They Came to Baghdad

He paused. ‘You’re not Venetia Savile. Who are you?’

‘I told you who I was the first time I met you,’ said Victoria. ‘I’m Victoria Jones.’

‘Dr Pauncefoot Jones’ niece?’

‘I’m not his niece – but my name is Jones.’

‘You told me a lot of other things.’

‘Yes, I did. And they were all true! But I could see you didn’t believe me. And that made me mad, because though I do tell lies sometimes – in fact quite often – what I’d just told you wasn’t a lie. And so, just to make myself more convincing, I said my name was Pauncefoot Jones – I’ve said that before out here, and it’s always gone down frightfully well. How could I tell you were actually coming to this place?’

‘It must have been a slight shock to you,’ said Richard grimly. ‘You carried it off very well – cool as a cucumber.’

‘Not inside,’ said Victoria. ‘I was absolutely shaking. But I felt that if I waited to explain until I got here – well at any rate I should be safe.’

‘Safe?’ he considered the word. ‘Look here, Victoria, was that incredible rigmarole you told me about being chloroformed really true?’

‘Of course it was true! Don’t you see, if I wanted to make up a story I could make up a much better one than that, and tell it better!’

‘Knowing you a little more closely now, I can see the force of that! But you must admit that, on first hearing, the story was wildly improbable.’

‘But you are willing to think it’s possible now. Why?’

Richard said slowly.

‘Because if, as you say, you were mixed up in Carmichael ’s death – well, then it might be true.’

‘That’s what it all began with,’ said Victoria.

‘You’d better tell me about it.’

Victoria stared at him very hard.

‘I’m wondering,’ she said, ‘if I can trust you.’

‘The boot is on the other leg! Do you realize that I’ve had grave suspicions that you’d planted yourself here under a false name in order to get information out of me? And perhaps that is what you are doing.’

‘Meaning that you know something about Carmichael that They would like to know?’

‘Who exactly are They?’

‘I shall have to tell you all about it,’ said Victoria. ‘There isn’t any other way – and if you are one of Them you know it already, so it doesn’t matter.’

She told him of the night of Carmichael ’s death, of her interview with Mr Dakin, of her journey to Basrah, her employment in the Olive Branch, of Catherine’s hostility, of Dr Rathbone and his warning and of the final denouement, including this time the enigma of the dyed hair. The only things she left out were the red scarf and Madame Defarge.

‘Dr Rathbone?’ Richard seized on that point. ‘You think he’s mixed up in this? Behind it? But my dear girl, he’s a very important man. He’s known all over the world. Subscriptions pour in from all over the globe for his schemes.’

‘Wouldn’t he have to be all those things?’ asked Victoria.

‘I’ve always regarded him as a pompous ass,’ said Richard meditatively.

‘And that’s a very good camouflage, too.’

‘Yes – yes, I suppose it is. Who was Lefarge that you asked me about?’

‘Just another name,’ said Victoria. ‘There’s Anna Scheele, too,’ she said.

‘Anna Scheele? No, I’ve never heard of her.’

‘She’s important,’ said Victoria. ‘But I don’t know exactly how or why. It’s all so mixed up.’

‘Just tell me again,’ said Richard. ‘Who’s the man who started you on to all this?’

‘Edwar – oh, you mean Mr Dakin. He’s in Oil, I think.’

‘Is he a tired, stooping, rather vacant-looking chap?’

‘Yes – but he’s not really. Vacant, I mean.’

‘Doesn’t he drink?’

‘People say so, but I don’t think he does.’

Richard sat back and looked at her.

‘Phillips Oppenheim, William Le Queux and several distinguished imitators since? Is this real? Are you real? And are you the persecuted heroine, or the wicked adventuress?’

Victoria said in a practical manner:

‘The real point is, what are we going to say to Dr Pauncefoot Jones about me?’

‘Nothing,’ said Richard. ‘It won’t be necessary.’

Chapter 21

They started in to Baghdad early. Victoria ’s spirits felt curiously low. She had almost a lump in her throat as she looked back on the Expedition House. However, the acute discomfort entailed in the mad bumping of the lorry effectively distracted her mind from anything but the torture of the moment. It seemed strange to be driving along a so-called road again, passing donkeys and meeting dusty lorries. It took nearly three hours to reach the outskirts of Baghdad. The lorry decanted them at the Tio Hotel and then went off with the cook and the driver to do all the necessary shopping. A large bundle of mail was awaiting Dr Pauncefoot Jones and Richard. Marcus appearing suddenly, massive and beaming, welcomed Victoria with his usual friendly radiance.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘it is a long time since I have seen you. You do not come to my hotel. Not for a week – two weeks. Why is that? You lunch here today, you have everything you want? The baby chickens? The big steak? Only not the turkey stuffed very special with flavouring and rice, because for that you must let me know the day before.’

It seemed clear that as far as the Tio Hotel was concerned, the kidnapping of Victoria had not been noticed. Possibly Edward, on the advice of Mr Dakin, had not been to the police.

‘Is Mr Dakin in Baghdad, do you know, Marcus?’ she asked.

‘Mr Dakin – ah yes, very nice man – of course, he is friend of yours. He was here yesterday – no, day before. And Captain Crosbie, you know him? A friend of Mr Dakin’s. He arrives today from Kermanshah.’

‘You know where Mr Dakin’s office is?’

‘Sure I know. Everybody knows the Iraqi Iranian Oil Co.’

‘Well, I want to go there now. In a taxi. But I want to be sure the taxi knows where to take me.’

‘I tell him myself,’ said Marcus obligingly.

He escorted her to the head of the alleyway and yelled in his usual violent fashion. A startled minion arrived at a run. Marcus commanded him to procure a taxi. Then Victoria was escorted to the taxi and Marcus addressed the driver. Then he stepped back and waved a hand.

‘And I want a room,’ said Victoria. ‘Can I have one?’

‘Yes, yes. I give you a beautiful room and I order you the big steak tonight I have – very special – some caviare. And before that we have a little drink.’

‘Lovely,’ said Victoria. ‘Oh Marcus, can you lend me some money?’

‘Of course, my dear. Here you are. Take all you want.’

The taxi started off with a violent honk and Victoria fell back on the seat clutching an assortment of coins and notes.

Five minutes later Victoria entered the offices of the Iraqi Iranian Oil Co. and asked for Mr Dakin.

Mr Dakin looked up from his desk where he was writing when Victoria was shown in. He rose and shook hands with her in a formal manner.

‘Miss – er – Miss Jones, isn’t it? Bring coffee, Abdullah.’

As the sound-proof door closed behind the clerk, he said quietly: