The Amorous Agatha Christie 06

Chapter Eight.

The Regatta Mystery.

Established in 1839, Henley Royal Regatta is a rowing event held annually on the River Thames by the town of Henley-on-Thames, England.

The regatta lasts for six days (Tuesday to Sunday) ending on the first weekend in July. Races are head-to-head knock-out competitions, raced throughout one mile and 550 yards. The regatta regularly attracts international crews to race. The most prestigious event at the regatta is the Grand Challenge Cup for Men's Eights, which has been awarded since the regatta was first staged.

The races begin at the downstream end of Temple Island, where the crews attach to a pair of pontoons. The race umpire will then call out the names of the two crews and start them when they are both straight and ready. Each crew is assigned to row on either the 'Bucks' (Buckinghamshire) or 'Berks' (Berkshire) side of the race course. The coxswains or steersmen are expected to keep their crew on the allocated side of the course at all times during the race, or else they risk disqualification. The only exception is when a crew leads by a sizeable margin and is not deemed by the umpire to be impeding the trailing crew.

The stage was thus set for the 1924 Challenge Cup and Agatha Christie was in attendance. She was accompanied by the Honourable Edward Gathorne-Hardy. The youngest son of Gathorne Gathorne-Hardy, the 3rd Earl of Cranbrook, the wealthy traveller, and socialite, had carved a successful career as an antique and art dealer. Still a youthful and fit twenty-five-year-old, he was one of the country's most eligible bachelors.

They were to watch from the Stewards Enclosure situated on the Berkshire side, adjacent to the last part of the course and the finish line. They sheltered from the hot sun under one of the two covered grandstands. They looked out over the immaculately prepared lawns as they sipped their Pimm's fruit cup. The dress code is strictly enforced and he looked smart in his striped blazer, flannels, and straw boater. Agatha had on her ankle-hugging peach dress and a wide-brimmed hat with a flower brooch. Despite the ever-changing modern times, it was frowned upon for women to smoke. Agatha was not a happy bunny as she watched Edward light up his third of the morning.

"Oh, do let me have a puff, you beast."

"Sorry, old stick. No can do. I'm not risking getting chucked out of the enclosure before the race."

"Sod! For that, I shan't let you have your way with me tonight. My lips are sealed. Lower set."

"Very witty. Your next book should be a comedy."

"I did have an amusing title for a book called 'Sparkling Cyanide' but dismissed it as absurd."

"Anyway. You can never say no to a bit of slap and tickle."

Christie looked at him side-on and huffed. How well he knew her! Feeling a little bored, the watchful redheaded crime writer looked around the enclosure. The presence of Lady Marroway caught her eye. She was in the company of two distinguished gentlemen, Isaac Pointz and Leo Stein, who were successful gold merchants. Lady Marroway came from a different world than Agatha's. The world of Antibes and Juan les Pins. Of golf at St. JeandeLuz, and bathing from the rocks at Madeira in the Winter.

"Here she is."

Agatha waved enthusiastically as Lady Frances Derwent came dancing up to them. The young English woman, known to her friends as Frankie, was a whip-smart socialite whom Agatha described as a clever, unflappable woman with a flair for fun and gaiety. She was the daughter of Lord and Lady Marcham who resided in Derwent Castle in Marchbolt, Wales. Frankie also had a London residence in Brook Street Mayfair from which she invited young and easy Flappers for fun and frolics.

She was tall, slim, and dark. Twenty-eight years of age, and had an air of cool efficiency, much like Christie herself. She was the kind of young woman who could care for herself perfectly wherever she went. She had poise and efficiency and was very attractive. Her eyes sparkled and her burnished short hair had neat waves.

"Agatha! How spiffing to see you. I haven't seen you since our time on the Orient Express." (See chapter 4)

It was a pleasure to see her old chum again. Their collective approach to solving the mystery of the underwear fetishist had been highly satisfactory.

"Darling. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. This is Toby. Say hello to Agatha Christie."

The smart and clean-shaven young chap took Agatha's hand and shook it vigorously until Frankie had to pull his arm back.

"This is an honour. Wonderful book. Had me guessing to the end."

"Thank you. Have you known Frankie long?"

"We only just met but we get along splendidly. Isn't she a doll? I can't wait to show her off to my parents."

Frankie stood just behind the excited fellow and gestured with her hand across her throat. Agatha got the message. Toby was on the way out.

