Miss Marple – Miss Marple and Mystery: The Complete Short Stories. Агата Кристи

I went to sleep. Therefore it must be tomorrow morning now. Therefore that soup was drugged. Therefore – oh, I don’t know. It all seems mad.’

      She got up and went to the door. It was unlocked. She explored the house. It was silent and empty.

      Jane put her hand to her aching head and tried to think.

      And then she caught sight of a torn newspaper lying by the front door. It had glaring headlines which caught her eye.

      ‘American Girl Bandit in England,’ she read. ‘The Girl in the Red Dress. Sensational hold-up at Orion House Bazaar.’

      Jane staggered out into the sunlight. Sitting on the steps she read, her eyes growing bigger and bigger. The facts were short and succinct.

      Just after the departure of the Grand Duchess Pauline, three men and a girl in a red dress had produced revolvers and successfully held up the crowd. They had annexed the hundred pearls and made a getaway in a fast racing car. Up to now, they had not been traced.

      In the stop press (it was a late evening paper) were a few words to the effect that the ‘girl bandit in the red dress’ had been staying at the Blitz as a Miss Montresor of New York.

      ‘I’m dished,’ said Jane. ‘Absolutely dished. I always knew there was a catch in it.’

      And then she started. A strange sound had smote the air. The voice of a man, uttering one word at frequent intervals.

      ‘Damn,’ it said. ‘Damn.’ And yet again, ‘Damn!’

      Jane thrilled to the sound. It expressed so exactly her own feelings. She ran down the steps. By the corner of them lay a young man. He was endeavouring to raise his head from the ground. His face struck Jane as one of the nicest faces she had ever seen. It was freckled and slightly quizzical in expression.

      ‘Damn my head,’ said the young man. ‘Damn it. I –’

      He broke off and stared at Jane.

      ‘I must be dreaming,’ he said faintly.

      ‘That’s what I said,’ said Jane. ‘But we’re not. What’s the matter with your head?’

      ‘Somebody hit me on it. Fortunately it’s a thick one.’

      He pulled himself into a sitting position, and made a wry face.

      ‘My brain will begin to function shortly, I expect. I’m still in the same old spot, I see.’

      ‘How did you get here?’ asked Jane curiously.

      ‘That’s a long story. By the way, you’re not the Grand Duchess What’s-her-name, are you?’

      ‘I’m not. I’m plain Jane Cleveland.’

      ‘You’re not plain anyway,’ said the young man, looking at her with frank admiration.

      Jane blushed.

      ‘I ought to get you some water or something, oughtn’t I?’ she asked uncertainly.

      ‘I believe it is customary,’ agreed the young man. ‘All the same, I’d rather have whisky if you can find it.’

      Jane was unable to find any whisky. The young man took a deep draught of water, and announced himself better.

      ‘Shall I relate my adventures, or will you relate yours?’ he asked.

      ‘You first.’

      ‘There’s nothing much to mine. I happened to notice that the Grand Duchess went into that room with low-heeled shoes on and came out with high-heeled ones. It struck me as rather odd. I don’t like things to be odd.

      ‘I followed the car on my motor bicycle, I saw you taken into the house. About ten minutes later a big racing car came tearing up. A girl in red got out and three men. She had low-heeled shoes on, all right. They went into the house. Presently low heels came out dressed in black and white, and went off in the first car, with an old pussy and a tall man with a fair beard. The others went off in the racing car. I thought they’d all gone, and was just trying to get in at that window and rescue you when someone hit me on the head from behind. That’s all. Now for your turn.’

      Jane related her adventures.

      ‘And it’s awfully lucky for me that you did follow,’ she ended. ‘Do you see what an awful hole I should have been in otherwise? The Grand Duchess would have had a perfect alibi. She left the bazaar before the hold-up began, and arrived in London in her car. Would anybody ever have believed my fantastic improbable story?’

      ‘Not on your life,’ said the young man with conviction.

      They had been so absorbed in their respective narratives that they had been quite oblivious of their surroundings. They looked up now with a slight start to see a tall sad-faced man leaning against the house. He nodded at them.

      ‘Very interesting,’ he commented.

      ‘Who are you?’ demanded Jane.

      The sad-faced man’s eyes twinkled a little.

      ‘Detective-Inspector Farrell,’ he said gently. ‘I’ve been very interested in hearing your story and this young lady’s. We might have found a little difficulty in believing hers, but for one or two things.’

      ‘For instance?’

      ‘Well, you see, we heard this morning that the real Grand Duchess had eloped with a chauffeur in Paris.’

      Jane gasped.

      ‘And then we knew that this American “girl bandit” had come to this country, and we expected a coup of some kind. We’ll have laid hands on them very soon, I can promise you that. Excuse me a minute, will you?’

      He ran up the steps into the house.

      ‘Well!’ said Jane. She put a lot of force into the expression.

      ‘I think it was awfully clever of you to notice those shoes,’ she said suddenly.

      ‘Not at all,’ said the young man. ‘I was brought up in the boot trade. My father’s a sort of boot king. He wanted me to go into the trade – marry and settle down. All that sort of thing. Nobody in particular – just the principle of the thing. But I wanted to be an artist.’ He sighed.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Jane kindly.

      ‘I’ve been trying for six years. There’s no blinking it. I’m a rotten painter. I’ve a good mind to chuck it and go home like the prodigal son. There’s a good billet waiting for me.’

      ‘A job is the great thing,’ agreed Jane wistfully. ‘Do you think you could get me one trying on boots somewhere?’

      ‘I could give you a better one than that – if you’d take it.’

      ‘Oh, what?’

      ‘Never mind now. I’ll tell you later. You know, until yesterday I never saw a girl I felt I could marry.’

      ‘Yesterday?’

      ‘At the bazaar. And then I saw her – the one and only Her!’

      He looked very hard at Jane.

      ‘How beautiful the delphiniums are,’ said Jane hurriedly, with very pink cheeks.

      ‘They’re lupins,’ said the young man.

      ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jane.

      ‘Not a bit,’ he agreed. And he drew a little nearer.

       7 Mr Eastwood’s Adventure

      ‘Mr Eastwood’s Adventure’ was first published as ‘The Mystery of the Second Cucumber’ in The Novel Magazine, August 1924. It also appeared later as ‘The Mystery of the Spanish Shawl’.