Parker Pyne Investigates by Agatha Christie
‘Which shows the superiority of the West over the East,’ said Blundell. ‘When these poor creatures get education–’
Sir Donald entered languidly into the conversation. ‘Education is rather rot, you know. Teaches fellows a lot of useless things. And what I mean is, nothing alters what you are.’
‘You mean?’
‘Well, what I mean to say is, for instance, once a thief, always a thief.’
There was a dead silence for a moment. Then Carol began talking feverishly about mosquitoes, and her father backed her up.
Sir Donald, a little puzzled, murmured to his neighbour, Mr Parker Pyne: ‘Seems I dropped a brick, what?’
‘Curious,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
Whatever momentary embarrassment had been caused, one person had quite failed to notice it. The archaeologist had sat silent, his eyes dreamy and abstracted. When a pause came, he spoke suddenly and abruptly.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘I agree with that–at any rate, from the opposite point of view. A man’s fundamentally honest, or he isn’t. You can’t get away from it.’
‘You don’t believe that sudden temptation, for instance, will turn an honest man into a criminal?’ asked Mr Parker Pyne.
‘Impossible!’ said Carver.
Mr Parker Pyne shook his head gently. ‘I wouldn’t say impossible. You see, there are so many factors to take into account. There’s the breaking point, for instance.’
‘What do you call the breaking point?’ asked young Hurst, speaking for the first time. He had a deep, rather attractive voice.
‘The brain is adjusted to carry so much weight. The thing that precipitates the crisis–that turns an honest man into a dishonest one–may be a mere trifle. That is why most crimes are absurd. The cause, nine times out of ten, is that trifle of overweight–the straw that breaks the camel’s back.’
‘It is the psychology you talk there, my friend,’ said the Frenchman.
‘If a criminal were a psychologist, what a criminal he could be!’ said Mr Parker Pyne. His voice dwelt lovingly on the idea. ‘When you think that of ten people you meet, at least nine of them can be induced to act in any way you please by applying the right stimulus.’
‘Oh, explain that!’ cried Carol.
‘There’s the bullyable man. Shout loud enough at him–and he obeys. There’s the contradictory man. Bully him the opposite way from the way in which you want him to go. Then there’s the suggestible person, the commonest type of all. Those are the people who have seen a motor, because they have heard a motor horn; who see a postman because they hear the rattle of the letter-box; who see a knife in a wound because they are told a man has been stabbed; or who will have heard the pistol if they are told a man has been shot.’
‘I guess no one could put that sort of stuff over on me,’ said Carol incredulously.
‘You’re too smart for that, honey,’ said her father.
‘It is very true what you say,’ said the Frenchman reflectively. ‘The preconceived idea, it deceives the senses.’
Carol yawned. ‘I’m going to my cave. I’m tired to death. Abbas Effendi said we had to start early tomorrow. He’s going to take us up to the place of sacrifice–whatever that is.’
‘It is where they sacrifice young and beautiful girls,’ said Sir Donald.
‘Mercy, I hope not! Well, goodnight, all. Oh, I’ve dropped my earring.’
Colonel Dubosc picked it up from where it had rolled across the table and returned it to her.
‘Are they real?’ asked Sir Donald abruptly. Discourteous for the moment, he was staring at the two large solitaire pearls in her ears.
‘They’re real all right,’ said Carol.
‘Cost me eighty thousand dollars,’ said her father with relish. ‘And she screws them in so loosely that they fall off and roll about the table. Want to ruin me, girl?’
‘I’d say it wouldn’t ruin you even if you had to buy me a new pair,’ said Carol fondly.
‘I guess it wouldn’t,’ her father acquiesced. ‘I could buy you three pairs of earrings without noticing it in my bank balance.’ He looked proudly around.
‘How nice for you!’ said Sir Donald.
‘Well, gentlemen, I think I’ll turn in now,’ said Blundell. ‘Good-night.’ Young Hurst went with him.
The other four smiled at one another, as though in sympathy over some thought.
‘Well,’ drawled Sir Donald, ‘it’s nice to know he wouldn’t miss the money. Purse-proud hog!’ he added viciously.
