Death in Damascus: A 1920s Murder Mystery with Heathcliff Lennox

by Karen Baugh Menuhin

  I heard them scrambling to line up ready to descend.

  ‘Fontaine…’ I began.

  ‘You really are most persistent, Major.’ He nodded his head toward me, then turned to Swift. ‘Inspector, and of course, the charmante Mademoiselle Carruthers.’ He made a neat bow in her direction.

  I ran fingers through my hair to try to dislodge the dust but that made it worse because it was stickily wet from my dunking in the canal.

  ‘Fontaine…’ I began again but didn’t get very far.

  ‘Charles!’ Persi shouted in shock.

  A tall, slim man had lowered himself through the hole in the ceiling. He wore a near immaculate linen suit with a pale tie and a blue silk handkerchief folded precisely in the top pocket. He smiled, strode two steps to Persi and picked her up in his arms to swing her around, laughing as he did.

  Langton! And he didn’t look to be anywhere near death’s door.

  ‘But… but Charles,’ she stuttered, ‘you’re fine. I thought you were in prison. They said you were held in the cells below the citadel. They said you were terribly ill and weakening by the day.’

  Langton frowned. ‘Rather an exaggeration by the Frogs, darling girl. I think they were pulling your strings.’

  ‘But where have you been?’ she almost wailed, aghast at his perfectly fit appearance and the realisation she had been duped.

  ‘Held at Fontaine’s leisure in the old Embassy building. Impossible to get any word out; he had me under lock and key.’ He smiled at her with perfect teeth in a smooth handsome face. He had dark eyes under thick black hair, only lightly layered by the dust now settling around us.

  ‘You damned…’ I growled and took a step toward him.

  ‘No,’ Persi rushed forward to hold me back.

  ‘Lennox,’ Swift warned.

  ‘Ah, you must be Persi’s hero, the fabulous flying Major. Fontaine’s told me all about you.’ Langton made an extravagant bow. ‘Well done, old chap! Bravo.’

  I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or not and I glowered at him while water dripped down my face.

  Persi looked up at me with pleading eyes. ‘I’m so dreadfully sorry. I never would have called Swift had I known. Oh, and you’ve come such a long way…’ Her lips trembled as she bit back a sob.

  I put a hand out to gather her to me but her temper suddenly flared and she spun around to confront Langton.

  ‘What are you doing here, Charles? Are you helping them?’ Her eyes flashed in fury.

  ‘Mademoiselle,’ Fontaine addressed her, ‘we have brought Monsieur Langton here because the instructions from Lady Maitland were incomprehensible. He only agreed to help when we informed him we were holding you under arrest.’

  ‘Yes, exactly, darling.’ Langton took a step closer to her. ‘He unlocked my room, told me to get a move on. He said I had to co-operate or he’d prosecute you and I for conspiracy to murder. Then he handed me a paper written in Phoenician’

  ‘I don’t believe a damn word of it.’ I growled.

  Persi cut in. ‘It’s true, Charles is an archaeologist too, Lennox. That’s how we met, it was before the war.’ Her eyes flicked between Langton and I.

  She called me Lennox. I watched her and my heart sank.

  ‘Right, well damn it!’ I would have sworn a lot worse if Persi hadn’t been present. ‘Come on, Swift. We may as well go.’

  ‘One moment,’ Fontaine held up his gloved hand. ‘I’m afraid we cannot allow anyone to leave until we have the map.’

  ‘What map?’ I demanded.

  ‘The map of Hanno the Navigator, of course,’ Fontaine replied. ‘Where is it?’

  Silence fell as we realised there wasn’t an image of a map anywhere in the room.

  ‘I was assured it would be here,’ Fontaine frowned, a note of warning in his voice.

  ‘Fontaine,’ I said. ‘I will tell you where it is, if you give your word to drop all charges against Miss Carruthers and let us leave.’

  All attention switched to me as a hush fell.

  Fontaine came over, his leather boots scuffing the sand. ‘You know the whereabouts of the map, Major?’

  ‘Your word, Fontaine,’ I demanded.

  ‘If you provide the map, then yes,’ he replied. ‘But, I will not allow a murderer to go free.’

