Cat Among the Pigeons (16 page)

“C
ome 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 success
ful 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!

I

“M
y head is bloody but unbowed,”
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.

“You've got the list of parents' names and addresses? And their telephone numbers?”

“Yes, Miss Bulstrode.”

“Then start on the telephone. After that see a typed notice goes to everyone.”

“Yes, Miss Bulstrode.”

On her way out, Ann Shapland paused near the door.

She flushed and her words came with a rush.

“Excuse me, Miss Bulstrode. It's not my business—but isn't it a pity to—to be premature? I mean—after the first panic, when people have had time to think—surely they won't want to take the girls away. They'll be sensible and think better of it.”

Miss Bulstrode looked at her keenly.

“You think I'm accepting defeat too easily?”

Ann flushed.

“I know—you think it's cheek. But—but, well then, yes, I do.”

“You're a fighter, child, I'm glad to see. But you're quite wrong. I'm not accepting defeat. I'm going on my knowledge of human nature. Urge people to take their children away, force it on them—and they won't want to nearly so much. They'll think up reasons for letting them remain. Or at the worst they'll decide to let them come back next term—if there is a next term,” she added grimly.

She looked at Inspector Kelsey.

“That's up to you,” she said. “Clear these murders up—catch whoever is responsible for them—and we'll be all right.”

Inspector Kelsey looked unhappy. He said: “We're doing our best.”

Ann Shapland went out.

“Competent girl,” said Miss Bulstrode. “And loyal.”

This was in the nature of a parenthesis. She pressed her attack.

“Have 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 warned—one doesn't know which—” She broke off, resuming: “You've no news of any kind?”

“Not yet. But I don't think you need worry too much about that. It's 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. It's actually easy enough to kidnap anyone—it's keeping them hidden that's the problem. Oh, we'll find her.”

“I hope you'll find her alive,” said Miss Bulstrode grimly. “We seem to be up against someone who isn't too scrupulous about human life.”

“They wouldn't have troubled to kidnap her if they'd meant to do away with her,” said Adam. “They could have done that here easily enough.”

He felt that the last words were unfortunate. Miss Bulstrode gave him a look.

“So it seems,” she said dryly.

The telephone rang. Miss Bulstrode took up the receiver.

“Yes?”

She motioned to Inspector Kelsey.

“It's for you.”

Adam and Miss Bulstrode watched him as he took the call. He grunted, jotted down a note or two, said finally: “I see. Alderton Priors. That's Wallshire. Yes, we'll cooperate. Yes, Super. I'll carry on here, then.”

He put down the receiver and stayed a moment lost in thought. Then he looked up.

“His Excellency got a ransom note this morning. Typed on a new Corona. Postmark Portsmouth. Bet that's a blind.”

“Where and how?” asked Adam.

“Crossroads two miles north of Alderton Priors. That's a bit of bare moorland. Envelope containing money to be put under stone behind A.A. box there at 2 a.m. tomorrow morning.”

“How much?”

“Twenty thousand.” He shook his head. “Sounds amateurish to me.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Miss Bulstrode.

Inspector Kelsey looked at her. He was a different man. Official reticence hung about him like a cloak.

“The responsibility isn't mine, madam,” he said. “We have our methods.”

“I hope they're successful,” said Miss Bulstrode.

“Ought to be easy,” said Adam.

“Amateurish?” said Miss Bulstrode, catching at a word they had used. “I wonder….”

Then she said sharply:

“What about my staff? What remains of it, that is to say? Do I trust them, or don't I?”

As Inspector Kelsey hesitated, she said,

“You're afraid that if you tell me who is
not
cleared, I should show it in my manner to them. You're wrong. I shouldn't.”

“I don't think you would,” said Kelsey. “But I can't afford to take any chances. It doesn't look, on the face of it, as though any of your staff
can
be the person we're looking for. That is, not so far as
we've been able to check up on them. We've paid special attention to those who are new this term—that is Mademoiselle Blanche, Miss Springer and your secretary, Miss Shapland. Miss Shapland's past is completely corroborated. She's 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. They're both well known there, and Mr. Rathbone has an excellent character. Mademoiselle Blanche's 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.”

“Not by our standards,” sniffed Miss Bulstrode.

“Her 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.

