Mademoiselle Angèle Blanche was thirty-five at a guess. No makeup, dark brown hair arranged neatly but unbecomingly. A severe coat and skirt.
It was Mademoiselle Blanche’s first term at Meadowbank, she explained. She was not sure that she wished to remain for a further term.
“It is not nice to be in a school where murders take place,” she said disapprovingly.
Also, there did not seem to be burglar alarms anywhere in the house—that was dangerous.
“There’s nothing of any great value, Mademoiselle Blanche, to attract burglars.”
Mademoiselle Blanche shrugged her shoulders.
“How 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.”
“If a girl had something of value with her it wouldn’t be in the gymnasium.”
“How do you know?” said Mademoiselle. “They have lockers there, do they not, the girls?”
“Only to keep their sports kit in, and things of that kind.”
“Ah 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.”
“What sort of thing, Mademoiselle Blanche?”
But Mademoiselle Blanche had no idea what sort of thing.
“Even the most indulgent fathers don’t give their daughters diamond necklaces to take to school,” the Inspector said.
Again Mademoiselle Blanche shrugged her shoulders.
“Perhaps it is something of a different kind of value—a 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.”
Kelsey smiled. “I don’t really think that’s likely, you know, Mademoiselle Blanche.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh well, I only make the suggestion.”
“Have you taught in any other English schools, Mademoiselle Blanche?”
“One 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.”
“Why don’t you like it?” Kelsey persisted.
“I do not like places where there are shootings,” said Mademoiselle Blanche. “And the children, they are not respectful.”
“They are not quite children, are they?”
“Some 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.”
“Did you know Miss Springer well?”
“I 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.”
“What was she rude to you about?”
“She did not like me coming to her Sports Pavilion. That seems to be how she feels about it—or felt about it, I mean—that 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 ‘What are you doing here? This is no business of yours to be in here.’ She says that to me—me, a mistress in the school! What does she think I am, a pupil?”
“Yes, yes, very irritating, I’m sure,” said Kelsey, soothingly.
“The manners of a pig, that is what she had. And then she calls out ‘Do not go away with the key in your hand.’ 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.”
“That seems a little odd, doesn’t it?” said Kelsey. “That 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.” He made the faint feeler tentatively, but Angèle Blanche merely laughed.
“Hide something there—what 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.”
Angèle Blanche was dismissed after a few more unimportant questions.
“Touchy,” said Bond. “All the French are touchy.”
“All the same, it’s interesting,” said Kelsey. “Miss Springer didn’t like people prowling about her gymnasium—Sports Pavilion—I don’t know what to call the thing. Now why?”
“Perhaps she thought the Frenchwoman was spying on her,” suggested Bond.
“Well, but why should she think so? I mean, ought it to have mattered to her that Angèle Blanche should spy on her unless there was something she was afraid of Angèle Blanche finding out?
“Who have we got left?” he added.
“The two junior mistresses, Miss Blake and Miss Rowan, and Miss Bulstrode’s secretary.”
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.
“Why should she? Was she unhappy in any way?”
“She was aggressive,” said Miss Rowan, leaning forward and peering eagerly through her thick lenses. “Very aggressive. I consider that significant. It was a defence mechanism, to conceal a feeling of inferiority.”
“Everything I’ve heard so far,” said Inspector Kelsey, “points to her being very sure of herself.”
“Too sure of herself,” said Miss Rowan darkly. “And several of the things she said bear out my assumption.”
“Such as?”
“She hinted at people being ‘not what they seemed.’ She mentioned that at the last school where she was employed, she had ‘unmasked’ 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 ‘against her.’
“You see what that means, Inspector?” Miss Rowan nearly fell off her chair as she leaned forward excitedly. Strands of lank dark hair fell forward across her face. “The beginnings of a persecution complex.”
Inspector Kelsey said politely that Miss Rowan might be correct in her assumptions, but that he couldn’t 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.
“Well, Miss Shapland,” said Inspector Kelsey, eyeing her neat and businesslike appearance with favour, “what light can you throw upon this matter?”
