They came to Baghdad - Agatha Christie [57]
‘It’s a thoroughly dim show,’ said Victoria slowly.
‘Dim, yes. But not bogus?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Victoria slowly. ‘People are so sold on the idea of culture if you know what I mean?’
‘You mean that where anything cultured is concerned, nobody examines bona fides in the way they would if it were a charitable or a financial proposition? That’s true. And you’ll find genuine enthusiasts there, I’ve no doubt. But is the organization being used?’
‘I think there’s a lot of Communist activity going on,’ said Victoria doubtfully. ‘Edward thinks so too – he’s making me read Karl Marx and leave it about just to see what reactions there will be.’
Dakin nodded.
‘Interesting. Any response so far?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘What about Rathbone? Is he genuine?’
‘I think really that he is –’ Victoria sounded doubtful.
‘He’s the one I worry about, you see,’ said Dakin. ‘Because he’s a big noise. Suppose there is a Communist plotting going on – students and young revolutionaries have very little chance of coming into contact with the President. Police measures will look after bombs thrown from the street. But Rathbone’s different. He’s one of the high-ups, a distinguished man with a fine record of public beneficence. He could come in close contact with the distinguished visitors. He probably will. I’d like to know about Rathbone.’
Yes, Victoria thought to herself, it all centred round Rathbone. On the first meeting in London, weeks ago, Edward’s vague remarks about the ‘fishiness’ of the show had had their origin in his employer. And there must, Victoria decided suddenly, have been some incident, some word, that had awakened Edward’s uneasiness. For that, in Victoria’s belief, was how minds worked. Your vague doubt or distrust was never just a hunch – it was really always due to a cause. If Edward, now, could be made to think back, to remember; between them they might hit upon the fact or incident that had aroused his suspicions. In the same way, Victoria thought, she herself must try to think back to what it was that had so surprised her when she came out upon the balcony at the Tio and found Sir Rupert Crofton Lee sitting there in the sun. It was true that she had expected him to be at the Embassy and not at the Tio Hotel but that was not enough to account for the strong feeling she had had that his sitting there was quite impossible! She would go over and over the events of that morning, and Edward must be urged to go over and over his early association with Dr Rathbone. She would tell him so when next she got him alone. But to get Edward alone was not easy. To begin with he had been away in Persia and now that he was back, private communications at the Olive Branch were out of the question where the slogan of the last war (‘Les oreilles enemies vous écoutent’) might have been written up all over the walls. In the Armenian household where she was a paying guest, privacy was equally impossible. Really, thought Victoria to herself, for all I see of Edward, I might as well have stayed in England!
That this was not quite true was proved very shortly afterwards.
Edward came to her with some sheets of manuscripts and said:
‘Dr Rathbone would like this typed out at once, please, Victoria. Be especially careful of the second page, there are some rather tricky Arab names on it.’
Victoria, with a sigh, inserted a sheet of paper in her typewriter and started off in her usual dashing style. Dr Rathbone’s handwriting was not particularly difficult to read and Victoria was just congratulating herself that she had made less mistakes than usual. She laid the top sheet aside and proceeded to the next – and at once realized the meaning of Edward’s injunction to be careful of the second page. A tiny note in Edward’s handwriting was pinned to the top of it.
Go for a walk along the Tigris bank past the Beit Melek Ali tomorrow morning about eleven.
The following day was Friday, the weekly holiday. Victoria’s spirits rose mercurially. She would wear her jade-green pullover. She ought really