The Baghdad Railway Club(75)

I nodded. ‘What’s the white powder?’

‘Lick it,’ he said.

It was sugar.

‘This tin once held Turkish delight. I suppose that when I walked away from the station holding it, the medallions inside must have . . . rattled about rather. Who started this rumour about me, Jim?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. I was in bother now, for of course there’d be no rumour, just the allegation of Boyd, which might or might not have been leaked.

‘Jarvis,’ I said, since Jarvis was dead.

‘Jarvis?’ said Shepherd, and he looked sidelong for a while. ‘I’d almost counted him a friend.’

‘He didn’t believe it for a minute, sir,’ I added hastily. ‘He said it was a shame you didn’t know about it yourself. Then you’d be able to nail it.’

‘But where did the rumour come from?’ said Shepherd. ‘Where did it originate?’

We both drank our brandies; I was lost for any reply.

‘Wait a bit,’ said Shepherd. ‘Did it come from Boyd? Because he was on the spot; he saw me in the station, saw me coming out.’

I could see that this must be a terrible idea to him: that the man whose murder he was trying to solve should be the source of an evil rumour about him. I shook my head. My shirt was entirely sodden.

‘I really couldn’t say, sir,’ I said.

‘Because if it was known that Boyd was saying those kinds of things about me, and if it was Findlay who did for him, then he might have felt that he could act with impunity.’

I nodded.

‘Since the blame would fall . . . on me.’

He gave a half smile, and a look of wonderment, as though he admired the cleverness of the idea.





Chapter Sixteen


The sun was orange, then red – then it merged with the whiteness of the sky, and set about doing its damage in earnest. I watched it through the window from my bed. It seemed to shake slightly, with the intensity of its hatred of the world.

The night before, I had once again neglected to close the sun shutters. At seven or so, Ahmad had come in with sweet tea, and questions concerning the whereabouts of Jarvis. I had waved him away from behind the mosquito net, and felt bad about it.

I lay in a half doze, and at mid-morning I reached for my bed sheet, and pulled it over. I was shivering – or shaking anyhow – at the same time as sweating. I had got properly ill, and it was almost a relief. I could not think exactly why I was ill‚ but it was what was meant to happen in Baghdad. I would put myself under the doctor – there were plenty of them at the Hotel, and in the hospital by the cavalry barracks – and then there would be someone else making the decisions in my case.

With an effort, I rose from my bed, and closed the sun shutters. Having been almost cold, I was now back to roasting. I lay down again. Was cholera the trouble? I did not think so, since I did not have the runs. I pictured Captain Boyd and Major Findlay at the station. They would have met, judging by the condition of Boyd’s body, on the day before I turned up in Baghdad . . . met at Boyd’s favoured ‘safe place’, the place in which he’d also set up the meeting with me. Well, it was out of the way and yet within easy reach of the ranges where, as a gunner, Boyd might have spent a good deal of his time. In the tea place, there would have been some conflab: ‘You keep away from her, you understand?’ It being impossible to reach agreement, they had started a fight.

I thought of Jarvis. I would write to his parents. ‘I am very sorry to have to tell you . . .’ Ought I to state that he had made away with himself? A man born into the officer class would know that sort of thing automatically. What was the form? Perhaps the adjutant would write in the first place, stating the truth as per the coroners’ courts – that he took his own life while the balance of his mind was disturbed. I would then follow up saying that he had come under great strain from the climate while performing his duties in exemplary fashion. If I myself died before I could write it . . . then at least I wouldn’t have to.

At five, I crawled from under the mosquito net, ate two ginger biscuits and boiled water for tea. I returned to the bed, and rolled up the mosquito net, thinking it was a very ridiculous article. In this town, you might as well try to keep the air off as the mosquitoes.

When the sun began to drop, I dressed, and slowly pursued my way back to the cavalry barracks. I wore my gun. On arrival at the gate, I saw that another gymkhana was in progress. I held out my identity card to the sentry, saying, ‘I want to see Major . . .’

I had meant to confront Findlay, but I knew I wasn’t up to it.

The sentry appeared to be scowling. A horse had broken away from the general criss-crossing of the field, a woman on it. When Miss Bailey saw me beside the gate, she still came on, but with less enthusiasm. I took my cap off.