Listerdale Mystery - Agatha Christie [74]
‘What is the matter?’ demanded James ferociously. ‘Not smart enough for you, I suppose?’
‘I do think, dear, you might take a little more pains,’ said Grace. ‘Everyone is so fearfully smart here. Look at Claud Sopworth!’
‘I have looked at him,’ said James grimly. ‘I have never seen a man who looked a more complete ass than he does.’
Grace drew herself up.
‘There is no need to criticize my friends, James, it’s not manners. He’s dressed just like any other gentleman at the hotel is dressed.’
‘Bah!’ said James. ‘Do you know what I read the other day in “Society Snippets”? Why, that the Duke of–the Duke of, I can’t remember, but one duke, anyway, was the worst dressed man in England, there!’
‘I dare say,’ said Grace, ‘but then, you see, he is a duke.’
‘Well?’ demanded James. ‘What is wrong with my being a duke some day? At least, well, not perhaps a duke, but a peer.’
He slapped the yellow book in his pocket, and recited to her a long list of peers of the realm who had started life much more obscurely than James Bond. Grace merely giggled.
‘Don’t be so soft, James,’ she said. ‘Fancy you Earl of Kimpton-on-Sea!’
James gazed at her in mingled rage and despair. The air of Kimpton-on-Sea had certainly gone to Grace’s head.
The beach at Kimpton is a long, straight stretch of sand. A row of bathing-huts and boxes stretched evenly stopped before a row of six huts all labelled imposingly, ‘For visitors to the Esplanade Hotel only.’
‘Here we are,’ said Grace brightly; ‘but I’m afraid you can’t come in with us, James, you’ll have to go along to the public tents over there. We’ll meet you in the sea. So long!’
‘So long!’ said James, and he strode off in the direction indicated.
Twelve dilapidated tents stood solemnly confronting the ocean. An aged mariner guarded them, a roll of blue paper in his hand. He accepted a coin of the realm from James, tore him off a blue ticket from his roll, threw him over a towel, and jerked one thumb over his shoulder.
‘Take your turn,’ he said huskily.
It was then that James awoke to the fact of competition. Others besides himself had conceived the idea of entering the sea. Not only was each tent occupied, but outside each tent was a determined-looking crowd of people glaring at each other. James attached himself to the smallest group and waited. The strings of the tent parted, and a beautiful young woman, sparsely clad, emerged on the scene settling her bathing-cap with the air of one who had the whole morning to waste. She strolled down to the water’s edge, and sat down dreamily on the sands.
‘That’s no good,’ said James to himself, and attached himself forthwith to another group.
After waiting five minutes, sounds of activity were apparent in the second tent. With heavings and strainings, the flaps parted asunder and four children and a father and mother emerged. The tent being so small, it had something of the appearance of a conjuring trick. On the instant two women sprang forward each grasping one flap of the tent.
‘Excuse me,’ said the first young woman, panting a little.
‘Excuse me,’ said the other young woman, glaring.
‘I would have you know I was here quite ten minutes before you were,’ said the first young woman rapidly.
‘I have been here a good quarter of an hour, as anyone will tell you,’ said the second young woman defiantly.
‘Now then, now then,’ said the aged mariner, drawing near.
Both young women spoke to him shrilly. When they had finished, he jerked his thumb at the second young woman, and said briefly:
‘It’s yours.’
Then he departed, deaf to remonstrances. He neither knew nor cared which had been there first, but his decision, as they say in newspaper competitions, was final. The despairing James caught at his arm.
‘Look here! I say!’
‘Well, mister?’
‘How long is it going to be before I get a tent?’
The aged mariner threw a dispassionate glance over the waiting throng.
‘Might be an hour, might be an hour and a half, I can’t say.’
At that moment James espied Grace and the Sopworth girls running lightly down the sands towards the sea.