The Golden Ball and Other Stories

  On the whole, he supposed, he ought to consider himself a lucky young man. He had an excellent berth--a clerkship

  in a flourishing concern. He had good health, no one dependent

  upon him, and he was engaged to Maud.

  But the mere thought of Maud brought a shadow over his face. Though he would never have admitted it, he was

  afraid of Maud. He loved her--yes--he still remembered

  38

  THE MANHOOD OF EDWARD ROBINSON 39

  the thrill with which he had admired the back of her white neck rising out of the cheap four and elevenpenny blouse

  on the first occasion they had met. He had sat behind her

  at the cinema, and the friend he was with had known her

  and had introduced them. No doubt about it, Maud was

  very Superior. She was good-looking and clever and very

  ladylike, and she was always right about everything. The

  kind of girl, everyone said, who would make such an excellent

  wife.

  Edward wondered whether the Marchesa Bianca would have made an excellent wife. Somehow, he doubted it. He

  couldn't picture the voluptuous Bianca, with her red lips

  and her swaying form, tamely sewing on buttons, say, for

  the virile Bill. No, Bianca was Romance, and this was real

  life. He and Maud would be very happy together. She had

  so much common sense...

  But all the same, he wished that she wasn't quite so--well, sharp in manner. So prone to "jump upon him."

  It was, of course, her prudence and her common sense which made her do so. Maud was very sensible. And, as a

  rule, Edward was very sensible too, but sometimes-- He

  had wanted to get married this Christmas, for instance.

  Maud had pointed out how much more prudent it would be

  to wait a while--a year or two, perhaps. His salary was

  not large. He had wanted to give her an expensive ring--she

  had been horror-stricken, and had forced him to take it

  back and exchange it for a cheaper one. Her qualitites were

  all excellent qualitites, but sometimes Edward wished that

  she had more faults and less virtues. It was her virtues that

  drove him to desperate deeds.

  For instance--

  A blush of guilt overspread his face. He had got to tell-her--and tell her soon. His secret guilt was already making

  him behave strangely. Tomorrow was the first of three days'

  holiday, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day.

  She had suggested that he should come around and spend

  the day with her people, and in a clumsy, foolish manner,

  a manner that could not fail to arouse her suspicions, he had

  managed to get out of it--had told a long, lying story about

  a pal of his in the country with whom he had promised to

  spend the day.

  40 Agatha Christie

  And there was no pal in the country. There was only his

  guilty secret.

  Three months ago, Edward Robinson, in company with

  a few hundred thousand other young men, had gone in for

  a competition in one of the weekly papers. Twelve girls'

  names had to be arranged in order of popularity. Edward

  had had a brilliant idea. His own preference was sure to be

  wrong--he had noticed that in several similar competitions.

  He wrote down the twelve names arranged in his own order

  of merit, then he wrote them down again, this time placing

  one from the top and one from the bottom of the list alternately.

  When the result was announced, Edward had got eight

  right out of the twelve, and was awarded the first prize of

  £500. This result, which might easily be ascribed to luck,

  Edward persisted in regarding as the direct outcome of his

  "system." He was inordinately proud of himself.

  The next thing was, what to do with the £500? He knew

  very well what Maud would say. Invest it. A nice little nest

  egg for the future. And, of course, Maud would be quite

  right, he knew that. But to win money as the result of a

  competition is an entirely different feeling from anything

  else in the world.

  Had the money been left to him as a legacy, Edward

  would have invested it religiously in Conversion Loan or

  Savings Certificates as a matter of course. But money that

  one has achieved by a mere stroke of the pen, by a lucky

  and unbelievable chance, comes under the same heading as

  a child's sixpence--"for your very own--to spend as you

  like."

  And in a certain rich shop which he passed daily on his

  way to the office, was the unbelievable dream, a small two-seater

  car, with a long shining nose, and the price clearly

  displayed on it £465.

  "If I were rich," Edward had said to it, day after day.

  "If I were rich, I'd have you."

  And now he was--if not rich--at least possessed of a

  lump sum of money sufficient to realize his dream. That

  car, that shining, alluring piece of loveliness, was his if he

  cared to pay the price.

