His watch had stopped owing to its immersion the night before, but from the position of the sun he judged the time to be a little after midday. He had sweated while he slept in the sun and felt distinctly hungry now—less chilled and feverish. He began to hope that Arif would soon put in an appearance.
An hour or more drifted by and then in desperation he tackled the biscuits and the Raki as a stop gap. By the time he had finished he guessed it to be about two o’clock and as Arif had said that he would return at noon his failure to turn up began to cause Swithin considerable uneasiness.
He wandered out into the road again; not a soul was in sight, even the beggars and vagabonds who had their lairs in this strange wilderness were still taking their siesta. A brooding hush hung over the whole district, so that it seemed impossible to believe that he was standing in the centre of a city with a population of over a million inhabitants and the greatest for a radius of nearly a thousand miles.
As the afternoon wore on his anxiety increased, and having nothing with which to distract his attention, he could not free his mind from the fear that some calamity had befallen the Turk. When his neighbours began to move about again, he retreated to his hiding-place, but at every footfall on the roadway he peered hopefully out, and at about half-past four, with immeasurable relief, he saw Arif approach, turn off the road into the long grasses that grew knee deep in the outer court and, with a cautious look round, slip through the rounded arch of the doorway.
The Turk’s eyes were gleaming with excitement and, without pausing to explain his lateness or inquire how Swithin felt, he burst out immediately:
“We have to act, my friend—act very quickly—or it will be too late. I received a visitor at my office this morning—the leader of my parent cell who is also a member of one much above it. He gave me orders for the distribution of the arms which I have concealed for the Kaka. They are to be dispatched on lorries and delivered to various addresses throughout Scutari, Haidar Pacha, Kadikeuy and Moda, to-morrow night.”
Swithin’s face suddenly went grave. “That means they intend to make their coup soon now—within a week or so I suppose?”
Arif nodded. “Only the members of the first hundred cells know it yet, and they because to them fall all the necessary arrangements, but it is fixed for midnight on the twentieth.”
“Good God!” Swithin exclaimed, “and to-day is the eighteenth! We haven’t got a shred of evidence against the Kaka yet, and only forty-eight hours left before the Revolution sweeps the whole country.”
CHAPTER XIX
THE LION’S MOUTH
Arif began to unpack a parcel he had brought. It contained bread, cold meat, fruit, a bottle of water and some sherbet.
“I am sorry that you should have had to remain hungry for so long,” he apologised, as he spread out the things on a fallen block of masonry, “but I was kept at my office far later than I had expected owing to this visit, and then I had arranged to see Jeanette at half-past three, so it was impossible to get here before.”
“The great thing is that you’ve turned up after all,” Swithin remarked thankfully, as he sat down and helped himself to the food, “I was becoming really scared that something awful had happened to you. Now what the devil are we going to do? If the Revolution is timed to start at midnight on the twentieth, we’re up against it good and hard and proper. The authorities will never disorganise the running of the whole country and order all sorts of precautionary troop movements on our bare word alone. It would be different if we had some real proof of the existence of the Kaka that we could show.”
“Allah has been gracious,” the Turk replied, drawing a paper from his pocket. “Here is the proof that you need. Jeanette secured it last night. Look, it is a complete list of the hospitals among which the donations have been distributed.”
Swithin took the paper eagerly, glanced quickly down it, and then shook his head, “This would be extremely valuable if we had something else to go with it. Mam’selle Jeanette has done marvellously to get it for us, but I’m afraid it’s not a proof of anything. You or I might have typed this list and it bears no signature. We must have some paper which has been signed by one of the heads of the conspiracy. It does not matter what, as long as it is a document dealing with the organisation of the Kaka.”
Arif’s heavy brows drew down into a frown. “I have already told you that it is impossible to procure such a thing. No documents exist. There is no correspondence. All orders are conveyed from cell-leader to cell-leader by word of mouth, so nobody ever signs anything—except …” he paused suddenly.
“Except what?”
“The oath to the Kaka.”
“There is a list then?”
“No, but when any member forms a new cell, he is given a small pentagonal paper. The oath is written in its centre and the five members of the cell each sign their names, one in each of the five angles. The cell leader does not pass it on, so those above him never see it, but he keeps it himself as a guarantee of the good faith of the others.”
“You have one yourself, then?”
“Yes, I will show it to you.” Arif took out his pocketbook, and produced a thin pentagonal wafer no larger than a five shilling piece. It had minute writing in its centre and an involved scrawl in each of its corners. The signatures were in the old script, a jumble of involved arabesques, so Swithin could not have read them without considerable labour even had he wished, and he noted that the almost transparent little document was made of rice paper, so that it could be swallowed in an emergency.
“By Jove,” he murmured, “if only we could get hold of the Pasha’s. Mam’selle Jeanette is er … well, very intimate with him—isn’t she?”
Suddenly and viciously Arif spat. “Let us be frank. She is perforce the mistress of this dog. If she repulsed him, she would be thrown out of Turkey and never again should we brighten each other’s eyes—or worse might befall her.”