  ‘Nor will I,’ I said. ‘Do I have your word?’

  ‘You have my word of honour,’ he agreed.

  ‘Very well,’ I said and scraped my shoe to push the clumps of wet sand away from under my feet. ‘It’s here.’

  He looked down. As the water had dripped from my clothes and boots into the sand I had caught a glimpse of colour and thought it could be a mosaic floor. I had gambled it was his map.

  Swift laughed quietly as Fontaine rapped out orders in French. Two more men dropped through the hole in the ceiling armed with small collapsible spades. They began shovelling the sand and depositing it out of the windows.

  Swift came to stand beside me. ‘Well done, Lennox.’ He gave me a grin.

  ‘I still don’t understand why they are all so keen on it,’ I replied, watching the men at work.

  ‘We’d better ask Persi.’ He looked in her direction, she was pushing sand aside with her hands to reveal a section of detailed map. I could make out red and black lines crossing blue seas and green coloured coasts decorated with palm trees. As Persi and the men shovelled, more images appeared; there were towers and castles representing ancient towns and cities. Ports appeared illustrated with tiny ships and even lighthouses. It was as fascinating as the images on the walls and almost as detailed.

  ‘Persi,’ I called.

  She stopped. ’Oh, I am sorry.’ She stood up and came to join us. ‘Everything seems to be happening so quickly it’s all quite confusing.’

  ‘Persi, will you please tell us why this map is so important.’ I asked.

  She looked up at me and smiled. ‘It’s quite simple, darling. It’s oil.’

  Chapter 22

  ‘What!’ I exclaimed.

  Persi laughed. ‘The Phoenicians traded oil, or rather asphaltum, as it was called. They bought it from desert tribes who gathered it from tar seeps.’

  ‘Petroleum!’ Swift exclaimed. ‘So that’s it! Good God, of course! The governments want to find the source of the asphaltum because there could be oil fields in the desert.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said, realising the importance at last, then thinking how remarkable it was that a map over two thousand years old could hold such valuable knowledge.

  ‘Ici,’ Fontaine was shouting at his men, shovelling the sand away as quickly as possible. He was pointing at the floor in the centre of the room.

  I raised my brows in question to Persi, as we watched the frantic activity.

  ‘It’s the part of the map covering Syria,’ she half whispered. ‘They’re looking for reserves in territory under French control.’

  Langton had gone to another part of the room and was pushing sand aside with his shoes.

  ‘And he’s looking in British territory?’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘Neither of them seem to be having much luck.’

  ‘What do you think the oil seeps will look like?’ Swift asked her, watching as carefully as we were.

  ‘Like the black stones in the medallion,’ Persi replied.

  ‘Oh, so that’s what they were!’ I realised. ‘Good Lord, it’s all rather clever.’

  Persi smiled. ‘It is, isn’t it.’

  I turned my gaze from the men shifting sand to regard her, and wondered just how much she already knew.

  ‘Erm, Persi,’ Swift began. ‘Perhaps you could explain the lines and symbols?’ He had tugged his notebook out of his pocket and was poised with pen, ready to make notes.

  ‘Of course,’ her face lit up, she was delighted to discuss an
cient history. ‘Hanno was an explorer and he made this map showing all the countries known to the Phoenician people. He also included the origins of the traded goods and the routes along which they passed. Look – that’s Damascus.’ She pointed to where Fontaine was standing, I could see an image in the mosaic similar to the ‘dead camel’ on the medallion. ‘And the red line running west is the trade route from Damascus to the Phoenician ports of Tyre, Byblos and Sidon. From there they would have crossed the Mediterranean to Rome, Greece and Europe, which we should see once the sand has been removed from those areas.’

  She stepped across to the other side of the room away from the shovelling French. ‘Now, if you follow the red line travelling east…’ She pointed to the bright mosaic tiles leaving Damascus. ‘…it leads to Babylon – which is this collection of towers here.’

