Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie [38]
Mr Parker Pyne looked at her thoughtfully for a moment or two, then he said, ‘Go on.’
‘It was about a week after Edward had started. I was writing a letter in his study, and I noticed that the blotting paper was all new and clean, except for a few lines of writing across it. I’d just been reading a detective story with a clue in the blotter and so, just for fun, I held it up to a mirror. It really was just fun, Mr Pyne–I mean, he’s such a mild lamb one wouldn’t dream of anything of that kind.’
‘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,