Book Read Free

AgathaChristie-HalloweenParty

Page 10

by Hallowe'en Party (lit)


  him.

  "I am delighted to meet you, Mr.

  Poirot. I've heard about you."

  "You are too kind," said Poirot.

  "From a very old friend of mine. Miss

  Bulstrode. Former head-mistress of

  Meadowbank. You remember Miss Bulstrode,

  perhaps?"

  "One would not be likely to forget her.

  A great personality."

  "Yes," said Miss Emiyn. "She made

  Meadowbank the school it is." She sighed

  slightly and said, "It has changed a little

  nowadays. Different aims, different

  methods, but it still holds its own as a

  school of distinction, of progress, and also

  of tradition. Ah well, we must not live too

  131

  much in the past. You have come to see

  me, no doubt, about the death of Joyce

  Reynolds. I don't know if you have any

  particular interest in her case. It's out of

  your usual run of things, I imagine. You

  knew her personally, or her family

  perhaps?"

  "No," said Poirot. "I came at the

  request of an old friend, Mrs. Ariadne

  Oliver, who was staying down here and

  was present at the party."

  "She writes delightful books," said Miss

  Emiyn. "I have met her once or twice.

  Well, that makes the whole thing easier, I

  think, to discuss. So long as no personal

  feelings are involved, one can go straight

  ahead. It was a horrifying thing to happen.

  If I may say so, it was an unlikely thing

  to happen. The children involved seem

  neither old enough nor young enough for

  it to fall into any special class. A psychological

  crime is indicated. Do you agree?"

  "No," said Poirot. "I think it was a

  murder, like most murders, committed for

  a motive, possibly a sordid one."

  "Indeed. And the reason?"

  "The reason was a remark made by

  Joyce; not actually at the party, I under132

  stand, but earlier in the day when preparations

  were being made by some of the

  older children and other helpers. She

  announced that she had once seen a

  murder committed."

  "Was she believed?"

  "On the whole, I think she was not believed."

  "That seems the most likely response.

  Joyce--I speak plainly to you. Monsieur

  Poirot, because we do not want unnecessary

  sentiment to cloud mental faculties--she

  was a rather mediocre child, neither stupid nor particularly intellectual.

  She was, quite frankly, a compulsive liar.

  And by that I do not mean that she was

  specially deceitful. She was not trying to

  avoid retribution or to avoid being found

  out in some peccadillo. She boasted. She

  boasted of things that had not happened, but that would impress her friends who

  were listening to her. As a result, of

  course, they inclined not to believe the tall

  stories she told."

  "You think that she boasted of having

  seen a murder committed in order to make

  herself important, to intrigue someone--?"

  "Yes. And I would suggest that Ariadne

  133

  Oliver was doubtless the person whom she

  wanted to impress ..."

  "So you don't think Joyce saw a murder

  committed at all?"

  "I should doubt it very much."

  "You are of the opinion that she made

  the whole thing up?"

  "I would not say that. She did witness, perhaps, a car accident, or someone perhaps who was hit with a ball on the

  golf links and injured--something that she

  could work up into an impressive happening

  that might, just conceivably, pass

  as an attempted murder."

  "So the only assumption we can make

  with any certainty is that there was a

  murderer present at the Hallowe'en

  party."

  "Certainly," said Miss Ernlyn, without

  turning a grey hair. "Certainly. That

  follows on logically, does it not?"

  "Would you have any idea who that

  murderer might be?"

  "That is certainly a sensible question,"

  said Miss Emiyn. "After all, the majority

  of the children at the party were aged

  between nine and fifteen, and I suppose

  nearly all of them had been or were pupils

  134

  at my school. I ought to know something

  about them. Something, too, about their

  families and their backgrounds."

  "I believe that one of your own teachers, a year or two ago, was strangled by an

  unknown killer."

  "You are referring to Janet White?

  About twenty-four years of age. An emotional girl. As far as is known, she was

  out walking alone. She may, of course, have arranged to meet some young man.

  She was a girl who was quite attractive to

  men in a modest sort of way. Her killer

  has not been discovered. The police questioned

  various young men or asked them

  to assist them in their inquiries, as the

  technique goes, but they were not able to

  find sufficient evidence to bring a case

  against anyone. An unsatisfactory business

  from their point of view. And, I may say, from mine."

  "You and I have a principle in common.

  We do not approve of murder."

