They came to Baghdad - Agatha Christie [29]
‘That is no longer the case. It is imperative that I reach Cairo as soon as my business here is terminated. It would not be safe for me to remain longer.’
‘Safe?’
A sudden grim smile transformed Sir Rupert’s face. The manner which Shrivenham had been likening to that of a Prussian drill sergeant was laid aside. The man’s charm became suddenly apparent.
‘Safety hasn’t usually been one of my preoccupations, I agree,’ he said. ‘But in this case it isn’t only my own safety I have to consider – my safety includes the safety of a lot of other people as well. So make those arrangements for me. If the air passage is difficult, apply for priority. Until I leave here tonight, I shall remain in my room.’ He added, as Shrivenham’s mouth opened in surprise, ‘Officially, I’m sick. Touch of malaria.’ The other nodded. ‘So I shan’t need food.’
‘But surely we can send you up –’
‘Twenty-four hours’ fast is nothing to me. I’ve gone hungry longer than that on some of my journeys. You just do as I tell you.’
Downstairs Shrivenham was greeted by his colleagues and groaned in answer to their inquiries.
‘Cloak and dagger stuff in a big way,’ he said. ‘Can’t quite make his grandiloquence Sir Rupert Crofton Lee out. Whether it’s genuine or play-acting. The swirling cloak and bandit’s hat and all the rest of it. Fellow who’d read one of his books told me that although he’s a bit of a self-advertiser, he really has done all these things and been to these places – but I don’t know…Wish Thomas Rice was up and about to cope. That reminds me, what’s Scheele’s Green?’
‘Scheele’s Green?’ said his friend, frowning. ‘Something to do with wallpaper, isn’t it? Poisonous. It’s a form of arsenic, I think.’
‘Cripes!’ said Shrivenham, staring. ‘I thought it was a disease. Something like amæbic dysentery.’
‘Oh, no, it’s something in the chemical line. What wives do their husbands in with, or vice versa.’
Shrivenham had relapsed into startled silence. Certain disagreeable facts were becoming clear to him. Crofton Lee had suggested, in effect, that Thomas Rice, Oriental Counsellor to the Embassy, was suffering, not from gastroenteritis, but from arsenical poisoning. Added to that Sir Rupert had suggested that his own life was in danger, and his decision not to eat food and drink prepared in the kitchens of the British Embassy shook Shrivenham’s decorous British soul to the core. He couldn’t imagine what to make of it all.
Chapter 10
I
Victoria, breathing in hot choking yellow dust, was unfavourably impressed by Baghdad. From the Airport to the Tio Hotel, her ears had been assailed by continuous and incessant noise. Horns of cars blaring with maddening persistence, voices shouting, whistles blowing, then more deafening senseless blaring of motor horns. Added to the loud incessant noises of the street was a small thin trickle of continuous sound which was Mrs Hamilton Clipp talking.
Victoria arrived at the Tio Hotel in a dazed condition.
A small alleyway led back from the fanfare of Rashid Street towards the Tigris. A short flight of steps to go up and there at the entrance of the hotel they were greeted by a very stout young man with a beaming smile who, metaphorically at least, gathered them to his heart. This, Victoria gathered, was Marcus – or more correctly Mr Tio, the owner of the Tio Hotel.
His words of welcome were interrupted by shouted orders to various underlings regarding the disposal of their baggage.
‘And here you are, once more, Mrs Clipp – but your arm – why is it in that funny stuff? – (You fools, do not carry that with the strap! Imbeciles! Don’t trail that coat!) – But, my dear – what a day to arrive – never, I thought, would the plane land. It went round and round and round. Marcus, I said to myself – it is not you that will travel by planes – all this hurry, what does it matter? – And you have brought a young lady with you – it is nice always to see a new young lady in Baghdad – why did not Mr Harrison come down to meet you – I expected him yesterday – but, my dear, you must have a drink