In that case it was no good looking. Whatever it was, was gone.
The sound of footsteps outside aroused him from his thoughts. He was on his feet and lighting a cigarette in the middle of the floor when Julia Upjohn appeared in the doorway, hesitating a little.
"Anything you want, miss?" asked Adam.
"I wondered if I could have my tennis racquet."
"Don't see why not," said Adam. "Police constable left me here," he explained mendaciously. "Had to drop back to the station for something. Told me to stop here while he was away."
"To see if he came back, I suppose," said Julia.
"The police constable?"
"No. I mean the murderer. They do, don't they? Come back to the scene of the crime. They have to! It's a compulsion."
"You may be right," said Adam. He looked up at the serried rows of racquets in their presses. "Whereabouts is yours?"
"Under U," said Julia. "Right at the far end. We have our names on them," she explained, pointing out the adhesive tape as he handed the racquet to her.
"Seen some service," said Adam. "But been a good racquet once."
"Can I have Jennifer Sutcliffe's, too?" asked Julia.
"New," said Adam appreciatively, as he handed it to her.
"Brand new," said Julia. "Her aunt sent it to her only the other day."
"Lucky girl."
"She ought to have a good racquet. She's very good at tennis. Her backhand's come on like anything this term." She looked round. "Don't you think he will come back?"
Adam was a moment or two getting it.
"Oh. The murderer? No, I don't think it's really likely. Bit risky, wouldn't it be?"
"You don't think murderers feel they have to?"
"Not unless they've left something behind."
"You mean a clue? I'd like to find a clue. Have the police found one?"
"They wouldn't tell me."
"No. I suppose they wouldn't... Are you interested in crime?"
She looked at him inquiringly. He returned her glance. There was, as yet, nothing of the woman in her. She must be of much the same age as Shaista, but her eyes held nothing but interested inquiry.
"Well - I suppose - up to a point - we all are."
Julia nodded in agreement.
"Yes. I think so, too... I can think of all sorts of solutions - but most of them are very farfetched. It's rather fun, though."
"You weren't fond of Miss Vansittart?"
"I never really thought about her. She was all right. A bit like the Bull - Miss Bulstrode - but not really like her. More like an understudy in a theatre. I didn't mean that it was fun she was dead. I'm sorry about that."
She walked out holding the two racquets.
Adam remained looking round the Pavilion.
"What the hell could there ever have been here?" he muttered to himself.
IV
"Good Lord," said Jennifer, allowing Julia's forehand drive to pass her. "There's Mummy."
The two girls turned to stare at the agitated figure of Mrs. Sutcliffe, shepherded by Miss Rich, rapidly arriving and gesticulating as she did so.
"More fuss, I suppose," said Jennifer resignedly. "It's the murder. You are lucky, Julia, that your mother's safely on a bus in the Caucasus."
"There's still Aunt Isabel."
"Aunts don't mind in the same way.
"Hullo, Mummy," she added, as Mrs. Sutcliffe arrived.
"You must come and pack your things, Jennifer. I'm taking you back with me."
"Back home?"
"Yes."
"But - you don't mean altogether? Not for good?"
"Yes. I do."
"But you can't - really. My tennis has come on like anything. I've got a very good chance of winning the singles and Julia and I might win the doubles, though I don't think it's very likely."
"You're coming home with me today."
"Why?"
"Don't ask questions."
"I suppose it's because of Miss Springer and Miss Vansittart being murdered. But no one's murdered any of the girls. I'm sure they wouldn't want to. And Sports Day is in three weeks' time. I think I shall win the long jump and I've a good chance for the hurdling."
"Don't argue with me, Jennifer. You're coming back with me today. Your father insists."
"But, Mummy -"
Arguing persistently Jennifer moved toward the house by her mother's side.
Suddenly she broke away and ran back to the tennis court.
"Good by, Julia. Mummy seems to have got the wind up thoroughly. Daddy, too, apparently. Sickening, isn't it? Goodbye. I'll write to you."
"I'll write to you, too, and tell you all that happens."
"I hope they don't kill Chaddy next. I'd rather it was Mademoiselle Blanche, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. She's the one we could spare best. I say, did you notice how black Miss Rich was looking?"
"She hasn't said a word. She's furious at Mummy coming and taking me away."
"Perhaps she'll stop her. She's very forceful, isn't she? Not like anyone else."
"She reminds me of someone," said Jennifer.
"I don't think she's a bit like anybody. She always seems to be quite different."
"Oh, yes. She is different. I meant in appearance. But the person I knew was quite fat."
"I can't imagine Miss Rich being fat."
"Jennifer..." called Mrs. Sutcliffe.
"I do think parents are trying," said Jennifer crossly. "Fuss, fuss, fuss. They never stop. I do think you're lucky to -"
"I know. You said that before. But just at the moment, let me tell you, I wish Mummy were a good deal nearer, and not on a bus in Anatolia."
"Jennifer..."
"Coming..."
