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."