Poirot looked up at The Elms and approved of it.
He was admitted and taken promptly1 by what he judged to be a secretary to the headmistress’sstudy. Miss Emlyn rose from her desk to greet 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 headmistress of Meadowbank. Youremember Miss Bulstrode, perhaps?”
“One would not be likely to forget her. A great personality.”
“Yes,” said Miss Emlyn. “She made Meadowbank the school it is.” She sighed slightly andsaid, “It has changed a little nowadays. Different aims, different methods, but it still holds its ownas a school of distinction, of progress, and also of tradition. Ah well, we must not live too much inthe past. You have come to see me, no doubt, about the death of Joyce Reynolds. I don’t know ifyou have any particular interest in her case. It’s out of your usual run of things, I imagine. Youknew her personally, or her family perhaps?”
“No,” said Poirot. “I came at the request of an old friend, Mrs. Ariadne Oliver, who was stayingdown here and was present at the party.”
“She writes delightful2 books,” said Miss Emlyn. “I have met her once or twice. Well, thatmakes the whole thing easier, I think, to discuss. So long as no personal feelings are involved, onecan go straight ahead. It was a horrifying3 thing to happen. If I may say so, it was an unlikely thingto happen. The children involved seem neither old enough nor young enough for it to fall into anyspecial class. A psychological crime is indicated. Do you agree?”
“No,” said Poirot. “I think it was a murder, like most murders, committed for a motive4, possiblya sordid5 one.”
“Indeed. And the reason?”
“The reason was a remark made by Joyce; not actually at the party, I understand, but earlier inthe day when preparations were being made by some of the older children and other helpers. Sheannounced 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, becausewe do not want unnecessary sentiment to cloud mental faculties—she was a rather mediocre6 child,neither stupid nor particularly intellectual. She was, quite frankly7, a compulsive liar8. And by that Ido not mean that she was specially9 deceitful. She was not trying to avoid retribution or to avoidbeing found out in some peccadillo10. She boasted. She boasted of things that had not happened, butthat would impress her friends who were listening to her. As a result, of course, they inclined notto believe the tall stories she told.”
“You think that she boasted of having seen a murder committed in order to make herselfimportant, to intrigue11 someone—?”
“Yes. And I would suggest that Ariadne Oliver was doubtless the person whom she wanted toimpress….”
“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 hitwith a ball on the golf links and injured—something that she could work up into an impressivehappening 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 atthe Hallowe’en party.”
“Certainly,” said Miss Emlyn, 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 Emlyn. “After all, the majority of the childrenat the party were aged12 between nine and fifteen, and I suppose nearly all of them had been or werepupils at my school. I ought to know something about them. Something, too, about their familiesand their backgrounds.”
“I believe that one of your own teachers, a year or two ago, was strangled by an unknownkiller.”
“You are referring to Janet White? About twenty-four years of age. An emotional girl. As far asis 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 killer13 has not beendiscovered. The police questioned various young men or asked them to assist them in theirinquiries, as the technique goes, but they were not able to find sufficient evidence to bring a caseagainst 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 Emlyn looked at him for a moment or two. Her expression did not change, but Poirot hadan idea that he was being sized up with a great deal of care.
“I like the way you put it,” she said. “From what you read and hear nowadays, it seems thatmurder under certain aspects is slowly but surely being made acceptable to a large section of thecommunity.”
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 Emlyn had left the room and then the door opened and awoman of about forty entered. She had russet-coloured hair, cut short, and came in with a briskstep.
“Monsieur Poirot?” she said. “Can I help you? Miss Emlyn seems to think that that might beso.”
“If Miss Emlyn thinks so, then it is almost a certainty that you can. I would take her word forit.”
“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.”
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 knowexactly how you come into it. Through the police?” She shook her head slightly in a dissatisfiedmanner.
“No, not through the police. Privately14, through a friend.”
She 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 beof no importance. Something happened that evening at the party which perhaps it is well that Ishould 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—grown-ups—and a few cleaning and domestic helpers in the background.”
“Did you take part in the arrangements which were made, I believe, earlier that afternoon or thatmorning?”
“There was nothing really to do. Mrs. Drake was fully15 competent to deal with all the variouspreparations with a small number of people to help her. It was more domestic preparations thatwere 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 isanything I can tell you that I specially noticed or that I thought might have a certain significance? Idon’t want to waste your time unduly16, 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 wasreally more a Christmas festivity or associated with Christmas, than it would be with Hallowe’en.