“Then surely—it’s a hundred to one that he keeps his on him—as you do. Couldn’t she find an opportunity …?”
“I will speak with her of it when I see her again to-night. She has courage—may Allah protect her—and it may be that she can find a way to search him.”
Swithin’s blue eyes glinted. “This Pasha must be a member of one of the highest cells if he is responsible for collecting all the contributions from the others and distributing the munitions that they pay for. On his wafer there must be the names of four other big men in this business. The oath signed by five of them would be proof enough to convince anyone, and if only Mam’selle Jeanette could get it for us we’d smash the Kaka yet.”
“I see little chance of that, unless Allah grants us time by a postponement of their plans,” Arif murmured despondently.
“Do you think there is any prospect of that?”
“None. The organisation is so excellent that all things run like clockwork.”
“Still, you’ll do your damnedest to persuade Mam’selle Jeanette to try everything she knows to-night in the hope of discovering where the Pasha keeps his wafer—and securing it, if possible.”
“She will need no persuasion knowing that her success would mean a rope round that sadist’s neck and her freedom to live with me in happiness.”
“Good. Now this thing.” Swithin held up the wafer which he had not yet given back. “Are there occasions when you have to produce it?”
“No, never.”
“May I keep it then?”
Arif suddenly drew back. “But you would not have me betray my comrades!”
“No, that we can get over by a little skilful alteration of the signatures, I think. Enough to disguise the names without materially altering the appearance of the thing. Since it concerns cell 310, which is a long way down the list, the disclosure of the names on it would not materially harm the Kaka in any case, but the oath is written in its centre and it might prove extremely useful as a specimen.”
“So be it then—if you wish.” Arif took out his fount
ainpen. “Give it to me and I will see how the lettering can best be altered.”
While Swithin finished his picnic meal, the Turk worked silently upon the wafer, converting the flowing arabesques which decorated the five corners, by adding curls and little dots, into other letters. When he had finished he handed it back and stood up. “I must go now. You will remain hidden here until I come again?”
“No, I must get in touch with the British interests—those friends of Turkey—whom I told you that I represent. You can help me there, if you will, by despatching a message for me.”
“By all means. Have you paper?”
Swithin nodded and drew out his notebook. Most of its pages were still sodden in the centre, but he had dried the top few sheets in the sun that afternoon and he began to scribble a note to Diana.
He wanted to see her urgently in order to pass on his news, but Bebek was nearly nine miles away—right out beyond Pera—so he doubted if his message would reach her much before dinner-time. Then there was the difficulty of suggesting a suitable place to meet her. If she had been a man he could have made it any street corner after dark, but being in Constantinople, he could think of nowhere which would be all right for her, except the lounge of some hotel or dance place—yet into those he dared not go himself. Besides, even if he were prepared to chance it, he knew that they would not let him in unshaven as he was and dressed in his present shoddy rig-out.
Thinking it over, he realised that Diana could have no idea what had happened to him since they last met, so she would not be expecting an urgent summons and might quite well be dining out, in which case she would fail to turn up even if he risked lounging at the entrance of the Tokatlian or the Pera. Moreover, since he still lacked any vital proof which he could pass on to her, she could do nothing except report the movement of arms for the following night and that the balloon was timed to go up forty-eight hours later. No action would be taken without proof, he felt certain, unless he or Arif were prepared to give evidence at first hand, so although the delay was irritating he decided, all things considered, that it would be better to ask her to meet him next morning. He could be sure of her getting his message in time to keep the appointment then, and there were plenty of places where it would not matter about her walking through the streets alone in daylight.
Seeing his hesitation, Arif remarked: “You look worried, my friend—can I, perhaps, help you in some way?”
“I am a bit,” Swithin admitted. “I should have liked to fix a meeting for to-night, but that seems impossible, so I must leave it till the morning. Where would you suggest as a good place to run into someone as though by accident—somewhere where there is a good-sized crowd with which it would be easy to mingle for a few moments?”
The Turk thought for a little, then he said: “Why not at the Mosque of the Sweet Waters? To-morrow is Friday—our holy day—so the Dervishes will dance there at eleven o’clock. The government still permits it as one of the sights of the city, and many foreigners go there, which enables the Blessed of Allah to collect funds for their support.”
“Excellent!—the very place.”
Swithin finished his note and dated it the 20th, putting a heavy circle round the figure in the hope that she might guess its meaning when she received it that night, addressed the folded sheet, and handed it over.
“If you will have that sent to Miss Duncannon by a trustworthy messenger she will arrange for the person I wish to see to meet me in the morning,” he said, not wishing to involve Diana herself further than was absolutely necessary, even to Arif. “Then I will pass on the list of hospitals which Mam’selle Jeanette secured for us.”
“It shall be done and without delay.” Arif pocketed the note and added: “Now I must leave you, but there is one thought which comes to me, since you go to Pera in any case to-morrow; would it not be better for us to meet there also? Now that I am so pressed for time—both Jeanette and yourself to keep in touch with—also my work which I cannot neglect entirely, this place presents great inconvenience and the loss of precious hours, since I have to cross each time either from my office in Haidar Pacha or from Jeanette in Pera.”
