"Your accomplice is provided with a key to the jewel box and a smoke bomb. At the correct moment she gives the alarm; darts into your wife's compartment, unlocks the jewel case and flings the paste duplicate into the sea. She may be suspected and searched, but nothing can be proved against her, since the jewels are not in her possession.
"And now the significance of the place chosen becomes apparent.
If the jewels had merely been thrown out by the side of the line, they might have been found. Hence the importance of the one moment when the train is passing over the sea.
"In the meantime, you make your arrangements for selling the jewelry here. You have only to hand over the stones when the robbery has actually taken place. My wire, however, reached you in time. You obeyed my instructions and deposited the box of jewelry at the Tokatlian to await my arrival, knowing that otherwise I should keep my threat of placing the matter in the hand of the police. You also obeyed my instructions in joining me here."
Edward Jeffries looked at Mr Parker Pyne appealingly. He was a good-looking young man, tall and fair with a round chin and very round eyes. "How can I make you understand?" he said hopelessly.
"To you I must seem just a common thief."
"Not at all," said Mr Parker Pyne. "On the contrary, I should say you are almost painfully honest. I am accustomed to the classification of types. You, my dear sir, fall naturally into the category of victims.
Now, tell me the whole story."
"I can tell you that in one word - blackmail."
"Yes."
"You've seen my wife; you realize what a pure, innocent creature she is - without thought or knowledge of evil.
"She has the most marvelously pure ideals. If she were to find out about - about anything I had done, she would leave me."
"I wonder. But that is not the point. What have you done, my young friend? I presume this is some affair with a woman."
Edward Jeffries nodded.
"Since your marriage - or before?"
"Before - oh, before."
"Well, well, what happened?"
"Nothing; nothing at all. This is just the cruel part of it. It was at a hotel in the West Indies. There was a very attractive woman - a Mrs Rossiter - staying there. Her husband was a violent man; he had the most savage fits of temper. One night he threatened her with a revolver. She escaped from him and came to my room. She was half crazy with terror. She - she asked me to let her stay there till morning, I - what else could I do?"
Mr Parker Pyne gazed at the young man, and the young man gazed back with conscious rectitude. Mr Parker Pyne sighed. "In other words, to put it plainly, you were had for a mug, Mr Jeffries."
"Really -"
"Yes, yes. A very old trick - but it often comes off successfully with quixotic young men. I suppose, when your approaching marriage was announced, the screw was turned?"
"Yes. I received a letter. If I did not send a certain sum of money, everything would be disclosed to my prospective father-in-law. How I had - had alienated this young woman's affection from her husband; how she had been seen coming to my room. The husband would bring a suit for divorce. Really, Mr Pyne, the whole thing made me out the most utter blackguard."
He wiped his brow in a harassed manner.
"Yes, yes, I know. And so you paid. And from time to time the screw has been put on again."
"Yes. This was the last straw. Our business has been badly hit by the slump. I simply could not lay my hands on any ready money. I hit upon this plan." He picked up his cup of cold coffee, looked at it absently, and drank it. "What am I to do now?" he demanded pathetically. "What am I to do, Mr Pyne?"
"You will be guided by me," said Parker Pyne firmly. "I will deal with your tormentors. As to your wife, you will go straight back to her and tell her the truth - or at least a portion of it. The only point where you will deviate from the truth is concerning the actual facts in the West Indies. You must conceal from her the fact that you were - well, had for a mug, as I said before."
"But -"
"My dear Mr Jeffries, you do not understand women. If a woman has to choose between a mug and a Don Juan, she will choose Don Juan every time. Your wife, Mr Jeffries, is a charming, innocent, high-minded girl, and the only way she is going to get any kick out of her life with you is to believe that she has reformed a rake."
Edward Jeffries was staring at him open-mouthed.
"I mean what I say," said Mr Parker Pyne. "At the present moment your wife is in love with you, but I see signs that she may not remain so if you continue to present to her a picture of such goodness and rectitude that it is almost synonymous with dullness."
Edward winced.
"Go to her, my boy," said Mr Parker Pyne kindly. "Confess everything - that is, as many things as you can think of. Then explain that from the moment you met her you gave up all this life.
You even stole so that it might not come to her ears. She will forgive you enthusiastically."
