They came to Baghdad - Agatha Christie [94]
‘Ach – you hurt me.’
‘Tell me –’
A knock came on the door. A knock twice repeated and then after a pause, a single one.
‘Now you will see!’ cried Catherine.
The door opened and a man slipped in. He was a tall man, dressed in the uniform of the International Police. He locked the door behind him and removed the key. Then he advanced to Catherine.
‘Quickly,’ he said.
He took a length of thin cord from his pocket and, with Catherine’s full co-operation, bound her swiftly to a chair. Then he produced a scarf and tied it over her mouth. He stood back and nodded appreciatively.
‘So – that will do nicely.’
Then he turned towards Victoria. She saw the heavy truncheon he was brandishing and in a moment it flashed across her brain what the real plan was. They had never intended that she should play the part of Anna Scheele at the Conference. How could they risk such a thing? Victoria was too well known in Baghdad? No, the plan was, had always been, that Anna Scheele should be attacked and killed at the last moment – killed in such a way that her features would not be recognizable…Only the papers she had brought with her – those carefully forged papers – would remain.
Victoria turned away to the window – she screamed. And with a smile the man came at her.
Then several things happened – there was a crash of broken glass – a heavy hand sent her headlong down – she saw stars – and blackness…Then out of the blackness a voice spoke, a reassuring English voice.
‘Are you all right, Miss?’ it asked.
Victoria murmured something.
‘What did she say?’ asked a second voice.
The first man scratched his head.
‘Said it was better to serve in Heaven than reign in Hell,’ he said doubtfully.
‘That’s a quotation,’ said the other. ‘But she’s got it wrong,’ he added.
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Victoria and fainted.
VIII
The telephone rang and Dakin picked up the receiver. A voice said:
‘Operation Victoria successfully concluded.’
‘Good,’ said Dakin.
‘We’ve got Catherine Serakis and the medico. The other fellow threw himself off the balcony. He’s fatally injured.’
‘The girl’s not hurt?’
‘She fainted – but she’s OK.’
‘No news still of the real A. S.?’
‘No news whatever.’
Dakin laid down the receiver.
At any rate Victoria was all right – Anna herself, he thought, must be dead…She had insisted on playing a lone hand, had reiterated that she would be in Baghdad without fail on the 19th. Today was the 19th and there was no Anna Scheele. Perhaps she had been right not to trust the official set-up – he didn’t know. Certainly there had been leakages – betrayals. But apparently her own native wits had served her no better…
And without Anna Scheele, the evidence was incomplete.
A messenger came in with a piece of paper on which was written Mr Richard Baker and Mrs Pauncefoot Jones.
‘I can’t see anybody now,’ said Dakin. ‘Tell them I am very sorry. I am engaged.’
The messenger withdrew, but presently he returned. He handed Dakin a note.
Dakin tore open the envelope and read:
‘I want to see you about Henry Carmichael. R. B.’
‘Show him in,’ said Dakin.
Presently Richard Baker and Mrs Pauncefoot Jones came in. Richard Baker said:
‘I don’t want to take up your time, but I was at school with a man called Henry Carmichael. We lost sight of each other for many years, but when I was at Basrah a few weeks ago I encountered him in the Consulate waiting-room. He was dressed as an Arab, and without giving any overt sign of recognition, he managed to communicate with me. Does this interest you?’
‘It interests me very much,’ said Dakin.
‘I formed the idea that Carmichael believed himself to be in danger. This was very soon verified. He was attacked by a man with a revolver which I managed to knock up. Carmichael took to his heels but before he went, he slipped something into my pocket which I found later – it didn’t appear to be important – it seems to be just a “chit” – a reference for one Ahmed Mohammed. But I acted on the assumption that to Carmichael