Hallowe'en Party - Agatha Christie [34]
‘How was that managed?’
‘Oh, very simply. The transom of the door had been removed, and so different faces looked through and were reflected in the mirror a girl was holding.’
‘Did the girls know who it was they saw reflected in the glass?’
‘I presume some of them did and some of them didn’t. A little make-up was employed on the male half of the arrangement. You know, a mask or a wig, sideburns, a beard, some greasepaint effects. Most of the boys were probably known to the girls already and one or two strangers might have been included. Anyway, there was a lot of quite happy giggling,’ said Miss Whittaker, showing for a moment or two a kind of academic contempt for this kind of fun. ‘After that there was an obstacle race and then there was flour packed into a glass tumbler and reversed, sixpence laid on top and everyone took a slice off. When the flour collapsed that person was out of the competition and the others remained until the last one claimed the sixpence. After that there was dancing, and then there was supper. After that, as a final climax, came the Snapdragon.’
‘When did you yourself see the girl Joyce last?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Elizabeth Whittaker. ‘I don’t know her very well. She’s not in my class. She wasn’t a very interesting girl so I wouldn’t have been watching her. I do remember I saw her cutting the flour because she was so clumsy that she capsized it almost at once. So she was alive then—but that was quite early on.’
‘You did not see her go into the library with anyone?’
‘Certainly not. I should have mentioned it before if I had. That at least might have been significant and important.’
‘And now,’ said Poirot, ‘for my second question or questions. How long have you been at the school here?’
‘Six years this next autumn.’
‘And you teach –?’
‘Mathematics and Latin.’
‘Do you remember a girl who was teaching here two years ago—Janet White by name?’
Elizabeth Whittaker stiffened. She half rose from her chair, then sat down again.
‘But that—that has nothing to do with all this, surely?’
‘It could have,’ said Poirot.
‘But how? In what way?’
Scholastic circles were less well informed than village gossip, Poirot thought.
‘Joyce claimed before witnesses to have seen a murder done some years ago. Could that possibly have been the murder of Janet White, do you think? How did Janet White die?’
‘She was strangled, walking home from school one night.’
‘Alone?’
‘Probably not alone.’
‘But not with Nora Ambrose?’
‘What do you know about Nora Ambrose?’
‘Nothing as yet,’ said Poirot, ‘but I should like to. What were they like, Janet White and Nora Ambrose?’
‘Over-sexed,’ said Elizabeth Whittaker, ‘but in different ways. How could Joyce have seen anything of the kind or know anything about it? It took place in a lane near Quarry Wood. She wouldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old.’
‘Which one had the boy friend?’ asked Poirot. ‘Nora or Janet?’
‘All this is past history.’
‘Old sins have long shadows,’ quoted Poirot. ‘As we advance through life, we learn the truth of that saying. Where is Nora Ambrose now?’
‘She left the school and took another post in the North of England—she was, naturally, very upset. They were—great friends.’
‘The police never solved the case?’
Miss Whittaker shook her head. She got up and looked at her watch.
‘I must go now.’
‘Thank you for what you have told me.’
Chapter 11
Hercule Poirot looked up at the façade of Quarry House. A solid, well-built example of mid-Victorian architecture. He had a vision of its interior—a heavy mahogany sideboard, a central rectangular table also of heavy mahogany, a billiard room, perhaps, a large kitchen with adjacent scullery, stone flags on the floor, a massive coal range now no doubt replaced by electricity or gas.
He noted that most of the upper windows were still curtained. He rang the front-door bell. It was answered by a thin, grey-haired