. I canât bear itâthis will be the end of Meadowbankââ

Miss Chadwickâs voice rose hysterically. Miss Johnson came forward.

âTo discover two murders is too much of a strain for anyone,â said Miss Johnson. âCertainly for anyone her age. You donât want to ask her anymore, do you?â

Inspector Kelsey shook his head.

As he was going downstairs, he noticed a pile of old-fashioned sandbags with buckets in an alcove. Dating from the war, perhaps, but the uneasy thought occurred to him that it neednât have been a professional with a cosh who had slugged Miss Vansittart. Someone in the building, someone who hadnât wished to risk the sound of a shot a second time, and who, very likely, had disposed of the incriminating pistol after the last murder, could have helped themselves to an innocent-looking but lethal weaponâand possibly even replaced it tidily afterwards!

Sixteen

RIDDLE OF THE SPORTS PAVILION

I

âMy head is bloody but unbowed,â said Adam to himself.

He was looking at Miss Bulstrode. He had never, he thought, admired a woman more. She sat, cool and unmoved, with her life-work falling in ruins about her.

From time to time telephone calls came through announcing that yet another pupil was being removed.

Finally Miss Bulstrode had taken her decision. Excusing herself to the police officers, she summoned Ann Shapland, and dictated a brief statement. The school would be closed until the end of term. Parents who found it inconvenient to have their children home, were welcome to leave them in her care and their education would be continued.

âYouâve got the list of parentsâ names and addresses? And their telephone numbers?â

âYes, Miss Bulstrode.â

âThen start on the telephone. After that see a typed notice goes to everyone.â

âYes, Miss Bulstrode.â

On her way out, Ann Shapland paused near the door.

She flushed and her words came with a rush.

âExcuse me, Miss Bulstrode. Itâs not my businessâbut isnât it a pity toâto be premature? I meanâafter the first panic, when people have had time to thinkâsurely they wonât want to take the girls away. Theyâll be sensible and think better of it.â

Miss Bulstrode looked at her keenly.

âYou think Iâm accepting defeat too easily?â

Ann flushed.

âI knowâyou think itâs cheek. Butâbut, well then, yes, I do.â

âYouâre a fighter, child, Iâm glad to see. But youâre quite wrong. Iâm not accepting defeat. Iâm going on my knowledge of human nature. Urge people to take their children away, force it on themâand they wonât want to nearly so much. Theyâll think up reasons for letting them remain. Or at the worst theyâll decide to let them come back next termâif there is a next term,â she added grimly.

She looked at Inspector Kelsey.

âThatâs up to you,â she said. âClear these murders upâcatch whoever is responsible for themâand weâll be all right.â

Inspector Kelsey looked unhappy. He said: âWeâre doing our best.â

Ann Shapland went out.

âCompetent girl,â said Miss Bulstrode. âAnd loyal.â

This was in the nature of a parenthesis. She pressed her attack.

âHave you absolutely no idea of who killed two of my mistresses in the Sports Pavilion? You ought to, by this time. And this kidnapping on top of everything else. I blame myself there. The girl talked about someone wanting to kidnap her. I thought, God forgive me, she was making herself important. I see now that there must have been something behind it. Someone must have hinted, or warnedâone doesnât know whichââ She broke off, resuming: âYouâve no news of any kind?â

âNot yet. But I donât think you need worry too much about that. Itâs been passed to the C.I.D. The Special Branch is on to it, too. They ought to find her within twenty-four hours, thirty-six at most. There are advantages in this being an island. All the ports, airports, etc., are alerted. And the police in every district are keeping a lookout. Itâs actually easy enough to kidnap anyoneâitâs keeping them hidden thatâs the problem. Oh, weâll find her.â

âI hope youâll find her alive,â said Miss Bulstrode grimly. âWe seem to be up against someone who isnât too scrupulous about human life.â

âThey wouldnât have troubled to kidnap her if theyâd meant to do away with her,â said Adam. âThey could have done that here easily enough.â

He felt that the last words were unfortunate. Miss Bulstrode gave him a look.

âSo it seems,â she said dryly.

The telephone rang. Miss Bulstrode took up the receiver.

âYes?â

She motioned to Inspector Kelsey.

âItâs for you.â

Adam and Miss Bulstrode watched him as he took the call. He grunted, jotted down a note or two, said finally: âI see. Alderton Priors. Thatâs Wallshire. Yes, weâll cooperate. Yes, Super. Iâll carry on here, then.â

He put down the receiver and stayed a moment lost in thought. Then he looked up.

âHis Excellency got a ransom note this morning. Typed on a new Corona. Postmark Portsmouth. Bet thatâs a blind.â

âWhere and how?â asked Adam.

âCrossroads two miles north of Alderton Priors. Thatâs a bit of bare moorland. Envelope containing money to be put under stone behind A.A. box there at 2 a.m. tomorrow morning.â

âHow much?â

âTwenty thousand.â He shook his head. âSounds amateurish to me.â

âWhat are you going to do?â asked Miss Bulstrode.

Inspector Kelsey looked at her. He was a different man. Official reticence hung about him like a cloak.

âThe responsibility isnât mine, madam,â he said. âWe have our methods.â

âI hope theyâre successful,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âOught to be easy,â said Adam.

âAmateurish?â said Miss Bulstrode, catching at a word they had used. âI wonderâ¦.â

Then she said sharply:

âWhat about my staff? What remains of it, that is to say? Do I trust them, or donât I?â

As Inspector Kelsey hesitated, she said,

âYouâre afraid that if you tell me who is not cleared, I should show it in my manner to them. Youâre wrong. I shouldnât.â

âI donât think you would,â said Kelsey. âBut I canât afford to take any chances. It doesnât look, on the face of it, as though any of your staff can be the person weâre looking for. That is, not so far as weâve been able to check up on them. Weâve paid special attention to those who are new this termâthat is Mademoiselle Blanche, Miss Springer and your secretary, Miss Shapland. Miss Shaplandâs past is completely corroborated. Sheâs the daughter of a retired general, she has held the posts she says she did and her former employers vouch for her. In addition she has an alibi for last night. When Miss Vansittart was killed, Miss Shapland was with a Mr. Dennis Rathbone at a nightclub. Theyâre both well known there, and Mr. Rathbone has an excellent character. Mademoiselle Blancheâs antecedents have also been checked. She has taught at a school in the north of England and at two schools in Germany, and has been given an excellent character. She is said to be a first-class teacher.â

âNot by our standards,â sniffed Miss Bulstrode.

âHer French background has also been checked. As regards Miss Springer, things are not quite so conclusive. She did her training where she says, but there have been gaps since in her periods of employment which are not fully accounted for.

âSince, however, she was killed,â added the Inspector, âthat seems to exonerate her.â

âI agree,â said Miss Bulstrode dryly, âthat both Miss Springer and Miss Vansittart are hors de combat as suspects. Let us talk sense. Is Mademoiselle Blanche, in spite of her blameless background, still a suspect merely because she is still alive?â

âShe could have done both murders. She was here, in the building, last night,â said Kelsey. âShe says she went to bed early and slept and heard nothing until the alarm was given. Thereâs no evidence to the contrary. Weâve got nothing against her. But Miss Chadwick says definitely that sheâs sly.â

Miss Bulstrode waved that aside impatiently.

âMiss Chadwick always finds the French Mistresses sly. Sheâs got a thing about them.â She looked at Adam. âWhat do you think?â

âI think she pries,â said Adam slowly. âIt may be just natural inquisitiveness. It may be something more. I canât make up my mind. She doesnât look to me like a killer, but how does one know?â

âThatâs just it,â said Kelsey. âThere is a killer here, a ruthless killer who has killed twiceâbut itâs very hard to believe that itâs one of the staff. Miss Johnson was with her sister last night at Limeston on Sea, and anyway sheâs been with you seven years. Miss Chadwickâs been with you since you started. Both of them, anyway, are clear of Miss Springerâs death. Miss Rich has been with you over a year and was staying last night at the Alton Grange Hotel, twenty miles away, Miss Blake was with friends at Littleport, Miss Rowan has been with you for a year and has a good background. As for your servants, frankly I canât see any of them as murderers. Theyâre all local, tooâ¦.â

Miss Bulstrode nodded pleasantly.

âI quite agree with your reasoning. It doesnât leave much, does it? Soââ She paused and fixed an accusing eye on Adam. âIt looks reallyâas though it must be you.â

His mouth opened in astonishment.

âOn the spot,â she mused. âFree to come and go â¦ Good story to account for your presence here. Background OK but you could be a double-crosser, you know.â

Adam recovered himself.

âReally, Miss Bulstrode,â he said admiringly, âI take off my hat to you. You think of everything!â

II

âGood gracious!â cried Mrs. Sutcliffe at the breakfast table. âHenry!â

She had just unfolded her newspaper.

The width of the table was between her and her husband since her weekend guests had not yet put in an appearance for the meal.

Mr. Sutcliffe, who had opened his paper to the financial page, and was absorbed in the unforeseen movements of certain shares, did not reply.

âHenry!â

The clarion call reached him. He raised a startled face.

âWhatâs the matter, Joan?â

âThe matter? Another murder! At Meadowbank! At Jenniferâs school.â

âWhat? Here, let me see!â

Disregarding his wifeâs remark that it would be in his paper, too, Mr. Sutcliffe leant across the table and snatched the sheet from his wifeâs grasp.

âMiss Eleanor Vansittart â¦ Sports Pavilion â¦ same spot where Miss Springer, the Games Mistress â¦ hm â¦ hmâ¦.â

âI canât believe it!â Mrs. Sutcliffe was wailing. âMeadowbank. Such an exclusive school. Royalty there and everythingâ¦.â

Mr. Sutcliffe crumpled up the paper and threw it down on the table.

âOnly one thing to be done,â he said. âYou get over there right away and take Jennifer out of it.â

âYou mean take her awayâaltogether?â

âThatâs what I mean.â

âYou donât think that would be a little too drastic? After Rosamond being so good about it and managing to get her in?â

âYou wonât be the only one taking your daughter away! Plenty of vacancies soon at your precious Meadowbank.â

âOh, Henry, do you think so?â

âYes, I do. Something badly wrong there. Take Jennifer away today.â

âYesâof courseâI suppose youâre right. What shall we do with her?â

âSend her to a secondary modern somewhere handy. They donât have murders there.â

âOh, Henry, but they do. Donât you remember? There was a boy who shot the science master at one. It was in last weekâs News of the World.â

âI donât know what Englandâs coming to,â said Mr. Sutcliffe.

Disgusted, he threw his napkin on the table and strode from the room.

III

Adam was alone in the Sports Pavilion â¦ His deft fingers were turning over the contents of the lockers. It was unlikely that he would find anything where the police had failed but after all, one could never be sure. As Kelsey had said every departmentâs technique varied a little.

What was there that linked this expensive modern building with sudden and violent death? The idea of a rendezvous was out. No one would choose to keep a rendezvous a second time in the same place where murder had occurred. It came back to it, then, that there was something here that someone was looking for. Hardly a cache of jewels. That seemed ruled out. There could be no secret hiding place, false drawers, spring catches, etc. And the contents of the lockers were pitifully simple. They had their secrets, but they were the secrets of school life. Photographs of pin up heroes, packets of cigarettes, an occasional unsuitable cheap paperback. Especially he returned to Shaistaâs locker. It was while bending over that that Miss Vansittart had been killed. What had Miss Vansittart expected to find there? Had she found it? Had her killer taken it from her dead hand and then slipped out of the building in the nick of time to miss being discovered by Miss Chadwick?

In that case it was no good looking. Whatever it was, was gone.

The sound of footsteps outside aroused him from his thoughts. He was on his feet and lighting a cigarette in the middle of the floor when Julia Upjohn appeared in the doorway, hesitating a little.

âAnything you want, miss?â asked Adam.

âI wondered if I could have my tennis racquet.â

âDonât see why not,â said Adam. âPolice constable left me here,â he explained mendaciously. âHad to drop back to the station for something. Told me to stop here while he was away.â

âTo see if he came back, I suppose,â said Julia.

âThe police constable?â

âNo. I mean, the murderer. They do, donât they? Come back to the scene of the crime. They have to! Itâs a compulsion.â

âYou may be right,â said Adam. He looked up at the serried rows of racquets in their presses. âWhereabouts is yours?â

âUnder U,â said Julia. âRight at the far end. We have our names on them,â she explained, pointing out the adhesive tape as he handed the racquet to her.

âSeen some service,â said Adam. âBut been a good racquet once.â

âCan I have Jennifer Sutcliffeâs too?â asked Julia.

âNew,â said Adam appreciatively, as he handed it to her.

âBrand new,â said Julia. âHer aunt sent it to her only the other day.â

âLucky girl.â

âShe ought to have a good racquet. Sheâs very good at tennis. Her backhandâs come on like anything this term.â She looked round. âDonât you think he will come back?â

Adam was a moment or two getting it.

âOh. The murderer? No, I donât think itâs really likely. Bit risky, wouldnât it be?â

âYou donât think murderers feel they have to?â

âNot unless theyâve left something behind.â

âYou mean a clue? Iâd like to find a clue. Have the police found one?â

âThey wouldnât tell me.â

âNo. I suppose they wouldnât â¦ Are you interested in crime?â

She looked at him inquiringly. He returned her glance. There was, as yet, nothing of the woman in her. She must be of much the same age as Shaista, but her eyes held nothing but interested inquiry.

âWellâI supposeâup to a pointâwe all are.â

Julia nodded in agreement.

âYes. I think so, too â¦ I can think of all sorts of solutionsâbut most of them are very far-fetched. Itâs rather fun, though.â

âYou werenât fond of Miss Vansittart?â

âI never really thought about her. She was all right. A bit like the BullâMiss Bulstrodeâbut not really like her. More like an understudy in a theatre. I didnât mean it was fun she was dead. Iâm sorry about that.â

She walked out holding the two racquets.

Adam remained looking round the Pavilion.

âWhat the hell could there ever have been here?â he muttered to himself.

IV

âGood lord,â said Jennifer, allowing Juliaâs forehand drive to pass her. âThereâs Mummy.â

The two girls turned to stare at the agitated figure of Mrs. Sutcliffe, shepherded by Miss Rich, rapidly arriving and gesticulating as she did so.

âMore fuss, I suppose,â said Jennifer resignedly. âItâs the murder. You are lucky, Julia, that your motherâs safely on a bus in the Caucasus.â

âThereâs still Aunt Isabel.â

âAunts donât mind in the same way.â

âHallo, Mummy,â she added, as Mrs. Sutcliffe arrived.

âYou must come and pack your things, Jennifer. Iâm taking you back with me.â

âBack home?â

âYes.â

âButâyou donât mean altogether? Not for good?â

âYes. I do.â

âBut you canâtâreally. My tennis has come on like anything. Iâve got a very good chance of winning the singles and Julia and I might win the doubles, though I donât think itâs very likely.â

âYouâre coming home with me today.â

âWhy?â

âDonât ask questions.â

âI suppose itâs because of Miss Springer and Miss Vansittart being murdered. But no oneâs murdered any of the girls. Iâm sure they wouldnât want to. And Sports Day is in three weeksâ time. I think I shall win the Long Jump and Iâve a good chance for the Hurdling.â

âDonât argue with me, Jennifer. Youâre coming back with me today. Your father insists.â

âBut, Mummyââ

Arguing persistently Jennifer moved towards the house by her motherâs side.

Suddenly she broke away and ran back to the tennis court.

âGood-bye, Julia. Mummy seems to have got the wind up thoroughly. Daddy, too, apparently. Sickening, isnât it? Good-bye, Iâll write to you.â

âIâll write to you, too, and tell you all that happens.â

âI hope they donât kill Chaddy next. Iâd rather it was Mademoiselle Blanche, wouldnât you?â

âYes. Sheâs the one we could spare best. I say, did you notice how black Miss Rich was looking?â

âShe hasnât said a word. Sheâs furious at Mummy coming and taking me away.â

âPerhaps sheâll stop her. Sheâs very forceful, isnât she? Not like anyone else.â

âShe reminds me of someone,â said Jennifer.

âI donât think sheâs a bit like anybody. She always seems to be quite different.â

âOh yes. She is different. I meant in appearance. But the person I knew was quite fat.â

âI canât imagine Miss Rich being fat.â

âJennifer â¦ â called Mrs. Sutcliffe.

