AgathaChristie-ParkerPineDetective

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by Parker Pyne Detective (lit)


  hot and cold water and a telephone beside the bed, by

  means of which you could order tea, meals, mineral

  waters, cocktails and speak to your friends.

  In the hotel at Delphi there were none of these things.

  There was a marvelous view from the windows, the bed

  was clean and so was the whitewashed room. There was

  a chair, a washstand and a chest of drawers. Baths took

  place by arrangement and were occasionally disappoint-ing

  as regarded hot water.

  It would, she supposed, be nice to say that you had

  been to Delphi, and Mrs. Peters had tried hard to take

  an interest in Ancient Greece, but she found it difficult.

  183

  184

  Agatha Christie

  Their statuary seemed so unfinished; so lacking in heads

  and arms and legs. Secretly, she much preferred the

  handsome marble angel complete with wings which was

  erected on the late Mr. Willard Peters' tomb.

  But all these secret opinions she kept carefully to

  herself, for fear her son Willard should despise her. It

  was for Willard's sake that she was here, in this chilly

  and uncomfortable room, with a sulky maid and a

  disgusted chauffeur in the offing.

  For Wi!lard (until recently called Junior--a title

  which he hated) was Mrs. Peters' eighteen-year-old son,

  and she worshiped him to distraction. It was Willard

  who had this strange passion for bygone art. It was

  Willard, thin, pale, spectacled and dyspeptic, who had

  dragged his adoring mother on this tour through

  Greece.

  They had been to Olympia, which Mrs. Peters

  thought a sad mess. She had enjoyed the Parthenon, but

  she considered Athens a hopeless city. And a visit to

  Corinth and Mycenae had been agony to both her and

  the chauffeur.

  Delphi, Mrs. Peters thought unhappily, was the last

  straw. Absolutely nothing to do but walk along the road

  and look at the ruins. Willard spent long hours on his

  knees deciphering Greek inscriptions, saying, "Mother,

  just listen to this! Isn't it splendid?" And he would then

  read out something that seemed to Mrs. Peters the

  quintessence of dullness.

  This morning Willard had started early to see some

  Byzantine mosaics. Mrs. Peters, feeling instinctively

  that Byzantine mosaics would leave her cold (in the

  literal as well as the spiritual sense), had excused herself.

  "I understand, Mother," Willard had said. "You

  want to be alone just to sit in the theater or up in the

  Stadium and look down over it all and let it sink in."

  "That's right, pet," said Mrs. Peters.

  THE ORACLE AT DELPHI

  "I knew this place would get you," said Willard exul-tantly,

  and departed.

  Now, with a sigh, Mrs. Peters prepared to rise and

  breakfast.

  She came into the dining room to find it empty save

  for four people. A mother and daughter, dressed in

  what seemed to Mrs. Peters a most peculiar style (not

  recognizing the peplum as such), who were discoursing

  on the art of self-expression in dancing; a plump,

  middle-aged gentleman who had rescued a suitcase for

  her when she got off the train and whose name was

  Thompson; and a newcomer, a middle-aged gentleman

  with a bald head who had arrived on the preceding eve-ning.

  This personage was the last left in the breakfast room,

  and Mrs. Peters soon fell into conversation with him.

  She was a friendly woman and liked someone to talk to.

  Mr. Thompson had been distinctly discouraging in man-ner

  (British reserve, Mrs. Peters called it), and the

  mother and daughter had been very superior and high-brow,

  though the girl had got on rather well with

  Willard.

  Mrs. Peters found the newcomer a very pleasant per-son.

  He was informative without being highbrow. He

  told her several interesting, friendly little details about

  the Greeks, which made her feel much more as though

  they were real people and not just tiresome history out

  of a book.

  Mrs. Peters told her new friend all about Willard and

  what a clever boy he was, and how Culture might be

  said to be his middle name. There was something about

  this benevolent and bland personage which made him

  easy to talk to.

  What he himself did and what his name was, Mrs.

  Peters did not learn. Beyond the fact that he had been

  traveling and that he was having a complete rest from

  186

  Agatha Christie

  business (what business?) he was not communicative

  about himself.

  Altogether, the day passed more quickly than might

  have been anticipated. The mother and daughter and

  Mr. Thompson continued to be unsociable. They en-countered

  the latter coming out of the museum, and he

  immediately turned in the opposite direction.

  Mrs. Peters' new friend looked after him with a little

  frown.

  "Now, I wonder who that fellow is!" he said.

  Mrs. Peters supplied him with the other's name, but

  could do no more.

  "Thompson--Thompson. No, I don't think I've met

  him before, and yet somehow or other his face seems

  familiar. But I can't place him."