  She knelt and placed a finger on the spot, then began brushing sand away where it still lay untouched. ‘Babylon was the terminus of the Silk Road. You can see how the red line continues eastwards, it would have gone all the way to China. But, what is more important is…’ She leaned forward, strands of blonde hair escaping her bun as she swept more sand aside with her hands, ‘…this black line running south out of Babylon and down to the Persian Gulf. You can see here how the route is shown running through the Gulf, which would be the track taken by trading ships, as they went from one port to another. This is Kuwait and, if you look further south, there’s a port called Gerrah.’ She pointed to a city motif on the West coast, then continued, ‘It’s a fabled city, said to be one of the richest of antiquity.’

  She was still pushing sand away from the bright stones set in the floor. ‘Ha, look, these are the oil seeps!’ She suddenly laughed, pointing to a large number of black spots just inland from Gerrah.

  ‘Where?’ Langton had been listening and strode over. ‘Show me.’

  Fontaine spun around too.

  ‘Isn’t that Bahrain?’ Swift asked, pointing to an island just off Gerrah.

  ‘Damn it!’ Langton swore.

  ‘Merde,’ Fontaine followed suit.

  I deduced that the area was outside both British and French influence.

  ‘There are more here.’ Persi had gone back to sweep sand aside from the route of the black line. ‘Look at Basra, west of Kuwait – see!’ She showed us more black stones. ‘That proves it. Oil has already been discovered around Basra.’

  Swift stood back to make rapid sketches of the area and locations in his notebook.

  ‘What about the south-west coast, opposite Bahrain?’ I asked.

  ‘They are all Arabian,’ Persi told me. ‘They’re controlled by the local tribes and there are wars in many of these areas.’

  ‘Must be rather a disappointment,’ I remarked, noting the two men’s scowls.

  ‘Perhaps for their ambitions,’ she replied. ‘But this room is still a marvel of antiquity.’ She flashed another smile. ‘I couldn’t be more thrilled.’

  I was about to put an arm around her shoulder and give her a hug when bloody Langton came back over.

  ‘What a colossal waste of time and effort!’ He complained. ‘It will take years of negotiating with the Arabs to gain access to these sites.’

  Fontaine was scowling down at the black stones set in the mosaic. ‘And they will continue their game of playing one nation off against another.’

  ‘What about the gold?’ Langton said scanning the mosaic, now half-cleared by the gendarmes.

  ‘Here,’ Persi pointed to an area in the mosaic where a small square of gold had been implanted next to a much larger one of copper. ‘It’s the mines in the Timna Valley, South of the Dead Sea. But they have already been explored, Charles, there’s nothing left there. The ancients valued them as highly as we do; they were dug to exhaustion a long time ago.’

  ‘Leave now,’ Fontaine turned on us.

  ‘But…,’ Persi began to argue.

  Fontaine snapped something in French to his sergeant, who had been supervising the installation of a ladder under the hole in the ceiling.

  The sergeant came over, his hand on his gun holster.

  ‘Fontaine there is really no need…’ I protested.

  ‘Colonel, please,’ Persi pleaded. ‘May I remain to examine the walls? It may be the only chance I ever have.’

  His stern expression softened a touch. ‘Very well. You may remain, Mademoiselle. And your Monsieur Langton will stay too. But, you…’ He indicated to Swift and I. ‘Allez.’

  ‘No, I’m not leaving Miss Carruthers,’ I argued. ‘You’ve already kidnapped Lady Maitland and Genevieve, and held Persi under false pretences. I don’t trust you a damned inch, Fontaine.’

  ‘The English ladies have been released and, as you can see, your Mademoiselle has not been marched back to captivity. She has been allowed her liberty, despite the charge of murder against her.’

  ‘Are you going to arrest her again?’ I demanded.

  ‘I will keep my word, Major, but you must leave now,’ Fontaine sounded suddenly weary and nodded to the sergeant who took a step closer.

  ‘Lennox,’ Swift pushed his notebook into his trench coat pocket. ‘We need to get back.’

  I turned to Persi.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘I will see you at the hotel, darling.’ She came to me and stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek.

  ‘Right,’ I beamed. I ignored Langton’s scowl, gave her a farewell wave and followed Swift to climb the ladder through the hole in the ceiling.

  We traced the route of destruction made by the French. It was evident they had simply knocked their way through ancient walls and rooms until they had found us. We were led by lantern light back to the Roman fountain and left to make our own way to the Al Shami. I was still wet, my shoes squelched and I hadn’t had lunch.

