The Listerdale Mystery

by Agatha Christie

  "How much?" said Edward apprehensively, when frenzied pulling of the hand brake had produced the desired result.

  "Lovely strawberries," said the man in charge.

  He was an unprepossessing-looking individual with a leer.

  "Just the thing for the lady. Ripe fruit, fresh-picked. Cherries, too. Genuine English. Have a basket of cherries, lady?"

  "They do look nice ones," said Dorothy.

  "Lovely, that's what they are," said the man hoarsely. "Bring you luck, lady, that basket will." He at last condescended to reply to Edward. "Two shillings, sir, and dirt cheap. You'd say so if you knew what was inside the basket."

  "They look awfully nice," said Dorothy.

  Edward sighed and paid over two shillings. His mind was obsessed by calculation. Tea later, petrol - this Sunday motoring business wasn't what you'd call cheap. That was the worst of taking girls out! They always wanted everything they saw.

  "Thank you, sir," said the unprepossessing-looking one. "You've got more than your money's worth in that basket of cherries."

  Edward shoved his foot savagely down and the Baby Austin leaped at the cherry vendor after the manner of an infuriated Alsatian.

  "Sorry," said Edward. "I forgot she was in gear."

  "You ought to be careful, dear," said Dorothy. "You might have hurt him." Edward did not reply. Another half-mile brought them to an ideal spot by the banks of a stream. The Austin was left by the side of the road and Edward and Dorothy sat affectionately upon the river bank and munched cherries. A Sunday paper lay unheeded at their feet.

  "What's the news?" said Edward at last, stretching himself flat on his back and tilting his hat to shade his eyes.

  Dorothy glanced over the headlines.

  "The Woeful Wife. Extraordinary Story. Twenty-eight People Drowned Last Week. Reported Death of Airman. Startling Jewel Robbery. Ruby Necklace Worth Fifty Thousand Pounds Missing. Oh, Ted! Fifty thousand pounds. Just fancy!" She went on reading. "The necklace is composed of twenty-one stones set in platinum and was sent by registered post from Paris. On arrival, the packet was found to contain a few pebbles and the jewels were missing."

  "Pinched in the post," said Edward. "The posts in France are awful, I believe."

  "I'd like to see a necklace like that," said Dorothy. "All glowing like blood - pigeon's blood, that's what they call the colour. I wonder what it would feel like to have a thing like that hanging round your neck."

  "Well, you're never likely to know, my gift," said Edward facetiously. Dorothy tossed her head.

  "Why not, I should like to know. It's amazing the way gifts can get on in the world. I might go on the stage."

  "Girls that behave themselves don't get anywhere," said Edward discouragingly. Dorothy opened her mouth to reply, checked herself, and murmured, "Pass me the cherries."

  "I've been eating more than you have," she remarked. "I'll divide up what's left and - why, whatever's this at the bottom of the basket?"

  She drew it out as she spoke - a long glittering chain of blood-red stones. They both stared at it in amazement.

  "In the basket, did you say?" said Edward at last. Dorothy nodded.

  "Right at the bottom - under the fruit." Again they stared at each other.

  "How did it get there, do you think?"

  "I can't imagine. It's odd, Ted, just after reading that bit in the paper - about the rubies." Edward laughed.

  "You don't imagine you're holding fifty thousand pounds in your hand, do you?"

  "I just said it was odd. Rubies set in platinum. Platinum is that sort of dull silvery stuff - like this. Don't they sparkle and aren't they a lovely colour? I wonder how many of them there are?" She counted. "I say, Ted, there are twenty-one exactly."

  "No!"

  "Yes. The same number as the paper said. Oh, Ted, you don't think - "

  "It couldn't be." But he spoke irresolutely. "There's some sort of way you can tell - scratching them on glass."

  "That's diamonds. But you know, Ted, that was a very odd-looking man - the man with the fruit - a nastylooking man. And he was funny about it - said we'd got more than our money's worth in the basket."

  "Yes, but look here, Dorothy. What would he want to hand us over fifty thousand pounds for?" Miss Pratt shook her head, discouraged.

  "It doesn't seem to make sense," she admitted. "Unless the police were after him."