‘They have too much money, these Americans,’ said Dubosc.
‘It is difficult,’ said Mr Parker Pyne gently, ‘for a rich man to be appreciated by the poor.’
Dubosc laughed. ‘Envy and malice?’ he suggested. ‘You are right, Monsieur. We all wish to be rich; to buy the pearl earrings several times over. Except, perhaps, Monsieur here.’
He bowed to Doctor Carver who, as seemed usual with him, was once more far away. He was fiddling with a little object in his hand.
‘Eh?’ he roused himself. ‘No, I must admit I don’t covet large pearls. Money is always useful, of course.’ His tone put it where it belonged. ‘But look at this,’ he said. ‘Here is something a hundred times more interesting than pearls.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a cylinder seal of black haematite and it’s got a presentation scene engraved on it–a god introducing a suppliant to a more enthroned god. The suppliant is carrying a kid by way of an offering, and the august god on the throne has the flies kept off him by a flunkey who wields a palm-branch fly whisk. That neat inscription mentions the man as a servant of Hammurabi, so that it must have been made just four thousand years ago.’
He took a lump of Plasticine from his pocket and smeared some on the table, then he oiled it with a little vaseline and pressed the seal upon it, rolling it out. Then, with a penknife, he detached a square of the Plasticine and levered it gently up from the table.
‘You see?’ he said.
The scene he had described was unrolled before them in the Plasticine, clear and sharply defined.
For a moment the spell of the past was laid upon them all. Then, from outside, the voice of Mr Blundell was raised unmusically.
‘Say, you niggers! Change my baggage out of this darned cave and into a tent! The no-see-ums are biting good and hard. I shan’t get a wink of sleep.’
‘No-see-ums?’ Sir Donald queried.
‘Probably sand flies,’ said Doctor Carver.
‘I like no-see-ums,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘It’s a much more suggestive name.’
II
The party started early the following morning, getting under way after various exclamations at the colour and marking of the rocks. The ‘rose-red’ city was indeed a freak invented by Nature in her most extravagant and colourful mood. The party proceeded slowly, since Doctor Carver walked with his eyes bent on the ground, occasionally pausing to pick up small objects.
‘You can always tell an archaeologist–so,’ said Colonel Dubosc, smiling. ‘He regards never the sky, nor the hills, nor the beauties of nature. He walks with head bent, searching.’
‘Yes, but what for?’ said Carol. ‘What are the things you are picking up, Doctor Carver?’
With a slight smile the archaeologist held out a couple of muddy fragments of pottery.
‘That rubbish!’ cried Carol scornfully.
‘Pottery is more interesting than gold,’ said Doctor Carver. Carol looked disbelieving.
They came to a sharp bend and passed two or three rockcut tombs. The ascent was somewhat trying. The Bedouin guards went ahead, swinging up the precipitous slopes unconcernedly, without a downward glance at the sheer drop on one side of them.
Carol looked rather pale. One guard leaned down from above and extended a hand. Hurst sprang up in front of her and held out his stick like a rail on the precipitous side. She thanked him with a glance, and a minute later stood safely on a broad path of rock. The others followed slowly.
At last they reached a broad plateau almost at the top. An easy climb led to the summit of a big square block of rock. Blundell signified to the guide that the party would go up alone. The Bedouins disposed themselves comfortably against the rocks and began to smoke. A few short minutes and the others had reached the summit.
It was a curious, bare place. The view was marvellous, embracing the valley on every side. They stood on a plain rectangular floor, with rock basins cut in the side and a kind of sacrificial altar.
‘A heavenly place for sacrifices,’ said Carol with enthusiasm. ‘But my, they must have had a time getting the victims up here!’
‘There was originally a kind of zigzag rock road,’ explained Doctor Carver. ‘We shall see traces of it as we go down the other way.’
They were some time longer commenting and talking. Then there was a tiny chink, and Doctor Carver said: ‘I believe you dropped your earring again, Miss Blundell.’
Carol clapped a hand to her ear. ‘Why, so I have.’
Dubosc and Hurst began searching about.
‘It must be just here,’ said the Frenchman. ‘It can’t have rolled away, because there is nowhere for it to roll to. The place is like a square box.’
