answer me honestly, I know. I am going to ask you if
you are happy."
"Happy! That's a pretty question! Steal a woman's
money and ask her if she's happy. I like your impu-dence!''
"You are still angry," he said. "Most natural. But
leave my misdeeds out of it for the moment. Mrs.
Rymer, when you came to my office a year ago today,
you were an unhappy woman. Will you tell me that you
are unhappy now? If so, I apologize, and you are at
liberty to take what steps you please against me.
Moreover, I will refund you the thousand pounds you
paid me. Come, Mrs. Rymer, are you an unhappy
woman now?"
Mrs. Rymer looked at Mr. Parker Pyne, but she
dropped her eyes when she spoke at last.
"No," she said. "I'm not unhappy." A tone of
wonder crept into her voice. "You've got me there. I ad-mit
it. I've not been as happy as I am now since Abner
died. I--I'm going to marry a man who works here--Joe
Welsh. Our banns are going up next Sunday; that is,
THE CASE OF THE RICH WOMAN
99
they were going up next Sunday."
"But now, of course," said Mr. Pyne, "everything is different."
Mrs. Rymer's face flamed. She took a step forward.
"What do you mean--different? Do you think if I had
all the money in the world it would make me a lady? I
don't want to be a lady, thank you; a helpless, good-for-nothing
lot they are. Joe's good enough for me and
I'm good enough for him. We suit each other and we're
going to be happy. As for you, Mr. Nosey Parker, you
take yourself off and don't interfere with what doesn't
concern you I"
Mr. Parker Pyne took a paper from his pocket and
handed it to her. "The power of attorney," he said.
"Shall I tear it up? You will assume control of your own
fortune now, I take it."
A strange expression came over Mrs. Rymer's face.
She thrust back the paper.
"Take it. I've said hard things to you--and some of
them you deserved. You're a downy fellow, but all the
same I trust you. Seven hundred pounds I'll have in the
bank here--that'll buy us a farm we've got our eye on.
The rest of it--well, let the hospitals have it."
"You cannot mean to hand over your entire fortune
to hospitals?"
"That's just what I do mean. Joe's a dear, good
fellow, but he's weak. Give him money and you'd ruin
him. I've got him off the drink now, and I'll keep him
off it. Thank God, I know my own mind. I'm not going
to let money come between me and happiness."
"You are a remarkable woman," said Mr. Pyne
slowly. "Only one woman in a thousand would act as
you are doing."
"Then only one woman in a thousand's got sense,"
said Mrs. Rymer.
"I take off my hat to you," said Mr. Parker Pyne,
100
Agatha Christie
and there was an unusual note in his voice. He raised his
hat with solemnity and moved away.
"And Joe's never to know, mind!" Mrs. Rymer
called after him.
She stood there with the dying sun behind her, a great
blue-green cabbage in her hands, her head thrown back
and her shoulders squared. A grand figure of a peasant
woman, outlined against the setting sun ....
Have You Got
Everything You Want?
"PAR ici, Madame."
A tall woman in a mink coat followed her heavily en-cumbered
porter along the platform of the Gare de
Lyon.
She wore a dark brown knitted hat pulled down over
one eye and ear. The other side revealed a charming tip-tilted
profile and little golden curls clustering over a
shell-like ear. Typically an American, she was altogether
a very charming-looking creature and more than one
man turned to look at her as she walked past the high
carriages of the waiting train.
Large plates were stuck in holders on the sides of the
carriages.
PARIS--ATHINES. PARISBUCHAREST.
PARIS--STAMBOUL.
At the last named the porter came to an abrupt halt.
He undid the strap which held the suitcases together and
they slipped heavily to the ground. "Voici, Madame."
101
102
Agatha Christie
The wagon-lit conductor was standing beside the
steps. He came forward, remarking, "Bonsoir, Ma-dame,"
with an empressement perhaps due to the rich-ness
and perfection of the mink coat.
The woman handed him her sleeping-car ticket of
flimsy paper.
"Number Six," he said; "this way."
He sprang nimbly into the train, the woman following
him. As she hurried down the corridor after him, she
nearly collided with a portly gentleman who was emerg-ing
from the compartment next to hers. She had a mo-mentary
glimpse of a large bland face with benevolent
eyes.
"[/oici, Madame."
