Swithin realised at once that there was no chance of tracing them through the labyrinths of the vast cosmopolitan city, and consoled himself with the thought that the young Turk probably knew who the Eunuch was and his evil reputation already. In any case they were both mixed up in the same business so there was no reason to fear that any ill would befall the young man. With a little shrug—the outward sign of Swithin’s Latin temperament which accepts finality philosophically—he hailed a taxi and ordered the man to drive to the Pera Palace.
As the car bumped over the cobbles of the uneven streets and swerved to avoid the clanging trams he reviewed the situation afresh. That there was a conspiracy to overthrow the Kemalist Government he now had no doubt. Apart from Reouf’s word the whole atmosphere of the meeting he had attended that night had confirmed it.
These people he had met had been business men, responsible officials, people with a stake in the country. Their attitude to the wireless, their enthusiastic reception of the fat man’s patriotic saga, their complete agreement with the woman who had preached the restoration of polygamy, all proclaimed their rooted antagonism to the reforms of the present government.
Yet, as Swithin considered the matter, he felt that Reouf had probably been grossly exaggerating when he had said that there were similar groups all over Turkey and members of the Kaka in every regiment of the Army and squadron of the Air Eorce. The wish was doubtless father to the thought and actually the conspirators consisted of no more than a dozen or so circles operating in the principal cities with a few discontented officers among them. If so, it was hardly likely that they could succeed in overthrowing Kemal, who had all the resources of the State behind him, even if they managed to engineer a Revolution. However, there might be a nasty flare up and Swithin decided that he could congratulate himself on having at least run to earth the cause of Sir George’s forebodings. It remained for him to make a thorough job of the business and worm full details about it out of Reouf.
As he entered the hotel his step was jaunty and his smile of greeting to the head porter far gayer than usual. He was happier than he had been for weeks now that he felt himself to be nearing the source from which sprang all these rumours of coming troubles.
With cheerful confidence he asked at the desk for the message he expected but, to his dismay, learnt that there was nothing for him. ‘What the hell has gone wrong?’ he wondered angrily and with a little shock of fear— ‘Could anything have happened to Diana?’
Hiding his perturbation under a smile he turned away and began to debate the next move as he went up to his room. He could go to his flat of course, change into rags, and endeavour to reach her by playing burglar at her Uncle’s house. But if he were caught by the servants he would look a pretty fool and he could imagine the cynical amusement she would derive from helping him out. He might be spotted by the Turkish police too as he scaled the wall and that would be almost worse—nothing accomplished and a month in a bug-ridden prison for his pains—what an ignominious end to his adventures. On the other hand he could write a fresh report and take it to Tyndall-Williams at the British Embassy for despatch to Sir George in the Athens bag, but the banker had been most insistent that he should not use the Embassy except as the last possible resort. Was this an emergency which would justify his taking such a step? He hardly thought it could be considered that at the moment, besides a message might arrive from Diana yet. Obviously then, despite his anxiety to pass on his news, he must remain where he was until morning in case she still tried to get bold of him there.
As he switched the light on in his room he saw that it was only a quarter-past eleven, early to go to bed, particularly as there was a chance that he might be routed out again in the next hour. He picked up a book and, with the idea of going downstairs again to read for a bit, turned back to the door.
“Got you!” said a voice behind him suddenly.
In the same second he dropped the book and spun round. It was Diana, standing in the doorway of his bathroom, tall, and slim, and golden. She regarded him with an enigmatic little smile.
“Lucky for you I’m not one of Kazdim’s people, isn’t it?” she said sweetly. “If you have really found out anything worth knowing and they’ve rumbled you one of them might have caught you beautifully just now.”
“Lucky for you that you’re not,” he replied a little grimly, “or you might have got a lump of lead where you keep your dinner.”
“Dear me, what a rude and ruthless person you have become.”
“No, it’s just that if a nervy fellow like myself is taken by surprise these things are so darned likely to go off.” Withdrawing his hand from the side-pocket of his coat he displayed a small but quite deadly automatic.
“I suppose it was stupid of me to play that joke on you,” she remarked as he pushed back the safety catch of the pistol and laid it on a table beside the bed. “But somehow I can’t help thinking of you as the hero in a secret service romance.”
Despite his face-saving exhibition with the gun Swithin knew that she had really caught him napping. That had ruffled his vanity and annoyed him into a rudeness that he did not intend, so he seized the proffered olive branch immediately.
“It’s very flattering that you should think of me like that.”
“Do you find it so?” A little frown creased her brow. “I’m afraid I only meant that the gifted amateurs of fiction know nothing of the game. Of course, despite every sort of gaffe they always get out on their luck—but that doesn’t often happen in real life.”
He walked over to the cupboard, from which he produced whisky, Evian, and some glasses. ‘Why the hell need she have said that?’ he wondered and then a delicious idea came to him for getting a dig back at her.
“I forgot,” he remarked quietly, “that you must have read all Cæsar Penton’s novels, where the man is always an honest fool and his brilliant girl friend saves his honour or his life. It’s only natural that you should enjoy dramatising yourself as one of Cæsar’s heroines—have a drink?”