  "The police?" Edward paled slightly.

  "Yes. It goes on to say in the paper - 'the police have a clue.'" Cold shivers ran down Edward's spine.

  "I don't like this, Dorothy. Supposing the police get after us." Dorothy stared at him with her mouth open.

  "But we haven't done anything, Ted. We found it in the basket."

  "And that'll sound a silly sort of story to tell! It isn't likely."

  "It isn't very," admitted Dorothy. "Oh, Ted, do you really think it is IT? It's like a fairy story!"

  "I don't think it sounds like a fairy story," said Edward. "It sounds to me more like the kind of story where the hero goes to Dartmoor unjustly accused for fourteen years."

  But Dorothy was not listening. She had clasped the necklace round her neck and was judging the effect in a small mirror taken from her handbag.

  "The same as a duchess might wear," she murmured ecstatically.

  "I won't believe it," said Edward violently. "They're imitation. They must be imitation."

  "Yes, dear," said Dorothy, still intent on her reflection in the mirror. "Very likely."

  "Anything else would be too much of a - a coincidence."

  "Pigeon's blood," murmured Dorothy.

  "It's absurd. That's what I say. Absurd. Look here, Dorothy, are you listening to what I say, or are you not?"

  Dorothy put away the mirror. She turned to him, one hand on the rubies round her neck.

  "How do I look?" she asked.

  Edward stared at her, his grievance forgotten. He had never seen Dorothy quite like this. There was a triumph about her, a kind of regal beauty that was completely new to him. The belief that she had jewels round her neck worth fifty thousand pounds had made of Dorothy Pratt a new woman. She looked insolently serene a kind of Cleopatra and Semiramis and Zenobia rolled into one.

  "You look - you look - stunning," said Edward humbly.

  Dorothy laughed, and her laugh, too, was entirely different.

  "Look here," said Edward. "We've got to do something. We must take them to a police station or something."

  "Nonsense," said Dorothy. "You said yourself just now that they wouldn't believe you. You'll probably be sent to prison for stealing them."

  "But - but what else can we do?"

  "Keep them," said the new Dorothy Pratt. Edward stared at her.

  "Keep them? You're mad."

  "We found them, didn't we? Why should we think they're valuable. We'll keep them and I shall wear them."

  "And the police will pinch you."

  Dorothy considered this for a minute or two.

  "All right," she said. "We'll sell them. And you can buy a Rolls-Royce, or two Rolls-Royces, and I'll buy a diamond head-thing and some rings."

  Still Edward stared. Dorothy showed impatience.

  "You've got your chance now - it's up to you to take it. We didn't steal the thing - I wouldn't hold with that. It's come to us and it's probably the only chance we'll ever have of getting all the things we want. Haven't you got any spunk at all, Edward Palgrove?"

  Edward found his voice.

  "Sell it, you say? That wouldn't be so jolly easy. Any jeweller would want to know where I got the blooming thing."

  "You don't take it to a jeweller. Don't you ever read detective stories, Ted? You take it to a 'fence,' of course."

  "And how should I know any fences? I've been brought up respectable."

  "Men ought to know everything," said Dorothy. "That's what they're for." He looked at her. She was serene and unyielding.

  "I wouldn't have believed it of you," he said weakly.

  "I
thought you had more spirit."

  There was a pause. Then Dorothy rose to her feet.

  "Well," she said lightly. "We'd best be getting home."

  "Wearing that thing round your neck?"

  Dorothy removed the necklace, looked at it reverently and dropped it into her handbag.

  "Look here," said Edward. "You give that to me."

  "No."

  "Yes, you do. I've been brought up honest, my girl."

  "Well, you can go on being honest. You need have nothing to do with it."

  "Oh, hand it over," said Edward recklessly. "I'll do it. I'll find a fence. As you say, it's the only chance we shall ever have. We came by it honest - bought it for two shillings. It's no more than what gentlemen do in antique shops every day of their life and are proud of it."

  "That's it!" said Dorothy. "Oh, Edward, you're splendid!" She handed over the necklace and he dropped it into his pocket. He felt worked up, exalted, the very devil of a fellow! In this mood, he started the Austin. They were both too excited to remember tea. They drove back to London in silence. Once at a crossroads, a policeman stepped towards the car, and Edward's heart missed a beat. By a miracle, they reached home without mishap.

