"Yes," said Mary rather doubtfully.
"Where shall I drive you?" inquired George formally.
"Home, please."
He drove to Grosvenor Square. His face was absolutely impassive. He jumped out and came round to help her out. She made a last appeal.
"Darling George - couldn't you? Just to please me?"
"Never," said George.
And at that moment it happened. He slipped, tried to recover his balance and failed. He was kneeling in the mud before her. Mary gave a squeal of joy and clapped her hands.
"Darling George! Now I will marry you. You can go straight to 'Lambeth Palace and fix up with the Archbishop of Canterbury about it."
"I didn't mean to," said George hotly. "It was a bl - er - a banana skin." He held the offender up reproachfully.
"Never mind," said Mary. "It happened. When we quarrel and you throw it in my teeth that I proposed to you, I can retort that you had to go on your knees to me before I would marry you. And all because of that blessed banana skin! It was a blessed banana skin you were going to say?"
"Something of the sort," said George.
At five-thirty that afternoon, Mr. Leadbetter was informed that his nephew had called and would like to see him.
"Called to eat humble pie," said Mr. Leadbetter to himself. "I dare say I was rather hard on the lad, but it was for his own good."
And he gave orders that George should be admitted.
George came in airily.
"I want a few words with you, Uncle," he said. "You did me a grave injustice this morning. I should like to know whether, at my age, you could have gone out into the street, disowned by your relatives, and between the hours of eleven-fifteen and five-thirty acquire an income of twenty thousand a year. That is what I have done!"
"You're mad, boy."
"Not mad, resourceful! I am going to marry a young, rich, beautiful society girl. One, moreover, who is throwing over a duke for my sake."
"Marrying a girl for her money? I'd not have thought it of you."
"And you'd have been right. I would never have dared to ask her if she hadn't - very fortunately - asked me. She retracted afterwards, but I made her change her mind. And do you know, Uncle, how all this was done? By a judicious expenditure of twopence and a grasping of the golden ball of opportunity."
"Why the tuppence?" asked Mr. Leadbetter, financially interested.
"One banana - off a barrow. Not everyone would have thought of that banana. Where do you get a marriage license? Is it Doctor's Commons or Lambeth Palace?"
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The Listerdale Mystery
The Rajah's Emerald
With a serious effort James Bond bent his attention once more on the little yellow book in his hand. On its outside the book bore the simple but pleasing legend, "Do you want your salary increased by ?00 per annum?" Its price was one shilling. James had just finished reading two pages of crisp paragraphs instructing him to look his boss in the face, to cultivate a dynamic personality, and to radiate an atmosphere of efficiency. He had now arrived at subtler matter, "There is a time for frankness, there is a time for discretion," the little yellow book informed him. "A strong man does not always blurt out all he knows." James let the little book close and, raising his head, gazed out over a blue expanse of ocean. A horrible suspicion assailed him, that he was not a strong man. A strong man would have been in command of the present situation, not a victim to it. For the sixtieth time that morning James rehearsed his wrongs.
This was his holiday. His holiday! Ha, ha! Sardonic laughter. Who had persuaded him to come to that fashionable seaside resort, Kimpton-on-Sea? Grace. Who had urged him into an expenditure of more than he could afford? Grace. And he had fallen in with the plan eagerly. She had got him here, and what was the result? While he was staying in an obscure boarding house about a mile and a half from the sea front, Grace, who should have been in a similar boarding house (not the same one - the proprieties of James's circle were very strict), had flagrantly deserted him and was staying at no less than the Esplanade Hotel upon the sea front.
