The Golden Ball and Other Stories

  The other merely shook his head, and murmuring: "This

  is not the end; you will hear from us again." The two men

  took their leave.

  George passed his hand over his brow. Events were pro

  THE GIRL IN THE TRAIN

  31

  ceeding at a bewildering rate. He was evidently mixed up

  in a first-class European scandal.

  "It might even mean another war," said George hopefully, as he hunted round to see what had become of the

  man with the black beard.

  To his great relief, he discovered him sitting in a corner

  of the commercial room. George sat down in another corner.

  In about three minutes the black-bearded man got up and

  went up to bed. George followed and saw him go into his

  room and close the door. George heaved a sigh of relief.

  "I need a night's rest," he murmured. "Need it badly."

  Then a dire thought struck him. Supposing the black-bearded

  man had realized that George was on his trail?

  Supposing that he should slip away during the night while

  George himself was sleeping the sleep of the just? A few

  minutes' reflection suggested to Mr. Rowland a way of

  dealing with this difficulty. He unravelled one of his socks

  till he got a good length of neutral-coloured wool, then

  creeping quietly out of his room, he pasted one end of the

  wool to the farther side of the stranger's door with stamp

  paper, carrying the wool across it and along to his own

  room. There he hung the end with a small silver bell--a

  relic of last night's entertainment. He surveyed these arrangements

  with a good deal of satisfaction. Should the black-bearded man attempt to leave his room, George would

  be instantly warned by the ringing of the bell.

  This matter disposed of, George lost no time in seeking

  his couch. The small packet he placed carefully under his

  pillow. As he did so, he fell into a momentary brown study.

  His thoughts could have been translated thus:

  "Anastasia Sophia Marie Alexandra Olga Elizabeth. Hang

  it all, I've missed out one. I wonder now--"

  He was unable to go to sleep immediately, being tantalized

  with his failure to grasp the situation. What was it

  all about? What was the connection between the escaping

  Grand Duchess, the sealed packet and the black-bearded

  man? What was the Grand Duchess escaping from? Were

  the two foreigners aware that the sealed packet was in his

  possession? What was it likely to contain?

  Pondering these matters, with an irritated sense that he

  was no nearer their solution, Mr. Rowland fell asleep.

  32

  Agatha Christie

  He was awakened by the faint jangle of a bell. Not

  of those men who awake to instant action, it took him just

  a minute and a half to realize the situation. Then he jumped

  up, thrust on some slippers, and, opening the door with the

  utmost caution, slipped out into the corridor. A faint moving

  patch of shadow at the far end of the passage showed him

  the direction taken by his quarry. Moving as noiselessly as

  possible, Mr. Rowland followed the trail. He was just in

  time to see the black-bearded man disappear into a bath~

  room. That was puzzling, particularly so as there was a

  bathroom just opposite his own room. Moving up close to

  the door, which was ajar, George peered through the crack.

  The man was on his knees by the side of the bath, doing

  something to the skirting board immediately behind it. He

  remained there for about five minutes, then he rose to his

  feet, and George beat a prudent retreat. Safe in the shadow of his own door, he watched the other pass and regain his

  own room.

  "Good," said George to himself. "The mystery of the

  bathroom will be investigated tomorrow morning."

  He got into bed and slipped his hand under the pillow

  to assure himself that the precious packet was still there. In

  another minute, he was scattering the bedclothes in a panic.

  The packet was gone!

  It was a sadly chastened George who sat consuming eggs

  and bacon the following morning. He had failed Elizabeth.

  He had allowed {he precious packet she had entrusted to his

  charge to be taken from him, and the "Mystery of the Bathroom"

  was miserably inadequate. Yes, undoubtedly George

  had made a mutt of himself.

  After breakfast he strolled upstairs again. A chambermaid

  was standing in the passage looking perplexed.

  "Anything wrong, my dear?" said George kindly.

  "It's the gentleman here, sir. He asked to be called at

  half-past eight, and I can't get any answer and the door's

  locked."

  "You don't say so," said George.

  An uneasy feeling arose in his own breast. He hurried

  into his room. Whatever plans he was forming were instantly

  brushed aside by a most unexpected sight. There on the

  dressing table was the little packet which had been stolen

  THE GIRL IN THE TRAIN

  33

  from him the night before!

  George picked it up and examined it. Yes, it was undoubtedly the same. But the seals had been broken. After

  a minute's hesitation, he unwrapped it. If other people had

  seen its contents, there was no reason why he should not

  see them also. Besides, it was possible that the contents had

  been abstracted. The unwound paper revealed a small cardboard

  box, such as jewellers use. George opened it. Inside,

  nestling on a bed of cotton wool, was a plain gold wedding

  ring.

  He picked it up and examined it. There was no inscription inside--nothing whatever to mark it oit from any other

  wedding ring. George dropped his head into his hands with

  a groan.

