length of time. Grace and the Sopworth girls were already
displaying blue chins and chattering teeth. They raced up
the beach, and James pursued his solitary way back to Mon
Desir. As he towelled himself vigorously and slipped his
shirt over his head, he was pleased with himself. He had,
102
Agatha Christie
he felt, displayed a dynamic personality.
And then suddenly he stood still, frozen with terror. Girlish voices sounded from outside, and voices quite different
from those of Grace and her friends. A moment later
he had realized the truth; the rightful owners of Mon Desir
were arriving. It is possible that if James had been fully
dressed, he would have waited their advent in a dignified
manner and attempted an explanation. As it was, he acted
on panic. The windows of Mort Desir were modestly screened
by dark green curtains. James flung himself on the door and
held the knob in a desperate clutch. Hands tried ineffectually
to turn it from outside.
"It's locked after all," said a girl's voice. "I thought Pug said it was open."
"No, Woggle said so."
"Woggle is the limit," said the other girl. "How perfectly foul; we shall have to go back for the key."
James heard their footsteps retreating. He drew a long, deep breath. In desperate haste he huddled on the rest of
his garments. Two minutes later saw him strolling negligently
down the beach with an almost aggressive air of
innocence. Grace and the Sopworth girls joined him on the
beach a quarter of an hour later. The rest of the morning
passed agreeably in stone throwing, writing in the sand and
light badinage. Then Claud glanced at his watch.
"Lunchtime," he observed. "We'd better be strolling back."
"Fro terribly hungry," said Alice Sopworth.
All the other girls said that they were terribly hungry too.
"Are you coming, James?" asked Grace.
Doubtless James was unduly touchy. He chose to take offence at her tone.
"Not if my clothes are not good enough for you," he said bitterly. "Perhaps, as you are so particular, I'd better not
come."
That was Grace's cue for murmured protestations, but the seaside air had affected Grace unfavoumbly. She merely
replied: "Very well. Just as you like; see you this afternoon
then."
James was left dumbfounded.
THE RAJAH'S EMERALD 103
"Well!" he said, staring after the retreating group. "Well,
of all the--"
He strolled moodily into the town. There are two caf
in Kimpton-on-Sea; they are both hot, noisy and over.
crowded. It was the affair of the bathing huts once more James had to wait his turn. He had to wait longer than hi
mm, an unscrupulous matron who had just arrived fore
stalling him when a vacant seat did present itself. At le
he was seated at a small table. Close to his left ear tim
raggedly bobbed maidens were making a determined ha
of Italian opera. Fortunately James was not musical. ]
studied the bill of fare dispassionately, his hands thrust dc
into his pockets. He thought to himself:
"Whatever I ask for, it's sure to be 'off.' That's the k
of fellow I am."
His right hand, groping in the recesses of his poc
touched an unfamiliar object. It tlt like a pebble, a 1:
round pebble.
"What on earth did I want to put a stone in my po
for?" thought James.
His fingers closed round it. A waitress drifted up to
"Fried plaice and chipped potatoes, please," said J,
"Fried plaice is 'off,'" murmured the waitress, he
fixed dreamily on the ceiling.
'When I'll have curried beef," said James.
"Curried beef is 'off.'"
"Is there anything on this beastly menu that isn't'
demanded James.
finger against haricot mutton. James resigned himsel
inevitable and ordered haricot mutton. His mind stil ing with resentment against the ways of cafes, he d
hand out of his pocket, the stone still in it. Unclo
fingers, he looked absent-mindedly at the object in l-Then
with a shock all lesser matters passed from h
and he stared with all his eyes. The thing he held
a pebble, it was--he could hardly doubt it--an
an enormous green emerald. James stared at it horny
No, it couldn't be an emerald; it must be colom
There couldn't be an emerald of that size, unless
words danced before $ames's eyes, "The Rajah
102
Agatha Christie
he felt, displayed a dynamic personality.
And then suddenly he stood still, frozen with terror. Girlish voices sounded from outside, and voices quite different
from those of Grace and her friends. A moment later
he had realized the truth; the rightful owners of Mort Desir
were arriving. It is possible that if James had been fully
dressed, he would have waited their advent in a dignified
manner and attempted an explanation. As it was, he acted
on panic. The windows of Mort Desk were modestly screened
by dark green curtains. James flung himself on the door and
held the knob in a desperate clutch. Hands tried ineffectually
to turn it from outside.
"It's locked after all," said a girl's voice. "I thought Pug said it was open."
"No, Woggle said so."
