Читать книгу The Case of the Distressed Lady: An Agatha Christie Short Story - Агата Кристи, Agatha Christie, Agatha Christie - Страница 5

‘The Case of the Distressed Lady’ was first published in the USA as ‘The Pretty Girl Who Wanted a Ring’ in Cosmopolitan, August 1932, then as ‘Faked!’ in Woman’s Pictorial, 22 October 1932.

The buzzer on Mr Parker Pyne’s desk purred discreetly. ‘Yes?’ said the great man.

‘A young lady wishes to see you,’ announced his secretary. ‘She has no appointment.’

‘You may send her in, Miss Lemon.’ A moment later he was shaking hands with his visitor. ‘Good-morning,’ he said. ‘Do sit down.’

The girl sat down and looked at Mr Parker Pyne. She was a pretty girl and quite young. Her hair was dark and wavy with a row of curls at the nape of the neck. She was beautifully turned out from the white knitted cap on her head to the cobweb stockings and dainty shoes. Clearly she was nervous.

‘You are Mr Parker Pyne?’ she asked.

‘I am.’

‘The one who – advertises?’

‘The one who advertises.’

‘You say that if people aren’t – aren’t happy – to – to come to you.’

‘Yes.’

She took the plunge. ‘Well, I’m frightfully unhappy. So I thought I’d come along and just – and just see.’

Mr Parker Pyne waited. He felt there was more to come.

‘I – I’m in frightful trouble.’ She clenched her hands nervously.

‘So I see,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘Do you think you could tell me about it?’

That, it seemed, was what the girl was by no means sure of. She stared at Mr Parker Pyne with a desperate intentness. Suddenly she spoke with a rush.

‘Yes, I will tell you. I’ve made up my mind now. I’ve been nearly crazy with worry. I didn’t know what to do or whom to go to. And then I saw your advertisement. I thought it was probably just a ramp, but it stayed in my mind. It sounded so comforting, somehow. And then I thought – well, it would do no harm to come and see. I could always make an excuse and get away again if I didn’t – well, it didn’t –’

‘Quite so; quite so,’ said Mr Pyne.

‘You see,’ said the girl, ‘it means, well, trusting somebody.’

‘And you feel you can trust me?’ he said, smiling.

‘It’s odd,’ said the girl with unconsciousness rudeness, ‘but I do. Without knowing anything about you! I’m sure I can trust you.’

‘I can assure you,’ said Mr Pyne, ‘that your trust will not be misplaced.’

‘Then,’ said the girl, ‘I’ll tell you about it. My name is Daphne St John.’

‘Yes, Miss St John.’

‘Mrs I’m – I’m married.’

‘Pshaw!’ muttered Mr Pyne, annoyed with himself as he noted the platinum circlet on the third finger of her left hand. ‘Stupid of me.’

‘If I weren’t married,’ said the girl, ‘I shouldn’t mind so much. I mean, it wouldn’t matter so much. It’s the thought of Gerald – well, here – here’s what all the trouble’s about!’

She dived into her bag, took something out and flung it down on the desk where, gleaming and flashing, it rolled over to Mr Parker Pyne.

It was a platinum ring with a large solitaire diamond.

Mr Pyne picked it up, took it to the window, tested it on the pane, applied a jeweller’s lens to his eye and examined it closely.