flushing. "Well?" she demanded fiercely. "Aren't you
going to make the obvious remark? Aren't you going to
say, 'If you want to go home so much, why not do
SO?'"
"No." Mr. Parker Pyne shook his head. "It's not
nearly so easy as that for you."
For the first time a little look of fear crept into her
eyes. "Do you know why I can't go?"
"I think so."
THE HOUSE OF SHIRAZ
145
"Wrong." She shook her head. "The reason I can't
go is a reason you'd never guess."
"I don't guess," said Mr. Parker Pyne. "I observe--and
I classify."
She shook her head. "You don't know anything at
all."
"I shall have to convince you, I see," said Mr. Parker
Pyne pleasantly. "When you came out here, Lady
Esther, you flew, I believe, by the new German Air
Service from Baghdad."
"Yes?"
"You were flown by a young pilot, Herr Schlagal,
who afterwards came here to see you."
"Yes."
A different "yes" in some indescribable way--a
softer "yes."
"And you had a friend, or companion, who--died."
A voice like steel now--cold, offensive.
"My companion."
"Her name was
?"
"Muriel King."
"Were you fond of her?"
"What do you mean, fond?" She paused, checked
herself. "She was useful to me."
She said it haughtily and Mr. Parker Pyne was re-minded
of the consul's saying: "You can see she is
somebody, if you know what I mean."
"Were you sorry when she died?"
"l--naturally! Really, Mr. Pyne, is it necessary to go
into all this?" She spoke angrily, and went on without
waiting for an answer: "It has been very good of you to
come. But I am a little tired. If you will tell me what I
owe you--?"
But Mr. Parker Pyne did not move. He showed no
signs of taking offense. He went quietly on with his
146
Agatha Christie
questions. "Since she died, Herr Schlagal has not been
to see you. Suppose he were to come, would you receive
him?"
"Certainly not."
"You refuse absolutely?"
"Absolutely. Herr Schlagal will not be admitted."
"Yes," said Mr. Parker Pyne thoughtfully. "You
could not say anything else."
The defensive armor of her arrogance broke down a
little. She said uncertainly: "I--I don't know what you
mean."
"Did you know, Lady Esther, that young Schlagal
fell in love with Muriel King? He is a sentimental young
man. He still treasures her memory."
"Does he?" Her voice was almost a whisper.
"What was she like?"
"What do you mean, what was she like? How do I
know?"
"You must have looked at her sometimes," said Mr.
Parker Pyne mildly.
"Oh, that! She was quite a nice-looking young
woman."
"About your own age?"
"Just about." There was a pause, and then she said:
"Why do you think that--that Schlagal cared for her?"
"Because he told me so. Yes, yes, in the most unmistakable
terms. As I say, he is a sentimental young
man. He was glad to confide in me. He was very upset at
her dying the way she did."
Lady Esther sprang to her feet. "Do you believe I
murdered her?"
Mr. Parker Pync did not spring to his feet. He was
not a springing kind of man. "No, my dear child," he
said. "I do not believe that you murdered her, and that
being so, I think the sooner you stop this play-actic
and go home, the better."
THE HOUSE OF SHIRAZ
"What do you mean, playacting?"
"The truth is, you lost your nerve. Yes, you did. ¥
lost your nerve badly. You thought you'd be accuseq
murdering your employer."
The girl made a sudden movement.
Mr. Parker Pyne went on. "You are not Lady Esth
Carr. I knew that before I came here, but I've tested
to make sure." His smile broke out, bland and benev.
lent. "When I said my little piece just now, I was wat
ing you, and every time you reacted as Muriel King, as Esther Carr. The cheap shops, the cinemas, the - garden
suburbs, going home by bus and tram--you
acted to all those. Country-house gossip, new nil
clubs, the chatter of Mayfair, race meetings--none
those meant anything at all to you."
His voice became even more persuasive and fatherl.
"Sit down and tell me about it. You didn't murder L
Esther, but you thought you might be accused of doi
so. Just tell me how it all came about."
She took a long breath; then she sank down oh
more on the divan and began to speak. Her words ca
hurriedly, in little bursts.
"I must begin--at the beginning. I--I was afraid
her. She was madnot quite made--just a little.
brought me out here with her. Like a fool I was
lighted; I thought it was so romantic. Little fool. Tha
what I was, a little fool. There was some business ab% a chauffeur. She was man-mad--absolutely man-m
He wouldn't have anything to do with her, and it
out; her friends got to know about it and laughed. A
she broke loose from her family and came out here.