“By all means,” Swithin agreed. “How about place and time?”
“The Bridge at Galata—the Pera end. That is always a busy spot, there is a restaurant there which is a meeting-place for Greek business men—the Café Athéné it is called—whichever of us arrives first can sit at one of the small tables behind the box plants outside, and for time, let me see … I do not know at what hour Jeanette will be free to see me to-morrow until I have spoken with her to-night. It will not be before the afternoon and perhaps in the latter part of that. If we said six o’clock that should allow me a safe margin.”
“Right then. Six o’clock at the Café Athéné near the Pera end of Galata Bridge.”
“I shall be there, and in the meantime, may Allah protect you.” Arif turned away.
“And you,” Swithin replied. Then he watched his friend stalk through the long grass and down the roadway until his tall figure had passed out of sight.
Swithin packed up the remainder of the food and stowed it in a corner. As he did so, one thought was beating in his brain. The 20th, Saturday night, and this was Thursday evening. In little over forty-eight hours now the Revolution was due to break out. Once it started, who could say where it would finish? The Kaka was very powerful and admirably organised. He knew that now, beyond a doubt, and its leaders were men like Kazdim, Chief of the Secret Police, that, of course, was why no rumour of it had leaked through to Kemal. The Eunuch would take good care to delete any hint of it from his men’s reports. Then there was this Pasha who kept Jeanette against her will, for his amusement. When he had first been mentioned, Swithin remembered poor indiscreet Reouf talking of him as an important official. With such men behind the movement its chances of success were very considerable, and if their coup did come off anything might happen. The Jehad would be preached and the legions of the Faithful come flocking to the green banner of the Prophet. There would be war in the Balkans within a week and that might spread into a universal conflagration.
If he had had definite proof to offer, Swithin would have taken it straight to the British Embassy. They would, he knew, have forwarded it immediately by ‘plane to Kemal. The Grey Wolf of Angora would then spring before his enemies could rise, and the continuance of peace would be secured.
But even if Jeanette succeeded now in stealing the precious wafer from her Pasha, Swithin saw that it could not be in her hands before the following night and that would be too late to get it to Kemal—miles away in Asia Minor—before the smuggled arms of the Revolutionaries had been distributed.
The more he thought of it the more certain he became that he ought to take action now—immediately. He could go to the authorities with the list of secret munition stores and if he could only make them believe his story, those could be raided and the contents confiscated. That seemed to him the only possible chance of stopping the Revolution, and stopped it must be, he felt, if it lay within his power to do it, whatever risks he had to take himself. It meant that he would have to confess to being a spy, and if they refused to believe his statement about the secret menace of the Kaka, he would be properly sunk. It was no light matter to accuse a man like Kazdim, the actual Chief of the Police, of being up to the neck in a conspiracy against the Government, without a shred of proof. Swithin knew that he would probably be regarded as a lunatic and thrown into prison for his pains, but he still felt that the responsibility of endeavouring to stop this outbreak which might lead to so many horrors, lay on his shoulders.
For half an hour he wrestled with the problem. Then he made up his mind. He would set off at once, and bribe or force his way into the presence of the Military Governor of Constantinople. If the gods were kind the man might prove intelligent and credulous. In any case, he, Swithin, would say what he had to say and implore him to take adequate precautions against a coming rising.
Leaving the ru
in, Swithin set off at a brisk walk down the sloping road towards the Golden Horn. He judged the time to be about half-past five, and he hoped to reach the Harbieh Military School, beyond the end of the Grand’ Rue de Pera, where the Governor had his office before it closed at six.
His thigh still hurt, so he moved at a quick limp, but his shoulder no longer pained him and he pushed on gamely, thinking of nothing but the importance of getting hold of the General Commanding the Forces in the City at the earliest possible moment.
He reached the Rue Top Capou, which crosses the burnt-out quarter, and turned right along it until he reached the still standing shops and houses. In Murad Pasha Street he managed to pick up a taxi and ordered the man to drive at top speed to the Harbieh Military School.
A quarter of an hour later he was questioning the sentry on the gate. The man was a simple, friendly fellow and passed him in without difficulty, but at the enquiry office he met with the red tape that he had expected. His rough clothes and sprouting beard were hardly calculated to inspire confidence or respect, and his request to see the Governor’s secretary on urgent private business was curtly refused by a bulbous-nosed sergeant.
Swithin wasted no time arguing, but immediately produced a substantial bribe, upon which he was allowed to proceed upstairs where he interviewed a clerk. Again he met with insolent opposition, but another bribe did the trick and extracted the information that the General’s secretary had gone for the night—so, he also ascertained, had the General. Another crinkly note secured the address of the General’s private residence, in Nichantache, just north of the Military School. He hurried downstairs and out into the street, five minutes later he stood before the door of the General’s house.
The Eunuch of Stamboul Page 22