"But when there's nothing really to forgive -"
"What is truth?" said Mr Parker Pyne. "In my experience it is usually the thing that upsets the apple cart! It is a fundamental axiom of married life that you must lie to a woman. She likes it! Go and be forgiven, my boy. And live happily ever afterwards. I dare say your wife will keep a wary eye on you in future whenever a pretty woman comes along - some men would mind that, but I don't think you will."
"I never want to look at any woman but Elsie," said Mr Jeffries simply.
"Splendid, my boy," said Mr Parker Pyne. "But I shouldn't let her know that if I were you. No woman likes to feel she's taken on too soft a job."
Edward Jeffries rose. "You really think -?"
"I know," said Mr Parker Pyne, with force.
THE GATE OF BAGHDAD
"Four great gates has the city of Damascus "
Mr. Parker Pine repeated Flecker's lines softly to himself.
"Postern of Fate, the Desert Gate, Disaster's Cavern, Fort of Fear, The Portal of Bagdad am I, the Doorway of Diarbekir."
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 petrolfed 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.
Mr Parker Pyne thought of the slow caravans and the weeks of journeying...
Just at sunset they came to the desert fort of Rutbah. The great gates were unbarred and the six-wheeler drove in through them into the inner courtyard of the fort.
"This feels exciting," said Netta.
After a wash she was eager for a short walk. Flight Lieutenant O'Rourke and Mr Parker Pyne offered themselves as escorts. As they started the manager came up to them and begged them not to go far away as it might be difficult to find their way back after dark.
"We'll only go a short way," O'Rourke promised.
Walking was not, indeed, very interesting owing to the sameness of the surroundings.
Once Mr Parker Pyne bent and picked something up.
"What is it?" asked Netta curiously.
He held it out to her.
"A prehistoric flint, Miss Pryce - a borer."
"Did they - kill each other with them?"
"No - it had a more peaceful use. But I expect they could have killed with it if they'd wanted to. It's the wish to kill that counts - the mere instrument doesn't matter. Something can always be found."
It was getting dark, and they ran back to the fort.
After a dinner of many courses of the tinned variety they sat and smoked. At twelve o'clock the six-wheeler was to proceed.
The driver looked anxious.
"Some bad patches near here," he said. "We may stick."
They all climbed into the big car and settled themselves. Miss Pryce was annoyed not to be able to get at one of her suitcases.
"I should like my bedroom slippers," she said.
"More likely to need your gum boots," said Smethurst. "If I know the look of things we'll be stuck in a sea of mud."
"I haven't even got a change of stockings," said Netta.
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"That's all right. You'll stay put. Only the stronger sex has to get out and heave."
"Always carry spare socks," said Hensley patting his overcoat pocket. "Never know."
The lights were turned out. The big car started out into the night.
The going was not too good. They were not jolted as they would have been in a touring car, but nevertheless they got a bad bump now and then.
Mr Parker Pyne had one of the front seats. Across the aisle was the Armenian lady shrouded in wraps and shawls. Her son was behind her. Behind Mr Parker Pyne were the two Miss Pryces. The General, Smethurst, Hensley and the R.A.F. men were at the back.
The car rushed on through the night. Mr Parker Pyne found it hard to sleep. His position was cramped. The Armenian lady's feet stuck out and encroached on his preserve. She, at any rate, was comfortable.
Everyone else seemed to be asleep. Mr Parker Pyne felt drowsiness stealing over him, when a sudden jolt threw him up towards the roof of the car. He heard a drowsy protest from the back of the sixwheeler.
"Steady. Want to break our necks?"
Then the drowsiness returned. A few minutes later, his neck sagging uncomfortably, Mr Parker Pyne slept...
He was awakened suddenly. The six-wheeler had stopped. Some of the men were getting out. Hensley spoke briefly.
"We're stuck."
Anxious to see all there was to see, Mr Parker Pyne stepped gingerly out in the mud. It was not raining now. Indeed there was a moon and by its light the drivers could be seen frantically at work with jacks and stones, striving to raise the wheels. Most of the men were helping. From the windows of the six-wheeler the three women looked out, Miss Pryce and Netta with interest, the Armenian lady with ill-concealed disgust.
At a command from the driver, the male passengers obediently heaved.
"Where's that Armenian fellow?" demanded O'Rourke. "Keeping his toes warmed and comfortable like a cat? Let's have him out too."
"Captain Smethurst, too," observed General Poli. "He is not with us."
Short Stories Page 104
