They Came to Baghdad

‘It did,’ said Victoria. ‘And then on top of it, you come along and ask me if I’m making it all up.’

‘I’m sorry. But you are rather good at making things up. The Bishop of Llangow and all that!’

‘Oh, that was just girlish joie de vivre,’ said Victoria. ‘This is serious, Edward, really serious.’

‘This man, Dakin – is that his name? – impressed you as knowing what he was talking about?’

‘Yes, he was very convincing. But, look here, Edward, how do you know –’

A hail from the balcony interrupted her.

‘Come in – you two – drinks waiting.’

‘Coming,’ called Victoria.

Mrs Clayton, watching them coming towards the steps, said to her husband:

‘There’s something in the wind there! Nice couple of children – probably haven’t got a bean between them. Shall I tell you what I think, Gerald?’

‘Certainly, dear. I’m always interested to hear your ideas.’

‘I think that girl has come out here to join her uncle on his Dig simply and solely because of that young man.’

‘I hardly think so, Rosa. They were quite astonished to see each other.’

‘Pooh!’ said Mrs Clayton. ‘That’s nothing. He was astonished, I dare say.’

Gerald Clayton shook his head at her and smiled.

‘She’s not an archaeological type,’ said Mrs Clayton. ‘They’re usually earnest girls with spectacles – and very often damp hands.’

‘My dear, you can’t generalize in that way.’

‘And intellectual and all that. This girl is an amiable nitwit with a lot of common sense. Quite different. He’s a nice boy. A pity he’s tied up with all this silly Olive Branch stuff – but I suppose jobs are hard to get. They should find jobs for these boys.’

‘It’s not so easy, dear, they do try. But you see, they’ve no training, no experience and usually not much habit of concentration.’

Victoria went to bed that night in a turmoil of mixed feelings.

The object of her quest was attained. Edward was found! She shuddered from the inevitable reaction. Do what she might a feeling of anticlimax persisted.

It was partly Edward’s disbelief that made everything that had happened seem stagy and unreal. She, Victoria Jones, a little London typist, had arrived in Baghdad, had seen a man murdered almost before her eyes, had become a secret agent or something equally melodramatic, and had finally met the man she loved in a tropical garden with palms waving overhead, and in all probability not far from the spot where the original Garden of Eden was said to be situated.

A fragment of a nursery rhyme floated through her head.

How many miles to Babylon?
Threescore and ten,
Can I get there by candlelight?
Yes, and back again.

But she wasn’t back again – she was still in Babylon.

Perhaps she would never get back – she and Edward in Babylon.

Something she had meant to ask Edward – there in the garden. Garden of Eden – she and Edward – Ask Edward – but Mrs Clayton had called – and it had gone out of her head – But she must remember – because it was important – It didn’t make sense – Palms – garden – Edward – Saracen Maiden – Anna Scheele – Rupert Crofton Lee – All wrong somehow – And if only she could remember –

A woman coming towards her along a hotel corridor – a woman in a tailored suit – it was herself – but when the woman got near she saw the face was Catherine’s. Edward and Catherine – absurd! ‘Come with me,’ she said to Edward, ‘we will find M. Lefarge –’ And suddenly there he was, wearing lemon yellow kid gloves and a little pointed black beard.

Edward had gone now and she was alone. She must get back from Babylon before the candles went out.

And we are for the dark.

Who said that? Violence, terror – evil – blood on a ragged khaki tunic. She was running – running – down a hotel corridor. And they were coming after her.

Victoria woke with a gasp.

IV

‘Coffee?’ said Mrs Clayton. ‘How do you like your eggs? Scrambled?’

‘Lovely.’

‘You look rather washed out. Not feeling ill?’

‘No, I didn’t sleep very well last night. I don’t know why. It’s a very comfortable bed.’

‘Turn the wireless on, will you, Gerald? It’s time for the news.’

Edward came in just as the pips were sounding.

‘In the House of Commons last night, the Prime Minister gave fresh details of the cuts in dollar imports.

‘A report from Cairo announces that the body of Sir Rupert Crofton Lee has been taken from the Nile. ( Victoria put down her coffee-cup sharply, and Mrs Clayton uttered an ejaculation.) Sir Rupert left his hotel after arriving by plane from Baghdad, and did not return to it that night. He had been missing for twenty-four hours when his body was recovered. Death was due to a stab wound in the heart and not to drowning. Sir Rupert was a renowned traveller, was famous for his travels through China and Baluchistan and was the author of several books.’

‘Murdered!’ exclaimed Mrs Clayton. ‘I think Cairo is worse than any place now. Did you know anything about all this, Gerry?’

‘I knew he was missing,’ said Mr Clayton. ‘It appears he got a note, brought by hand, and left the hotel in a great hurry on foot without saying where he was going.’

‘You see,’ said Victoria to Edward after breakfast when they were alone together. ‘It is all true. First this man Carmichael and now Sir Rupert Crofton Lee. I feel sorry now I called him a show-off. It seems unkind. All the people who know or guess about this queer business are being got out of the way. Edward, do you think it will be me next?’

‘For Heaven’s sake don’t look so pleased by the idea, Victoria! Your sense of drama is much too strong. I don’t see why any one should eliminate you because you don’t really know anything – but do, please, do, be awfully careful.’

‘We’ll both be careful. I’ve dragged you into it.’

‘Oh, that’s all right. Relieves the monotony.’

‘Yes, but take care of yourself.’ She gave a sudden shiver.

‘It’s rather awful – he was so very much alive – Crofton Lee, I mean – and now he’s dead too. It’s