"It was all a pose to save her face--solitude in t
desert--all that sort of thing. She would have kept it
for a bit, and then gone back. But she got queerer
queerer. And there was the pilot. She--she took a
to him. He came here to see me, and she thought--
148
Agatha Christie
well, you can understand. But he must have made it
clear to her ....
"And then she suddenly turned on me. She was
awful, frightening. She said I should never go home
again. She said I was in her power. She said I was a
slave. Just that--a slave. She had the power of life and
death over me."
Mr. Parker Pyne nodded. He saw the situation unfolding.
Lady Esther slowly going over the edge of sanity,
as others of her family had gone before her, and the frightened girl, ignorant and untraveled, believing
everything that was said to her.
"But one day something in me seemed to snap. I
stood up to her: I told her that if it came to it I was
stronger than she was. I told her I'd throw her down
onto the stones below. She was frightened, really frightened.
I suppose she'd just thought me a worm. I took a
step towards hcr--I don't know what she thought I
meant to do. She moved backwards; she--she stepped
back off the edge!" Muriel King buried her face in her
hands.
"And then?" Mr. Parker Pync prompted gently.
"I lost my head. I thought they'd say I'd pushed her
over. [ thought nobody would listen to me. I thought I
should be thrown into some awful prison out here."
Her lips worked. Mr. Parker Pyne saw clearly enough
the unreasoning fear that had possessed her. "And then
it came to me--if it were I! I knew that there would bca
new British consul who'd never seen either of us. The
other one had died.
"I thought I could manage the servants. To them we
were two mad Englishwomen. When one was dead, the
other carried on. I gave them good presents of money
and told them to send for the British consul. He came
and I received him as Lady Esther. I had her ring on my
THE HOUSE OF SHIRAZ
finger. He was very nice and arranged everything. Nc
body seemed to have the least suspicion."
Mr. Parker Pyne nodded thoughtfully. The prestig
of a famous name. Lady E-.sther Carr might be mad as
hatte, but she was still Lady Esther Cart.
"And then afterwards," continued Muriel, "I wishel
I hadn't. I saw that I'd been quite mad myself. I wa
condemned to stay on here playing a part. I didn't
how I could ever get away. If I confessed the truth now
it would look more than ever as though I'd murdere
her. Oh, Mr. Pyne, what shall I do? What shall I do?"
"Do?" Mr. Parker Pyne rose to his feet as briskly a
his figure allowed. "My dear child, you will come will
me now to the British consul, who is a very amiable an¢
kindly man. There will be certain unpleasant formalitie:
to go through. I don't promise you that it will be al
plain sailing, but you won't be hanged for murder.. B
the way, why was the breakfast tray found with th
body?"
"I threw it over. Iml thought it would look more like
me to have a tray there. Was it silly of me?"
"It was rather a clever touch," said Mr. Parker Pyne. "In fact, it was the one point which made me wonder il
you might, perhaps, have done away with Lady Esthe
--that is, until I saw you. When I saw you, I knew thai
whatever else you might do in your life, you would
never kill anyone."
"Because I haven't the nerve, you mean?"
"Your reflexes wouldn't work that way," said Mr.
Parker Pyne, smiling. "Now, shall we go? There's an
unpleasant job to be faced, but I'll see you through it,
and then--home to Streatham Hill--it is Streatham
Hill, isn't it? Yes, I thought so. I saw your face contract
when I mentioned one particular bus number. Are you
coming, my dear?"
150
Agatha Christie
Muriel King hung back. "They'll never believe me,"
she said nervously. "Her family and all. They wouldn't
believe she could act the way she {lid."
"Leave it to me," said Mr. larker Pyne. "I know
something of the family history, you see. Come, child,
don't go on playing the coward. Remember, there's a
young man in Teheran sighing his heart out. We had
better arrange that it is in his plane you fly to Baghdad.''
The girl smiled and blushed. "I'm ready," she said
simply. Then as she moved tOWards the door, she turned
back. "You said you knew I Was not Lady Esther Carr
before you saw me. How could You possibly tell that?"
"Statistics," said Mr. Parker Pyne.
"Statistics?"
"Yes. Both Lord and Lady Micheldever had blue
eyes. When the consul mentioned that their daughter
had flashing clark eyes I knew there was something
wrong. Brown-eyed people may produce a blue-eyed
child, but not the other way about. A scientific fact, I
assure you."
"I think you're wonderful I" said Muriel King.
The Pearl of
Price
The party had had a long and tiring day. They had
started from Amman early in the morning with a tem-perature
of ninety-eight in the shade, and had come at
last just as it was growing dark into the camp situated in
the heart of that city of fantastic and preposterous red
rock which is Petra.
