irritating conviction in the back of his mind that it ought to
do so. He looked inquiringly at Theo.
"Richard is Hobson, Jekyll and Lucas," she explained.
204 Agatha Christie
"Your husband.'?"
"Yes."
Vincent returned to the paper and read the bald information
it conveyed carefully. Phrases such as "sudden crash,"
"serious revelations to follow," "other houses affected" struck
him disagreeably.
Roused by a movement, he looked up. Theo was adjusting
her little black hat in front of the mirror. She turned
at the movement he made. Her eyes looked steadily into
his.
"Vincent--I must go to Richard."
He sprang up.
"Theo--don't he absurd."
She repeated mechanically:
"I must go to Richard."
"But, my dear--"
She made a gesture towards the paper on the floor.
"That means ruin--bankruptcy. I can't choose this day
of all others to leave him."
"You had left him before you heard of this. Be reasonable!"
She shook her head mournfully.
"You don't understand. I must go to Richard."
And from that he could not move her. Strange that a
creature so soft, so pliant, could he so unyielding. After the
first, she did not argue. She let him say what he had to say
unhindered. He held her in his arms, seeking to break her
will by enslaving her senses, but though her soft mouth
returned his kisses, he felt in her something aloof and invincible
that withstood all his pleadings.
He let her go at last, sick and weary of the vain endeavour.
From pleading he had turned to bitterness, reproaching
her with never having loved him. That, too, she took in
silence, without protest, her face, dumb and pitiful, giving
the lie to his words. Rage mastered him in the end; he hurled
at her every cruel word he could think of, seeking only to
bruise and batter her to her knees.
At last the words gave out; there was nothing more to
say. He sat, his head in his hands, staring down at the red
pile carpet. By the door, Theodora stood, a black shadow
with a white face.
MAGNOLIA BLOSSOM
It was all over.
She said quietly: "Good-bye, Vincent."
He did not answer.
The door opened--and shut again.
205
III
The Darrells lived in a house in Chelsea--an intriguing,
old-world house, standing in a little garden of its own. Up
the front of the house grew a magnolia tree, smutty, dirty,
begrimed, but still a magnolia.
Theo looked up at it, as she stood on the doorstep some
three hours later. A sudden smile twisted her mouth in pain.
She went straight to the study at the back of the house.
A man was pacing up and down in the room--a young
man, with a handsome face and a haggard expression.
He gave an ejaculation of relief as she came in.
"Thank God you've turned up, Theo. They said you'd
taken your luggage with you and gone off out of town
somewhere."
"I heard the news and came back."
Richard Darrell put an arm about her and drew her t
the couch. They sat down upon it side by side. Theo dre
herself free of the encircling arm in what seemed a perfectl)
natural manner.
"How bad is it, Richard?" she asked quietly.
"Just as bad as it can be--and that's saying a lot."
"Tell me!"
He began to walk up and down again as he talked. The(
sat and watched him. He was not to know that every now
and then the room went dim, and his voice faded from he
hearing, while another room in a hotel at Dover came clearl
before her eyes.
Nevertheless she managed to listen intelligently enough.
He came back and sat down on the couch by her.
"Fortunately," he ended, "they can't touch your mamag
settlement. The house is yours also."
Theo nodded thoughtfully.
"We shall have that at any rate," she said. "Then thing
will not be too bad? It means ,a fresh start, that is all."
206 Agatha Christie
"Oh! Quite so. Yes."
But his voice did not ring true, and Theo thought suddenly:
"There's something else. He hasn't told me everything."
"There's nothing more, Richard?" she said gently.
"Nothing worse?"
He hesitated for just half a second, then: "Worse? What
should there be?"
"I don't know," said Theo.
"It'll be all right," said Richard, speaking more as though
to reassure himself than Theo. "Of course, it'll be all right."
He flung an arm about her suddenly.
"I'm glad you're here," he said. "It'll be all right now
that you're here. Whatever else happens, I've got you,
haven't I?"
She said gently: "Yes, you've got me." And this time
she left his arm round her.
He kissed her and held her close to him, as though in
some strange way he derived comfort from her nearness.
"I've got you, Tbeo," he said again presently, and she
answered as before: "Yes, Richard."
He slipped from the couch to the floor at her feet.
"I'm tired out," he said fretfully. "My God, it's been a
day. Awful! I don't know what I should do if you weren't
here. After all, one's wife is one's wife, isn't she?"
She did not speak, only bowed her head in assent.
He laid his head on her lap. The sigh he gave was like
that of a tired child.
