That was Grace's cue for murmured protestations, but the seaside air had affected Grace unfavoumbly. She merely replied:
"Very well. Just as you like, see you this afternoon then."
James was left dumbfounded.
"Well!" he said, staring after the retreating group. "Well, of all the - "
He strolled moodily into the town. There are two caf?in Kimpton-on-Sea; they are both hot, noisy and over-crowded. It was the affair of the bathing huts once more James had to wait his turn. He had to wait longer than his turn, an unscrupulous matron who had just arrived fore-stalling him when a vacant seat did present itself. At last he was seated at a small table. Close to his left ear three raggedly bobbed maidens were making a determined hash of Italian opera. Fortunately James was not musical. He studied the bill of fare dispassionately, his hands thrust down into his pockets. He thought to himself:
"Whatever I ask for, it's sure to be 'off.' That's the kind of fellow I am."
His right hand, groping in the recesses of his pocket touched an unfamiliar object. It felt like a pebble, a large round pebble.
"What on earth did I want to put a stone in my pocket for?" thought James.
His fingers closed round it. A waitress drifted up to him.
"Fried plaice and chipped potatoes, please," said James.
"Fried plaice is 'off,'" murmured the waitress, her eyes fixed dreamily on the ceiling.
'When I'll have curried beef," said James.
"Curried beef is 'off.'"
"Is there anything on this beastly menu that isn't 'off '?" demanded James.
The waitress looked pained and placed a pale-grey finger against haricot mutton. James resigned himself to the inevitable and ordered haricot mutton. His mind still seething with resentment against the ways of caf閟, he drew his hand out of his pocket, the stone still in it. Unclosing fingers, he looked absent-mindedly at the object in his palm. Then with a shock all lesser matters passed from his mind and he stared with all his eyes. The thing he held was not a pebble, it was - he could hardly doubt it - an emerald, an enormous green emerald. James stared at it horror-stricken. No, it couldn't be an emerald; it must be coloured glass. There couldn't be an emerald of that size, unless - printed words danced before James's eyes, "The Rajah of Maraputna - famous emerald the size of a pigeon's egg." Was it - could it be - that emerald at which he was looking now? The waitress returned with the haricot mutton, and James closed his fingers spasmodically. Hot and cold shivers chased themselves up and down his spine. He had the sense of being caught in a terrible dilemma. If this was the emerald - but was it? Could it be? He unclosed his fingers and peeped anxiously. James was no expert on precious stones, but the depth and the glow of the jewel convinced him this was the real thing. He put both elbows on the table and leaned forward staring with unseeing eyes at the haricot mutton slowly congealing on the dish in front of him. He had got to think this out. If this was the Rajah's emerald, what was he going to do about it? The world "police" flashed into his mind. If you found anything of value, you took it to the police station. Upon this axiom had James been brought up.
Yes, but - how on earth had the emerald got into' his trouser pocket? That was doubtless the question the police would ask. It was an awkward question, and it was moreover a question to which he had at the moment no answer. How had the emerald got into his trouser pocket? He looked despairingly down at his legs, and as he did so, a misgiving shot through him. He looked more closely. One pair of old grey flannel trousers is very much like another pair of old grey flannel trousers, but all the same, James had an instinctive feeling that these were not his trousers after all. He sat back in his chair stunned with the force of the discovery. He saw now what had happened; in the hurry of getting out of the bathing hut, he had taken the wrong trousers. He had hung his own, he remembered, on an adjacent peg to the old pair hanging there. Yes, that explained matters so far; he had taken the wrong trousers. But all the same, what on earth was an emerald worth hundreds and thousands of pounds doing there? The more he thought about it, the more curious it seemed. He could, of course, explain to the police -
It was awkward, no doubt about it, it was decidedly awkward. One would have to mention the fact that one had deliberately entered someone else's bathing hut. It was not, of course, a serious offence, but it started him off wrong.
"Can I bring you anything else, sir?"
It was the waitress again. She was looking pointedly at the untouched haricot mutton. James hastily dumped some of it on his plate and asked for his bill. Having obtained it, he paid and went out. As he stood undecidedly in the street, a poster opposite caught his eye. The adjacent town of Harchester possessed an evening paper, and it was the contents bill of this paper that James was looking at. It announced a simple, sensational fact: "THE RAJAH'S EMERALD STOLEN." "My God," said James faintly, and leaned against a pillar. Pulling himself together, he fished out a penny and purchased a copy of the paper. He was not long in finding what he sought. Sensational items of local news were few and far between. Large headlines adorned the front page. "Sensational Burglary at Lord Edward Campion's. Theft of Famous Historical Emerald. Rajah of Maraputna's Terrible Loss." The facts were few and simple. Lord Edward Campion had entertained several friends the evening before. Wishing to show the stone to one of the ladies present, the Rajah had gone to fetch it and had found it missing. The police had been called in. So far no clue had been obtained. James let the paper fall to the ground. It was still not clear to him how the emerald had come to be reposing in the pocket of an old pair of flannel trousers in a bathing hut, but it was borne in upon him every minute that the police would certainly regard his own story as suspicious. What on earth was he to do? Here he was, standing in the principal street of Kimpton-on-Sea with stolen booty worth a king's ransom reposing idly in his pocket, while the entire police force of the district were busily searching for just that same booty. There were two courses open to him. Course number one, to go straight to the police station and tell his story - but it must be admitted that James funked that course badly. Course number two, somehow or other to get rid of the emerald. It occurred to him to do it up in a neat little parcel and post it back to the Rajah. Then he shook his head. He had read too many detective stories for that sort of thing. He knew how your super-sleuth could get busy with a magnifying glass and every kind of patent device. Any detective worth his salt would get busy on James's parcel and would in half an hour or so have discovered the sender' s profession, age, habits, and personal appearance. After that it would be a mere matter of hours before he was tracked down.