  Miss Ernlyn looked at him for a moment

  or two. Her expression did not change, but

  Poirot had an idea that he was being sized

  up with a great deal of care.

  "I like the way you put it," she said.

  135

  "From what you read and hear nowadays,

  it seems that murder under certain aspects

  is slowly but surely being made acceptable

  to a large section of the community."

  She was silent for a few minutes, and

  Poirot also did not speak. She was, he

  thought, considering a plan of action.

  She rose and touched a bell.

  "I think," she said, "that you had better

  talk to Miss Whittaker."

  Some five minutes passed after Miss

  Ernlyn had left the room and then the door

  opened and a woman of about forty

  entered. She had russet-coloured hair, cut

  short, and came in with a brisk step.

  "Monsieur Poirot?" she said. "Can I

  help you? Miss Ernlyn seems to think that

  that might be so."

  "If Miss Ernlyn thinks so, then it is

  almost a certainty that you can. I would

  take her word for it."

  "You know her?"

  "I have only met her this afternoon."

  "But you have made up your mind

  quickly about her."

  "I hope you are going to tell me that I

  am right."

  136

  Elizabeth Whittaker gave a short, quick

  sigh.

  "Oh yes, you're right. I presume that

  this is about the death of Joyce Reynolds.

  I don't know exactly how you come into it.

  Through the police?" She shook her head

  slightly in a dissatisfied manner.

  "No, not through the police. Privately,

  through a friend."

  S
he took a chair, pushing it back a little

  so as to face him.

  "Yes. What do you want to know?"

  "I don't think there is any need to tell

  you. No need to waste time asking questions

  that may be of no importance. Something

  happened that evening at the party

  which perhaps it is well that I should know

  about. Is that it?"

  "Yes."

  "You were at the party?"

  "I was at the party." She reflected a

  minute or two. "It was a very good party.

  Well run. Well arranged. About thirty-odd

  people were there, that is, counting

  helpers of different kinds. Children--teenagers--grownups--and

  a few cleaning

  and domestic helpers in the background."

  "Did you take part in the arrangements

  HP10

  137

  which were made, I believe, earlier that

  afternoon or that morning?"

  "There was nothing really to do. Mrs.

  Drake was fully competent to deal with

  all the various preparations with a small

  number of people to help her. It was more

  domestic preparations that were needed."

  "I see. But you came to the party as one

  of the guests?"

  "That is right."

  "And what happened?"

  "The progress of the party, I have no

  doubt, you already know. You want to

  know if there is anything I can tell you

  that I specially noticed or that I thought

  might have a certain significance? I don't

  want to waste your time unduly, you

  understand."

  "I am sure you will not waste my time.

  Yes, Miss Whittaker, tell me quite

  simply."

  "The various events happened in the

  way already arranged for. The last event

  was what was really more a Christmas

  festivity or associated with Christmas, than

  it would be with Hallowe'en. The Snapdragon,

  a burning dish of raisins with

  brandy poured over them, and those round

  138

  snatch at the raisins--there are squeals of

  laughter and excitement. It became very

  hot, though, in the room, with the burning

  dish, and I left it and came out in the hall.

  It was then, as I stood there, that I saw

  Mrs. Drake coming out of the lavatory on

  the first floor landing. She was carrying

  a large vase of mixed autumn leaves and

  flowers. She stood at the angle of the staircase, pausing for a moment before coming

  downstairs. She was looking down over the

  well of the staircase. Not in my direction.

  She was looking towards the other end of

  the hall where there is a door leading into

  the library. It is set just across the hall

  from the door into the dining-room. As I

  say, she was looking that way and pausing

  for a moment before coming downstairs.

  She was shifting slightly the angle of the

  vase as it was a rather awkward thing to

  carry, and weighty if it was, as I

  presumed, full of water. She was shifting

  the position of it rather carefully so that

  she could hold it to her with one arm, and

  put out the other arm to the rail of the

  staircase as she came round the slightly

  shaped corner stairway. She stood there

  for a moment or two, still not looking at

  139

  what she was carrying, but towards the

  hall below. And suddenly she made a

  sudden movement--a start I would

  describe it as--yes, definitely something

  had startled her. So much so that she relinquished

  her hold of the vase and it fell, reversing itself as it did so so that the

  water streamed over her and the vase itself

  crashed down to the hall below, where it

  broke in smithereens on the hall floor."

  "I see," said Poirot. He paused a minute

  or two, watching her. Her eyes, he

  noticed, were shrewd and knowledgeable.