Theo thought again: "There's something he hasn't told
me. What is it?"
Mechanically her hand dropped to his smooth, dark head,
and she stroked it gently, as a mother might comfort a child.
Richard murmured vaguely:
"It'll be all right now you're here. You won't let me
down."
His breathing grew slow and even. He slept. Her hand
still smoothed his head.
But her eyes looked steadily into the darkness in front
of her, seeing nothing.
MAGNOLIA BLOSSOM
207
"Don't you think, Richard," said Theodora, "that you'd better tell me everything?"
It was three days later. They were in the drawing room before dinner.
Richard started, and flushed.
"I don't know what you mean," he parried.
"Don't you?"
He shot a quick glance at her.
"Of course there are--well--details."
"I ought to know everything, don't you think, if I am to help?"
He looked at her strangely.
"What makes you think I want you to help?"
She was a little astonished.
"My dear Richard, I'm your wife."
He smiled suddenly, the old, attractive, carefree smile.
"So you are, Theo. And a very good-looking wife, too. I never could stand ugly women."
He began walking up and down the room, as was his custom when something was worrying him.
"I won't deny you're right in a way," he said presently. "There is something."
He broke off.
,,Yesg,,
"It's
so damned hard to explain things of this kind to
women. They get hold of the wrong end of the stick--fancy
a thing is--well, what it isn't."
Theo said nothing.
"You see," went on Richard, "the law's one thing, and fight and wrong are quite another. I may do a thing that's
perfectly fight and honest, but the law wouldn't take the
same view of it. Nine times out of ten, everything pans out
all right, and the tenth time you--well, hit a snag."
Theo began to understand. She thought to herself: "Why am I not surprised? Did I always know, deep down, that
he wasn't straight?"
Richard went on talking. He explained hinaself at unnecessary lengths. Theo was content for him to cloak the
actual details of the affair in this mantle of verbosity. The
matter concerned a large tract of South African property.
Exactly what Richard had done, she was not concerned to
208 Agatha Christie
know. Morally, he assured her, everything was fair and
aboveboard; legally--well, there it was; no getting away
from the fact, he had rendered himself liable to criminal
prosecution.
He kept shooting quick glances at his wife as he talked.
He was nervous and uncomfortable. And still he excused
himself and tried to explain away that which a child might
have seen in its naked truth. Then finally in a burst of
justification, he broke down. Perhaps Theo's eyes, momentarily
scornful, had something to do with it. He sank
down in a chair by the fh'eplace, his head in his hands.
"There it is, Theo," he said brokenly. "What are you
going to do about it.'?"
She came over to him with scarcely a moment's pause
and, kneeling down by the chair, put her face against his.
"What can he done, Richard? What can we do?"
He caught her to him.
"You mean it? You'll stick to me?"
"Of course. My dear, of course."
He said, moved to sincerity in spite of himself: "I'm a
thief, Theo. That's what it means, shorn of fine language--just
a thief."
"Then I'm a thief's wife, Richard. We'll sink or swim
together."
They were silent for a little while. Presently Richard
recovered something of his jaunty manner.
"You know, Theo, I've got a plan, but we'll talk of that
later. It's just on dinnertime. We must go and change. Put
on that creamy thingummybob of yours, you know--the
Caillot model."
Theo raised her eyebrows quizzically.
"For an evening at home?"
"Yes, yes, I know. But I like it. Put it on, there's a good
girl. It cheers me up to see you looking your best."
Theo came down to dinner in the Caillot. It was a creation
in creamy brocade, with a faint pattern of gold running
through it and an undernote of pale pink to give warmth to
the cream. It was cut daringly low in the back, and nothing
could have been better-designed to show off the dazzling
whiteness of Theo's neck and shoulders. She was truly now
a magnolia flower.
MAGNOLIA BLOSSOM
209
Richard's eye rested upon her in warm approval. "Good girl. You know, you look simply stunning in that dress."
They went in to dinner. Throughout the evening Richard was nervous and unlike himself, joking and laughing about
nothing at all, as if in a vain attempt to shake off his cares.
Several times Theo tried to lead him back to the subject
they had been discussing before, but he edged away from
it.
Then suddenly, as she rose to go to bed, he came to the point.
"No, don't go yet. I've got something to say. You know,
about this miserable business."
She sat down again.
He began talking rapidly. With a bit of luck, the whole thing could be hushed up. He had covered his tracks fairly
well. So long as certain papers didn't get into the receiver's
hands--
He stopped significantly.
"PapersT' asked Theo perplexedly. "You mean you will destroy them?"
