Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie [24]
‘You want,’ said Mr Pyne, ‘to live gloriously for ten minutes?’
‘Well, I shouldn’t put it like that. But perhaps you’re right. Just to get out of the rut. I’d go back to it thankful afterwards–if only I had something to think about.’ He looked at the other man anxiously. ‘I suppose there’s nothing possible, sir? I’m afraid–I’m afraid I couldn’t afford to pay much.’
‘How much could you afford?’
‘I could manage five pounds, sir.’ He waited, breathless.
‘Five pounds,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘I fancy–I just fancy we might be able to manage something for five pounds. Do you object to danger?’ he added sharply.
A tinge of colour came into Mr Roberts’ sallow face. ‘Danger did you say, sir? Oh, no, not at all. I–I’ve never done anything dangerous.’
Mr Parker Pyne smiled. ‘Come to see me again tomorrow and I’ll tell you what I can do for you.’
II
The Bon Voyageur is a little-known hostelry. It is a restaurant frequented by a few habitués. They dislike newcomers.
To the Bon Voyageur came Mr Pyne and was greeted with respectful recognition. ‘Mr Bonnington here?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. He’s at his usual table.’
‘Good. I’ll join him.’
Mr Bonnington was a gentleman of military appearance with a somewhat bovine face. He greeted his friend with pleasure.
‘Hallo, Parker. Hardly ever see you nowadays. Didn’t know you came here.’
‘I do now and then. Especially when I want to lay my hand on an old friend.’
‘Meaning me?’
‘Meaning you. As a matter of fact, Lucas, I’ve been thinking over what we were talking about the other day.’
‘The Peterfield business? Seen the latest in the papers? No, you can’t have. It won’t be in till this evening.’
‘What is the latest?’
‘They murdered Peterfield last night,’ said Mr Bonnington, placidly eating salad.
‘Good heavens!’ cried Mr Pyne.
‘Oh, I’m not surprised,’ said Mr Bonnington. ‘Pigheaded old man, Peterfield. Wouldn’t listen to us. Insisted on keeping the plans in his own hands.’
‘Did they get them?’
‘No; it seems some woman came round and gave the professor a recipe for boiling a ham. The old ass, absent-minded as usual, put the recipe for the ham in his safe and the plans in the kitchen.’
‘Fortunate.’
‘Almost providential. But I still don’t know who’s going to take ’em to Geneva. Maitland’s in the hospital. Carslake’s in Berlin. I can’t leave. It means young Hooper.’ He looked at his friend.
‘You’re still of the same opinion?’ asked Mr Parker Pyne.
‘Absolutely. He’s been got at! I know it. I haven’t a shadow of proof, but I tell you, Parker, I know when a chap’s crooked! And I want those plans to get to Geneva. The League needs ’em. For the first time an invention isn’t going to be sold to a nation. It’s going to be handed over voluntarily to the League.
‘It’s the finest peace gesture that’s ever been attempted, and it’s got to be put through. And Hooper’s crooked. You’ll see, he’ll be drugged on the train! If he goes in a plane it’ll come down at some convenient spot! But confound it all, I can’t pass him over. Discipline! You’ve got to have discipline! That’s why I spoke to you the other day.’
‘You asked me whether I knew of anyone.’
‘Yes. Thought you might in your line of business. Some fire eater spoiling for a row. Whoever I send stands a good chance of being done in. Your man would probably not be suspected at all. But he’s got to have nerve.’
‘I think I know of someone who would do,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
‘Thank God there are still chaps who will take a risk. Well, it’s agreed then?’
‘It’s agreed,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
III
Mr Parker Pyne was summing up instructions. ‘Now, that’s quite clear? You will travel in a first-class sleeper to Geneva. You leave London at ten forty-five, via Folkestone and Boulogne,