  He had meant to tell Maud about the money. Once he

  had

  tatk

  neY,

  it c]

  Fie

  hou

  THE MANHOOD OF EDWARD ROBINSON 41

  tld her, he would have secured himself against tmp-In

  face of Maud's horror and disapproval, he ould

  r have the coarage to persist in his madness· But, as

  Mced, it was Maud herself who clinched the matter·

  taken her to the cinema--and to the best seats in the

  crir :' She had pointed out to him, kindly but firmly, the

  thre lal folly of his behaviour--wasting good money--

  saw and sixpence against two and fourpence, when one

  l?st as well from the latter placeSn s. i empre scionS.., n!fi

  She q Rot be allowed to continue in these e

  g

  , ' '

  -

  -d Edward but she realized that he was weaK.

  r

  h;task of bei'ng ever at hand .to infiue..n, ce ,him in:r

  with he should go. She observed hs wormtlce aeme

  E,tisfaction .....

  ue rqvard was indeed wormlike. Like· worms, .ne

  inlhained crushed by her words, but t w. as at that preCiSe

  "e that he made up his mind to buy e car. .

  life run it," said Edward to himself· F,o,r once

  · '!'11 do what I like· Maud can go hang! .

  of nl1 the very next morning he had walked i.nto thaot

  ;,,,,' ae -lass with its lordly inmates in their glory oI

  thin,prised himself, he bought the car. It was the easiest

  It the world, buying a car!

  outw'd been his for four days now. He had gone dimout,

  Mauq c[ly calm, but inwardly bathed in ecstasy. And to

  his the had as yet breathed no word. For four dayS, in

  dling cheon hour, he had received instruction !,n the hanTf

  the lovely creature. He was an apt,pu,plL

  the Cotrow, Christmas Eve, he was to ta!e n,e,r,.out

  if ne%try. He had lied to Maud, and he woma .e. a

  for alaion·It stood to him for Romance, or a

  ¥omhe things that he had longed for an.d had ri. ever r'

  They ow, he and his mistress would take the road togen ·

  and'f ould rush through the keen cold air, leaving the throb

  clear ' of London far behind them--out into the wide,

  Ii
s moment, Edward, though he did not know it, was

  42

  Agatha Christie

  very near to being a poet.

  Tomorrow--

  He looked down at the book in his hand--When Love Is

  King. He laughed and stuffed it into his pocket. The car,

  and the red lips of the Marchesa Bianca, and the amazing

  prowess of Bill seemed all mixed up together. Tomorrow--

  The weather, usually a sorry jade to those who count

  upon her, was kindly disposed towards Edward. She gave

  him the day of his dreams, a day of glittering frost, and

  pale-blue sky, and a primrose-yellow sun.

  So, in a mood of high adventure, of daredevil wickedness,

  Edward drove out of London. There was trouble at

  Hyde Park Corner, and a sad contretemps at Putney Bridge,

  there was much protesting of gears, and a frequent jarring

  of brakes, and much abuse was freely showered upon Edward

  by the drivers of other vehicles. But for a novice he

  did not acquit himself so badly, and presently he came out

  onto one of those fair, wide roads that are the joy of the

  motorist. There was little congestion on this particular road

  today. Edward drove on and on, drank with his mastery

  over this creature of the gleaming sides, speeding through

  the cold white world with the elation of a god.

  It was a delirious day. He stopped for lunch at an old-fashioned

  inn, and again later for tea. Then reluctantly he

  turned homewards--back again to London, to Maud, to the

  inevitable explanation, recriminations...

  He shook off the thought with a sigh. Let tomorrow look

  after itself. He still had today. And what could be more

  fascinating than this? Rushing through the darkness, with

  the headlights searching out the way in front. Why, this

  was the best of all!

  He judged that he had no time to stop anywhere for

  dinner. This driving through the darkness was a ticklish

  business. It was going to take longer to get back to London

  than he had thought. It was just eight o'clock when he passed

  through Hindhead and came out upon the rim of the Devil's

  Punch Bowl. There was moonlight, and the snow that had

  fallen two days ago was still unmelted.

  He stopped the car and stood stating. What did it matter

  if he didn't get back to London until midnight? What did

  it matter if he never got back? He wasn't going to tear

  I

  THE MANHOOD OF EDWARD ROBINSON

  43

  himself away from this all at once.

  He got out of the car and approached the edge. There

  was a path winding down temptingly near him. Edward

  yielded to the spell. For the next half-hour he wandered

  deliriously in a snowbound world. Never had he imagined

  anything quite like this. And it was his, his very own, given

  to him by his shining mistress who waited for him faithfully

  on the road above.

  He climbed up again, got into the car and drove off, still

  a little dizzy from that discovery of sheer beauty which

  comes to the most prosaic men once in a while.

  Then, with a sigh, he came to himself, and thrust his

  hand into the pocket of the car where he had stuffed an

  additional muffler earlier in the day.

  But the muffler was no longer there. The pocket was

  empty. No, not completely empty--there was something

  scratchy and hard--like pebbles.

  Edward thrust his hand deep down. In another minute

  he was staring like a man bereft of his senses. The object

  that he held in his hand, dangling from his fingers, with the

  moonlight striking a hundred fires from it, was a diamond

  necklace.