  ‘What ho, Swift, and you too, Lennox,’ Bing hailed us as we trailed into the hotel courtyard. ‘Ha, did someone throw you in a fountain too?’ He laughed at my soggy appearance.

  I muttered under my breath.

  ‘Look.’ He came over, opened his bulging jacket and carefully extracted the puppy. ‘I’ve given him a haircut!’

  The puppy had indeed had a haircut, or rather had chunks of fluff snipped from him. His white fur was very short in parts and overlong in others. Swift and I both laughed at the raggedy appearance as the pup peered at us below unevenly cut brows. He had small ears, one up, one down. His brown eyes shone bright with excitement and he had a little whip of a tail, which wagged furiously.

  ‘What did you trim him with, sheep shears?’ I asked, as I ruffled tufts of fur on his head.

  ‘Or nail scissors?’ Swift added, smiling and tickling the little dog under its chin.

  ‘Ha! Well deduced, Inspector,’ Bing laughed. ‘It was all I had and it was jolly difficult snipping the knots. I was terrified I was going to cut him, poor little mite. I’m just off to take him for a stroll around the garden.’ He took a length of curtain cord from his pocket, looped it gently around the pup’s neck and put him on the floor.

  ‘Does he have a name yet?’ I asked, pleased to see the care Bing was taking.

  ‘Napoleon.’ Bing grinned.

  ‘A big name for a little dog,’ Swift replied.

  Bing laughed. ‘He’s my antidote to Josephine.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, look Auntie M!’ Genevieve appeared from the direction of the stairs. ‘What an adorable little doggie! Oh, Mr Bing may I see him?’ She came over, her cheeks flushed with genuine delight.

  She was full of questions and shot them at a proud Bing as she bent over to make a fuss of little Napoleon. The puppy jumped about on its hind legs, squeaking with joy.

  Lady Maitland joined us.

  ‘I see Fontaine has let you out,’ I remarked to her.

  ‘Evidently, Major Lennox,’ she replied coolly. ‘I gather by your appearance that
you have had an adventurous day.’

  ‘Yes,’ Swift replied.

  ‘You have found it?’

  Swift nodded. ‘And the French have released Langton and Miss Carruthers.’

  ‘Ah,’ her brows arched. ‘Then you have indeed met with success. Very well, gentlemen, I must ask you to come and answer some questions.’

  ‘No,’ I refused. ‘I’m going to have a shower and lunch, in that order.’

  ‘Major Lennox, I insist.’ She gave me a sharp stare.

  ‘I’ll come,’ Swift said. ‘Lennox, I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Isn’t this little tyke adorable, Auntie?’ Genevieve was still playing with Napoleon.

  ‘He’s mine,’ Bing said with pride. ‘I’ve never had a dog before.’

  ‘Mr Bing, that is not a dog, it is a knot on a piece of string,’ Lady Maitland remarked and sailed off in the direction of the terrace.

  Swift laughed quietly and followed.

  Bing offered his arm to Genevieve and they headed toward the garden with Napoleon cavorting between them, leaving me free to squelch off up the stairs.

  A long, hot shower eased my muscles, cleaned the stink from my body and sharpened my mind. I went back over Fontaine’s words. He would release Persi from captivity, but as long as the murder was unsolved, I didn’t think he’d allow her to leave the city. I sighed – at least now that the secret was revealed we could finally investigate properly.

  Jamal was in my room when I emerged in a thick white dressing gown.

  ‘Ah effendi,’ he bowed and waved toward a tray arrayed with a feast of local delicacies. ‘Your meal awaits.’

  I tucked in while he poured a generous glass of red wine and offered advice on which dishes of succulent meat went with which vegetable, piquant sauce or spicy sour cream side. I was almost full when he revealed a honeyed dessert. I finished every last morsel of the mushed nuts and flaked-pastry deliciousness and felt human again.

  ‘May I serve coffee, effendi?’

  ‘Yes, please, Jamal. And…the bath-draw boy?’

  ‘Ah, a shameful deceit. He has been made to repay his ill-gotten dollars.’