AgathaChristie-ParkerPineDetective

by Parker Pyne Detective (lit)

  thetic Oil of Jasmine.' After that you will place yourself

  entirely at the disposal of the person who has spoken to

  you. By the way, are you armed?"

  "No," said little Mr. Roberts in a flutter. "No; I

  never thought. That ism"

  "That can soon be remedied," said the bearded man.

  He glanced around. No one was near them. Something

  hard and shining was pressed into Mr. Roberts' hand.

  "A small weapon but efficacious," said the stranger,

  smiling.

  Mr. Roberts, who had never fired a revolver in his

  life, slipped it gingerly into a pocket. He had an uneasy

  feeling that it might go off at any minute.

  They went over the passwords again. Then Roberts'

  new friend rose.

  "I wish you good luck," he said. "May you come

  through safely. You are a brave man, Mr. Roberts."

  "Am I?" thought Roberts, when the other had

  departed. "I'm sure I don't want to get killed. That

  would never do."

  A pleasant thrill shot down his spine, slightly adul-terated

  by a thrill that was not quite so pleasant.

  He went to his room and examined the weapon. He

  was still uncertain about its mechanism and hoped he

  would not be called upon to use it.

  He went out to book his seat.

  The train left Geneva at nine-thirty. Roberts got to

  the station in good time. The sleeping-car conductor

  took his ticket and his passport, and stood aside while

  an underling swung Roberts' suitcase onto the rack.

  There was other luggage there: pigskin case and a Glad-stone

  bag.

  "Number Nine is the lower berth," said the con-ductor.

  As Roberts turned to leave the carriage he ran into a

  big man who was entering. They drew apart with apolo

  THE CASE OF THE CITY CLERK

  73

  gies--Roberts' in English and the stranger's in French.

  He was a big burly man, with a closely shaven head and

  thick eyeglasses through which his eyes seemed to peer

  suspiciously.

  "An ugly customer," said the little man to himself.

  He sensed something vaguely sinister about his travel-ing

  companion. Was it to keep a watch on this man that

  he had been told to ask for Berth Number Nine? He fan-cied

  it might be.

  He went out again into the corridor. There was still

  ten minutes before the train was due to start and he

  thought he would walk up and down the platform.

  Halfway along the passage he stood back to allow a lady

  to pass him. She was just entering the train and the con-ductor

  preceded her, ticket in hand. As she passed

  Roberts she dropped her hand bag. The Englishman

  picked it up and handed it to her.

  "Thank you, Monsieur." She spoke in English but

  her voice was foreign, a rich low voice very seductive in

  quality. As she was about to pass on, she hesitated and

  murmured: "Pardon, Monsieur, but I think you were

  recently at Grasse?"

  Roberts' heart leaped with excitement. He was to

  place himself at the disposal of this lovely creature--for

  she was lovely, of that there was no doubt. Not only

  lovely, but aristocratic and wealthy. She wore a travel-ing

  coat of fur, a chic hat. There were pearls round her

  neck. She was dark and her lips.were scarlet.

  Roberts made the required answer: "Yes, last

  month."

  "You are interested in scent?"

  "Yes, I am a manufacturer of synthetic Oil of

  .Jasmine."

  She bent her head and passed on, leaving a mere

  whisper behind her: "In the corridor as soon as the train

  starts."

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  Agatha Christie

  The next ten minutes seemed an age to Roberts. At

  last the train started. He walked slowly along the cor-ridor.

  The lady in the fur coat was struggling with a win-dow.

  He hurried to her assistance.

  "Thank you, Monsieur. Just a little air before they

  insist on closing everything." And then in a soft, low,

  rapid voice: "After the frontier, when our fellow

  traveler is asleep--not before--go into the washing

  place and through into the compartment on the other

  side. You understand?"

  "Yes." He let down the window and said in a louder

  voice: "Is that better, Madame?"

  "Thank you very much."

  He retired to his compartment. His traveling compan-ion

  was already stretched out in the upper berth. His

  preparations for the night had evidently been simple.

  The removal of boots and a coat, in fact.

  Roberts debated his own costume..Clearly if he were

  going into a lady's compartment he could not undress.

  He found a pair of slippers, substituted them for his

  boots, and then lay down, switching out the light. A few

  minutes later, the man above began to snore.

  Just after ten o'clock they reached the frontier. The

  door was thrown open; a perfunctory question was

  asked. Had Messieurs anything to declare? The door

  was closed again. Presently the train drew out of Belle-garde.

  The man in the upper berth was snoring again.

