companion whispered, "Leave it to me. It will be all right."
George was only too pleased to leave it to her. The situation, he considered, called for feminine finesse.
They were shown into a drawing room. No sooner had the butler left the room than the door almost immediately
reopened and a big florid lady with peroxide hair came in
expectantly.
Mary Montresor made a movement towards her, then paused in well-stimulated surprise.
"Why!" she exclaimed. "It isn't Amy! What an extraordinary thing!"
"It is an extraordinary thing," said a grim voice.
A man had entered behind Mrs. Pardonstenger, an enormous man with a bulldog face and a sinister frown. George
thought he had never seen such an unpleasant brute. The
man closed the door and stood with his back against it.
"A very extraordinary thing," he repeated sneeringly. "But I fancy we understand your little game!" He suddenly
produced what seemed an outsize in revolvers. "Hands up.
Hands up, I say. Frisk 'em, Bella."
George in reading detective stories had often wondered what it meant to be frisked. Now he knew. Bella (alias Mrs.
P.) satisfied herself that neither he nor Mary concealed any
lethal weapons on their persons.
"Thought you were mighty clever, didn't you?" sneered the man. "Coming here like this and playing the innocents.
You've made a mistake this timewa bad mistake. In fact,
I very much doubt whether your friends and relations will
ever see you again. Ah! You would, would you?" as George
made a movement. "None of your games. I'd shoot you as
soon as look at you."
"Be careful, George," quavered Mary.
"I shall," said George with feeling. "Very careful." "And now march," said the man. "Open the door, Bella.
Keep your hands above your heads, you two. The lady
ftrstwthat's right. I'll come behind you both. Across the
hall. Upstairs..."
THE GOLDEN BALL 89
They obeyed. What else could they do? Mary mounted
the stairs, her hands held high. George followed. Behind
them came the huge ruffian, revolver in hand.
Mary reached the top of the staircase and turned the
corner. At the same moment, without the least warning,
George lunged out a fierce backward kick. He caught the
man full in the middle and he capsized backwards down the
stairs. In a moment George had turned and leaped down
after him, kneeling on his chest. With his right hand, he
picked up the revolver which had fallen from the other's
hand as he fell.
Bella gave a scream and retreated through a baize door.
Mary came running down the stairs, her face as white as
paper.
"George, you haven't killed him?"
The man was lying absolutely still. George bent over
him.
"I don't think I've killed him," he said regretfully. "But
he's certainly taken the count all right."
"Thank God." She was breathing rapidly.
"Pretty neat," said George with permissible self-admi-ration.
"Many a lesson to be learnt from a jolly old mule.
Eh, what?"
Mary pulled at his hand.
"Come away," she cried feverishly. "Come away quick."
"If we had something to tie this fellow up with," said
George, intent on his own plans. "I suppose you couldn't
find a bit of rope or cord anywhere?"
"No, I couldn't," said Mary. "And come away, please--please--I'm
so frightened."
"You needn't be frightened," said George with manly
arrogance. "I'm here."
"Darling George, please--for my sake. I don't want to
be mixed up in this. Please let's go."
The exquisite way in which she breathed the words "fo
my sake" shook George's resolution. He allowed himself
to be led forth from the house and hurried down the drive
to the waiting car. Mary said faintly: "You drive. I don't
feel I can." George took command of the wheel.
"But we've got to see this thing through," he said. "Heaven
knows what blackguardism that nasty-looking fellow is up
90
Agatha Christie
to. I won't bring the police into it if you don't want me
tombut I'll have a try on my own. I ought to be able to
get on their track all right."
"No, George, I don't want you to."
"We have a first-class adventure like this, and you want
me to back out of it? Not on my life."
"I'd no idea you were so bloodthirsty," said Mary tearfully.
"I'm not bloodthirsty. I didn't begin it. The damned
cheek of the fellow--threatening us with an outsize revolver.
By the way--why on earth didn't that revolver go
off when I kicked him downstairs?"
He stopped the car and fished the revolver out of the side
pocket of the car where he had placed it. After examining
it, he whistled..
"Well, I'm damned! The thing isn't loaded. If I'd known
that---" He paused, wrapped in thought. "Mary, this is a
very curious business."
"I know it is. That's why I'm begging you to leave it
alone."
"Never," said George firmly.
Mary uttered a heart-rending sigh.
