Seventeen

ALADDIN’S CAVE

IThe girls went up to bed that night more quietly than usual. For one thing their numbers weremuch depleted. At least thirty of them had gone home. The others reacted according to theirseveral dispositions. Excitement, trepidation, a certain amount of giggling that was purely nervousin origin and there were some again who were merely quiet and thoughtful.

Julia Upjohn went up quietly amongst the first wave. She went into her room and closed thedoor. She stood there listening to the whispers, giggles, footsteps and goodnights. Then silenceclosed down—or a near silence. Faint voices echoed in the distance, and footsteps went to and froto the bathroom.

There was no lock on the door. Julia pulled a chair against it, with the top of the chair wedgedunder the handle. That would give her warning if anyone should come in. But no one was likely tocome in. It was strictly forbidden for the girls to go into each other’s rooms, and the only mistresswho did so was Miss Johnson, if one of the girls was ill or out of sorts.

Julia went to her bed, lifted up the mattress and groped under it. She brought out the tennisracquet and stood a moment holding it. She had decided to examine it now, and not later. A lightin her room showing under the door might attract attention when all lights were supposed to be off.

Now was the time when a light was normal for undressing and for reading in bed until half pastten if you wanted to do so.

She stood staring down at the racquet. How could there be anything hidden in a tennis racquet?

“But there must be,” said Julia to herself. “There must. The burglary at Jennifer’s home, thewoman who came with that silly story about a new racquet….”

Only Jennifer would have believed that, thought Julia scornfully.

No, it was “new lamps for old” and that meant, like in Aladdin, that there was something aboutthis particular tennis racquet. Jennifer and Julia had never mentioned to anyone that they hadswopped racquets—or at least, she herself never had.

So really then, this was the racquet that everyone was looking for in the Sports Pavilion. And itwas up to her to find out why! She examined it carefully. There was nothing unusual about it tolook at. It was a good quality racquet, somewhat the worse for wear, but restrung and eminentlyusable. Jennifer had complained of the balance.

The only place you could possibly conceal anything in a tennis racquet was in the handle. Youcould, she supposed, hollow out the handle to make a hiding place. It sounded a little far-fetchedbut it was possible. And if the handle had been tampered with, that probably would upset thebalance.

There was a round of leather with lettering on it, the lettering almost worn away. That of coursewas only stuck on. If one removed that? Julia sat down at her dressing table and attacked it with apenknife and presently managed to pull the leather off. Inside was a round of thin wood. It didn’tlook quite right. There was a join all round it. Julia dug in her penknife. The blade snapped. Nailscissors were more effective. She succeeded at last in prising it out. A mottled red and bluesubstance now showed. Julia poked it and enlightenment came to her. Plasticine! But surelyhandles of tennis racquets didn’t normally contain plasticine? She grasped the nail scissors firmlyand began to dig out lumps of plasticine. The stuff was encasing something. Something that feltlike buttons or pebbles.

She attacked the plasticine vigorously.

Something rolled out on the table—then another something. Presently there was quite a heap.

Julia leaned back and gasped.

She stared and stared and stared….

Liquid fire, red and green and deep blue and dazzling white….

In that moment, Julia grew up. She was no longer a child. She became a woman. A womanlooking at jewels….

All sorts of fantastic snatches of thought raced through her brain. Aladdin’s cave … Margueriteand her casket of jewels … (They had been taken to Covent Garden to hear Faust last week) …Fatal stones … the Hope diamond … Romance … herself in a black velvet gown with a flashingnecklace round her throat….

She sat and gloated and dreamed … She held the stones in her fingers and let them fall throughin a rivulet of fire, a flashing stream of wonder and delight.

And then something, some slight sound perhaps, recalled her to herself.

She sat thinking, trying to use her common sense, deciding what she ought to do. That faintsound had alarmed her. She swept up the stones, took them to the washstand and thrust them intoher sponge bag and rammed her sponge and nail brush down on top of them. Then she went backto the tennis racquet, forced the plasticine back inside it, replaced the wooden top and tried to gumdown the leather on top again. It curled upwards, but she managed to deal with that by applyingadhesive plaster the wrong way up in thin strips and then pressing the leather on to it.

It was done. The racquet looked and felt just as before, its weight hardly altered in feel. Shelooked at it and then cast it down carelessly on a chair.

She looked at her bed, neatly turned down and waiting. But she did not undress. Instead she satlistening. Was that a footstep outside?

Suddenly and unexpectedly she knew fear. Two people had been killed. If anyone knew whatshe had found, she would be killed.

There was a fairly heavy oak chest of drawers in the room. She managed to drag it in front ofthe door, wishing that it was the custom at Meadowbank to have keys in the locks. She went to thewindow, pulled up the top sash and bolted it. There was no tree growing near the window and nocreepers. She doubted if it was possible for anyone to come in that way but she was not going totake any chances.

She looked at her small clock. Half past ten. She drew a deep breath and turned out the light. Noone must notice anything unusual. She pulled back the curtain a little from the window. There wasa full moon and she could see the door clearly. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed. In herhand she held the stoutest shoe she possessed.

