Listerdale Mystery - Agatha Christie [55]
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,