right when she was found, bitt there was a pair of shoes on the line, a
signalman found them. Took'em home with him, as they seemed in good
condition. Stout black laced walking-shoes."
"Ah," said Poirot. He looked gratified.
Insi.)ector Hearn said curiously, "I don't get the meaning of the shoes,
sir? Do they mean anything?"
"They confirm a theory," said Hercule Poirot. "A theory of how the
conjuring trick was done."
Miss Pope's establishment was, like many other establishnietits of the
same kind, situated in Neuilly. Hercule
Poirot, staring up at its respectable fasade, was suddenly submerged by
a flow of girls emerging from its portals.
He counted twenty-five of them, all dressed alike in dark blue coats and
skirts with uncomfortable looking British hats of dark blue velour on
their heads, round which was tied the distinctive purple and gold of
Miss Pope's choice.
They were of ages varying from fourteen to eighteen, thick and thin,
fair and dark, awkward and graceful. At the end, walking with one of
the younger girls, was a gray-haired, fussy-looking woman whom Poirot
judged to be Miss Burshaw.
Poirot stood looking after them a minute, then he rang the bell and
asked for Miss Pope.
Miss Lavinia Pope was a very different person from her second in
command, Miss Burshaw. Miss Pope had personality. Miss Popq was
awe-inspiring. Even should Miss Pope unbend graciously to parents, she
would still retain that obvious superiority to the rest of the world
which is such a powerful asset to a schoolmistress.
Her gray hair was dressed with distinction, her costume was rather
severe but chic. She was competent and omniscient.
The room in which she received Poirot was the room of a woman of
culture. It had graceful furniture, flowers, some framed signed
photographs of those of Miss Pope's pupils who were of note in the
world-many of them in their presentation gowns and feathers. On the
walls hung reproductions of the world's artistic masterpieces and some
good water-color sketches. The whole place was clean and polished to
the last degree. No speck of dust, one felt, would have the temerity to
deposit itself in such a shrine.
Miss Pope received Poirot with the competence of one whose judgment
seldom fails.
"M. Hercule Poirot? I know your name, of course. I suppose you have
come about this very unfortunate affair of Winnie King. A most
distressing incident."
Miss Pope did not look distressed. She took disaster as it should be
taken, dealing with it competently and thereby reducing it almost to
insignificance.
"Such a thing," said Miss Pope, "has never occurred before."
And ney)er will again! her manner seemed to say.
Hercule Poirot said, "It was the girl's first term here, was it not?"
"It was."
"You had had a preliminary interview with Winnieand with her parents?"
"Not recently. Two years ago, I was staying near Cranchester-with the
Bishop, as a matter of fact-"
Miss Pope's manner said, Mark this, ' please. I am the kind of pet-son
who stays with bishops!
"While I was there I Made the acquaintance of Canon and Mrs. King. Mrs.
King, alas, is an invalid. I met Winnie then. A very well brought up
girl, with a decided taste for art. I told Nirs. King that I should be
happy to receive her here in a year or two-when her general studies were
completed. We specialize here, M. Poirot, in art and music.
The girls are taken to the Opera, to the Comddie Frangaise, they attend
lectures at the Louvre. The very best masters come here to instruct
them in music, singing, and painting. The broader culture, that is our
aim."
Miss Pope remembered suddenly tliat Poirot was not a parent and added
abruptly, "What can I do for you, M.
Poirot?"
"I would be glad to know what is the present position regarding Winnie."
"Canon Kin R has come over to Amiens and is taking Winnie back with him.
The wisest thing to do after the shock the child has sustained."
She went on: "We do not take delicate girls here. We have no special
facilities for looking after inva(ts. I told the Canon that in my
opinion he would do well to take the child home with him."
Hercule I)oirot asked bluntly, "What, in your opinion, actually
occurred, Miss Pope?"
"I have not the slightest idea, M. Poirot. The whole thing, as
reported to me, sounds quite iticredil)le. I really cannot see that the
member of my staff who was in charge
of the girls was in any way to blame-except tliat she might, perhaps,
have discovered the girl's absence sooner."
Poirot said, "You have received a visit, perhaps, from the police?"
A faint shiver passed over Miss Pope's aristocratic form.
She said glacially, "A Monsieur Lefai-ge of the Prdfecture called to see
me, to see if I could throw any light upon the situation. Naturally I
was unable to do so. He then demanded to inspect Winnie's trunk which
had, of course, arrived here with those of the other girls. I told him
that that had already been called for by another member of the police.
