Read Cat Among the Pigeons Online
Authors: Agatha Christie
Cat Among the Pigeons (6 page)
“I told you to have the lock of that drawing room french window seen to,” had been the comment of Mr. Sutcliffe in the family circle.
“My dear Henry,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe, “you don't seem to realize that I have been abroad for the last three months. And anyway, I'm sure I've read somewhere that if burglars
want
to get in they always can.”
She added wistfully, as she glanced again at the local paper:
“How beautifully grand âkitchen staff' 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.”
“What I don't see,” said Jennifer, “is how the police found out the house was being burgled and got here in time to catch him?”
“It seems extraordinary that he didn't take anything,” commented her mother.
“Are you quite sure about that, Joan?” demanded her husband. “You were a little doubtful at first.”
Mrs. Sutcliffe gave an exasperated sigh.
“It's 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 don't remember seeing my best Jacqmar scarf.”
“I'm sorry, Mummy. That was me. It blew overboard in the Mediterranean. I'd borrowed it. I meant to tell you but I forgot.”
“Really, Jennifer, how often have I asked you not to borrow things without telling me first?”
“Can I have some more pudding?” said Jennifer, creating a diversion.
“I 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 won't think you too greedy at school. Meadowbank isn't quite an ordinary school, remember.”
“I don't know that I really want to go to Meadowbank,” said Jennifer. “I 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.”
“That will do, Jennifer,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “You don't appreciate how extremely fortunate you are in being admitted to Meadowbank. Miss Bulstrode doesn't take every girl, I can tell you. It's entirely owing to your father's important position and the influence of your Aunt Rosamond. You are exceedingly lucky. And if,” added Mrs. Sutcliffe, “you are ever asked to lunch with the Queen, it will be a good thing for you to know how to behave.”
“Oh well,” said Jennifer. “I expect the Queen often has to have people to lunch who don't know how to behaveâAfrican chiefs and jockeys and sheikhs.”
“African chiefs have the most polished manners,” said her father, who had recently returned from a short business trip to Ghana.
“So do Arab sheikhs,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe. “Really courtly.”
“D'you remember that sheikh's feast we went to,” said Jennifer. “And how he picked out the sheep's 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, wouldn't it?”
“That will do, Jennifer,” 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 O'Connor, who had been occupying a modest position at the back of the Magistrate's Court, put through a call to a Museum number.
“Not a thing on the fellow when we picked him up,” he said. “We gave him plenty of time too.”
“Who was he? Anyone we know?”
“One of the Gecko lot, I think. Small time. They hire him out for this sort of thing. Not much brain but he's said to be thorough.”
“And he took his sentence like a lamb?” At the other end of the line Colonel Pikeaway grinned as he spoke.
“Yes. Perfect picture of a stupid fellow lapsed from the straight and narrow path. You'd never connect him with any big time stuff. That's his value, of course.”
“And he didn't find anything,” mused Colonel Pikeaway. “And
you
didn't find anything. It rather looks, doesn't it, as though there isn't anything to find? Our idea that Rawlinson planted these things on his sister seems to have been wrong.”
“Other people appear to have the same idea.”
“It's a bit obvious really ⦠Maybe we are meant to take the bait.”
“Could be. Any other possibilities?”
“Plenty 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. Robinson's. 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.
“And that,” he added thoughtfully, “might be all for the best.”
“Oh, come now, it's worth a lot of money, sir.”
“Human life is worth a lot, too,” said Colonel Pikeaway.
L
ETTERS FROM
M
EADOWBANK
S
CHOOL
L
etter from Julia Upjohn to her mother:
Dear Mummy,
I've settled in now and am liking it very much. There's a girl who is new this term too called Jennifer and she and I rather do things together. We're both awfully keen on tennis. She's rather good. She has a really smashing serve when it comes off, but it doesn't usually. She says her racquet's got warped from being out in the Persian Gulf. It's very hot out there. She was in all that Revolution that happened. I said wasn't it very exciting, but she said no, they didn't see anything at all. They were taken away to the Embassy or something and missed it.
Miss Bulstrode is rather a lamb, but she's pretty frightening tooâor can be. She goes easy on you when you're new. Behind her back everyone calls her The Bull or Bully. We're taught English literature by Miss Rich, who's terrific. When she gets in a real state her hair comes down. She's 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 isn't 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.
I'm 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 doesn't keep order very well. Jennifer says French people can't. She doesn't get cross, though, only bored. She says
“Enfin, vous m'ennuiez, mes enfants!”
Miss Springer is awful. She does gym and P.T. She's got ginger hair and smells when she's hot. Then there's Miss Chadwick (Chaddy)âshe's been here since the school started. She teaches mathematics and is rather fussy, but quite nice. And there's Miss Vansittart who teaches History and German. She's 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 (she's a Princess or something) and a girl who's 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 isn't true, that Shaista only says so because she was a kind of cousin, and you're supposed to marry a cousin. But Jennifer says he wasn't going to. He liked someone else. Jennifer knows a lot of things but she won't usually tell them.
I suppose you'll be starting on your trip soon.
Don't
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 isn't bad here. I'm enjoying it more than I expected to do. The weather has been very fine. We had to write a composition yesterday on “Can a good quality be carried to excess?” I couldn't think of anything to say. Next week it will be “Contrast the characters of Juliet and Desdemona.” 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 it's got warped. I'd rather like to learn Greek. Can I? I love languages. Some of us are going to London to see the ballet next week. It's
Swan Lake.
The food here is jolly good. Yesterday we had chicken for lunch, and we had lovely homemade cakes for tea.
I can't 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 they've been saying that for over a year now, and I'm sure it isn't true. I asked Miss Chadwick (of course I wouldn't dare ask Miss Bulstrode!) and she was quite sharp
about it. Said certainly not and don't 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. She's 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 backhand's a bit weak. Her great friend is a girl called Julia. We call them the Jays!
You won't 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 shan't 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. I'll let you know.
I find it rather fun working in a school. But thank God I'm not a schoolmistress! I'd 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 we've got a new gardener to help old Briggsâyoung and strong! Rather good-looking, too, which is a pity. Girls are so silly.
Miss Bulstrode hasn't said anything more about retiring, so I hope she's got over the idea. Miss Vansittart wouldn't be at all the same thing. I really don't 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 Angèle Blanche to René Dupont, Post Restante, Bordeaux.
Dear René,
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 one's 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 don't 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 futureâ
but 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! I'm 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 didn't want to go. I'd 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. “Sorry, Miss. The young lady was asking what these here delphiniums was. Suppose they don't have them in the parts she comes from.” The Gorgon was easily pacified, in the end she almost simpered. Less success with Miss Bulstrode's 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 I'm 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.