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

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      As though in a dream Edward opened the door, and she sprang lightly in beside him. Her furs swept his cheek, and an elusive scent, like that of violets after rain, assailed his nostrils.

      He had no plan, no definite thought even. In a minute, without conscious volition, he had yielded himself to the adventure. She had called him Edward – what matter if he were the wrong Edward? She would find him out soon enough. In the meantime, let the game go on. He let in the clutch and they glided off.

      Presently the girl laughed. Her laugh was just as wonderful as the rest of her.

      ‘It’s easy to see you don’t know much about cars. I suppose they don’t have them out there?’

      ‘I wonder where “out there” is?’ thought Edward. Aloud he said, ‘Not much.’

      ‘Better let me drive,’ said the girl. ‘It’s tricky work finding your way round these lanes until we get on the main road again.’

      He relinquished his place to her gladly. Presently they were humming through the night at a pace and with a recklessness that secretly appalled Edward. She turned her head towards him.

      ‘I like pace. Do you? You know – you’re not a bit like Gerald. No one would ever take you to be brothers. You’re not a bit like what I imagined, either.’

      ‘I suppose,’ said Edward, ‘that I’m so completely ordinary. Is that it?’

      ‘Not ordinary – different. I can’t make you out. How’s poor old Jimmy? Very fed up, I suppose?’

      ‘Oh, Jimmy’s all right,’ said Edward.

      ‘It’s easy enough to say that – but it’s rough luck on him having a sprained ankle. Did he tell you the whole story?’

      ‘Not a word. I’m completely in the dark. I wish you’d enlighten me.’

      ‘Oh, the thing worked like a dream. Jimmy went in at the front door, togged up in his girl’s clothes. I gave him a minute or two, and then shinned up to the window. Agnes Larella’s maid was there laying out Agnes’s dress and jewels, and all the rest. Then there was a great yell downstairs, and the squib went off, and everyone shouted fire. The maid dashed out, and I hopped in, helped myself to the necklace, and was out and down in a flash, and out of the place by the back way across the Punch Bowl. I shoved the necklace and the notice where to pick me up in the pocket of the car in passing. Then I joined Louise at the hotel, having shed my snow boots of course. Perfect alibi for me. She’d no idea I’d been out at all.’

      ‘And what about Jimmy?’

      ‘Well, you know more about that than I do.’

      ‘He didn’t tell me anything,’ said Edward easily.

      ‘Well, in the general rag, he caught his foot in his skirt and managed to sprain it. They had to carry him to the car, and the Larellas’ chauffeur drove him home. Just fancy if the chauffeur had happened to put his hand in the pocket!’

      Edward laughed with her, but his mind was busy. He understood the position more or less now. The name of Larella was vaguely familiar to him – it was a name that spelt wealth. This girl, and an unknown man called Jimmy, had conspired together to steal the necklace, and had succeeded. Owing to his sprained ankle and the presence of the Larellas’ chauffeur Jimmy had not been able to look in the pocket of the car before telephoning to the girl – probably had had no wish to do so. But it was almost certain that the other unknown ‘Gerald’ would do so at any early opportunity. And in it, he would find Edward’s muffler!

      ‘Good going,’ said the girl.

      A tram flashed past them, they were on the outskirts of London. They flashed in and out of the traffic. Edward’s heart stood in his mouth. She was a wonderful driver, this girl, but she took risks!

      Quarter of an hour later they drew up before an imposing house in a frigid square.

      ‘We can shed some of our clothing here,’ said the girl, ‘before we go on to Ritson’s.’

      ‘Ritson’s?’ queried Edward. He mentioned the famous night-club almost reverently.

      ‘Yes, didn’t Gerald tell you?’

      ‘He did not,’ said Edward grimly. ‘What about my clothes?’

      She frowned.

      ‘Didn’t they tell you anything? We’ll rig you up somehow. We’ve got to carry this through.’

      A stately butler opened the door and stood aside to let them enter.

      ‘Mr Gerald Champneys rang up, your ladyship. He was very anxious to speak to you, but he wouldn’t leave a message.’

      ‘I bet he was anxious to speak to her,’ said Edward to himself. ‘At any rate, I know my full name now. Edward Champneys. But who is she? Your ladyship, they called her. What does she want to steal a necklace for? Bridge debts?’

      In the feuilletons which he occasionally read, the beautiful and titled heroine was always driven desperate by bridge debts.

      Edward was led away by the stately butler, and delivered over to a smooth-mannered valet. A quarter of an hour later he rejoined his hostess in the hall, exquisitely attired in evening clothes made in Savile Row which fitted him to a nicety.

      Heavens! What a night!

      They drove in the car to the famous Ritson’s. In common with everyone else Edward had read scandalous paragraphs concerning Ritson’s. Anyone who was anyone turned up at Ritson’s sooner or later. Edward’s only fear was that someone who knew the real Edward Champneys might turn up. He consoled himself by the reflection that the real man had evidently been out of England for some years.

      Sitting at a little table against the wall, they sipped cocktails. Cocktails! To the simple Edward they represented the quintessence of the fast life. The girl, wrapped in a wonderful embroidered shawl, sipped nonchalantly. Suddenly she dropped the shawl from her shoulders and rose.

      ‘Let’s dance.’

      Now the one thing that Edward could do to perfection was to dance. When he and Maud took the floor together at the Palais de Danse, lesser lights stood still and watched in admiration.

      ‘I nearly forgot,’ said the girl suddenly. ‘The necklace?’

      She held out her hand. Edward, completely bewildered, drew it from his pocket and gave it to her. To his utter amazement, she coolly clasped it round her neck. Then she smiled up at him intoxicatingly.

      ‘Now,’ she said softly, ‘we’ll dance.’

      They danced. And in all Ritson’s nothing more perfect could be seen.

      Then, as at length they returned to their table, an old gentleman with a would-be rakish air accosted Edward’s companion.

      ‘Ah! Lady Noreen, always dancing! Yes, yes. Is Captain Folliot here tonight?’

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