Their departments, I fancy, mst overla]). I got a telephone call,
shortly afterward, insisting that I had flot turned over all Winnie's
possessions to them. I was extremely short with them over that. One
must not submit to being bullied by officialdom."
Poirot drew a long breath. He said, "You have a spirited nature. I
admire you for it, Mademoiselle. I presume that Winnie's trunk had been
unpacked on arrival?"
14iss Pope looked a little put out of countenance.
"Routine," she said. "We live strictly by routine. The girls are
unpacked for on arrival and their things put away in the way I expect
them to be kept. Winnie's things were unpacked with those of the other
girls. Naturally, they were afterward repacked, so that her trunk was
handed over exactly as it had arrived."
Poirot said, "Exactly?"
He strolled to the wall.
"Surely this is a picture of the famous Cranchester Bridge with the
Cathedral showing in the distance."
"You are quite right, M. Poirot. Winnie had evidently painted that to
bring to me as a surprise. It was in her trunk with a wrapper round it
and For Miss Pope from Winnie written ozi it. Very charming of the
child."
"Ahl" said Poirot. "And what do you think of it-as a painting?"
He himself had seen many pictures of Crancbester Bridge. It was a
subject tliat could always be found represented at the Academy each
year-sometimes as an oil
painting-sometimes in the water-color room. He had seen it painted
well-painted in a mediocre fashion, painted boringly. But he had never
seen it quite as crudely represented as in the present example.
Miss Pope was smiling indulgently.
She said, "One must not discourage one's girls, M. Poirot. Winnie will
be stimulated to do better work, of course."
Poirot said thoughtfully, "It would have been more natur
al, would it
not, for her to do a water-color?"
"Yes. I did not know she was attempting to paint in oils."
"Ah," said Hercule Poirot. "You will permit me, Mademoiselle?"
He unhooked the picture and took it to the window.
He examined it, then, looking up, he said:
"I am going to ask you, Mademoiselle, to give me this picture."
"Well, really, M. Poirot-"
"You cannot pretend that you are very attached to it.
The painting is abominable."
"Oh, it has no artistic merit, I agree. But it is a pupil's work and-"
"I assure you, Mademoiselle, that it is a most unsuitable picture to
have hanging upon your wall."
"I don't know why you should say that, M. Poirot."
"I will prove it to you in a moment."
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 odor of turpentine filled the
room.
"You do not perhaps go much to theatrical revues Mademoiselle?"
"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, anaemic clld with adenolds, 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-' to use the words of Detective Inspector Hearn-as 'a
flashy piece of goods." Sheer silk stockings, high-heeled shoes-a mink
coat Lo 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, mascaral What is the real face of that quick-change artiste
really like? Probably only the good God knowsl But, you, Mademoiselle,
you yourself, you have often seen how the awkward schoolgirl changes
almost miraculously into the attractive and wellgroomed debutante."
Miss Pope gasl.)ed.
"Do you mean that Winnie King disguised herself as-"
"Not Winnie King-no. Winnie was kidnaped on the way across London. Our
quick-change artz'ste 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 Winme. So hey presto, Winnie
disappears in the toilette and emerges as wife to a man called Jim
Elliot whose passport includes a wifel 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 Winme 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 luggager 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 (Iu Nord the trunks of
Mesdemoiselles the little Pensionnaires are passed en bloc. It is the
well-known English school of Miss Popel And then, after the kidnaping,
what more natural than to send and collect the child's
luggage-ostensibly from the Prefecture?"
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 toward her.
"You have given this picture to me. Observe now, you must admit that it
is not suitable for your select schooll"
He held out the canvas.
As though by magic Cranchester Bridge had disappeared. Instead was a
classical scene in rich, dim colorings.
Poirot said softly, "The Girdle of Hyppolita. Hyppolita gives her
girdle to Hercules-painted by Rubens. A great work of art-mais tout de
mime not quite suitable for your drawing-room."
Miss Pope blushed slightly.
Hyppolita's band was on her girdle-she was wearing nothing else.
Hercules had a lion skin thrown lightly over one shoulder. The flesh of
Rubens is rich, voluptuous flesh....
Miss Pope said, regaining her poise, "A fine work of art.
All the same-as you say-after all, one must consider the
susceptibilities of parents. Some of them are inclined to be narrow-if
you know what I mean."
It was just as Poirot was leaving the house that the onslaught took
place. He was surrounded, hemmed in, overwhelmed by a crowd of girls;
thick, thin, dark, and fair.