  Roberts allowed twenty minutes to elapse, then he

  slipped to his feet and opened the door of the lavatory

  compartment. Once inside, he bolted the door behind

  him and eyed the door on the farther side. It was not

  bolted. He hesitated. Should he knock?

  Perhaps it would be absurd to knock. But he didn't

  quite like entering without knocking. He compromised,

  opened the door gently about an inch and waited. He

  THE CASE OF THE CITY CLERK

  75

  even ventured on a small cough.

  The response was prompt. The door was pulled open,

  he was seized by the arm, pulled through into the farther

  compartment, and the girl closed and bolted the door

  behind him.

  Roberts caught his breath. Never had he imagined

  anything so lovely. She, was wearing a long foamy garment

  of cream chiffon and lace. She leaned against the

  door into the corridor, panting. Roberts had often read

  of beautiful hunted creatures at bay. Now, for the first

  time, he saw one--a thrilling sight.

  "Thank God!" murmured the girl.

  She was quite young, Roberts noted, and her loveliness

  was such that she seemed to him like a being from

  another world. Here was romance at last--and he was in

  it!

  She spoke in a low, hurried voice. Her English was

  good but the inflection was wholly foreign. "I am so

  glad you have come," .she said. "I have been horribly

  'frightened. Vassilievitch is on the train. You understand

  what that means?"

  Roberts did not understand in the least what it meant,

  but he nodded.

  "I thought I had given them the slip. I might have

  known better. What are we to do? Vassilievitch is in the

  next carriage to me. Whatever happens, he must not get

  the jewels. Even if he murders me, he must not get the

  jewels."

  "He's not going to murder you and he's not going to


  get the jewels," said Roberts with determination.

  "Then what am I to do with them?"

  Roberts looked past her at the door. "The door's

  bolted," he said.

  The girl laughed. "What are locked doors to Vassilievitch?"

  Roberts felt more and more as though he were in the

  76

  Agatha Christie

  middle of one of his favorite novels. "There's only one

  thing to be done. Give them to me."

  She looked at him doubtfully. "They arc worth a

  quarter of a million."

  Roberts flushed. "You can trust me."

  The girl hesitated a moment longer, then: "Yes, I will

  trust you," she said. She made a swift movement. The

  next minute she was holding out to him a rolled-up pair

  of stockings--stockings of cobweb silk. "Take them,

  my friend," she said to the astonished Roberts.

  He took them and at once he understood. Instead of

  being light as air, the stockings were unexpectedly

  heavy.

  "Take them into your compartment," she said. "You

  can give them to me in the morning--if--if I am still

  here."

  Roberts coughed. "Look here," he said. "About

  you." He paused. "I--I must keep guard over you."

  Then he flushed in an agony of propriety. "Not in here,

  I mean. I'll stay in there." He nodded towards the

  lavatory compartment.

  "If you like to stay here--" She glanced at the upper

  unoccupied berth.

  Roberts flushed to the roots of his hair. "No, no," he

  protested. "I shall be all right in there. If you need me,

  call out."

  "Thank you, my friend," said the girl softly.

  She slipped into the lower berth, drew up the covers

  and smiled at him gratefully. He retreated into the

  washroom.

  Suddenly--it must have been a couple of hours later

  --he thought he heard something. He listened--nothing.

  Perhaps he had been mistaken. And yet it certainly

  seemed to him that he had heard a faint sound from the

  next carriage. Supposing--just supposing...

  He opened the door softly. The compartment was as

  THE CASE OF THE CITY CLERK

  he had left it, with the tiny blue light in the ceiling.

  stood there with his eyes straining through the dimn

  till they got accustomed to it. He made out the out

  of the berth.

  He saw that it was empty. The girl was not there!

  He switched the light full on. The compartment '

  empty. Suddenly he sniffed. Just a whiff but he rec

  nized it--the sweet, sickly odor of chloroform!

  He stepped from the compartment (unlocked now,

  noted) out into the corridor and looked up and down

  Empty! His eyes fastened on the door next to the gir

  She had said that Vassilievitch was in the next comp

  merit. Gingerly Roberts tried the handle. The door

  bolted on the inside.

  What should he do? Demand admittance? But

  man would refuse--and after all, the girl might not

  there! And if she were, would she thank him for mak

  a public business of the matter? He ha{l gathered t

  secrecy was essential in the game they were playing.

  A perturbed little man wandered slowly along the c.

  ridor. He paused at the end compartment. The door v

  open, and the conductor lay there sleeping. And abc

  him, on a hook, hung his brown uniform coat a

  peaked cap.

