"That's all right," said Evan.
He shook Mr. Parker Pyne by the hand and
strode from the office.
He hailed a taxi and gave the address of Janet
Rustington's flat.
He felt in a mood to carry all before him.
'T/e Mystery
of the Bagdad Chest
The words made a catchy headline, and I said as
much to my friend, Hercule Poirot. I knew none
of the parties. My interest was merely the dispas-sionate
one of the man in the street. Poirot agreed.
"Yes, it has a flavor of the Oriental, of the
mysterious. The chest may very well have been a
sham Jacobean one from the Tottenham Court
Road; none the less the reporter who thought of
naming it the Bagdad Chest was happily inspired.
The word 'Mystery' is also thoughtfully placed in
juxtaposition, though I understand there is very
little mystery about the case."
"Exactly. It is all rather horrible and macabre,
but it is not mysterious."
"Horrible and macabre," repeated Poir°t
thoughtfully.
"The whole idea is revolting," I said, rising to
29
30
Agatha Christie
my feet and pacing up and down the room. "The
murderer kills this man--his friend--shoves him