Short Stories

by Agatha Christie

  Edward stared and stared. But there was no doubting possible. A diamond necklace worth probably thousands of pounds (for the stones were large ones) had been casually reposing in the side pocket of the car.

  But who had put it there? It had certainly not been there when he started from town. Someone must have come along when he was walking about in the snow and deliberately thrust it in. But why?

  Why choose his car? Had the owner of the necklace made a mistake? Or was it - could it possibly be - a stolen necklace?

  And then, as all these thoughts went whirling through his brain, Edward suddenly stiffened and went cold all over. This was not his car.

  It was very like it, yes. It was the same brilliant shade of scarletred as the Marchesa Bianca's lips - it had the same long and gleaming nose, but by a thousand small signs, Edward realized that it was not his car. Its shining newness was scarred here and there, it bore signs, faint but unmistakable, of wear and tear. In that case...

  Edward, without more ado, made haste to turn the car. Turning was not his strong point. With the gear in reverse, he invariably lost his head and twisted the wheel the wrong way. Also, he frequently became entangled between the accelerator and the foot brake with disastrous results. In the end, however, he succeeded, and straightaway the car began purring up the hill again.

  Edward remembered that there had been another car standing some little distance away. He had not noticed it particularly at the time. He had returned from his walk by a different path from that by which he had gone down into the hollow. This second path had brought him out on the road immediately behind, as he had thought, his own car. It must really have been the other one.

  In about ten minutes he was once more at the spot where he had halted. But there was now no car at all by the roadside. Whoever had owned this car must now have gone off in Edward's - he also, perhaps, misled by the resemblance.

  Edward took out the diamond necklace from his pocket and let it run through his fingers perplexedly.

  What to do next? Run on to the nearest police station? Explain the circumstances, hand over the necklace, and give the number of his own car.

  By the by, what was the number of his car? Edward thought and thought, but for the life of him he couldn't remember. He felt a cold sinking sensation. He was going to look the most utter fool at the police station. There was an eight in it, that was all that he could remember. Of course, it didn't really matter - at least... He looked uncomfortably at the diamonds. Supposing they should think - oh, but they wouldn't - and yet again they might - that he had stolen the car and the diamonds? Because, after all, when one came to think of it, would anyone in their senses thrust a valuable diamond necklace carelessly into the open pocket of a car?

  Edward got out and went round to the back of the motor. Its number was XRI006l. Beyond the fact that that was certainly not the number of his car, it conveyed nothing to him. Then he set to work systematically to search all the pockets. In the one where he had found the diamonds he made a discovery - a small scrap of paper with some words pencilled on it. By the light of the headlights, Edward read them easily enough.

  "Meet me, Greane, corner of Salter's Lance, ten o'clock."

  He remembered the name Greane. He had seen it on a signpost earlier in the day. In a minute, his mind was made up. He would go to this village, Greane, find Salter's Lane, meet the person who had written the note, and explain the circumstances. That would be much better than looking a fool in the local police station.

  He started off almost happily. After all, this was an adventure. This was the sort of thing that didn't happen every day. The diamond necklace made it exciting and mysterious.

  He had some little difficulty in finding Greane, and still more difficulty in finding Salter's Lane, but after calling at two cottages, he succeeded.

  Still, it was a few minutes after the appointed hour when he drove cautiously along a narrow road, keeping a sharp lookout on the left-hand side, where he had been told Salter's Lane branched off.

  He came upon it quite suddenly round a bend, and even as he drew up, a figure came forward out of the darkness.

  "At last!" a girl's voice cried. "What an age you've been, Gerald!"

  As she spoke, the girl stepped right into the glare of the headlights, and Edward caught his breath. She was the most glorious creature he had ever seen.

  She was quite young, with hair black as night, and wonderful scarlet lips. The heavy cloak that she wore swung open, and Edward saw that she was in full evening dress - a kind of flamecoloured sheath, outlining her perfect body. Round her neck was a row of exquisite pearls.

  Suddenly the girl started.

  "Why," she cried; "it isn't Gerald."