“Absolutely none, I’m afraid. I’ve got my own sitting room, and I don’t see much of the staff. The whole thing’s unbelievable.”
“In what way unbelievable?”
“Well, first that Miss Springer should get shot at all. Say somebody broke into the gymnasium and she went out to see who it was. That’s all right, I suppose, but who’d want to break into the gymnasium?”
“Boys, perhaps, some young locals who wanted to help themselves to equipment of some kind or another, or who did it for a lark.”
“If that’s so, I can’t help feeling that what Miss Springer would have said was: ‘Now then, what are you doing here? Be off with you,’ and they’d have gone off.”
“Did it ever seem to you that Miss Springer adopted any particular attitude about the Sports Pavilion?”
Ann Shapland looked puzzled. “Attitude?”
“I mean did she regard it as her special province and dislike other people going there?”
“Not that I know of. Why should she? It was just part of the school buildings.”
“You didn’t notice anything yourself? You didn’t find that if you went there she resented your presence—anything of that kind?”
Ann Shapland shook her head. “I haven’t been out there myself more than a couple of times. I haven’t the time. I’ve gone out there once or twice with a message for one of the girls from Miss Bulstrode. That’s all.”
“You didn’t know that Miss Springer had objected to Mademoiselle Blanche being out there?”
“No, I didn’t 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 hasn’t really very much to do—Mademoiselle Blanche, I mean. She only teaches one subject—French, and she has a lot of time on her hands. I think—” she hesitated, “I think she is perhaps rather an inquisitive person.”
“Do you think it likely that when she went into the Sports Pavilion she was poking about in any of the lockers?”
“The girls’ lockers? Well, I wouldn’t put it past her. She might amuse herself that way.”
“Does Miss Springer herself have a locker out there?”
“Yes, of course.”
“If Mademoiselle Blanche was caught poking about in Miss Springer’s locker, then I can imagine that Miss Springer would be annoyed?”
“She certainly would!”
“You don’t know anything about Miss Springer’s private life?”
“I don’t think anyone did,” said Ann. “Did she have one, I wonder?”
“And there’s nothing else—nothing connected with the Sports Pavilion, for instance, that you haven’t told me?”
“Well—” Ann hesitated.
“Yes, Miss Shapland, let’s have it.”
“It’s nothing really,” said Ann slowly. “But one of the gardeners—not 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 part—or perhaps an excuse to slack off a bit from work—he was supposed to be nailing down the wire on the tennis court. I don’t suppose really there’s anything in it.”
“Still, you remembered it,” Kelsey pointed out. “Now why?”
“I think—” she frowned. “Yes, because his manner was a little odd. Defiant. And—he sneered at all the money that was spent here on the girls.”
“That sort of attitude … I see.”
“I don’t suppose there’s really anything in it.”
“Probably not—but I’ll make a note of it, all the same.”
“Round and round the mulberry bush,” said Bond when Ann Shapland had gone. “Same thing over and over again! For goodness’ sake let’s hope we get something out of the servants.”
But they got very little out of the servants.
“It’s no use asking me anything, young man,” said Mrs. Gibbons, the cook. “For one thing I can’t hear what you say, and for another I don’t 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.” She sounded injured. “It wasn’t until this morning I heard.”
Kelsey shouted a few questions and got a few answers that told him nothing.
Miss Springer had come new this term, and she wasn’t as much liked as Miss Jones who’d held the post before her. Miss Shapland was new, too, but she was a nice young lady, Mademoiselle Blanche was like all the Frenchies—thought the other mistresses were against her and let the young ladies treat her something shocking in class. “Not a one for crying, though,” Mrs. Gibbons admitted. “Some schools I’ve been in the French mistresses used to cry something awful!”
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 couldn’t say, she was sure. She didn’t know nothing. Miss Springer was a bit sharp in her manner. She didn’t know nothing about the Sports Pavilion nor what was kept there, and she’d never seen nothing like a pistol nowhere.
This negative spate of information was interrupted by Miss Bulstrode. “One of the girls would like to speak to you, Inspector Kelsey,” she said.
