On the whole, he supposed, he ought to consider himself a lucky young man. He had an excellent berth--a clerkship
in a flourishing concern. He had good health, no one dependent
upon him, and he was engaged to Maud.
But the mere thought of Maud brought a shadow over his face. Though he would never have admitted it, he was
afraid of Maud. He loved her--yes--he still remembered
38
THE MANHOOD OF EDWARD ROBINSON 39
the thrill with which he had admired the back of her white neck rising out of the cheap four and elevenpenny blouse
on the first occasion they had met. He had sat behind her
at the cinema, and the friend he was with had known her
and had introduced them. No doubt about it, Maud was
very Superior. She was good-looking and clever and very
ladylike, and she was always right about everything. The
kind of girl, everyone said, who would make such an excellent
wife.
Edward wondered whether the Marchesa Bianca would have made an excellent wife. Somehow, he doubted it. He
couldn't picture the voluptuous Bianca, with her red lips
and her swaying form, tamely sewing on buttons, say, for
the virile Bill. No, Bianca was Romance, and this was real
life. He and Maud would be very happy together. She had
so much common sense...
But all the same, he wished that she wasn't quite so--well, sharp in manner. So prone to "jump upon him."
It was, of course, her prudence and her common sense which made her do so. Maud was very sensible. And, as a
rule, Edward was very sensible too, but sometimes-- He
had wanted to get married this Christmas, for instance.
Maud had pointed out how much more prudent it would be
to wait a while--a year or two, perhaps. His salary was
not large. He had wanted to give her an expensive ring--she
had been horror-stricken, and had forced him to take it
back and exchange it for a cheaper one. Her qualitites were
all excellent qualitites, but sometimes Edward wished that
she had more faults and less virtues. It was her virtues that
drove him to desperate deeds.
For instance--
A blush of guilt overspread his face. He had got to tell-her--and tell her soon. His secret guilt was already making
him behave strangely. Tomorrow was the first of three days'
holiday, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day.
She had suggested that he should come around and spend
the day with her people, and in a clumsy, foolish manner,
a manner that could not fail to arouse her suspicions, he had
managed to get out of it--had told a long, lying story about
a pal of his in the country with whom he had promised to
spend the day.
40 Agatha Christie
And there was no pal in the country. There was only his
guilty secret.
Three months ago, Edward Robinson, in company with
a few hundred thousand other young men, had gone in for
a competition in one of the weekly papers. Twelve girls'
names had to be arranged in order of popularity. Edward
had had a brilliant idea. His own preference was sure to be
wrong--he had noticed that in several similar competitions.
He wrote down the twelve names arranged in his own order
of merit, then he wrote them down again, this time placing
one from the top and one from the bottom of the list alternately.
When the result was announced, Edward had got eight
right out of the twelve, and was awarded the first prize of
£500. This result, which might easily be ascribed to luck,
Edward persisted in regarding as the direct outcome of his
"system." He was inordinately proud of himself.
The next thing was, what to do with the £500? He knew
very well what Maud would say. Invest it. A nice little nest
egg for the future. And, of course, Maud would be quite
right, he knew that. But to win money as the result of a
competition is an entirely different feeling from anything
else in the world.
Had the money been left to him as a legacy, Edward
would have invested it religiously in Conversion Loan or
Savings Certificates as a matter of course. But money that
one has achieved by a mere stroke of the pen, by a lucky
and unbelievable chance, comes under the same heading as
a child's sixpence--"for your very own--to spend as you
like."
And in a certain rich shop which he passed daily on his
way to the office, was the unbelievable dream, a small two-seater
car, with a long shining nose, and the price clearly
displayed on it £465.
"If I were rich," Edward had said to it, day after day.
"If I were rich, I'd have you."
And now he was--if not rich--at least possessed of a
lump sum of money sufficient to realize his dream. That
car, that shining, alluring piece of loveliness, was his if he
cared to pay the price.
