The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [79]
He took a bottle, a sponge and some rags from his pocket. He said:
“First I am going to tell you a little story, Mademoiselle. It has a resemblance to the story of the Ugly Duckling that turned into a Swan.”
He was working busily as he talked. The odour of turpentine filled the room.
“You do not perhaps go much to theatrical revues?”
“No, indeed, they seem to me so trivial. . . .”
“Trivial, yes, but sometimes instructive. I have seen a clever revue artist change her personality in the most miraculous way. In one sketch she is a cabaret star, exquisite and glamorous. Ten minutes later, she is an undersized, anæmic child with adenoids, dressed in a gym tunic—ten minutes later still, she is a ragged gypsy telling fortunes by a caravan.”
“Very possible, no doubt, but I do not see—”
“But I am showing you how the conjuring trick was worked on the train. Winnie, the schoolgirl, with her fair plaits, her spectacles, her disfiguring dental plate—goes into the Toilette. She emerges a quarter of an hour later as—to use the words of Detective Inspector Hearn—‘a flashy piece of goods.’ Sheer silk stockings, high heeled shoes—a mink coat to cover a school uniform, a daring little piece of velvet called a hat perched on her curls—and a face—oh yes, a face. Rouge, powder, lipstick, mascara! What is the real face of that quick change artiste really like? Probably only the good God knows! But you, Mademoiselle, you yourself, you have often seen how the awkward schoolgirl changes almost miraculously into the attractive and well-groomed débutante.”
Miss Pope gasped.
“Do you mean that Winnie King disguised herself as—”
“Not Winnie King—no. Winnie was kidnapped on the way across London. Our quick change artiste took her place. Miss Burshaw had never seen Winnie King—how was she to know that the schoolgirl with the lank plaits and the brace on her teeth was not Winnie King at all? So far, so good, but the impostor could not afford actually to arrive here, since you were acquainted with the real Winnie. So hey presto, Winnie disappears in the Toilette and emerges as wife to a man called Jim Elliot whose passport includes a wife! The fair plaits, the spectacles, the lisle thread stockings, the dental plate—all that can go into a small space. But the thick unglamorous shoes and the hat—that very unyielding British hat—have to be disposed of elsewhere—they go out of the window. Later, the real Winnie is brought across the channel—no one is looking for a sick, half-doped child being brought from England to France—and is quietly deposited from a car by the side of the main road. If she has been doped all along with scopolamine, she will remember very little of what has occurred.”
Miss Pope was staring at Poirot. She demanded:
“But why? What would be the reason of such a senseless masquerade?”
Poirot replied gravely:
“Winnie’s luggage! These people wanted to smuggle something from England into France—something that every Customs man was on the lookout for—in fact, stolen goods. But what place is safer than a schoolgirl’s trunk? You are well-known, Miss Pope, your establishment is justly famous. At the Gare du Nord the trunks of Mesdemoiselles the little Pensionnaires are passed en bloc. It is the well-known English school of Miss Pope! And then, after the kidnapping, what more natural than to send and collect the child’s luggage—ostensibly from the Préfecture?”
Hercule Poirot smiled.
“But fortunately, there was the school routine of unpacking trunks on arrival—and a present for you from Winnie—but not the same present that Winnie packed at Cranchester.”
He came towards her.
“You have given this picture to me. Observe now, you must admit that it is not suitable for your select school!”
He held out the canvas.
As though by magic Cranchester Bridge had disappeared. Instead was a classical scene in rich, dim colourings.
Poirot said softly:
“The Girdle of Hyppolita. Hyppolita gives her girdle to Hercules—painted by Rubens. A great work of art—mais tout de même not quite suitable for your drawing room.”
Miss Pope