“Thanks.” She took the glass he offered. A moment before she had been regretting that some imp of cynicism had prompted her to compare him with the sort of fool who gaily shot his way through penny dreadfuls or a thriller play. Now, she said icily, “Cæsar’s very competent at his own business.”
“And you think I’m not at mine?” he flashed. “Well, as your father’s agent I’m doing my stuff. Apart from that you’re probably right. If I knew my business as far as you are concerned I’d turn up your skirts and spank you right away.”
“That would be a most chivalrous proceeding in view of the circumstances in which I happen to be in your room—wouldn’t it? If I began to yell, bang would go the last shreds of my reputation so I’d have to take your beating with a towel between my teeth.”
“Oh, damn it!” he exclaimed, angry that even in jest she should infer him to be capable of taking advantage of her. “You know I didn’t mean that—but if we can’t be friends at least let’s be businesslike. How did you get up here anyway?”
“In the lift, after which I slipped the floor-waiter a crinkly note to let me wait in your room.”
“Then you’ve lost your reputation already as far as he is concerned. I’m sorry about that.”
“You needn’t be. He doesn’t know me and I thought it was less risky than for us to be seen talking together in the lounge. You said it was urgent.”
“It is. Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.” He pushed forward the arm-chair and she sank into it adjusting the little satin cape, which matched her frock, carefully round her bare shoulders. Then he perched himself on the side of the bed and gave her a detailed account of his activities since his first meeting with Reouf at the lecture.
She listened without once interrupting him until the end, then she said quietly “I do think you’ve done awfully well. After having practically nothing to show in six whole weeks it is marvellous to have made all this progress in the last two days.”
So much had happened in the interval, it was difficult for him to realise that he had met her outside the teashop only two days before, but as that flashed into his mind he immediately jumped to the conclusion that she was comparing his previous lack of success with that which he had achieved as the direct result of her suggestion. He shrugged a little bitterly:
“Oh I take no credit for it. I’m quite aware that we should be just as much in the dark as ever if it had not been for your tip to try the University.”
“That wasn’t kind,” she replied quickly. “You know I didn’t mean that. Why will you deliberately misinterpret everything I say?”
“I don’t deliberately, but I must confess that I find you pretty difficult to understand at times. It’s probably my third-class brain. Soldiers are always supposed to be stupid—aren’t they? At least I gather that lots of people think so.”
She shook her head impatiently. “Don’t pretend to belittle yourself like that—it’s childish. You are not a fool and you don’t regard yourself as one. Why must you behave like a sulky bear?”
“I just say frankly what I think—that’s all.”
Her profile hardened, then she turned her eyes on him. They seemed enormous in the pale, delicately-bred face but they had a hard flinty look. “And since you’ve taken a dislike to me you have made up your mind not to let me forget it—haven’t you?” she asked sharply.
“I have never taken a dislike to you.”
“Well, you haven’t forgiven me yet for what you considered to be my neglect of you on the yacht.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You had planned a pleasure trip and I just did not happen to fit in to your party—that’s all,” he replied evenly.
Diana’s upper lip curled a trifle. “So you think it was entirely pleasure?”
“Well, what else?”
“Surely you realise by now that I help father quite a lot? I should not be able to do half so much for him unless I camouflaged myself by mixing with that crowd of half-wits.”
Swithin did not speak for a moment. His pulses had quickened to a new tempo. If she were speaking the truth he had behaved like a half-wit himself. Of course there were probably all sorts of bits of information she could pick up for Sir George if everyone believed her to be an empty-headed little butterfly. But who had there been worth angling for in the party? Not a soul, he decided. She was just bluffing, probably because she found herself a little bored in Constantinople and thought that even if they had to confine themselves to secret meetings it would be rather fun to have him on the string again; but he had been bitten too badly the first time to care about giving her a second chance to hurt him as she had before. His pulses slowed down to normal, he raised his eyes to that slim, tantalising piece of devilry lying back in his armchair, and said lightly:
“So you really considered them all half-wits. I must say it’s interesting to have your true opinion of Cæsar Penton.”
Next moment he could have bitten out his tongue. What an utter imbecile he had been to bring Penton’s name into it again. Trust her to attribute it to the jealousy he had felt and she was on him like a flash.
“So that’s what made you look so sick! Well if you want to know I had quite an amusing time with him, but you’re a poor sort of secret service man if you couldn’t spot anyone better worth studying than Cæsar on the voyage out.”
The truthful reply would have been that the whole of his time which had not been taken up by Sir George and the study of Turkish had been devoted to bitter thoughts about herself so that he had hardly noticed the others, except in the mass, but he did not care to make it and began instead “Then who …”
“Oh please forget it.” She stood up suddenly with an angry flush. “I don’t care to be cross-questioned about my actions, and I can’t stay here all night. Let’s get back to the business in hand.”
He darkened under his tan, his quick eyes searching her face. Her ‘actions’—the phrase stuck in his mind. What were they and what had they been? Apart from her flushed cheeks and angry eyes she looked cold as marble. Her bare arms and shoulders would, he knew, be cool and infinitely refreshing to the touch, but that wide mouth of hers seemed capable of any devilry. Had she really been occupied in negotiating some delicate affair on the yacht or as infatuated with Cæsar Penton as she had appeared? He wished desperately that he could make up his mind but before he had a chance she spoke again.
