Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie [29]
‘I owe you my life, Mr Roberts,’ said the grand duchess.
She held out her hand. Roberts kissed it. She leaned suddenly towards him.
‘You are a brave man,’ she said.
His lips met hers; a waft of rich Oriental perfume surrounded him.
For a moment he held that slender, beautiful form in his arms…
He was still in a dream when somebody said to him: ‘The car will take you anywhere you wish.’
An hour later, the car came back for the Grand Duchess Olga. She got into it and so did the white-haired man. He had removed his beard for coolness. The car set down the Grand Duchess Olga at a house in Streatham. She entered it and an elderly woman looked up from a tea table.
‘Ah, Maggie, dear, so there you are.’
In the Geneva-Paris express this girl was the Grand Duchess Olga; in Mr Parker Pyne’s office she was Madeleine de Sara, and in the house at Streatham she was Maggie Sayers, fourth daughter of an honest, hard-working family.
How are the mighty fallen!
VI
Mr Parker Pyne was lunching with his friend. ‘Congratulations,’ said the latter, ‘your man carried the thing through without a hitch. The Tormali gang must be wild to think the plans of that gun have gone to the League. Did you tell your man what he was carrying?’
‘No. I thought it better to–er–embroider.’
‘Very discreet of you.’
‘It wasn’t exactly discretion. I wanted him to enjoy himself. I fancied he might find a gun a little tame. I wanted him to have some adventures.’
‘Tame?’ said Mr Bonnington, staring at him. ‘Why, that lot would murder him as soon as look at him.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Parker Pyne mildly. ‘But I didn’t want him to be murdered.’
‘Do you make a lot of money in your business, Parker?’ asked Mr Bonnington.
‘Sometimes I lose it,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘That is, if it is a deserving case.’
VII
Three angry gentlemen were abusing one another in Paris.
‘That confounded Hooper!’ said one. ‘He let us down.’
‘The plans were not taken by anyone from the office,’ said the second. ‘But they went Wednesday, I am assured of that. And so I say you bungled it.’
‘I didn’t,’ said the third sulkily; ‘there was no Englishman on the train except a little clerk. He’d never heard of Peterfield or of the gun. I know. I tested him. Peterfield and the gun meant nothing to him.’ He laughed. ‘He had a Bolshevist complex of some kind.’
VIII
Mr Roberts was sitting in front of a gas fire. On his knee was a letter from Mr Parker Pyne. It enclosed a cheque for fifty pounds ‘from certain people who are delighted with the way a certain commission was executed.’
On the arm of his chair was a library book. Mr Roberts opened it at random. ‘She crouched against the door like a beautiful, hunted creature at bay.’
Well, he knew all about that.
He read another sentence: ‘He sniffed the air. The faint, sickly odour of chloroform came to his nostrils.’
That he knew all about too.
‘He caught her in his arms and felt the responsive quiver of her scarlet lips.’
Mr Roberts gave a sigh. It wasn’t a dream. It had all happened. The journey out had been dull enough, but the journey home! He had enjoyed it. But he was glad to be home again. He felt vaguely that life could not be lived indefinitely at such a pace. Even the Grand Duchess Olga–even that last kiss–partook already of the unreal quality of a dream.
Mary and the children would be home tomorrow. Mr Roberts smiled happily.
She would say: ‘We’ve had such a nice holiday. I hated thinking of you all alone here, poor old boy.’ And he’d say: ‘That’s all right, old girl. I had to go to Geneva for the firm on business–delicate bit of negotiations–and look what they’ve sent me.’ And he’d show her the cheque for fifty pounds.
He thought of the Order of St Stanislaus, tenth class with laurels. He’d hidden it, but supposing Mary found it! It would take a bit of explaining…
Ah, that was it–he’d tell her he’d picked it up abroad. A curio.
He opened his book again and read happily. No longer was there a wistful expression on his face.
He, too, was of that glorious company