Agatha Christie - They Came to Baghdad

‘No,’ she was saying, ‘P A U N C E foot. Dr Pauncefoot Jones. Arriving today Tio Hotel, Good journey.’

Victoria looked at her with sudden interest. This must be Dr Pauncefoot Jones’ wife, coming out to join him. That she was a week earlier than expected did not seem to Victoria at all extraordinary since Dr Pauncefoot Jones had several times lamented that he had lost her letter giving the date of arrival but that he was almost certain it was the 26th!

If only she could somehow or other send a message through Mrs Pauncefoot Jones to Richard Baker…

Almost as though he read her thoughts, the man accompanying her steered her by the elbow away from the desk.

‘No conversation with fellow travellers, Miss Harden,’ he said. ‘We don’t want that good woman to notice that you’re a different person from the one she came out from England with.’

He took her out of the hotel to a restaurant for lunch. As they came back, Mrs Pauncefoot Jones was coming down the steps of the hotel. She nodded without suspicion at Victoria.

‘Been sight-seeing?’ she called. ‘I’m just going to the bazaars.’

‘If I could slip something into her luggage…’ thought Victoria.

But she was not left alone for a moment.

The Baghdad plane left at three o’clock.

Mrs Pauncefoot Jones’ seat was right up in front. Victoria ’s was in the tail, near the door, and across the aisle sat the fair young man who was her gaoler. Victoria had no chance of reaching the other woman or of introducing a message into any of her belongings.

The flight was not a long one. For the second time, Victoria looked down from the air and saw the city outlined below her, the Tigris dividing it like a streak of gold.

So she had seen it less than a month ago. How much had happened since then.

In two days’ time the men who represented the two predominant ideologies of the world would meet here to discuss the future.

And she, Victoria Jones, would have a part to play.

‘You know,’ said Richard Baker, ‘I’m worried about that girl.’

Dr Pauncefoot Jones said vaguely:

‘What girl?’

‘ Victoria.’

‘ Victoria?’ Dr Pauncefoot Jones peered about. ‘Where is – why, God bless me, we came back without her yesterday.’

‘I wondered if you’d noticed it,’ said Richard.

‘Very remiss of me. I was so interested by that report of the Excavations at Tell Bamdar. Completely unsound stratification. Didn’t she know where to find the lorry?’

‘There was no question of her coming back here,’ said Richard. ‘As a matter of fact, she isn’t Venetia Savile.’

‘Not Venetia Savile? How very odd. But I thought you said her Christian name was Victoria.’

‘It is. But she’s not an anthropologist. And she doesn’t know Emerson. As a matter of fact, the whole thing has been a – well – a misunderstanding.’

‘Dear me. That seems very odd.’ Dr Pauncefoot Jones reflected for some moments. ‘ Very odd. I do hope – am I to blame? I know I am somewhat absent-minded. The wrong letter, perhaps?’

‘I can’t understand it,’ said Richard Baker, frowning and paying no attention to Dr Pauncefoot Jones’ speculations. ‘She went off in a car with a young man, it seems, and she didn’t come back. What’s more, her baggage was there and she hadn’t bothered to open it. That seems to me very strange – considering the mess she was in. I’d have thought she’d be sure to doll herself up. And we agreed to meet here for lunch…No, I can’t understand it. I hope nothing’s happened to her.’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so for a moment,’ said Dr Pauncefoot Jones comfortably. ‘I shall start going down in H. tomorrow. From the general plan I should say that would be the best chance of getting a record office. That fragment of tablet was very promising.’

‘They’ve kidnapped her once,’ said Richard. ‘What’s to prevent their having kidnapped her again?’

‘Very improbable – very improbable,’ said Dr Pauncefoot Jones. ‘The country’s really very settled nowadays. You said so yourself.’

‘If only I could remember the name of that man in some oil company. Was it Deacon? Deacon, Dakin? Something like that.’

‘Never heard of him,’ said Dr Pauncefoot Jones. ‘I think I shall change over Mustafa and his gang to the north-east corner. Then we might extend Trench J –’

‘Would you mind awfully, sir, if I went into Baghdad again tomorrow?’

Dr Pauncefoot Jones, suddenly giving his colleague his full attention, stared at him.

‘Tomorrow? But we were there yesterday.’

‘I’m worried about that girl. I really am.’

‘Dear me, Richard, I had no idea there was anything of that kind.’

‘What kind?’

‘That you’d formed an attachment. That’s the worst of having women on a Dig – especially good-looking ones. I really did think we were safe with Sybil Muirfield the year before last, a really distressingly plain girl – and see what came of it! I ought to have listened to Claude in London – these Frenchmen always hit the nail on the head. He commented on her legs at the time – most enthusiastic about them. Of course this girl, Victoria Venetia, whatever her name is – most attractive and such a nice little thing. You’ve got good taste, Richard, I will admit that. Funny thing, she’s the first girl I’ve ever known you take any interest in.’

‘There’s nothing of that kind,’ said Richard, blushing and looking even more supercilious than usual. ‘I’m just – er – worried about her. I must go back to Baghdad.’

‘Well, if you are going tomorrow,’ said Dr Pauncefoot Jones, ‘you might bring back those extra picks. That fool of a driver forgot them.’

Richard started into Baghdad at early dawn and went straight to the Tio Hotel. Here he learnt that Victoria had not returned.

‘And it was all arranged that she was to have special dinner with me,’ said Marcus. ‘And I kept her a very nice room. It is odd, is it not?’

‘Have you been to the Police?’

‘Ah no, my dear, it would not be nice, that. She might not like it. And I certainly would not like it.’

After a little inquiry, Richard tracked down Mr Dakin and called upon him in his office.

His memory of the man had not played him false. He looked at the stooping figure, the indecisive face and the slight tremor of the hands. This man was no good! He apologized to Mr Dakin if he was wasting his time but had he seen Miss Victoria Jones.

‘She called on me the day before yesterday.’

‘Can you give me her present address?’

‘She’s at the Tio Hotel, I believe.’

‘Her luggage is there, but she isn’t.’

Mr Dakin raised his eyebrows slightly.

‘She has been working with us on the Excavations at Tell Aswad,’ explained Richard.

‘Oh I see. Well – I’m afraid I don’t know anything that can help you. She has several friends in Baghdad, I believe – but I don’t know her well enough to say who they are.’

‘Would she be at this Olive Branch?’

‘I don’t think so. You could ask.’

Richard said: ‘Look here. I’m not leaving Baghdad until I find her.’

He frowned at Mr Dakin and strode out of the room.

Mr Dakin, as the door closed behind Richard, smiled and shook his head.

‘Oh Victoria,’ he murmured reproachfully.

Fuming into the Tio Hotel, Richard was met by a beaming Marcus.

‘She’s come back,’ cried Richard eagerly.

‘No, no, it’s Mrs Pauncefoot Jones. She arrives by plane today I have just heard. Dr Pauncefoot Jones, he told me she was coming next week.’