“Since, however, she was killed,” added the Inspector, “that seems to exonerate her.”

“I agree,” said Miss Bulstrode dryly, “that 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?”

“She
could
have done both murders. She was here, in the building, last night,” said Kelsey. “She
says
she went to bed early and slept and heard nothing until the alarm was given. There's no evidence to the contrary. We've got nothing against her. But Miss Chadwick says definitely that she's sly.”

Miss Bulstrode waved that aside impatiently.

“Miss Chadwick always finds the French Mistresses sly. She's got a thing about them.” She looked at Adam. “What do
you
think?”

“I think she pries,” said Adam slowly. “It may be just natural inquisitiveness. It may be something more. I can't make up my mind. She doesn't
look
to me like a killer, but how does one know?”

“That's just it,” said Kelsey. “There
is
a killer here, a ruthless killer who has killed twice—but it's very hard to believe that it's one of the staff. Miss Johnson was with her sister last night at Limeston on Sea, and anyway she's been with you seven years. Miss Chadwick's been with you since you started. Both of them, anyway, are clear of Miss Springer's 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 can't see any of them as murderers. They're all local, too….”

Miss Bulstrode nodded pleasantly.

“I quite agree with your reasoning. It doesn't leave much, does it? So—” She paused and fixed an accusing eye on Adam. “It looks really—as though it must be
you.
”

His mouth opened in astonishment.

“On the spot,” she mused. “Free to come and go … Good story to account for your presence here. Background OK but you
could
be a double-crosser, you know.”

Adam recovered himself.

“Really, Miss Bulstrode,” he said admiringly, “I take off my hat to you. You think of
everything!
”

II

“Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Sutcliffe at the breakfast table. “Henry!”

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.

“
Henry!
”

The clarion call reached him. He raised a startled face.

“What's the matter, Joan?”

“The matter? Another murder! At Meadowbank! At Jennifer's school.”

“What? Here, let
me
see!”

Disregarding his wife's remark that it would be in his paper, too, Mr. Sutcliffe leant across the table and snatched the sheet from his wife's grasp.

“Miss Eleanor Vansittart … Sports Pavilion … same spot where Miss Springer, the Games Mistress … hm … hm….”

“I can't believe it!” Mrs. Sutcliffe was wailing. “Meadowbank. Such an exclusive school. Royalty there and everything….”

Mr. Sutcliffe crumpled up the paper and threw it down on the table.

“Only one thing to be done,” he said. “You get over there right away and take Jennifer out of it.”

“You mean take her away—altogether?”

“That's what I mean.”

“You don't think that would be a little too drastic? After Rosamond being so good about it and managing to get her in?”

“You won't be the only one taking your daughter away! Plenty of vacancies soon at your precious Meadowbank.”

“Oh, Henry, do you think so?”

“Yes, I do. Something badly wrong there. Take Jennifer away today.”

“Yes—of course—I suppose you're right. What shall we do with her?”

“Send her to a secondary modern somewhere handy. They don't have murders there.”

“Oh, Henry, but they
do.
Don't you remember? There was a boy who shot the science master at one. It was in last week's
News of the World.
”

“I don't know what England's coming to,” said Mr. Sutcliffe.

Disgusted, he threw his napkin on the table and strode from the room.

III

Adam was alone in the Sports Pavilion … 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 department's 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 Shaista's 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.

“Anything you want, miss?” asked Adam.

“I wondered if I could have my tennis racquet.”

“Don't see why not,” said Adam. “Police constable left me here,” he explained mendaciously. “Had to drop back to the station for something. Told me to stop here while he was away.”

“To see if he came back, I suppose,” said Julia.

“The police constable?”

“No. I mean, the murderer. They do, don't they? Come back to the scene of the crime. They have to! It's a compulsion.”

“You may be right,” said Adam. He looked up at the serried rows of racquets in their presses. “Whereabouts is yours?”

“Under U,” said Julia. “Right at the far end. We have our
names on them,” she explained, pointing out the adhesive tape as he handed the racquet to her.

“Seen some service,” said Adam. “But been a good racquet once.”

“Can I have Jennifer Sutcliffe's too?” asked Julia.

“New,” said Adam appreciatively, as he handed it to her.

“Brand new,” said Julia. “Her aunt sent it to her only the other day.”