‘It can’t have rolled into a crack?’ queried Carol.
‘There’s not a crack anywhere,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘You can see for yourself. The place is perfectly smooth. Ah, you have found something, Colonel?’
‘Only a little pebble,’ said Dubosc, smiling and throwing it away.
Gradually a different spirit–a spirit of tension–came over the search. They were not said aloud, but the words ‘eighty thousand dollars’ were present in everybody’s mind.
‘You are sure you had it, Carol?’ snapped her father. ‘I mean, perhaps you dropped it on the way up.’
‘I had it just as we stepped on to the plateau here,’ said Carol. ‘I know, because Doctor Carver pointed out to me that it was loose and he screwed it up for me. That’s so, isn’t it, Doctor?’
Doctor Carver assented. It was Sir Donald who voiced the thoughts in everybody’s mind.
‘This is a rather unpleasant business, Mr Blundell,’ he said. ‘You were telling us last night what the value of these earrings is. One of them alone is worth a small fortune. If this earring is not found, and it does not look as though it will be found, every one of us will be under a certain suspicion.’
‘And for one, I ask to be searched,’ broke in Colonel Dubosc. ‘I do not ask, I demand it as a right!’
‘You search me too,’ said Hurst. His voice sounded harsh.
‘What does everyone else feel?’ asked Sir Donald, looking around.
‘Certainly,’ said Mr Parker Pyne.
‘An excellent idea,’ said Doctor Carver.
‘I’ll be in on this too, gentlemen,’ said Mr Blundell. ‘I’ve got my reasons, though I don’t want to stress them.’
‘Just as you like, of course, Mr Blundell,’ said Sir Donald courteously.
‘Carol, my dear, will you go down and wait with the guides?’
Without a word the girl left them. Her face was set and grim. There was a despairing look upon it that caught the attention of one member of the party, at least. He wondered just what it meant.
The search proceeded. It was drastic and thorough–and completely unsatisfactory. One thing was certain. No one was carrying the earring on his person. It was a subdued little troop that negotiated the descent and listened half-heartedly to the guide’s descriptions and information.
Mr Parker Pyne had just finished dressing for lunch when a figure appeared at the door of his tent.
‘Mr Pyne, may I come in?’
‘Certainly, my dear young lady, certainly.’
Carol came in and sat down on the bed. Her face had the same grim look upon it that he had noticed earlier in the day.
‘You pretend to straighten out things for people when they are unhappy, don’t you?’ she demanded.
‘I am on holiday, Miss Blundell. I am not taking any cases.’
‘Well, you’re going to take this one,’ said the girl calmly. ‘Look here, Mr Pyne, I’m just as wretched as anyone could well be.’
‘What is troubling you?’ he asked. ‘Is it the business of the earring?’
‘That’s just it. You’ve said enough. Jim Hurst didn’t take it, Mr Pyne. I know he didn’t.’
‘I don’t quite follow you, Miss Blundell. Why should anyone assume he had?’
‘Because of his record. Jim Hurst was once a thief, Mr Pyne. He was caught in our house. I–I was sorry for him. He looked so young and desperate–’
‘And so good-looking,’ thought Mr Parker Pyne.
‘I persuaded Pop to give him a chance to make good. My father will do anything for me. Well, he gave Jim his chance and Jim has made good. Father’s come to rely on him and to trust him with all his business secrets. And in the end he’ll come around altogether, or would have if this hadn’t happened.’
‘When you say “come around”–?’
‘I mean that I want to marry Jim and he wants to marry me.’
‘And Sir Donald?’
‘Sir Donald is Father’s idea. He’s not mine. Do you think I want to marry a stuffed fish like Sir Donald?’
Without expressing any views as to this description of the young Englishman, Mr Parker Pyne asked: ‘And Sir Donald himself?’
‘I dare say he thinks I’d be good for his impoverished acres,’ said Carol scornfully.
Mr Parker Pyne considered the situation. ‘I should like to ask you about two things,’ he said. ‘Last night the remark was made “once a thief, always a thief”.’
The girl nodded.
‘I see now the reason for the embarrassment that remark seemed to cause.’
