Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie [45]
At a command from the driver, the male passengers obediently heaved.
‘Where’s that Armenian fellow?’ demanded O’Rourke. ‘Keeping his toes warmed and comfortable like a cat? Let’s have him out too.’
‘Captain Smethurst too,’ observed General Poli. ‘He is not with us.’
‘The blighter’s asleep still. Look at him.’
True enough, Smethurst still sat in his armchair, his head sagging forward and his whole body slumped down.
‘I’ll rouse him,’ said O’Rourke.
He sprang in through the door. A minute later he reappeared. His voice had changed.
‘I say. I think he’s ill–or something. Where’s the doctor?’
Squadron Leader Loftus, the Air Force doctor, a quiet-looking man with greying hair, detached himself from the group at the wheel.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ he asked.
‘I–don’t know.’
The doctor entered the car. O’Rourke and Parker Pyne followed him. He bent over the sagging figure. One look and touch was enough.
‘He’s dead,’ he said quietly.
‘Dead? But how?’ Questions shot out. ‘Oh! How dreadful!’ from Netta.
Loftus turned round in an irritated manner.
‘Must have hit his head against the top,’ he said. ‘We went over one bad bump.’
‘Surely that wouldn’t kill him? Isn’t there anything else?’
‘I can’t tell you unless I examine him properly,’ snapped Loftus. He looked around him with a harassed air. The women were pressing closer. The men outside were beginning to crowd in.
Mr Parker Pyne spoke to the driver. He was a strong athletic young man. He lifted each female passenger in turn, carrying her across the mud and setting her down on dry land. Madame Pentemian and Netta he managed easily, but he staggered under the weight of the hefty Miss Pryce.
The interior of the six-wheeler was left clear for the doctor to make his examination.
The men went back to their efforts to jack up the car. Presently the sun rose over the horizon. It was a glorious day. The mud was drying rapidly, but the car was still stuck. Three jacks had been broken and so far no efforts had been of any avail. The driver started preparing breakfast–opening tins of sausages and boiling tea.
A little way apart Squadron Leader Loftus was giving his verdict.
‘There’s no mark or wound on him. As I said, he must have hit his head against the top.’
‘You’re satisfied he died naturally?’ asked Mr Parker Pyne.
There was something in his voice that made the doctor look at him quickly.
‘There’s only one other possibility.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that someone hit him on the back of the head with something in the nature of a sandbag.’ His voice sounded apologetic.
‘That’s not very likely,’ said Williamson, the other Air Force officer. He was a cherubic-looking youth. ‘I mean, nobody could do that without our seeing.’
‘If we were asleep,’ suggested the doctor.
‘Fellow couldn’t be sure of that,’ pointed out the other.
‘Getting up and all that would have roused someone or other.’
‘The only way,’ said General Poli, ‘would be for anyone sitting behind him. He could choose his moment and need not even rise from his seat.’
‘Who was sitting behind Captain Smethurst?’ asked the doctor.
O’Rourke replied readily.
‘Hensley, sir–so that’s no good. Hensley was Smethurst’s best pal.’
There was a silence. Then Mr Parker Pyne’s voice rose with quiet certainty.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that Flight Lieutenant Williamson has something to tell us.’
‘I, sir? I–well–’
‘Out with it, Williamson,’ said O’Rourke.
‘It’s nothing, really–nothing at all.’
‘Out with it.’
‘It’s only a scrap of conversation I overheard–at Rutbah–in the courtyard. I’d got back into the six-wheeler to look for my cigarette case. I was hunting about. Two fellows were just outside talking. One of them was Smethurst. He was saying–’
He paused.
‘Come on, man, out with it.’
‘Something about not wanting to let a pal down. He sounded very distressed. Then he said: “I’ll hold my tongue till Baghdad–but not a minute afterwards. You’ll have to get out quickly”.’
‘And the other man?’
‘I don’t know sir. I swear I don’t. It was dark and he only said