Cat Among the Pigeons - Agatha Christie [85]
The room was very still now. There was menace in the air.
Poirot went on.
“We want, primarily, someone who was in Ramat three months ago. Knowledge that the prize was concealed in the tennis racquet could only have been acquired in one way. Someone must have seen it put there by Bob Rawlinson. It is as simple as that. Who then, of all of you present here, was in Ramat three months ago? Miss Chadwick was here, Miss Johnson was here.” His eyes went on to the two junior Mistresses. “Miss Rowan and Miss Blake were here.”
His finger went out pointing.
“But Miss Rich—Miss Rich was not here last term, was she?”
“I—no. I was ill.” She spoke hurriedly. “I was away for a term.”
“That is the thing we did not know,” said Hercule Poirot, “until a few days ago somebody mentioned it casually. When questioned by the police originally, you merely said that you had been at Meadowbank for a year and a half. That in itself is true enough. But you were absent last term. You could have been in Ramat—I think you were in Ramat. Be careful. It can be verified, you know, from your passport.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Eileen Rich looked up.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I was in Ramat. Why not?”
“Why did you go to Ramat, Miss Rich?”
“You already know. I had been ill. I was advised to take a rest—to go abroad. I wrote to Miss Bulstrode and explained that I must take a term off. She quite understood.”
“That is so,” said Miss Bulstrode. “A doctor’s certificate was enclosed which said that it would be unwise for Miss Rich to resume her duties until the following term.”
“So—you went to Ramat?” said Hercule Poirot.
“Why shouldn’t I go to Ramat?” said Eileen Rich. Her voice trembled slightly. “There are cheap fares offered to schoolteachers. I wanted a rest. I wanted sunshine. I went out to Ramat. I spent two months there. Why not? Why not, I say?”
“You have never mentioned that you were at Ramat at the time of the Revolution.”
“Why should I? What has it got to do with anyone here? I haven’t killed anyone, I tell you. I haven’t killed anyone.”
“You were recognized, you know,” said Hercule Poirot. “Not recognized definitely, but indefinitely. The child Jennifer was very vague. She said she thought she’d seen you in Ramat but concluded it couldn’t be you because, she said, the person she had seen was fat, not thin.” He leaned forward, his eyes boring into Eileen Rich’s face.
“What have you to say, Miss Rich?”
She wheeled round. “I know what you’re trying to make out!” she cried. “You’re trying to make out that it wasn’t a secret agent or anything of that kind who did these murders. That it was someone who just happened to be there, someone who happened to see this treasure hidden in a tennis racquet. Someone who realized that the child was coming to Meadowbank and that she’d have an opportunity to take for herself this hidden thing. But I tell you it isn’t true!”
“I think that is what happened. Yes,” said Poirot. “Someone saw the jewels being hidden and forgot all other duties or interests in the determination to possess them!”
“It isn’t true, I tell you. I saw nothing—”
“Inspector Kelsey.” Poirot turned his head.
Inspector Kelsey nodded—went to the door, opened it, and Mrs. Upjohn walked into the room.
II
“How do you do, Miss Bulstrode,” said Mrs. Upjohn, looking rather embarrassed. “I’m sorry I’m looking rather untidy, but I was somewhere near Ankara yesterday and I’ve just flown home. I’m in a terrible mess and I really haven’t had time to clean myself up or do anything.”
“That does not matter,” said Hercule Poirot. “We want to ask you something.”
“Mrs. Upjohn,” said Kelsey, “when you came here to bring your daughter to the