The conductor displayed the compartment. He threw
up the window and signaled to the porter. A lesser
employee took in the baggage and put it up in the racks.
The woman sat down.
Beside her on the seat she had placed a small scarlet
case and her hand bag. The carriage was hot, but it did
not seem to occur to her to take off her coat. She stared
out of the window with unseeing eyes. People were
hurrying up and down the platform. There were sellers
of newspapers, of pillows, of chocolate, of fruit of
mineral waters. They held up their wares to her, but her
eyes looked blankly through them. The Gare de Lyon
had faded from her sight. On her face were sadness and
anxiety.
"If Madame will give me her passport?"
The words made no impression on her. The con-ductor,
standing in the doorway, repeated them. Elsie
Jeffries roused herself with a start.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your passport, Madame."
She opened her bag, took out the passport and gave it
to him.
HAVE YOU GOT EVERYTHING YOU WANT? 103
"That will be all right, Madame, I will attend to
everything." A slight significant pause. "I shall be
going with Madame as far as Stamboul."
Elsie drew out a fifty-franc note and handed it to him.
He accepted it in a businesslike manner, and inquired
when she would like her bed made up and whether she
was taking dinner.
These matters settled, he withdrew and almost imme-diately
the restaurant man came rushing down the cor-ridor
ringing his little bell frantically, and bawling out,
"Premier service. Premier service."
Elsie rose, divested herself of the heavy fur coat, took
a brief glance at herself in the little mirror, and picking
up her hand bag and jewel case, stepped out into the
corridor. She had gone only a few steps when the restau-rant
man came rushing along on his return journey. To
avoid him, Elsie stepped back for a moment into the
doorway of the adjoining
compartment, which was now
empty. As the man passed and she prepared to continue
her journey to the dining car, her glance fell idly on the
label of a suitcase which was lying on the seat.
It was a stout pigskin case, somewhat worn. On the
'label were the words, "J. Parker Pyne, passenger to
Stamboul." The suitcase itself bore the initials "P. P."
A startled expression came over the girl's face. She
hesitated a moment in the corridor, then going back to
her own compartment she picked up a copy of the Times
which she had laid down on the table with some maga-zines
and books.
She ran her eye down the advertisement columns on
the front page, but what she was looking for was not
there. A slight frown on her face, she made her way to
the restaurant car.
The attendant allotted her a seat at a small table
.already tenanted by one person--the man with whom
she had nearly collided in the corridor. In fact, the
104
Agatha Christie
owner of the pigskin suitcase.
Elsie looked at him without appearing to do so. He
seemed very bland, very benevolent, and in some way
impossible to explain, delightfully reassuring. He be-haved
in reserved British fashion, and it was not till the
fruit was on the table that he spoke.
"They keep these places terribly hot," he said.
"I know," said Elsie. "I wish one could have the win-dow
open."
He gave a rueful smile. "Impossible! Every person
present except ourselves would protest."
She gave an answering smile. Neither said any more.
Coffee was brought and the usual indecipherable bill.
Having laid some notes upon it, Elsie suddenly took her
courage in both hands.
"Excuse me," she murmured. "I saw your name
upon your suitcase--Parker Pyne. Are you--are you,
by any chance--?"
She hesitated and he came quickly to her rescue.
"I believe I am. That is"--he quoted from the adver-tisement
which Elsie had noticed more than once in the
"Times," and for which she had searched v/finly just
now--" 'Are you happy? If not, consult Mr. Parker
Pyne.' Yes, I'm that one, all right."
"I see," said Elsie. "How--how extraordinary!"
He shook his head. "Not really. Extraordinary from
your point of view, but not from mine." He smiled
reassuringly, then leaned forward. Most of the other
diners had left the car. "So you are unhappy?" he said.
"I--" began Elsie, and stopped.
"You would not have said 'How extraordinary'
otherwise," he pointed out.
Elsie was silent a minute. She felt strangely soothed
by the mere presence of Mr. Parker Pyne. "Ye-es," she
admitted at last. "I am--unhappy. At least, I am wor-ried.''
I
HAVE YOu GOT EVERYTHING YOU WANT? 105
He nodded sympathetically.
"You see," she continued, "a very curious thing has
happened--and I don't know in the least what to make
of it."
"Suppose you tell me about it," suggested Mr. Pyne.