  In the afternoon Mrs. Peters enjoyed a quiet nap in a

  shady spot. The book she took with her to read was not

  the excellent one on Grecian Art recommended to her by

  her son, but was, on the contrary, entitled "The River

  Launch Mystery." It had four murders in it, three ab-ductions,

  and a large and varied gang of dangerous

  criminals. Mrs. Peters found herself both invigorated

  and soothed by the perusal of it.

  It was four o'clock when she returned to the hotel.

  Willard, she felt sure, would be back by this time. So far

  was she from any presentiment of evil that she almost

  forgot to open a note which the proprietor said had been

  left for her by a strange man during the afternoon.

  It was an extremely dirty note. Idly she ripped it open.

  As she read the first few lines, her face blanched and she

  put out a hand to steady herself. The handwriting was

  foreign but the language employed was English.

  Lady (it began):

  This to hand to inform you that your son is being

  held captive by us in place of great security. No

  THE ORACLE AT DELPHI

  187

  harm shall happen to honored young gentleman if

  you obey orders of yours truly. We demand for him

  ransom of ten thousand English pounds sterling. If

  you speak of this to hotel proprietor or police or

  any such person your son will be killed. This is

  given you to reflect. Tomorrow directions in way of

  paying money will be given. If not obeyed the

  honored young gentleman's ears will be cut off and

  sent you. And following day if still not obeyed he

  will be killed. Again this is not idle threat. Let the

  Kyria reflect andmabove all--be silent.

  Demetrius the Black Browed

  It were
idle to describe the poor lady's state of mind.

  Preposterous and childishly worded as the demand was,

  it yet brought home to her a grim atmosphere of peril.

  Willard, her boy, her pet, her delicate, serious Willard.

  She would go at once to the police; she would rouse

  the neighborhood. But perhaps, if she did . . . She

  shivered.

  Then, rousing herself, she went out of her room in

  search of the hotel proprietor--the sole person in the

  hotel who could speak English.

  "It is getting late," she said. "My son has not re-turned

  yet."

  The pleasant little man beamed at her. "True. Mon-sieur

  dismissed the mules. He wished to return on foot.

  He should have been here by now, but doubtless he has

  !ingered on the way." He smiled happily.

  "Tell me," said Mrs. Peters abruptly, "have you any

  bad characters in the neighborhood?"

  Bad characters was a term not embraced by the little

  man's knowledge of English. Mrs. Peters made her

  meaning plainer. She received in reply an assurance that

  all around Delphi were very good, very quiet people--all

  well disposed towards foreigners.

  188

  Agatha Christie

  Words trembled on her lips, but she forced them

  back. That sinister threat tied her tongue. It might be

  the merest bluff. But suppose it wasn't? A friend of hers

  in America had had a child kidnaped, and on her in-forming

  the police, the child had been killed. Such

  things did happen.

  She was nearly frantic. What was she to do? Ten

  thousand pounds--what was that?--between forty or

  fifty thousand dollars! What was that to her in com-parison

  with Willard's safety? But how could she obtain

  such a sum? There were endless difficulties just now as

  regarded money and the drawing of cash. A letter of

  credit for a few hundred pounds was all she had with

  her.

  Would the bandits understand this? Would they be

  reasonable? Would they wait?

  When her maid came to her, she dismissed the girl

  fiercely. A bell sounded for dinner, and the poor lady

  was driven to the dining room. She ate mechanically.

  She saw no one. The room might have been empty as far

  as she was concerned.

  With the arrival of fruit, a note was placed before

  her. She winced, but the handwriting was entirely dif-ferent

  from that which she had feared to see--a neat,

  clerkly English hand. She opened it without much in-terest,

  but she found its contents intriguing:

  At Delphi you can no longer consult the Oracle

  (so it ran), but you can consult Mr. Parker Pyne.

  Below that was a cutting of an advertisement pinned

  to the paper, and at the bottom of the sheet a passport

  photograph was attached. It was the photograph of her

  bald-headed friend of the morning.

  Mrs. Peters read the printed cutting twice.

  THE ORACLE AT DELPHI

  1

  ·

  ·

  ·

  Are you happy? If not, consult Mr. Parker Pyne.

  Happy? Happy? Had anyone ever been so unhapp

  It was like an answer to prayer.

  Hastily she scribbled on a loose sheet of paper s

  happened to have in her bag:

  Please help me. Will you meet me outside the

  hotel in ten minutes?

