AgathaChristie-ParkerPineDetective

Home > Other > AgathaChristie-ParkerPineDetective > Page 14
AgathaChristie-ParkerPineDetective Page 14

by Parker Pyne Detective (lit)


  MR.

  PARKER PYNE repeated Flecker's lines softly to himself.

  "Postern

  of Fate, the Desert Gate, Disaster's

  Cavern,

  Fort of Fear,

  The

  Portal of Bagdad am I, the Doorway of

  Diarbekir."

  He

  was standing in the streets of Damascus and drawn

  up outside the Oriental Hotel he saw one of the huge

  six-wheeled Pullmans that was to transport him and

  eleven other people across the desert to Baghdad on the

  morrow.

  "Pass

  not beneath, O Caravan, or pass not singing.

  Have

  you heard

  That

  silence where the birds are dead yet something

  pipeth like a bird?

  117

  118

  Agatha Christie

  "Pass out beneath, O Caravan, Doom's Caravan,

  Death's Caravan!"

  Something of a contrast now. Formerly the Gate of

  Baghdad had been the gate of Death. Four hundred

  miles of desert to traverse by caravan. Long weary

  months of travel. Now the ubiquitous petrol-fed

  monsters did the journey in thirty-six hours.

  "What were you saying, Mr. Parker Pyne?

  It was the eager voice of Miss Netta Pryce, youngest

  and most charming of the tourist race. Though en-cumbered

  by a stern Aunt with the suspicion of a beard

  and a thirst for Biblical knowledge, Netta managed to

  enjoy herself in many frivolous ways of which the elder

  Miss Pryce might possibly have not approved.

  Mr. Parker Pyne repeated F!ecker's lines to her.

  "How thrilling," said Netta.

  Three men in Air Force uniform were standing near

  and one of them, an admirer of Netta's, struck in.

  "There are still thrills to be got out of the journey,"

  he said. "Even nowadays the convoy is occasionally

  shot up by bandits. Then there'S losing yourself--that

  happens sometimes. And we are sent out to find you.

  One fellow was lost for five days in the desert. Luckily

  he had plenty of water with him. Then there are the

  bumps. Some bumps! One man was killed. It's the truth

  I'm telling you! He was asleep and his head struck the

  top of the car and it killed him."

  "In the six-wheeler, Mr. O'Rourke?" demanded the

  elder Miss Pryce.

  "No--not in the six-wheeler," admitted the young

  man.

  "But we must do some sight seeing," cried Netta.

  Her aunt drew out a guide book.

  Netta edged away.

  THE GATE OF BAGHDAD

  "I know she'll want to go to some place where

  Paul was lowered out of a window," she whisper

  "And I do so want to see the Bazaars."

  O'Rourke responded promptly.

  "Come with me. We'll start down the Street cai

  Straight--"

  They drifted off.

  Mr. Parker Pyne turned to a quiet man stand

  beside him, Hensley by name. He belonged to the put

  works department of Baghdad.

  "Damascus is a little disappointing when one see..

  for the first time," he said apologetically. "A little ci

  ised. Trams and modern houses and shops."

  Hensley nodded. He was a man of few words.

  "Not got--back of beyond--when you think

  have," he jerked out.

  Another man drifted up, a fair young man wearing

  old Etonian tie. He had an amiable but slightly vac

  face which at the moment looked worried. He .

  Hensley were in the same department.

  "Hullo, Smethurst," said his friend. "Lost a

  thing?"

  Captain Smethurst shook his head. He was a you

  man of somewhat slow intellect.

  "Just looking round," he said vaguely. Then

  seemed to rouse himself. "Ought to have a beano

  night. What?"

  The two friends went off together. Mr. Parker PI

  bought a local paper printed in French.

  He did not find it very interesting. The local nc

  meant nothing to him and nothing of importar

  seemed to be going on elsewhere. He found a if

  paragraphs headed Londres.

  The first referred to financial matters. The seco

  dealt with the supposed destination of Mr. Sam

  120

  Agatha Christie

  Long, the defaulting financier. His defalcations now

  amounted to the sum of three millions and it was

  rumoured that he had reached South America.

  "Not too bad for a man just turned thirty," said Mr.

  Parker Pyne to himself.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Parker Pyne turned to confront an Italian General

  who had been on the same boat with him from Brindisi

  to Beirut.

  Mr. Parker Pyne explained his remark. The Italian

  General nodded his head several times.

  "He is a great criminal, that man. Even in Italy we

  have suffered. He inspired confidence all over the

  world. He is a man of breeding, too, they say."

  "Well, he went to Eton and Oxford," said Mr.

  Parker Pyne cautiously.

  "Will he be caught, do you think?"

  "Depends on how much of a start he got. He may be

  still in England. He may be--anywhere."

  "Here with us?" the General laughed.

