Agatha Christie - The Listerdale Mystery

Mary pulled at his hand.

"Come away," she cried feverishly. "Come away quick."

"If we had something to tie this fellow up with," said George, intent on his own plans. "I suppose you couldn't find a bit of rope or cord anywhere?"

"No, I couldn't," said Mary. "And come away, please - please - I'm so frightened."

"You needn't be frightened," said George with manly arrogance. " I'm here."

"Darling George, please - for my sake. I don't want to be mixed up in this. Please let's go." The exquisite way in which she breathed the words "for my sake" shook George's resolution. He allowed himself to be led forth from the house and hurried down the drive to the waiting car. Mary said faintly:

"You drive. I don't feel I can." George took command of the wheel.

"But we've got to see this thing through," he said. "Heaven knows what blackguardism that nasty-looking fellow is up to. I won't bring the police into it if you don't want me to - but I'll have a try on my own. I ought to be able to get on their track all right."

"No, George, I don't want you to."

"We have a first-class adventure like this, and you want me to back out of it? Not on my life."

"I'd no idea you were so bloodthirsty," said Mary tearfully.

"I'm not bloodthirsty. I didn't begin it. The damned cheek of the fellow - threatening us with an outsize revolver. By the way - why on earth didn't that revolver go off when I kicked him downstairs?" He stopped the car and fished the revolver out of the side pocket of the car where he had placed it. After examining it, he whistled.

"Well, I'm damned! The thing isn't loaded. If I'd known that - " He paused, wrapped in thought. "Mary, this is a very curious business."

"I know it is. That's why I'm begging you to leave it alone."

"Never," said George firmly.

Mary uttered a heart-rending sigh.

"I see," she said, "that I shall have to tell you. And the worst of it is that I haven't the least idea how you'll take it."

"What do you mean - tell me?"

"You see, it's like this." She paused. "I feel girls should stick together nowadays - they should insist on knowing something about the men they meet."

"Well?" said George, utterly fogged.

"And the most important thing to a girl is how a man will behave in an emergency - has he got presence of mind - courage - quick wittedness? That's the kind of thing you can hardly ever know - until it's too late. An emergency mightn't arise until you'd been married for years. All you do know about a man is how he dances and if he's good at getting taxis on a wet night."

"Both very useful accomplishments," George pointed out.

"Yes, but one wants to feel a man is a man."

"The great wide-open spaces where men are men," George quoted absently.

"Exactly. But we have no wide-open spaces in England. So one has to create a situation artificially. That's what I did."

"Do you mean - "

"I do mean. That house, as it happens, actually is my house. We came to it by design - not by chance. And the man - that man that you nearly killed - "

"Yes?"

"He's Rube Wallace - the film actor. He does prize fighters, you know. The dearest and gentlest of men. I engaged him. Bella's his wife. That's why I was so terrified that you'd killed him. Of course the revolver wasn't loaded. It's a stage property. Oh, George, are you very angry?"

"Am I the first person you have - er - tried this test on?"

"Oh, no. There have been - let me see - nine and a half!"

"Who was the half?" inquired George with curiosity.

"Bingo," replied Mary coldly.

"Did any of them think of kicking like a mule?"

"No - they didn't. Some tried to bluster and some gave in at once, but they all allowed themselves to be marched upstairs and tied up, and gagged. Then, of course, I managed to work myself loose from my bonds

- like in books - and I freed them and we got away - finding the house empty."

"And nobody thought of the mule trick or anything like it?"

"No."

"In that case," said George graciously, "I forgive you."

"Thank you, George," said Mary meekly.

"In fact," said George, "the only question that arises is: Where do we go now? I'm not sure if it's Lambeth Palace or Doctor's Commons, wherever that is."

"What are you talking about?"

"The license. A special license, I think, is indicated. You're too fond of getting engaged to one man and then immediately asking another one to marry you."

"I didn't ask you to marry me!"

"You did. At Hyde Park Corner. Not a place I should choose for a proposal myself, but everyone has their idiosyncrasies in these matters."

"I did nothing of the kind. I just asked, as a joke, whether you would care to marry me? It wasn't intended seriously."

"If I were to take counsel's opinion, I am sure that he would say it constituted a genuine proposal. Besides, you know you want to marry me."

"I don't."

"Not after nine and a half failures? Fancy what a feeling of security it will give you to go through life with a man who can extricate you from any dangerous situation."

Mary appeared to weaken slightly at this telling argument. But she said firmly: "I wouldn't marry any man unless he went on his knees to me."

George looked at her. She was adorable. But George had other characteristics of the mule besides its kick. He said with equal firmness:

"To go on one's knees to any woman is degrading. I will not do it." Mary said with enchanting wistfulness: "What a pity."

They drove back to London. George was stern and silent. Mary's face was hidden by the brim of her hat. As they passed Hyde Park Corner, she murmured softly: "Couldn't you go on your knees to me?" George said firmly: "No."

He felt he was being a superman. She admired him for his attitude. But unluckily he suspected her of mulish tendencies herself. He drew up suddenly.

"Excuse me," he said.

He jumped out of the car, retraced his steps to a fruit barrow they had passed and returned so quickly that the policeman who was bearing down upon them to ask what they meant by it, had not had time to arrive. George drove on, lightly tossing an apple into Mary's lap.

"Eat more fruit," he said. "Also symbolical."

"Symbolical?"

"Yes, originally Eve gave Adam an apple. Nowadays Adam gives Eve one. See?"

"Yes," said Mary rather doubtfully.

"Where shall I drive you?" inquired George formally.

"Home, please."

He drove to Grosvenor Square. His face was absolutely impassive. He jumped out and came round to help her out. She made a last appeal.

"Darling George - couldn't you? Just to please me?"

"Never," said George.

And at that moment it happened. He slipped, tried to recover his balance and failed. He was kneeling in the mud before her. Mary gave a squeal of joy and clapped her hands.

"Darling George! Now I will marry you. You can go straight to 'Lambeth Palace and fix up with the Archbishop of Canterbury about it."

"I didn't mean to," said George hotly. "It was a bl - er - a banana skin." He held the offender up reproachfully.

"Never mind," said Mary. "It happened. When we quarrel and you throw it in my teeth that I proposed to you, I can retort that you had to go on your knees to me before I would marry you. And all because of that blessed banana skin! It was a blessed banana skin you were going to say?"

"Something of the sort," said George.

At five-thirty that afternoon, Mr. Leadbetter was informed that his nephew had called and would like to see him.

"Called to eat humble pie," said Mr. Leadbetter to himself. "I dare say I was rather hard on the lad, but it was for his own good."

And he gave orders that George should be admitted.

George came in airily.

"I want a few words with you, Uncle," he said. "You did me a grave injustice this morning. I should like to know whether, at my age, you could have gone out into the street, disowned by your relatives, and between the hours of eleven-fifteen and five-thirty acquire an income of twenty thousand a year. That is what I have done!"