Cat Among the Pigeons - Agatha Christie [72]
“Frankly, no. But one must be exact.”
Kelsey paid no attention to exactitude. He plodded on.
“Miss Rowan has been here over a year. She has a good record. We know nothing against her.”
“So we come, then, to Mademoiselle Blanche. It is there that the journey ends.”
There was a silence.
“There’s no evidence,” said Kelsey. “Her credentials seem genuine enough.”
“They would have to be,” said Poirot.
“She snooped,” said Adam. “But snooping isn’t evidence of murder.”
“Wait a minute,” said Kelsey, “there was something about a key. In our first interview with her—I’ll look it up—something about the key of the Pavilion falling out of the door and she picked it up and forgot to replace it—walked out with it and Springer bawled her out.”
“Whoever wanted to go out there at night and look for the racquet would have had to have a key to get in with,” said Poirot. “For that, it would have been necessary to take an impression of the key.”
“Surely,” said Adam, “in that case she would never have mentioned the key incident to you.”
“That doesn’t follow,” said Kelsey. “Springer might have talked about the key incident. If so, she might think it better to mention it in a casual fashion.”
“It is a point to be remembered,” said Poirot.
“It doesn’t take us very far,” said Kelsey.
He looked gloomily at Poirot.
“There would seem,” said Poirot, “(that is, if I have been informed correctly), one possibility. Julia Upjohn’s mother, I understand, recognized someone here on the first day of term. Someone whom she was surprised to see. From the context, it would seem likely that that someone was connected with foreign espionage. If Mrs. Upjohn definitely points out Mademoiselle as the person she recognized, then I think we could proceed with some assurance.”
“Easier said than done,” said Kelsey. “We’ve been trying to get in contact with Mrs. Upjohn, but the whole thing’s a headache! When the child said a bus, I thought she meant a proper coach tour, running to schedule, and a party all booked together. But that’s not it at all. Seems she’s just taking local buses to anyplace she happens to fancy! She’s not done it through Cook’s or a recognized travel agency. She’s all on her own, wandering about. What can you do with a woman like that? She might be anywhere. There’s a lot of Anatolia!”
“It makes it difficult, yes,” said Poirot.
“Plenty of nice coach tours,” said the Inspector in an injured voice. “All made easy for you—where you stop and what you see, and all-in fares so that you know exactly where you are.”
“But clearly, that kind of travel does not appeal to Mrs. Upjohn.”
“And in the meantime, here we are,” went on Kelsey. “Stuck! That Frenchwoman can walk out any moment she chooses. We’ve nothing on which we could hold her.”
Poirot shook his head.
“She will not do that.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“I am sure. If you have committed murder, you do not want to do anything out of character, that may draw attention to you. Mademoiselle Blanche will remain here quietly until the end of the term.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am sure I am right. And remember, the person whom Mrs. Upjohn saw, does not know that Mrs. Upjohn saw her. The surprise when it comes will be complete.”
Kelsey sighed.
“If that’s all we’ve got to go on—”
“There are other things. Conversation, for instance.”
“Conversation?”
“It is very valuable, conversation. Sooner or later, if one has something to hide, one says too much.”
“Gives oneself away?” The Chief Constable sounded sceptical.
“It is not quite so simple as that. One is guarded about the thing one is trying to hide. But often one says too much about other things. And there are other uses for conversation. There are the innocent people who know things, but are unaware of the importance of what they know. And that reminds me—”
He rose to his feet.
“Excuse me, I pray. I must go and demand of Miss Bulstrode if there is someone here who can draw.”
“Draw?”
“Draw.”
“Well,” said Adam, as Poirot went out. “First girls’ knees, and now draughtsmanship! What next, I wonder?”
II
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