âI do think parents are trying,â said Jennifer crossly. âFuss, fuss, fuss. They never stop. I do think youâre lucky toââ

âI know. You said that before. But just at the moment, let me tell you, I wish Mummy were a good deal nearer, and not on a bus in Anatolia.â

âJennifer â¦ â

âComingâ¦.â

Julia walked slowly in the direction of the Sports Pavilion. Her steps grew slower and slower and finally she stopped altogether. She stood, frowning, lost in thought.

The luncheon bell sounded, but she hardly heard it. She stared down at the racquet she was holding, moved a step or two along the path, then wheeled round and marched determinedly towards the house. She went in by the front door, which was not allowed, and thereby avoided meeting any of the other girls. The hall was empty. She ran up the stairs to her small bedroom, looked round her hurriedly, then lifting the mattress on her bed, shoved the racquet flat beneath it. Then, rapidly smoothing her hair, she walked demurely downstairs to the dining room.

Seventeen

ALADDINâS CAVE

I

The girls went up to bed that night more quietly than usual. For one thing their numbers were much depleted. At least thirty of them had gone home. The others reacted according to their several dispositions. Excitement, trepidation, a certain amount of giggling that was purely nervous in origin and there were some again who were merely quiet and thoughtful.

Julia Upjohn went up quietly amongst the first wave. She went into her room and closed the door. She stood there listening to the whispers, giggles, footsteps and goodnights. Then silence closed downâor a near silence. Faint voices echoed in the distance, and footsteps went to and fro to the bathroom.

There was no lock on the door. Julia pulled a chair against it, with the top of the chair wedged under the handle. That would give her warning if anyone should come in. But no one was likely to come in. It was strictly forbidden for the girls to go into each otherâs rooms, and the only mistress who did so was Miss Johnson, if one of the girls was ill or out of sorts.

Julia went to her bed, lifted up the mattress and groped under it. She brought out the tennis racquet and stood a moment holding it. She had decided to examine it now, and not later. A light in her room showing under the door might attract attention when all lights were supposed to be off. Now was the time when a light was normal for undressing and for reading in bed until half past ten if you wanted to do so.

She stood staring down at the racquet. How could there be anything hidden in a tennis racquet?

âBut there must be,â said Julia to herself. âThere must. The burglary at Jenniferâs home, the woman who came with that silly story about a new racquetâ¦.â

Only Jennifer would have believed that, thought Julia scornfully.

No, it was ânew lamps for oldâ and that meant, like in Aladdin, that there was something about this particular tennis racquet. Jennifer and Julia had never mentioned to anyone that they had swopped racquetsâor at least, she herself never had.

So really then, this was the racquet that everyone was looking for in the Sports Pavilion. And it was up to her to find out why! She examined it carefully. There was nothing unusual about it to look at. It was a good quality racquet, somewhat the worse for wear, but restrung and eminently usable. Jennifer had complained of the balance.

The only place you could possibly conceal anything in a tennis racquet was in the handle. You could, she supposed, hollow out the handle to make a hiding place. It sounded a little far-fetched but it was possible. And if the handle had been tampered with, that probably would upset the balance.

There was a round of leather with lettering on it, the lettering almost worn away. That of course was only stuck on. If one removed that? Julia sat down at her dressing table and attacked it with a penknife and presently managed to pull the leather off. Inside was a round of thin wood. It didnât look quite right. There was a join all round it. Julia dug in her penknife. The blade snapped. Nail scissors were more effective. She succeeded at last in prising it out. A mottled red and blue substance now showed. Julia poked it and enlightenment came to her. Plasticine! But surely handles of tennis racquets didnât normally contain plasticine? She grasped the nail scissors firmly and began to dig out lumps of plasticine. The stuff was encasing something. Something that felt like buttons or pebbles.

She attacked the plasticine vigorously.

Something rolled out on the tableâthen another something. Presently there was quite a heap.

Julia leaned back and gasped.

She stared and stared and staredâ¦.

Liquid fire, red and green and deep blue and dazzling whiteâ¦.

In that moment, Julia grew up. She was no longer a child. She became a woman. A woman looking at jewelsâ¦.

All sorts of fantastic snatches of thought raced through her brain. Aladdinâs cave â¦ Marguerite and her casket of jewels â¦ (They had been taken to Covent Garden to hear Faust last week) â¦ Fatal stones â¦ the Hope diamond â¦ Romance â¦ herself in a black velvet gown with a flashing necklace round her throatâ¦.

She sat and gloated and dreamed â¦ She held the stones in her fingers and let them fall through in a rivulet of fire, a flashing stream of wonder and delight.

And then something, some slight sound perhaps, recalled her to herself.

She sat thinking, trying to use her common sense, deciding what she ought to do. That faint sound had alarmed her. She swept up the stones, took them to the washstand and thrust them into her sponge bag and rammed her sponge and nail brush down on top of them. Then she went back to the tennis racquet, forced the plasticine back inside it, replaced the wooden top and tried to gum down the leather on top again. It curled upwards, but she managed to deal with that by applying adhesive plaster the wrong way up in thin strips and then pressing the leather on to it.

It was done. The racquet looked and felt just as before, its weight hardly altered in feel. She looked at it and then cast it down carelessly on a chair.

She looked at her bed, neatly turned down and waiting. But she did not undress. Instead she sat listening. Was that a footstep outside?

Suddenly and unexpectedly she knew fear. Two people had been killed. If anyone knew what she had found, she would be killed.

There was a fairly heavy oak chest of drawers in the room. She managed to drag it in front of the door, wishing that it was the custom at Meadowbank to have keys in the locks. She went to the window, pulled up the top sash and bolted it. There was no tree growing near the window and no creepers. She doubted if it was possible for anyone to come in that way but she was not going to take any chances.

She looked at her small clock. Half past ten. She drew a deep breath and turned out the light. No one must notice anything unusual. She pulled back the curtain a little from the window. There was a full moon and she could see the door clearly. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed. In her hand she held the stoutest shoe she possessed.

âIf anyone tries to come in,â Julia said to herself, âIâll rap on the wall here as hard as I can. Mary King is next door and that will wake her up. And Iâll screamâat the top of my voice. And then, if lots of people come, Iâll say I had a nightmare. Anyone might have a nightmare after all the things that have been going on here.â

She sat there and time passed. Then she heard itâa soft step along the passage. She heard it stop outside her door. A long pause and then she saw the handle slowly turning.

Should she scream? Not yet.

The door was pushedâjust a crack, but the chest of drawers held it. That must have puzzled the person outside.

Another pause, and then there was a knock, a very gentle little knock, on the door.

Julia held her breath. A pause, and then the knock came againâbut still soft and muted.

âIâm asleep,â said Julia to herself. âI donât hear anything.â

Who would come and knock on her door in the middle of the night? If it was someone who had a right to knock, theyâd call out, rattle the handle, make a noise. But this person couldnât afford to make a noiseâ¦.

For a long time Julia sat there. The knock was not repeated, the handle stayed immovable. But Julia sat tense and alert.

She sat like that for a long time. She never knew herself how long it was before sleep overcame her. The school bell finally awoke her, lying in a cramped and uncomfortable heap on the edge of the bed.

II

After breakfast, the girls went upstairs and made their beds, then went down to prayers in the big hall and finally dispersed to various classrooms.

It was during that last exercise, when girls were hurrying in different directions, that Julia went into one classroom, out by a further door, joined a group hurrying round the house, dived behind a rhododendron, made a series of further strategic dives and arrived finally near the wall of the grounds where a lime tree had thick growth almost down to the ground. Julia climbed the tree with ease, she had climbed trees all her life. Completely hidden in the leafy branches, she sat, glancing from time to time at her watch. She was fairly sure she would not be missed for some time. Things were disorganized, two teachers were missing, and more than half the girls had gone home. That meant that all classes would have been reorganized, so nobody would be likely to observe the absence of Julia Upjohn until lunchtime and by thenâ

Julia looked at her watch again, scrambled easily down the tree to the level of the wall, straddled it and dropped neatly on the other side. A hundred yards away was a bus stop where a bus ought to arrive in a few minutes. It duly did so, and Julia hailed and boarded it, having by now abstracted a felt hat from inside her cotton frock and clapped it on her slightly dishevelled hair. She got out at the station and took a train to London.

In her room, propped up on the washstand, she had left a note addressed to Miss Bulstrode.

Dear Miss Bulstrode,

I have not been kidnapped or run away, so donât worry. I will come back as soon as I can.

Yours very sincerely,

Julia Upjohn

III

At 228 Whitehouse Mansions, George, Hercule Poirotâs immaculate valet and manservant, opened the door and contemplated with some surprise a schoolgirl with a rather dirty face.

âCan I see M. Hercule Poirot, please?â

George took just a shade longer than usual to reply. He found the caller unexpected.

âMr. Poirot does not see anyone without an appointment,â he said.

âIâm afraid I havenât time to wait for that. I really must see him now. It is very urgent. Itâs about some murders and a robbery and things like that.â

âI will ascertain,â said George, âif Mr. Poirot will see you.â

He left her in the hall and withdrew to consult his master.

âA young lady, sir, who wishes to see you urgently.â

âI daresay,â said Hercule Poirot. âBut things do not arrange themselves as easily as that.â

âThat is what I told her, sir.â

âWhat kind of a young lady?â

âWell, sir, sheâs more of a little girl.â

âA little girl? A young lady? Which do you mean, Georges? They are really not the same.â

âIâm afraid you did not quite get my meaning sir. She is, I should say, a little girlâof school age, that is to say. But though her frock is dirty and indeed torn, she is essentially a young lady.â

âA social term. I see.â

âAnd she wishes to see you about some murders and a robbery.â

Poirotâs eyebrows went up.

âSome murders, and a robbery. Original. Show the little girlâthe young ladyâin.â

Julia came into the room with only the slightest trace of diffidence. She spoke politely and quite naturally.

âHow do you do, M. Poirot. I am Julia Upjohn. I think you know a great friend of Mummyâs. Mrs. Summerhayes. We stayed with her last summer and she talked about you a lot.â

âMrs. Summerhayes â¦ â Poirotâs mind went back to a village that climbed a hill and to a house on top of that hill. He recalled a charming freckled face, a sofa with broken springs, a large quantity of dogs, and other things both agreeable and disagreeable.

âMaureen Summerhayes,â he said. âAh yes.â

âI call her Aunt Maureen, but she isnât really an aunt at all. She told us how wonderful youâd been and saved a man who was in prison for murder, and when I couldnât think of what to do and who to go to, I thought of you.â

âI am honoured,â said Poirot gravely.

He brought forward a chair for her.

âNow tell me,â he said. âGeorges, my servant, told me you wanted to consult me about a robbery and some murdersâmore than one murder, then?â

âYes,â said Julia. âMiss Springer and Miss Vansittart. And of course thereâs the kidnapping, tooâbut I donât think thatâs really my business.â

âYou bewilder me,â said Poirot. âWhere have all these exciting happenings taken place?â

âAt my schoolâMeadowbank.â

âMeadowbank,â exclaimed Poirot. âAh.â He stretched out his hand to where the newspapers lay neatly folded beside him. He unfolded one and glanced over the front page, nodding his head.

âI begin to comprehend,â he said. âNow tell me, Julia, tell me everything from the beginning.â

Julia told him. It was quite a long story and a comprehensive oneâbut she told it clearlyâwith an occasional break as she went back over something she had forgotten.

She brought her story up to the moment when she had examined the tennis racquet in her bedroom last night.

âYou see, I thought it was just like Aladdinânew lamps for oldâand there must be something about that tennis racquet.â

âAnd there was?â

âYes.â

Without any false modesty, Julia pulled up her skirt, rolled up her knicker leg nearly to her thigh and exposed what looked like a grey poultice attached by adhesive plaster to the upper part of her leg.

She tore off the strips of plaster, uttering an anguished âOuchâ as she did so, and freed the poultice which Poirot now perceived to be a packet enclosed in a portion of grey plastic sponge bag. Julia unwrapped it and without warning poured a heap of glittering stones on the table.

âNom dâun nom dâun nom!â ejaculated Poirot in an awe-inspired whisper.

He picked them up, letting them run through his fingers.

âNom dâun nom dâun nom! But they are real. Genuine.â

Julia nodded.

âI think they must be. People wouldnât kill other people for them otherwise, would they? But I can understand people killing for these!â

And suddenly, as had happened last night, a woman looked out of the childâs eyes.

Poirot looked keenly at her and nodded.

âYesâyou understandâyou feel the spell. They cannot be to you just pretty coloured playthingsâmore is the pity.â

âTheyâre jewels!â said Julia, in tones of ecstasy.

âAnd you found them, you say, in this tennis racquet?â

Julia finished her recital.

âAnd you have now told me everything?â

âI think so. I may, perhaps, have exaggerated a little here and there. I do exaggerate sometimes. Now Jennifer, my great friend, sheâs the other way round. She can make the most exciting things sound dull.â She looked again at the shining heap. âM. Poirot, who do they really belong to?â

âIt is probably very difficult to say. But they do not belong to either you or to me. We have to decide now what to do next.â

Julia looked at him in an expectant fashion.

âYou leave yourself in my hands? Good.â

Hercule Poirot closed his eyes.

Suddenly he opened them and became brisk.

âIt seems that this is an occasion when I cannot, as I prefer, remain in my chair. There must be order and method, but in what you tell me, there is no order and method. That is because we have here many threads. But they all converge and meet at one place, Meadowbank. Different people, with different aims, and representing different interestsâall converge at Meadowbank. So, I, too, go to Meadowbank. And as for youâwhere is your mother?â

âMummyâs gone in a bus to Anatolia.â

âAh, your mother has gone in a bus to Anatolia. Il ne manquait que Ã§a! I perceive well that she might be a friend of Mrs. Summerhayes! Tell me, did you enjoy your visit with Mrs. Summerhayes?â

âOh yes, it was great fun. Sheâs got some lovely dogs.â

âThe dogs, yes, I well remember.â

âThey come in and out through all the windowsâlike in a pantomime.â

âYou are so right! And the food? Did you enjoy the food?â

âWell, it was a bit peculiar sometimes,â Julia admitted.

âPeculiar, yes, indeed.â

âBut Aunt Maureen makes smashing omelettes.â

âShe makes smashing omelettes.â Poirotâs voice was happy. He sighed.

âThen Hercule Poirot has not lived in vain,â he said. âIt was I who taught your Aunt Maureen to make an omelette.â He picked up the telephone receiver.

âWe will now reassure your good schoolmistress as to your safety and announce my arrival with you at Meadowbank.â

âShe knows Iâm all right. I left a note saying I hadnât been kidnapped.â

âNevertheless, she will welcome further reassurance.â

In due course he was connected, and was informed that Miss Bulstrode was on the line.

âAh, Miss Bulstrode? My name is Hercule Poirot. I have with me here your pupil Julia Upjohn. I propose to motor down with her immediately, and for the information of the police officer in charge of the case, a certain packet of some value has been safely deposited in the bank.â

He rang off and looked at Julia.

âYou would like a sirop?â he suggested.

âGolden syrup?â Julia looked doubtful.

âNo, a syrup of fruit juice. Blackcurrant, raspberry, groseilleâthat is, red currant?â

Julia settled for red currant.

âBut the jewels arenât in the bank,â she pointed out.

âThey will be in a very short time,â said Poirot. âBut for the benefit of anyone who listens in at Meadowbank, or who overhears, or who is told, it is as well to think they are already there and no longer in your possession. To obtain jewels from a bank requires time and organization. And I should very much dislike anything to happen to you, my child. I will admit that I have formed a high opinion of your courage and your resource.â

Julia looked pleased but embarrassed.

Eighteen

CONSULTATION

I

Hercule Poirot had prepared himself to beat down an insular prejudice that a headmistress might have against aged foreigners with pointed patent leather shoes and large moustaches. But he was agreeably surprised. Miss Bulstrode greeted him with cosmopolitan aplomb. She also, to his gratification, knew all about him.

âIt was kind of you, M. Poirot,â she said, âto ring up so promptly and allay our anxiety. All the more so because that anxiety had hardly begun. You werenât missed at lunch, Julia, you know,â she added, turning to the girl. âSo many girls were fetched away this morning, and there were so many gaps at table, that half the school could have been missing, I think, without any apprehension being aroused. These are unusual circumstances,â she said, turning back to Poirot. âI assure you we would not be so slack normally. When I received your telephone call,â she went on, âI went to Juliaâs room and found the note she had left.â

âI didnât want you to think Iâd been kidnapped, Miss Bulstrode,â said Julia.