  "Lunacy," he murmured. "That's what it is. Stark, staring lunacy. There's no sense anywhere."

  Suddenly he remembered the chambermaid's statement, and at the same time he observed that there was a broad

  parapet outside the window. It was not a 'feat he would

  ordinarily have attempted,, but he was so aflame with curiosity

  and anger that he was in the mood to make light of

  difficulties. He sprang upon the window sill. A few seconds

  later he was peering in at the window of the room occupied

  by the black-bearded man. The window was open and the

  room was empty. A little farther along was a fire escape.

  It was clear how the quarry had taken his eparture.

  George jumped in through the window. The missing man's effects were still scattered about. There might be some clue

  among them to shed light on George's perplexities. He

  began to hunt about, starting with the contents of a battered

  kit bag.

  It was a sound that arrested his search--a very slight sound, but a sound indubitably in the room. George's glance

  leapt to the big wardrobe. He sprang up and wrenched open

  the door. As he did so, a man jumped out from it and went

  rolling over the floor locked in George's embrace. He was

  no mean antagonist. All George's special tricks availed very

  little. They fell apart at length in sheer exhaustion, and for

  the first time George saw who his adversary was. It was

  the
little man with the ginger moustache!

  "Who the devil are you?" demanded George.

  34 Agatha Christie

  For answer the other drew out a card and handed it to

  him. George read it aloud.

  "Detective-Inspector Jarrold, Scotland Yard."

  "That's right, sir. And you'd do well to tell me all you know about this business."

  "I would, would I?" said George thoughtfully. "Do you know, inspector, I believe you're right. Shall we adjourn

  to a more cheerful spot?"

  In a quiet corner of the bar George unfolded his soul. Inspector Jarrold listened sympathetically.

  "Very puzzling, as you say, sir," he remarked when George had finished. "There's a lot as I can't make head

  or tail of myself, but there's one or two points I can clear

  up for you. I was here after Mardenberg (your black-bearded

  friend) and your turning up and watching him the way you

  did made me suspicious. I couldn't place you. I slipped into

  your room last night when you were out of it, and it was I

  who sneaked the little packet from under your pillow. When

  I opened it and found it wasn't what I was after, I took the

  first opportunity of returning it to your room."

  "That makes things a little clearer certainly," said George thoughtfully. "I seem to have made rather an ass of myself

  all through."

  "I wouldn't say that, sir. You did uncommon well for a beginner. You say you visited the bathroom this morning

  and took away what was concealed behind the skirting

  board?"

  "Yes. But it's only a rotten love letter," said George gloomily. "Dash it all, I didn't mean to go nosing out the

  poor fellow's private life."

  "Would you mind letting me see it, sir?"

  George took a folded letter from his pocket and passed it to the inspector. The latter unfolded it.

  "As you say, sir. But I rather fancy that if you drew lines from one dotted i to another, you'd get a different result.

  Why, bless you, sir, this is a plan of the Portsmouth harbour

  defences."

  "what?"

  "Yes. We've had our eye on the gentleman for some time. But he was too sharp for us. Got a woman to do most

  of the dirty work."

  THE GIRL IN THE TRAIN 35

  "A woman?" said George in a faint voice. "What was

  her name?"

  "She goes by a good many, sir. Most usually known as

  Betty Brighteyes. A remarkably good-looking young woman

  she is."

  "Betty--Brighteyes," said George. "Thank you, inspector.''

  "Excuse me, sir, but you're not looking well."

  "I'm not well. I'm very ill. In fact, I think I'd better take

  the Hrst train back to town."

  The inspector looked at his watch.

  "That will be a slow train, I'm afraid, sir. Better wait

  for the express."

  "It doesn't matter," said George gloomily. "No train

  could be slower than the one I came down by yesterday."

  Seated once more in a first-class carriage, George leisurely

  perused the day's news. Suddenly he sat bolt upright

  and stared at the sheet in front of him.

  "A romantic wedding took place yesterday in London

  when Lord Roland Gaigh, second son of the Marquis of

  Axminster, was married to the Grand Due?' Anastasia of

  Catonia. The ceremony was kept a profound secret. The

  Grand Duchess has been living in Paris with her uncle since

  the upheaval in Catonia. She met Lord Roland when he was

  secretary to the British Embassy in Catonia and their attachment

  dates from that time."

  "Well, I'm---"

  Mr. Rowland could not think of anything strong enough

  to express his feelings. He continued to stare into space.

  The train stopped at a small station and a lady got in. She

  sat down opposite him.

  "Good morning, George," she said sweetly.

  "Good heavens!" cried George. "Elizabeth!"

  She smiled at him. She waS, if possible, lovelier than ever.

  "Look here," cried George, clutching his head. "For God's

  sake tell me. Are you the Grand Duchess Anastasia, or are

  you Betty Brighteyes?"

