Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie [28]
When the summons was not answered, he knocked again.
‘Monsieur,’ he said in his best accent.
The door opened a little way and a head peered out–the head of a foreigner, clean-shaven except for a black moustache. It was an angry, malevolent face.
‘Qu’est-ce-qu’il y a?’ he snapped.
‘Votre passeport, monsieur.’ Roberts stepped back and beckoned.
The other hesitated, then stepped out into the corridor. Roberts had counted on his doing that. If he had the girl inside, he naturally would not want the conductor to come in. Like a flash, Roberts acted. With all his force he shoved the foreigner aside–the man was unprepared and the swaying of the train helped–bolted into the carriage himself, shut the door and locked it.
Lying across the end of the berth was the girl, a gag across her mouth and her wrists tied together. He freed her quickly and she fell against him with a sigh.
‘I feel so weak and ill,’ she murmured. ‘It was chloroform, I think. Did he–did he get them?’
‘No.’ Roberts tapped his pocket. ‘What are we going to do now?’ he asked.
The girl sat up. Her wits were returning. She took in his costume.
‘How clever of you. Fancy thinking of that! He said that he would kill me if I did not tell him where the jewels were. I have been so afraid–and then you came.’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘But we have outwitted him! He will not dare to do anything. He cannot even try to get back into his own compartment.
‘We must stay here till morning. Probably he will leave the train at Dijon; we are due to stop there in about half an hour. He will telegraph to Paris and they will pick up our trail there. In the meantime, you had better throw that coat and cap out of the window. They might get you into trouble.’
Roberts obeyed.
‘We must not sleep,’ the girl decided. ‘We must stay on guard till morning.’
It was a strange, exciting vigil. At six o’clock in the morning, Roberts opened the door carefully and looked out. No one was about. The girl slipped quickly into her own compartment. Roberts followed her in. The place had clearly been ransacked. He regained his own carriage through the washroom. His fellow-traveller was still snoring.
They reached Paris at seven o’clock. The conductor was declaiming at the loss of his coat and cap. He had not yet discovered the loss of a passenger.
Then began a most entertaining chase. The girl and Roberts took taxi after taxi across Paris. They entered hotels and restaurants by one door and left them by another. At last the girl gave a sign.
‘I feel sure we are not followed now,’ she said. ‘We have shaken them off.’
They breakfasted and drove to Le Bourget. Three hours later they were at Croydon. Roberts had never flown before.
At Croydon a tall gentleman with a far-off resemblance to Mr Roberts’ mentor at Geneva was waiting for them. He greeted the girl with especial respect.
‘The car is here, madam,’ he said.
‘This gentleman will accompany us, Paul,’ said the girl. And to Roberts: ‘Count Paul Stepanyi.’
The car was a vast limousine. They drove for about an hour, then they entered the grounds of a country house and pulled up at the door of an imposing mansion. Mr Roberts was taken to a room furnished as a study. There he handed over the precious pair of stockings. He was left alone for a while. Presently Count Stepanyi returned.
‘Mr Roberts,’ he said, ‘our thanks and gratitude are due to you. You have proved yourself a brave and resourceful man.’ He held out a red morocco case. ‘Permit me to confer upon you the Order of St Stanislaus–tenth class with laurels.’
As in a dream Roberts opened the case and looked at the jewelled order. The old gentleman was still speaking.
‘The Grand Duchess Olga would like to thank you herself before you depart.’
He was led to a big drawing-room. There, very beautiful in a flowing robe, stood his travelling companion.
She made