âI appreciate that, but I think, Julia, that you might have told me what you were planning to do.â

âI thought Iâd better not,â said Julia, and added unexpectedly, âLes oreilles ennemies nous Ã©coutent.â

âMademoiselle Blanche doesnât seem to have done much to improve your accent yet,â said Miss Bulstrode, briskly. âBut Iâm not scolding you, Julia.â She looked from Julia to Poirot. âNow, if you please, I want to hear exactly what has happened.â

âYou permit?â said Hercule Poirot. He stepped across the room, opened the door and looked out. He made an exaggerated gesture of shutting it. He returned beaming.

âWe are alone,â he said mysteriously. âWe can proceed.â

Miss Bulstrode looked at him, then she looked at the door, then she looked at Poirot again. Her eyebrows rose. He returned her gaze steadily. Very slowly Miss Bulstrode inclined her head. Then, resuming her brisk manner, she said, âNow then, Julia, letâs hear all about this.â

Julia plunged into her recital. The exchange of tennis racquets, the mysterious woman. And finally her discovery of what the racquet contained. Miss Bulstrode turned to Poirot. He nodded his head gently.

âMademoiselle Julia has stated everything correctly,â he said. âI took charge of what she brought me. It is safely lodged in a bank. I think therefore that you need anticipate no further developments of an unpleasant nature here.â

âI see,â said Miss Bulstrode. âYes, I see â¦ â She was quiet for a moment or two and then she said, âYou think it wise for Julia to remain here? Or would it be better for her to go to her aunt in London?â

âOh please,â said Julia, âdo let me stay here.â

âYouâre happy here then?â said Miss Bulstrode.

âI love it,â said Julia. âAnd besides, there have been such exciting things going on.â

âThat is not a normal feature of Meadowbank,â said Miss Bulstrode, dryly.

âI think that Julia will be in no danger here now,â said Hercule Poirot. He looked again towards the door.

âI think I understand,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âBut for all that,â said Poirot, âthere should be discretion. Do you understand discretion, I wonder?â he added, looking at Julia.

âM. Poirot means,â said Miss Bulstrode, âthat he would like you to hold your tongue about what you found. Not talk about it to the other girls. Can you hold your tongue?â

âYes,â said Julia.

âIt is a very good story to tell to your friends,â said Poirot. âOf what you found in a tennis racquet in the dead of night. But there are important reasons why it would be advisable that that story should not be told.â

âI understand,â said Julia.

âCan I trust you, Julia?â said Miss Bulstrode.

âYou can trust me,â said Julia. âCross my heart.â

Miss Bulstrode smiled. âI hope your mother will be home before long,â she said.

âMummy? Oh, I do hope so.â

âI understand from Inspector Kelsey,â said Miss Bulstrode, âthat every effort is being made to get in touch with her. Unfortunately,â she added, âAnatolian buses are liable to unexpected delays and do not always run to schedule.â

âI can tell Mummy, canât I?â said Julia.

âOf course. Well, Julia, thatâs all settled. Youâd better run along now.â

Julia departed. She closed the door after her. Miss Bulstrode looked very hard at Poirot.

âI have understood you correctly, I think,â she said. âJust now, you made a great parade of closing that door. Actuallyâyou deliberately left it slightly open.â

Poirot nodded.

âSo that what we said could be overheard?â

âYesâif there was anyone who wanted to overhear. It was a precaution of safety for the childâthe news must get round that what she found is safely in a bank, and not in her possession.â

Miss Bulstrode looked at him for a momentâthen she pursed her lips grimly together.

âThereâs got to be an end to all this,â she said.

II

âThe idea is,â said the Chief Constable, âthat we try to pool our ideas and information. We are very glad to have you with us, M. Poirot,â he added. âInspector Kelsey remembers you well.â

âItâs a great many years ago,â said Inspector Kelsey. âChief Inspector Warrender was in charge of the case. I was a fairly raw sergeant, knowing my place.â

âThe gentleman called, for convenienceâs sake by usâMr. Adam Goodman, is not known to you, M. Poirot, but I believe you do know hisâhisâerâchief. Special Branch,â he added.

âColonel Pikeaway?â said Hercule Poirot thoughtfully.

âAh, yes it is some time since I have seen him. Is he still as sleepy as ever?â he asked Adam.

Adam laughed. âI see you know him all right, M. Poirot. Iâve never seen him wide-awake. When I do, Iâll know that for once he isnât paying attention to what goes on.â

âYou have something there, my friend. It is well observed.â

âNow,â said the Chief Constable, âletâs get down to things. I shanât push myself forward or urge my own opinions. Iâm here to listen to what the men who are actually working on the case know and think. There are a great many sides to all this, and one thing perhaps I ought to mention first of all. Iâm saying this as a result of representations that have been made to me fromâerâvarious quarters high up.â He looked at Poirot. âLetâs say,â he said, âthat a little girlâa schoolgirlâcame to you with a pretty tale of something sheâd found in the hollowed-out handle of a tennis racquet. Very exciting for her. A collection, shall we say, of coloured stones, paste, good imitationâsomething of that kindâor even semi-precious stones which often look as attractive as the other kind. Anyway letâs say something that a child would be excited to find. She might even have exaggerated ideas of its value. Thatâs quite possible, donât you think?â He looked very hard at Hercule Poirot.

âIt seems to me eminently possible,â said Hercule Poirot.

âGood,â said the Chief Constable. âSince the person who brought theseâerâcoloured stones into the country did so quite unknowingly and innocently, we donât want any question of illicit smuggling to arise.

âThen there is the question of our foreign policy,â he went on. âThings, I am led to understand, are ratherâdelicate just at present. When it comes to large interests in oil, mineral deposits, all that sort of thing, we have to deal with whatever governmentâs in power. We donât want any awkward questions to arise. You canât keep murder out of the Press, and murder hasnât been kept out of the Press. But thereâs been no mention of anything like jewels in connection with it. For the present, at any rate, there neednât be.â

âI agree,â said Poirot. âOne must always consider international complications.â

âExactly,â said the Chief Constable. âI think Iâm right in saying that the late ruler of Ramat was regarded as a friend of this country, and that the powers that be would like his wishes in respect of any property of his that might be in this country to be carried out. What that amounts to, I gather, nobody knows at present. If the new Government of Ramat is claiming certain property which they allege belongs to them, it will be much better if we know nothing about such property being in this country. A plain refusal would be tactless.â

âOne does not give plain refusals in diplomacy,â said Hercule Poirot. âOne says instead that such a matter shall receive the utmost attention but that at the moment nothing definite is known about any littleânest egg, sayâthat the late ruler of Ramat may have possessed. It may be still in Ramat, it may be in the keeping of a faithful friend of the late Prince Ali Yusuf, it may have been taken out of the country by half a dozen people, it may be hidden somewhere in the city of Ramat itself.â He shrugged his shoulders. âOne simply does not know.â

The Chief Constable heaved a sigh. âThank you,â he said. âThatâs just what I mean.â He went on, âM. Poirot, you have friends in very high quarters in this country. They put much trust in you. Unofficially they would like to leave a certain article in your hands if you do not object.â

âI do not object,â said Poirot. âLet us leave it at that. We have more serious things to consider, have we not?â He looked round at them. âOr perhaps you do not think so? But after all, what is three-quarters of a million or some such sum in comparison with human life?â

âYouâre right, M. Poirot,â said the Chief Constable.

âYouâre right every time,â said Inspector Kelsey. âWhat we want is a murderer. We shall be glad to have your opinion, M. Poirot,â he added, âbecause itâs largely a question of guess and guess again and your guess is as good as the next manâs and sometimes better. The whole thingâs like a snarl of tangled wool.â

âThat is excellently put,â said Poirot, âone has to take up that snarl of wool and pull out the one colour that we seek, the colour of a murderer. Is that right?â

âThatâs right.â

âThen tell me, if it is not too tedious for you to indulge in repetition, all that is known so far.â

He settled down to listen.

He listened to Inspector Kelsey, and he listened to Adam Goodman. He listened to the brief summing up of the Chief Constable. Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

âTwo murders,â he said, âcommitted in the same place and roughly under the same conditions. One kidnapping. The kidnapping of a girl who might be the central figure of the plot. Let us ascertain first why she was kidnapped.â

âI can tell you what she said herself,â said Kelsey.

He did so, and Poirot listened.

âIt does not make sense,â he complained.

âThatâs what I thought at the time. As a matter of fact I thought she was just making herself importantâ¦.â

âBut the fact remains that she was kidnapped. Why?â

âThere have been ransom demands,â said Kelsey slowly, âbutââ he paused.

âBut they have been, you think, phoney? They have been sent merely to bolster up the kidnapping theory?â

âThatâs right. The appointments made werenât kept.â

âShaista, then, was kidnapped for some other reason. What reason?â

âSo that she could be made to tell where theâerâvaluables were hidden?â suggested Adam doubtfully.

Poirot shook his head.

âShe did not know where they were hidden,â he pointed out. âThat at least, is clear. No, there must be somethingâ¦.â

His voice tailed off. He was silent, frowning, for a moment or two. Then he sat up, and asked a question.

âHer knees,â he said. âDid you ever notice her knees?â

Adam stared at him in astonishment.

âNo,â he said. âWhy should I?â

âThere are many reasons why a man notices a girlâs knees,â said Poirot severely. âUnfortunately, you did not.â

âWas there something odd about her knees? A scar? Something of that kind? I wouldnât know. They all wear stockings most of the time, and their skirts are just below knee length.â

âIn the swimming pool, perhaps?â suggested Poirot hopefully.

âNever saw her go in,â said Adam. âToo chilly for her, I expect. She was used to a warm climate. What are you getting at? A scar? Something of that kind?â

âNo, no, that is not it at all. Ah well, a pity.â

He turned to the Chief Constable.

âWith your permission, I will communicate with my old friend, the PrÃ©fet, at Geneva. I think he may be able to help us.â

âAbout something that happened when she was at school there?â

âIt is possible, yes. You do permit? Good. It is just a little idea of mine.â He paused and went on: âBy the way, there has been nothing in the papers about the kidnapping?â

âThe Emir Ibrahim was most insistent.â

âBut I did notice a little remark in a gossip column. About a certain foreign young lady who had departed from school very suddenly. A budding romance, the columnist suggested? To be nipped in the bud if possible!â

âThat was my idea,â said Adam. âIt seemed a good line to take.â

âAdmirable. So now we pass from kidnapping to something more serious. Murder. Two murders at Meadowbank.â

Nineteen

CONSULTATION CONTINUED

I

âTwo murders at Meadowbank,â repeated Poirot thoughtfully.

âWeâve given you the facts,â said Kelsey. âIf youâve any ideasââ

âWhy the Sports Pavilion?â said Poirot. âThat was your question, wasnât it?â he said to Adam. âWell, now we have the answer. Because in the Sports Pavilion there was a tennis racquet containing a fortune in jewels. Someone knew about that racquet. Who was it? It could have been Miss Springer herself. She was, so you all say, rather peculiar about that Sports Pavilion. Disliked people coming thereâunauthorized people, that is to say. She seemed to be suspicious of their motives. Particularly was that so in the case of Mademoiselle Blanche.â

âMademoiselle Blanche,â said Kelsey thoughtfully.

Hercule Poirot again spoke to Adam.

âYou yourself considered Mademoiselle Blancheâs manner odd where it concerned the Sports Pavilion?â

âShe explained,â said Adam. âShe explained too much. I should never have questioned her right to be there if she had not taken so much trouble to explain it away.â

Poirot nodded.

âExactly. That certainly gives one to think. But all we know is that Miss Springer was killed in the Sports Pavilion at one oâclock in the morning when she had no business to be there.â

He turned to Kelsey.

âWhere was Miss Springer before she came to Meadowbank?â

âWe donât know,â said the Inspector. âShe left her last place of employment,â he mentioned a famous school, âlast summer. Where she has been since we do not know.â He added dryly: âThere was no occasion to ask the question until she was dead. She has no near relatives, nor, apparently, any close friends.â

âShe could have been in Ramat, then,â said Poirot thoughtfully.

âI believe there was a party of schoolteachers out there at the time of the trouble,â said Adam.

âLet us say, then, that she was there, that in some way she learned about the tennis racquet. Let us assume that after waiting a short time to familiarize herself with the routine at Meadowbank she went out one night to the Sports Pavilion. She got hold of the racquet and was about to remove the jewels from their hiding place whenââ he pausedââwhen someone interrupted her. Someone who had been watching her? Following her that evening? Whoever it was had a pistolâand shot herâbut had no time to prise out the jewels, or to take the racquet away, because people were approaching the Sports Pavilion who had heard the shot.â

He stopped.

âYou think thatâs what happened?â asked the Chief Constable.

âI do not know,â said Poirot. âIt is one possibility. The other is that that person with the pistol was there first, and was surprised by Miss Springer. Someone whom Miss Springer was already suspicious of. She was, you have told me, that kind of woman. A noser out of secrets.â

âAnd the other woman?â asked Adam.

Poirot looked at him. Then, slowly, he shifted his gaze to the other two men.

âYou do not know,â he said. âAnd I do not know. It could have been someone from outsideâ?â

His voice half asked a question.

Kelsey shook his head.

âI think not. We have sifted the neighbourhood very carefully. Especially, of course, in the case of strangers. There was a Madam Kolinsky staying nearbyâknown to Adam here. But she could not have been concerned in either murder.â

âThen it comes back to Meadowbank. And there is only one method to arrive at the truthâelimination.â

Kelsey sighed.

âYes,â he said. âThatâs what it amounts to. For the first murder, itâs a fairly open field. Almost anybody could have killed Miss Springer. The exceptions are Miss Johnson and Miss Chadwickâand a child who had the earache. But the second murder narrows things down. Miss Rich, Miss Blake and Miss Shapland are out of it. Miss Rich was staying at the Alton Grange Hotel, twenty miles away, Miss Blake was at Littleport on Sea, Miss Shapland was in London at a nightclub, the Nid Sauvage, with Mr. Dennis Rathbone.â

âAnd Miss Bulstrode was also away, I understand?â

Adam grinned. The Inspector and the Chief Constable looked shocked.

âMiss Bulstrode,â said the Inspector severely, âwas staying with the Duchess of Welsham.â

âThat eliminates Miss Bulstrode then,â said Poirot gravely. âAnd leaves usâwhat?â

âTwo members of the domestic staff who sleep in, Mrs. Gibbons and a girl called Doris Hogg. I canât consider either of them seriously. That leaves Miss Rowan and Mademoiselle Blanche.â

âAnd the pupils, of course.â

Kelsey looked startled.

âSurely you donât suspect them?â

âFrankly, no. But one must be exact.â

Kelsey paid no attention to exactitude. He plodded on.

âMiss Rowan has been here over a year. She has a good record. We know nothing against her.â

âSo we come, then, to Mademoiselle Blanche. It is there that the journey ends.â

There was a silence.

âThereâs no evidence,â said Kelsey. âHer credentials seem genuine enough.â

âThey would have to be,â said Poirot.

âShe snooped,â said Adam. âBut snooping isnât evidence of murder.â

âWait a minute,â said Kelsey, âthere was something about a key. In our first interview with herâIâll look it upâsomething about the key of the Pavilion falling out of the door and she picked it up and forgot to replace itâwalked out with it and Springer bawled her out.â

âWhoever wanted to go out there at night and look for the racquet would have had to have a key to get in with,â said Poirot. âFor that, it would have been necessary to take an impression of the key.â

âSurely,â said Adam, âin that case she would never have mentioned the key incident to you.â

âThat doesnât follow,â said Kelsey. âSpringer might have talked about the key incident. If so, she might think it better to mention it in a casual fashion.â

âIt is a point to be remembered,â said Poirot.

âIt doesnât take us very far,â said Kelsey.

He looked gloomily at Poirot.

âThere would seem,â said Poirot, â(that is, if I have been informed correctly), one possibility. Julia Upjohnâs mother, I understand, recognized someone here on the first day of term. Someone whom she was surprised to see. From the context, it would seem likely that that someone was connected with foreign espionage. If Mrs. Upjohn definitely points out Mademoiselle as the person she recognized, then I think we could proceed with some assurance.â

âEasier said than done,â said Kelsey. âWeâve been trying to get in contact with Mrs. Upjohn, but the whole thingâs a headache! When the child said a bus, I thought she meant a proper coach tour, running to schedule, and a party all booked together. But thatâs not it at all. Seems sheâs just taking local buses to anyplace she happens to fancy! Sheâs not done it through Cookâs or a recognized travel agency. Sheâs all on her own, wandering about. What can you do with a woman like that? She might be anywhere. Thereâs a lot of Anatolia!â

âIt makes it difficult, yes,â said Poirot.

