MR.
PARKER PYNE 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?
117
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Agatha Christie
"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 en-cumbered
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 F!ecker'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.
THE GATE OF BAGHDAD
"I know she'll want to go to some place where
Paul was lowered out of a window," she whisper
"And I do so want to see the Bazaars."
O'Rourke responded promptly.
"Come with me. We'll start down the Street cai
Straight--"
They drifted off.
Mr. Parker Pyne turned to a quiet man stand
beside him, Hensley by name. He belonged to the put
works department of Baghdad.
"Damascus is a little disappointing when one see..
for the first time," he said apologetically. "A little ci
ised. Trams and modern houses and shops."
Hensley nodded. He was a man of few words.
"Not got--back of beyond--when you think
have," he jerked out.
Another man drifted up, a fair young man wearing
old Etonian tie. He had an amiable but slightly vac
face which at the moment looked worried. He .
Hensley were in the same department.
"Hullo, Smethurst," said his friend. "Lost a
thing?"
Captain Smethurst shook his head. He was a you
man of somewhat slow intellect.
"Just looking round," he said vaguely. Then
seemed to rouse himself. "Ought to have a beano
night. What?"
The two friends went off together. Mr. Parker PI
bought a local paper printed in French.
He did not find it very interesting. The local nc
meant nothing to him and nothing of importar
seemed to be going on elsewhere. He found a if
paragraphs headed Londres.
The first referred to financial matters. The seco
dealt with the supposed destination of Mr. Sam
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Agatha Christie
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 additionalmer--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
THE GATE OF BAGHDAD
121
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 mes
s," he said. "Got to cheer my-self
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. "
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Agatha Christie
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 mid-day 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.
THE GATE OF BAGHDAD 123
"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.
"That's all right. You'll stay put. Only the stronger
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Agatha Christie
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 ion was behind her. Behind Mr. Parker
Pyne were the two Miss Pryces. The General, Smeto
hurst, 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 six-wheeler.
"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 help-ing.
From the windows of the six-wheeler the three
THE GATE OF BAGHDAD
125
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 $methurst, too," observed General Poli.
"He is not with us."
"The blighter's asleep still. Look at him."
True enough, Smethurst still sat in his armchair, his
head sagging forward and his whole body slumped
down.
"I'll rouse him," said O'Rourke.
He sprang in through the door. A minute later he
reappeared. His voice had changed.
"I say. I think he's illmor something. Where's the
doctor?"
Squadron Leader Loftus, the Air Force doctor, a
quiet looking man with greying hair detached himself
from the group by the wheel.
"What's the matter with him?" he asked.
"I--don't know."
The doctor entered the car. O'Rourke and Parker<
br />
Pyne followed him. He bent over the sagging figure.
One look and touch was enough.
"He's dad," he said quietly.
"Dead? But how?" Questions shot out. "Oh! how
dreadful!" from Netta.
Loftus looked round in an irritated manner.
"Must have hit his head against the top," he said.
"We went over one bad bump."
"Surely that wouldn't kill him? Isn't there anything
else?"
"I can't tell unless I examine him properly," snapped
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Agatha Christie
Loftus. He looked round him with a harassed air. The
women were pressing closer. The men outside were
'beginning to crowd in.
Mr. Parker Pyne spoke to the driver. He was a strong
athletic young man. He lifted each female passenger in
turn, carrying her across the mud and setting her down
on dry land. Madame Pentemian and Netta he managed
easily, but he staggered under the weight of the hefty
Miss Pryce.
The interior of the six-wheeler was left clear for the
doctor to make his examination.
The men went back to their efforts to jack up the car.
Presently the sun rose over the horizon. It was a
glorious day. The mud was drying rapidly, but the car
was still stuck. Three jacks had been broken and so far
no efforts had been of any avail. The drivers started
preparing breakfast--opening tins of sausages and boil-ing
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