AgathaChristie-ParkerPineDetective
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hot and cold water and a telephone beside the bed, by
means of which you could order tea, meals, mineral
waters, cocktails and speak to your friends.
In the hotel at Delphi there were none of these things.
There was a marvelous view from the windows, the bed
was clean and so was the whitewashed room. There was
a chair, a washstand and a chest of drawers. Baths took
place by arrangement and were occasionally disappoint-ing
as regarded hot water.
It would, she supposed, be nice to say that you had
been to Delphi, and Mrs. Peters had tried hard to take
an interest in Ancient Greece, but she found it difficult.
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Their statuary seemed so unfinished; so lacking in heads
and arms and legs. Secretly, she much preferred the
handsome marble angel complete with wings which was
erected on the late Mr. Willard Peters' tomb.
But all these secret opinions she kept carefully to
herself, for fear her son Willard should despise her. It
was for Willard's sake that she was here, in this chilly
and uncomfortable room, with a sulky maid and a
disgusted chauffeur in the offing.
For Wi!lard (until recently called Junior--a title
which he hated) was Mrs. Peters' eighteen-year-old son,
and she worshiped him to distraction. It was Willard
who had this strange passion for bygone art. It was
Willard, thin, pale, spectacled and dyspeptic, who had
dragged his adoring mother on this tour through
Greece.
They had been to Olympia, which Mrs. Peters
thought a sad mess. She had enjoyed the Parthenon, but
she considered Athens a hopeless city. And a visit to
Corinth and Mycenae had been agony to both her and
the chauffeur.
Delphi, Mrs. Peters thought unhappily, was the last
straw. Absolutely nothing to do but walk along the road
and look at the ruins. Willard spent long hours on his
knees deciphering Greek inscriptions, saying, "Mother,
just listen to this! Isn't it splendid?" And he would then
read out something that seemed to Mrs. Peters the
quintessence of dullness.
This morning Willard had started early to see some
Byzantine mosaics. Mrs. Peters, feeling instinctively
that Byzantine mosaics would leave her cold (in the
literal as well as the spiritual sense), had excused herself.
"I understand, Mother," Willard had said. "You
want to be alone just to sit in the theater or up in the
Stadium and look down over it all and let it sink in."
"That's right, pet," said Mrs. Peters.
THE ORACLE AT DELPHI
"I knew this place would get you," said Willard exul-tantly,
and departed.
Now, with a sigh, Mrs. Peters prepared to rise and
breakfast.
She came into the dining room to find it empty save
for four people. A mother and daughter, dressed in
what seemed to Mrs. Peters a most peculiar style (not
recognizing the peplum as such), who were discoursing
on the art of self-expression in dancing; a plump,
middle-aged gentleman who had rescued a suitcase for
her when she got off the train and whose name was
Thompson; and a newcomer, a middle-aged gentleman
with a bald head who had arrived on the preceding eve-ning.
This personage was the last left in the breakfast room,
and Mrs. Peters soon fell into conversation with him.
She was a friendly woman and liked someone to talk to.
Mr. Thompson had been distinctly discouraging in man-ner
(British reserve, Mrs. Peters called it), and the
mother and daughter had been very superior and high-brow,
though the girl had got on rather well with
Willard.
Mrs. Peters found the newcomer a very pleasant per-son.
He was informative without being highbrow. He
told her several interesting, friendly little details about
the Greeks, which made her feel much more as though
they were real people and not just tiresome history out
of a book.
Mrs. Peters told her new friend all about Willard and
what a clever boy he was, and how Culture might be
said to be his middle name. There was something about
this benevolent and bland personage which made him
easy to talk to.
What he himself did and what his name was, Mrs.
Peters did not learn. Beyond the fact that he had been
traveling and that he was having a complete rest from
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business (what business?) he was not communicative
about himself.
Altogether, the day passed more quickly than might
have been anticipated. The mother and daughter and
Mr. Thompson continued to be unsociable. They en-countered
the latter coming out of the museum, and he
immediately turned in the opposite direction.
Mrs. Peters' new friend looked after him with a little
frown.
"Now, I wonder who that fellow is!" he said.
Mrs. Peters supplied him with the other's name, but
could do no more.
"Thompson--Thompson. No, I don't think I've met
him before, and yet somehow or other his face seems
familiar. But I can't place him."