âPlenty of nice coach tours,â said the Inspector in an injured voice. âAll made easy for youâwhere you stop and what you see, and all-in fares so that you know exactly where you are.â

âBut clearly, that kind of travel does not appeal to Mrs. Upjohn.â

âAnd in the meantime, here we are,â went on Kelsey. âStuck! That Frenchwoman can walk out any moment she chooses. Weâve nothing on which we could hold her.â

Poirot shook his head.

âShe will not do that.â

âYou canât be sure.â

âI am sure. If you have committed murder, you do not want to do anything out of character, that may draw attention to you. Mademoiselle Blanche will remain here quietly until the end of the term.â

âI hope youâre right.â

âI am sure I am right. And remember, the person whom Mrs. Upjohn saw, does not know that Mrs. Upjohn saw her. The surprise when it comes will be complete.â

Kelsey sighed.

âIf thatâs all weâve got to go onââ

âThere are other things. Conversation, for instance.â

âConversation?â

âIt is very valuable, conversation. Sooner or later, if one has something to hide, one says too much.â

âGives oneself away?â The Chief Constable sounded sceptical.

âIt is not quite so simple as that. One is guarded about the thing one is trying to hide. But often one says too much about other things. And there are other uses for conversation. There are the innocent people who know things, but are unaware of the importance of what they know. And that reminds meââ

He rose to his feet.

âExcuse me, I pray. I must go and demand of Miss Bulstrode if there is someone here who can draw.â

âDraw?â

âDraw.â

âWell,â said Adam, as Poirot went out. âFirst girlsâ knees, and now draughtsmanship! What next, I wonder?â

II

Miss Bulstrode answered Poirotâs questions without evincing any surprise.

âMiss Laurie is our visiting Drawing Mistress,â she said briskly. âBut she isnât here today. What do you want her to draw for you?â she added in a kindly manner as though to a child.

âFaces,â said Poirot.

âMiss Rich is good at sketching people. Sheâs clever at getting a likeness.â

âThat is exactly what I need.â

Miss Bulstrode, he noted with approval, asked him no questions as to his reasons. She merely left the room and returned with Miss Rich.

After introductions, Poirot said: âYou can sketch people? Quickly? With a pencil?â

Eileen Rich nodded.

âI often do. For amusement.â

âGood. Please, then, sketch for me the late Miss Springer.â

âThatâs difficult. I knew her for such a short time. Iâll try.â She screwed up her eyes, then began to draw rapidly.

âBien,â said Poirot, taking it from her. âAnd now, if you please, Miss Bulstrode, Miss Rowan, Mademoiselle Blanche andâyesâthe gardener Adam.â

Eileen Rich looked at him doubtfully, then set to work. He looked at the result, and nodded appreciatively.

âYou are goodâyou are very good. So few strokesâand yet the likeness is there. Now I will ask you to do something more difficult. Give, for example, to Miss Bulstrode a different hair arrangement. Change the shape of her eyebrows.â

Eileen stared at him as though she thought he was mad.

âNo,â said Poirot. âI am not mad. I make an experiment, that is all. Please do as I ask.â

In a moment or two she said: âHere you are.â

âExcellent. Now do the same for Mademoiselle Blanche and Miss Rowan.â

When she had finished he lined up the three sketches.

âNow I will show you something,â he said. âMiss Bulstrode, in spite of the changes you have made is still unmistakably Miss Bulstrode. But look at the other two. Because their features are negative, and since they have not Miss Bulstrodeâs personality, they appear almost different people, do they not?â

âI see what you mean,â said Eileen Rich.

She looked at him as he carefully folded the sketches away.

âWhat are you going to do with them?â she asked.

âUse them,â said Poirot.

Twenty

CONVERSATION

âWellâI donât know what to say,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âReally I donât know what to sayââ

She looked with definite distaste at Hercule Poirot.

âHenry, of course,â she said, âis not at home.â

The meaning of this pronouncement was slightly obscure, but Hercule Poirot thought that he knew what was in her mind. Henry, she was feeling, would be able to deal with this sort of thing. Henry had so many international dealings. He was always flying to the Middle East and to Ghana and to South America and to Geneva, and even occasionally, but not so often, to Paris.

âThe whole thing,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe, âhas been most distressing. I was so glad to have Jennifer safely at home with me. Though, I must say,â she added, with a trace of vexation, âJennifer has really been most tiresome. After having made a great fuss about going to Meadowbank and being quite sure she wouldnât like it there, and saying it was a snobby kind of school and not the kind she wanted to go to, now she sulks all day long because Iâve taken her away. Itâs really too bad.â

âIt is undeniably a very good school,â said Hercule Poirot. âMany people say the best school in England.â

âIt was, I daresay,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe.

âAnd will be again,â said Hercule Poirot.

âYou think so?â Mrs. Sutcliffe looked at him doubtfully. His sympathetic manner was gradually piercing her defences. There is nothing that eases the burden of a motherâs life more than to be permitted to unburden herself of the difficulties, rebuffs and frustrations which she has in dealing with her offspring. Loyalty so often compels silent endurance. But to a foreigner like Hercule Poirot Mrs. Sutcliffe felt that this loyalty was not applicable. It was not like talking to the mother of another daughter.

âMeadowbank,â said Hercule Poirot, âis just passing through an unfortunate phase.â

It was the best thing he could think of to say at the moment. He felt its inadequacy and Mrs. Sutcliffe pounced upon the inadequacy immediately.

âRather more than unfortunate!â she said. âTwo murders! And a girl kidnapped. You canât send your daughter to a school where the mistresses are being murdered all the time.â

It seemed a highly reasonable point of view.

âIf the murders,â said Poirot, âturn out to be the work of one person and that person is apprehended, that makes a difference, does it not?â

âWellâI suppose so. Yes,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe doubtfully. âI meanâyou meanâoh, I see, you mean like Jack the Ripper or that other manâwho was it? Something to do with Devonshire. Cream? Neil Cream. Who went about killing an unfortunate type of woman. I suppose this murderer just goes about killing schoolmistresses! If once youâve got him safely in prison, and hanged too, I hope, because youâre only allowed one murder, arenât you?âlike a dog with a biteâwhat was I saying? Oh yes, if heâs safely caught, well, then I suppose it would be different. Of course there canât be many people like that, can there?â

âOne certainly hopes not,â said Hercule Poirot.

âBut then thereâs this kidnapping too,â pointed out Mrs. Sutcliffe. âYou donât want to send your daughter to a school where she may be kidnapped, either, do you?â

âAssuredly not, madame. I see how clearly you have thought out the whole thing. You are so right in all you say.â

Mrs. Sutcliffe looked faintly pleased. Nobody had said anything like that to her for some time. Henry had merely said things like âWhat did you want to send her to Meadowbank for anyway?â and Jennifer had sulked and refused to answer.

âI have thought about it,â she said. âA great deal.â

âThen I should not let kidnapping worry you, madame. Entre nous, if I may speak in confidence, about Princess ShaistaâIt is not exactly a kidnappingâone suspects a romanceââ

âYou mean the naughty girl just ran away to marry somebody?â

âMy lips are sealed,â said Hercule Poirot. âYou comprehend it is not desired that there should be any scandal. This is in confidence entre nous. I know you will say nothing.â

âOf course not,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe virtuously. She looked down at the letter that Poirot had brought with him from the Chief Constable. âI donât quite understand who you are, M.âerâPoirot. Are you what they call in booksâa private eye?â

âI am a consultant,â said Hercule Poirot loftily.

This flavour of Harley Street encouraged Mrs. Sutcliffe a great deal.

âWhat do you want to talk to Jennifer about?â she demanded.

âJust to get her impressions of things,â said Poirot. âShe is observantâyes?â

âIâm afraid I wouldnât say that,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe. âSheâs not what I call a noticing kind of child at all. I mean, she is always so matter of fact.â

âIt is better than making up things that have never happened at all,â said Poirot.

âOh, Jennifer wouldnât do that sort of thing,â said Mrs. Sutcliffe, with certainty. She got up, went to the window and called âJennifer.â

âI wish,â she said, to Poirot, as she came back again, âthat youâd try and get it into Jenniferâs head that her father and I are only doing our best for her.â

Jennifer came into the room with a sulky face and looked with deep suspicion at Hercule Poirot.

âHow do you do?â said Poirot. âI am a very old friend of Julia Upjohn. She came to London to find me.â

âJulia went to London?â said Jennifer, slightly surprised. âWhy?â

âTo ask my advice,â said Hercule Poirot.

Jennifer looked unbelieving.

âI was able to give it to her,â said Poirot. âShe is now back at Meadowbank,â he added.

âSo her Aunt Isabel didnât take her away,â said Jennifer, shooting an irritated look at her mother.

Poirot looked at Mrs. Sutcliffe and for some reason, perhaps because she had been in the middle of counting the laundry when Poirot arrived and perhaps because of some unexplained compulsion, she got up and left the room.

âItâs a bit hard,â said Jennifer, âto be out of all thatâs going on there. All this fuss! I told Mummy it was silly. After all, none of the pupils have been killed.â

âHave you any ideas of your own about the murders?â asked Poirot.

Jennifer shook her head. âSomeone whoâs batty?â she offered. She added thoughtfully, âI suppose Miss Bulstrode will have to get some new mistresses now.â

âIt seems possible, yes,â said Poirot. He went on, âI am interested, Mademoiselle Jennifer, in the woman who came and offered you a new racquet for your old one. Do you remember?â

âI should think I do remember,â said Jennifer. âIâve never found out to this day who really sent it. It wasnât Aunt Gina at all.â

âWhat did this woman look like?â said Poirot.

âThe one who brought the racquet?â Jennifer half closed her eyes as though thinking. âWell, I donât know. She had on a sort of fussy dress with a little cape, I think. Blue, and a floppy sort of hat.â

âYes?â said Poirot. âI meant perhaps not so much her clothes as her face.â

âA good deal of makeup, I think,â said Jennifer vaguely. âA bit too much for the country, I mean, and fair hair. I think she was an American.â

âHad you ever seen her before?â asked Poirot.

âOh no,â said Jennifer. âI donât think she lived down there. She said sheâd come down for a luncheon party or a cocktail party or something.â

Poirot looked at her thoughtfully. He was interested in Jenniferâs complete acceptance of everything that was said to her. He said gently,

âBut she might not have been speaking the truth?â

âOh,â said Jennifer. âNo, I suppose not.â

âYouâre quite sure you hadnât seen her before? She could not have been, for instance, one of the girls dressed up? Or one of the mistresses?â

âDressed up?â Jennifer looked puzzled.

Poirot laid before her the sketch Eileen Rich had done for him of Mademoiselle Blanche.

âThis was not the woman, was it?â

Jennifer looked at it doubtfully.

âItâs a little like herâbut I donât think itâs her.â

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

There was no sign that Jennifer recognized that this was actually a sketch of Mademoiselle Blanche.

âYou see,â said Jennifer, âI didnât really look at her much. She was an American and a stranger, and then she told me about the racquetââ

After that, it was clear, Jennifer would have had eyes for nothing but her new possession.

âI see,â said Poirot. He went on, âDid you ever see at Meadowbank anyone that youâd seen out in Ramat?â

âIn Ramat?â Jennifer thought. âOh noâat leastâI donât think so.â

Poirot pounced on the slight expression of doubt. âBut you are not sure, Mademoiselle Jennifer.â

âWell,â Jennifer scratched her forehead with a worried expression, âI mean, youâre always seeing people who look like somebody else. You canât quite remember who it is they look like. Sometimes you see people that you have met but you donât remember who they are. And they say to you âYou donât remember me,â and then thatâs awfully awkward because really you donât. I mean, you sort of know their face but you canât remember their names or where you saw them.â

âThat is very true,â said Poirot. âYes, that is very true. One often has that experience.â He paused a moment then he went on, prodding gently, âPrincess Shaista, for instance, you probably recognized her when you saw her because you must have seen her in Ramat.â

âOh, was she in Ramat?â

âVery likely,â said Poirot. âAfter all she is a relation of the ruling house. You might have seen her there?â

âI donât think I did,â said Jennifer frowning. âAnyway, she wouldnât go about with her face showing there, would she? I mean, they all wear veils and things like that. Though they take them off in Paris and Cairo, I believe. And in London, of course,â she added.

âAnyway, you had no feeling of having seen anyone at Meadowbank whom you had seen before?â

âNo, Iâm sure I hadnât. Of course most people do look rather alike and you might have seen them anywhere. Itâs only when somebodyâs got an odd sort of face like Miss Rich, that you notice it.â

âDid you think youâd seen Miss Rich somewhere before?â

âI hadnât really. It must have been someone like her. But it was someone much fatter than she was.â

âSomeone much fatter,â said Poirot thoughtfully.

âYou couldnât imagine Miss Rich being fat,â said Jennifer with a giggle. âSheâs so frightfully thin and nobbly. And anyway Miss Rich couldnât have been in Ramat because she was away ill last term.â

âAnd the other girls?â said Poirot, âhad you seen any of the girls before?â

âOnly the ones I knew already,â said Jennifer. âI did know one or two of them. After all, you know, I was only there three weeks and I really donât know half of the people there even by sight. I wouldnât know most of them if I met them tomorrow.â

âYou should notice things more,â said Poirot severely.

âOne canât notice everything,â protested Jennifer. She went on: âIf Meadowbank is carrying on I would like to go back. See if you can do anything with Mummy. Though really,â she added, âI think itâs Daddy whoâs the stumbling block. Itâs awful here in the country. I get no opportunity to improve my tennis.â

âI assure you I will do what I can,â said Poirot.

Twenty-one

GATHERING THREADS

I

âI want to talk to you, Eileen,â said Miss Bulstrode.

Eileen Rich followed Miss Bulstrode into the latterâs sitting room. Meadowbank was strangely quiet. About twenty-five pupils were still there. Pupils whose parents had found it either difficult or unwelcome to fetch them. The panic-stricken rush had, as Miss Bulstrode had hoped, been checked by her own tactics. There was a general feeling that by next term everything would have been cleared up. It was much wiser of Miss Bulstrode, they felt, to close the school.

None of the staff had left. Miss Johnson fretted with too much time on her hands. A day in which there was too little to do did not in the least suit her. Miss Chadwick, looking old and miserable, wandered round in a kind of coma of misery. She was far harder hit to all appearance than Miss Bulstrode. Miss Bulstrode, indeed, managed apparently without difficulty to be completely herself, unperturbed, and with no sign of strain or collapse. The two younger mistresses were not averse to the extra leisure. They bathed in the swimming pool, wrote long letters to friends and relations and sent for cruise literature to study and compare. Ann Shapland had a good deal of time on her hands and did not appear to resent the fact. She spent a good deal of that time in the garden and devoted herself to gardening with quite unexpected efficiency. That she preferred to be instructed in the work by Adam rather than by old Briggs was perhaps a not unnatural phenomenon.

âYes, Miss Bulstrode?â said Eileen Rich.

