Agatha Christie - They Came to Baghdad

‘He always gets dates wrong. What about Victoria Jones?’

Marcus’s face went grave again.

‘No, I have heard nothing of her. And I do not like it, Mr Baker. It is not nice. She is so young a girl. And so pretty. And so gay and charming.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Richard, flinching. ‘I’d better wait over and greet Mrs Pauncefoot Jones, I suppose.’

What on earth he wondered could have happened to Victoria.

‘You!’ said Victoria with undisguised hostility.

Ushered up to her room in the Babylonian Palace Hotel, the first person she saw was Catherine.

Catherine nodded her head with equal venom.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is I. And now please go to bed. The doctor will soon arrive.’

Catherine was dressed as a hospital nurse and she took her duties seriously, being obviously quite determined never to leave Victoria ’s side. Victoria, lying disconsolately in bed, murmured:

‘If I could get hold of Edward –’

‘Edward – Edward!’ said Catherine scornfully. ‘Edward has never cared for you, you stupid English girl. It is me whom Edward loves!’

Victoria looked at Catherine’s stubborn fanatical face without enthusiasm.

Catherine went on:

‘Always I have hated you from that first morning you came in and demanded to see Dr Rathbone with such rudeness.’

Searching about for an irritant, Victoria said:

‘At any rate I’m much more indispensable than you are. Anybody could do your hospital nurse act. But the whole thing depends on me doing mine.’

Catherine said with prim smugness:

‘Nobody is indispensable. We are taught that.’

‘Well I am. For goodness’ sake order up a substantial meal. If I don’t get something to eat, how do you expect me to give a good performance of an American banker’s secretary when the time comes?’

‘I suppose you might as well eat while you can,’ said Catherine grudgingly.

Victoria took no notice of the sinister implication.

Captain Crosbie said:

‘I understand you’ve got a Miss Harden just arrived.’

The suave gentleman in the office of the Babylonian Palace inclined his head.

‘Yes, sir. From England.’

‘She’s a friend of my sister’s. Will you take my card up to her.’

He pencilled a few words on the card and sent it up in an envelope.

Presently the boy who had taken it returned.

‘The lady is not well, sir. Very bad throat. Doctor coming soon. She has hospital nurse with her.’

Crosbie turned away. He went along to the Tio where he was accosted by Marcus.

‘Ah, my dear, let us have a drink. This evening my hotel is quite full. It is for the Conference. But what a pity, Dr Pauncefoot Jones went back to his Expedition the day before yesterday and now here is his wife who arrives and expects that he will be here to meet her. And she is not pleased, no! She says she told him she was coming on this plane. But you know what he is like, that one. Every date, every time – he always gets it wrong. But he is a very nice man,’ finished Marcus with his usual charity. ‘And I have had to squeeze her in somehow – I turn out a very important man from UNO –’

‘ Baghdad seems quite mad.’

‘All the police they have drafted in – they are taking great precautions – they say – have you heard? – there is a Communist plot to assassinate the President. They have arrested sixty-five students! Have you seen the Russian policemen? They are very suspicious of everybody. But all this is very good for trade – very good indeed.’

The telephone bell rang and was promptly answered.

‘American Embassy.’

‘This is the Babylonian Palace Hotel. Miss Anna Scheele is staying here.’

Anna Scheele? Presently one of the Attachйs was speaking. Could Miss Scheele come to the phone?

‘Miss Scheele is ill in bed with laryngitis. This is Dr Smallbrook. I am attending Miss Scheele. She has some important papers with her and would like some responsible person from the Embassy to come and fetch them. Immediately? Thank you. I will be waiting for you.’

Victoria turned from the mirror. She was wearing a well-cut tailored suit. Every blonde hair was in place. She felt nervous but exhilarated.

As she turned, she caught the exultant gleam in Catherine’s eyes and was suddenly on her guard. Why was Catherine exultant?

What was going on?

‘What are you so pleased about?’ she asked.

‘Soon you will see.’

The malice was quite unconcealed now.

‘You think you are so clever,’ said Catherine scornfully. ‘You think everything depends on you. Pah, you are just a fool.’

With a bound Victoria was upon her! She caught her by the shoulder and dug her fingers in.

‘Tell me what you mean, you horrible girl.’

‘Ach – you hurt me.’

‘Tell me –’

A knock came on the door. A knock twice repeated and then after a pause, a single one.

‘Now you will see!’ cried Catherine.

The door opened and a man slipped in. He was a tall man, dressed in the uniform of the International Police. He locked the door behind him and removed the key. Then he advanced to Catherine.

‘Quickly,’ he said.

He took a length of thin cord from his pocket and, with Catherine’s full co-operation, bound her swiftly to a chair. Then he produced a scarf and tied it over her mouth. He stood back and nodded appreciatively.

‘So – that will do nicely.’

Then he turned towards Victoria. She saw the heavy truncheon he was brandishing and in a moment it flashed across her brain what the real plan was. They had never intended that she should play the part of Anna Scheele at the Conference. How could they risk such a thing? Victoria was too well known in Baghdad? No, the plan was, had always been, that Anna Scheele should be attacked and killed at the last moment – killed in such a way that her features would not be recognizable…Only the papers she had brought with her – those carefully forged papers – would remain.

Victoria turned away to the window – she screamed. And with a smile the man came at her.

Then several things happened – there was a crash of broken glass – a heavy hand sent her headlong down – she saw stars – and blackness…Then out of the blackness a voice spoke, a reassuring English voice.

‘Are you all right, Miss?’ it asked.

Victoria murmured something.

‘What did she say?’ asked a second voice.

The first man scratched his head.

‘Said it was better to serve in Heaven than reign in Hell,’ he said doubtfully.

‘That’s a quotation,’ said the other. ‘But she’s got it wrong,’ he added.

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Victoria and fainted.

The telephone rang and Dakin picked up the receiver. A voice said:

‘Operation Victoria successfully concluded.’

‘Good,’ said Dakin.

‘We’ve got Catherine Serakis and the medico. The other fellow threw himself off the balcony. He’s fatally injured.’

‘The girl’s not hurt?’

‘She fainted – but she’s OK.’

‘No news still of the real A. S.?’

‘No news whatever.’

Dakin laid down the receiver.

At any rate Victoria was all right – Anna herself, he thought, must be dead…She had insisted on playing a lone hand, had reiterated that she would be in Baghdad without fail on the 19th. Today was the 19th and there was no Anna Scheele. Perhaps she had been right not to trust the official set-up – he didn’t know. Certainly there had been leakages – betrayals. But apparently her own native wits had served her no better…