Listerdale Mystery - Agatha Christie [57]
She brooded sadly upon the subject. Edward was able once more to give his full attention to his driving. They managed to get through Richmond without mishap. The altercation with the policeman had shaken Edward’s nerve. He now took the line of least resistance, following blindly behind any car in front whenever a choice of thoroughfares presented itself.
In this way he presently found himself following a shady country lane which many an experienced motorist would have given his soul to find.
‘Rather clever turning off the way I did,’ said Edward, taking all the credit to himself.
‘Sweetly pretty, I call it,’ said Miss Pratt. ‘And I do declare, there’s a man with fruit to sell.’
Sure enough, at a convenient corner, was a small wicker table with baskets of fruit on it, and the legend EAT MORE FRUIT displayed on a banner.
‘How much?’ said Edward apprehensively when frenzied pulling of the handbrake had produced the desired result.
‘Lovely strawberries,’ said the man in charge.
He was an unprepossessing-looking individual with a leer.
‘Just the thing for the lady. Ripe fruit, fresh picked. Cherries too. Genuine English. Have a basket of cherries, lady?’
‘They do look nice ones,’ said Dorothy.
‘Lovely, that’s what they are,’ said the man hoarsely. ‘Bring you luck, lady, that basket will.’ He at last condescended to reply to Edward. ‘Two shillings, sir, and dirt cheap. You’d say so if you knew what was inside the basket.’
‘They look awfully nice,’ said Dorothy.
Edward sighed and paid over two shillings. His mind was obsessed by calculation. Tea later, petrol–this Sunday motoring business wasn’t what you’d call cheap. That was the worst of taking girls out! They always wanted everything they saw.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the unprepossessing-looking one. ‘You’ve got more than your money’s worth in that basket of cherries.’
Edward shoved his foot savagely down and the Baby Austin leaped at the cherry vendor after the manner of an infuriated Alsatian.
‘Sorry,’ said Edward. ‘I forgot she was in gear.’
‘You ought to be careful, dear,’ said Dorothy. ‘You might have hurt him.’
Edward did not reply. Another half-mile brought them to an ideal spot by the banks of a stream. The Austin was left by the side of the road and Edward and Dorothy sat affectionately upon the river bank and munched cherries. A Sunday paper lay unheeded at their feet.
‘What’s the news?’ said Edward at last, stretching himself flat on his back and tilting his hat to shade his eyes.
Dorothy glanced over the headlines.
‘The Woeful Wife. Extraordinary story. Twenty-eight people drowned last week. Reported death of Airman. Startling Jewel Robbery. Ruby Necklace worth fifty thousand pounds missing. Oh, Ted! Fifty thousand pounds. Just fancy!’ She went on reading. ‘The necklace is composed of twenty-one stones set in platinum and was sent by registered post from Paris. On arrival, the packet was found to contain a few pebbles and the jewels were missing.’
‘Pinched in the post,’ said Edward. ‘The posts in France are awful, I believe.’
‘I’d like to see a necklace like that,’ said Dorothy. ‘All glowing like blood–pigeon’s blood, that’s what they call the colour. I wonder what it would feel like to have a thing like that hanging round your neck.’
‘Well, you’re never likely to know, my girl,’ said Edward facetiously.
Dorothy tossed her head.
‘Why not, I should like to know. It’s amazing the way girls can get on in the world. I might go on the stage.’
‘Girls that behave themselves don’t get anywhere,’ said Edward discouragingly.
Dorothy opened her mouth to reply, checked herself, and murmured, ‘Pass me the cherries.’
‘I’ve been eating more than you have,’ she remarked. ‘I’ll divide up what’s left and–why, whatever’s this at the bottom of the basket?’
She drew it out as she spoke–a long glittering chain of blood-red stones.
They both stared at it in amazement.
‘In the basket, did you say?’ said Edward at last.
Dorothy nodded.
‘Right