Short Stories

by Agatha Christie

  "And then afterwards," continued Muriel, "I wished I hadn't. I saw that I'd been quite mad myself. I was condemned to stay on here playing a part. I didn't see how I could ever get away. If I confessed the truth now it would look more than ever as though I'd murdered her. Oh, Mr Pyne, what shall I do? What shall I do?"

  "Do?" Mr Parker Pyne rose to his feet as briskly as his figure allowed. "My dear child, you will come with me now to the British consul, who is a very amiable and kindly man. There will be certain unpleasant formalities to go through. I don't promise you that it will be all plain sailing, but you won't be hanged for murder. By the way, why was the breakfast tray found with the body?"

  "I threw it over. I - I thought it would look more like me to have a tray there. Was it silly of me?"

  "It was rather a clever touch," said Mr Parker Pyne. "In fact, it was the one point which made me wonder if you might, perhaps, have done away with Lady Esther - that is, until I saw you. When I saw you, I knew that whatever else you might do in your life, you would never kill anyone."

  "Because I haven't the nerve, you mean?"

  "Your reflexes wouldn't work that way," said Mr Parker Pyne, smiling. "Now, shall we go? There's an unpleasant job to be faced, but I'll see you through it, and then - home to Streatham Hill - it is Streatham Hill, isn't it? Yes, I thought so. I saw your face contract when I mentioned one particular bus number. Are you coming, my dear?"

  Muriel King hung back. "They'll never believe me," she said nervously. "Her family and all. They wouldn't believe she could act the way she did."

  "Leave it to me," said Mr larker Pyne. "I know something of the family history, you see. Come, child, don't go on playing the coward. Remember, there's a young man in Teheran sighing his heart out. We had better arrange that it is in his plane you fly to Baghdad."

  The girl smiled and blushed. "I'm ready," she said simply. Then as she moved towards the door, she turned back. "You said you knew I was not Lady Esther Carr before you saw me. How could you possibly tell that?"

  "Statistics," said Mr Parker Pyne.

  "Statistics?"

  "Yes. Both Lord and Lady Micheldever had blue eyes. When the consul mentioned that their daughter had flashing dark eyes I knew there was something wrong. Brown-eyed people may produce a blue-eyed child, but not the other way about. A scientific fact, I assure you."

  "I think you're wonderful!" said Muriel King.

  THE PEARL OF PRICE

  The party had had a long and tiring day. They had started from

  Amman early in the morning with a temperature of ninety-eight in the shade, and had come at last just as it was growing dark into the camp situated in the heart of that city of fantastic and preposterous red rock which is Petra.

  There were seven of them. Mr Caleb P. Blundell, that stout and prosperous American magnate. His dark and good-looking, if somewhat taciturn, secretary, Jim Hurst. Sir Donald Marvel, M.P., a tired-looking English politician. Doctor Carver, a world-renowned elderly archaeologist. A gallant Frenchman, Colonel Dubosc, on leave from Syria. A Mr Parker Pyne, not perhaps so plainly labeled with his profession, but breathing an atmosphere of British solidity.

  And lastly, there was Miss Carol Blundell - pretty, spoiled, and extremely sure of herself as the only woman among half a dozen men.

  They dined in the big tent, having selected their tents or caves for sleeping in. They talked of politics in the Near East - the Englishman cautiously, the Frenchman discreetly, the American somewhat fatuously, and the archaeologist and Mr Parker Pyne not at all. Both of them, it seemed, preferred the ræle of listeners. So also did Jim Hurst.

  Then they talked of the city they had come to visit.

  "It's just too romantic for words," said Carol. "To think of those what do you call 'em? - Nabataeans living here all that while ago, almost before time began!"

  "Hardly that," said Mr Parker Pyne mildly. "Eh, Doctor Carver?"

  "Oh, that's an affair of a mere two thousand years back, and if racketeers are romantic, then I suppose the Nabataeans are, too.

  They were a pack of wealthy blackguards I should say, who compelled travelers to use their own caravan routes, and saw to it that all other routes were unsafe. Petra was the storehouse of their racketeering profits."

  "You think they were just robbers?" asked Carol. "Just common thieves?"