There were seven of them. Mr. Caleb P. Blundell,
that stout and prosperous American magnate. His dark
and good-looking, if somewhat taciturn, secretary, Jim
Hurst. Sir Donald Marvel, M.P., a tired-looking
English politician. Doctor Carver, a world-renowned
elderly archaeologist. A gallant Frenchman, Colonel
Dubosc, on leave from Syria. A Mr. Parker Pyne, not
perhaps so plainly labeled with his profession, but
breathing an atmosphere of British solidity. And lastly,
there was Miss Carol Blundell--pretty, spoiled, and ex-tremely
sure of herself as the orly woman among half a
dozen men.
They dined in the big tent, having selected their tents
or caves for sleeping in. They talked of politics in the
152
Agatha Christie
Near East--the Englishman cautiously, the Frenchman
discreetly, the American somewhat fatuously, and the
archaeologist and Mr. Parker Pyne not at all. Both of
them, it seemed, preferred the r61e of listeners. So also
did Jim Hurst.
Then they talked of the city they had come to visit.
"It's just too romantic for words," said Carol. "To
think of those--what do you call 'em?--Nabataeans
living here all that while ago, almost before time
began I"
"Hardly that," said Mr. Parker Pyne mildly. "Eh,
Doctor Carver?"
"Oh, that's an affair of a mere two thousand years
back, and if racketeers are romantic, then I suppose the
Nabataeans are, too. They were a pack of wealthy
blackguards I should say, who compelled travelers to
use their own caravan routes, and saw to it that all other
routes were unsafe. Petra was the storehouse of their
racketeering profits."
"You think they were just robbers?" asked Carol.
"Just common thieves?"
"Thieves is a less romantic word, Miss Blundell. A
thief suggests a petty pilferer. A robber suggests a larger
canvas."
"What about a modern financier?" suggested Mr.
Parker Pyne with a twinkle.
"That's one for you, Pop!" said Carol.
"A man who makes money benefits mankind," said
Mr. Blundell sententiously.
"Mankind," murmured Mr. Parker Pyne, "is so
ungrateful."
"What is honesty?" demanded the Frenchman. "It is a nuance, a convention. In different countries it means
different things. An Arab is not ashamed of stealing. He
is not ashamed of lying. With him it is from whom he
steals or to whom he lies that matters."
THE PEARL OF PRICE
"That is the point of view--yes," agreed Carver.
"Which shows the superiority of the West over
East," said Blundell. "When these poor creatures
education--"
Sir Donald entered languidly into the conversati
"Education is rather rot, you know. Teaches fellov
lot of useless things. And what I mean is, nothing al
what you are."
"You mean?"
"Well, what I mean to say is, for instance, one
thief always a thief."
There was a dead silence for a moment. Then Ca
began talking feverishly about mosquitoes, and
father backed her up.
Sir Donald, a little'puzzled, murmured to his nei
bor, Mr. Parker Pyne: "Seems I dropped a bricl
&nb
sp; what?"
"Curious," said Mr. Parker Pyne.
Whatever momentary embarrassment had b
caused, one person had quite failed to notice it. q
archaeologist had sat silent, his eyes dreamy and
stracted. When a pause came, he spoke suddenly a
abruptly.
"You know," he said, "I agree with that--at e
rate, from the opposite point of view. A man's fun;
mentally honest, or he isn't. You can't get away frl
it."
"You don't believe that sudden temptation, for
stance, will turn an honest man into a criminal?" as[
Mr. Parker Pyne.
"Impossible!" said Carver.
Mr. Parker Pyne shook his head gently. "I would
say impossible. You see, there are so many factors
take into account. There's the breaking point, for
stance."
"What do you call the breaking point?" asked you
154
4gatha Christie
Hurst, speaking for the first time. He had a deep, rather
attractive voice.
"The brain is adjusted to carry so much weight. The
thing that precipitates the crisis--that turns an honest
man into a dishonest one--may be a mere trifle. That is
why most crimes are absurd. The cause, nine times out
of ten, is that. trifle of overweight--the straw that breaks
the camel's back."
"It is the psychology you talk there, my friend," said
the Frenchman.
"If a criminal were a psychologist, what a criminal he
could be!" said Mr. Parker Pyne. His voice dwelt lov-ingly
on the idea. "When you think that of ten people
you meet, at least nine of them can be induced to act in
any way you please by applying the right stimulus."
"Oh, explain that!" cried Carol.
"There's the bullyable man. Shout loud enough at
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