  "No," said Edward hastily. "I must explain." He took the diamond necklace from his pocket and held it out to her. "My name is Edward -"

  He got no further, for the girl clapped her hands and broke in:

  "Edward, of course! I am so glad. But that idiot Jimmy told me over the phone that he was sending Gerald along with the car. It's awfully sporting of you to come. I've been dying to meet you.

  Remember I haven't seen you since I was six years old. I see you've got the necklace all right. Shove it in your pocket again. The village policeman might come along and see it. Brrr, it's cold as ice waiting here! Let me get in."

  As though in a dream Edward opened the door, and she sprang lightly in beside him. Her furs swept his cheek, and an elusive scent, like that of violets after rain, assailed his nostrils.

  He had no plan, no definite thought even. In a minute, without conscious volition, he had yielded himself to the adventure. She had called him Edward - what matter if he were the wrong Edward? She would find him out soon enough. In the meantime, let the game go on. He let in the clutch and they glided off.

  Presently the girl laughed. Her laugh was just as wonderful as the rest of her.

  "It's easy to see you don't know much about cars. I suppose they don't have them out there?"

  "I wonder where 'out there' is?" thought Edward. Aloud he said, "Not much."

  "Better let me drive," said the girl. "It's tricky work finding your way round these lanes until we get on the main road again."

  He relinquished his place to her gladly. Presently they were humming through the night at a pace and with a recklessness that secretly appalled Edward. She turned her head towards him.

  "I like pace. Do you? You know - you're not a bit like Gerald. No one would ever take you to be brothers. You're not a bit like what I imagined, either."

  "I suppose," said Edward, "that I'm so completely ordinary. Is that it?"

  "Not ordinary - different. I can't make you out. How's poor old Jimmy? Very fed-up, I suppose?"

  "Oh, Jimmy's all right," said Edward.

  "It's easy enough to say that - but it's rough luck on him having a sprained ankle. Did he tell you the whole story?"

  "Not a word. I'm completely in the dark. I wish you'd enlighten me."

  "Oh, the thing worked like a dream. Jimmy went in at the front door, togged up in his girl's clothes. I gave him a minute or two, and then skinned up to the window. Agnes Larella's maid was there laying out Agnes's dress and jewels, and all the rest. Then there was a great yell downstairs, and the squib went off, and everyone shouted fire. The maid dashed out, and I hopped in, helped myself to the necklace, and was out and down in a flash, and out of the place the back way across the Punch Bowl. I shoved the necklace and the notice where to pick me up in the pocket of the car in passing. Then I joined Louise at the hotel, having shed my snow boots, of course. Perfect alibi for me. She'd no idea I'd been out at all."

  "And what about Jimmy?"

  "Well, you know more about that than I do."

  "Well, in the general rag, he caught his foot in his skirt and managed to sprain it. They had to carry him to the car, and the Larellas' chauffeur drove him home. Just fancy if the chauffeur had happened to put his hand in the pocket!"

  Edward laughed with
her, but his mind was busy. He understood the position more or less now. The name of Larella was vaguely familiar to him - it was a name that spelt wealth. This girl, and an unknown man called Jimmy, had conspired together to steal the necklace, and had succeeded. Owing to his sprained ankle and the presence of the Larellas' chauffeur, Jimmy had not been able to look in the pocket of the car before telephoning to the girl probably had had no wish to do so. But it was almost certain that the other unknown "Gerald" would do so at any early opportunity.

  And in it, he would find Edward's muffler!

  "Good going," said the girl.

  A train flashed past them, they were on the outskirts of London.

  They flashed in and out of the traffic. Edward's heart stood in his mouth. She was a wonderful driver, this girl, but she took risks!

  Quarter of an hour later they drew up before an imposing house in a frigid square.

  "We can shed some of our clothing here," said the girl, "before we go on to Ritson's."

  "Ritson's?" queried Edward. He mentioned the famous nightclub almost reverently.

  "Yes, didn't Gerald tell you?"

  "He did not," said Edward grimly. "What about my clothes?"

  She frowned.

  "Didn't they tell you anything? We'll rig you up somehow. We've got to carry this through."

  A stately butler opened the door and stood aside to let them enter.

  "Mr Gerald Champneys rang up, your ladyship. He was very anxious to speak to you, but he wouldn't leave a message."