  "Thieves is a less romantic word, Miss Blundell. A thief suggests a petty pilferer. A robber suggests a larger canvas."

  "What about a modern financier?" suggested Mr Parker Pyne with a twinkle.

  "That's one for you, Pop!" said Carol.

  "A man who makes money benefits mankind," said Mr Blundell sententiously.

  "Mankind," murmured Mr Parker Pyne, "is so ungrateful."

  "What is honesty?" demanded the Frenchman. "It is a nuance, a convention. In different countries it means different things. An Arab is not ashamed of stealing. He is not ashamed of lying. With him it is from whom he steals or to w hom he lies that matters."

  "That is the point of view - yes," agreed Carver.

  "Which shows the superiority of the West over the East," said Blundell. "When these poor creatures get education -"

  Sir Donald entered languidly into the conversation. "Education is rather rot, you know. Teaches fellows lot of useless things. And what I mean is, nothing alters what you are."

  "You mean?"

  "Well, what I mean to say is, for instance, once a thief always a thief."

  There was a dead silence for a moment. Then Carver began talking feverishly about mosquitoes, and her father backed her up.

  Sir Donald, a little puzzled, murmured to his neighbor, Mr Parker Pyne: "Seems I dropped a brick, what?"

  "Curious," said Mr Parker Pyne.

  Whatever momentary embarrassment had been caused, one person had quite failed to notice it. The archaeologist had sat silent, his eyes dreamy and abstracted. When a pause came, he spoke suddenly and abruptly.

  "You know," he said, "I agree with that - at any rate, from the opposite point of view. A man's fundamentally honest, or he isn't.

  You can't get away from it."

  "You don't believe that sudden temptation, for instance, will turn an honest man into a criminal?" asked Mr Parker Pyne.

  "Impossible!" said Carver.

  Mr Parker Pyne shook his head gently. "I would not say impossible.

  You see, there are so many factors to take into account. There's the breaking point, for instance."

  "What do you call the breaking point?" asked young Hurst, speaking for the first time. He had a deep, rather attractive voice.

  "The brain is adjusted to carry so much weight. The thing that precipitates the crisis - that turns an honest man into a dishonest one - may be a mere trifle. That is why most crimes are absurd. The cause, nine times out of ten, is that trifle of overweight - the straw that breaks the camel's back."

  "It is the psychology you talk there, my friend," said the Frenchman.

  "If a criminal were a psychologist, what a criminal he could be!" said Mr Parker Pyne. His voice dwelt lovingly on the idea. "When you think that of ten people you meet, at least nine of them can be induced to act in any way you please by applying the right stimulus."

  "Oh, explain that!" cried Carol.

  "There's the bullyable man. Shout loud enough at him - and he obeys. There's the contradictory man. Bully him the opposite way from that in which you want him to go. Then there's the suggestible person, the commonest type of all. Those are the people who have seen a motor, because they have heard a motor horn; who see a postman because they hear the rattle of the letter box; who see a knife in a wound because they are told a man has been stabbed; or who will have heard the pistol if they are told a man has been shot."

  "I guess no one could put that sort of stuff over on me," said Carol incredulously.

  "You're too smart for that, honey," said her father.

  "It is very true what you say," said the Frenchman reflectively. "The preconceived idea, it de
ceives the senses."

  Carol yawned. "I'm going to my cave. I'm tired to death. Abbas Effendi said we had to start early tomorrow. He's going to take us up to the place of sacrifice - whatever that is."

  "It's where they sacrifice young and beautiful girls," said Sir Donald.

  "Mercy, I hope not! Well, good night, all. Oh, I've dropped my earring."

  Colonel Dubosc picked it up from where it had rolled across the table and returned it to her.

  "Are they real?" asked Sir Donald abruptly. Discourteous for the moment, he was staring at the two large solitaire pearls at her ears.

  "They're real, all right," said Carol.

  "Cost me eighty thousand dollars," said her father with relish. "And she screws them in so loosely that they fall off and roll about the table. Want to ruin me, girl?"

  "I'd say it wouldn't ruin you even if you had to buy me a new pair," said Carol fondly.

