Chapter 9 Chapter nine

Mr. Shrivingham, a young man from the British embassy, ​​stood on the Baghdad airport, his feet constantly changing positions, and he looked up at the steeply climbing planes in the sky.At the moment, the dust is blowing, and palm trees, houses and people are drowned in thick brown smoke.The smoke came very suddenly. Leo Neil Shrivingham said in a very worried tone: "Nine times out of ten they won't be able to land here." "What then?" asked his friend Herold. "I reckon I'll fly to Basra. I hear it's going to be fine weather there." "Are you waiting for some big shot?"

Young Mr Shrivingham snorted again. "This is my fate. The arrival of the new ambassador has been postponed, Counselor Lansdowne is at home, Counselor for Eastern Affairs Les has gastritis, a high fever, and is bedridden, and Baxter is in Tehran. I have to deal with it. Yes. When this man is mentioned, everyone gets excited, I don't know why. Even the young people who are engaged in secret activities are so excited. He is a world traveler, often going out, riding camels to places that are rarely seen I can't see why he is so important. But obviously, he is not a person who can be offended at all. Whatever he asks, even the most trivial request, I have to meet him. If the plane sends him to He'd go to the bus, he'd be mad with rage. I don't know what to arrange. Is there a train coming this evening? If not, how about an RAF plane flying him back tomorrow?"

Shrivingham, more and more aware of his emotional wounds and the weight of his responsibility, sighed again.Since arriving in Baghdad three months ago, he has been unlucky.Diplomatic work could have been a very promising career.But he felt that if he was mocked again, all would be for naught. The plane swooped down again overhead. "Obviously, it's not going to land," Shrivingham said.But then he added, "Hey, I believe it's going to land." A few minutes later, the plane slid smoothly to the designated location.Shrivingham stood there, ready to step forward to meet the great man.

His very amateurish eyes first noticed "a very pretty girl."Then he hurried forward to meet the adventurer-like figure in the wind-blowing cloak. "Fantasy attire," he thought with disapproval, and said aloud: "Sir Rupert Croft Lee? I am Shrivingham of the embassy." He thought Sir Rupert looked a little rough and rude--perhaps that was understandable, since the plane had circled the city several times, not knowing if it would land, and people must have felt nervous and tired. "Nasty weather," continued Shrivingham, "many times this year. Oh, you've got your luggage down. Come with me, sir, it's all arranged. . . . "

As they drove away from the airport, Shrivingham said: "I really thought just now that the plane would land at another airport. I really didn't see that the pilot could land the plane down. The dust storm came suddenly." Rupert puffed up his cheeks and said: "That would be bad--too bad. Young man, if my plans were to be spoiled, I can tell you that the consequences would be very serious, and the consequences would be very far-reaching." "Pretty," thought Shrivingham, disrespectfully. "These big men think they can turn the world around with their little things."

He said aloud very politely: "I think so, sir." "Do you know when the ambassador arrives in Baghdad?" "Not yet, sir." "It would be a pity not to see him. Haven't seen him since—I think, ah, since we met in India in 1938—"! Shrivingham, who had always been respectful, did not answer at this time. "Let me think about it, Les is here, isn't it?" "Yes, sir, he is Counselor for Oriental Affairs." "This man is very capable and knowledgeable. I am very happy to meet him again." Shrevenham coughed a few times.

"Actually, sir, Rice is ill. He's been taken to the hospital for observation. He's got severe gastritis, which seems to be worse than the usual Baghdad diarrhea." "What?" asked Sir Rupert, turning his head immediately. "Severe gastritis. It happened suddenly, didn't it?" "The day before yesterday, sir." Sir Rupert frowned.His air of artificial exaggeration was gone.He became much simpler--and looked a little worried. "Strange," he said, "yes, strange." Shrivingham looked polite but puzzled. "I was wondering," said Sir Rupert, "that it might be copper arsenite that causes the disease..."

Shree Venham felt bewildered and remained silent. When the car is about to reach the Faisal Bridge, turn left and drive towards the British Embassy. Sir Rupert leaned forward suddenly. "Stop a minute, will you?" he said loudly. "Yes, turn to the right and drive up to the pile of clay pots." The car came to a stop on the right side of the road. This is a small local shop with piles of crude earthenware pots and jugs. A stocky, short-built European was standing talking to the shopkeeper.As soon as the car came, he walked towards the bridge.This was Crosby of the Iranian Persian Oil Company, thought Shrivingham, whom he had met once or twice in the past.

Sir Rupert got out of the car and walked towards the little shop.He picked up a clay pot and immediately began talking to the shopkeeper in Arabic.Their Arabic was too fast for Shrivingham.His own Arabic was still spoken slowly and with difficulty, and his vocabulary was clearly limited. The shopkeeper was all smiles, with his hands outstretched, gesticulating, and constantly explaining.Sir Rupert looked at the clay pots, put this down, picked up that, obviously asking some question.Finally, he selected a small pitcher, tossed a few coins to the shopkeeper, and returned to the car. Sir Rupert said, "This kind of handicraft is very interesting. It has a history of thousands of years, and it is exactly the same as a product in a mountainous area in Armenia."