It was then that a scheme of dazzling simplicity suggested itself to James. It was the luncheon hour, the beach would be comparatively deserted. He would return to Mon Desir, hang up the trousers where he had found them, and regain his own garments. He started briskly towards the beach.
Nevertheless, his conscience pricked him slightly. The emerald ought to be returned to the Rajah. He conceived the idea that he might perhaps do a little detective work - once, that is, that he had regained his own trousers and replaced the others. In pursuance of this idea, he directed his steps towards the aged mariner, whom he rightly regarded as being an inexhaustible source of Kimpton information.
"Excuse me!" said James politely; "but I believe a friend of mine has a hut on this beach, Mr. Charles Lampton. It is called Mon Desir, I fancy?"
The aged mariner was sitting very squarely in a chair, a pipe in his mouth, gazing out to sea. He shifted his pipe a little and replied without removing his gaze from the horizon:
"Mon Desir belongs to his lordship, Lord Edward Campion; everyone knows that. I never heard of Mr. Charles Lampton; he must be a newcomer."
"Thank you," said James, and withdrew. The information staggered him. Surely the Rajah could not himself have slipped the stone into the pocket and forgotten it. James shook his head. The theory did not satisfy him, but evidently some member of the house party must be the. thief. The situation reminded
James of some of his favourite works of fiction.
Nevertheless, his own purpose remained unaltered. All fell out easily enough. The beach was, as he hoped it would be, practically deserted. More fortunate still, the door of Mon Desir remained ajar. To slip in was the work of a moment, Edward was just lifting his own trousers from the hook, when a voice behind him made him spin round suddenly.
"So I have caught you, my man!" said the voice.
James stared open-mouthed. In the doorway of Mon Desir stood a stranger; a well-dressed man of about forty years of age, his face keen and hawk-like.
"So I have caught you!" the stranger repeated.
"Who - who are you?" stammered James.
"Detective-Inspector Merrilees from the Yard," said the other crisply. "And I will trouble you to hand over that emerald."
"The - the emerald?"
James was seeking to gain time.
"That's what I said, didn't I?" said Inspector Merrilees.
He had a crisp, business-like enunciation. James tried to pull himself together.
"I don't know what you are talking about," he said with an assumption of dignity.
"Oh, yes, my lad, I think you do."
"The whole thing," said James, "is a mistake. I can explain it quite easily - " He paused.
A look of weariness had settled on the face of the other.
"They always say that," murmured the Scotland Yard man dryly. "I suppose you picked it up as you were strolling along the beach, eh? That is the sort of explanation."
It did indeed bear a resemblance to it. James recognized the fact, but still he tried to gain time.
"How do I know you are what you say you are?" he demanded weakly.
Merrilees flapped back his coat for a moment, showing a badge. Edward stared at him with eyes that popped out of his head.
"And now," said the other almost genially, "you see what you are up against! You are a novice - I can tell that. Your first job, isn't it?"
James nodded.
"I thought as much. Now, my boy, are you going to hand over that emerald, or have I got to search you?"
James found his voice.
"I - I haven't got it on me," he declared.
He was thinking desperately.
"Left it at your lodgings?" queried Merrilees.
James nodded.
"Very well, then," said the detective, "we will go there together."
He slipped his arm through James's.
"I am taking no chances of your getting away from me," he said gently. "We will go to your lodgings, and you will hand that stone over to me."
James spoke unsteadily.
"If I do, will you let me go?" he asked tremulously.
Merrilees appeared embarrassed.
"We know just how that stone was taken," he explained, "and about the lady involved, and, of course, as far as that goes - well, the Rajah wants it hushed up. You know what these native rulers are?"
James, who knew nothing whatsoever about native rulers, except for one cause c閘鑒re, nodded his head with an appearance of eager comprehension.
"It will be most irregular, of course," said the detective, "but you may get off scot-free."
Again James nodded. They had walked the length of the Esplanade, and were now turning into the town. James intimated the direction, but the other man never relinquished his sharp grip on James's arm.
Suddenly James hesitated and half spoke. Merrilees looked up sharply, and then laughed. They were just passing the police station, and he noticed James's agonized glances at it.
"I am giving you a chance first," he said good-humouredly.
It was at that moment that things began to happen. A loud bellow broke from James; he clutched the other's arm, and yelled at the top of his voice:
"Help! Thief. Help! Thief."