  In a flash Roberts had decided on his course of

  tion. In another minute he had donned the coat and ¢

  and was hurrying back along the corridor. He stopF

  at the door next to that of the girl, summoned all

  resolution and knocked peremptorily.

  When the summons was not answered, he knock

  again.

  "Monsieur," he said, in his best accent.

  The door opened a little way and a head peer

  out--the head of a foreigner, clean-shaven except

  black mustache. It was an angry, malevolent face.

  78

  Agatha Christie

  "Qu 'est-ce-qu 'ii y a ?" he snapped.

  "Votre passeport, monsieur." Roberts stepped back

  and beckoned.

  The other hesitated, then stepped out into the cor-ridor.

  Roberts had counted on his doing that. If he had

  the girl inside, he naturally would not want the con-ductor

  to come in. Like a flash, Roberts acted. With all

  his force he shoved the foreigner aside--the man was

  unprepared and the swaying of the train helped--bolted

  into the carriage himself, shut the door and locked it.

  Lying across the end of the berth was the girl, a gag

  across her mouth and her wrists tied together. He freed

  her quickly, and she fell against him with a sigh.

  "I feel so weak and ill," she murmured. "It was

  chloroform, I think. Did he--did he get them?"

  "No." Roberts tapped his pocket. "What are we to

  do now?" he asked.

  The girl sat up. Her wits were returning. She took in

  his costume.

  "How clever of you. Fancy thinking of that! He said

  he would kill me if I did not tell him where the jewels

  were. I have been so afraid--and then you came." Sud-denly

  she laughed. "But we have outwitted him! He will

  not dare do anything. He cannot even try to get back

  into his own compartment.

  "We must stay here till morning. Probably he will

  leave the train at Dijon; we are due to stop there in

  about half an hour. He will telegraph to Paris and they

  will pick up our trail there. In the meantime, you had

  better throw that coat and cap out of the window. They

  might get you into trouble."

  Roberts obeyed.

  "We must not sleep," the girl decided. "We must

  stay on guard till morning."

  It was a strange, exciting vigil. At six o'clock in the

  morning, Roberts opened the door carefully and looked

  THE CASE OF THE CITY CLERK

  out. NO one was about. The girl slipped quickly into he

  own compartment. Roberts followed her in. The plac

  had clearly been ransacked. He regained his own cai

  riage through the wash-room. His fellow traveler wa

  still snoring.

  They reached Paris at seven o'clock. The conductol

  was declaiming at the loss of his coat and cap. He ha¢

  not yet discovered the loss of a passenger.

  Then began a most entertaining chase. The girl an

  Roberts took taxi after taxi across Paris. They enterec

  hotels and restaurants by one door and left them b.

  another. At last the girl gave a sigh.

  "I feel sure we are not followed now," she said. "W,

  have shaken them off."

  They breakfasted and drove to Le Bourget. Thre

  hours later they were at Croydon. Roberts had neve

  flown before.

  At Croydon a tall old gentleman with a far-off re

  semblance to Mr. Roberts' mentor at Geneva was wait

  ing for them. He greeted the girl with especial respect.

  "The car is here, madam," he said.

  "This gentleman will accompany us, Paul," said

  girl. And to Roberts: "Count Paul Stepanyi."

  The car was a vast limousine. They drove for abou
l

  an hour, then they entered the grounds of a countr

  house and pulled up at the door of an imposing man.

  sion. Mr. Roberts was taken to a room furnished as

  study. There he handed over the precious pair of stockings.

  He was left alone for a while. Presently Coun

  Stepanyi returned.

  "Mr. Roberts," he said, "our thanks and gratitud

  are due to you. You have proved yourself a brave and

  resourceful man." He held out a red morocco case

  "Permit me to confer upon you the Order of St. Stanis.

  laus--tenth class with laurels."

  As in a dream Roberts opened the case and looked al

  80

  Agatha Christie

  the jeweled order. The old gentleman was still speaking.

  "The Grand Duchess Olga would like to thank you

  herself before you depart."

  He was led to a big drawing-room. There, very beau-tiful

  in a flowing robe, stood his traveling companion.

  She made an imperious gesture of the hand, and the

  other man left them.

  "I owe you my life, Mr. Roberts," said the grand

  duchess.

  She held out her hand. Roberts kissed it. She leaned

  suddenly towards him.

  "You are a brave man," she said.

  His lips met hers; a waft of rich Oriental perfume sur-rounded

  him. For a moment he held that slender,

  beautiful form in his arms ....

  He was still in a dream when somebody said to him: