Cat Among the Pigeons by Agatha Christie Page B

very important,” said Derek O’Connor. “Well, now,” he smiled at her. “Suppose we begin.”
    II
    Three-quarters of an hour later Jennifer returned from her tea. She looked round the room and gave a gasp of surprise.
    â€œMummy, what have you been doing?”
    â€œWe’ve been unpacking,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe crossly. “Now we’re packing things up again. This is Mr. O’Connor. My daughter Jennifer.”
    â€œBut why are you packing and unpacking?”
    â€œDon’t ask me why,” snapped her mother. “There seems to be some idea that your Uncle Bob put something in my luggage to bring home. He didn’t give you anything, I suppose, Jennifer?”
    â€œUncle Bob give me anything to bring back? No. Have you been unpacking my things too?”
    â€œWe’ve unpacked everything,” said Derek O’Connor cheerfully, “and we haven’t found a thing and now we’re packing them up again. I think you ought to have a drink of tea or something, Mrs. Sutcliffe. Can I order you something? A brandy and soda perhaps?” He went to the telephone.
    â€œI wouldn’t mind a good cup of tea,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe.
    â€œI had a smashing tea,” said Jennifer. “Bread and butter and sandwiches and cake and then the waiter brought me more sandwiches because I asked him if he’d mind and he said he didn’t. It was lovely.”
    O’Connor ordered the tea, then he finished packing up Mrs. Sutcliffe’s belongings again with a neatness and a dexterity which forced her unwilling admiration.
    â€œYour mother seems to have trained you to pack very well,” she said.
    â€œOh, I’ve all sorts of handy accomplishments,” said O’Connor smiling.
    His mother was long since dead, and his skill in packing and unpacking had been acquired solely in the service of Colonel Pikeaway.
    â€œThere’s just one thing more, Mrs. Sutcliffe. I’d like you to be very careful of yourself.”
    â€œCareful of myself? In what way?”
    â€œWell,” O’Connor left it vague. “Revolutions are tricky things. There are a lot of ramifications. Are you staying in London long?”
    â€œWe’re going down to the country tomorrow. My husband will be driving us down.”
    â€œThat’s all right then. But—don’t take any chances. If anything in the least out of the ordinary happens, ring 999 straight away.”
    â€œOoh!” said Jennifer, in high delight. “Dial 999. I’ve always wanted to.”
    â€œDon’t be silly, Jennifer,” said her mother.
    III
    Extract from account in a local paper.
    A man appeared before the Magistrate’s court yesterday charged with breaking into the residence of Mr. Henry Sutcliffe with intent to steal. Mrs. Sutcliffe’s bedroom was ransacked and left in wild confusion whilst the members of the family were at Church on Sunday morning. The kitchen staff who were preparing the midday meal, heard nothing. Police arrested the man as he was making his escape from the house. Something had evidently alarmed him and he had fled without taking anything.
    Giving his name as Andrew Ball of no fixed abode, he pleaded guilty. He said he had been out of work and was looking for money. Mrs. Sutcliffe’s jewellery, apart from a few pieces which she was wearing, is kept at her bank.
    â€œI told you to have the lock of that drawing room french window seen to,” had been the comment of Mr. Sutcliffe in the family circle.
    â€œMy dear Henry,” said Mrs. Sutcliffe, “you don’t seem to realize that I have been abroad for the last three months. And anyway, I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that if burglars want to get in they always can.”
    She added wistfully, as she glanced again at the local paper:
    â€œHow beautifully grand ‘kitchen staff’ sounds. So different from what it really is, old Mrs. Ellis who is