A crowd surrounded them in less than a minute. Merrilees was trying to wrench his arm from James's grasp.
"I charge this man," cried James. "I charge this man, he picked my pocket."
"What are you talking about, you fool?" cried the other.
A constable took charge of matters. Mr. Merrilees and James were escorted into the police station. James reiterated his complaint.
"This man has just picked my pocket," he declared excitedly.
"He has got my notecase in his right-hand pocket, there!"
"The man is mad," grumbled the other. "You can look for yourself, inspector, and see if he is telling the truth."
At a sign from the inspector, the constable slipped his hand deferentially into Merrilees's pocket. He drew something up and held it out with a gasp of astonishment.
"My God!" said the inspector, startled out of professional decorum. "It must be the Rajah's emerald."
Merrilees looked more incredulous than anyone else.
"This is monstrous," he spluttered; "monstrous. The man must have put it into my pocket himself as we were walking along together. It's a plant."
The forceful personality of Merrilees caused the inspector to waver. His suspicions swung round to James. He whispered something to the constable, and the latter went out.
"Now then, gentlemen," said the inspector, "let me have your statements please, one at a time."
"Certainly," said James. "I was walking along the beach when I met this gentleman, and he pretended he was acquainted with me. I could not remember having met him before, but I was too polite to say so. We walked along together. I had my suspicions of him, and just when we got opposite the police station, I found his hand in my pocket. I held on to him and shouted for help."
The inspector transferred his glance to Merrilees.
"And now you, sir."
Merrilees seemed a little embarrassed.
"The story is very nearly right," he said slowly, "but not quite. It was not I who scraped acquaintance with him, but he who scraped acquaintance with me. Doubtless he was trying to get rid of the emerald, and slipped it into my pocket while we were talking."
The inspector stopped writing.
"Ah!" he said impartially. "Well, there will be a gentleman here in a minute who will help us to get to the bottom of the case."
Merrilees frowned.
"It is really impossible for me to wait," he murmured, pulling out his watch. "I have an appointment. Surely, inspector, you can't be so ridiculous as to suppose I'd steal the emerald and walk along with it in my pocket?"
"It is not likely, sir, I agree," the inspector replied. "But you will have to wait just a matter of five or ten minutes till we get this thing cleared up. Ah! Here is his lordship."
A tall man of forty strode into the room. He was wearing a pair of dilapidated trousers and an old sweater.
"Now then, inspector, what is all this?" he said. "You have got hold of the emerald, you say? That's splendid, very smart work. Who are these people you have got here?"
His eye ranged over James and came to rest on Merrilees. The forceful personality of the latter seemed to dwindle and shrink.
"Why - Jones!" exclaimed Lord Edward Campion.
"You recognize this man, Lord Edward?" asked the inspector sharply.
"Certainly I do," said Lord Edward dryly. "He is my valet, came to me a month ago. The fellow they sent down from London was on to him at once, but there was not a trace of the emerald anywhere among his belongings."
"He was carrying it in his coat pocket," the inspector declared. "This gentleman put us on to him." He indicated James.
In another minute James was being warmly congratulated and shaken by the hand.
"My dear fellow," said Lord Edward Campion. "So you suspected him all along, you say?"
"Yes," said James. "I had to trump up the story about my pocket being picked to get him into the police station."
"Well, it is splendid," said Lord Edward, "absolutely splendid. You must come back and lunch with us, that is, if you haven't lunched? It is late, I know, getting on for two o'clock."
"No," said James; "I haven't lunched - but - "
>
"Not a word, not a word," said Lord Edward. "The Rajah, you know, will want to thank you for getting back his emerald for him. Not that I have quite got the hang of the story yet."
They were out of the police station by now, standing on the steps.
"As a matter of fact," said James, "I think I should like ?to tell you the true story."
He did so. His lordship was very much entertained.
"Best thing I ever heard in my life," he declared. "I see it all now. Jones must have hurried down to the bathing hut as soon as he had pinched the thing, knowing that the police would make a thorough search of the house. That old pair of trousers I sometimes put on for going out fishing; nobody was likely to touch them, and he could recover the jewel at his leisure. Must have been a shock to him when he came today to find it gone. As soon as you appeared, he realized that you were the person who had removed the stone. I still don't quite see how you managed to see through that detective pose of his, though!"
"A strong man," thought James to himself, "knows when to be frank and when to be discreet."
He smiled deprecatingly while his fingers passed gently over the inside of his coat lapel feeling the small silver badge of that little-known club, the Merton Park Super Cycling Club. An astonishing coincidence that the man Jones should also be a member, but there it was!
"Hallo, James!"
He turned. Grace and the Sopworth girls were calling to him from the other side of the road. He turned to Lord Edward.
"Excuse me a moment?"
He crossed the road to them.
"We are going to the pictures," said Grace. "Thought you might like to come."
"I am sorry," said James. "I am just going back to lunch with Lord Edward Campion. Yes, that man over there in the comfortable old clothes. He wants me to meet the Rajah of Maraputna."
He raised his hat politely and rejoined Lord Edward.
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The Listerdale Mystery and Eleven Other Stories Page 15