Agatha Christie - The Mysterious Mr. Quin

"Your opal, Miss Nunn?"

"Have you got the butter, Henry? Thank you. Yes, my opal. It was stolen, you know. And I never got it back."

"Do tell us," said Mr. Satterthwaite.

"Well―I was born in October―so it was lucky for me to wear opals, and because of that I wanted a real beauty. I waited a long time for it. They said it was one of the most perfect ones known. Not very large―about the size of a two-shilling piece―but oh! the colour and the fire."

She sighed. Mr. Satterthwaite observed that the Duchess was fidgeting and seemed uncomfortable, but nothing could stop Miss Nunn now. She went on, and the exquisite inflections of her voice made the story sound like some mournful Saga of old.

"It was stolen by a young man called Alec Gerard. He wrote plays."

"Very good plays," put in Mr. Vyse professionally. "Why, I once kept one of his plays for six months."

"Did you produce it?" asked Mr. Tomlinson.

"Oh, no!" said Mr. Vyse, shocked at the idea. "But do you know, at one time I actually thought of doing so?"

"It had a wonderful part in it for me," said Miss Nunn. 'Rachel's Children,' it was called―though there wasn't anyone called Rachel in the play. He came to talk to me about it―at the theatre. I liked him. He was a nice-looking―and very shy, poor boy. I remember"―a beautiful faraway look stole over her face―" He bought me some peppermint creams. The opal was lying on the dressing-table. He'd been out in Australia, and he knew something about opals. He took it over to the light to look at it. I suppose he must have slipped it into his pocket then. I missed it as soon as he'd gone. There was a to-do. You remember?"

She turned to Mr. Vyse.

"Oh, I remember," said Mr. Vyse with a groan.

"They found the empty case in his rooms, " continued the actress "he'd been terribly hard up, but the very next day he was able to pay large sums into his bank. He pretended to account for it by saying that a friend of his had put some money on a horse for him, but he couldn't produce the friend. He said he must have put the case in his pocket by mistake. I think that was a terribly weak thing to say, don't you? He might have thought of something better than that... I had to go and give evidence. There were pictures of me in all the papers. My press agent said it was very good publicity―but I'd much rather have had my opal back."

She shook her head sadly.

"Have some preserved pineapple?" said Mr. Judd.

Miss Nunn brightened up.

"Where is it?"

"I gave it to you just now."

Miss Nunn looked behind her and in front of her, eyed her grey silk pochette, and then slowly drew up a large purple silk bag that was reposing on the ground beside her. She began to turn the contents out slowly on the table, much to Mr. Satterthwaite's interest.

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 crepe 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 gruyere 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. " ow 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 God!"

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―" ow 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.

"Very good," said Mr. Satterthwaite.

Mr. Quin looked up at the sky.

"The storm is over," he said. "The roads will be slippery, but I do not think there will be any accident―now."

"There will be no accident," said Naomi. Her voice was charged with some meaning that Mr. Satterthwaite did not understand. She turned and smiled at him―a sudden dazzling smile. "Mr. Satterthwaite can drive back with me if he likes."

He knew then to what length desperation had driven her.

"Well," said Mr. Quin, "I must bid you good-bye."

He moved away.

"Where is he going?" said Mr. Satterthwaite, staring after him.

"Back where he came from, I suppose," said Naomi in an odd voice.

"But―but there isn't anything there," said Mr. Satterthwaite, for Mr. Quin was making for that spot on the edge of the cliff where they had first seen him. "You know you said yourself it was the World's End."