They Came to Baghdad

‘And then?’

Edward’s eyes looked suddenly into hers.

‘That’s up to you, Victoria.’

‘To me?’

‘You’ll take her place.’

Victoria said slowly:

‘Like Rupert Crofton Lee?’

It was almost a whisper. In the course of that substitution Rupert Crofton Lee had died. And when Victoria took her place, presumably Anna Scheele, or Grete Harden, would die.

And Edward was waiting – and if for one moment Edward doubted her loyalty, then she, Victoria, would die – and die without the possibility of warning any one.

No, she must agree and seize a chance to report to Mr Dakin.

She drew a deep breath and said:

‘I – I – oh, but Edward, I couldn’t do it. I’d be found out. I can’t do an American voice.’

‘Anna Scheele has practically no accent. In any case you will be suffering from laryngitis. One of the best doctors in this part of the world will say so.’

‘They’ve got people everywhere,’ thought Victoria.

‘What would I have to do?’ she asked.

‘Fly from Damascus to Baghdad as Grete Harden. Take to your bed immediately. Be allowed up by our reputable doctor just in time to go to the Conference. There you will lay before them the documents which you have brought with you.’

Victoria asked: ‘The real documents?’

‘Of course not. We shall substitute our version.’

‘What will the documents show?’

Edward smiled.

‘Convincing details of the most stupendous Communist plot in America.’

Victoria thought: ‘How well they’ve got it planned.’

Aloud she said:

‘Do you really think I can get away with it, Edward?’

Now that she was playing a part, it was quite easy for Victoria to ask it with every appearance of anxious sincerity.

‘I’m sure you can. I’ve noticed that your playing of a part affords you such enjoyment that it’s practically impossible to disbelieve you.’

Victoria said meditatively:

‘I still feel an awful fool when I think of the Hamilton Clipps.’

He laughed in a superior way.

Victoria, her face still a mask of adoration, thought to herself viciously. ‘But you were an awful fool, too, to let slip that about the Bishop at Basrah. If you hadn’t I’d never have seen through you.’

She said suddenly: ‘What about Dr Rathbone?’

‘What do you mean “What about him?”’

‘Is he just a figurehead?’

Edward’s lips curved in cruel amusement.

‘Rathbone has got to toe the line. Do you know what he’s been doing all these years? Cleverly appropriating about three-quarters of the subscriptions which pour in from all over the world to his own use. It’s the cleverest swindle since the time of Horatio Bottomley. Oh yes, Rathbone’s completely in our hands – we can expose him at any time and he knows it.’

Victoria felt a sudden gratitude to the old man with the noble domed head, and the mean acquisitive soul. He might be a swindler – but he had known pity – he had tried to get her to escape in time.

‘All things work towards our New Order,’ said Edward.

She thought to herself, ‘Edward, who looks so sane, is really mad! You get mad, perhaps, if you try and act the part of God. They always say humility is a Christian virtue – now I see why. Humility is what keeps you sane and a human being…’

Edward got up.

‘Time to be moving,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to get you to Damascus and our plans there worked out by the day after tomorrow.’

Victoria rose with alacrity. Once she was away from Devonshire, back in Baghdad with its crowds, in the Tio Hotel with Marcus shouting and beaming and offering her a drink, the near persistent menace of Edward would be removed. Her part was to play a double game – continue to fool Edward by a sickly dog-like devotion, and counter his plans secretly.

She said: ‘You think that Mr Dakin knows where Anna Scheele is? Perhaps I could find that out. He might drop some hint.’

‘Unlikely – and in any case, you won’t be seeing Dakin.’

‘He told me to come to see him this evening,’ said Victoria mendaciously, a slightly chilly feeling attacking her spine. ‘He’ll think it odd if I don’t turn up.’

‘It doesn’t matter at this stage what he thinks,’ said Edward. ‘Our plans are made.’ He added, ‘You won’t be seen in Baghdad again.’

‘But Edward, all my things are at the Tio! I’ve booked a room.’

The scarf. The precious scarf.

‘You won’t need your things for some time to come. I’ve got a rig-out waiting for you. Come on.’

They got in the car again. Victoria thought, ‘I ought to have known that Edward would never be such a fool as to let me get in touch with Mr Dakin after I’d found him out. He believes I’m besotted about him – yes, I think he’s sure of that – but all the same he isn’t going to take any chances.’

She said: ‘Won’t there be a search for me if I – don’t turn up?’

‘We’ll attend to that. Officially you’ll say goodbye to me at the bridge and go off to see some friends on the West Bank.’

‘And actually?’

‘Wait and see.’

Victoria sat silent as they bumped over the rough track and twisted round palm gardens and over the little irrigation bridges.

‘Lefarge,’ murmured Edward. ‘I wish we knew what Carmichael meant by that.’

Victoria ’s heart gave a leap of anxiety.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I forgot to tell you. I don’t know if it means anything. A M. Lefarge came to the Excavations one day at Tell Aswad.’

‘What?’ Edward almost stalled the car in his excitement. ‘When was this?’

‘Oh! About a week ago. He said he came from some Dig in Syria. M. Parrot’s, would it be?’

‘Did two men called Andrй and Juvet come while you were there?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Victoria. ‘One of them had a sick stomach. He went to the house and lay down.’

‘They were two of our people,’ said Edward.

‘Why did they come here? To look for me?’

‘No – I’d no idea where you were. But Richard Baker was in Basrah at the same time as Carmichael. We had an idea Carmichael might have passed something on to Baker.’

‘He said his things had been searched. Did they find anything?’

‘No – now think carefully, Victoria. Did this man Lefarge come before the other two or afterwards?’

Victoria reflected in a convincing manner, as she decided what movements to impute to the mythical M. Lefarge.

‘It was – yes, the day before the other two came,’ she said.

‘What did he do?’

‘Well,’ said Victoria, ‘he went over the Dig – with Dr Pauncefoot Jones. And then Richard Baker took him