  "Possibly." Mr. Parker Pyne remained serious. "For

  all you know, General, I may be he."

  The General gave him a startled glance. Then his olive

  brown face relaxed into a smile of comprehension.

  "Oh! that is very good--very good indeed. But

  you--"

  His eyes strayed downwards from Mr. Parker Pyne's

  face.

  Mr. Parker Pyne interpreted the glance correctly.

  "You mustn't judge by appearances," he said. "A

  little additionalmer--embonpoint--is easily managed

  and has a remarkably ageing effect."

  He added dreamily,

  "Then there is hair dye, of course, and face stain, and

  even a change of nationality."

  General Poli withdrew doubtfully. He never knew

  THE GATE OF BAGHDAD

  121

  how far the English were serious.

  Mr. Parker Pyne amused himself that evening by

  going to a Cinema. Afterwards he was directed to a

  "Nightly Palace of Gaieties." It appeared to him to be

  neither a palace nor gay. Various ladies danced with a

  distinct lack of verve. The applause was languid.

  Suddenly Mr. Parker Pyne caught sight of Smethurst.

  The young man was sitting at a table alone. His face was

  flushed and it occurred to Mr. Parker Pyne that he had

  already drunk more than was good for him. He went

  across and joined the young man.

  "Disgraceful, the way these girls treat you," said

  Captain Smethurst gloomily. "Bought her two drinks--three

  drinks--lots of drinks. Then she goes off laughing

  with some dago. Call it a disgrace."

  Mr. Parker Pyne sympathised. He suggested coffee.

  "Got some araq coming," said Smethurst. "Jolly

  good stuff. You try it."

  Mr. Parker Pyne knew something of the properties of

  araq. He employed tact. Smethurst, however, shook his

  head.

  "I'm in a bit of a mes
s," he said. "Got to cheer my-self

  up. Don't know what you'd do in my place. Don't

  like to go back on a pal, what.'? I mean to say--and yet

  --what's a fellow to do?"

  He studied Mr. Parker Pyne as though noticing him

  for the first time.

  "Who are you?" he demanded with the curtness born

  of his potations. "What do you do?"

  "The confidence trick," said Mr. Parker Pyne gently.

  Smethurst gazed at him in lively concern.

  "What--you too?"

  Mr. Parker Pyne drew from his wallet a cutting. He

  laid it on the table in front of Smethurst.

  "Are you unhappy? (So it ran) If so, consult Mr.

  Parker Pyne. "

  122

  Agatha Christie

  Smethurst focussed it after some difficulty.

  "Well, I'm damned," he ejaculated. "You meantersay--people

  come and tell you things?"

  "They confide in me--yes."

  "Pack of idiotic women, I suppose."

  "A good many women," admitted Mr. Parker Pyne.

  "But men also. What about you, my young friend? You

  wanted advice just now?"

  "Shut your damned head," said Captain Smethurst.

  "No business of anybody's--anybody's 'cept mine.

  Where's that goddamned araq?"

  Mr. Parker Pyne shook his head sadly.

  He gave up Captain Smethurst as a bad job.

  The convoy for Baghdad started at seven o'clock in

  the morning. There was a party of twelve. Mr. Parker

  Pyne and General Poli, Miss Pryce and her niece, three

  Air Force officers, Smethurst and Hensley and an

  Armenian mother and son by name Pentemian.

  The journey started uneventfully. The fruit trees of

  Damascus were soon left behind. The sky was cloudy

  and the young driver looked at it doubtfully once or

  twice. He exchanged remarks with Hensley.

  "Been raining a good bit the other side of Rutbah.

  Hope we shan't stick."

  They made a halt at mid-day and square cardboard

  boxes of lunch were handed round. The two drivers

  brewed tea which was served in cardboard cups. They

  drove on again across the flat interminable plain.

  Mr. Parker Pyne thought of the slow caravans and

  the weeks of journeying ....

  Just at sunset they came to the desert fort of Rutbah.

  The great gates were unbarred and the six-wheeler

  drove in through them into the inner courtyard of the

  fort.

  THE GATE OF BAGHDAD 123

  "This feels exciting," said Netta.

  After a wash she was eager for a short walk. Flight

  Lieutenant O'Rourke and Mr. Parker Pyne offered

  themselves as escorts. As they started the manager came

  up to them and begged them not to go far away as it

  might be difficult to find their way back after dark.

  "We'll only go a short way," O'Rourke promised.

  Walking was not, indeed, very interesting owing to

  the sameness of the surroundings.

  Once Mr. Parker Pyne bent and picked something up.

  "What is it?" asked Netta curiously.

  He held it out to her.

  "A prehistoric flint, Miss Pryce--a borer."

  "Did they--kill each other with them?"

