‘Yes, yes; I quite understand.’
‘The thing was quite easy to read. First there was the word “wife” then “Simplon Express”, and lower down, “just before Venice would be the best time”,’ She stopped.
‘Curious,’ said Mr Pyne. ‘Distinctly curious. It was your husband’s handwriting?’
‘Oh, yes. But I’ve cudgelled my brains and I cannot see under what circumstances he would write a letter with just those words in it.’
‘“Just before Venice would be the best time”,’ repeated Mr Parker Pyne. ‘Distinctly curious.’
Mrs Jeffries was leaning forward looking at him with a flattering hopefulness. ‘What shall I do?’ she asked simply.
‘I am afraid,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, ‘that we shall have to wait until before Venice.’ He took up a folder from the table. ‘Here is the schedule time of our train. It arrives at Venice at two twenty-seven tomorrow afternoon.’
They looked at each other.
‘Leave it to me,’ said Parker Pyne.
II
It was five minutes past two. The Simplon Express was eleven minutes late. It had passed Mestre about a quarter of an hour before.
Mr Parker Pyne was sitting with Mrs Jeffries in her compartment. So far the journey had been pleasant and uneventful. But now the moment had arrived when, if anything was going to happen, it presumably would happen. Mr Parker Pyne and Elsie faced each other. Her heart was beating fast, and her eyes sought him in a kind of anguished appeal for reassurance.
‘Keep perfectly calm,’ he said. ‘You are quite safe. I am here.’
Suddenly a scream broke out from the corridor.
‘Oh, look–look! The train is on fire!’
With a bound Elsie and Mr Parker Pyne were in the corridor. An agitated woman with a Slav countenance was pointing a dramatic finger. Out of one of the front compartments smoke was pouring in a cloud. Mr Parker Pyne and Elsie ran along the corridor. Others joined them. The compartment in question was full of smoke. The first comers drew back, coughing. The conductor appeared.
‘The compartment is empty!’ he cried. ‘Do not alarm yourselves, messieurs et dames. Le feu, it will be controlled.’
A dozen excited questions and answers broke out. The train was running over the bridge that joins Venice to the mainland.
Suddenly Mr Parker Pyne turned, forced his way through the little pack of people behind him and hurried down the corridor to Elsie’s compartment. The lady with the Slav face was seated in it, drawing deep breaths from the open window.
‘Excuse me, Madame,’ said Parker Pyne. ‘But this is not your compartment.’
‘I know. I know,’ said the Slav lady. ‘Pardon. It is the shock, the emotion–my heart.’ She sank back on the seat and indicated the open window. She drew in her breath in great gasps.
Mr Parker Pyne stood in the doorway. His voice was fatherly and reassuring. ‘You must not be afraid,’ he said. ‘I do not think for a moment the fire is serious.’
‘Not? Ah, what a mercy! I feel restored.’ She half-rose. ‘I will return to my compartment.’
‘Not just yet.’ Mr Parker Pyne’s hand pressed her gently back. ‘I will ask you to wait a moment, Madame.’
‘Monsieur, this is an outrage!’
‘Madame, you will remain.’
His voice rang out coldly. The woman sat still looking at him. Elsie joined them.
‘It seems it was a smoke bomb,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Some ridiculous practical joke. The conductor is furious. He is asking everybody–’ She broke off, staring at the second occupant of the carriage.
‘Mrs Jeffries,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, ‘what do you carry in your little scarlet case?’
‘My jewellery.’
‘Perhaps you would be so kind as to look and see that everything is there.’
There was immediately a torrent of words from the Slav lady. She broke into French, the better to do justice to her feelings.
In the meantime Elsie had picked up the jewel case. ‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘It’s unlocked.’
‘Et je porterai plainte à la Compagnie des Wagons-Lits,’ finished the Slav lady.
‘They’re gone!’ cried Elsie. ‘Everything! My diamond bracelet. And the necklace Pop gave me. And the emerald and ruby rings. And some lovely diamond brooches. Thank goodness I was wearing my pearls. Oh, Mr Pyne, what shall we do?’
‘If you will fetch the conductor,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, ‘I will see that this woman does not leave this compartment till he comes.’
‘Scélérat! Monstre!’ shrieked the Slav lady. She went on to further insults. The train drew in to Venice.
The events of the next half-hour may be briefly summarized. Mr Parker Pyne dealt with several different officials in several different languages–and suffered defeat. The suspected lady consented to be searched–and emerged without a stain on her character. The jewels were not on her.
Between Venice and Trieste Mr Parker Pyne and Elsie discussed the case.
‘When was the last time you actually saw your jewels?’
‘This morning. I put away some sapphire earrings I was wearing yesterday and took out a pair of plain pearl ones.’
‘And all the jewellery was there intact?’
‘Well, I didn’t go through it all, naturally. But it looked the same as usual. A ring or something like that might have been missing, but no more.’
Mr Parker Pyne nodded. ‘Now, when the conductor made up the compartment this morning?’
‘I had the case with me–in the restaurant car. I always take it with me. I’ve never left it except when I ran out just now.’
‘Therefore,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, ‘that injured innocent, Madame Subayska, or whatever she calls herself, must have been the thief. But what the devil did she do with the things? She was only in here a minute and a half–just time to open the case with a duplicate key and take out the stuff–yes, but what next?’
‘Could she have handed them to anyone else?’
