Agatha Christie: The House at Shiraz: An Agatha Christie Short Story

‘Yes. I shall fly there. Then I shall come back from Shiraz to Ispahan and Teheran by road. Is it you who will fly me to Shiraz tomorrow?’

‘ Ach , no. I return to Baghdad.’

‘You have been long here?’

‘Three years. It has only been established three years, our service. So far, we have never had an accident – unberufen !’ He touched the table.

Thick cups of sweet coffee were brought. The two men smoked.

‘My first passengers were two ladies,’ said the German reminiscently. ‘Two English ladies.’

‘Yes?’ said Mr Parker Pyne.

‘The one she was a young lady very well born, the daughter of one of your ministers, the – how does one say it? – the Lady Esther Carr. She was handsome, very handsome, but mad.’

‘Mad?’

‘Completely mad. She lives there at Shiraz in a big native house. She wears Eastern dress. She will see no Europeans. Is that a life for a well born lady to live?’

‘There have been others,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘There was Lady Hester Stanhope –’

‘This one is mad,’ said the other abruptly. ‘You could see it in her eyes. Just so have I seen the eyes of my submarine commander in the war. He is now in an asylum.’

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