‘Yes, it was awkward for Jim–and for me and Pop too. I was so afraid Jim’s face would show something that I just trotted out the first remarks I could think of.’
Mr Parker Pyne nodded thoughtfully. Then he asked: ‘Just why did your father insist on being searched today?’
‘You didn’t get that? I did. Pop had it in his mind that I might think the whole business was a frame-up against Jim. You see, he’s crazy for me to marry the Englishman. Well, he wanted to show me that he hadn’t done the dirty on Jim.’
‘Dear me,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, ‘this is all very illuminating. In a general sense, I mean. It hardly helps us in our particular inquiry.’
‘You’re not going to hand in your checks?’
‘No, no.’ He was silent a moment, then he said: ‘What is it exactly you want me to do, Miss Carol?’
‘Prove it wasn’t Jim who took that pearl.’
‘And suppose–excuse me–that it was?’
‘If you think so, you’re wrong–dead wrong.’
‘Yes, but have you really considered the case carefully? Don’t you think the pearl might prove a sudden temptation to Mr Hurst. The sale of it would bring in a large sum of money–a foundation on which to speculate, shall we say?–which will make him independent, so that he can marry you with or without your father’s consent.’
‘Jim didn’t do it,’ said the girl simply.
This time Mr Parker Pyne accepted her statement. ‘Well, I’ll do my best.’
She nodded abruptly and left the tent. Mr Parker Pyne in his turn sat down on the bed. He gave himself up to thought. Suddenly, he chuckled.
‘I’m growing slow-witted,’ he said aloud. At lunch he was very cheerful.
The afternoon passed peacefully. Most people slept. When Mr Parker Pyne came into the big tent at a quarter-past four only Doctor Carver was there. He was examining some fragments of pottery.
‘Ah!’ said Mr Parker Pyne, drawing up a chair to the table. ‘Just the man I want to see. Can you let me have that bit of Plasticine you carry about?’
The doctor felt in his pockets and produced a stick of Plasticine, which he offere
‘No,’ said Mr Parker Pyne, waving it away, ‘that’s not the one I want. I want that lump you had last night. To be frank, it’s not the Plasticine I want. It’s the contents of it.’
There was a pause, and then Doctor Carver said quietly, ‘I don’t think I quite understand you.’
‘I think you do,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘I want Miss Blundell’s pearl earring.’
There was a minute’s dead silence. Then Carver slipped his hand into his pocket and took out a shapeless lump of Plasticine.
‘Clever of you,’ he said. His face was expressionless.
‘I wish you’d tell me about it,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. His fingers were busy. With a grunt, he extracted a somewhat smeared pearl earring. ‘Just curiosity, I know,’ he added apologetically. ‘But I should like to hear about it.’
‘I’ll tell you,’ said Carver, ‘if you’ll tell me just how you happened to pitch upon me. You didn’t see anything, did you?’
Mr Parker Pyne shook his head. ‘I just thought about it,’ he said.
‘It was really sheer accident, to start with,’ said Carver. ‘I was behind you all this morning and I came across it lying in front of me–it must have fallen from the girl’s ear a moment before. She hadn’t noticed it. Nobody had. I picked it up and put it into my pocket, meaning to return it to her as soon as I caught her up. But I forgot.
‘And then, half-way up that climb, I began to think. The jewel meant nothing to that fool of a girl–her father would buy her another without noticing the cost. And it would mean a lot to me. The sale of that pearl would equip an expedition.’ His impassive face suddenly twitched and came to life. ‘Do you know the difficulty there is nowadays in raising subscriptions for digging? No, you don’t. The sale of that pearl would make everything easy. There’s a site I want to dig–up in Baluchistan. There’s a whole chapter of the past there waiting to be discovered…
‘What you said last night came into my mind–about a suggestible witness. I thought the girl was that type. As we reached the summit I told her her earring was loose. I pretended to tighten it. What I really did was to press the point of a small pencil into her ear. A few minutes later I dropped a little pebble. She was quite ready to swear then that the earring had been in her ear and had just dropped off. In the meantime I pressed the pearl into a lump of Plasticine in my pocket. That’s my story. Not a very edifying one. Now for your turn.’