  "I bet he was anxious to speak to her," said Edward to himself. "At any rate, I know my full name now. Edward Champneys. But who is she? Your ladyship, they called her. What does she want to steal a necklace for? Bridge debts?"

  In the magazine stories which he occasionally read, the beautiful and titled heroine was always driven desperate by bridge debts.

  Edward was led away by the stately butler and delivered over to a smooth-mannered valet. A quarter of an hour later he rejoined his hostess in the hall, exquisitely attired in evening clothes made in Savile Row which fitted him to a nicety.

  Heavens! What a night!

  They drove in the car to the famous Ritson's. In common with everyone else, Edward had read scandalous paragraphs concerning Ritson's. Anyone who was anyone turned up at Ritson's sooner or later. Edward's only fear was that someone who knew the real Edward Champneys might turn up. He consoled himself by the reflection that the real man had evidently been out of England for some years.

  Sitting at a little table against the wall, they sipped cocktails.

  Cocktails! To the simple Edward they represented the quintessence of the fast life. The girl, wrapped in a wonderful embroidered shawl, sipped nonchalantly. Suddenly she dropped the shawl from her shoulders and rose.

  "Let's dance."

  Now the one thing that Edward could do to perfection was to dance. When he and Maud took the floor together at the Palais de Danse, lesser lights stood still and watched in admiration.

  "I nearly forgot," said the girl suddenly. "The necklace?"

  She held out her hand. Edward, completely bewildered drew it from his pocket and gave it to her. To his utter amazement, she coolly clasped it round her neck. Then she smiled up at him intoxicatingly.

  "Now," she said softly, "we'll dance."

  They danced. And in all Ritson's nothing more perfect could be seen.

  Then, as at length they returned to their table, an old gentleman with a would-be rakish air accosted Edward's companion.

  "Ah! Lady Noreen, always dancing! Yes, yes. Is Captain Folliot here tonight?"

  "Jimmy's taken a toss - racked his ankle."

  "You don't say so? How did that happen?"

  "No details as yet."

  She laughed and passed on.

  Edward followed, his brain in a whirl. He knew now. Lady Noreen Elliot, the famous Lady Noreen herself, perhaps the most talked-of girl in England. Celebrated for her beauty, for her daring - the leader of that set known as the Bright Young People. Her engagement to Captain James Folliot, V.C., of the Household Cavalry, had been recently announced.

  But the necklace? He still couldn't understand the necklace. He must risk giving himself away, but know he must.

  As they sat down again, he pointed to it.

  "Why that, Noreen?" he said. "Tell me why?"

  She smiled dreamily, her eyes far away, the spell of the dance still holding her.

  "It's difficult for you to understand, I suppose. One gets so tired to the same thing - always the same thing. Treasure hunts were all very well for a while, but one gets used to everything. 'Burglaries' were my idea. Fifty pounds' entrance fee, and lots to be drawn.

  This is the third. Jimmy and I drew Agnes Larella. You know the rules? Burglary to be carried out within three days and the loot to be worn for at least an hour in a public place, or you forfeit your stake and a hundred-pound fine. It's rough luck on Jimmy spraining his ankle, but we'll scoop the pool all right."

  "I see," said Edward, drawing a deep breath. "I see."

  Noreen rose suddenly, pulling her shawl round her.

  "Drive me somewhere in the car. Down to the docks. Somewhere horrible and exciting. Wait a minute -" She reached up and unclasped the diamonds from her neck. "You'd better take these again. I don't want to be murdered for them."

  They went out of Ritson's together. The car stood in a small bystreet, narrow and dark. As they turned the corner towards it, another car drew up to the curb, and a young man sprang out.

  "Thank the Lord, Noreen, I've got hold of you at last," he cried.

  "There's the devil to pay. That ass Jimmy got off with the wrong car. God knows where those diamonds are at this minute. We're in the devil of a mess."

  Lady Noreen stared at him.

  "What do you mean? We've got the diamonds - at least Edward has."

  "Edward?"

  "Yes." She might a slight gesture to indicate the figure by her side.

  "It's I who am in the devil of a mess," thought Edward. "Ten to one this is brother Gerald."

