The Listerdale Mystery

by Agatha Christie

  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 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 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 shinned up to the window. Agnes Larella's maid was there laying out Agnes'

  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 by 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 dress 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 situation 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 an early opportunity. And in it, he would find Edward's muffler!

  "Good going," said the girl.

  A tram 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 fore 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 night-club 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 feuilletons 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. It 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 unclapsed 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 by-street, 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 Jimmy ass got of 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. This 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 s forward. Gerald stood paralysed, 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!

  Adventure!

  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 CID 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 alive.

  "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 were his nearest neighbours, barring Evans himself, and this identifying of Mrs Merrowdene with a former heroine of a cause célèbre distressed him.

  "It's a long time ago," he said rather weakly.

  "Nine years," said Evans, accurate as ever. "Nine years and three months. You remember the case?"

  "In a vague sort of way."

  "Anthony turned out to be an arsenic eater," said Evans, "so they acquitted her."

  "Well, why shouldn't they?"

  "No reason in the world. Only verdict they could give on the evidence. Absolutely correct."

  "Then that's all right," said Haydock. "And I don't see what we're bothering about."

  "Who's bothering?"

  "I thought you were."

  "Not at all."

  "The thing's over and done with," summed up the captain. "If Mrs Merrowdene at one time of her life was unfortunate enough to be tried and acquitted for murder - "

  "It's not usually considered unfortunate to be acquitted," put in Evans.

  "You know what I mean," said Captain Haydock irritably. "If the poor lady has been through that harrowing experience, it's no business of ours to rake it up, is it?" Evans did not answer.

  "Come now, Evans. The lady was innocent - you've just said so."

  "I didn't say she was innocent. I said she was acquitted."

  "It's the same thing."

  "Not always."

  Captain Haydock, who had commenced to tap his pipe out against the side of his chair, stopped, and sat up with a
very alert expression.

  "Hallo - allo - allo," he said. "The wind's in that quarter, is it? You think she wasn't innocent?"

  "I wouldn't say that. I just - don't know. Anthony was in the habit of taking arsenic. His wife got it for him. One day, by mistake, he takes far too much. Was the mistake his or his wife's? Nobody could tell, and the jury very properly gave her the benefit of the doubt. That's all quite right and I'm not finding fault with it. All the same - I'd like to know."

  Captain Haydock transferred his attention to his pipe once more.

  "Well," he said comfortably. "It's none of our business."

  "I'm not so sure..."

  "But surely - "

  "Listen to me a minute. This man, Merrowdene - in his laboratory this evening, fiddling round with tests - you remember - "

  "Yes. He mentioned Marsh's test for arsenic. Said you would know all about it - it was in your line - and chuckled. He wouldn't have said that if he'd thought for one moment - " Evans interrupted him.

  "You mean he wouldn't have said that if he knew. They've been married how long - six years you told me?

  I bet you anything he has no idea his wile is the once notorious Mrs Anthony."

  "And he will certainly not know it from me," said Captain Haydock stiffly. Evans paid no attention, but went on: "You interrupted me just now. After Marsh's test, Merrowdene heated a substance in a test-tube, the metallic residue he dissolved in water and then precipitated it by adding silver nitrate. That was a test for chlorates. A neat unassuming little test. But I chanced to read these words in a book that stood open on the table: 'H2SO4 decomposes chlorates with evolution of Cl4O2. If heated, violent explosions occur, the mixture ought therefore to be kept cool and only very small quantities used.'"

  Haydock stared at his friend.

  "Well, what about it?"

  "Just this. In my profession we've got tests too - tests for murder. There's adding up the facts - weighing them, dissecting the residue when you've allowed for prejudice and the general inaccuracy of witnesses. But there's another test of murder - one that is fairly accurate, but rather - dangerous! A murderer is seldom content with one crime. Give him time, and a lack of suspicion, and he'll commit another. You catch a man