Read The Golden Ball and Other Stories Page 13


  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