Richard made a grimace.
"I'd destroy them fast enough if I could get hold of them. That's the devil of it all!"
"Who has them, then?"
"A man we both know--Vincent Easton."
A very faint exclamation escaped Theo. She forced it back, but Richard had noticed it.
"I've suspected he knew something of the business all along. That's why I've asked him here a good bit. You may
remember that I asked you to be nice to him.'?"
"I remember," said Theo.
"Somehow I never seem to have got on really friendly terms with him. Don't know why. But he likes you. I should
say he likes you a good deal."
Tbeo said in a very clear voice: "He does."
"Ah!" said Richard appreciatively. "That's good. Now you see what I'm driving at. I'm convinced that if you went
to Vincent Easton and asked him to give you those papers,
he wouldn't refuse. Pretty woman, you know--all that sort
of thing."
"I can't do that," said Theo quickly.
210 Agatha Christie
"Nonsense."
"It's out of the question."
The red came slowly out in blotches on Richard's face.
She saw that he was angry.
"My dear girl, I don't think you quite realize the position.
If this comes out, I'm liable to go to prison. It's ruin--disgrace."
"Vincent Easton will not use those papers against you.
I am sure of that."
"That's not quite the point. He mayn't realize that they
incriminate me. It's only taken in conjunction with--with
my affairs--with the figures they're bound to find. @h! I
can't go into details. He'll ruin me without knowing what
he's doing unless somebody puts the psition before him."
"You can do that yourself, surely. Write to him."
"A fat lot of good that would be! No, Theo, we've only
got one hope. You're the trump card. You're my wife. You
must help me. Go to Easton tonight--"
A cry broke from Theo.
"Not tonight. Tomorrow perhaps."
"My God, Theo, can't you realize things? Tomorrow
may be too late. If you could go now--at once--to Easton's
rooms." He saw her flinch, and tried to reassure her. "I
know, my dear girl, I know. It's a beastly thing to do. But
it's life or death. Theo, you won't fail me? You said you'd
do anything to help me---"
Theo heard herself speaking in a hard, dry voice. "Not
this thing. There are reasons."
"It's life or death, Theo. I mean it. See here."
. He snapped open a drawer of the desk and took out a
revolver. If there was something theatrical about that action,
it escaped her notice.
"It's that or shooting myself. I can't face the racket. If
you won't do as I ask you, I'll be a dead man before morning.
I swear to you solemnly that that's the truth."
Theo gave a low cry. "No, Richard, not that!"
"Then help me."
He flung the revolver down on the table and knelt by her
side. "Theo, my darling--if you love me--if you've ever
loved me--do this for me. You're my wife, Theo. I've no
one else to turn to."
MAGOt.^ m. OSSOM
211
On and on his voice went, murmuring, ple
ading. And at
last Theo heard her own voice saying: "Very well--yes."
Richard took her to the door and put her into a taxi.
IV
"Theo!"
Vincent Easton sprang up in incredulous delight. She
stood in the doorway. Her wrap of white ermine was hanging
from her shoulders. Never, Easton thought, had she looked
so beautiful.
"You've come after all."
She put out a hand to stop him as he came towards her.
"No, Vincent, this isn't what you think."
She spoke in a low, hurried voice.
"I'm here from my husband. He thinks there are some
papers which may--do him harm. I have come to ask you
to give them to me."
Vincent stood very still, looking at her. Then he gave a
short laugh.
"So that's it, is it? I thought Hobson, Jekyll and Lucas
sounded familiar the other day, but I couldn't place them
at the minute. Didn't know your husband was connected
with the firm. Things have been going wrong there for some
B, time. I was commissioned to look into the matter. I sus- i pected some underling. Never thought of the man at the
' --i top.
I Theo said nothing. Vincent looked at her curio,u, sly.
I "It makes no difference to you, this?" he asked.' Tha-- !well, to put it plainly, that your husband's a swindler?'
I She shook her head.
"It beats me," said Vincent. Then he added quietly: "Will
you wait a minute or two? I will get the papers."
Theo sat down in a chair. He went into the other room.
Presently he returned and delivered a small package into
her hand.
"Thank you," said Theo. "Have you a match?"
Taking the matchbox he proffered, she knelt down by
the fireplace. When the papers were reduced to a pile of
'ashes, she stood up.
212
Agatha Christie
"Thank you," she said again.
"Not at all," he answered formally. "Let me get you a
taxi."
He put her into it, saw her drive away. A strange, formal
little interview. After the first, they had not even dared look
at each other. Well, that was that, the end. He would go