  Edward stared and stared. But there was no doubting

  possible. A diamond necklace worth probably thousands of

  pounds (for the stones were large ones) had been casually

  reposing in the side pocket of the car.

  But who had put it there? It had certainly not been there

  when he started from town. Someone must have come along

  when he was walking about in the snow and deliberately

  thrust it in. But why? Why choose his car? Had the owner

  of the necklace made a mistake? Or was it--could it possibly

  be--a stolen necklace?

  And then, as all these thoughts went whirling through

  his brain, Edward suddenly stiffened and went cold all over. This was not his car.

  It was very like it, yes. It was the same brilliant shade

  of scarlet--red as the Marchesa Bianca's lips--it had the

  same long and gleaming nose, but by a thousand small signs,

  Edward realized that it was not his car. Its shining newness

  was scarred here and there, it bore signs, faint but unmistakable,

  of wear and tear. In that case...

  44

  Agatha Christie

  Edward, without more ado, made haste to turn the car.

  Turning was not his strong point. With the gear in reverse,

  he invariably lost his head and twisted the wheel the wrong

  way. Also, he frequently became entangled between the

  accelerator and the foot brake with disastrous results. In the

  end, however, he succeeded, and straightaway the car began

  purring up the hill again.

  Edward remembered that there had been another car

  ----sanding some little distance away. He had not noticed it

  particularly at the time. He had returned from his walk by

  a different path from that by which he had gone down into

  the hollow. This second path had brought him out on the

  road immediately behind, as he had thought, his own car.

  It must really have been the other one.

  In about ten minutes he was once more at the spot,Where he had halted. But there was now no car at all by the

  roadside. Whoever had owned this car must now have gone

  off in Edward's--he also, perhaps, misled by the resemblance.

  Edward took out the diamond necklace from his pocket

  and let it run through his fingers perplexedly.

  What to do next? Run on to the nearest police station?

  Explain the circumstances, hand over the necklace, and give the number of his own car.

  By the by, what was the number of his car? Edward

  thought and thought, but for the life of him he couldn't

  remember. He felt a cold sinking sensation. He was going

  to look the most utter fool at the police station. There was

  an eight in it, that was all that he could remember. Of course,

  it didn't really matter--at least... He looked uncomfortably

  at the diamonds. Supposing they should think--oh,

  but they wouldn't--and yet again they might--that he had

  stolc, n the car and the diamonds? Because, after all, when

  one came to .think of it, would anyone in their senses thrust

  a valuable diamond necklace carelessly into the open pocket

  of a car?

  Edward got out and went round to the back of the motor.

  Its number was XRI0061. Beyond the fact that that was

  certainly not the number of his car, it conveyed nothing to

  him. Then he set to work systematically to search all the

  pockets. In the one where 'he had found the diamonds he

  I

  THE MANHOOD OF EDWARD ROBINSON

/>   45

  made a discovery--a small scrap of paper with some words

  pencilled on it. By the light of the headlights, Edward read

  them easily enough.

  "Meet me, Greane, corner of Saher's Lance, ten o'clock." He remembered the name Greane. He had seen it on a

  signpost earlier in the day. In a minute, his mind was made

  up. He would go to this village, Greane, find Salter's Lane,

  meet the person who had written the note, and explain the

  circumstances. That would be much better than looking a

  fool in the local police station.

  He sarted off almost happily. After all, this was an

  adventure. This was the sort of thing that didn't happen every day. The diamond necklace made it exciting and mysterious.

  He had some little difficulty in finding Greane, and still

  more difficulty in finding Salter's Lane, but after calling

  at two cottages, he succeeded.

  Still, it was a few minutes after the appointed hour when

  he drove cautigusly along a narrow road, keeping a sharp

  lookout on the left-hand side, where he had been told Salter's

  Lane branched off.

  He came upon it quite suddenly round a bend, and even

  as he drew up, a figure came forward out of the darkness.

  "At last!" a girl's voice cried. "What an age you've been,

  Gerald!"

  As she spoke, the girl stepped right into the glare of the

  headlights, and Edward caught his breath. She Was the most

  glorious creature he had ever seen.

  She was quite young, with hair black as night, and wonderful

  scarlet lips. The heavy cloak that she wore swung

  open, and Edward saw that she was in full evening dress--a

  kind of flame-coloured sheath, outlining her perfect body.

  Round her neck was a row of exquisite pearls.

  Suddenly the girl started.

  "Why," she cried; "it isn't Gerald."

  "No," said Edward hastily. "I must explain." He took

  the diamond necklace from his pocket and held it out to

  her. "My name is Edward--"

  He got no further, for the girl clapped her hands and

  broke in:

  "Edward, of course! I am so glad. But that idiot Jimmy