The Listerdale Mystery

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.

"Lunch-time," he observed. "We'd better be strolling back."

"I'm 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.

"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 his turn, an unscrupulous matron who had just arrived fore-stalling 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 hash of Italian opera. Fortunately James was not musical. He studied the bill of fare dispassionately, his hands thrust down into his pockets. He thought to himself:

"Whatever I ask for, it's sure to be 'off.' That's the kind of fellow I am." His right hand, groping in the recesses of his pocket touched an unfamiliar object. It felt like a pebble, a large round pebble.

"What on earth did I want to put a stone in my pocket for?" thought James. His fingers closed round it. A waitress drifted up to him.

"Fried plaice and chipped potatoes, please," said James.

"Fried plaice is 'off,'" murmured the waitress, her eyes fixed dreamily on the ceiling.

'When I'll have curried beef," said James.

"Curried beef is 'off.'"