They Came to Baghdad by Agatha Christie

the women.’ But I say to him: ‘No, my trouble is I like too much Marcus…’” Marcus roared with laughter, breaking off to call out, “Jesus—Jesus!”
    Victoria looked startled, but it appeared that Jesus was the barman’s Christian name. Victoria felt again that the East was an odd place.
    â€œAnother gin and orange, and whisky,” Marcus commanded.
    â€œI don’t think I—”
    â€œYes, yes, you will—they are very very weak.”
    â€œAbout Dr. Rathbone,” persisted Victoria.
    â€œThat Mrs. Hamilton Clipp—what an odd name—with whom you arrive, she is American—is she not? I like also American people but I like English best. American peoples, they look always veryworried. But sometimes, yes, they are good sports. Mr. Summers—you know him?—he drink so much when he come to Baghdad, he go to sleep for three days and not wake up. It is too much that. It is not nice.”
    â€œPlease, do help me,” said Victoria.
    Marcus looked surprised.
    â€œBut of course I help you. I always help my friends. You tell me what you want—and at once it shall be done. Special steak—or turkey cooked very nice with rice and raisins and herbs—or little baby chickens.”
    â€œI don’t want baby chickens,” said Victoria. “At least not now,” she added prudently. “I want to find this Dr. Rathbone. Dr. Rathbone. He’s just arrived in Baghdad. With a—with a—secretary.”
    â€œI do not know,” said Marcus. “He does not stay at the Tio.”
    The implication was clearly that anyone who did not stay at the Tio did not exist for Marcus.
    â€œBut there are other hotels,” persisted Victoria, “or perhaps he has a house?”
    â€œOh yes, there are other hotels. Babylonian Palace, Sennacherib, Zobeide Hotel. They are good hotels, yes, but they are not like the Tio.”
    â€œI’m sure they’re not,” Victoria assured him. “But you don’t know if Dr. Rathbone is staying at one of them? There is some kind of society he runs—something to do with culture—and books.”
    Marcus became quite serious at the mention of culture.
    â€œIt is what we need,” he said. “There must be much culture. Art and music, it is very nice, very nice indeed. I like violin sonatas myself if it is not very long.”
    Whilst thoroughly agreeing with him, especially in regard tothe end of the speech, Victoria realized that she was not getting any nearer to her objective. Conversation with Marcus was, she thought, most entertaining, and Marcus was a charming person in his childlike enthusiasm for life, but conversation with him reminded her of Alice in Wonderland’s endeavours to find a path that led to the hill. Every topic found them returning to the point of departure—Marcus!
    She refused another drink and rose sadly to her feet. She felt slightly giddy. The cocktails had been anything but weak. She went out from the bar on to the terrace outside and stood by the railing looking across the river, when somebody spoke from behind her.
    â€œExcuse me, but you’d better go and put a coat on. Dare say it seems like summer to you coming out from England, but it gets very cold about sundown.”
    It was the Englishwoman who had been talking to Mrs. Clipp earlier. She had the hoarse voice of one who is in the habit of training and calling to sporting dogs. She wore a fur coat, had a rug over her knees and was sipping a whisky and soda.
    â€œOh thank you,” said Victoria and was about to escape hurriedly when her intentions were defeated.
    â€œI must introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Cardew Trench.” (The implication was clearly: one of the Cardew Trenches.) “I believe you arrived with Mrs.—what’s her name—Hamilton Clipp.”
    â€œYes,” said Victoria, “I did.”
    â€œShe told me you were the niece of