‘Hardly. I had turned back and was forcing my way along the corridor. If anyone had come out of this compartment I should have seen them.’
‘Perhaps she threw them out of the window to someone.’
‘An excellent suggestion; only, as it happens, we were passing over the sea at that moment. We were on the bridge.’
‘Then she must have hidden them actually in the carriage.’
‘Let’s hunt for them.’
With true transatlantic energy Elsie began to look about. Mr Parker Pyne participated in the search in a somewhat absent fashion. Reproached for not trying, he excused himself.
‘I’m thinking that I must send a rather important telegram at Trieste,’ he explained.
Elsie received the explanation coldly. Mr Parker Pyne had fallen heavily in her estimation.
‘I’m afraid you’re annoyed with me, Mrs Jeffries,’ he said meekly.
‘Well, you’ve not been very successful,’ she retorted.
‘But, my dear lady, you must remember I am not a detective. Theft and crime are not in my line at all. The human heart is my province.’
‘Well, I was a bit unhappy when I got on this train,’ said Elsie, ‘but nothing to what I am now! I could just cry buckets. My lovely, lovely bracelet–and the emerald ring Edward gave me when we were engaged.’
‘But surely you are insured against theft?’ Mr Parker Pyne interpolated.
‘Am I? I don’t know. Yes, I suppose I am. But it’s the sentiment of the thing, Mr Pyne.’
The train slackened speed. Mr Parker Pyne peered out of the window. ‘Trieste,’ he said. ‘I must send my telegram.’
III
‘Edward!’ Elsie’s face lighted up as she saw her husband hurrying to meet her on the platform at Stamboul. For the moment even the loss of her jewellery faded from her mind. She forgot the curious words she had found on the blotter. She forgot everything except that it was a fortnight since she had seen her husband last, and that in spite of being sob
er and straightlaced he was really a most attractive person.
They were just leaving the station when Elsie felt a friendly tap on the shoulder and turned to see Mr Parker Pyne. His bland face was beaming good-naturedly.
‘Mrs Jeffries,’ he said, ‘will you come to see me at the Hotel Tokatlian in half an hour? I think I may have some good news for you.’
Elsie looked uncertainly at Edward. Then she made the introduction. ‘This–er–is my husband–Mr Parker Pyne.’
‘As I believe your wife wired you, her jewels have been stolen,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘I have been doing what I can to help her recover them. I think I may have news for her in about half an hour.’
Elsie looked enquiringly at Edward. He replied promptly: ‘You’d better go, dear. The Tokatlian, you said, Mr Pyne? Right; I’ll see she makes it.’
IV
It was just a half an hour later that Elsie was shown into Mr Parker Pyne’s private sitting room. He rose to receive her.
‘You’ve been disappointed in me, Mrs Jeffries,’ he said. ‘Now, don’t deny it. Well, I don’t pretend to be a magician but I do what I can. Take a look inside here.’
He passed along the table a small stout cardboard box. Elsie opened it. Rings, brooches, bracelets, necklace–they were all there.
‘Mr Pyne, how marvellous! How–how too wonderful!’
Mr Parker Pyne smiled modestly. ‘I am glad not to have failed you, my dear young lady.’
‘Oh, Mr Pyne, you make me feel just mean! Ever since Trieste I’ve been horrid to you. And now–this. But how did you get hold of them? When? Where?’
Mr Parker Pyne shook his head thoughtfully. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. ‘You may hear it one day. In fact, you may hear it quite soon.’
‘Why can’t I hear it now?’
‘There are reasons,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
And Elsie had to depart with her curiosity unsatisfied.
When she had gone, Mr Parker Pyne took up his hat and stick and went out into the streets of Pera. He walked along smiling to himself, coming at last to a little café, deserted at the moment, which overlooked the Golden Horn. On the other side, the mosques of Stamboul showed slender minarets against the afternoon sky. It was very beautiful. Mr Pyne sat down and ordered two coffees. They came thick and sweet. He had just begun to sip his when a man slipped into the seat opposite. It was Edward Jeffries.
‘I have ordered some coffee for you,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, indicating the little cup.
Edward pushed the coffee aside. He leaned forward across the table. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.
Mr Parker Pyne sipped his coffee dreamily. ‘Your wife will have told you about her discovery on the blotter? No? Oh, but she will tell you; it has slipped her mind for the moment.’
He mentioned Elsie’s discovery.
‘Very well; that linked up perfectly with the curious incident that happened just before Venice. For some reason or other you were engineering the theft of your wife’s jewels. But why the phrase “just before Venice would be the best time”? There seemed nonsense in that. Why did you not leave it to your–agent–to choose her own time and place?
‘And then, suddenly, I saw the point. Your wife’s jewels were stolen before you yourself left London and were replaced by paste duplicates. But that solution did not satisfy you. You were a high-minded, conscientious young man. You have a horror of some servant or other innocent person being suspected. A theft must actually occur–at a place and in a manner which will leave no suspicion attached to anybody of your acquaintance or household.
‘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 duplicates 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 jewellery 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 jewellery at the Tokatlian to await my arrival, knowing that otherwise I should keep my threat of placing the matter in the hands 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 in one word–blackmail.’
‘Yes?’
‘You’ve seen my wife: you realize what a pure, innocent creature she is–without knowledge or thought of evil.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘She has the most marvellously 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 there 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.’
&nbs
p; 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.’
‘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 other 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
I
‘Four great gates has the city of Damascus…’
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 Baghdad 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.