  The young man stared at him.

  "What do you mean?" he said slowly. "Edward's in Scotland."

  "Oh!" cried the girl. She stared at Edward. "Oh!"

  Her colour came and went.

  "So you," she said in a low voice, "are the real thing?"

  It took Edward just one minute to grasp the situation. There was awe in the girl's eyes - was it, could it be - admiration? Should he explain? Nothing so tame! He would play up to the end.

  He bowed ceremoniously.

  "I have to thank you, Lady Noreen," he said in the best highwayman manner, "for a most delightful evening."

  One quick look he cast at the car from which the other had just alighted. A scarlet car with a shining bonnet. His car!

  "And I will wish you good evening."

  One quick spring and he was inside, his foot on the clutch. The car started forward. Gerald stood paralyzed, but the girl was quicker.

  As the car slid past, she leapt for it, alighting on the running board.

  The car swerved, shot blindly round the corner and pulled up, Noreen, still panting from her spring, laid her hand on Edward's arm.

  "You must give it me - oh, you must give it me. I've got to return it to Agnes Larella. Be a sport - we've had a good evening together we've danced - we've been - pals. Won't you give it to me? To me?"

  A woman who intoxicated you with her beauty. There were such women then...

  Also, Edward was only too anxious to get rid of the necklace. It was a heaven-sent opportunity for a beau geste.

  He took it from his pocket and dropped it into her outstretched hand.

  "We've been - pals," he said.

  "Ah!" Her eyes smouldered - lit up.

  Then surprisingly she bent her head to him. For a moment he held her, her lips against his...

  Then she jumped off. The scarlet car sped forward with a great leap.

  Romance!

  Adve
nture!

  At twelve o'clock on Christmas Day, Edward Robinson strode into the tiny drawing room of a house in Clapham, with the customary greeting of "Merry Christmas."

  Maud, who was rearranging a piece of holly, greeted him coldly.

  "Have a good day in the country with that friend of yours?" she inquired.

  "Look here," said Edward. "That was a lie I told you. I won a competition - £500, and I bought a car with it. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd kick up a row about it. That's the first thing.

  I've bought the car and there's nothing more to be said about it.

  The second thing is this - I'm not going to hang about for years. My prospects are quite good enough and I mean to marry you next month. See?"

  "Oh!" said Maud faintly.

  Was this - could this be - Edward speaking in this masterful fashion?

  "Will you?" said Edward. "Yes or no?"

  She gazed at him, fascinated. There was awe and admiration in her eyes, and the sight of that look was intoxicating to Edward.

  Gone was that patient motherliness which had roused him to exasperation.

  So had the Lady Noreen looked at him last night. But the Lady Noreen had receded far away, right into the region of Romance, side by side with the Marchesa Bianca. This was the Real Thing.

  This was his woman.

  "Yes or no?" he repeated, and drew a step nearer.

  "Ye-ye-es," faltered Maud. "But, oh, Edward, what has happened to you? You're quite different today."

  "Yes," said Edward. "For twenty-four hours I've been a man instead of a worm - and, by God, it pays!"

  He caught her in his arms almost as Bill the superman might have done.

  "Do you love me, Maud? Tell me, do you love me?"

  "Oh, Edward!" breathed Maud. "I adore you..."

  ACCIDENT

  "And I tell you this - it's the same woman - not a doubt of it!" Captain Haydock looked into the eager, vehement face of his friend and sighed. He wished Evans would not be so positive and so jubilant. In the course of a career spent at sea, the old sea captain had learned to leave things that did not concern him well alone. His friend Evans, late C.I.D. Inspector, had a different philosophy of life. "Acting on information received -" had been his motto in early days, and he had improved upon it to the extent of finding out his own information. Inspector Evans had been a very smart, wide-awake officer, and had justly earned the promotion which had been his. Even now, when he had retired from the force, and had settled down in the country cottage of his dreams, his professional instinct was still active. "Don't often forget a face," he reiterated complacently. "Mrs Anthony - yes, it's Mrs Anthony right enough. When you said Mrs Merrowdene - I knew her at once." Captain Haydock stirred uneasily. The Merrowdenes