  "No--it had a more peaceful use. But I expect they

  could have killed with it if they'd wanted to. It's the wish to kill that counts--the mere instrument doesn't

  matter. Something can always be found."

  It was getting dark, and they ran back to the fort.

  After a dinner of many courses of the tinned variety

  they sat and smoked. At twelve o'clock the six-wheeler

  was to proceed.

  The driver looked anxious.

  "Some bad patches near here," he said. "We may

  stick."

  They all climbed into the big car and settled themselves.

  Miss Pryce was annoyed not to be able to get at

  one of her suitcases.

  "I should like my bedroom slippers," she said.

  "More likely to need your gum boots," said Smethurst.

  "If I know the look of things we'll be stuck in a

  sea of mud."

  "I haven't even got a change of stockings," said

  Netta.

  "That's all right. You'll stay put. Only the stronger

  124

  Agatha Christie

  sex has to get out and heave."

  "Always carry spare socks," said Hensley patting his

  overcoat pocket. "Never know."

  The lights were turned out. The big car started out

  into the night.

  The going was not too good. They were not jolted as

  they would have been in a touring car, but nevertheless

  they got a bad bump now and then.

  Mr. Parker Pyne had one of the front seats. Across

  the aisle was the Armenian lady shrouded in wraps and

  shawls. Her ion was behind her. Behind Mr. Parker

  Pyne were the two Miss Pryces. The General, Smeto

  hurst, Hensley and the R.A.F. men were at the back.

  The car rushed on through the night. Mr. Parker

  Pyne found it hard to sleep. His position was cramped.

  The Armenian lady's feet stuck out and encroached on

  his preserve. She, at any rate, was comfortable.

  Everyone else seemed to be asleep. Mr. Parker Pyne

  felt drowsiness stealing over him, when a sudden jolt

  threw him up towards the roof of the car. He heard a

  drowsy protest from the back of the six-wheeler.

  "Steady. Want to break our necks?"

  Then the drowsiness returned. A few minutes later,

  his neck sagging uncomfortably, Mr. Parker Pyne

  slept ....

  He was awakened suddenly. The six-wheeler had

  stopped. Some of the men were getting out. Hensley

  spoke briefly.

  "We're stuck."

  Anxious to see all there was to see, Mr. Parker Pyne

  stepped gingerly out in the mud. It was not raining now.

  Indeed there was a moon and by its light the drivers

  could be seen frantically at work with jacks and stones,

  striving to raise the wheels. Most of the men were help-ing.

  From the windows of the six-wheeler the three

  THE GATE OF BAGHDAD

  125

  women looked out, Miss Pryce and Netta with interest,

  the Armenian lady with ill-concealed disgust.

  At a command from the driver, the male passengers

  obediently heaved.

  "Where's that Armenian fellow?" demanded

  O'Rourke. "Keeping his toes warmed and comfortable

  'like a cat? Let's have him out too."

  "Captain $methurst, too," observed General Poli.

  "He is not with us."

  "The blighter's asleep still. Look at him."

  True enough, Smethurst still sat in his armchair, his

  head sagging forward and his whole body slumped

  down.

  "I'll rouse him," said O'Rourke.

  He sprang in through the door. A minute later he

  reappeared. His voice had changed.

  "I say. I think he's illmor something. Where's the

  doctor?"

  Squadron Leader Loftus, the Air Force doctor, a

  quiet looking man with greying hair detached himself

  from the group by the wheel.

  "What's the matter with him?" he asked.

  "I--don't know."

  The doctor entered the car. O'Rourke and Parker<
br />
  Pyne followed him. He bent over the sagging figure.

  One look and touch was enough.

  "He's dad," he said quietly.

  "Dead? But how?" Questions shot out. "Oh! how

  dreadful!" from Netta.

  Loftus looked round in an irritated manner.

  "Must have hit his head against the top," he said.

  "We went over one bad bump."

  "Surely that wouldn't kill him? Isn't there anything

  else?"

  "I can't tell unless I examine him properly," snapped

  126

  Agatha Christie

  Loftus. He looked round him with a harassed air. The

  women were pressing closer. The men outside were

  'beginning to crowd in.

  Mr. Parker Pyne spoke to the driver. He was a strong

  athletic young man. He lifted each female passenger in

  turn, carrying her across the mud and setting her down

  on dry land. Madame Pentemian and Netta he managed

  easily, but he staggered under the weight of the hefty

  Miss Pryce.

  The interior of the six-wheeler was left clear for the

  doctor to make his examination.

  The men went back to their efforts to jack up the car.

  Presently the sun rose over the horizon. It was a

  glorious day. The mud was drying rapidly, but the car

  was still stuck. Three jacks had been broken and so far

  no efforts had been of any avail. The drivers started

  preparing breakfast--opening tins of sausages and boil-ing

 

‹ Prev