His fingers slipped through the narrow mouth of the jug, feeling around. "Roughly done," said Shrivingham disinterestedly. "Oh, no artistic value! But there is historical significance. Do you know the significance of these ear-like things? There are many things of historical significance that can be gleaned from the ordinary things of daily life. I have already Collected a lot." The car drove into the gate of the British embassy. Sir Rupert asked to be taken directly to his own chambers.He's done talking about the jug, and he's left it carelessly in the car.Shrivingham found it very amused, and carried the jug upstairs, where it was placed carefully beside Sir Rupert's bedside table.

"Sir, your clay pot." "Huh? Ah, thank you, young man." Sir Rupert looked a little absent-minded.Shrivingham told him that lunch would be ready soon, and that he would be asked to choose what wine to drink, and then left the room. As soon as the young man left the room, Sir Rupert went to the bed, opened the little note which had been taken from the clay pot, and stretched it out flat.There are two lines of writing on it.After he read it carefully, he struck a match and burned it. Then he called a servant. "Sir, what can you do? Unpack for you?" "Not busy. I want to see Shrivingham—see him here." Shrivingham came, looking a little worried. "What's the matter, sir? Has something happened?" "Mr. Shrivingham, my plans have changed a lot. Of course, I can trust you to be very prudent, aren't you?" "Oh, exactly, sir." "It's been a long time since I was last in Baghdad. In fact, I haven't been here since the Great War. Hotels are mostly on the river side?" "Yes, sir, on Rashid Street." "The back of the hotel is right next to the Tigris River?" "Yes. The Babylon Palace Hotel is so large that it is almost a state guest house." "How about Theo Hotel?" "Oh, a lot of people would like to live there. The food is good. The manager is a very capable man. His name is Marcus Theo. He has been running a hotel in Baghdad for many years." "I want you to book me a room there. Mr Shrivingham." "You mean——you don't plan to live in the embassy anymore?" Shrivingham was a little nervous and worried. "But—but—it's all arranged, sir." "Arrangements can be canceled," cried Sir Rupert. "Oh, of course, I didn't mean—" Shrevenham stopped suddenly.He had a premonition that someone would blame him in the future. "I want to discuss a somewhat difficult matter with someone. I now know that it is inconvenient to conduct negotiations in the embassy. I want you to book me a room at the Hotel Tio this evening. I hope that when I leave the embassy, ​​there will be no trouble Note, that is, I don't want to take the embassy's car to the Tio Hotel. I have to book a ticket to Cairo the day after tomorrow." Shrevenham was even more astonished. "But I know you intended to stay five days—" "The situation has changed now. As soon as I finish my business here, I have to go to Cairo. It is not safe for me to stay here for a long time." "Not safe?" Sir Rupert gave a sudden grin, and his facial expression changed noticeably.Shrivingham has compared him to a drill sergeant in the Prussian army.But now, that look is gone forever, and it is obvious that this person is very attractive. "I agree, I don't have a preconceived notion that I think about safety in everything," he said, "but, in this situation, I'm not just thinking about my personal safety. My personal safety, The safety of many people is involved. So, you have to do these things for me. If it is difficult to book a ticket, apply for special accommodation. I am going to stay in my room before I leave here tonight." Seeing Shrivingham open his mouth in amazement to say something, he went on, "Officially, I'm sick with malaria." The other nodded. "So, I don't eat anything." "But of course we can send the meal to you—" "Twenty-four hours without food is nothing to me. I have sometimes been starving longer than that when traveling. Do as I tell you." Shrevenham came downstairs.Colleagues greeted him and asked about Sir Rupert. He couldn't answer, but just sighed. "Totally spy-like," he said. "I don't know what this blustery Sir Rupert Crofton Lee is all about. Whether it's real or just a show." , wind-blowing cloaks, bandit hats, and all that stuff. One guy read a book he wrote. He told me that while Rupert the richer likes to brag about himself, he actually did those things. , and did go to those places--but I don't know . . . I hope Thomas Rice gets well enough to attend to him. I remember, what's copper arsenite?" "Copper arsenite?" said his friend, frowning. "It's used for wallpapering, isn't it? It's poisonous. I think it's arsenic." "Coribos!" said Shrivingham, staring at him. "I think it's a disease, like amoebic dysentery." "Call, it's not the name of a disease, it's a chemical substance. It's used when wives murder their husbands. Of course, husbands can also use it when they murder their wives." Shrevenham was shocked and fell silent.He gradually came to understand certain contradictory facts.Crofton Lee actually believed that Thomas Rice, Counselor for Oriental Affairs at the embassy, ​​was not suffering from gastritis but arsenic poisoning.Considering, too, that Sir Rupert considered his own life to be in danger, and that his decision not to use the meals and drinks prepared in the kitchens of the British Embassy touched the simple soul of Shrivingham, he could not have imagined , what is going on in all this.