Julia walked slowly in the direction of the Sports Pavilion. Her steps grew slower and slower and finally she stopped altogether. She stood, frowning, lost in thought.
The luncheon bell sounded, but she hardly heard it. She stared down at the racquet she was holding, moved a step or two along the path, then wheeled round and marched determinedly toward the house. She went in by the front door, which was not allowed, and thereby avoided meeting any of the other girls. The hall was empty. She ran up the stairs to her small bedroom, looked round her hurriedly, then lifting the mattress on her bed, shoved the racquet flat beneath it. Then, rapidly smoothing her hair, she walked demurely downstairs to the dining room.
Chapter 17
ALLADIN'S CAVE
The girls went up to bed that night more quietly than usual. For one thing their numbers were much depleted. At least thirty of them had gone home. The others reacted according to their several dispositions. Excitement, trepidation, a certain amount of giggling that was purely nervous in origin, and there were some again who were merely quiet and thoughtful.
Julia Upjohn went up quietly among the first wave. She went into her room and closed the door. She stood there listening to the whispers, giggles, footsteps, and goodnights. Then silence closed down - or a near silence. Faint voices echoed in the distance, and footsteps went to and fro to the bathroom.
There was no lock on the door. Julia pulled a chair against it, with the top of the chair wedged under the handle. That would give her warning if anyone should come in. But no one was likely to come in. It was strictly forbidden for the girls to go into each other's rooms, and the only mistress who did so was Miss Johnson, if one of the girls was ill or out of sorts.
Julia went to bed, lifted up the mattress and groped under it. She brought out the tennis racquet and stood a moment holding it. She had decided to examine it now, and not later. A light in 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 past ten 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, the woman 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 about this particular tennis racquet. Jennifer and Julia had never mentioned to anyone that they had swapped 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 it was up to her to find out why! She examined it carefully. There was nothing unusual about it to look at. It was a good quality racquet, somewhat the worse for wear, but restrung and eminently usable. Jennifer had complained of the balance.
The only place you could possibly conceal anything in a tennis racquet was in the handle. You could, she supposed, hollow out the handle to make a hiding place. It sounded a little farfetched but it was possible. And if the handle had been tampered with, that probably would upset the balance.
There was a round of leather with lettering on it, the lettering almost worn away. That of course was only stuck on. If one removed that? Julia sat down at her dressing table and attacked it with a penknife and presently managed to pull the leather off. Inside was a round of thin wood. It didn't look quite right. There was a join all round it. Julia dug in her penknife. The blade snapped. Nail scissors were more effective. She succeeded at last in prizing it out. A mottled red and blue substance now showed. Julia poked it and enlightenment came to her. Modelling clay! But surely handles of tennis racquets didn't normally contain clay? She grasped the nail scissors firmly and began to dig out lumps of clay. The stuff was encasing something. Something that felt like buttons or pebbles.
She attacked the clay 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 woman looking at jewels...
All sorts of fantastic snatches of thought raced through her brain. Aladdin's cave... Marguerite and 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 flashing necklace round her throat...
She sat and gloated and dreamed. She held the stones in her fingers and let them fall through in a rivulet of fire, a flashing stream of wonder and delight.
And then, some slight sound perhaps, recalled her to herself.
She sat thinking, trying to use her common sense, deciding what she ought to do. That faint sound had alarmed her. She swept up the stones, took them to the washstand and thrust them into her sponge bag and rammed her sponge and nail brush down on top of them. Then she went back to the tennis racquet, forced the putty back inside it, replaced the wooden top and tried to gum down the leather on top again. It curled upward, but she managed to deal with that by applying adhesive tape the wrong way up in thin strips and then pressing the leather onto it.
It was done. The racquet looked and felt just as before, its weight hardly altered in feel. She looked 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 sat listening. Was that a footstep outside?
Suddenly and unexpectedly she knew fear. Two people had been killed. If anyone knew what she 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 of the door, wishing that it was the custom at Meadowbank to have keys in the locks. She went to the window, pulled up the top sash and bolted it. There was no tree growing near the window and no creepers. She doubted if it was possible for anyone to come in that way but she was not going to take any chances.
She looked at her small clock. Half past ten. She drew a deep breath and turned out the light. No one must notice anything unusual. She pulled back the curtain a little from the window. There was a full moon and she could see the door clearly. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed. In her hand 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. And then, if lots of people come, I'll say I had a nightmare. Anyone might have a nightmare after all the 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 it stop 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 the person 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 had a right to knock, they'd call out, rattle the handle, make a noise. But this person couldn't afford to make a noise...
For a long time Julia sat there. The knock was not repeated, the handle stayed immovable. But Julia sat tense and alert.
She sat like that for a long time. She never knew herself how long it was before sleep overcame her. The school bell finally awoke her, lying in a cramped and uncomfortable heap on the edge of her bed.
II
After breakfast, the girls went upstairs and made their beds, then went down to prayers in the big hall and finally dispersed to various classrooms.