âIâve been wanting to talk to you,â said Miss Bulstrode. âWhether this school can continue or not I do not know. What people will feel is always fairly incalculable because they will all feel differently. But the result will be that whoever feels most strongly will end by converting all the rest. So either Meadowbank is finishedââ

âNo,â said Eileen Rich, interrupting, ânot finished.â She almost stamped her foot and her hair immediately began coming down. âYou mustnât let it be stopped,â she said. âIt would be a sinâa crime.â

âYou speak very strongly,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âI feel strongly. There are so many things that really donât seem worthwhile a bit, but Meadowbank does seem worthwhile. It seemed worthwhile to me the first moment I came here.â

âYouâre a fighter,â said Miss Bulstrode. âI like fighters, and I assure you that I donât intend to give in tamely. In a way Iâm going to enjoy the fight. You know, when everythingâs too easy and things go too well one getsâI donât know the exact word I meanâcomplacent? Bored? A kind of hybrid of the two. But Iâm not bored now and Iâm not complacent and Iâm going to fight with every ounce of strength Iâve got, and with every penny Iâve got, too. Now what I want to say to you is this: If Meadowbank continues, will you come in on a partnership basis?â

âMe?â Eileen Rich stared at her. âMe?â

âYes, my dear,â said Miss Bulstrode. âYou.â

âI couldnât,â said Eileen Rich. âI donât know enough. Iâm too young. Why, I havenât got the experience, the knowledge that youâd want.â

âYou must leave it to me to know what I want,â said Miss Bulstrode. âMind you, this isnât, at the present moment of talking, a good offer. Youâd probably do better for yourself elsewhere. But I want to tell you this, and youâve got to believe me. I had already decided before Miss Vansittartâs unfortunate death, that you were the person I wanted to carry on this school.â

âYou thought so then?â Eileen Rich stared at her. âBut I thoughtâwe all thoughtâthat Miss Vansittartâ¦.â

âThere was no arrangement made with Miss Vansittart,â said Miss Bulstrode. âI had her in mind, I will confess. Iâve had her in mind for the last two years. But somethingâs always held me back from saying anything definite to her about it. I daresay everyone assumed that sheâd be my successor. She may have thought so herself. I myself thought so until very recently. And then I decided that she was not what I wanted.â

âBut she was so suitable in every way,â said Eileen Rich. âShe would have carried out things in exactly your ways, in exactly your ideas.â

âYes,â said Miss Bulstrode, âand thatâs just what would have been wrong. You canât hold on to the past. A certain amount of tradition is good but never too much. A school is for the children of today. Itâs not for the children of fifty years ago or even of thirty years ago. There are some schools in which tradition is more important than others, but Meadowbank is not one of those. Itâs not a school with a long tradition behind it. Itâs a creation, if I may say it, of one woman. Myself. Iâve tried certain ideas and carried them out to the best of my ability, though occasionally Iâve had to modify them when they havenât produced the results Iâd expected. Itâs not been a conventional school, but it has not prided itself on being an unconventional school either. Itâs a school that tries to make the best of both worlds: the past and the future, but the real stress is on the present. Thatâs how itâs going to go on, how it ought to go on. Run by someone with ideasâideas of the present day. Keeping what is wise from the past, looking forward towards the future. Youâre very much the age I was when I started here but youâve got what I no longer can have. Youâll find it written in the Bible. Their old men dream dreams and their young men have visions. We donât need dreams here, we need vision. I believe you to have vision and thatâs why I decided that you were the person and not Eleanor Vansittart.â

âIt would have been wonderful,â said Eileen Rich. âWonderful. The thing I should have liked above all.â

Miss Bulstrode was faintly surprised by the tense, although she did not show it. Instead she agreed promptly.

âYes,â she said, âit would have been wonderful. But it isnât wonderful now? Well, I suppose I understand that.â

âNo, no, I donât mean that at all,â said Eileen Rich. âNot at all. IâI canât go into details very well, but if you hadâif you had asked me, spoken to me like this a week or a fortnight ago, I should have said at once that I couldnât, that it would have been quite impossible. The only reason why itâwhy it might be possible now is becauseâwell, because it is a case of fightingâof taking on things. May Iâmay I think it over, Miss Bulstrode? I donât know what to say now.â

âOf course,â said Miss Bulstrode. She was still surprised. One never really knew, she thought, about anybody.

II

âThere goes Rich with her hair coming down again,â said Ann Shapland as she straightened herself up from a flower bed. âIf she canât control it I canât think why she doesnât get it cut off. Sheâs got a good-shaped head and she would look better.â

âYou ought to tell her so,â said Adam.

âWeâre not on those terms,â said Ann Shapland. She went on, âDâyou think this place will be able to carry on?â

âThatâs a very doubtful question,â said Adam, âand who am I to judge?â

âYou could tell as well as another I should think,â said Ann Shapland. âIt might, you know. The old Bull, as the girls call her, has got what it takes. A hypnotizing effect on parents to begin with. How long is it since the beginning of termâonly a month? It seems like a year. I shall be glad when it comes to an end.â

âWill you come back if the school goes on?â

âNo,â said Ann with emphasis, âno indeed. Iâve had enough of schools to last me for a lifetime. Iâm not cut out for being cooped up with a lot of women anyway. And, frankly, I donât like murder. Itâs the sort of thing thatâs fun to read about in the paper or to read yourself to sleep with in the way of a nice book. But the real thing isnât so good. I think,â added Ann thoughtfully, âthat when I leave here at the end of the term I shall marry Dennis and settle down.â

âDennis?â said Adam. âThatâs the one you mentioned to me, wasnât it? As far as I remember his work takes him to Burma and Malaya and Singapore and Japan and places like that. It wonât be exactly settling down, will it, if you marry him?â

Ann laughed suddenly. âNo, no, I suppose it wonât. Not in the physical, geographical sense.â

âI think you can do better than Dennis,â said Adam.

âAre you making me an offer?â said Ann.

âCertainly not,â said Adam. âYouâre an ambitious girl, you wouldnât like to marry a humble jobbing gardener.â

âI was wondering about marrying into the C.I.D.,â said Ann.

âIâm not in the C.I.D.,â said Adam.

âNo, no, of course not,â said Ann. âLetâs preserve the niceties of speech. Youâre not in the C.I.D. Shaista wasnât kidnapped, everything in the gardenâs lovely. It is rather,â she added, looking round. âAll the same,â she said after a moment or two, âI donât understand in the least about Shaista turning up in Geneva or whatever the story is. How did she get there? All you people must be very slack to allow her to be taken out of this country.â

âMy lips are sealed,â said Adam.

âI donât think you know the first thing about it,â said Ann.

âI will admit,â said Adam, âthat we have to thank Monsieur Hercule Poirot for having had a bright idea.â

âWhat, the funny little man who brought Julia back and came to see Miss Bulstrode?â

âYes. He calls himself,â said Adam, âa consultant detective.â

âI think heâs pretty much of a has-been,â said Ann.

âI donât understand what heâs up to at all,â said Adam. âHe even went to see my motherâor some friend of his did.â

âYour mother?â said Ann. âWhy?â

âIâve no idea. He seems to have a kind of morbid interest in mothers. He went to see Jenniferâs mother too.â

âDid he go and see Miss Richâs mother, and Chaddyâs?â

âI gather Miss Rich hasnât got a mother,â said Adam. âOtherwise, no doubt, he would have gone to see her.â

âMiss Chadwickâs got a mother in Cheltenham, she told me,â said Ann, âbut sheâs about eighty-odd, I believe. Poor Miss Chadwick, she looks about eighty herself. Sheâs coming to talk to us now.â

Adam looked up. âYes,â he said, âsheâs aged a lot in the last week.â

âBecause she really loves the school,â said Ann. âItâs her whole life. She canât bear to see it go downhill.â

Miss Chadwick indeed looked ten years older than she had done on the day of the opening term. Her step had lost its brisk efficiency. She no longer trotted about, happy and bustling. She came up to them now, her steps dragging a little.

âWill you please come to Miss Bulstrode,â she said to Adam. âShe has some instruction about the garden.â

âIâll have to clean up a bit first,â said Adam. He laid down his tools and moved off in the direction of the potting shed.

Ann and Miss Chadwick walked together towards the house.

âIt does seem quiet, doesnât it,â said Ann, looking round. âLike an empty house at the theatre,â she added thoughtfully, âwith people spaced out by the box office as tactfully as possible to make them look like an audience.â

âItâs dreadful,â said Miss Chadwick, âdreadful! Dreadful to think that Meadowbank has come to this. I canât get over it. I canât sleep at night. Everything in ruins. All the years of work, of building up something really fine.â

âIt may get all right again,â said Ann cheerfully. âPeople have got very short memories, you know.â

âNot as short as all that,â said Miss Chadwick grimly.

Ann did not answer. In her heart she rather agreed with Miss Chadwick.

III

Mademoiselle Blanche came out of the classroom where she had been teaching French literature.

She glanced at her watch. Yes, there would be plenty of time for what she intended to do. With so few pupils there was always plenty of time these days.

She went upstairs to her room and put on her hat. She was not one of those who went about hatless. She studied her appearance in the mirror with satisfaction. Not a personality to be noticed! Well, there could be advantages in that! She smiled to herself. It had made it easy for her to use her sisterâs testimonials. Even the passport photograph had gone unchallenged. It would have been a thousand pities to waste those excellent credentials when AngÃ¨le had died. AngÃ¨le had really enjoyed teaching. For herself, it was unutterable boredom. But the pay was excellent. Far above what she herself had ever been able to earn. And besides, things had turned out unbelievably well. The future was going to be very different. Oh yes, very different. The drab Mademoiselle Blanche would be transformed. She saw it all in her mindâs eye. The Riviera. Herself smartly dressed, suitably made-up. All one needed in this world was money. Oh yes, things were going to be very pleasant indeed. It was worth having come to this detestable English school.

She picked up her handbag, went out of her room and along the corridor. Her eyes dropped to the kneeling woman who was busy there. A new daily help. A police spy, of course. How simple they wereâto think that one would not know!

A contemptuous smile on her lips, she went out of the house and down the drive to the front gate. The bus stop was almost opposite. She stood at it, waiting. The bus should be here in a moment or two.

There were very few people about in this quiet country road. A car, with a man bending over the open bonnet. A bicycle leaning against a hedge. A man also waiting for the bus.

One or other of the three would, no doubt, follow her. It would be skilfully done, not obviously. She was quite alive to the fact, and it did not worry her. Her âshadowâ was welcome to see where she went and what she did.

The bus came. She got in. A quarter of an hour later, she got out in the main square of the town. She did not trouble to look behind her. She crossed to where the shop windows of a fairly large departmental store showed their display of new model gowns. Poor stuff, for provincial tastes, she thought, with a curling lip. But she stood looking at them as though much attracted.

Presently she went inside, made one or two trivial purchases, then went up to the first floor and entered the Ladies Rest Room. There was a writing table there, some easy chairs, and a telephone box. She went into the box, put the necessary coins in, dialled the number she wanted, waiting to hear if the right voice answered.

She nodded in approval, pressed button A and spoke.

âThis is the Maison Blanche. You understand me, the Maison Blanche? I have to speak of an account that is owed. You have until tomorrow evening. Tomorrow evening. To pay into the account of the Maison Blanche at the Credit Nationale in London, Ledbury St. branch the sum that I tell you.â

She named the sum.

âIf that money is not paid in, then it will be necessary for me to report in the proper quarters what I observed on the night of the 12th. The referenceâpayâattentionâis to Miss Springer. You have a little over twenty-four hours.â

She hung up and emerged into the rest room. A woman had just come in from outside. Another customer of the shop, perhaps, or again perhaps not. But if the latter, it was too late for anything to be overheard.

Mademoiselle Blanche freshened herself up in the adjoining cloak room, then she went and tried on a couple of blouses, but did not buy them; she went out into the street again, smiling to herself. She looked into a bookshop, and then caught a bus back to Meadowbank.

She was still smiling to herself as she walked up the drive. She had arranged matters very well. The sum she had demanded had not been too largeânot impossible to raise at short notice. And it would do very well to go on with. Because, of course, in the future, there would be further demandsâ¦.

Yes, a very pretty little source of income this was going to be. She had no qualms of conscience. She did not consider it in any way her duty to report what she knew and had seen to the police. That Springer had been a detestable woman, rude, mal Ã©levÃ©e. Prying into what was no business of hers. Ah, well, she had got her deserts.

Mademoiselle Blanche stayed for a while by the swimming pool. She watched Eileen Rich diving. Then Ann Shapland, too, climbed up and divedâvery well, too. There was laughing and squeals from the girls.

A bell rang, and Mademoiselle Blanche went in to take her junior class. They were inattentive and tiresome, but Mademoiselle Blanche hardly noticed. She would soon have done with teaching forever.

She went up to her room to tidy herself for supper. Vaguely, without really noticing, she saw that, contrary to her usual practice, she had thrown her garden coat across a chair in the corner instead of hanging it up as usual.

She leaned forward, studying her face in the glass. She applied powder, lipstickâ

The movement was so quick that it took her completely by surprise. Noiseless! Professional. The coat on the chair seemed to gather itself together, drop to the ground and in an instant behind Mademoiselle Blanche a hand with a sandbag rose and, as she opened her lips to scream, fell, dully, on the back of her neck.

Twenty-two

INCIDENT IN ANATOLIA

Mrs. Upjohn was sitting by the side of the road overlooking a deep ravine. She was talking partly in French and partly with gestures to a large and solid-looking Turkish woman who was telling her with as much detail as possible under these difficulties of communications all about her last miscarriage. Nine children she had had, she explained. Eight of them boys, and five miscarriages. She seemed as pleased at the miscarriages as she did at the births.

âAnd you?â she poked Mrs. Upjohn amiably in the ribs. âCombien?âgarÃ§ons?âfilles?âcombien?â She held up her hands ready to indicate on the fingers.

âUne fille,â said Mrs. Upjohn.

âEt garÃ§ons?â

Seeing that she was about to fall in the Turkish womanâs estimation, Mrs. Upjohn in a surge of nationalism proceeded to perjure herself. She held up five fingers of her right hand.

âCinq,â she said.

âCinq garÃ§ons? TrÃ¨s bien!â

The Turkish woman nodded with approbation and respect. She added that if only her cousin who spoke French really fluently was here they could understand each other a great deal better. She then resumed the story of her last miscarriage.

The other passengers were sprawled about near them, eating odd bits of food from the baskets they carried with them. The bus, looking slightly the worse for wear, was drawn up against an overhanging rock, and the driver and another man were busy inside the bonnet. Mrs. Upjohn had lost complete count of time. Floods had blocked two of the roads, dÃ©tours had been necessary and they had once been stuck for seven hours until the river they were fording subsided. Ankara lay in the not impossible future and that was all she knew. She listened to her friendâs eager and incoherent conversation, trying to gauge when to nod admiringly, when to shake her head in sympathy.

A voice cut into her thoughts, a voice highly incongruous with her present surroundings.

âMrs. Upjohn, I believe,â said the voice.

Mrs. Upjohn looked up. A little way away a car had driven up. The man standing opposite her had undoubtedly alighted from it. His face was unmistakably British, as was his voice. He was impeccably dressed in a grey flannel suit.

âGood heavens,â said Mrs. Upjohn. âDr. Livingstone?â

âIt must seem rather like that,â said the stranger pleasantly. âMy nameâs Atkinson. Iâm from the Consulate in Ankara. Weâve been trying to get in touch with you for two or three days, but the roads have been cut.â

âYou wanted to get in touch with me? Why?â Suddenly Mrs. Upjohn rose to her feet. All traces of the gay traveller had disappeared. She was all mother, every inch of her. âJulia?â she said sharply. âHas something happened to Julia?â

âNo, no,â Mr. Atkinson reassured her. âJuliaâs quite all right. Itâs not that at all. Thereâs been a spot of trouble at Meadowbank and we want to get you home there as soon as possible. Iâll drive you back to Ankara, and you can get on a plane in about an hourâs time.â

Mrs. Upjohn opened her mouth and then shut it again. Then she rose and said, âYouâll have to get my bag off the top of that bus. Itâs the dark one.â She turned, shook hands with her Turkish companion, said: âIâm sorry, I have to go home now,â waved to the rest of the bus load with the utmost friendliness, called out a Turkish farewell greeting which was part of her small stock of Turkish, and prepared to follow Mr. Atkinson immediately without asking any further questions. It occurred to him as it had occurred to many other people that Mrs. Upjohn was a very sensible woman.

Twenty-three

SHOWDOWN

I

In one of the smaller classrooms Miss Bulstrode looked at the assembled people. All the members of her staff were there: Miss Chadwick, Miss Johnson, Miss Rich and the two younger mistresses. Ann Shapland sat with her pad and pencil in case Miss Bulstrode wanted her to take notes. Beside Miss Bulstrode sat Inspector Kelsey and beyond him, Hercule Poirot. Adam Goodman sat in a no-manâs-land of his own halfway between the staff and what he called to himself the executive body. Miss Bulstrode rose and spoke in her practised, decisive voice.

âI feel it is due to you all,â she said, âas members of my staff, and interested in the fortunes of the school, to know exactly to what point this inquiry has progressed. I have been informed by Inspector Kelsey of several facts. M. Hercule Poirot who has international connections, has obtained valuable assistance from Switzerland and will report himself on that particular matter. We have not yet come to the end of the inquiry, I am sorry to say, but certain minor matters have been cleared up and I thought it would be a relief to you all to know how matters stand at the present moment.â Miss Bulstrode looked towards Inspector Kelsey, and he rose.

âOfficially,â he said, âI am not in a position to disclose all that I know. I can only reassure you to the extent of saying that we are making progress and we are beginning to have a good idea who is responsible for the three crimes that have been committed on the premises. Beyond that I will not go. My friend, M. Hercule Poirot, who is not bound by official secrecy and is at perfect liberty to give you his own ideas, will disclose to you certain information which he himself has been influential in procuring. I am sure you are all loyal to Meadowbank and to Miss Bulstrode and will keep to yourselves various matters upon which M. Poirot is going to touch and which are not of any public interest. The less gossip or speculation about them the better, so I will ask you to keep the facts that you will learn here today to yourselves. Is that understood?â

âOf course,â said Miss Chadwick, speaking first and with emphasis. âOf course weâre all loyal to Meadowbank, I should hope.â

âNaturally,â said Miss Johnson.