  Edward's last words to Dorothy were imbued with the adventurous spirit.

  "We'll go through with this. Fifty thousand pounds! It's worth it!" He dreamt that night of broad arrows and Dartmoor, and rose early, haggard, and unrefreshed. He had to set about finding a fence - and how to do it he had not the remotest idea!

  His work at the office was slovenly and brought down upon him two sharp rebukes before lunch. How did one find a "fence"? Whitechapel, he fancied, was the correct neighbourhood - or was it Stepney?

  On his return to the office a call came though for him on the telephone. Dorothy's voice spoke - tragic and tearful.

  "Is that you, Ted? I'm using the telephone, but she may come in any minute, and I'll have to stop. Ted, you haven't done anything, have you?"

  Edward replied in the negative.

  "Well, look here, Ted, you mustn't. I've been lying awake all night. It's been awful. Thinking of how it says in the Bible you mustn't steal. I must have been mad yesterday - I really must. You won't do anything, will you, Ted, dear?"

  Did a feeling of relief steal over Mr. Palgrove? Possibly it did - but he wasn't going to admit any such thing.

  "When I say I'm going through with a thing, I go through with it," he said in a voice such as might belong to a strong superman with eyes of steel.

  "Oh, but, Ted, dear, you mustn't. Oh, Lord, she's coming. Look here, Ted, she's going out to dinner tonight. I can slip out and meet you. Don't do anything till you've seen me. Eight o'clock. Wait for me round the corner." Her voice changed to a seraphic murmur. "Yes, ma'am, I think it was a wrong number. It was Bloomsbury 0243 they wanted."

  As Edward left the office at six o'clock, a huge headline caught his eye.

  JEWELL ROBBERY. LATEST DEVELOPMENTS

  Hurriedly he extended a penny. Safely ensconced in the tube, having dexterously managed to gain a seat, he eagerly perused the printed sheet. He found what he sought easily enough. A suppressed whistle escaped him.

  "Well - I'm - "

  And then another adjacent paragraph caught his eye. He read it through and let the paper slip to the floor unheeded.

  Precisely at eight o'clock, he was waiting at the rendezvous. A breathless Dorothy, looking pale but pretty, came hurrying along to join him.

  "You haven't done anything, Ted?"

  "I haven't done anything." He took the ruby chain from his pocket. "You can put it on."

  "But, Ted - "

  "The police have got the rubies all right - and the man who pinched them. And now read this!" He thrust a newspaper paragraph under her nose Dorothy read:

  NEW ADVERTISING STUNT

  A clever new advertising dodge is being adopted by the All-English Fivepenny Fair who intend to challenge the famous Woolworths. Baskets of fruit were sold yesterday and will be on sale every Sunday. Out of every fifty baskets, one will contain an imitation necklace in different coloured stones. These necklaces are really wonderful value for the money. Great excitement and merriment was caused by them yesterday and EAT MORE FRUIT will have a great vogue next Sunday. We congratulate the Fivepenny Fair on their resource and wish them all good luck in their campaign of Buy British Goods.

  "Well - " said Dorothy.

  And after a pause: "Well!"

  "Yes," said Edward. "I felt the same."

  A passing man thrust a paper into his hand.

  "Take one, brother," he said.

  "The price of a virtuous woman is far above rubies."

  "There!" said Edward. "I hope that cheers you up."

  "I don't know," said Dorothy doubtfully. "I don't exactly want to look like a good woman."

  "You don't," said Edward. "That's why the man gave me that paper. With those rubies round your neck you don't look one little bit like a good woman."

  Dorothy laughed.

  "You're rather a dear, Ted," she said. "Come on, let's, go to the pictures."

  The Golden Ball

  George Dundas stood in the City of London meditating.

  All about him toilers and money-makers surged and flowed like an enveloping tide. But George, beautifully dressed, his trousers exquisitely creased, took no heed of them. He was busy thinking what to do next.