"So, who are you rooting for? Leander or TRC?"

"Well, I rather fancy Steve Fairbairn of Thames."

Frankie gave Agatha a playful jab in the ribs and winked.

"You fancy Steve? Don't we all."

Edward made a face at Toby as the ladies laughed at the innuendo.

"My dear ladies. It's not about which coach is the best-looking, the Henley Regattas more closely resembles anything else in modern times. The old Olympian and Isthmian games of the classic ages, or the jousts and tournaments of the days of chivalry. The very pick of the best-bred young men in England here manfully competes over a mile and a quarter, for the coveted and honourable prize of the gold cup. Glory and honour are there the well-merited prizes for pluck and endurance. And I'm picking Leander to win."

"Thank you for that rousing speech, Edward. Let us go for a closer look."

Agatha took Frankie by the arm and they traipsed off. Thames Rowing Club (TRC) was based on the tidal Thames as it flows through the western suburbs of London. The TRC clubhouse stands on Putney Embankment. They had won the Challenge Cup many times, beating London Leander Club every time.

After the Great War, Thames had come under the influence of the coach Steve Fairbairn, an Australian graduate of Cambridge, with boundless charisma and good looks. His bitter rival was Julian Beresford, who this year posed a serious threat as coach of Leander.

x

Excitement had now increased as the boats were in the water side by side and the crews readied for the off. Onlookers gradually filled every available place along the banks. There were also many small boats and punts vying for the best view. The bells of the old church rang out in the most cheering way as the crowds of people cheered.

The umpire boat was in position too, a long, rakish-looking craft with three occupants. The onlookers pressed forward more eagerly than ever as the two rival coaches squared up.

Fairbairn looked the tallest to Agatha and looked resplendent in his red and white striped jacket and bristling moustache. Beresford however had an unruly mop of fair curly hair that gave him something of a boyish look.

"Good luck old chap," said Beresford offering his hand to the other.

"Shan't need luck. We will win because we are the best team."

The eager watchers scarcely believed the standoff as both men squared up.

"Aren't they manly?" Gushed Frankie enthralled at the sight of the two burly men face to face.

"Rather," agreed an excited Agatha Christie.

"Poor show. They should have shaken hands. It's just not unsportsmanlike."

Edward huffed as they heard the umpire ask if the crews were ready.

"Yes," said Fairbairn.

"No," said Beresford of the Leander crew.

But the umpire had not heard Leander's reply and gave the order to start. The starting gun fired and Thames shot off the starting line, but only half of Leander was rowing. Leander stopped rowing and their coach protested loudly to the umpire, expecting it to be a false start. But the umpire refused to stop the race, and Beresford knew they had more than likely lost.

Thames took the advantage although Leander crept up like a relentless foe. By and by she came into the wake of her rival, the water almost lapping on their bow. Agatha and Frankie cheered on with everybody else as the boats came closer and closer. For one moment the bow of the Leander nearly overlapped the stern of the Thames boat and almost slid alongside. But Thames forged ahead and the race was won! The victory was snatched on the post, as already the finish line was in sight. Then a ringing cheer burst out and all on board gave spontaneous vent to their win. Hats were waved, even thrown up in the air, only to be swept overboard by the wind.

"I say. That takes the biscuit. Fairbairn should have waited for a restart. It's just not cricket."

He and a few others booed over the hugely contentious decision to continue the race.

"Oh, Edward. Don't fuss so. It was spiffing fun."

The presentation of the Cup was due shortly to the victors. At two o'clock everyone seemed as happy and lively as possible. Most partaking too frequently or too freely of the cups and drinks of all sorts that were on offer. Agatha and Frankie included. A steam launch came into view and joined the other launches and moored craft at the Regatta. As Fairbairn celebrated with his winning crew, Beresford was incandescent with anger.

"Well, that's a good one. There's audacity for you. Own up, man. You are a cheat, Sir!"

Fairbairn became furious.

"Hogwash! The race was won fair and square."

Beresford lashed out, hitting his rival a good square left. Fairbairn struck back, launching a right hook straight from the shoulder, knocking over the other coach like a ninepin. During the altercation, two policemen interposed between the pair as they came rushing in, butting like bullocks.

"Well," laughed Agatha. "That was a strange experience. What sport!"

