Agatha Christie: Cat Among the Pigeons

‘It will, mon ami , it will,’ said Poirot.

‘Then we’ve got her cold for the murder of Springer. And I gather Miss Chadwick’s in a bad way. But look here, Poirot, I still can’t see how she can possibly have killed Miss Vansittart. It’s physically impossible. She’s got a cast iron alibi—unless young Rathbone and the whole staff of the Nid Sauvage are in it with her.’

Poirot shook his head. ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Her alibi is perfectly good. She killed Miss Springer and Mademoiselle Blanche. But Miss Vansittart—’ he hesitated for a moment, his eyes going to where Miss Bulstrode sat listening to them. ‘Miss Vansittart was killed by Miss Chadwick.’

‘Miss Chadwick?’ exclaimed Miss Bulstrode and Kelsey together.

Poirot nodded. ‘I am sure of it.’

‘But—why?’

‘I think,’ said Poirot, ‘Miss Chadwick loved Meadowbank too much…’ His eyes went across to Miss Bulstrode.

‘I see…’ said Miss Bulstrode. ‘Yes, yes, I see…I ought to have known.’ She paused. ‘You mean that she—?’

‘I mean,’ said Poirot, ‘that she started here with you, that all along she has regarded Meadowbank as a joint venture between you both.’

‘Which in one sense it was,’ said Miss Bulstrode.

‘Quite so,’ said Poirot. ‘But that was merely the financial aspect. When you began to talk of retiring she regarded herself as the person who would take over.’

‘But she’s far too old,’ objected Miss Bulstrode.

‘Yes,’ said Poirot, ‘she 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.’

‘She might have done,’ said Miss Bulstrode. ‘Yes, Eleanor Vansittart was—how shall I put it?—she was always very complacent, very superior about everything. That would be hard to bear if you were jealous. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Chaddy was jealous.’

‘Yes,’ said Poirot. ‘She was jealous of Meadowbank and jealous of Eleanor Vansittart. She couldn’t 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?’

‘I did weaken,’ said Miss Bulstrode. ‘But I didn’t weaken in the way that perhaps Chaddy thought I would weaken. Actually I thought of someone younger still than Miss Vansittart—I thought it over and then I said No, she’s too young…Chaddy was with me then, I remember.’

‘And she thought,’ said Poirot, ‘that 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 wasn’t 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 be—(for I am good,’ said Hercule Poirot in a parenthesis, ‘—at putting myself into other people’s minds—) 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 since—for 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 didn’t 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 didn’t want you to think even for a moment that she had handled the sandbag.’

‘Why did Ann Shapland also choose a sandbag to kill Mademoiselle Blanche?’ asked Miss Bulstrode.

‘For 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.’

‘I don’t really understand what Eleanor Vansittart was doing herself in the Sports Pavilion,’ said Miss Bulstrode.

‘I 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 charge—and 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.’

‘So there was weakness behind the façade ,’ mused Miss Bulstrode. ‘I sometimes suspected it.’

‘She, too, I think, was unable to sleep. And I think she went out quietly to the Sports Pavilion to make an examination of Shaista’s locker in case there might be some clue there to the girl’s disappearance.’

‘You seem to have explanations for everything, Mr Poirot.’

‘That’s his speciality,’ said Inspector Kelsey with slight malice.

‘And what was the point of getting Eileen Rich to sketch various members of my staff?’

‘I wanted to test the child Jennifer’s 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.’

‘You think that the woman with the racquet was Ann Shapland herself.’

‘Yes. 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 “fussy” dress and hat. She need only be absent from her typewriter for about twenty minutes. I saw from Miss Rich’s clever sketches how easy it is for a woman to alter her appearance by purely external matters.’

‘Miss Rich—I wonder—’ Miss Bulstrode looked thoughtful.

Poirot gave Inspector Kelsey a look and the Inspector said he must be getting along.

‘Miss Rich?’ said Miss Bulstrode again.

‘Send for her,’ said Poirot. ‘It is the best way.’

Eileen Rich appeared. She was white faced and slightly defiant.

‘You want to know,’ she said to Miss Bulstrode, ‘what I was doing in Ramat?’