The Golden Ball and Other Stories

  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