It seemed that she had friends there. Friends! Again James laughed sardonically. His mind went back over the last three years of his leisurely courtship of Grace. Extremely pleased she had been when he lust singled her out for notice. That was before she had risen to heights of glory in the millinery salons at Messrs. Bartles in the High Street. In those early days it had been James who gave himself airs; now, alas! the boot was on the other leg. Grace was what is technically known as "earning good money." It had made her uppish. Yes, that was it, thoroughly uppish. A confused fragment out of a poetry book came back to James's mind, something about "thanking heaven fasting, for a good man's love." But there was nothing of that kind of thing observable about Grace. Well-fed on an Esplanade Hotel breakfast, she was ignoring the good man's love utterly. She was indeed accepting the attentions of a poisonous idiot called Claud Sopworth, a man, James felt convinced, of no moral worth whatsoever.
James ground a heel into the earth and scowled darkly at the horizon. Kimpton-on-Sea. What had possessed him to come to such a place? It was pre-eminently a resort of the rich and fashionable, it possessed two large hotels, and several miles of picturesque bungalows belonging to fashionable actresses, rich merchants and those members of the English aristocracy who had married wealthy wives. The rent, furnished, of the smallest bungalow was twenty-five guineas a week. Imagination boggled at what the rent of the large ones might amount to. There was one of these palaces immediately behind James's seat. It belonged to that famous sportsman Lord Edward Campion, and there were staying there at the moment a houseful of distinguished guests including the Rajah of Maraputna, whose wealth was fabulous. James had read all about him in the local weekly newspaper that morning: the extent of his Indian possessions, his palaces, his wonderful collection of jewels, with a special mention of one famous emerald which the papers declared enthusiastically was the size of a pigeon's egg. James, being town-bred, was somewhat hazy about the size of a pigeon's egg, but the impression left on his mind was good.
"If I had an emerald like that," said James, scowling at the horizon again, "I'd show Grace."
The sentiment was vague, but the enunciation of it made James feel better. Laughing voices hailed him from behind, and he turned abruptly to confront Grace. With her was Clara Sopworth, Alice Sopworth, Dorothy Sopworth and - alas! Claud Sopworth. The girls were arm-in-arm and giggling.
"Why, you are quite a stranger," cried Grace archly.
"Yes," said James.
He could, he felt, have found a more telling retort. You cannot convey the impression of a dynamic personality by the use of the one word "yes." He looked with intense loathing at Claud Sopworth. Claud Sopworth was almost as beautifully dressed as the hero of a musical comedy. James longed passionately for the moment when an enthusiastic beach dog should plant wet, sandy forefeet on the unsullied whiteness of Claud's flannel trousers. He himself wore a serviceable pair of dark-grey flannel trousers which had seen better days.
"Isn't the air beau-tiful?" said Clara, sniffing it appreciatively. "Quite sets you up, doesn't it?"
She giggled.
"It's ozone," said Alice Sopworth. "It's as good as a tonic, you know." And she giggled also.
James thought:
"I should like to knock their silly heads together. What is the sense of laughing all the time? They are not saying anything funny."
The immaculate Claud murmured languidly:
"Shall we have a bathe, or is it too much of a fag?"
The idea of bathing was accepted shrilly. James fell into line with them. He even managed, with a certain amount of cunning, to draw Grace a little behind the others.
"Look h
ere!" he complained. "I am hardly seeing anything of you."
"Well, I am sure we are all together now," said Grace, "and you can come and lunch with us at the hotel, at least - "
She looked dubiously at James's legs.
"What is the matter?" demanded James ferociously. "Not smart enough for you, I suppose?"
"I do think, dear, you might take a little more pains," said Grace. "Everyone is so fearfully smart here. Look at Claud Sopworth!"
"I have looked at him," said James grimly. "I have never seen a man who looked a more complete ass than he does."
Grace drew herself up.
"There is no need to criticize my friends, James, it's not manners. He's dressed just like any other gentleman at the hotel is dressed."
"Bah!" said James. "Do you know what I read the other day in 'Society Snippets'? Why, that the Duke of - the Duke of, I can't remember, but one duke, anyway, was the worst-dressed man in England, there!"
"I dare say," said Grace, "but then, you see, he is a duke."
"Well?" demanded James. "What is wrong with my being a duke someday? At least, well, not perhaps a duke, but a peer."
