“Come along,” said Inspector Kelsey, entering the room with a grim face. “There’s been another.”
“Another what?” Adam looked up sharply.
“Another murder,” said Inspector Kelsey. He led the way out of the room and Adam followed him. They had been sitting in the latter’s room drinking beer and discussing various probabilities when Kelsey had been summoned to the telephone.
“Who is it?” demanded Adam, as he followed Inspector Kelsey down the stairs.
“Another mistress—Miss Vansittart.”
“Where?”
“In the Sports Pavilion.”
“The Sports Pavilion again,” said Adam. “What is there about this Sports Pavilion?”
“You’d better give it the once-over this time,” said Inspector Kelsey. “Perhaps 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?”
He and Adam got into his car. “I expect the doctor will be there ahead of us. He hasn’t so far to go.”
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.
“Killed about half an hour ago,” he said. “Forty minutes at most.”
“Who found her?” said Kelsey.
One of his men spoke up. “Miss Chadwick.”
“That’s the old one, isn’t it?”
“Yes. 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.”
“Right,” said Kelsey. “How was she killed? Shot again?”
The doctor shook his head. “No. Slugged on the back of the head, this time. Might have been a cosh or a sandbag. Something of that kind.”
A golf club with a steel head was lying near the door. It was the only thing that looked remotely disorderly in the place.
“What about that?” said Kelsey, pointing. “Could she have been hit with that?”
The doctor shook his head. “Impossible. There’s no mark on her. No, it was definitely a heavy rubber cosh or a sandbag, something of that sort.”
“Something—professional?”
“Probably, yes. Whoever it was, didn’t 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.”
“What was she doing?”
“She was probably kneeling down,” said the doctor. “Kneeling in front of this locker.”
The Inspector went up to the locker and looked at it. “That’s the girl’s name on it, I presume,” he said. “Shaista—let me see, that’s the—that’s the Egyptian girl, isn’t it? Her Highness Princess Shaista.” He turned to Adam. “It seems to tie in, doesn’t it? Wait a minute—that’s the girl they reported this evening as missing?”
“That’s right, sir,” said the Sergeant. “A car called for her here, supposed to have been sent by her uncle who’s staying at Claridge’s in London. She got into it and drove off.”
“No reports come in?”
“Not as yet, sir. Got a network out. And the Yard is on it.”
“A nice simple way of kidnapping anyone,” said Adam. “No struggle, no cries. All you’ve got to know is that the girl’s expecting a car to fetch her and all you’ve 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 what’s happening to her.”
“No abandoned car found anywhere?” asked Kelsey.
“We’ve had no news of one,” said the Sergeant. “The Yard’s on it now as I said,” he added, “and the Special Branch.”
“May mean a bit of a political schemozzle,” said the Inspector. “I don’t suppose for a minute they’ll be able to take her out of the country.”
“What do they want to kidnap her for anyway?” asked the doctor.
“Goodness knows,” said Kelsey gloomily. “She told me she was afraid of being kidnapped and I’m ashamed to say I thought she was just showing off.”
“I thought so, too, when you told me about it,” said Adam.
“The trouble is we don’t know enough,” said Kelsey. “There are far too many loose ends.” He looked around. “Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything more that I can do here. Get on with the usual stuff—photographs, fingerprints, etc. I’d better go along to the house.”
At the house he was received by Miss Johnson. She was shaken but preserved her self-control.
“It’s terrible, Inspector,” she said. “Two of our mistresses killed. Poor Miss Chadwick’s in a dreadful state.”
“I’d like to see her as soon as I can.”
“The doctor gave her something and she’s much calmer now. Shall I take you to her?”
“Yes, in a minute or two. First of all, just tell me what you can about the last time you saw Miss Vansittart.”
“I haven’t seen her at all today,” said Miss Johnson. “I’ve been away all day. I arrived back here just before eleven and went straight up to my room. I went to bed.”
“You didn’t happen to look out of your window towards the Sports Pavilion?”
“No. No, I never thought of it. I’d spent the day with my sister whom I hadn’t 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.”
“Was Miss Vansittart absent today?”
“No, she was here. She was in charge. Miss Bulstrode’s away.”
“Who else was here, of the mistresses, I mean?”
Miss Johnson considered a moment. “Miss Vansittart, Miss Chadwick, the French mistress, Mademoiselle Blanche, Miss Rowan.”
“I see. Well, I think you’d better take me to Miss Chadwick now.”
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.
“She’s dead—she is dead? There’s no chance that—that she might come round?”
Kelsey shook his head slowly.
“It’s so awful,” said Miss Chadwick, “with Miss Bulstrode away.” She burst into tears. “This will ruin the school,” she said. “This will ruin Meadowbank. I can’t bear it—I really can’t bear it.”
Kelsey sat down beside her. “I know,” he said sympathetically, “I know. It’s 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.”
“Yes, yes, I can see that. You see, I—I went to bed early because I thought it would be nice for once to have a nice long night. But I couldn’t go to sleep. I was worrying.”
“Worrying about the school?”
“Yes. And about Shaista being missing. And then I began thinking of Miss Springer and whether—whether her murder would affect the parents, and whether perhaps they wouldn’t send their girls back here next term. I was so terribly upset for Miss Bulstrode. I mean, she’s made this place. It’s been such a fine achievement.”
“I know. Now go on telling me—you were worried, and you couldn’t sleep?”
“No, I counted sheep and everything. And then I got up and took some aspirin and when I’d taken it I just happened to draw back the curtains from the window. I don’t quite know why. I suppose because I’d been thinking about Miss Springer. Then you see, I saw … I saw a light there.”
“What kind of a light?”
“Well, a sort of dancing light. I mean—I think it must have been a torch. It was just like the light that Miss Johnson and I saw before.”
“It was just the same, was it?”
“Yes. Yes, I think so. Perhaps a little feebler, but I don’t know.”
“Yes. And then?”
“And then,” said Miss Chadwick, her voice suddenly becoming more resonant, “I 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.”
“You didn’t think of calling anyone else?”
“No. No, I didn’t. You see I was in such a hurry to get there, I was so afraid the person—whoever it was—would go away.”
“Yes. Go on, Miss Chadwick.”
“So I went as fast as I could. I went up to the door and just before I got there I went on tiptoe so that—so that I should be able to look in and nobody would hear me coming. I got there. The door was not shut—just ajar and I pushed it very slightly open. I looked round it and—and there she was. Fallen forward on her face, dead….”
She began to shake all over.
“Yes, yes, Miss Chadwick, it’s all right. By the way, there was a golf club out there. Did you take it out? Or did Miss Vansittart?”
“A golf club?” said Miss Chadwick vaguely. “I can’t remember—Oh, yes, I think I picked it up in the hall. I took it out with me in case—well, 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 Johnson—Oh! I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it—this will be the end of Meadowbank—”
Miss Chadwick’s voice rose hysterically. Miss Johnson came forward.
“To discover two murders is too much of a strain for anyone,” said Miss Johnson. “Certainly for anyone her age. You don’t want to ask her anymore, do you?”
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 needn’t have been a professional with a cosh who had slugged Miss Vansittart. Someone in the building, someone who hadn’t 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 weapon—and possibly even replaced it tidily afterwards!
[Cat Among the Pigeons -Agatha Christie] Fifteen Murder Repeats Itself