âOh yes,â said the two younger mistresses.

âI agree,â said Eileen Rich.

âThen perhaps, M. Poirot?â

Hercule Poirot rose to his feet, beamed on his audience and carefully twisted his moustaches. The two younger mistresses had a sudden desire to giggle, and looked away from each other pursing their lips together.

âIt has been a difficult and anxious time for you all,â he said. âI want you to know first that I do appreciate that. It has naturally been worst of all for Miss Bulstrode herself, but you have all suffered. You have suffered first the loss of three of your colleagues, one of whom has been here for a considerable period of time. I refer to Miss Vansittart. Miss Springer and Mademoiselle Blanche were, of course, newcomers, but I do not doubt that their deaths were a great shock to you and a distressing happening. You must also have suffered a good deal of apprehension yourselves, for it must have seemed as though there were a kind of vendetta aimed against the mistresses of Meadowbank school. That I can assure you, and Inspector Kelsey will assure you also, is not so. Meadowbank by a fortuitous series of chances became the centre for the attentions of various undesirable interests. There has been, shall we say, a cat among the pigeons. There have been three murders here and also a kidnapping. I will deal first with the kidnapping, for all through this business the difficulty has been to clear out of the way extraneous matters which, though criminal in themselves, obscure the most important threadâthe thread of a ruthless and determined killer in your midst.â

He took from his pocket a photograph.

âFirst, I will pass round this photograph.â

Kelsey took it, handed it to Miss Bulstrode and she in turn handed it to the staff. It was returned to Poirot. He looked at their faces, which were quite blank.

âI ask you, all of you, do you recognize the girl in that photograph?â

One and all they shook their heads.

âYou should do so,â said Poirot. âSince that is a photograph obtained by me from Geneva of Princess Shaista.â

âBut itâs not Shaista at all,â cried Miss Chadwick.

âExactly,â said Poirot. âThe threads of all this business start in Ramat where, as you know, a revolutionary coup dâÃ©tat took place about three months ago. The ruler, Prince Ali Yusuf, managed to escape, flown out by his own private pilot. Their plane, however, crashed in the mountains north of Ramat and was not discovered until later in the year. A certain article of great value, which was always carried on Prince Aliâs person, was missing. It was not found in the wreck and there were rumours that it had been brought to this country. Several groups of people were anxious to get hold of this very valuable article. One of their leads to it was Prince Ali Yusufâs only remaining relation, his first cousin, a girl who was then at a school in Switzerland. It seemed likely that if the precious article had been safely got out of Ramat it would be brought to Princess Shaista or to her relatives and guardians. Certain agents were detailed to keep an eye on her uncle, the Emir Ibrahim, and others to keep an eye on the Princess herself. It was known that she was due to come to this school, Meadowbank, this term. Therefore it would have been only natural that someone should be detailed to obtain employment here and to keep a close watch on anyone who approached the Princess, her letters, and any telephone messages. But an even simpler and more efficacious idea was evolved, that of kidnapping Shaista and sending one of their own number to the school as Princess Shaista herself. This could be done successfully since the Emir Ibrahim was in Egypt and did not propose to visit England until late summer. Miss Bulstrode herself had not seen the girl and all arrangements that she had made concerning her reception had been made with the Embassy in London.

âThe plan was simple in the extreme. The real Shaista left Switzerland accompanied by a representative from the Embassy in London. Or so it was supposed. Actually, the Embassy in London was informed that a representative from the Swiss school would accompany the girl to London. The real Shaista was taken to a very pleasant chalet in Switzerland where she has been ever since, and an entirely different girl arrived in London, was met there by a representative of the Embassy and subsequently brought to this school. This substitute, of course, was necessarily much older than the real Shaista. But that would hardly attract attention since Eastern girls noticeably look much more mature than their age. A young French actress who specializes in playing schoolgirl parts was the agent chosen.

âI did ask,â said Hercule Poirot, in a thoughtful voice, âas to whether anyone had noticed Shaistaâs knees. Knees are a very good indication of age. The knees of a woman of twenty-three or twenty-four can never really be mistaken for the knees of a girl of fourteen or fifteen. Nobody, alas, had noticed her knees.

âThe plan was hardly as successful as had been hoped. Nobody attempted to get in touch with Shaista, no letters or telephone calls of significance arrived for her and as time went on an added anxiety arose. The Emir Ibrahim might arrive in England ahead of schedule. He was not a man who announced his plans ahead. He was in the habit, I understand, of saying one evening, âTomorrow I go to Londonâ and thereupon to go.

âThe false Shaista, then, was aware that at any moment someone who knew the real Shaista might arrive. Especially was this so after the murder and therefore she began to prepare the way for a kidnapping by talking about it to Inspector Kelsey. Of course, the actual kidnapping was nothing of the kind. As soon as she learned that her uncle was coming to take her out the following morning, she sent a brief message by telephone, and half an hour earlier than the genuine car, a showy car with false C.D. plates on it arrived and Shaista was officially âkidnapped.â Actually, of course, she was set down by the car in the first large town where she at once resumed her own personality. An amateurish ransom note was sent just to keep up the fiction.â

Hercule Poirot paused, then said, âIt was, as you can see, merely the trick of the conjurer. Misdirection. You focus the eyes on the kidnapping here and it does not occur to anyone that the kidnapping really occurred three weeks earlier in Switzerland.â

What Poirot really meant, but was too polite to say, was that it had not occurred to anyone but himself!

âWe pass now,â he said, âto something far more serious than kidnappingâmurder.

âThe false Shaista could, of course, have killed Miss Springer but she could not have killed Miss Vansittart or Mademoiselle Blanche, and would have had no motive to kill anybody, nor was such a thing required of her. Her role was simply to receive a valuable packet if, as seemed likely, it should be brought to her: or, alternatively, to receive news of it.

âLet us go back now to Ramat where all this started. It was widely rumoured in Ramat that Prince Ali Yusuf had given this valuable packet to Bob Rawlinson, his private pilot, and that Bob Rawlinson had arranged for its despatch to England. On the day in question Rawlinson went to Ramatâs principal hotel where his sister, Mrs. Sutcliffe, and her daughter Jennifer were staying. Mrs. Sutcliffe and Jennifer were out, but Bob Rawlinson went up to their room where he remained for at least twenty minutes. That is rather a long time under the circumstances. He might of course have been writing a long letter to his sister. But that was not so. He merely left a short note which he could have scribbled in a couple of minutes.

âIt was a very fair inference then, inferred by several separate parties, that during his time in her room he had placed this object amongst his sisterâs effects and that she had brought it back to England. Now we come to what I may call the dividing of two separate threads. One set of interestsâ(or possibly more than one set)âassumed that Mrs. Sutcliffe had brought this article back to England and in consequence her house in the country was ransacked and a thorough search made. This showed that whoever was searching did not know where exactly the article was hidden. Only that it was probably somewhere in Mrs. Sutcliffeâs possession.

âBut somebody else knew very definitely exactly where that article was, and I think that by now it will do no harm for me to tell you where, in fact, Bob Rawlinson did conceal it. He concealed it in the handle of a tennis racquet, hollowing out the handle and afterwards piecing it together again so skilfully that it was difficult to see what had been done.

âThe tennis racquet belonged, not to his sister, but to her daughter Jennifer. Someone who knew exactly where the cache was, went out to the Sports Pavilion one night, having previously taken an impression of the key and got a key cut. At that time of night everyone should have been in bed and asleep. But that was not so. Miss Springer saw the light of a torch in the Sports Pavilion from the house, and went out to investigate. She was a tough hefty young woman and had no doubts of her own ability to cope with anything she might find. The person in question was probably sorting through the tennis racquets to find the right one. Discovered and recognized by Miss Springer, there was no hesitation â¦ The searcher was a killer, and shot Miss Springer dead. Afterwards, however, the killer had to act fast. The shot had been heard, people were approaching. At all costs the killer must get out of the Sports Pavilion unseen. The racquet must be left where it was for the momentâ¦.

âWithin a few days another method was tried. A strange woman with a faked American accent waylaid Jennifer Sutcliffe as she was coming from the tennis courts, and told her a plausible story about a relative of hers having sent her down a new tennis racquet. Jennifer unsuspiciously accepted this story and gladly exchanged the racquet she was carrying for the new, expensive one the stranger had brought. But a circumstance had arisen which the woman with the American accent knew nothing about. That was that a few days previously Jennifer Sutcliffe and Julia Upjohn had exchanged racquets so that what the strange woman took away with her was in actual fact Julia Upjohnâs old racquet, though the identifying tape on it bore Jenniferâs name.

âWe come now to the second tragedy. Miss Vansittart for some unknown reason, but possibly connected with the kidnapping of Shaista which had taken place that afternoon, took a torch and went out to the Sports Pavilion after everybody had gone to bed. Somebody who had followed her there struck her down with a cosh or a sandbag, as she was stooping down by Shaistaâs locker. Again the crime was discovered almost immediately. Miss Chadwick saw a light in the Sports Pavilion and hurried out there.

âThe police once more took charge at the Sports Pavilion, and again the killer was debarred from searching and examining the tennis racquets there. But by now, Julia Upjohn, an intelligent child, had thought things over and had come to the logical conclusion that the racquet she possessed and which had originally belonged to Jennifer, was in some way important. She investigated on her own behalf, found that she was correct in her surmise, and brought the contents of the racquet to me.

âThese are now,â said Hercule Poirot, âin safe custody and need concern us here no longer.â He paused and then went on, âIt remains to consider the third tragedy.

âWhat Mademoiselle Blanche knew or suspected we shall never know. She may have seen someone leaving the house on the night of Miss Springerâs murder. Whatever it was that she knew or suspected, she knew the identity of the murderer. And she kept that knowledge to herself. She planned to obtain money in return for her silence.

âThere is nothing,â said Hercule Poirot, with feeling, âmore dangerous than levying blackmail on a person who has killed perhaps twice already. Mademoiselle Blanche may have taken her own precautions but whatever they were, they were inadequate. She made an appointment with the murderer and she was killed.â

He paused again.

âSo there,â he said, looking round at them, âyou have the account of this whole affair.â

They were all staring at him. Their faces, which at first had reflected interest, surprise, excitement, seemed now frozen into a uniform calm. It was as though they were terrified to display any emotion. Hercule Poirot nodded at them.

âYes,â he said, âI know how you feel. It has come, has it not, very near home? That is why, you see, I and Inspector Kelsey and Mr. Adam Goodman have been making the inquiries. We have to know, you see, if there is still a cat among the pigeons! You understand what I mean? Is there still someone here who is masquerading under false colours?â

There was a slight ripple passing through those who listened to him, a brief almost furtive sidelong glance as though they wished to look at each other, but did not dare do so.

âI am happy to reassure you,â said Poirot. âAll of you here at this moment are exactly who you say you are. Miss Chadwick, for instance, is Miss Chadwickâthat is certainly not open to doubt, she has been here as long as Meadowbank itself! Miss Johnson, too, is unmistakably Miss Johnson. Miss Rich is Miss Rich. Miss Shapland is Miss Shapland. Miss Rowan and Miss Blake are Miss Rowan and Miss Blake. To go further,â said Poirot, turning his head, âAdam Goodman who works here in the garden, is, if not precisely Adam Goodman, at any rate the person whose name is on his credentials. So then, where are we? We must seek not for someone masquerading as someone else, but for someone who is, in his or her proper identity, a murderer.â

The room was very still now. There was menace in the air.

Poirot went on.

âWe want, primarily, someone who was in Ramat three months ago. Knowledge that the prize was concealed in the tennis racquet could only have been acquired in one way. Someone must have seen it put there by Bob Rawlinson. It is as simple as that. Who then, of all of you present here, was in Ramat three months ago? Miss Chadwick was here, Miss Johnson was here.â His eyes went on to the two junior Mistresses. âMiss Rowan and Miss Blake were here.â

His finger went out pointing.

âBut Miss RichâMiss Rich was not here last term, was she?â

âIâno. I was ill.â She spoke hurriedly. âI was away for a term.â

âThat is the thing we did not know,â said Hercule Poirot, âuntil a few days ago somebody mentioned it casually. When questioned by the police originally, you merely said that you had been at Meadowbank for a year and a half. That in itself is true enough. But you were absent last term. You could have been in RamatâI think you were in Ramat. Be careful. It can be verified, you know, from your passport.â

There was a momentâs silence, then Eileen Rich looked up.

âYes,â she said quietly. âI was in Ramat. Why not?â

âWhy did you go to Ramat, Miss Rich?â

âYou already know. I had been ill. I was advised to take a restâto go abroad. I wrote to Miss Bulstrode and explained that I must take a term off. She quite understood.â

âThat is so,â said Miss Bulstrode. âA doctorâs certificate was enclosed which said that it would be unwise for Miss Rich to resume her duties until the following term.â

âSoâyou went to Ramat?â said Hercule Poirot.

âWhy shouldnât I go to Ramat?â said Eileen Rich. Her voice trembled slightly. âThere are cheap fares offered to schoolteachers. I wanted a rest. I wanted sunshine. I went out to Ramat. I spent two months there. Why not? Why not, I say?â

âYou have never mentioned that you were at Ramat at the time of the Revolution.â

âWhy should I? What has it got to do with anyone here? I havenât killed anyone, I tell you. I havenât killed anyone.â

âYou were recognized, you know,â said Hercule Poirot. âNot recognized definitely, but indefinitely. The child Jennifer was very vague. She said she thought sheâd seen you in Ramat but concluded it couldnât be you because, she said, the person she had seen was fat, not thin.â He leaned forward, his eyes boring into Eileen Richâs face.

âWhat have you to say, Miss Rich?â

She wheeled round. âI know what youâre trying to make out!â she cried. âYouâre trying to make out that it wasnât a secret agent or anything of that kind who did these murders. That it was someone who just happened to be there, someone who happened to see this treasure hidden in a tennis racquet. Someone who realized that the child was coming to Meadowbank and that sheâd have an opportunity to take for herself this hidden thing. But I tell you it isnât true!â

âI think that is what happened. Yes,â said Poirot. âSomeone saw the jewels being hidden and forgot all other duties or interests in the determination to possess them!â

âIt isnât true, I tell you. I saw nothingââ

âInspector Kelsey.â Poirot turned his head.

Inspector Kelsey noddedâwent to the door, opened it, and Mrs. Upjohn walked into the room.

II

âHow do you do, Miss Bulstrode,â said Mrs. Upjohn, looking rather embarrassed. âIâm sorry Iâm looking rather untidy, but I was somewhere near Ankara yesterday and Iâve just flown home. Iâm in a terrible mess and I really havenât had time to clean myself up or do anything.â

âThat does not matter,â said Hercule Poirot. âWe want to ask you something.â

âMrs. Upjohn,â said Kelsey, âwhen you came here to bring your daughter to the school and you were in Miss Bulstrodeâs sitting room, you looked out of the windowâthe window which gives on the front driveâand you uttered an exclamation as though you recognized someone you saw there. That is so, is it not?â

Mrs. Upjohn stared at him. âWhen I was in Miss Bulstrodeâs sitting room? I lookedâoh, yes, of course! Yes, I did see someone.â

âSomeone you were surprised to see?â

âWell, I was rather â¦ You see, it had all been such years ago.â

âYou mean the days when you were working in Intelligence towards the end of the war?â

âYes. It was about fifteen years ago. Of course, she looked much older, but I recognized her at once. And I wondered what on earth she could be doing here.â

âMrs. Upjohn, will you look round this room and tell me if you see that person here now?â

âYes, of course,â said Mrs. Upjohn. âI saw her as soon as I came in. Thatâs her.â

She stretched out a pointing finger. Inspector Kelsey was quick and so was Adam, but they were not quick enough. Ann Shapland had sprung to her feet. In her hand was a small wicked-looking automatic and it pointed straight at Mrs. Upjohn. Miss Bulstrode, quicker than the two men, moved sharply forward, but swifter still was Miss Chadwick. It was not Mrs. Upjohn that she was trying to shield, it was the woman who was standing between Ann Shapland and Mrs. Upjohn.

âNo, you shanât,â cried Chaddy, and flung herself on Miss Bulstrode just as the small automatic went off.