  "I guess it wouldn't," her father acquiesced. "I could buy you three pairs of earrings without noticing it in my bank balance." He looked proudly around.

  "How nice for you!" said Sir Donald.

  "Well, gentlemen, I think I'll turn in now," said Blundell. "Good night." Young Hurst went with him. The other four smiled at one another, as though in sympathy over some thought.

  "Well," drawled Sir Donald, "it's nice to know he wouldn't miss the money. Purse-proud hog!" he added viciously.

  "They have too much money, these Americans," said Dubosc.

  "It is difficult," said Mr Parker Pyne gently, "for a rich man to be appreciated by the poor."

  Dubosc laughed. "Envy and malice?" he suggested.

  "You are right, Monsieur. We all wish to be rich; to buy the pearl earrings several times over. Except, perhaps, Monsieur here."

  He bowed to Doctor Carver who, as seemed usual with him, was once more far away. He was fiddling with an object in his hand.

  "Hm?" He roused himself. "No, I must admit I don't covet pearls.

  Money is always useful, of course." He put it where it belonged "But look at this," he said, "there is something a hundred times more interesting than pearls."

  "What is it?"

  "It is a cylinder seal of black hematite and it's got a celibation scene engraved on it - a god introducing a suplicant to a more important enthroned god. The suplicant is carrying a child as offer and the more important god has a servant with a palm-leaf to keep away the flies. The inscription is very clear and says that the man is a servant of Hammurabi and so it must have been made just four thousand years ago."

  He took a lump of plasticine from his pocket and rolled it out on the table. Then he passed the cylinder seal over it and said, "You see?"

  The scene he had described was very clearly shown on the plasticine.

  For a moment the spell of the past was laid upon them all. Then, from outside, the voice of Mr Blundell was heard, unmusically.

  "Hey, you darned fellows! Change my baggage out of this cave and into a tent! The no-see-ums are biting hard. I shan't get a wink of sleep."

  "No-see-ums?" Sir Donald queried.

  "Probably sand flies," said Doctor Carver.

  "I like the no-see-ums," said Mr Parker Pyne. "It's a more suggestive name."

  The party started early the following morning, getting under way after various exclamations at the color and marking of the rocks.

  The "rose-red" city was indeed a freak invented by Nature in her most extravagant and colorful mood. The party proceeded slowly, since Doctor Carver walked with his eyes bent on the ground, occasionally pausing to pick up small objects.

  "You can always tell the archaeologist - so," said Colonel Dubosc, smiling. "He regards never the sky, nor the hills, nor the beauties of nature. He walks with head bent, searching."

  "Yes, but what for?" said Carol. "What are the things you are picking up, Doctor Carver?"

  With a slight smile the archaeologist held out a couple of muddy fragments of pottery.

  "That rubbish!" cried Carol scornfully.

  "Pottery is more interesting than gold," said Doctor Carver. Carol looked disbelieving.

  They came to a sharp bend and passed two or three rock-cut tombs. The ascent was somewhat trying. The Bedouin guards went ahead, swinging up the precipitous slopes unconcernedly, without a downward glance at the sheer drop on one side of them.

  Carol looked rather pale. One guard leaned down from above and extended a hand. Hurst sprang up in front of her and held out his stick like a rail on the precipitous side. She thanked him with a glance, and a minute later stood safely on a broad path of rock. The others followed slowly. The sun was now high and the heat was beginning to be felt.

  At last they reached a broad plateau almost at the top. An easy climb led to the summit of a big square block of rock. Blundell signified to the guide that the party would go up alone. The Bedouins disposed themselves comfortably against the rocks and began to smoke. A few short minutes and the others had reached the summit.

  It was a curious, bare place. The view was marvelous embracing the valley on every side. They stood on a plain rectangular floor, with rock basins cut in the side and a kind of sacrificial altar.

  "A heavenly place for sacrifices," said Carol with enthusiasm. "But my, they must have had a time getting the victims up here!"

  "There was originally a kind of zigzag rock road," explained Doctor Carver. "We shall see traces of it as we go down the other way."

  They were some time longer commenting and talking. Then there was a tiny chink, and Doctor Carver said:

  "I believe you've dropped your earring again, Miss Blundell."