  She stared at him.

  "I'm not either. I'm Elizabeth Gaigh. I can tell you all

  about it now. And I've got to apologize too. You see, Roland

  36

  Agatha Christie

  (that's my brother) has always been in love with Alexa--"

  "Meaning the Grand Duchess?"

  "Yes, that's what the family call her. Well, as I say,

  Roland was always in love with her, and she with him. And

  then the revolution came, and Alexa was in Paris, and they

  were just going to fix it up when old Storm, the chancellor,

  came along and insisted on carrying off Alexa and forcing

  her to marry Prince Karl, her cousin, a horrid pimply person

  "I fancy I've met him," said George.

  "Whom she simply hates. And old Prince Osric, her

  uncle, forbade her to see Roland again. So she ran away to

  England, and I came up to town and met her, and we wired

  to Roland, who was in Scotland. And just at the very last

  minute, when we were driving to the Registry Office in a

  taxi, whom should we meet in another taxi face to face, but

  old Prince Osric. Of course he followed us, and we were

  at our wits' end what to do because he'd have made the

  most fearful scene, and, anyway, he is her guardian. Then

  I had the brilliant idea of changing places. You can practically

  see nothing of a girl nowadays but the tip of her

  nose. I put on Alexa's red hat and brown wrap coat, and

  she put on my grey. Then we told the taxi to go to Waterloo,

  and I skipped out there and hurried into the station. Old

  Osric followed the red hat all right, without a thought for

  the other occupant of the taxi sitting huddled up inside, but

  of course it wouldn't do for him to see my face. So I just

  bolted into your carriage and threw myself on your mercy."

  "I've got that all right," said George. "It's the rest of

  it."

  "I know. That's what I've got to apologize about. I hope

  you won't be awfully cross. You see, you looked so keen

  on its being a real mystery--like in books, that I really

  couldn't resist the temptation. I picked Out a rather sinister-looking

  man on the platform and told you to follow him.

  And then I thrust the parcel on you."

  "Containing a wedding ring."

  "Yes. Alexa and I bought that, because Roland wasn't

  due to arrive from Scotland until just before the wedding.

  And of course I knew that by the time I got to London,

  THE GIRL IN THE TRAIN

  37

  they wouldn't want it--they would have had to use a curtain

  ring or something."

  "I see," said George. "It's like all these things--so simple

  when you know! Allow me, Elizabeth."

  He stripped off her left glove and uttered a sigh of relief

  at the sight of the bare third finger.

  "That's all right," he remarked. "That ring won't be

  wasted after all."

  "Oh I" cried Elizabeth. "But I don't know anything about

  you."

  "You know how nice I am," said George. "By the way,

  it has just occurred to me, you are the Lady Elizabeth Gaigh,

  of cour
se."

  "Oh! George, are you a snob?"

  "As a matter of fact, I am, rather. My best dream was

  one where King George borrowed half a crown from me to

  see him over the weekend. But I was thinking of my uncle--the

  one from whom I am estranged. He's a frightful snob.

  When he knows I'm going to marry you, and that we'll

  have a title in the family, he'll make me a partner at once!"

  "Oh! George, is he very rich?"

  "Elizabeth, are you mercenary?"

  "Very. I adore spending money. But I was thinking of

  Father. Five daughters, full of beauty and blue blood. He's

  just yearning for a rich son-in-law."

  "H'm," said George. "It will be one of those marriages

  made in heaven and approved on earth. Shall we live at

  Rowland's Castle'.) They'd be sure to make me Lord Mayor

  with you for a wife. Oh! Elizabeth, darling, it's probably

  contravening the company's bylaws, but I simply must kiss

  you!"

  The Manhood

  of Edward Robinson

  "With a swing of his mighty arms, Bill lifted her right off her feet, crushing her to his breast. With a deep

  sigh she yielded her lips in such a kiss as he had never

  dreamed of--"

  With a sigh, Mr. Edward Robinson put down When Love Is King and stared out of the window of the underground

  train. They were running through Stamford Brook. Edward

  Robinson was thinking about Bill. Bill was the real hundred

  per cent he-man beloved of lady novelists. Edward envied

  him his muscles, his rugged good looks, and his terrific

  passions. He picked up the book again and read the description

  of the proud Marchesa Bianca (she who had yielded

  her lips). So ravishing was her beauty, the intoxication of

  her was so great, that strong men went down before her

  like ninepins, faint and helpless with love.

  "Of course," said Edward to himself, "it's all bosh, this sort of stuff. All bosh, it is. And yet, I wonder--"

  His eyes looked wistful. Was there such a thing as a world of romance and adventure somewhere? Where there

  women whOSe beauty intoxicated? Was there such a thing

  as love that devoured one like a flame?

  "This is real life, this is," said Edward. "I've got to go on the same just like all the other chaps."