Miss Chadwick staggered, then slowly crumpled down. Miss Johnson ran to her. Adam and Kelsey had got hold of Ann Shapland now. She was struggling like a wild cat, but they wrested the small automatic from her.

Mrs. Upjohn said breathlessly:

âThey said then that she was a killer. Although she was so young. One of the most dangerous agents they had. Angelica was her code name.â

âYou lying bitch!â Ann Shapland fairly spat out the words.

Hercule Poirot said:

âShe does not lie. You are dangerous. You have always led a dangerous life. Up to now, you have never been suspected in your own identity. All the jobs you have taken in your own name have been perfectly genuine jobs, efficiently performedâbut they have all been jobs with a purpose, and that purpose has been the gaining of information. You have worked with an Oil Company, with an archaeologist whose work took him to a certain part of the globe, with an actress whose protector was an eminent politician. Ever since you were seventeen you have worked as an agentâthough for many different masters. Your services have been for hire and have been highly paid. You have played a dual role. Most of your assignments have been carried out in your own name, but there were certain jobs for which you assumed different identities. Those were the times when ostensibly you had to go home and be with your mother.

âBut I strongly suspect, Miss Shapland, that the elderly woman I visited who lives in a small village with a nurse-companion to look after her, an elderly woman who is genuinely a mental patient with a confused mind, is not your mother at all. She has been your excuse for retiring from employment and from the circle of your friends. The three months this winter that you spent with your âmotherâ who had one of her âbad turnsâ covers the time when you went out to Ramat. Not as Ann Shapland but as Angelica de Toredo, a Spanish, or near-Spanish cabaret dancer. You occupied the room in the hotel next to that of Mrs. Sutcliffe and somehow you managed to see Bob Rawlinson conceal the jewels in the racquet. You had no opportunity of taking the racquet then for there was the sudden evacuation of all British people, but you had read the labels on their luggage and it was easy to find out something about them. To obtain a secretarial post here was not difficult. I have made some inquiries. You paid a substantial sum to Miss Bulstrodeâs former secretary to vacate her post on the plea of a âbreakdown.â And you had quite a plausible story. You had been commissioned to write a series of articles on a famous girlsâ school âfrom within.â

âIt all seemed quite easy, did it not? If a childâs racquet was missing, what of it? Simpler still, you would go out at night to the Sports Pavilion, and abstract the jewels. But you had not reckoned with Miss Springer. Perhaps she had already seen you examining the racquets. Perhaps she just happened to wake that night. She followed you out there and you shot her. Later, Mademoiselle Blanche tried to blackmail you, and you killed her. It comes natural to you, does it not, to kill?â

He stopped. In a monotonous official voice, Inspector Kelsey cautioned his prisoner.

She did not listen. Turning towards Hercule Poirot, she burst out in a low-pitched flood of invective that startled everyone in the room.

âWhew!â said Adam, as Kelsey took her away. âAnd I thought she was a nice girl!â

Miss Johnson had been kneeling by Miss Chadwick.

âIâm afraid sheâs badly hurt,â she said. âSheâd better not be moved until the doctor comes.â

Twenty-four

POIROT EXPLAINS

I

Mrs. Upjohn, wandering through the corridors of Meadowbank School, forgot the exciting scene she had just been through. She was for the moment merely a mother seeking her young. She found her in a deserted classroom. Julia was bending over a desk, her tongue protruding slightly, absorbed in the agonies of composition.

She looked up and stared. Then flung herself across the room and hugged her mother.

âMummy!â

Then, with the self-consciousness of her age, ashamed of her unrestrained emotion, she detached herself and spoke in a carefully casual toneâindeed almost accusingly.

âArenât you back rather soon, Mummy?â

âI flew back,â said Mrs. Upjohn, almost apologetically, âfrom Ankara.â

âOh,â said Julia. âWellâIâm glad youâre back.â

âYes,â said Mrs. Upjohn, âI am very glad too.â

They looked at each other, embarrassed. âWhat are you doing?â said Mrs. Upjohn, advancing a little closer.

âIâm writing a composition for Miss Rich,â said Julia. âShe really does set the most exciting subjects.â

âWhatâs this one?â said Mrs. Upjohn. She bent over.

The subject was written at the top of the page. Some nine or ten lines of writing in Juliaâs uneven and sprawling handwriting came below. âContrast the Attitudes of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth to Murderâ read Mrs. Upjohn.

âWell,â she said doubtfully, âyou canât say that the subject isnât topical!â

She read the start of her daughterâs essay. âMacbeth,â Julia had written, âliked the idea of murder and had been thinking of it a lot, but he needed a push to get him started. Once heâd got started he enjoyed murdering people and had no more qualms or fears. Lady Macbeth was just greedy and ambitious. She thought she didnât mind what she did to get what she wanted. But once sheâd done it she found she didnât like it after all.â

âYour language isnât very elegant,â said Mrs. Upjohn. âI think youâll have to polish it up a bit, but youâve certainly got something there.â

II

Inspector Kelsey was speaking in a slightly complaining tone.

âItâs all very well for you, Poirot,â he said. âYou can say and do a lot of things we canât: and Iâll admit the whole thing was well stage-managed. Got her off her guard, made her think we were after Rich, and then, Mrs. Upjohnâs sudden appearance made her lose her head. Thank the lord she kept that automatic after shooting Springer. If the bullet correspondsââ

âIt will, mon ami, it will,â said Poirot.

âThen weâve got her cold for the murder of Springer. And I gather Miss Chadwickâs in a bad way. But look here, Poirot, I still canât see how she can possibly have killed Miss Vansittart. Itâs physically impossible. Sheâs got a cast-iron alibiâunless young Rathbone and the whole staff of the Nid Sauvage are in it with her.â

Poirot shook his head. âOh, no,â he said. âHer alibi is perfectly good. She killed Miss Springer and Mademoiselle Blanche. But Miss Vansittartââ he hesitated for a moment, his eyes going to where Miss Bulstrode sat listening to them. âMiss Vansittart was killed by Miss Chadwick.â

âMiss Chadwick?â exclaimed Miss Bulstrode and Kelsey together.

Poirot nodded. âI am sure of it.â

âButâwhy?â

âI think,â said Poirot, âMiss Chadwick loved Meadowbank too much â¦ â His eyes went across to Miss Bulstrode.

âI see â¦ â said Miss Bulstrode. âYes, yes, I see â¦ I ought to have known.â She paused. âYou mean that sheâ?â

âI mean,â said Poirot, âthat she started here with you, that all along she has regarded Meadowbank as a joint venture between you both.â

âWhich in one sense it was,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âQuite so,â said Poirot. âBut that was merely the financial aspect. When you began to talk of retiring she regarded herself as the person who would take over.â

âBut sheâs far too old,â objected Miss Bulstrode.

âYes,â said Poirot, âshe is too old and she is not suited to be a headmistress. But she herself did not think so. She thought that when you went she would be headmistress of Meadowbank as a matter of course. And then she found that was not so. That you were considering someone else, that you had fastened upon Eleanor Vansittart. And she loved Meadowbank. She loved the school and she did not like Eleanor Vansittart. I think in the end she hated her.â

âShe might have done,â said Miss Bulstrode. âYes, Eleanor Vansittart wasâhow shall I put it?âshe was always very complacent, very superior about everything. That would be hard to bear if you were jealous. Thatâs what you mean, isnât it? Chaddy was jealous.â

âYes,â said Poirot. âShe was jealous of Meadowbank and jealous of Eleanor Vansittart. She couldnât bear the thought of the school and Miss Vansittart together. And then perhaps something in your manner led her to think that you were weakening?â

âI did weaken,â said Miss Bulstrode. âBut I didnât weaken in the way that perhaps Chaddy thought I would weaken. Actually I thought of someone younger still than Miss VansittartâI thought it over and then I said No, sheâs too young â¦ Chaddy was with me then, I remember.â

âAnd she thought,â said Poirot, âthat you were referring to Miss Vansittart. That you were saying Miss Vansittart was too young. She thoroughly agreed. She thought that experience and wisdom such as she had got were far more important things. But then, after all, you returned to your original decision. You chose Eleanor Vansittart as the right person and left her in charge of the school that weekend. This is what I think happened. On that Sunday night Miss Chadwick was restless, she got up and she saw the light in the squash court. She went out there exactly as she says she went. There is only one thing different in her story from what she said. It wasnât a golf club she took with her. She picked up one of the sandbags from the pile in the hall. She went out there all ready to deal with a burglar, with someone who for a second time had broken into the Sports Pavilion. She had the sandbag ready in her hand to defend herself if attacked. And what did she find? She found Eleanor Vansittart kneeling down looking in a locker, and she thought, it may beâ(for I am good,â said Hercule Poirot in a parenthesis, ââat putting myself into other peopleâs mindsâ) she thought if I were a marauder, a burglar, I would come up behind her and strike her down. And as the thought came into her mind, only half conscious of what she was doing, she raised the sandbag and struck. And there was Eleanor Vansittart dead, out of her way. She was appalled then, I think, at what she had done. It has preyed on her ever sinceâfor she is not a natural killer, Miss Chadwick. She was driven, as some are driven, by jealousy and by obsession. The obsession of love for Meadowbank. Now that Eleanor Vansittart was dead she was quite sure that she would succeed you at Meadowbank. So she didnât confess. She told her story to the police exactly as it had occurred but for the one vital fact, that it was she who had struck the blow. But when she was asked about the golf club which presumably Miss Vansittart took with her being nervous after all that had occurred, Miss Chadwick said quickly that she had taken it out there. She didnât want you to think even for a moment that she had handled the sandbag.â

âWhy did Ann Shapland also choose a sandbag to kill Mademoiselle Blanche?â asked Miss Bulstrode.

âFor one thing, she could not risk a pistol shot in the school building, and for another she is a very clever young woman. She wanted to tie up this third murder with the second one, for which she had an alibi.â

âI donât really understand what Eleanor Vansittart was doing herself in the Sports Pavilion,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âI think one could make a guess. She was probably far more concerned over the disappearance of Shaista than she allowed to appear on the surface. She was as upset as Miss Chadwick was. In a way it was worse for her, because she had been left by you in chargeâand the kidnapping had happened whilst she was responsible. Moreover she had pooh-poohed it as long as possible through an unwillingness to face unpleasant facts squarely.â

âSo there was weakness behind the faÃ§ade,â mused Miss Bulstrode. âI sometimes suspected it.â

âShe, too, I think, was unable to sleep. And I think she went out quietly to the Sports Pavilion to make an examination of Shaistaâs locker in case there might be some clue there to the girlâs disappearance.â

âYou seem to have explanations for everything, Mr. Poirot.â

âThatâs his speciality,â said Inspector Kelsey with slight malice.

âAnd what was the point of getting Eileen Rich to sketch various members of my staff?â

âI wanted to test the child Jenniferâs ability to recognize a face. I soon satisfied myself that Jennifer was so entirely preoccupied by her own affairs, that she gave outsiders at most a cursory glance, taking in only the external details of their appearance. She did not recognize a sketch of Mademoiselle Blanche with a different hairdo. Still less, then, would she have recognized Ann Shapland who, as your secretary, she seldom saw at close quarters.â

âYou think that the woman with the racquet was Ann Shapland herself.â

âYes. It has been a one woman job all through. You remember that day, you rang for her to take a message to Julia but in the end, as the buzzer went unanswered, sent a girl to find Julia. Ann was accustomed to quick disguise. A fair wig, differently pencilled eyebrows, a âfussyâ dress and hat. She need only be absent from her typewriter for about twenty minutes. I saw from Miss Richâs clever sketches how easy it is for a woman to alter her appearance by purely external matters.â

âMiss RichâI wonderââ Miss Bulstrode looked thoughtful.

Poirot gave Inspector Kelsey a look and the Inspector said he must be getting along.

âMiss Rich?â said Miss Bulstrode again.

âSend for her,â said Poirot. âIt is the best way.â

Eileen Rich appeared. She was white-faced and slightly defiant.

âYou want to know,â she said to Miss Bulstrode, âwhat I was doing in Ramat?â

âI think I have an idea,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âJust so,â said Poirot. âChildren nowadays know all the facts of lifeâbut their eyes often retain innocence.â

He added that he, too, must be getting along, and slipped out.

âThat was it, wasnât it?â said Miss Bulstrode. Her voice was brisk and businesslike. âJennifer merely described it as fat. She didnât realize it was a pregnant woman she had seen.â

âYes,â said Eileen Rich. âThat was it. I was going to have a child. I didnât want to give up my job here. I carried on all right through the autumn, but after that, it was beginning to show. I got a doctorâs certificate that I wasnât fit to carry on, and I pleaded illness. I went abroad to a remote spot where I thought I wasnât likely to meet anyone who knew me. I came back to this country and the child was bornâdead. I came back this term and I hoped that no one would ever know â¦ But you understand now, donât you, why I said I should have had to refuse your offer of a partnership if youâd made it? Only now, with the school in such a disaster, I thought that, after all, I might be able to accept.â

She paused and said in a matter-of-fact voice,

âWould you like me to leave now? Or wait until the end of term?â

âYouâll stay till the end of the term,â said Miss Bulstrode, âand if there is a new term here, which I still hope, youâll come back.â

âCome back?â said Eileen Rich. âDo you mean you still want me?â

âOf course I want you,â said Miss Bulstrode. âYou havenât murdered anyone, have you?ânot gone mad over jewels and planned to kill to get them? Iâll tell you what youâve done. Youâve probably denied your instincts too long. There was a man, you fell in love with him, you had a child. I suppose you couldnât marry.â

âThere was never any question of marriage,â said Eileen Rich. âI knew that. He isnât to blame.â

âVery well, then,â said Miss Bulstrode. âYou had a love affair and a child. You wanted to have that child?â

âYes,â said Eileen Rich. âYes, I wanted to have it.â

âSo thatâs that,â said Miss Bulstrode. âNow Iâm going to tell you something. I believe that in spite of this love affair, your real vocation in life is teaching. I think your profession means more to you than any normal womanâs life with a husband and children would mean.â

âOh yes,â said Eileen Rich. âIâm sure of that. Iâve known that all along. Thatâs what I really want to doâthatâs the real passion of my life.â

âThen donât be a fool,â said Miss Bulstrode. âIâm making you a very good offer. If, that is, things come right. Weâll spend two or three years together putting Meadowbank back on the map. Youâll have different ideas as to how that should be done from the ideas that I have. Iâll listen to your ideas. Maybe Iâll even give in to some of them. You want things to be different, I suppose, at Meadowbank?â

âI do in some ways, yes,â said Eileen Rich. âI wonât pretend. I want more emphasis on getting girls that really matter.â

âAh,â said Miss Bulstrode, âI see. Itâs the snob element that you donât like, is that it?â

âYes,â said Eileen, âit seems to me to spoil things.â

âWhat you donât realize,â said Miss Bulstrode, âis that to get the kind of girl you want youâve got to have that snob element. Itâs quite a small element really, you know. A few foreign royalties, a few great names and everybody, all the silly parents all over this country and other countries want their girls to come to Meadowbank. Fall over themselves to get their girl admitted to Meadowbank. Whatâs the result? An enormous waiting list, and I look at the girls and I see the girls and I choose! You get your pick, do you see? I choose my girls. I choose them very carefully, some for character, some for brains, some for pure academic intellect. Some because I think they havenât had a chance but are capable of being made something of thatâs worthwhile. Youâre young, Eileen. Youâre full of idealsâitâs the teaching that matters to you and the ethical side of it. Your visionâs quite right. Itâs the girls that matter, but if you want to make a success of anything, you know, youâve got to be a good tradesman as well. Ideas are like everything else. Theyâve got to be marketed. Weâll have to do some pretty slick work in future to get Meadowbank going again. Iâll have to get my hooks into a few people, former pupils, bully them, plead with them, get them to send their daughters here. And then the others will come. You let me be up to my tricks, and then you shall have your way. Meadowbank will go on and itâll be a fine school.â

âItâll be the finest school in England,â said Eileen Rich enthusiastically.

âGood,â said Miss Bulstrode, ââand Eileen, I should go and get your hair properly cut and shaped. You donât seem able to manage that bun. And now,â she said, her voice changing, âI must go to Chaddy.â

She went in and came up to the bed. Miss Chadwick was lying very still and white. The blood had all gone from her face and she looked drained of life. A policeman with a notebook sat nearby and Miss Johnson sat on the other side of the bed. She looked at Miss Bulstrode and shook her head gently.

âHallo, Chaddy,â said Miss Bulstrode. She took up the limp hand in hers. Miss Chadwickâs eyes opened.

