Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie [33]
‘You are all here? Yes? Excuse, please, you will have to wait a little minute, perhaps. Ah, no, I see it is arriving.’
He pointed to where a small dot on the horizon was gradually growing nearer. Hilary said in a slightly bewildered voice:
‘But why have we come down here? What is the matter? How long shall we have to be here?’
The French traveller said:
‘There is, I understand, a station wagon arriving. We shall go on in that.’
‘Did the engine fail?’ asked Hilary.
Andy Peters smiled cheerfully.
‘Why no, I shouldn’t say so,’ he said, ‘the engine sounded all right to me. However, they’ll fix up something of that kind, no doubt.’
She stared, puzzled. Mrs Calvin Baker murmured:
‘My, but it’s chilly, standing about here. That’s the worst of this climate. It seems so sunny but it’s cold the moment you get near sunset.’
The pilot was murmuring under his breath, swearing, Hilary thought. He was saying something like:
‘Toujours des retards insupportables.’
The station wagon came towards them at a breakneck pace. The Berber driver drew up with a grinding of brakes. He sprang down and was immediately engaged by the pilot in angry conversation. Rather to Hilary’s surprise, Mrs Baker intervened in the dispute–speaking in French.
‘Don’t waste time,’ she said peremptorily. ‘What’s the good of arguing? We want to get out of here.’
The driver shrugged his shoulders and, going to the station wagon, he unhitched the back part of it which let down. Inside was a large packing case. Together with the pilot and with help from Ericsson and Peters, they got it down on to the ground. From the effort it took, it seemed to be heavy. Mrs Calvin Baker put her hand on Hilary’s arm and said, as the man began to raise the lid of the case:
‘I shouldn’t watch, my dear. It’s never a pretty sight.’
She led Hilary a little way away, on the other side of the wagon. The Frenchman and Peters came with them. The Frenchman said in his own language:
‘What is it then, this manoeuvre there that they do?’
Mrs Baker said:
‘You are Dr Barron?’
The Frenchman bowed.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Mrs Baker. She stretched out her hand, rather like a hostess welcoming him to a party. Hilary said in a bewildered tone:
‘But I don’t understand. What is in that case? Why is it better not to look?’
Andy Peters looked down on her consideringly. He had a nice face, Hilary thought. Something square and dependable about it. He said:
‘I know what it is. The pilot told me. It’s not very pretty perhaps, but I guess it’s necessary.’ He added quietly, ‘There are bodies in there.’
‘Bodies!’ She stared at him.
‘Oh, they haven’t been murdered or anything,’ he grinned reassuringly. ‘They were obtained in a perfectly legitimate way for research–medical research, you know.’
But Hilary still stared. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Ah. You see, Mrs Betterton, this is where the journey ends. One journey, that is.’
‘Ends?’
‘Yes. They’ll arrange the bodies in that plane and then the pilot will fix things and presently, as we’re driving away from here, we shall see in the distance the flames going up in the air. Another plane that has crashed and come down in flames, and no survivors!’
‘But why? How fantastic!’
‘But surely–’ It was Dr Barron now who spoke to her. ‘But surely you know where we are going?’
Mrs Baker, drawing near, said cheerfully:
‘Of course she knows. But maybe she didn’t expect it quite so soon.’
Hilary said, after a short bewildered pause:
‘But you mean–all of us?’ She looked round.
‘We’re fellow-travellers,’ said Peters gently.
The young Norwegian, nodding his head, said with an almost fanatical enthusiasm:
‘Yes, we are all fellow-travellers.’
Chapter 9
I
The pilot