Agatha Christie - Parker Pyne Investigates

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?

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 encumbered 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 Flecker'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.

"I know she'll want to go to some place where St Paul was lowered out of a window," she whispered. "And I do so want to see the Bazaars."

O'Rourke responded promptly.

"Come with me. We'll start down the Street called Straight -"

They drifted off.

Mr Parker Pyne turned to a quiet man standing beside him, Hensley by name. He belonged to the public works department of Baghdad.

"Damascus is a little disappointing when one sees it for the first time," he said apologetically. "A little civilised. Trams and modern houses and shops."

Hensley nodded. He was a man of few words.

"Not got - back of beyond - when you think you have," he jerked out.

Another man drifted up, a fair young man wearing an old Etonian tie. He had an amiable but slightly vacant face which at the moment looked worried. He and Hensley were in the same department.

"Hullo, Smethurst," said his friend. "Lost anything?"

Captain Smethurst shook his head. He was a young man of somewhat slow intellect.

"Just looking round," he said vaguely. Then he seemed to rouse himself. "Ought to have a beautiful night. What?"

The two friends went off together. Mr Parker Pine bought a local paper printed in French.

He did not find it very interesting. The local news meant nothing to him and nothing of important seemed to be going on elsewhere. He found a few paragraphs headed Londres.

The first referred to financial matters. The second dealt with the supposed destination of Mr Samuel 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 additional - er - 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 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 mess," he said. "Got to cheer myself 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."

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 midday 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.