In the afternoon Mrs. Peters enjoyed a quiet nap in a
shady spot. The book she took with her to read was not
the excellent one on Grecian Art recommended to her by
her son, but was, on the contrary, entitled "The River
Launch Mystery." It had four murders in it, three ab-ductions,
and a large and varied gang of dangerous
criminals. Mrs. Peters found herself both invigorated
and soothed by the perusal of it.
It was four o'clock when she returned to the hotel.
Willard, she felt sure, would be back by this time. So far
was she from any presentiment of evil that she almost
forgot to open a note which the proprietor said had been
left for her by a strange man during the afternoon.
It was an extremely dirty note. Idly she ripped it open.
As she read the first few lines, her face blanched and she
put out a hand to steady herself. The handwriting was
foreign but the language employed was English.
Lady (it began):
This to hand to inform you that your son is being
held captive by us in place of great security. No
THE ORACLE AT DELPHI
187
harm shall happen to honored young gentleman if
you obey orders of yours truly. We demand for him
ransom of ten thousand English pounds sterling. If
you speak of this to hotel proprietor or police or
any such person your son will be killed. This is
given you to reflect. Tomorrow directions in way of
paying money will be given. If not obeyed the
honored young gentleman's ears will be cut off and
sent you. And following day if still not obeyed he
will be killed. Again this is not idle threat. Let the
Kyria reflect andmabove all--be silent.
Demetrius the Black Browed
It were
idle to describe the poor lady's state of mind.
Preposterous and childishly worded as the demand was,
it yet brought home to her a grim atmosphere of peril.
Willard, her boy, her pet, her delicate, serious Willard.
She would go at once to the police; she would rouse
the neighborhood. But perhaps, if she did . . . She
shivered.
Then, rousing herself, she went out of her room in
search of the hotel proprietor--the sole person in the
hotel who could speak English.
"It is getting late," she said. "My son has not re-turned
yet."
The pleasant little man beamed at her. "True. Mon-sieur
dismissed the mules. He wished to return on foot.
He should have been here by now, but doubtless he has
!ingered on the way." He smiled happily.
"Tell me," said Mrs. Peters abruptly, "have you any
bad characters in the neighborhood?"
Bad characters was a term not embraced by the little
man's knowledge of English. Mrs. Peters made her
meaning plainer. She received in reply an assurance that
all around Delphi were very good, very quiet people--all
well disposed towards foreigners.
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Words trembled on her lips, but she forced them
back. That sinister threat tied her tongue. It might be
the merest bluff. But suppose it wasn't? A friend of hers
in America had had a child kidnaped, and on her in-forming
the police, the child had been killed. Such
things did happen.
She was nearly frantic. What was she to do? Ten
thousand pounds--what was that?--between forty or
fifty thousand dollars! What was that to her in com-parison
with Willard's safety? But how could she obtain
such a sum? There were endless difficulties just now as
regarded money and the drawing of cash. A letter of
credit for a few hundred pounds was all she had with
her.
Would the bandits understand this? Would they be
reasonable? Would they wait?
When her maid came to her, she dismissed the girl
fiercely. A bell sounded for dinner, and the poor lady
was driven to the dining room. She ate mechanically.
She saw no one. The room might have been empty as far
as she was concerned.
With the arrival of fruit, a note was placed before
her. She winced, but the handwriting was entirely dif-ferent
from that which she had feared to see--a neat,
clerkly English hand. She opened it without much in-terest,
but she found its contents intriguing:
At Delphi you can no longer consult the Oracle
(so it ran), but you can consult Mr. Parker Pyne.
Below that was a cutting of an advertisement pinned
to the paper, and at the bottom of the sheet a passport
photograph was attached. It was the photograph of her
bald-headed friend of the morning.
Mrs. Peters read the printed cutting twice.
THE ORACLE AT DELPHI
1
·
·
·
Are you happy? If not, consult Mr. Parker Pyne.
Happy? Happy? Had anyone ever been so unhapp
It was like an answer to prayer.
Hastily she scribbled on a loose sheet of paper s
happened to have in her bag:
Please help me. Will you meet me outside the
hotel in ten minutes?