Kelsey looked up sharply. “Indeed? She knows something?”
“As to that I’m rather doubtful,” said Miss Bulstrode, “but you had better talk to her yourself. She is one of our foreign girls. Princess Shaista—niece of the Emir Ibrahim. She is inclined to think, perhaps, that she is of rather more importance than she is. You understand?”
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.
“You are the police?”
“Yes,” said Kelsey smiling, “we are the police. Will you sit down and tell me what you know about Miss Springer?”
“Yes, I will tell you.”
She sat down, leaned forward, and lowered her voice dramatically.
“There have been people watching this place. Oh, they do not show themselves clearly, but they are there!”
She nodded her head significantly.
Inspector Kelsey thought that he understood what Miss Bulstrode had meant. This girl was dramatizing herself—and enjoying it.
“And why should they be watching the school?”
“Because of me! They want to kidnap me.”
Whatever Kelsey had expected, it was not this. His eyebrows rose.
“Why should they want to kidnap you?”
“To hold me to ransom, of course. Then they would make my relations pay much money.”
“Er—well—perhaps,” said Kelsey dubiously. “But—er—supposing this is so, what has it got to do with the death of Miss Springer?”
“She must have found out about them,” said Shaista. “Perhaps 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.”
“But surely Miss Springer would never have accepted blackmail money?”
“Do you think it is such fun to be a schoolteacher—to be a teacher of gymnastics?” Shaista was scornful. “Do 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?”
“Well—er—” said Inspector Kelsey, “I don’t know quite what to say.” He had not had this point of view presented to him before.
“This is just—er—your own idea?” he said. “Miss Springer never said anything to you?”
“Miss Springer never said anything except ‘Stretch and bend,’ and ‘Faster,’ and ‘Don’t slack,’” said Shaista with resentment.
“Yes—quite so. Well, don’t you think you may have imagined all this about kidnapping?”
Shaista was immediately much annoyed.
“You 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.”
Inspector Kelsey looked still more incredulous.
“That’s rather far-fetched, isn’t it?”
“You think such things could not happen? I say they can. They are very very wicked, the Communists! Everybody knows that.”
As he still looked dubious, she went on:
“Perhaps they think I know where the jewels are!”
“What jewels?”
“My cousin had jewels. So had his father. My family always has a hoard of jewels. For emergencies, you comprehend.”
She made it sound very matter of fact.
Kelsey stared at her.
“But what has all this got to do with you—or with Miss Springer?”
“But I already tell you! They think, perhaps, I know where the jewels are. So they will take me prisoner and force me to speak.”
“Do you know where the jewels are?”
“No, of course I do not know. They disappeared in the Revolution. Perhaps the wicked Communists take them. But again, perhaps not.”
“Who do they belong to?”
“Now 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.”
“That was the arrangement?”
“I have to marry him. He is my cousin, you see.”
“And you would have got the jewels when you married him?”
“No, I would have had new jewels. From Cartier in Paris. These others would still be kept for emergencies.”
Inspector Kelsey blinked, letting this Oriental insurance scheme for emergencies sink into his consciousness.
Shaista was racing on with great animation.
“I 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: ‘These are yours,’ and I should reward him.”
She nodded her head regally, playing the part.
Quite a little actress, thought the Inspector.
“But if it was a bad person, he would keep the jewels and sell them. Or he would come to me and say: ‘What will you give me as a reward if I bring them to you?’ And if it worthwhile, he brings—but if not, then not!”
“But in actual fact, nobody has said anything at all to you?”
“No,” admitted Shaista.
Inspector Kelsey made up his mind.
“I think, you know,” he said pleasantly, “that you’re really talking a lot of nonsense.”
Shaista flashed a furious glance at him.
“I tell you what I know, that is all,” she said sulkily.
“Yes—well, it’s very kind of you, and I’ll bear it in mind.”
He got up and opened the door for her to go out.
“The Arabian Nights aren’t in it,” he said, as he returned to the table. “Kidnapping and fabulous jewels! What next?”
[Cat Among the Pigeons -Agatha Christie] Ten Fantastic Story