"Mon Dieu!" he murmured. "Here, indeed, is the attack by the Amazonsl"
A tall, fair girl was crying out, "A rumor has gone round-"
They surged closer. Hercule Poirot was surrounded. He disappeared in a
wave of young, vigorous femininity.
Twenty-five voices arose, pitched in various keys but all uttering the
same momentous phrase:
"M. Poirot, will you write your name in my autograph book?"
"I REALLY DO APOLOGIZE for-intruding like this, M. Poirot."
Miss Carnaby clasped her hands fervently round her handbag and leaned
forward, peering anxiously into Poirot's face. As usual, she sounded
breathless.
Hercule Poirot's eyebrows rose.
She said anxiously, "You do remember me, don't you?"
Hercule Poirot's eyes twinkled.
He said, "I remember you as one of the most successful criminals that I
have ever encounteredl"
"Oh, dear me, M. Poirot, must you really say such things? You were so
kind to me. Emily and I often talk about you, and if we see anything
about you in the paper we cut it out at oncq and paste it in a book. As
for Augustus, we have taught him a new trick. We say, 'Die for Sherlock
Holmes, die for Mr. Fortune, die for Sir Henry Merrivale, and then die
for M. Hercule Poirot' and he goes down and lies like a log-lies
absolutely still without moving until we say the wordl"
"I am gratified," said Poirot. "And how is ce cher Auguste?"
Miss Carn
aby clasped her hands and became eloquent in praise of
her"Pekinese.
"Oh, M. Poirot, he's cleverer than ever. He knows everything. Do you
know, the other day I was just admiring a baby in a pram and suddenly I
felt a tug and there was Augustus trying his hardest to bite through his
lead.
Wasn't that clever?"
Poirot's eyes twinkled.
He said, "It looks to me as though Augustus shared these criminal
tendencies we were speaking of just now!"
Miss Carnaby did not laugh. Instead, her nice plunil) face grew worried
and sad.
She said in a kind of gasp, "Oh, M. Poirot, I'm so worried."
Poirot said kindly, "What is it?"
"Do ybu know, M. Poirot, I'm afraid-I really am afraid -that I must be
a hardened criminal-if I may use such a term. Ideas come to mel"
"What kind of ideas?"
"The most extraordinary ideasl For instance, yesterday, a really most
practical scheme for robbing a post office came into my head. I wasn't
thinking about it-it just camel And another very ingenious way for
evading custorn duties. I feel convinced-quite convinced-that it would
work."
"It probably would," said Poirot dryly. "That is the danger of your
ideas."
"It has worried me, M. Poirot, very much. Having been brought up with
strict principles, as I have been, it is most disturbing that such
lawless-such really wicked-ideas should come to me. The trouble is
partly, I think, that I have a good deal of leisure time now. I have
left Lady Hoggin and I am engaged by an old lady to read to her and
write her letters every day. The letters are soon done and the moment I
begin reading she goes to sleep, so I am left just sitting there-with an
idle mind-and we all know the use the devil has for idleness."
"Teha, teha," said Poirot.
"Recently I have read a book-a very modern book, translated from the
German. It throws a most interesting light on criminal tendencies. One
must, so I understand, sublimate one's impulsesl,That, really, is why I
came to you."
"Yes?" said Poirot.
"You see, M. Poirot, I think that it is really not so much wickedness
as a craving for excitementl My life has unfortunately been very
humdrum. The-er-campaign of the Pekinese dogs, I sometimes feel, was
the only time when I really lived. Very reprehensible, of course, but,
as my book says, one must not turn one's back on the truth. I came to
you, M. Poirot, because I hoped it might be possible to-t,>
sublimate that craving for excitement by employing it, if I may put it
that way, on the side of the ingels."
"Aha," said Poirot. "It is then as a colleague that you present
yourself?"
Miss Carnaby blushed.
"It is very presumptuous of me, I know. But you were so kind-"
She stopped. Her eyes, faded blue eyes, had something in them of the
pleading of a dog who hopes against hope that you will t:;ke him for a
walk.
"It is an idea," said Hercule Poirot slowly.
"I am, of course, not at all clever," explained Miss Carnaby. "But my
powers of-of dissimulation are good. They have to be-otherwise one
would be discharged from the post of companion immediately. And I have
always found that to appear even stupider than one is occasionally has
good results."
Hercule Poirot laughed. He said, "You enchant me, Mademoiselle."
"Oh, dear, M. Poirot, what a very kind man you are.
Then you do encourage me to hope? As it happens, I have just received a
small legacy-a very small one-but it enables my sister and myself to
Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Page 20