“What do you intend to do now?”
“Find out all I can about the organisation of the Kaka,” he replied wrenching his mind back to business. “How many people are in it, at what rate their numbers are increasing and, if possible, the names of the men who were responsible for starting it.”
“Armaments?” she suggested.
“Yes. They will need arms if their rising is to be successful. Even if a portion of the Army is involved they will have to make some sort of show before any troops go over to them so it’s a hundred to one that they are smuggling in arms from somewhere.”
“And their zero hour.”
“Yes. That is important too. From the way Reouf talked I should imagine they are nearly ready, but I can’t think that they stand any real chance of success.”
“No, Kemal is a hard nut to crack,” she agreed slowly, “yet the Eunuch is in it. He is a big man and a very shrewd one.
“I hardly think we should attach too much significance to that. Kazdim is naturally a reactionary at heart. As one of the old school of thugs and grafters the reforms Kemal has brought in have probably robbed him of a fortune, so he would be among the first to sympathise with the aims of the Kaka.”
She shrugged. “I think you are underrating the intelligence of your enemy, and remember he is that now. If he once suspects that you have got on to this thing he will not scruple to employ his secret police against you, to ensure his own safety. They would probably try and frame you on a charge of espionage and if they did we couldn’t help you—so for goodness sake be careful.”
“I will,” he promised, “but I don’t think you need fear that the Kaka is strong enough to plunge Turkey into Civil War. It will probably only lead to a couple of days’ upset.”
“I only hope you are right,” Diana murmured, but she shook her fair head pessimistically and added, “I have a feeling now that it is something really big we are up against.”
He smiled reassuringly. “Well, now that I’m on the trail I’ll dig into it again to-morrow and find out as many further particulars as I can.”
“Good.” As she moved towards the door she returned his smile and added, “I meant what I said about your having done awfully well. Father will be terribly pleased I know, but do keep out of danger all you can.”
“I will,” he repeated cheerfully. The tension had gone out of the atmosphere and he felt now that he was talking with a level-headed comrade as he might have with another man.
She drew the little cape round her shoulders and then paused. “By the by did you know that Peter Carew is in Constantinople?”
“No—really!” His face brightened at the name of their mutual friend.
“Yes, but only for a day or two I think. He was given a Foreign Office bag just about the time we left England and his job happens to have brought him here.”
“I know. He told me the day before I sailed. I’d love to see him again but I suppose he is staying at the Embassy and at the moment that is out of bounds for me.”
“No, I met him in the Grand’ Rue this afternoon and he told me that as the Embassy is full up he had had to take a room here, but I don’t think you ought to see him all the same. He has no idea that you are in this part of the world and he might ask awkward questions.”
“That’s true. Then I had better keep a good look out that I don’t run into him in the morning. Perhaps for the next few days it would be best if I camped out in my flat.”
Diana nodded, her hand upon the door. “I think that would be best, and it might be advisable to slip away from here early to-
morrow morning before he is likely to be about. I must go now—good luck.”
“Thanks.” He smiled again. “I’ll be careful, but I can’t leave before nine o’clock—when the bookstall opens—I’ve got to collect the letter I told you about in my telegram.”
“What telegram?” She turned and faced him again quickly.
He stared at her in surprise. “Didn’t you get it then?”
“No, only your note. I was out all the afternoon so I did not get it until I returned to change for dinner, then I had to dine at the American Embassy this evening. That’s why I could not get here before.”
“But of course,” he exclaimed. “How stupid of me. The telegram would not be delivered until to-morrow morning and anyway I only sent it in case my note had gone astray, to tell you that if I did not turn up here again I had left a letter for you at the bookstall. It contained a summary of what I have been telling you about the Kaka.”
“Who—who did you leave it with?” Diana’s face had suddenly gone sharp and strained.
“With the girl who runs it—Tania Vorontzoff—to be given to you personally, just in case this meeting that I went to was beaten up to-night. She’s quite a decent kid.”
“Decent!” Diana’s voice stung him into new attention. “You madman! Don’t you know that she is one of Kazdim’s agents—planted here to report upon the guests—she will have passed that paper on to Kazdim—Oh Swithin! he’ll know that you’ve found out about the Kaka by now, and he’ll arrest you on some trumped-up charge to save his own neck.”
Suddenly all the hardness had faded out of her face. Her soft hands were gripping his in passionate entreaty, and her slim body was pressed against him as she cried;
“Swithin—my dear—the second Kazdim sees that letter he will be after you. You’ve got to get out of here. At once! At once! At once!”
CHAPTER XIII
THE OLD, OLD STORY
During Peter Carew’s two months as a King’s Messenger he had been employed on the runs to Brussels and Berlin, with an occasional trip to Warsaw, so he was highly delighted when a change of duties brought him journeying to Istanbul, which he had never before visited.
The Eunuch of Stamboul Page 13