"I see," she said, "that I shall have to tell you. And the
worst of it is that I haven't the least idea how you'll take
it."
"What do you mean--tell me?"
"You see, it's like this." She paused. "I feel girls should
stick together nowadays--they should insist on knowing
something about the men they meet."
"Well?" said George, utterly fogged.
"And the most important thing to a girl is how a man
will behave in an emergency--has he got presence of mind--courage--quickwittedness?
That's the kind of thing you
can hardly ever know--until it's too late. An emergency
mightn't arise until you'd been married for years. All you
do know about a man is how he dances and if he's good at
getting taxis on a wet night."
"Both very useful accomplishments," George pointed out.
"Yes, but one wants to feel a man is a man."
"The great wide-open spaces where men are men," George
quoted absently.
THE GOLDEN BALL
91
· "Exactly. But we have no wide-open spaces in England.
So one has to create a situation artificially. That's what I
did."
"Do you mean--"
"I do mean. That house, as it happens, actually is my
house. We came to it by design--not by chance. And the
man--that man that you nearly killed--"
"Yes?"
"He's Rube Wallace--the film actor. He does prize
fighters, you know. The dearest and gentlest of men. I
engaged him. Bella's his wife. That's why I was so terrified
that you'd killed him. Of course the revolver wasn't loaded.
It's a stage property. Oh, George, are you very angry?"
"Am I the first person you have--er--tried this test on?"
"Oh, no. There have been--let me see--nine and a
half!"
"Who was the half?" inquired George with curiosity.
"Bingo," replied Mary coldly.
"Did any of them think of kicking like a mule?"
"No--they didn't. Some trie
d to bluster and some gave
in at once, but they all allowed themselves to be marched
upstairs and tied up, and gagged. Then, of course, I managed
to work myself loose from my bonds--like in books--and
I freed them and we got away--finding the house
empty."
"And nobody thought of the mule trick or anything like
it?"
"No."
"In that case," said George graciously, "I forgive you."
"Thank you, George," said Mary meekly.
"In fact," said George, "the only question that arises is:
Where do we go now? I'm not sure if it's Lambeth Palace
or Doctor's Commons, wherever that is."
"What are you talking about?"
"The license. A special license, I think, is indicated.
You're too fond of getting engaged to one man and then
immediately asking another one to marry you."
"I didn't ask you to marry me!"
"You did. At Hyde Park Corner. Not a place I should
choose for a proposal myself, but everyone has their idiosyncrasies
in these matters."
92
Agatha Christie
"I did nothing of the kind. I just asked, as a joke, whether
you would care to marry me? It wasn't intended seriously."
"If I were to take counsel's opinion, I am .sure that he
would say it constituted a genuine proposal. Besides, you
know you want to marry me."
"I don't."
"Not after nine and a half failures? Fancy what a feeling
of security it will give you to go through life with a man
who can extricate you from any dangerous situation."
Mary appeared to weaken slightly at this telling argument.
But she said firmly: "I wouldn't marry any man unless
he went on his knees to me."
George looked at her. She was adorable. But George had
other characteristics of the mule besides its kick. He said
with equal firmness:
"To go on one's knees to any woman is degrading. I will
not do it."
Mary said with enchanting wistfulness: "What a pity."
They drove back to London. George was stern and silent.
Mary's face was hidden by the brim of her hat. As they
passed Hyde Park Corner, she murmured softly: "Couldn't
you go on your knees to me?"
George said firmly: "No."
He felt he was being a superman. She admired him for
his attitude. But unluckily he suspected her of mulish tendencies
herself. He drew up suddenly.
"Excuse me," he said.
He jumped out of the car, retraced his steps to a fruit
barrow they had passed and returned so quickly that the
policeman who was bearing down upon them to ask what
they meant by it, had not had time to arrive.
George drove on, lightly tossing an apple into Mary's
lap.
"Eat more fruit," he said. "Also symbolical."
"Symbolical?"
"Yes, originally Eve gave Adam an apple. Nowadays
Adam gives Eve one. See?"
"Yes," said Mary rather doubtfully.
"Where shall I drive you?" inquired George formally.
"Home, please."
He drove to Grosvenor Square. His face was absolutely
TH C,Or: BAL
93
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
94 Agatha Christie
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?"
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 £300 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
br /> 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
96 Agatha Christie
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 olher 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. WeB-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