  They were asking now his opinion of what

  she was telling him. "What did you think

  had happened to startle her?"

  "On reflection, afterwards, I thought

  she had seen something."

  "You thought she had seen something,"

  repeated Poirot, thoughtfully. "Such as?"

  "The direction of her eyes, as I have

  told you, was towards the door of the

  library. It seems to me possible that she

  may have seen that door open or the

  handle turn, or indeed she might have seen

  something slightly more than that. She

  might have seen somebody who was

  opening that door and preparing to come

  140

  out of it. She may have seen someone she

  did not expect to see."

  "Were you looking at the door

  yourself?"

  "No. I was looking in the opposite

  direction up the stairs towards Mrs.

  Drake."

  "And you think definitely that she saw

  something that startled her?"

  "Yes. No more than that, perhaps. A

  door opening. A person, just possibly an

  unlikely person, emerging. Just sufficient

  to make her relinquish her grasp on the

  very heavy vase full of water and flowers,

  so that she dropped it."

  "Did you see anyone come out of that

  door?"

  "No. I was not looking that way. I do

  not think anyone actually did come out

  into the hall. Presumably whoever it was

  drew back into the room."

  "What did Mrs. Drake do next?"

  "She made a sharp exclamation of

  vexation, came down the stairs and said to

  me, "Look what I've done now! What a

  mess!' She kicked some of the broken glass

  away. I helped her sweep it in a broken

  pile into a corner. It wasn't practicable to

  141

  clear it all up ai that moment. The children

  were begiixning to come out of the

  Snapdragon roor-n. I fetched a glass cloth

  and mopped her up a bit, and shortly after

  that the party came to an end."

  "Mrs. Drake did not say anything about

  having been startled or make any reference

  as to what might have startled her?"

  "No. Nothing- of the kind."

  "But you think she was startled."

  "Possibly, Monsieur Poirot, you think

  that I am making a rather unnecessary fuss

  about something of no importance

  whatever?"

  "No," said Poirot, "I do not think that

  at all. I have only met Mrs. Drake once,"

  he added thoughtfully? "when I went to

  her house with my friend, Mrs. Oliver, to visit--as one might say, if one wishes

  to be melodramatic--the scene of the

  crime. It did not strike me during the brief

  period I had for observation that Mrs.

  Drake could be; a ^oman who is easily

  startled. Do you. agr^e with my view?"

  "Certainly. Ttiat is why I, myself, since

  have wondered.^'

  "You asked no special questions at the

  time?"

  142

  "I had no earthly reason
to do so. If

  your hostess has been unfortunate enough

  to drop one of her best glass vases, and it

  has smashed to smithereens, it is hardly

  the part of a guest to say 'What on earth

  made you do that?'; thereby accusing her

  of a clumsiness which I can assure you is

  not one of Mrs. Drake's characteristics."

  "And after that, as you have said, the

  party came to an end. The children and

  their mothers or friends left, and Joyce

  could not be found. We know now that

  Joyce was behind the library door and that

  Joyce was dead. So who could it have been

  who was about to come out of the library

  door, a little while earlier, shall we say,

  and then hearing voices in the hall shut

  the door again and made an exit later when

  there were people milling about in the hall

  making their farewells, putting on their

  coats and all the rest of it? It was not until

  after the body had been found, I presume,

  Miss Whittaker, that you had time to

  reflect on what you had seen?"

  "That is so." Miss Whittaker rose to her

  feet. "I'm afraid there's nothing else that

  I can tell you. Even this may be a very

  foolish little matter."

  143

  "But noticeable. Everything noticeable

  is worth remembering. By the way, there

  is one question I should like to ask you.

  Two, as a matter of fact."

  Elizabeth Whittaker sat down again.

  "Go on," she said, "ask anything you

  like."

  "Can you remember exactly the order in

  which the various events occurred at the

  party?"

  "I think so." Elizabeth Whittaker reflected

  for a moment or two. "It started

  with a broomstick competition. Decorated

  broomsticks. There were three or four

  different small prizes for that. Then there

  was a kind of contest with balloons, punching them and batting them about. A

  sort of mild horse-play to get the children

  warmed up. There was a looking-glass

  business where the girls went into a small

  room and held a mirror where a boy's or

  young man's face reflected in it."

  "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."

  144

  "Did the girls know who it was they saw

  reflected in the glass?"

  "I presume some of them did and some

 

‹ Prev