He slapped the yellow book in his pocket and recited to her a long list of peers of the realm who had started life much more obscurely than James Bond. Grace merely giggled.
"Don't be so soft, James," she said. "Fancy you Earl of Kimptonon-Sea!"
James gazed at her in mingled rage and despair. The air of Kimpton-on-Sea had certainly gone to Grace's head.
The beach at Kimpton is a long, straight stretch of sand. A row of bathing huts and boxes stretches evenly along it for about a mile and a half. The party had just stopped before a row of six huts all labelled imposingly, "For visitors to the Esplanade Hotel only."
"Here we are," said Grace brightly; "but I'm afraid you can't come in with us, James; you'll have to go along to the public tents over there; we'll meet you in the sea. So long!"
"So long!" said James, and he strode off in the direction indicated.
Twelve dilapidated tents stood solemnly confronting the ocean. An aged mariner guarded them, a roll of blue paper in his hand. He accepted a coin of the realm from James, tore him off a blue ticket from his roll, threw him over a towel, and jerked one thumb over his shoulder.
"Take your turn," he said huskily.
It was then that James awoke to the fact of competition. Others besides himself had conceived the idea of entering the sea. Not only was each tent occupied, but outside each tent was a determined-looking crowd of people glaring at each other. James attached himself to the smallest group and waited. The strings of the tent parted, and a beautiful young woman, sparsely clad, emerged on the scene settling her bathing-cap with the air of one who had the whole morning to waste. She strolled down to the water s edge and sat down dreamily on the sands.
"That's no good," said James to himself and attached himself forthwith to another group.
After waiting five minutes, sounds of activity were apparent in the second tent. With heavings and strainings, the flaps parted asunder and four children and a father and mother emerged. The tent being so small, it had something of the appearance of a conjuring trick. On the instant two women sprang forward each grasping one flap of the tent.
"Excuse me," said the first young woman, panting a little.
"Excuse me," said the other young woman, glaring.
"I would have you know I was here quite ten minutes before you were," said the first young woman
rapidly.
"I have been here a good quarter of an hour, as anyone will tell you," said the second young woman defiantly.
"Now then, now then," said the aged mariner, drawing near.
Both young women spoke to him shrilly. When they had finished, he jerked his thumb at the second young woman, and said briefly:
"It's yours."
Then he departed to remonstrances. He neither knew nor cared which had been there first, but his decision, as they say in newspaper competitions, was final. The despairing James caught at his arm.
"Look here! I say!"
"Well, mister?"
"How long is it going to be before I get a tent?"
The aged mariner threw a dispassionate glance over the waiting throng.
"Might be an hour, might be an hour and a half; I can't say."
At that moment James espied Grace and the girls running lightly down the sands towards the sea.
"Damn!" said James to himself. "Oh, damn!"
He plucked once more at the aged mariner.
"Can't I get a tent anywhere else? What about one of these huts along here? They all seem empty."
"The huts," said the ancient mariner with dignity, "are private."
Having uttered this rebuke, he passed on. With a bitter feeling of having been tricked, James detached himself from the waiting groups and strode savagely down the beach. It was the limit! It was the absolute, complete limit! He glared savagely at the trim bathing huts he passed. In that moment from being an Independent Liberal, he became a red-hot Socialist. Why should the rich have bathing huts and be able to bathe any minute they chose without waiting in a crowd? "This system of ours," said James vaguely, "is all wrong."
From the sea came the coquettish screams of the splashed. Grace's voice! And above her squeaks, the inane "Ha, ha, ha" of Claud Sopworth.
"Damn!" said James, grinding his teeth, a thing which he had never before attempted, only read about in works of fiction.
He came to a stop, twirling his stick savagely, and turning his back firmly on the sea. Instead, he gazed with concentrated hatred upon Eagle's Nest, Buena Vista, and Mon Desir. It was the custom of the inhabitants of Kimpton-on-Sea to label their bathing huts with fancy names. Eagle's Nest merely struck James as being silly, and Buena Vista was beyond his linguistic accomplishments. But his knowledge of French was sufficient to make him realize the appositeness of the third name.