He had meant to tell Maud about the money. Once he
had
tatk
neY,
it c]
Fie
hou
THE MANHOOD OF EDWARD ROBINSON 41
tld her, he would have secured himself against tmp-In
face of Maud's horror and disapproval, he ould
r have the coarage to persist in his madness· But, as
Mced, it was Maud herself who clinched the matter·
taken her to the cinema--and to the best seats in the
crir :' She had pointed out to him, kindly but firmly, the
thre lal folly of his behaviour--wasting good money--
saw and sixpence against two and fourpence, when one
l?st as well from the latter placeSn s. i empre scionS.., n!fi
She q Rot be allowed to continue in these e
g
, ' '
-
-d Edward but she realized that he was weaK.
r
h;task of bei'ng ever at hand .to infiue..n, ce ,him in:r
with he should go. She observed hs wormtlce aeme
E,tisfaction .....
ue rqvard was indeed wormlike. Like· worms, .ne
inlhained crushed by her words, but t w. as at that preCiSe
"e that he made up his mind to buy e car. .
life run it," said Edward to himself· F,o,r once
· '!'11 do what I like· Maud can go hang! .
of nl1 the very next morning he had walked i.nto thaot
;,,,,' ae -lass with its lordly inmates in their glory oI
thin,prised himself, he bought the car. It was the easiest
It the world, buying a car!
outw'd been his for four days now. He had gone dimout,
Mauq c[ly calm, but inwardly bathed in ecstasy. And to
his the had as yet breathed no word. For four dayS, in
dling cheon hour, he had received instruction !,n the hanTf
the lovely creature. He was an apt,pu,plL
the Cotrow, Christmas Eve, he was to ta!e n,e,r,.out
if ne%try. He had lied to Maud, and he woma .e. a
for alaion·It stood to him for Romance, or a
¥omhe things that he had longed for an.d had ri. ever r'
They ow, he and his mistress would take the road togen ·
and'f ould rush through the keen cold air, leaving the throb
clear ' of London far behind them--out into the wide,
Ii
s moment, Edward, though he did not know it, was
42
Agatha Christie
very near to being a poet.
Tomorrow--
He looked down at the book in his hand--When Love Is
King. He laughed and stuffed it into his pocket. The car,
and the red lips of the Marchesa Bianca, and the amazing
prowess of Bill seemed all mixed up together. Tomorrow--
The weather, usually a sorry jade to those who count
upon her, was kindly disposed towards Edward. She gave
him the day of his dreams, a day of glittering frost, and
pale-blue sky, and a primrose-yellow sun.
So, in a mood of high adventure, of daredevil wickedness,
Edward drove out of London. There was trouble at
Hyde Park Corner, and a sad contretemps at Putney Bridge,
there was much protesting of gears, and a frequent jarring
of brakes, and much abuse was freely showered upon Edward
by the drivers of other vehicles. But for a novice he
did not acquit himself so badly, and presently he came out
onto one of those fair, wide roads that are the joy of the
motorist. There was little congestion on this particular road
today. Edward drove on and on, drank with his mastery
over this creature of the gleaming sides, speeding through
the cold white world with the elation of a god.
It was a delirious day. He stopped for lunch at an old-fashioned
inn, and again later for tea. Then reluctantly he
turned homewards--back again to London, to Maud, to the
inevitable explanation, recriminations...
He shook off the thought with a sigh. Let tomorrow look
after itself. He still had today. And what could be more
fascinating than this? Rushing through the darkness, with
the headlights searching out the way in front. Why, this
was the best of all!
He judged that he had no time to stop anywhere for
dinner. This driving through the darkness was a ticklish
business. It was going to take longer to get back to London
than he had thought. It was just eight o'clock when he passed
through Hindhead and came out upon the rim of the Devil's
Punch Bowl. There was moonlight, and the snow that had
fallen two days ago was still unmelted.
He stopped the car and stood stating. What did it matter
if he didn't get back to London until midnight? What did
it matter if he never got back? He wasn't going to tear
I
THE MANHOOD OF EDWARD ROBINSON
43
himself away from this all at once.
He got out of the car and approached the edge. There
was a path winding down temptingly near him. Edward
yielded to the spell. For the next half-hour he wandered
deliriously in a snowbound world. Never had he imagined
anything quite like this. And it was his, his very own, given
to him by his shining mistress who waited for him faithfully
on the road above.
He climbed up again, got into the car and drove off, still
a little dizzy from that discovery of sheer beauty which
comes to the most prosaic men once in a while.
Then, with a sigh, he came to himself, and thrust his
hand into the pocket of the car where he had stuffed an
additional muffler earlier in the day.
But the muffler was no longer there. The pocket was
empty. No, not completely empty--there was something
scratchy and hard--like pebbles.
Edward thrust his hand deep down. In another minute
he was staring like a man bereft of his senses. The object
that he held in his hand, dangling from his fingers, with the
moonlight striking a hundred fires from it, was a diamond
necklace.
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 scarlet--red 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...
44
Agatha Christie
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
----sanding 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
stolc, n 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 XRI0061. 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
I
THE MANHOOD OF EDWARD ROBINSON
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 Saher'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 sarted 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 cautigusly 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 flame-coloured 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
The Golden Ball and Other Stories Page 6