"Woggle is the limit," said the other girl. "How perfectly foul; we shall have to go back for the key."
James heard their footsteps retreating. He drew a long, deep breath. In desperate haste he huddled on the rest of
his garments. Two minutes later saw him strolling negligently
down the beach with an almost aggressive air of
innocence. Grace and the Sopworth girls joined him on the
beach a quarter of an hour later. The rest of the morning
passed agreeably in stone throwing, writing in the sand and
light badinage. Then Claud glanced at his watch.
"Lunchtime," he observed. "We'd better be strolling back."
"Fro terribly hungry," said Alice Sopworth.
All the other girls said that they were terribly hungry too.
"Are you coming, James?" asked Grace. '
Doubtless James was unduly touchy. He chose to take offence at her tone.
"Not if my clothes are not good enough for you," he said bitterly. "Perhaps, as you are so particular, I'd better not
come."
That was Graee's cue for murmured protestations, but the seaside air had affected Grace unfavourably. She merely
replied: "Very well. Just as you like; see you this afternoon
then."
James was left dumbfounded.
W'dE RmAn'S EMERALD 103
"Well!" he said, staring after the retreating group. "Well, of all the---"
He strolled moodily into the town. There are two cafes in Kimpton-on-Sea; they are both hot, noisy and overcrowded.
It was the affair of the bathing huts once more.
James had to wait his turn. He had to wait longer than his
turn, an unscrupulous matron who had just arrived forestalling
him when a vacant seat did present itself. At last
he was seated at a small table. Close to his left ear three
raggedly bobbed maidens were making a determined has
of Italian opera
. Fortunately James was not musical. H
studied the bill of fare dispassionately, his hands thrust dee
into his pockets. He thought to himself:
"Whatever I ask for, it's sure to be 'off.' That's the kit of fellow I am."
His right hand, groping in the recesses of his pock touched an unfamiliar object. It tlt like a pebble, a las
round pebble.
"What on earth did I want to put a stone in my poc for?" thought James.
His fingers closed round it. A waitress drifted up to h "Fried plaice and chipped potatoes, please," said Jar
"Fried plaice is 'off,'" murmured the waitress, her, fixed dreamily on the ceiling.
"Then I'll have curried beef," said James.
"Curried beef is 'off.'"
The waitress looked pained and placed a pale-grey finger against haricot mutton. James resigned himself
inevitable and ordered haricot mutton. His mind still
ing with resentment against the ways of cafes, he dr
hand out of his pocket, the stone still in it. Unclosl
fingers, he looked absent-mindedly at the object in hi:
Then with a shock all lesser matters passed from hi'
and he stared with all his eyes. The thing he held '
a pebble, it was--he could hardly doubt it--an e
an enormous green emerald. James stared at it horror-:
No, it couldn't be an emerald; it must be colourc
There couldn't be an emerald of that size, unless-words
danced before James's eyes, "The Rajah
104 Agatha Christie
putna--famous emerald the size of a pigeon's egg." Was it--could it be--that emerald at which he was looking now?
The waitress returned with the haricot mutton, and James
closed his fingers spasmodically. Hot and cold shivers chased
themselves up and down his spine. He had the sense of
being caught in a terrible dilemma. If this was the emerald--but
was it? Could it be? He unclosed his fingers and peeped
anxiously. James was no expert on precious stones, but the
depth and the glow of the jewel convinced him this was the
real thing. He put both elbows on the table and leaned
forward staring with unseeing eyes at the haricot mutton
slowly congealing on the dish in front of him. He had got
to think this out. If this was the Rajah's emerald, what was
he going to do about it? The world "police" flashed into his
mind. If you found anything of value, you took it to the
police station. Upon this axiom had James been brought up.
Yes, but--how on earth had the emerald got into' his trouser pocket? That was doubtless the question the police
would ask. It was an awkward question, and it was moreover
a question to which he had at the moment no answer. How
had the emerald got into his trouser pocket? He looked
despairingly down at his legs, and as he did so, a misgiving
shot through him. He looked more closely. One pair of old
grey flannel trousers is very much like another pair of old
grey flannel trousers, but all the same, James had an instinctive
feeling that these were not his trousers after all.
He sat back in his chair stunned with the force of the discovery.