Leo Stein stepped forward and looked about him with the air of a man pleased

with himself, his appearance, his surroundings, and life generally. His business partner, Isaac Pointz joined him. He was a man of fifty-eight, in good health and condition with perhaps a slight tendency to stoutness.

"Mr. Pointz," said Lady Marroway.

"Yes, my dear lady."

"Have you got the gold cup?"

Mr. Pointz chuckled.

"That's right. I've kept a good eye on it. Mister Stein?"

"Here it is, ladies and gentlemen. The Grand Challenge Cup, which I will now present to..."

His voice trailed off suddenly.

"Oh," he said. "Oh.... "

"What's the matter?"

"It's gone. The cup is gone!"

"What's all this?" asked Pointz, coming forward.

"The cup was here, just behind the podium. And now..."

"Impossible! We had it just moments ago."

An atmosphere of tension pervaded the scene. Several men looked about the immediate area and Agatha and the others stood and watched incredulously.

"Astonishing. The cup is stolen? But how? And by whom?"

"Indeed, Edward. How and by whom? I wonder."

Agatha took a long look around the immediate area and nodded her head.

x

The Relais Inn's historic role at the centre of life in Henley-on-Thames is written into its ancient timber and stone. From the 1530s when it housed the craftsmen who built St Mary's Church, later hosting King Charles I, the First Duke of Marlborough, and a pageant of personalities, The Relais Henley has been part of the social fabric woven around the River Thames, Oxfordshire and England itself.

Each room overlooked the riverside or the charming courtyard garden.

All in attendance at the Regatta, Agatha, Edward, Frankie, Toby, and the gold merchants were all staying there overnight. After the disappearance of the gold cup, Agatha and Lady Derwent paid a visit to the intimate Quarterdeck Bar. Still not overly busy at five, they made themselves comfortable. The bar was framed by original wood beams, which gave it the patina of an old English pub.

Settling into a capacious velvet sofa, the ladies ordered a brandy.

Well, dear Agatha. What do you make of it all? Has the cup been stolen?"

"Without question. And I have a good idea who the culprits are."

"Do tell."

"Pointz and Stein. It smells of an insurance trick. Steal the cup and sell it off, and then claim insurance money as soon as the law allows. A nice sum for all."

"But they don't seem the criminal type."

"Not a criminal type," said Christie. "Not, that is, the particular criminal type that

steals the gold. There are crimes, of course, that one might commit, but we won't enter into that subject. At any rate, It is worse than that."

"Yes?"

"I've noticed several foreign chaps lurking along the river bank all morning, and I have a hunch who this gang is."

Agatha lit up a cigarette and sat back to let Frankie digest what she had told her do far.

"The gang? What gang?"

"The Amalfi gang. I thought of them at once when I heard the cup was gone. I recognized their methods and once I saw them I had solved the crime.

"Who are the Amalfi gang?"

"Father and son and a group of ne'er do wells. The name is Italian and no doubt the origin is Italian, but old Julius Amalfi was born in America. His methods are usually the same. He either collaborates or blackmails a real businessman or partners, in the gold or jewel business in some European country and then plays his little trick. In this case, they targeted the Challenge Cup. Barefaced arrogance. What we have to face is the probability that the cup is still in Henley. Indeed, in this very Inn. I suggest that the only fair and honourable thing is for you and I to search their room and recover the prize."

"Gosh! What a wheeze!"

"Can I count on you?"

"Rath-er!"

x

Agatha's room featured lovely pieces of antique furniture from the hotel's past, with a four-poster bed and carved wood armoires to complement the architectural features. Pointz had a suite located next to the stairwell. It had a bedroom and living room with an adjoining door. The amateur sleuth and author visited the reception and spoke to the manager and made herself familiar with the layout of the suite.

She assured him that the authorities would be contacted if any crime had been perpetrated.

Her heart was beating fast as the beguiling mix of excitement and nerves washed over her. The brazen redhead wouldn't have it any other way. It was wonderfully exciting and rewarding to experience real crime although it held serious risks.

She lay on the bed, ready for later. She intended to fetch Frankie once midnight came. She stripped off, laying her dress on the chair beside the bed. Once naked she inspected herself in the mirror. Not too bad for thirty-three she thought.