“If anyone tries to come in,” Julia said to herself, “I’ll rap on the wall here as hard as I can.

Mary King is next door and that will wake her up. And I’ll scream—at the top of my voice. Andthen, if lots of people come, I’ll say I had a nightmare. Anyone might have a nightmare after allthe things that have been going on here.”

She sat there and time passed. Then she heard it—a soft step along the passage. She heard itstop outside her door. A long pause and then she saw the handle slowly turning.

Should she scream? Not yet.

The door was pushed—just a crack, but the chest of drawers held it. That must have puzzled theperson outside.

Another pause, and then there was a knock, a very gentle little knock, on the door.

Julia held her breath. A pause, and then the knock came again—but still soft and muted.

“I’m asleep,” said Julia to herself. “I don’t hear anything.”

Who would come and knock on her door in the middle of the night? If it was someone who hada right to knock, they’d call out, rattle the handle, make a noise. But this person couldn’t afford tomake a noise….

For a long time Julia sat there. The knock was not repeated, the handle stayed immovable. ButJulia sat tense and alert.

She sat like that for a long time. She never knew herself how long it was before sleep overcameher. The school bell finally awoke her, lying in a cramped and uncomfortable heap on the edge ofthe bed.

II

After breakfast, the girls went upstairs and made their beds, then went down to prayers in the bighall and finally dispersed to various classrooms.

It was during that last exercise, when girls were hurrying in different directions, that Julia wentinto one classroom, out by a further door, joined a group hurrying round the house, dived behind arhododendron, made a series of further strategic dives and arrived finally near the wall of thegrounds where a lime tree had thick growth almost down to the ground. Julia climbed the tree withease, she had climbed trees all her life. Completely hidden in the leafy branches, she sat, glancingfrom time to time at her watch. She was fairly sure she would not be missed for some time. Thingswere disorganized, two teachers were missing, and more than half the girls had gone home. Thatmeant that all classes would have been reorganized, so nobody would be likely to observe theabsence of Julia Upjohn until lunchtime and by then—Julia looked at her watch again, scrambled easily down the tree to the level of the wall,straddled it and dropped neatly on the other side. A hundred yards away was a bus stop where abus ought to arrive in a few minutes. It duly did so, and Julia hailed and boarded it, having by nowabstracted a felt hat from inside her cotton frock and clapped it on her slightly dishevelled hair.

She got out at the station and took a train to London.

In her room, propped up on the washstand, she had left a note addressed to Miss Bulstrode.

Dear Miss Bulstrode,

I have not been kidnapped or run away, so don’t worry. I will come back assoon as I can.

Yours very sincerely,

Julia Upjohn

III

At 228 Whitehouse Mansions, George, Hercule Poirot’s immaculate valet and manservant, openedthe door and contemplated with some surprise a schoolgirl with a rather dirty face.

“Can I see M. Hercule Poirot, please?”

George took just a shade longer than usual to reply. He found the caller unexpected.

“Mr. Poirot does not see anyone without an appointment,” he said.

“I’m afraid I haven’t time to wait for that. I really must see him now. It is very urgent. It’s aboutsome murders and a robbery and things like that.”

“I will ascertain,” said George, “if Mr. Poirot will see you.”

He left her in the hall and withdrew to consult his master.

“A young lady, sir, who wishes to see you urgently.”

“I daresay,” said Hercule Poirot. “But things do not arrange themselves as easily as that.”

“That is what I told her, sir.”

“What kind of a young lady?”

“Well, sir, she’s more of a little girl.”

“A little girl? A young lady? Which do you mean, Georges? They are really not the same.”

“I’m afraid you did not quite get my meaning sir. She is, I should say, a little girl—of schoolage, that is to say. But though her frock is dirty and indeed torn, she is essentially a young lady.”

“A social term. I see.”

“And she wishes to see you about some murders and a robbery.”

Poirot’s eyebrows went up.

“Some murders, and a robbery. Original. Show the little girl—the young lady—in.”

Julia came into the room with only the slightest trace of diffidence. She spoke politely and quitenaturally.

“How do you do, M. Poirot. I am Julia Upjohn. I think you know a great friend of Mummy’s.

Mrs. Summerhayes. We stayed with her last summer and she talked about you a lot.”

“Mrs. Summerhayes … ” Poirot’s mind went back to a village that climbed a hill and to a houseon top of that hill. He recalled a charming freckled face, a sofa with broken springs, a largequantity of dogs, and other things both agreeable and disagreeable.

“Maureen Summerhayes,” he said. “Ah yes.”

“I call her Aunt Maureen, but she isn’t really an aunt at all. She told us how wonderful you’dbeen and saved a man who was in prison for murder, and when I couldn’t think of what to do andwho to go to, I thought of you.”

“I am honoured,” said Poirot gravely.

He brought forward a chair for her.

“Now tell me,” he said. “Georges, my servant, told me you wanted to consult me about arobbery and some murders—more than one murder, then?”