  She enclosed it in an envelope and directed the wait

  to take it to the gentleman at the table by the windo

  Ten minutes later, enveloped in a fur coat, for the nig

  was chilly, Mrs. Peters went out of the hotel and strolll

  slowly along the road to the ruins. Mr. Parker Pyne w.

  waiting for her.

  "It's just the mercy of heaven you're here," said Mt

  Peters breathlessly. "But how did you guess the terril:

  trouble I'm in? That's what I want to know."

  "The human countenance, my dear madam," sa

  Mr. Parker Pyne gently. "I knew at once that som

  thng had happened, but what it is I am waiting for y0

  to tell me."

  Out it came in a flood. She handed him the lette

  which he read by the light of his pocket torch.

  "H'm," he said. "A remarkable document. A mo

  remarkable document. It has certain points--"

  But Mrs. Peters was in no mood to listen to a discu

  sion of the finer points of the letter. What was she to d

  about Willard? Her own dear, delicate Willard.

  Mr. Parker Pyne was soothing. He painted an attra,

  tive picture of Greek bandit life. They would be esp¢

  cially careful of their captive, since he represented

  potential gold mine. Gradually he calmed her down.

  190

  Agatha Christie

  "But what am I to do?" wailed Mrs. Peters.

  "Wait till tomorrow," said Mr. Parker Pyne. "That

  is, unless you prefer to go straight to the police."

  Mrs. Peters interrupted him with a shriek of terror.

  Her darling Willard would be murdered out of hand!

  "You think I'll get Willard back safe and sound?"

  "There is no doubt of that," said Mr. Parker Pyne

  soothingly. "The only question is whether you can get

  him back without paying ten thousand pounds."

  "All I want is my boy."

  "Yes, yes," said Mr. Parker Pyne soothingly. "Who

  brought the letter, by the way?"

  "A man the landlord didn't know. A stranger."

  "Ah! There are possibilities there. The man who

  brings the letter tomorrow might be followed. What are

  you telling the people at the hotel about your son's absence?"

  "I haven't thought."

  "I wonder, now." Mr. Parker Pyne reflected. "I

  think you might quite naturally.-express alarm and concern

  at his absence. A search party could be sent out."

  "You don't think these fiends--?" She choked.

  "No, no. So long as there is no word of the kidnaping

  or the ransom, they cannot turn nasty. After all, you

  can't be expected to take your son's disappearance with

  no fuss at all."

  "Can I leave it all to you?"

  "That is my business," said Mr. Parker Pyne.,

  They started back towards the hotel again but almost

  ran into a burly figure.

  "Who was that?" asked Mr. Parker Pyne sharply.

  "I think it was Mr. Thompson."

  "Oh!" said Mr. Parker Pyne thoughtfully. "Thompson,

  was it? Thompson--h'm."

  ·

  ·

  ·

  THE ORACLE AT DELPHI

  Mrs. Peters felt as she went to bed that Mr. Pari

  Pyne's idea about the letter was a good one. Whoe

  brought it must be in touch with the bandits. She if.

  consoled, and fell asleep much sooner than she co

  ever have believed possible.

  When she was dressing on the following morning

  suddenly noticed something lying on the floor by t

  window. She picked it up--and her heart missed a be

  The same dirty, cheap envelope; the same hate

  characters. She tore it open.

  Good morning, lady. Have you made reflections?

  Your son is well and unharmed--so far. But

  we must have the money. It may not be easy
for

  you to get this sum, but it has been told us that you

  have with you a necklace of diamonds. Very fine

  stones. We will be satisfied with that, instead. Listen,

  this is what you must do. You, or anyone you

  choose to send must take this necklace and bring it

  to the Stadium. From there go up to where there is

  a tree by a big rock. Eyes will watch and see that

  only one person comes. Then your son will be exchanged

  for necklace. The time must be tomorrow

  six o'clock in morning just after sunrise. If you put

  police on us afterwards we shoot your son as your

  car drives to station.

  This is our last word, lady. If no necklace tomorrow

  morning your son's ears sent you. Next day he

  die.

  With salutations, lady,

  Demetrius

  Mrs. Peters hurried to find Mr. Parker Pyne. He read

  the letter attentively.

  "Is this true," he asked, "about a diamond necklace?"

  192

  Agatha Christie

  "Absolutely. A hundred thousand dollars, my husband

  paid for it."

  "Our well-informed thieves," murmured Mr. Parker

  Pyne.

  "What's that you say?"

  "I was just considering certain aspects of the affair."

  "My word, Mr. Pyne, we haven't got time for aspects, I've got to get my boy back."

  "But you are a woman of spirit, Mrs. Peters. Do you

  enjoy being bullied and cheated out of ten thousand

 

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