Elsie thought of the advertisement. She and Edward
had often commented on it and laughed. She had never
thought that she... Perhaps she had better not... If
Mr. Parker Pyne were a charlatan . . . But he looked
--nice!
Elsie made her decision. Anything to get this worry
off her mind.
"I'll tell you. I'm going to Constantinople to join my
husband. He does a .lot of Oriental business, and this
year he found it necessary to go there. He went a fort-night
ago. He was to get things ready for me to join
him. I've been very excited at the thought of it. You see,
I've never been abroad before. We've been in England
six months."
"You and your husband are both American?"
"Yes."
"And you have not, perhaps, been married very
long?"
"We've been married a year and a half."
"Happily?"
"Oh, yes! Edward's a perfect angel." She hesitated.
"Not, perhaps, very much go to him. Just a little--well,
I'd call it strait-laced. Lot of Puritan ancestry and all
that. But he's a dear," she added hastily.
Mr. Parker Pyne looked at her thoughtfully for a mo-ment
or two, then he said, "Go on."
"It was about a week after Edward had started. I was
writing a letter in his study, and I noticed that the blot-ting
paper was all new and clean, except for a few lines
of writing across it. I'd just been reading a detective
story with a clue in a blotter and so, just for fun, I held
106
Agatha Christie
it up to a mirror. It really was just fun, Mr. Pyne--I
mean, I wasn't spying on Edward or anything like that.
I mean, he's such a mild iamb one wouldn't dream of
anything of that kind."
"Yes, yes; I quite understand."
"The thing was quite easy to read. First there was the
word 'wife,' then 'Simplon Express,' and lower down,
'just before Venice would be the best time.'" She
stopped.
"Curious," said Mr. Pyne. "Distinctly curious. It
was your husband's handwriting?"
"Oh, yes. But I've cudgeled my brains and I cannot
see under what circumstances he would write a letter
with just those words in it."
"'Just before Venice would be the best time,'"
repeated Mr. Parker Pyne. "Distinctly curious."
Mrs. Jeffries was leaning forward looking at him with
a flattering hopefulness. "What shall I do?" she asked
simply.
"I am afraid," said Mr. Parker Pyne, "that we shall
have to wait until just before Venice." He took up a
folder from the table. "Here is the schedule time of our
train. It arrives at Venice at two-twenty-seven tomorrow
afternoon."
They looked at each other.
"Leave it to me," said Mr. Parker Pyne.
It was five minutes past two. The Simplon Express
was eleven minutes late. It had passed Mestre about a
quarter of an hour before.
Mr. Parker Pyne was sitting with Mrs. Jeffries in her
compartment. So far the journey had been pleasant and
uneventful. But now the moment had arrived when, if
anything was going to happen, it presumably would
happen. Mr. Parker Pyne and Elsie faced each other.
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HAVE YOU GOT EVERYTHING YOU WANT?
Her heart was beating fast, and her eyes sought his
kind of anguished appeal for reassurance.
"Keep perfectly calm," he §aid. "You are quite
I am here."
Suddenly a scream broke out fror the corridor.
"Oh, look--look! The train is on fire!"
With a bound Elsie and Mr. Parker Pyne were in tl
corridor. An agitated woman with a Slav countenan
was pointing a dramatic finger. Out of one of the fro
compartments smoke was pouring in a cloud. M
Parker
Pyne and Elsie ran along the corridor. Oth¢
joined them. The compartment in question was full
smoke. The first corners drew back, coughing. The co
ductor appeared.
"The compartment is empty!" he cried. "Do n
alarm yourselves, messieurs et dames. Le leu, it will
controlled."
A dozen excited questions and answers broke ou
The train was running over the bridge that joins Veni,
to the mainland.
Suddenly Mr. Parker Pyne turned, forced his w
through the little pack of people behind him and hurri
down the corridor to Elsie's comlaartment. The Iai
with the Slav face was seated in it, drawing deep breatl
from the.open window.
"Excuse me, Madame," said Parker Pyne. "But
is not your compartment."
"I know. I know," said the Slav lady. "Pardon. It
the shock, the emotion--my heart.' · She sank back
the seat and indicated the open wirdow. She drew
breath in great gasps.
Mr. Parker Pyne stood in the doorway. His voice wi
fatherly and reassuring. "You must not be afraid,"
said. "I do not think for a momnt that the fire
serious."
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