declared enthusiastically was the size of a pigeon's egg.
James, being town-bred, was somewhat hazy about the size
of a pigeon's egg, but the impression left on his mind was
good.
"if I had an emerald like that," said James, scowling at
the horizon again, "I'd show Grace."
The sentiment was vague, but the enunciation of it made
James feel better. Laughing voices hailed him from behind,
THE RAJAH'S EMERALD
97
and he turned abruptly to confront Grace. With her was
Clara Sopworth, Alice Sopworth, Dorothy Sopworth and--alas!
Claud Sopworth. The girls were ann-in-arm and giggling.
"Why, you are quite a stranger," cried Grace archly.
"Yes," said James.
He could, he felt, have found a more telling retort. You
cannot convey the impression of a dynamic personality by
the use of the one word "yes." He looked with intense
loathing at Claud Sopworth. Claud Sopworth was almost
as beautifully dressed as the hero of a musical comedy.
James longed passionately for the moment when an enthusiastic
beach dog should plant wet, sandy forefeet on the
unsullied whiteness of Claud's flannel trousers. He himself
wore a serviceable pair of dark-grey flannel trousers which
had seen better days.
"Isn't the air beau-tiful?" said Clara, sniffing it appreciatively.
"Quite sets you up, doesn't it?"
She giggled.
"It's ozone," said Alice Sopworth. "It's as good as a
tonic, you know." And she giggled also.
James thought: "I should like to knock their silly heads
together. What is the sense of laughing all the time? They
are not saying anything funny."
The immaculate Claud murmured languidly: "Shall we
have a bathe, or is it too much of a fag?"
The idea of bathing was accepted shrilly. James fell into line with them. He even managed, with a certain amount
of cunning, to draw Grace a little behind the others.
"Look here!" he complained. "I am hardly seeing anything
of you."
"Well, I am sure we are all together now," said Grace,
"and you can come and lunch with us at the hotel, at
least--"
She looked dubiously at James's legs.
"What is the matter?" demanded James ferociously. "Not
smart enough for you, I suppose?"
"I do think, dear, you might take a little more pains,"
said Grace. "Everyone is so fearfully smart here. Look at
Claud Sopworth!"
"I have looked at him," said James grimly. "I have never
Agatha Chrte
she had been when he f'u'st 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 other 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. Well-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
fahulons. 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
declared enthnsiasfically was the size of a pigeon's egg.
James, being town-bred, was somewhat hazy about the size
of a pigeon's egg, but the impression left on his mind was
good.
"If I had an emerald like that," said James, scowling at the horizon again, "I'd show Caac.'
The sentiment was vague, but the enunciation of it made James feel better. Laughing voices hailed him from behind,
THE RAJAH'S EMERALD'
97
and he turned abruptly to confront Grace. With her was Clara Sopworth, Alice Sopworth, Dorothy Sopworth and--alas!
Claud Sopworth. The girls were arm-in-arm and giggling.
"Why, you are quite a stranger," cried Grace archly.
"Yes," said James.
He could, he felt, have found a more telling retort. You
cannot convey the impression of a dynamic personality by
the use of the one word "yes." He looked with intense
loathing at Claud Sopworth. Claud Sopworth was almost
as beautifully dressed as the hero of a musical comedy.
James longed passionately for the moment when an enthusiastic
beach dog should plant wet, sandy forefeet on the
unsullied whiteness of Claud's flannel trousers. He himself
wore a serviceable pair of dark-grey flannel trousers which
had seen better days.
"Isn't the air beau-tiful?" said Clara, sniffing it appreciatively.
"Quite sets you up, doesn't it?"
She giggled.
"It's ozone," said Alice Sopworth. "It's as good as a
tonic, you know." And she giggled also.
James thought: "I should like to knock their silly heads
together. What is the sense of laughing all the time? They
are not saying anything funny."
The immaculate Claud murmured languidly: "Shall we
have a bathe, or is it too much of a fag?"
The idea of bathing was accepted shrilly. James fell into
line with them. He even managed, with a certain amount
of cunning, to draw Grace a little behind the others.
"Look here!" he complained. "I am hardly seeing anything
of you."
"Well, I am sure we are all together now," said Grace,
"and you can come and lunch with us at the hotel, at
least---"
She looked dubiously at James's legs.
"What is the matter?" demanded James ferociously. "Not
smart enough for you, I suppose?"
"I do think, dear, you might take a little more pains,"
said Grace. "Everyone is so fearfully smart here. Look at Claud Sopworth!"
"I have looked at him," said James grimly. "I have never
98
Agatha Christie
seen a man who looked a more complete
ass than he does.."
Grace drew herself up.
"There is no need to criticize my friends, James; it's not
manners. He's dressed just like any other gentleman at the
hotel is dressed."
"Bah!" said James. "Do you know what I read the other
day in 'Society Snippets'? Why, that the Duke of--the Duke
of, I can't remember, but one duke, aayway, was the,worst-dressed
man in England, there!"
"I dare say," said Grace, "but then, you see, he is a
duke."
"Well?" demanded James. "What is wrong with my being
a duke someday? At least, well, not perhaps a duke, but a
peer."
He slapped the yellow book in his pocket and recited to
her a long list of peers of the realm who had started life
much more obscurely than James Bond. Grace merely giggled.
"Don't be so soft, James," she said. "Fancy you Earl of
Kimptonon-Sea!"
James gazed at her in mingled rage and despair. The air
of Kimpton-on-Sea had certainly gone to Grace's head.
The beach at Kimpton is a long, straight stretch of sand.
A row of bathing huts and boxes stretches evenly along it
for about a mile and a half. The party had just stopped
before a row of six huts all labelled imposingly, "For visitors
to the Esplanade Hotel only."
"Here we are," said Grace brightly; "but I'm afraid you
can't come in with us, James; you'll have to go along to
the public tents over there; we'll meet you in the sea. So
long!"
"So long!" said James, and he strode off in the direction
indicated.
Twelve dilapidated tents stood solemnly confronting the
ocean. An aged mariner guarded them, a roll of blue paper
in his hand. He accepted a coin of the realm from James,
tore him off a blue ticket from his roll, threw him over a
towel, and jerked one thumb over his shoulder.
"Take your turn," he said huskily.
It was then that James awoke to the fact of competition.
Others tsides himself had conceived the idea of entering
THEAH'S EMERALD
99
the sea Not only wah tent occupied, but outside each
tent wis a determined'°king crowd of people glaxing at
each other James at¥ed himself to the smallest group
and waitet' The stri of the tent parted, and a beautiful
· ,oun" woman, s"arsdclad' emerged on the scene settling
Jher thin~ ca-vitbhe air of one who had the, whole
,,
. . g IJ. , strolled down to the water s edge
morning to waste.
and sat down dream?°,n the 2tdoS.himself,
"That's no good, md Jam
and attachexl
himself forthwith to other group.
After waiting fiveinutes' sounds of activity were ap.
parent in the second Cat. With heavings and strainings, the
flaps parted asundeand four children and a father
mother emerged. TItent being so small, it had something
the appearance da conjuring trick. On the instant two
°wfomen sprang f,o, rv#d' each grasping one flap of the tent.
"Excuse me,' sd the first young woman, panting
little.
"Excuse me," st the other young woman, glaring.
"I would have oa know I was here quite ten minutes
.c ,,
id the first young woman
rapidly.
"":;"a; e;'; PA good quarter of an hour, as anyone
will tell you," said the second young woman defiantly.
"Now then, no¢ then," said the aged mariner, drawing
new'th young wo¢en spoke to him shrilly.
When they ha.
'
hed he j
k ,his thumb at the second young
finl , ,,
and
said ,bde,fly:
'}dS,yeuJ'to remonstrances.
He neithe
, hen ne
ae, pa
2ich had
been there first, but his decisi0
Knew nor careo W'
as
they say in neSP,aper.c°mpetiti
°ns' was final.
T
e d
spairing James coght at tns arm.
"Look here! I
"Well, mister?
"How lone is
it going to be before I get a tent?"
·
' %
threw
a
dispassionate
glance
over
t
1 Be
ageo
maI
waiting
throng.
"Might
be
an
hour,
might
be
an
hour
and
a
half;Ica
say' 't
that
moment
James
espied
Grace
and
the
girls
running
li Btly
down
the
sands
towards
the
sea.
· 100
Agatha Christie
"Damn!" said James to himself. "Oh, damn!"
He plucked once more at the aged mariner.
"Can't I get a tent anywhere else? What about one of
these huts along here? They all seem empty."
"The huts," said the ancient mariner with dignity, "are private."
Having uttered this rebuke, he passed on. With a bitter
feeling of having been tricked, James detached himself from
the waiting groups and strode savagely down the beach. It
was the limit! It was the absolute, complete limit! He glared
savagely at the trim bathing huts he passed. In that moment
from being an Independent Liberal, he became a red-hot
Socialist. Why should the rich have bathing huts and be
able to bathe any minute they chose without waiting in a
crowd? "This system of ours," said James vaguely, "is all
wrong."
From the sea came the coquettish screams of the splashed.
Grace's voice! And above her squeaks, the inane "Ha, ha,
ha" of Claud Sopworth.
"Damn!" said James, grinding his teeth, a thing which
he had never before attempted, only read about in works of
fiction.
He came to a stop, twirling his stick savagely, and turning
his back firmly on the sea. Instead, he gazed with concentrated
hatred upon Eagle's Nest, Buena Vista, and Mon
Desir. It was the custom of the inhabitants of Kimptonon-Sea
to label their bathing huts with fancy names. Eagle's
Nest merely struck James as being silly, and Buena Vista
was beyond his linguistic accomplishments. But his knowledge
of French was sufficient to make him realize the appositeness
of the third name.
"Mon Desir," said James. "I should jolly well think it
was."
And on that moment he saw that while the doors of the
other bathing huts were tightly closed, that of Mon Desir
was ajar. James looked thoughtfully up and down the beach;
this particular spot was mainly occupied by mothers of large
families, busily engaged in superintending their offspring.
It was only ten o'clock, too early as
yet for the aristocracy
of Kimpton-on-Sea to have come down to bathe.
"Eating quails and mushrooms in their beds as likely as
THE RAJAH'S EMERALD
101
not, brought to them on trays by powdered footmen, pah!
Not one of them will be down here before twelve o'clock,"
thought James.
He looked again towards the sea. With the obedience of
a well-trained "leit motif," the shrill scream of Grace rose
upon the air. It was followed by the "Ha, ha, ha" of Claud
Sopworth.
"I will," said James between his teeth.
He pushed open the door of Mon Desir and entered. For
the moment he had a fright, as he caught sight of sundry
garments hanging from pegs, but he was quickly reassured.
The hut was partitioned into two; on the right-hand side, a
girl's yellow sweater, a battered panama hat and a pair of
beach shoes were depending from a peg. On the left-hand
side an old pair of grey flannel trousers, a pullover, and a
sou'wester proclaimed the fact that the sexes were segregated.
James hastily transferred himself to the gentlemen's
part of the hut, and undressed rapidly. Three minutes later,
he was in the sea puffing and snorting importantly, doing
extremely short bursts of professional-looking swimming--head
under the water, arms lashing the sea--that style.
"Oh, there you are!" cried Grace. "I was afraid you
wouldn't be in for ages with all that crowd of people waiting
there."
"Really?" said James.
He thought with affectionate loyalty of the yellow book.
"The strong man can on occasions be discreet." For the
moment his temper was quite restored. He was able to say
pleasantly but firmly to Claud Sopworth, who was teaching
Grace the overarm stroke:
"No, no old man; you have got it all wrong. I'll show
her."
And such was the assurance of his tone, that Claud withdrew
discomfited. The only pity of it was that his triumph
was short-lived. The temperature of our English waters is
not such as to induce bathers to remain in them for any