âI want to tell you,â she said, âEleanorâit wasâit was me.â

âYes, dear, I know,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âJealous,â said Chaddy. âI wantedââ

âI know,â said Miss Bulstrode.

Tears rolled very slowly down Miss Chadwickâs cheeks. âItâs so awful â¦ I didnât meanâI donât know how I came to do such a thing!â

âDonât think about it anymore,â said Miss Bulstrode.

âBut I canâtâyouâll neverâIâll never forgive myselfââ

âListen, dear,â she said. âYou saved my life, you know. My life and the life of that nice woman, Mrs. Upjohn. That counts for something, doesnât it?â

âI only wish,â said Miss Chadwick, âI could have given my life for you both. That would have made it all rightâ¦.â

Miss Bulstrode looked at her with great pity. Miss Chadwick took a great breath, smiled, then, moving her head very slightly to one side, she diedâ¦.

âYou did give your life, my dear,â said Miss Bulstrode softly. âI hope you realize thatânow.â

Twenty-five

LEGACY

I

âA Mr. Robinson has called to see you, sir.â

âAh!â said Hercule Poirot. He stretched out his hand and picked up a letter from the desk in front of him. He looked down on it thoughtfully.

He said: âShow him in, Georges.â

The letter was only a few lines,

Dear Poirot,

A Mr. Robinson may call upon you in the near future. You may already know something about him. Quite a prominent figure in certain circles. There is a demand for such men in our modern world â¦ I believe, if I may so put it, that he is, in this particular matter, on the side of the angels. This is just a recommendation, if you should be in doubt. Of course, and I underline this, we have no idea as to the matter on which he wishes to consult you â¦

Ha ha! and likewise ho ho!

Yours ever,

Ephraim Pikeaway

Poirot laid down the letter and rose as Mr. Robinson came into the room. He bowed, shook hands, indicated a chair.

Mr. Robinson sat, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his large yellow face. He observed that it was a warm day.

âYou have not, I hope, walked here in this heat?â

Poirot looked horrified at the idea. By a natural association of ideas, his fingers went to his moustache. He was reassured. There was no limpness.

Mr. Robinson looked equally horrified.

âNo, no, indeed. I came in my Rolls. But these traffic blocks â¦ One sits for half an hour sometimes.â

Poirot nodded sympathetically.

There was a pauseâthe pause that ensues on part one of conversation before entering upon part two.

âI was interested to hearâof course one hears so many thingsâmost of them quite untrueâthat you had been concerning yourself with the affairs of a girlsâ school.â

âAh,â said Poirot. âThat!â

He leaned back in his chair.

âMeadowbank,â said Mr. Robinson thoughtfully. âQuite one of the premier schools of England.â

âIt is a fine school.â

âIs? Or was?â

âI hope the former.â

âI hope so, too,â said Mr. Robinson. âI fear it may be touch and go. Ah well, one must do what one can. A little financial backing to tide over a certain inevitable period of depression. A few carefully chosen new pupils. I am not without influence in European circles.â

âI, too, have applied persuasion in certain quarters. If, as you say, we can tide things over. Mercifully, memories are short.â

âThat is what one hopes. But one must admit that events have taken place there that might well shake the nerves of fond mammasâand papas also. The Games Mistress, the French Mistress, and yet another mistressâall murdered.â

âAs you say.â

âI hear,â said Mr. Robinson, â(one hears so many things), that the unfortunate young woman responsible has suffered from a phobia about schoolmistresses since her youth. An unhappy childhood at school. Psychiatrists will make a good deal of this. They will try at least for a verdict of diminished responsibility, as they call it nowadays.â

âThat line would seem to be the best choice,â said Poirot. âYou will pardon me for saying that I hope it will not succeed.â

âI agree with you entirely. A most cold-blooded killer. But they will make much of her excellent character, her work as secretary to various well-known people, her war recordâquite distinguished, I believeâcounterespionageââ

He let the last words out with a certain significanceâa hint of a question in his voice.

âShe was very good, I believe,â he said more briskly. âSo youngâbut quite brilliant, of great useâto both sides. That was her mÃ©tierâshe should have stuck to it. But I can understand the temptationâto play a lone hand, and gain a big prize.â He added softly, âA very big prize.â

Poirot nodded.

Mr. Robinson leaned forward.

âWhere are they, M. Poirot?â

âI think you know where they are.â

âWell, frankly, yes. Banks are such useful institutions are they not?â

Poirot smiled.

âWe neednât beat about the bush really, need we, my dear fellow? What are you going to do about them?â

âI have been waiting.â

âWaiting for what?â

âShall we sayâfor suggestions?â

âYesâI see.â

âYou understand they do not belong to me. I would like to hand them over to the person they do belong to. But that, if I appraise the position correctly, is not so simple.â

âGovernments are in such a difficult position,â said Mr. Robinson. âVulnerable, so to speak. What with oil, and steel, and uranium, and cobalt and all the rest of it, foreign relations are a matter of the utmost delicacy. The great thing is to be able to say that Her Majestyâs Government, etc., etc., has absolutely no information on the subject.â

âBut I cannot keep this important deposit at my bank indefinitely.â

âExactly. That is why I have come to propose that you should hand it over to me.â

âAh,â said Poirot. âWhy?â

âI can give you some excellent reasons. These jewelsâmercifully we are not official, we can call things by their right namesâwere unquestionably the personal property of the late Prince Ali Yusuf.â

âI understand that is so.â

âHis Highness handed them over to Squadron Leader Robert Rawlinson with certain instructions. They were to be got out of Ramat, and they were to be delivered to me.â

âHave you proof of that?â

âCertainly.â

Mr. Robinson drew a long envelope from his pocket. Out of it he took several papers. He laid them before Poirot on the desk.

Poirot bent over them and studied them carefully.

âIt seems to be as you say.â

âWell, then?â

âDo you mind if I ask a question?â

âNot at all.â

âWhat do you, personally, get out of this?â

Mr. Robinson looked surprised.

âMy dear fellow. Money, of course. Quite a lot of money.â

Poirot looked at him thoughtfully.

âIt is a very old trade,â said Mr. Robinson. âAnd a lucrative one. There are quite a lot of us, a network all over the globe. We are, how shall I put it, the Arrangers behind the scenes. For kings, for presidents, for politicians, for all those, in fact, upon whom the fierce light beats, as a poet has put it. We work in with one another and remember this: we keep faith. Our profits are large but we are honest. Our services are costlyâbut we do render service.â

âI see,â said Poirot. âEh bien! I agree to what you ask.â

âI can assure you that that decision will please everyone.â Mr. Robinsonâs eyes just rested for a moment on Colonel Pikeawayâs letter where it lay at Poirotâs right hand.

âBut just one little moment. I am human. I have curiosity. What are you going to do with these jewels?â

Mr. Robinson looked at him. Then his large yellow face creased into a smile. He leaned forward.

âI shall tell you.â

He told him.

II

Children were playing up and down the street. Their raucous cries filled the air. Mr. Robinson, alighting ponderously from his Rolls, was cannoned into by one of them.

Mr. Robinson put the child aside with a not unkindly hand and peered up at the number on the house.

No. 15. This was right. He pushed open the gate and went up the three steps to the front door. Neat white curtains at the windows, he noted, and a well-polished brass knocker. An insignificant little house in an insignificant street in an insignificant part of London, but it was well kept. It had self-respect.

The door opened. A girl of about twenty-five, pleasant looking, with a kind of fair, chocolate box prettiness, welcomed him with a smile.

âMr. Robinson? Come in.â

She took him into the small sitting room. A television set, cretonnes of a Jacobean pattern, a cottage piano against the wall. She had on a dark skirt and a grey pullover.

âYouâll have some tea? Iâve got the kettle on.â

âThank you, but no. I never drink tea. And I can only stay a short time. I have only come to bring you what I wrote to you about.â

âFrom Ali?â

âYes.â

âThere isnâtâthere couldnât beâany hope? I meanâitâs really trueâthat he was killed? There couldnât be any mistake?â

âIâm afraid there was no mistake,â said Mr. Robinson gently.

âNoâno, I suppose not. Anyway, I never expectedâWhen he went back there I didnât think really Iâd ever see him again. I donât mean I thought he was going to be killed or that there would be a Revolution. I just meanâwell, you knowâheâd have to carry on, do his stuffâwhat was expected of him. Marry one of his own peopleâall that.â

Mr. Robinson drew out a package and laid it down on the table.

âOpen it, please.â

Her fingers fumbled a little as she tore the wrappings off and then unfolded the final coveringâ¦.

She drew her breath in sharply.

Red, blue, green, white, all sparkling with fire, with life, turning the dim little room into Aladdinâs caveâ¦.

Mr. Robinson watched her. He had seen so many women look at jewelsâ¦.

She said at last in a breathless voice,

âAre theyâthey canât beâreal?â

âThey are real.â

âBut they must be worthâthey must be worthââ

Her imagination failed.

Mr. Robinson nodded.

âIf you wish to dispose of them, you can probably get at least half a million pounds for them.â

âNoâno, itâs not possible.â

Suddenly she scooped them up in her hands and rewrapped them with shaking fingers.

âIâm scared,â she said. âThey frighten me. What am I to do with them?â

The door burst open. A small boy rushed in.

âMum, I got a smashing tank off Billy. Heââ

He stopped, staring at Mr. Robinson.

An olive skinned, dark boy.

His mother said,

âGo in the kitchen, Allen, your teaâs all ready. Milk and biscuits and thereâs a bit of gingerbread.â

âOh good.â He departed noisily.

âYou call him Allen?â said Mr. Robinson.

She flushed.

âIt was the nearest name to Ali. I couldnât call him Aliâtoo difficult for him and the neighbours and all.â

She went on, her face clouding over again.

âWhat am I to do?â

âFirst, have you got your marriage certificate? I have to be sure youâre the person you say you are.â

She stared a moment, then went over to a small desk. From one of the drawers she brought out an envelope, extracted a paper from it and brought it to him.

âHm â¦ yes â¦ Register of Edmonstow â¦ Ali Yusuf, student â¦ Alice Calder, spinster â¦ Yes, all in order.â

âOh itâs legal all rightâas far as it goes. And no one ever tumbled to who he was. Thereâs so many of these foreign Moslem students, you see. We knew it didnât mean anything really. He was a Moslem and he could have more than one wife, and he knew heâd have to go back and do just that. We talked about it. But Allen was on the way, you see, and he said this would make it all right for himâwe were married all right in this country and Allen would be legitimate. It was the best he could do for me. He really did love me, you know. He really did.â

âYes,â said Mr. Robinson. âI am sure he did.â

He went on briskly.

âNow, supposing that you put yourself in my hands. I will see to the selling of these stones. And I will give you the address of a lawyer, a really good and reliable solicitor. He will advise you, I expect, to put most of the money in a trust fund. And there will be other things, education for your son, and a new way of life for you. Youâll want social education and guidance. Youâre going to be a very rich woman and all the sharks and the confidence tricksters and the rest of them will be after you. Your lifeâs not going to be easy except in the purely material sense. Rich people donât have an easy time in life, I can tell youâIâve seen too many of them to have that illusion. But youâve got character. I think youâll come through. And that boy of yours may be a happier man than his father ever was.â

He paused. âYou agree?â

âYes. Take them.â She pushed them towards him, then said suddenly: âThat schoolgirlâthe one who found themâIâd like her to have one of themâwhichâwhat colour do you think sheâd like?â

Mr. Robinson reflected. âAn emerald, I thinkâgreen for mystery. A good idea of yours. She will find that very thrilling.â

He rose to his feet.

âI shall charge you for my services, you know,â said Mr. Robinson. âAnd my charges are pretty high. But I shanât cheat you.â

She gave him a level glance.

âNo, I donât think you will. And I need someone who knows about business, because I donât.â

âYou seem a very sensible woman if I may say so. Now then, Iâm to take these? You donât want to keepâjust oneâsay?â

He watched her with curiosity, the sudden flicker of excitement, the hungry covetous eyesâand then the flicker died.

âNo,â said Alice. âI wonât keepâeven one.â She flushed. âOh I daresay that seems daft to youânot to keep just one big ruby or an emeraldâjust as a keepsake. But you see, he and Iâhe was a Moslem but he let me read bits now and again out of the Bible. And we read that bitâabout a woman whose price was above rubies. And soâI wonât have any jewels. Iâd rather notâ¦.â

âA most unusual woman,â said Mr. Robinson to himself as he walked down the path and into his waiting Rolls.

He repeated to himself,

âA most unusual womanâ¦.â

The Agatha Christie Collection

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About the Author

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She is the author of eighty crime novels and short-story collections, nineteen plays, two memoirs, and six novels written under the name Mary Westmacott.

She first tried her hand at detective fiction while working in a hospital dispensary during World War I, creating the now legendary Hercule Poirot with her debut novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. With The Murder in the Vicarage, published in 1930, she introduced another beloved sleuth, Miss Jane Marple. Additional series characters include the husband-and-wife crime-fighting team of Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, private investigator Parker Pyne, and Scotland Yard detectives Superintendent Battle and Inspector Japp.

Many of Christieâ€™s novels and short stories were adapted into plays, films, and television series. The Mousetrap, her most famous play of all, opened in 1952 and is the longest-running play in history. Among her best-known film adaptations are Murder on the Orient Express (1974) and Death on the Nile (1978), with Albert Finney and Peter Ustinov playing Hercule Poirot, respectively. On the small screen Poirot has been most memorably portrayed by David Suchet, and Miss Marple by Joan Hickson and subsequently Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie.

Christie was first married to Archibald Christie and then to archaeologist Sir Max Mallowan, whom she accompanied on expeditions to countries that would also serve as the settings for many of her novels. In 1971 she achieved one of Britainâ€™s highest honors when she was made a Dame of the British Empire. She died in 1976 at the age of eighty-five. Her one hundred and twentieth anniversary was celebrated around the world in 2010.

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THE AGATHA CHRISTIE COLLECTION

The Man in the Brown Suit

The Secret of Chimneys

The Seven Dials Mystery

The Mysterious Mr. Quin

The Sittaford Mystery

Parker Pyne Investigates

Why Didnâ€™t They Ask Evans?

Murder Is Easy

The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

And Then There Were None

Towards Zero

Death Comes as the End

Sparkling Cyanide

The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories

Crooked House

Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

They Came to Baghdad

Destination Unknown

Ordeal by Innocence

Double Sin and Other Stories

The Pale Horse

Star over Bethlehem: Poems and Holiday Stories

Endless Night

Passenger to Frankfurt

The Golden Ball and Other Stories

The Mousetrap and Other Plays

The Harlequin Tea Set

The Hercule Poirot Mysteries

The Mysterious Affair at Styles

The Murder on the Links

Poirot Investigates

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

The Big Four

The Mystery of the Blue Train

Peril at End House

Lord Edgware Dies

Murder on the Orient Express

Three Act Tragedy

Death in the Clouds

The A.B.C. Murders

Murder in Mesopotamia

Cards on the Table

Murder in the Mews

Dumb Witness

Death on the Nile

Appointment with Death

Hercule Poirotâ€™s Christmas

Sad Cypress

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Evil Under the Sun

Five Little Pigs

The Hollow

The Labors of Hercules

Taken at the Flood

The Underdog and Other Stories

Mrs. McGintyâ€™s Dead

After the Funeral

Hickory Dickory Dock

Dead Manâ€™s Folly

Cat Among the Pigeons

The Clocks

Third Girl

Halloweâ€™en Party

Elephants Can Remember

Curtain: Poirotâ€™s Last Case

The Miss Marple Mysteries

The Murder at the Vicarage

The Body in the Library

The Moving Finger

A Murder Is Announced

They Do It with Mirrors

A Pocket Full of Rye

4:50 from Paddington

The Mirror Crackâ€™d from Side to Side

A Caribbean Mystery

At Bertramâ€™s Hotel

Nemesis

Sleeping Murder

Miss Marple: The Complete Short Stories

The Tommy and Tuppence Mysteries

The Secret Adversary

Partners in Crime

N or M?

By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Postern of Fate

Memoirs

An Autobiography

Come, Tell Me How You Live

Credits

Cover design and illustration by Faith Laurel

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the authorâ€™s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

AGATHA CHRISTIEÂ® POIROTÂ® CAT AMONG THE PIGEONSâ„¢. Copyright Â© 1959 Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion company). All rights reserved.

CAT AMONG THE PIGEONS Â© 1960. Published by permission of G.P. Putnamâ€™s Sons, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-0-06-207379-2

EPub Edition Â© MAY 2011 ISBN: 978-0-06-174010-7

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