  Carol clapped a hand to her ear. "Why, so I have."

  Dubosc and Hurst began searching about.

  "It must be just here," said the Frenchman. "It can't have rolled away, because there is nowhere for it to roll to. The place is like a square box."

  "It can't have rolled into a crack?" queried Carol.

  "There's not a crack anywhere," said Mr Parker Pyne. "You can see for yourself. The place is perfectly smooth. Ah, you have found something, Colonel?"

  "Only a little pebble," said Dubosc, smiling and throwing it away.

  Gradually a different spirit - a spirit of tension - came over the search. They were not said aloud, but the words "eighty thousand dollars" were present in everybody's mind.

  "You are sure you had it, Carol?" snapped her father. "I mean, perhaps you dropped it on the way up."

  "I had it just as we stepped onto the plateau here," said Carol. "I know, because Doctor Carver pointed out to me that it was loose and he screwed it up for That's so, isn't it, doctor?"

  Doctor Carver assented. It was Sir Donald who voiced the thoughts in everybody's mind.

  "This is rather an unpleasant business, Mr Blundell," he said. "You were telling us last night what the value of these earrings is. One of them alone is worth a small fortune. If this earring is not found, and it does not look as though it will be found, every one of us will be under a certain suspicion."

  "And for one, I ask to be searched," broke in Colonel Dubosc. "I do not ask, I demand it as a right!"

  "You can search me, too," said Hurst. His voice sounded harsh.

  "What does everyone else feel?" asked Sir Donald, looking around.

  "Certainly," said Mr Parker Pyne.

  "An excellent idea," said Doctor Carver.

  "I'll be in on this too, gentlemen," said Mr Blundell. "I've got my reasons, though I don't want to state them."

  "Just as you like, of course, Mr Blundell," said Sir Donald courteously.

  "Carol, my dear, will you go down and wait with the guides?"

  Without a word the girl left them. Her face was sore and grim. There was a despairing look upon it that caught the attention of one member of the party, at least. He wondered just what it meant.

  The search proceeded. It was drastic and thorough and completely unsatisfactory. One thing was certain.

  No one was carrying the earring on his person. It
was subdued little troop that negotiated the descent and listened half-heartedly to the guide's descriptions and information.

  Mr Parker Pyne had just finished dressing for lunch, when a figure appeared at the door of his tent.

  "Mr Pyne, may I come in?"

  "Certainly, my dear young lady, certainly."

  Carol came in and sat down on the bed. Her face had the same grim look upon it that he had noticed earlier in the day.

  "You pretend to straighten out things for people when they are unhappy, don't you?" she demanded.

  "I am on holiday, Miss Blundell. I am not taking any cases."

  "Well, you're going to take this one," said the girl calmly. "Look here, Mr Pyne, I'm just as wretched as anyone could well be."

  "What is troubling you?" he asked. "Is it this business of the earring?"

  "That's just it. You've said it. Jim Hurst didn't take it, Mr Pyne. I know he didn't."

  "I don't quite follow you, Miss Blundell. Why should anyone assume he had?"

  "Because of his record. Jim Hurst was once a thief, Mr Pyne. He was caught in our house. I - I was sorry for him. He looked so young and desperate -"

  "And so good-looking!" thought Mr Parker Pyne.

  "I persuaded Pop to give him a chance to make good. My father will do anything for me. Well, he gave Jim his chance and Jim has made good. Father's come to rely on him and to trust him with all his business secrets. And in the end he'll come around altogether, or would have if this hadn't happened."

  "When you say 'come around'-?"

  "I mean that I want to marry Jim and he wants to marry me."

  "And Sir Donald?"

  "Sir Donald is Father's idea. He's not mine. Do you think I want to marry a stuffed fish like Sir Donald?"

  Without expressing any views as to this description of the young Englishman, Mr Parker Pyne asked: "And Sir Donald himself?"

  "I dare say he thinks I'd be good for his impoverished acres," said Carol scornfully.

  Mr Parker Pyne considered the situation. "I should like to ask you about two things," he said. "Last night the remark was made, 'once a thief, always a thief.'"

  The girl nodded.