He saw now what had happened; in the hurry of
getting out of the bathing hut, he had taken the wrong
trousers. He had hung his own, he remembered, on an
adjacent peg to the old pair hanging there. Yes, that explained
matters so far; he had taken the wrong trousers. But
all the same, what on earth was an emerald worth hundreds
and thousands of pounds doing there? The more he thought
about it, the more curious it seemed. He could, of course,
explain to the police--
It was awkward, no doubt about it, it was decidedly awkward. One would have to mention the fact that one had
deliberately entered someone else's bathing hut. It was not,
of course, a serious offence, but it started him off wrong.
"Can I bring you anything else, sir?"
THE RAJAH'S EMERALD 105
It was the waitress again. She was looking pointedly at
the untouched haricot mutton. James hastily dumped some
of it on his plate and asked for his bill. Having obtained it,
he paid and went out. As he stood undecidedly in the street,
a poster opposite caught his eye. The adjacent town of
Harchester possessed an evening paper, and it was the con
tents bill of this paper that James was looking at. It an
nounced a simple, sensational fact: "THE RAJAH'S EMERALD
STOLEN." "My God," said James faintly, and leaned against
a pillar. Pulling himself together, he fished out a penny and
purchased a copy of the paper. He was not long in finding
what he sought. Sensational items of local news were few
and far between. Large headlines adorned the front page.
"Sensational Burglary at Lord Edward Campion's. Theft of
Famous Historical Emerald. Rajah of Maraputna's Terrible
Loss." The facts were few and simple. Lord Edward Cam
pion
had entertained several friends the evening before.
Wishing to show the stone to one of the ladies present, the
Rajah had gone to fetch it and had found it missing. The
police had been called in. So far no clue had been obtained.
James let the paper fall to the ground. It was still not clear
to him how the emerald had come to be reposing in the
pocket of an old pair of flannel trousers in a bathing hut,
but it was borne in upon him every minute that the police
would certainly regard his own story as suspicious. What
on earth was he to do? Here he was, standing in the principal
street of Kimpton-on-Sea with stolen booty worth a king's
ransom reposing idly in his pocket, while the entire police
force of the district were busily searching for just that same
booty. There were two courses open to him. Course number
one, to go straight to the police station and tell his story--
but it must be admitted that James funked that course badly.
Course number two, somehow or other to get rid of the
emerald. It occurred to him to do it up in a neat little parcel
and post it back to the Rajah. Then he shook his head. He
had read too many detective stories for that sort of thing.
He knew how your super-sleuth could get busy with a mag
nifying glass and every kind of patent device. Any detective
worth his salt would get busy on James's parcel and would
in half an hour or so have discovered the sender' s profession,
age, habits, and personal appearance. After that it would
106
Agatha Christie
be a mere matter of hours before he was tracked down.
It was then that a scheme of dazzling simplicity suggested itself to James. It was the luncheon hour, the beach would
be comparatively deserted. He would return to Mon Desir,
hang up the trousers where he had found them, and regain
his own garments. He started briskly towards the beach.
Nevertheless, his conscience pricked him slightly. The emerald ought to be returned to the Rajah. He conceived
the idea that he might perhaps do a little detective work--once,
that is, that he had regained his own trousers and
replaced the othe
rs. In pursuance of this idea, he directed
his steps towards the aged mariner, whom he rightly regarded
as being an inexhaustible source of Kimpton information.
"Excuse me!" said James politely; "but I believe a friend of mine has a hut on this beach, Mr. Charles Lampton. It
is called Mon Desir, I fancy?"
The aged mariner was sitting very squarely in a chair, a pipe in his mouth, gazing out to sea. He shifted his pipe a
little and replied without removing his gaze from the horizon:
"Mon Desir belongs to his lordship, Lord Edward Campion; everyone knows that. I never heard of Mr. Charles
Lampton; he must be a newcomer."
"Thank you," said James, and withdrew.
The information staggered him. Surely the Rajah could not himself have slipped the stone into the pocket and forgotten
it. James shook his head. The theory did not satisfy
him, but evidently some member of the house party must
be the. thief. The situation reminded James of some of his
favourite works of fiction.
Nevertheless, his own purpose remained unaltered. All fell out easily enough. The beach was, as he hoped it would
be, practically deserted. More fortunate still, the door of
Mon Desir remained ajar. To slip in was the work of a
moment, Edward was just lifting his own trousers from the
hook, when a voice behind him made him spin round suddenly.
"So I have caught you, my man!" said the voice.
James stared open-mouthed. In the doorway of Mon De-sir stood a stranger--a well-dressed man of about forty
THE RAJAH'S EMERALD 107
years of age, his face keen and hawklike.
"So I have caught you!" the stranger repeated. "Who--who are you?" stammered James.