Cat Among the Pigeons. Agatha Christie

      

       Copyright

      Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by

      Collins 1959

      Copyright © 1959 Agatha Christie Ltd.

      All rights reserved.

       www.agathachristie.com

      Ebook Edition 2010 ISBN: 9780007422210

      Version: 2017-04-12

      The moral right of the author is asserted

      All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.

      For Stella and Larry Kirwan

      Contents

Copyright

Prologue Summer Term

1 Revolution in Ramat

2 The Woman on the Balcony

3 Introducing Mr Robinson

4 Return of a Traveller

5 Letters from Meadowbank School

       6 Early Days

       7 Straws in the Wind

       8 Murder

       9 Cat Among the Pigeons

       10 Fantastic Story

       11 Conference

       12 New Lamps for Old

       13 Catastrophe

       14 Miss Chadwick Lies Awake

       15 Murder Repeats Itself

       16 The Riddle of the Sports Pavilion

       17 Aladdin’s Cave

       18 Consultation

       19 Consultation Continued

       20 Conversation

       21 Gathering Threads

       22 Incident in Anatolia

       23 Showdown

       24 Poirot Explains

       25 Legacy

       E-book Extras

       About Agatha Christie

       The Agatha Christie Collection

       www.agathachristie.com

       About the Publisher

       Prologue

       Summer Term

      It was the opening day of the summer term at Meadowbank school. The late afternoon sun shone down on the broad gravel sweep in front of the house. The front door was flung hospitably wide, and just within it, admirably suited to its Georgian proportions, stood Miss Vansittart, every hair in place, wearing an impeccably cut coat and skirt.

      Some parents who knew no better had taken her for the great Miss Bulstrode herself, not knowing that it was Miss Bulstrode’s custom to retire to a kind of holy of holies to which only a selected and privileged few were taken.

      To one side of Miss Vansittart, operating on a slightly different plane, was Miss Chadwick, comfortable, knowledgeable, and so much a part of Meadowbank that it would have been impossible to imagine Meadowbank without her. It had never been without her. Miss Bulstrode and Miss Chadwick had started Meadowbank school together. Miss Chadwick wore pince-nez, stooped, was dowdily dressed, amiably vague in speech, and happened to be a brilliant mathematician.

      Various welcoming words and phrases, uttered graciously by Miss Vansittart, floated through the house.

      ‘How do you do, Mrs Arnold? Well, Lydia, did you enjoy your Hellenic cruise? What a wonderful opportunity! Did you get some good photographs?

      ‘Yes, Lady Garnett, Miss Bulstrode had your letter about the Art Classes and everything’s been arranged.

      ‘How are you, Mrs Bird?…Well? I don’t think Miss Bulstrode will have time today to discuss the point. Miss Rowan is somewhere about if you’d like to talk to her about it?

      ‘We’ve moved your bedroom, Pamela. You’re in the far wing by the apple tree…

      ‘Yes, indeed, Lady Violet, the weather has been terrible so far this spring. Is this your youngest? What is your name? Hector? What a nice aeroplane you have, Hector.

      ‘Très heureuse de vous voir, Madame. Ah, je regrette, ce ne serait pas possible, cette après-midi. Mademoiselle Bulstrode est tellement occupée.

      ‘Good afternoon, Professor. Have you been digging up some more interesting things?’

      II

      In a small room on the first floor, Ann Shapland, Miss Bulstrode’s secretary, was typing with speed and efficiency. Ann was a nice-looking young woman of thirty-five, with hair that fitted her like a black satin cap. She could be attractive when she wanted to be but life had taught her that efficiency and competence often paid better results and avoided painful complications. At the moment she was concentrating on being everything that a secretary to the headmistress of a famous girls’ school should be.

      From time to time, as she inserted a fresh sheet in her machine, she looked out of the window and registered interest in the arrivals.

      ‘Goodness!’ said Ann to herself, awed, ‘I didn’t know there were so many chauffeurs left in England!’

      Then she smiled in spite of herself, as a majestic Rolls moved away and a very small Austin of battered age drove up. A harassed-looking father emerged from it with a daughter who looked far calmer than he did.

      As he paused uncertainly, Miss Vansittart emerged from the house and took charge.

      ‘Major Hargreaves? And this is Alison? Do come into the house. I’d like you to see Alison’s room for yourself. I—’

      Ann grinned and began to type again.

      ‘Good old Vansittart, the glorified understudy,’ she said to herself. ‘She can copy all the Bulstrode’s tricks. In fact she’s word perfect!’

      An enormous and almost incredibly opulent Cadillac, painted