  Something had occurred! Between George and his rich uncle (Ephraim Leadbetter of the firm of Leadbetter and Gilling) there had been what is called in a lower walk of life "words." To be strictly accurate, the words had been almost entirely on Mr. Leadbetter's side. They had flowed from his lips in a steady stream of bitter indignation, and the fact that they consisted almost entirely of repetition did not seem to have worried him. To say a thing once beautifully and then let it alone was not one of Mr. Leadbetter's mottoes.

  The theme was a simple one - the criminal folly and wickedness of a young man, who has his way to make, taking a day off in the middle of the week without even asking leave. Mr. Leadbetter, when he had said everything he could think of and several things twice, paused for breath and asked George what he meant by it.

  George replied simply that he had felt he wanted a day off. A holiday, in fact. And what, Mr. Leadbetter wanted to know, were Saturday afternoon and Sunday? To say nothing of Whitsuntide, not long past, and August Bank Holiday to come?

  George said he didn't care for Saturday afternoons, Sundays or Bank Holidays. He meant a real day, when it might be possible to find some spot where half London was not assembled already. Mr. Leadbetter then said that he had done his best by his dead sister's son - nobody could say he hadn't given him a chance. But it was plain that it was no use. And in future George could have five real days with Saturday and Sunday added to do with as he liked.

  "The golden ball of opportunity has been thrown up for you, my boy," said Mr. Leadbetter in a last touch of poetical fancy. "And you have failed to grasp it."

  George said it seemed to him that that was just what he had done, and Mr. Leadbetter dropped poetry for wrath and told him to get out.

  Hence George - meditating. Would his uncle relent or would he not? Had he any secret affection for George, or merely a cold distaste?

  It was just at that moment that a voice - a most unlikely voice - said, "Hallo!" A scarlet touring car with an immense long hood had drawn up to the curb beside him. At the wheel was that beautiful and popular society girl, Mary Montresor. (The description is that of the illustrated papers who produced a portrait of her at least four times a month.) She was smiling at George in an accomplished manner.

  "I never knew a man could look so like an island," said Mary Montresor. "Would you like to get in?"

  "I should love it above all things," said George with no hesitation, and stepped in beside her. They proceeded slowly because the traffic forbade anything else.

  "I'm tired of the city," said Mary Montresor. "I came to see what it was like. I shall go back
to London." Without presuming to correct her geography, George said it was a splendid idea. They proceeded sometimes slowly, sometimes with wild bursts of speed when Mary Montresor saw a chance of cutting in. It seemed to George that she was somewhat optimistic in the latter view, but he reflected that one could only die once. He thought it best, however, to essay no conversation. He preferred his fair driver to keep strictly to the job in hand.

  It was she who reopened the conversation, choosing the moment when they were doing a wild sweep round Hyde Park Corner.

  "How would you like to marry me?" she inquired casually.

  George gave a gasp, but that may have been due to a large bus that seemed to spell certain destruction. He prided himself on his quickness in response.

  "I should love it," he replied easily.

  "Well," said Mary Montresor vaguely. "Perhaps you may someday." They turned into the straight without accident, and at that moment George perceived large new bills at Hyde Park Corner tube station. Sandwiched between GRAVE POLITICAL SITUATION and COLONEL

  IN DOCK, one said SOCIETY GIRL TO MARRY DUKE, and the other DUKE OF EDGEHILL AND

  MISS MONTRESOR.

  "What's this about the Duke of Edgehill?" demanded George sternly.

  "Me and Bingo? We're engaged."

  "But then - what you said just now - "

  "Oh, that," said Mary Montresor. "You see, I haven't made up my mind who I shall actually marry."

  "Then why did you get engaged to him?"

  "Just to see if I could. Everybody seemed to think it would be frightfully difficult, and it wasn't a bit!"

  "Very rough luck on - er - Bingo," said George, mastering his embarrassment at calling a real live duke by a nickname.

  "Not at all," said Mary Montresor. "It will be good for Bingo, if anything could do him good - which I doubt."

  George made another discovery - again aided by a convenient poster.

  "Why, of course, it's cup day at Ascot. I should have thought that was the one place you were simply bound to be today."

  Mary Montresor sighed.