Agatha Christie fit the stereotype of the 20s flapper to a T, chasing a lifestyle that would have been unthinkable just twenty years before. She drank alcohol, smoked cigarettes, and dabbled in bohemianism. She cut her hair in the latest fashion, a short bob with the fringe down to her groomed brows. She wore dresses that showed off her fashionably slender figure, used daring slang, and dated multiple men whilst single. Standing at five feet seven inches tall, her long legs went all the way up to her bum where they got cheeky. She had superb 32D breasts, with wide hips separated by a thin waist. Her big eyes were hazel and her short-cut hair was a reddish-blonde. Because of her colouring, her skin was pale but unblemished.

Tonight, in order to cut a stealthy look, she donned a pair of Palazzo trouser pants with a loose, wide leg that flared out from the knee. Christie smiled to herself as she pulled them on. Palazzo pants were the counter-culture style de jour of the twenties. Their origins are those of necessity as women rebelled from the patriarchal view of femininity being restricted to the skirt. Banned from wearing trousers to many an establishment in these times, ladies wearing pants was a way to circumvent the prescribed dress codes. To go with them she wore a simple button-down blouse and put a large flat cap on over her head.

The lights still blazed as Agatha crept along the passage to Frankie's room and knocked lightly on the door. The plucky Lady Derwent came out in her pajama pantsuit and they both made their way to the suite of Pointz, the object of their investigation. Using the passkey provided by the manager of the Inn, Agatha cautiously opened the door and both entered. With a finger to her lips, the redheaded author signalled to Frankie to begin the search. Although the room was in darkness, the outer light shone under the door. As quietly as possible they looked here and there, but to no avail. Agatha turned to her companion and spread her hands. She saw a look of surprise on Frankie's face as she gesticulated with a jabbing index finger behind her. Agatha never saw the villain but felt the crushing blow to the back of her head with what must have been a cosh. Her cap deadened the blow to a degree but she lost consciousness in a dazzling display of stars.

x

Christie awoke as if from a bad dream. All she could fathom was the fact that she was strapped into a wooden chair without a stitch of clothing. She could sense another behind her. It was Frankie. Both women were seated so that the backs of their heads touched. They were meticulously tied together with knotted cords. Their arms were pinned back to such an extent that their bosoms were made to thrust out. Their ankles were bound to the front legs of the chairs at such an angle that their thighs were parted enough to display their unshielded mons. Julius Amalfi leered at the bound pair of British ladies and smoothed out his moustache.

"Well. Don't you two look a da pretty picture?"

Agatha lifted her head to see the old geezer to her left in a striped suit with a Luger pistol in a ham-sized fist.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Amalfi. And this is Luigi Monticelli."

The naked females looked up at a sneering type with yellowing teeth and dirty fingernails.

"And you are Agatha Christie. The renowned writer and general pest. We do not take kindly to women snooping in da tings they ain't a meant to."

"Go to hell!"

"Probably will."

"You may as well give yourselves up. The police are on their way right now."

"Ah. Si. But you are bluffing of course. I can see it in your eyes. Otherwise, they would have arrived with the other two."

Amalfi gestured to the bedroom with his gun and Agatha narrowed her eyes. Which other two?

"As an Italian, I commend your boldness, but as amateur sleuths, I can only call you both fools."

"And why the devil are we undressed?" asked Frankie in defiance.

The one called Luigi leaned in and squeezed Lady Derwent's upper thigh.

"Well, Luigi here is a colossal pervert. He loves the flesh. Female and male. He is a Roman and I think he has the genes of a debauched Emperor. He would have felt at home in an old-fashioned orgy. Fortunately for you, we cannot risk the chance of being apprehended. Pointz and Stein have already left for London. No doubt in haste to claim their insurance cheque. And so we take the cup and leave also. Addio signore."

The gang left the suite with their loot in a brown sack.

x

The position of the two ladies was exceedingly uncomfortable, soon merging into despair. Securely fettered, they could only move their limbs slightly, and ere long they became cramped and sore.

"I may have an idea. Start rocking your chair."

Frankie frowned but began to shift her body in her chair. Behind her, Agatha bowed her head and moved forward and backward in a methodical motion.

Together they succeeded in lifting both chairs so that only five or six legs remained on the carpet at any time. Pivoting at a right angle, Christie managed to topple the pair of them and in that act, her left foot became free.

"Well done, old stick!"

In the same instant, the redhead tore her right hand out of the ties and soon enough the quivering women were untied. Albeit still fully unclothed.