Cat Among the Pigeons - Agatha Christie [65]
She looked at her small clock. Half past ten. She drew a deep breath and turned out the light. No one must notice anything unusual. She pulled back the curtain a little from the window. There was a full moon and she could see the door clearly. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed. In her hand she held the stoutest shoe she possessed.
“If anyone tries to come in,” Julia said to herself, “I’ll rap on the wall here as hard as I can. Mary King is next door and that will wake her up. And I’ll scream—at the top of my voice. And then, if lots of people come, I’ll say I had a nightmare. Anyone might have a nightmare after all the things that have been going on here.”
She sat there and time passed. Then she heard it—a soft step along the passage. She heard it stop outside her door. A long pause and then she saw the handle slowly turning.
Should she scream? Not yet.
The door was pushed—just a crack, but the chest of drawers held it. That must have puzzled the person outside.
Another pause, and then there was a knock, a very gentle little knock, on the door.
Julia held her breath. A pause, and then the knock came again—but still soft and muted.
“I’m asleep,” said Julia to herself. “I don’t hear anything.”
Who would come and knock on her door in the middle of the night? If it was someone who had a right to knock, they’d call out, rattle the handle, make a noise. But this person couldn’t afford to make a noise….
For a long time Julia sat there. The knock was not repeated, the handle stayed immovable. But Julia sat tense and alert.
She sat like that for a long time. She never knew herself how long it was before sleep overcame her. The school bell finally awoke her, lying in a cramped and uncomfortable heap on the edge of the bed.
II
After breakfast, the girls went upstairs and made their beds, then went down to prayers in the big hall and finally dispersed to various classrooms.
It was during that last exercise, when girls were hurrying in different directions, that Julia went into one classroom, out by a further door, joined a group hurrying round the house, dived behind a rhododendron, made a series of further strategic dives and arrived finally near the wall of the grounds where a lime tree had thick growth almost down to the ground. Julia climbed the tree with ease, she had climbed trees all her life. Completely hidden in the leafy branches, she sat, glancing from time to time at her watch. She was fairly sure she would not be missed for some time. Things were disorganized, two teachers were missing, and more than half the girls had gone home. That meant that all classes would have been reorganized, so nobody would be likely to observe the absence of Julia Upjohn until lunchtime and by then—
Julia looked at her watch again, scrambled easily down the tree to the level of the wall, straddled it and dropped neatly on the other side. A hundred yards away was a bus stop where a bus ought to arrive in a few minutes. It duly did so, and Julia hailed and boarded it, having by now abstracted a felt hat from inside her cotton frock and clapped it on her slightly dishevelled hair. She got out at the station and took a train to London.
In her room, propped up on the washstand, she had left a note addressed to Miss Bulstrode.
Dear Miss Bulstrode,
I have not been kidnapped or run away, so don’t worry. I will come back as soon as I can.
Yours very sincerely,
Julia Upjohn
III
At 228 Whitehouse Mansions, George, Hercule Poirot’s immaculate valet and manservant, opened the door and contemplated with some surprise a schoolgirl with a rather dirty face.
“Can I see M. Hercule Poirot, please?”
George took just a shade longer than usual to reply. He found the caller unexpected.
“Mr. Poirot does not see anyone without an appointment,” he said.
“I’m afraid I haven’t time to wait for that. I really must see him now. It is very urgent. It’s about some murders and a robbery and