Agatha Christie - Miss Marple – Miss Marple and Mystery - The Complete Short Stories

He smiled at her reassuringly. There was a slightly puzzled look in her eyes. She seemed to be missing something to which she was accustomed. At that moment, she caught sight of herself in the narrow glass opposite, and gave a heartfelt gasp.

Whether the carriage cleaners do, or do not, sweep under the seats every day is doubtful. Appearances were against their doing so, but it may be that every particle of dirt and smoke finds its way there like a homing bird. George had hardly had time to take in the girl’s appearance, so sudden had been her arrival, and so brief the space of time before she crawled into hiding, but it was certainly a trim and well-dressed young woman who had disappeared under the seat. Now her little red hat was crushed and dented, and her face was disfigured with long streaks of dirt.

‘Oh!’ said the girl.

She fumbled for her bag. George, with the tact of a true gentleman, looked fixedly out of the window and admired the streets of London south of the Thames.

‘How can I thank you?’ said the girl again.

Taking this as a hint that conversation might now be resumed, George withdrew his gaze, and made another polite disclaimer, but this time with a good deal of added warmth in his manner.

The girl was absolutely lovely! Never before, George told himself, had he seen such a lovely girl. The empressement of his manner became even more marked.

‘I think it was simply splendid of you,’ said the girl with enthusiasm.

‘Not at all. Easiest thing in the world. Only too pleased been of use,’ mumbled George.

‘Splendid,’ she reiterated emphatically.

It is undoubtedly pleasant to have the loveliest girl you have even seen gazing into your eyes and telling you how splendid you are. George enjoyed it as much as anyone could.

Then there came a rather difficult silence. It seemed to dawn upon the girl that further explanation might be expected. She flushed a little.

‘The awkward part of it is,’ she said nervously, ‘that I’m afraid I can’t explain.’

She looked at him with a piteous air of uncertainty.

‘You can’t explain?’

‘No.’

‘How perfectly splendid!’ said Mr Rowland with enthusiasm.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said, How perfectly splendid. Just like one of those books that keep you up all night. The heroine always says “I can’t explain” in the first chapter. She explains in the last, of course, and there’s never any real reason why she shouldn’t have done so in the beginning – except that it would spoil the story. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to be mixed up in a real mystery – I didn’t know there were such things. I hope it’s got something to do with secret documents of immense importance, and the Balkan express. I dote upon the Balkan express.’

The girl stared at him with wide, suspicious eyes.

‘What makes you say the Balkan express?’ she asked sharply.

‘I hope I haven’t been indiscreet,’ George hastened to put in. ‘Your uncle travelled by it, perhaps.’

‘My uncle –’ She paused, then began again. ‘My uncle –’

‘Quite so,’ said George sympathetically. ‘I’ve got an uncle myself. Nobody should be held responsible for their uncles. Nature’s little throwbacks – that’s how I look at it.’

The girl began to laugh suddenly. When she spoke George was aware of the slight foreign inflection in her voice. At first he had taken her to be English.

‘What a refreshing and unusual person you are, Mr –’

‘Rowland. George to my friends.’

‘My name is Elizabeth –’

She stopped abruptly.

‘I like the name of Elizabeth,’ said George, to cover her momentary confusion. ‘They don’t call you Bessie, or anything horrible like that, I hope?’

She shook her head.

‘Well,’ said George, ‘now that we know each other, we’d better get down to business. If you’ll stand up, Elizabeth, I’ll brush down the back of your coat.’

She stood up obediently, and George was as good as his word.

‘Thank you, Mr Rowland.’

‘George. George to my friends, remember. And you can’t come into my nice empty carriage, roll under the seat, induce me to tell lies to your uncle, and then refuse to be friends, can you?’

‘Thank you, George.’

‘That’s better.’

‘Do I look quite all right now?’ asked Elizabeth, trying to see over her left shoulder.

‘You look – oh! you look – you look all right,’ said George, curbing himself sternly.

‘It was all so sudden, you see,’ explained the girl.

‘It must have been.’

‘He saw us in the taxi, and then at the station I just bolted in here knowing he was close behind me. Where is this train going to, by the way?’

‘Rowland’s Castle,’ said George firmly.

The girl looked puzzled.

‘Rowland’s Castle?’

‘Not at once, of course. Only after a good deal of stopping and slow going. But I confidently expect to be there before midnight. The old South-Western was a very reliable line – slow but sure – and I’m sure the Southern Railway is keeping up the old traditions.’

‘I don’t know that I want to go to Rowland’s Castle,’ said Elizabeth doubtfully.

‘You hurt me. It’s a delightful spot.’

‘Have you ever been there?’

‘Not exactly. But there are lots of other places you can go to, if you don’t fancy Rowland’s Castle. There’s Woking, and Weybridge, and Wimbledon. The train is sure to stop at one or other of them.’

‘I see,’ said the girl. ‘Yes, I can get out there, and perhaps motor back to London. That would be the best plan, I think.’

Even as she spoke, the train began to slow up. Mr Rowland gazed at her with appealing eyes.

‘If I can do anything –’

‘No, indeed. You’ve done a lot already.’

There was a pause, then the girl broke out suddenly:

‘I – I wish I could explain. I –’

‘For heaven’s sake don’t do that! It would spoil everything. But look here, isn’t there anything that I could do? Carry the secret papers to Vienna – or something of that kind? There always are secret papers. Do give me a chance.’

The train had stopped. Elizabeth jumped quickly out on to the platform. She turned and spoke to him through the window.

‘Are you in earnest? Would you really do something for us – for me?’

‘I’d do anything in the world for you, Elizabeth.’

‘Even if I could give you no reasons?’

‘Rotten things, reasons!’

‘Even if it were – dangerous?’

‘The more danger, the better.’

She hesitated a minute then seemed to make up her mind.

‘Lean out of the window. Look down the platform as though you weren’t really looking.’ Mr Rowland endeavoured to comply with this somewhat difficult recommendation. ‘Do you see that man getting in – with a small dark beard – light overcoat? Follow him, see what he does and where he goes.’

‘Is that all?’ asked Mr Rowland. ‘What do I –?’

She interrupted him.

‘Further instructions will be sent to you. Watch him – and guard this.’ She thrust a small sealed packet into his hand. ‘Guard it with your life. It’s the key to everything.’

The train went on. Mr Rowland remained staring out of the window, watching Elizabeth’s tall, graceful figure threading its way down the platform. In his hand he clutched the small sealed packet.

The rest of his journey was both monotonous and uneventful. The train was a slow one. It stopped everywhere. At every station, George’s head shot out of the window, in case his quarry should alight. Occasionally he strolled up and down the platform when the wait promised to be a long one, and reassured himself that the man was still there.