“Yes,” said Julia. “Miss Springer and Miss Vansittart. And of course there’s the kidnapping, too—but I don’t think that’s really my business.”

“You bewilder me,” said Poirot. “Where have all these exciting happenings taken place?”

“At my school—Meadowbank.”

“Meadowbank,” exclaimed Poirot. “Ah.” He stretched out his hand to where the newspapers layneatly folded beside him. He unfolded one and glanced over the front page, nodding his head.

“I begin to comprehend,” he said. “Now tell me, Julia, tell me everything from the beginning.”

Julia told him. It was quite a long story and a comprehensive one—but she told it clearly—withan occasional break as she went back over something she had forgotten.

She brought her story up to the moment when she had examined the tennis racquet in herbedroom last night.

“You see, I thought it was just like Aladdin—new lamps for old—and there must be somethingabout that tennis racquet.”

“And there was?”

“Yes.”

Without any false modesty, Julia pulled up her skirt, rolled up her knicker leg nearly to herthigh and exposed what looked like a grey poultice attached by adhesive plaster to the upper partof her leg.

She tore off the strips of plaster, uttering an anguished “Ouch” as she did so, and freed thepoultice which Poirot now perceived to be a packet enclosed in a portion of grey plastic spongebag. Julia unwrapped it and without warning poured a heap of glittering stones on the table.

“Nom d’un nom d’un nom!” ejaculated Poirot in an awe-inspired whisper.

He picked them up, letting them run through his fingers.

“Nom d’un nom d’un nom! But they are real. Genuine.”

Julia nodded.

“I think they must be. People wouldn’t kill other people for them otherwise, would they? But Ican understand people killing for these!”

And suddenly, as had happened last night, a woman looked out of the child’s eyes.

Poirot looked keenly at her and nodded.

“Yes — you understand — you feel the spell. They cannot be to you just pretty colouredplaythings—more is the pity.”

“They’re jewels!” said Julia, in tones of ecstasy.

“And you found them, you say, in this tennis racquet?”

Julia finished her recital.

“And you have now told me everything?”

“I think so. I may, perhaps, have exaggerated a little here and there. I do exaggerate sometimes.

Now Jennifer, my great friend, she’s the other way round. She can make the most exciting thingssound dull.” She looked again at the shining heap. “M. Poirot, who do they really belong to?”

“It is probably very difficult to say. But they do not belong to either you or to me. We have todecide now what to do next.”

Julia looked at him in an expectant fashion.

“You leave yourself in my hands? Good.”

Hercule Poirot closed his eyes.

Suddenly he opened them and became brisk.

“It seems that this is an occasion when I cannot, as I prefer, remain in my chair. There must beorder and method, but in what you tell me, there is no order and method. That is because we havehere many threads. But they all converge and meet at one place, Meadowbank. Different people,with different aims, and representing different interests—all converge at Meadowbank. So, I, too,go to Meadowbank. And as for you—where is your mother?”

“Mummy’s gone in a bus to Anatolia.”

“Ah, your mother has gone in a bus to Anatolia. Il ne manquait que ?a! I perceive well that shemight be a friend of Mrs. Summerhayes! Tell me, did you enjoy your visit with Mrs.

Summerhayes?”

“Oh yes, it was great fun. She’s got some lovely dogs.”

“The dogs, yes, I well remember.”

“They come in and out through all the windows—like in a pantomime.”

“You are so right! And the food? Did you enjoy the food?”

“Well, it was a bit peculiar sometimes,” Julia admitted.

“Peculiar, yes, indeed.”

“But Aunt Maureen makes smashing omelettes.”

“She makes smashing omelettes.” Poirot’s voice was happy. He sighed.

“Then Hercule Poirot has not lived in vain,” he said. “It was I who taught your Aunt Maureen tomake an omelette.” He picked up the telephone receiver.

“We will now reassure your good schoolmistress as to your safety and announce my arrivalwith you at Meadowbank.”

“She knows I’m all right. I left a note saying I hadn’t been kidnapped.”

“Nevertheless, she will welcome further reassurance.”

In due course he was connected, and was informed that Miss Bulstrode was on the line.

“Ah, Miss Bulstrode? My name is Hercule Poirot. I have with me here your pupil Julia Upjohn.

I propose to motor down with her immediately, and for the information of the police officer incharge of the case, a certain packet of some value has been safely deposited in the bank.”

He rang off and looked at Julia.

“You would like a sirop?” he suggested.

“Golden syrup?” Julia looked doubtful.

“No, a syrup of fruit juice. Blackcurrant, raspberry, groseille—that is, red currant?”

Julia settled for red currant.

“But the jewels aren’t in the bank,” she pointed out.

“They will be in a very short time,” said Poirot. “But for the benefit of anyone who listens in atMeadowbank, or who overhears, or who is told, it is as well to think they are already there and nolonger in your possession. To obtain jewels from a bank requires time and organization. And Ishould very much dislike anything to happen to you, my child. I will admit that I have formed ahigh opinion of your courage and your resource.”

Julia looked pleased but embarrassed.