Mysterious Mr. Quin - Agatha Christie [98]
There was a powder puff, a lip-stick, a small jewel case, a skein of wool, another powder puff, two handkerchiefs, a box of chocolate creams, an enamelled paper knife, a mirror, a little dark brown wooden box, five letters, a walnut, a small square of mauve crêpe de chine, a piece of ribbon and the end of a croissant. Last of all came the preserved pineapple.
‘Eureka,’ murmured Mr Satterthwaite softly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Nothing,’ said Mr Satterthwaite hastily. ‘What a charming paper knife.’
‘Yes, isn’t it? Somebody gave it to me. I can’t remember who.’
‘That’s an Indian box,’ remarked Mr Tomlinson. ‘Ingenious little things, aren’t they?’
‘Somebody gave me that too,’ said Miss Nunn. ‘I’ve had it a long time. It used always to stand on my dressing-table at the theatre. I don’t think it’s very pretty, though, do you?’
The box was of plain dark brown wood. It pushed open from the side. On the top of it were two plain flaps of wood that could be turned round and round.
‘Not pretty, perhaps,’ said Mr Tomlinson with a chuckle. ‘But I’ll bet you’ve never seen one like it.’
Mr Satterthwaite leaned forward. He had an excited feeling.
‘Why did you say it was ingenious?’ he demanded.
‘Well, isn’t it?’
The judge appealed to Miss Nunn. She looked at him blankly.
‘I suppose I mustn’t show them the trick of it–eh?’ Miss Nunn still looked blank.
‘What trick?’ asked Mr Judd.
‘God bless my soul, don’t you know?’
He looked round the inquiring faces.
‘Fancy that now. May I take the box a minute? Thank you.’
He pushed it open.
‘Now then, can anyone give me something to put in it–not too big. Here’s a small piece of Gruyère cheese. That will do capitally. I place it inside, shut the box.’
He fumbled for a minute or two with his hands.
‘Now see–’
He opened the box again. It was empty.
‘Well, I never,’ said Mr Judd. ‘How do you do it?’
‘It’s quite simple. Turn the box upside down, and move the left hand flap half-way round, then shut the right hand flap. Now to bring our piece of cheese back again we must reverse that. The right hand flap half-way round, and the left one closed, still keeping the box upside down. And now–Hey Presto!’
The box slid open. A gasp went round the table. The cheese was there–but so was something else. A round thing that blinked forth every colour of the rainbow.
‘My opal! ’
It was a clarion note. Rosina Nunn stood upright, her hands clasped to her breast.
‘My opal! How did it get there?’
Henry Judd cleared his throat.
‘I–er–I rather think, Rosy, my girl, you must have put it there yourself.’
Someone got up from the table and blundered out into the air. It was Naomi Carlton Smith. Mr Quin followed her.
‘But when? Do you mean–?’
Mr Satterthwaite watched her while the truth dawned on her. It took over two minutes before she got it.
‘You mean last year–at the theatre.’
‘You know,’ said Henry apologetically. ‘You do fiddle with things, Rosy. Look at you with the caviare today.’
Miss Nunn was painfully following out her mental processes.
‘I just slipped it in without thinking, and then I suppose I turned the box about and did the thing by accident, but then–but then–’ At last it came. ‘But then Alec Gerard didn’t steal it after all. Oh!’–a full-throated cry, poignant, moving–‘How dreadful!’
‘Well,’ said Mr Vyse, ‘that can be put right now.’
‘Yes, but he’s been in prison a year.’ And then she startled them. She turned sharp on the Duchess. ‘Who is that girl–that girl who has just gone out?’
‘Miss Carlton Smith,’ said the Duchess, ‘was engaged to Mr Gerard. She–took the thing very hard.’
Mr Satterthwaite stole softly away. The snow had stopped, Naomi was sitting on the stone wall. She had a sketch book in her hand, some coloured crayons were scattered around. Mr Quin was standing beside her.
She held out the sketch book to Mr Satterthwaite. It was a very rough affair–but it had genius. A kaleidoscopic whirl of snowflakes with a figure in the centre.