She enclosed it in an envelope and directed the wait
to take it to the gentleman at the table by the windo
Ten minutes later, enveloped in a fur coat, for the nig
was chilly, Mrs. Peters went out of the hotel and strolll
slowly along the road to the ruins. Mr. Parker Pyne w.
waiting for her.
"It's just the mercy of heaven you're here," said Mt
Peters breathlessly. "But how did you guess the terril:
trouble I'm in? That's what I want to know."
"The human countenance, my dear madam," sa
Mr. Parker Pyne gently. "I knew at once that som
thng had happened, but what it is I am waiting for y0
to tell me."
Out it came in a flood. She handed him the lette
which he read by the light of his pocket torch.
"H'm," he said. "A remarkable document. A mo
remarkable document. It has certain points--"
But Mrs. Peters was in no mood to listen to a discu
sion of the finer points of the letter. What was she to d
about Willard? Her own dear, delicate Willard.
Mr. Parker Pyne was soothing. He painted an attra,
tive picture of Greek bandit life. They would be esp¢
cially careful of their captive, since he represented
potential gold mine. Gradually he calmed her down.
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Agatha Christie
"But what am I to do?" wailed Mrs. Peters.
"Wait till tomorrow," said Mr. Parker Pyne. "That
is, unless you prefer to go straight to the police."
Mrs. Peters interrupted him with a shriek of terror.
Her darling Willard would be murdered out of hand!
"You think I'll get Willard back safe and sound?"
"There is no doubt of that," said Mr. Parker Pyne
soothingly. "The only question is whether you can get
him back without paying ten thousand pounds."
"All I want is my boy."
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Parker Pyne soothingly. "Who
brought the letter, by the way?"
"A man the landlord didn't know. A stranger."
"Ah! There are possibilities there. The man who
brings the letter tomorrow might be followed. What are
you telling the people at the hotel about your son's absence?"
"I haven't thought."
"I wonder, now." Mr. Parker Pyne reflected. "I
think you might quite naturally.-express alarm and concern
at his absence. A search party could be sent out."
"You don't think these fiends--?" She choked.
"No, no. So long as there is no word of the kidnaping
or the ransom, they cannot turn nasty. After all, you
can't be expected to take your son's disappearance with
no fuss at all."
"Can I leave it all to you?"
"That is my business," said Mr. Parker Pyne.,
They started back towards the hotel again but almost
ran into a burly figure.
"Who was that?" asked Mr. Parker Pyne sharply.
"I think it was Mr. Thompson."
"Oh!" said Mr. Parker Pyne thoughtfully. "Thompson,
was it? Thompson--h'm."
·
·
·
THE ORACLE AT DELPHI
Mrs. Peters felt as she went to bed that Mr. Pari
Pyne's idea about the letter was a good one. Whoe
brought it must be in touch with the bandits. She if.
consoled, and fell asleep much sooner than she co
ever have believed possible.
When she was dressing on the following morning
suddenly noticed something lying on the floor by t
window. She picked it up--and her heart missed a be
The same dirty, cheap envelope; the same hate
characters. She tore it open.
Good morning, lady. Have you made reflections?
Your son is well and unharmed--so far. But
we must have the money. It may not be easy
for
you to get this sum, but it has been told us that you
have with you a necklace of diamonds. Very fine
stones. We will be satisfied with that, instead. Listen,
this is what you must do. You, or anyone you
choose to send must take this necklace and bring it
to the Stadium. From there go up to where there is
a tree by a big rock. Eyes will watch and see that
only one person comes. Then your son will be exchanged
for necklace. The time must be tomorrow
six o'clock in morning just after sunrise. If you put
police on us afterwards we shoot your son as your
car drives to station.
This is our last word, lady. If no necklace tomorrow
morning your son's ears sent you. Next day he
die.
With salutations, lady,
Demetrius
Mrs. Peters hurried to find Mr. Parker Pyne. He read
the letter attentively.
"Is this true," he asked, "about a diamond necklace?"
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"Absolutely. A hundred thousand dollars, my husband
paid for it."
"Our well-informed thieves," murmured Mr. Parker
Pyne.
"What's that you say?"
"I was just considering certain aspects of the affair."
"My word, Mr. Pyne, we haven't got time for aspects, I've got to get my boy back."
"But you are a woman of spirit, Mrs. Peters. Do you
enjoy being bullied and cheated out of ten thousand