"Mong Desire," said James. "I should jolly well think it was."
And on that moment he saw that while the doors of the other bathing huts were tightly closed, that of Mon Desir was ajar. James looked thoughtfully up and down the beach; this particular spot was mainly occupied by mothers of large families, busily engaged in superintending their offspring. It was only ten o'clock, too early as yet for the aristocracy of Kimpton-on-Sea to have come down to bathe.
"Eating quails and mushrooms in their beds as likely as likely as not, brought to them on trays by powdered footmen, pah! Not one of them will be down here before twelve o'clock," thought James.
He looked again towards the sea. With the obedience of a well-trained "leitmotif," the shrill scream of Grace rose upon the air. It was followed by the "Ha, ha, ha" of Claud Sopworth.
"I will," said James between his teeth.
He pushed open the door of Mon Desir and entered. For the moment he had a fright, as he caught sight of sundry garments hanging from pegs, but he was quickly reassured. The hut was partitioned into two, on the right-hand side, a girl's yellow sweater, a battered panama hat and a pair of beach shoes were depending from a peg. On the left-hand side an old pair of grey flannel trousers, a pullover, and a sou'wester proclaimed the fact that the sexes were segregated. James hastily transferred himself to the gentlemen's part of the hut, and undressed rapidly. Three minutes later, he was in the sea puffing and snorting importantly, doing extremely short bursts of professional-looking swimming - head under the water, arms lashing the sea - that style.
"Oh, there you are!" cried Grace. "I was afraid you wouldn't be in for ages with all that crowd of people waiting there."
"Really?" said James.
He thought with affectionate loyalty of the yellow book. "The strong man can on occasions be discreet." For the moment his temper was quite restored. He was able to say pleasantly but firmly to Claud Sopworth, who was teaching Grace the overarm stroke:
"No, no old man; you have got it all wrong. I'll show her."
And such was the assurance of his tone
, that Claud withdrew discomfited. The only pity of it was that his triumph was short-lived. The temperature of our English waters is not such as to induce bathers to remain in them for any length of time. Grace and the Sopworth girls were already displaying blue chins and chattering teeth. They raced up the beach, and James pursued his solitary way back to Mon Desir. As he towelled himself vigorously and slipped his shirt over his head, he was pleased with himself. He had, he felt, displayed a dynamic personality.
And then suddenly he stood still, frozen with terror. Girlish voices sounded from outside, and voices quite different from those of Grace and her friends. A moment later he had realized the truth; the rightful owners of Mon Desir were arriving. It is possible that if James had been fully dressed, he would have waited their advent in a dignified manner and attempted an explanation. As it was, he acted on panic. The windows of Mort Desir were modestly screened by dark green curtains. James flung himself on the door and held the knob in a desperate clutch. Hands tried ineffectually to turn it from outside.
"It's locked after all," said a girl's voice. "I thought Pug said it was open."
"No, Woggle said so."
"Woggle is the limit," said the other girl. "How perfectly foul; we shall have to go back for the key."
James heard their footsteps retreating. He drew a long, deep breath. In desperate haste he huddled on the rest of his garments. Two minutes later saw him strolling negligently down the beach with an almost aggressive air of innocence. Grace and the Sopworth girls joined him on the beach a quarter of an hour later. The rest of the morning passed agreeably in stone throwing, writing in the sand and light badinage. Then Claud glanced at his watch.
"Lunch-time," he observed. "We'd better be strolling back."
"I'm terribly hungry," said Alice Sopworth.
All the other girls said that they were terribly hungry too.
"Are you coming, James?" asked Grace.
Doubtless James was unduly touchy. He chose to take offence at her tone.
"Not if my clothes are not good enough for you," he said bitterly. "Perhaps, as you are so particular, I'd better not come."
The Listerdale Mystery and Eleven Other Stories Page 14