The Snapdragon, a burning dish of raisins17 with brandy poured over them, and those round snatchat the raisins—there are squeals18 of laughter and excitement. It became very hot, though, in theroom, with the burning dish, and I left it and came out in the hall. It was then, as I stood there, thatI saw Mrs. Drake coming out of the lavatory19 on the first floor landing. She was carrying a largevase of mixed autumn leaves and flowers. She stood at the angle of the staircase, pausing for amoment before coming downstairs. She was looking down over the well of the staircase. Not inmy direction. She was looking towards the other end of the hall where there is a door leading intothe library. It is set just across the hall from the door into the dining room. As I say, she waslooking that way and pausing for a moment before coming downstairs. She was shifting slightlythe angle of the vase as it was a rather awkward thing to carry, and weighty if it was, as Ipresumed, full of water. She was shifting the position of it rather carefully so that she could hold itto her with one arm, and put out the other arm to the rail of the staircase as she came round theslightly shaped corner stairway. She stood there for a moment or two, still not looking at what shewas carrying, but towards the hall below. And suddenly she made a sudden movement—a start Iwould describe it as—yes, definitely something had startled her. So much so that she relinquishedher hold of the vase and it fell, reversing itself as it did so so that the water streamed over her andthe 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, wereshrewd and knowledgeable21. They were asking now his opinion of what she was telling him. “Whatdid 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 tome possible that she may have seen that door open or the handle turn, or indeed she might haveseen something slightly more than that. She might have seen somebody who was opening thatdoor and preparing to come 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 relinquish20 her grasp on the very heavy vase full of water andflowers, 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 exclamation22 of vexation, came down the stairs and said to me, ‘Look whatI’ve done now! What a mess!’ She kicked some of the broken glass away. I helped her sweep it ina broken pile into a corner. It wasn’t practicable to clear it all up at that moment. The childrenwere beginning to come out of the Snapdragon room. I fetched a glass cloth and mopped her up abit, 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 whatmight 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 aboutsomething of no importance whatever?”
“No,” said Poirot, “I do not think that at all. I have only met Mrs. Drake once,” he addedthoughtfully, “when I went to her house with my friend, Mrs. Oliver, to visit—as one might say, ifone wishes to be melodramatic—the scene of the crime. It did not strike me during the brief periodI had for observation that Mrs. Drake could be a woman who is easily startled. Do you agree withmy view?”
“Certainly. That is why I, myself, since have wondered.”
“You asked no special questions at the time?”
“I had no earthly reason to do so. If your hostess has been unfortunate to drop one of her bestglass vases, and it has smashed to smithereens, it is hardly the part of a guest to say ‘What on earthmade you do that?’; thereby23 accusing her of a clumsiness which I can assure you is not one ofMrs. Drake’s characteristics.”
“And after that, as you have said, the party came to an end. The children and their mothers orfriends left, and Joyce could not be found. We know now that Joyce was behind the library doorand that Joyce was dead. So who could it have been who was about to come out of the librarydoor, a little while earlier, shall we say, and then hearing voices in the hall shut the door again andmade an exit later when there were people milling about in the hall making their farewells, puttingon their coats and all the rest of it? It was not until after the body had been found, I presume, MissWhittaker, 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.”
“But noticeable. Everything noticeable is worth remembering. By the way, there is one questionI 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 broomstickcompetition. Decorated broomsticks. There were three or four different small prizes for that. Thenthere was a kind of contest with balloons, punching them and batting them about. A sort of mildhorseplay to get the children warmed up. There was a looking glass business where the girls wentinto 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 lookedthrough 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 makeup24 was employed on themale half of the arrangement. You know, a mask or a wig25, sideburns, a beard, some greasepainteffects. Most of the boys were probably known to the girls already and one or two strangers mighthave 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 therewas an obstacle race and then there was flour packed into a glass tumbler and reversed, sixpencelaid on top and everyone took a slice off. When the flour collapsed26 that person was out of thecompetition and the others remained until the last one claimed the sixpence. After that there wasdancing, and then there was supper. After that, as a final climax27, 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 hercutting the flour because she was so clumsy that she capsized it almost at once. So she was alivethen—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 beensignificant and important.”
“And now,” said Poirot, “for my second question or questions. How long have you been at theschool 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 stiffened28. 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?”
Scholastic29 circles were less well-informed than village gossip, Poirot thought.
“Joyce claimed before witnesses to have seen a murder done some years ago. Could thatpossibly 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 NoraAmbrose?”
“Oversexed,” said Elizabeth Whittaker, “but in different ways. How could Joyce have seenanything of the kind or know anything about it? It took place in a lane near Quarry30 Wood. Shewouldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old.”
“Which one had the boyfriend?” 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 ofthat saying. Where is Nora Ambrose now?”
“She left the school and took another post in the North of England—she was, naturally, veryupset. 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.”
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promptly
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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horrifying
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| a.令人震惊的，使人毛骨悚然的 | |
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motive
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sordid
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mediocre
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frankly
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liar
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specially
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peccadillo
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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aged
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killer
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privately
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fully
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unduly
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raisins
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squeals
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lavatory
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relinquish
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knowledgeable
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exclamation
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thereby
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makeup
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wig
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collapsed
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climax
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stiffened
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scholastic
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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