by Talbot Mundy
“I sure did. And he has sent one of his staff down here to keep an eye on things. I saw him this afternoon riding in a cab toward the Jaffa Gate. I said as much to that fellow in the hospital, and he was scared stiff at the idea of my recovering the supposed Faisal letter and showing it to an officer who is really in Faisal’s confidence. That — I mean the man’s fear — linked everything up.”
“You talk like Sherlock Holmes,” laughed Jeremy. “I’ll bet you a new hat nothing comes of it.”
“That bet’s on,” Grim answered. “It’s to be a female hat, and Mabel gets it. Order an expensive one from Paris, Mabel; Jeremy shall pay. We’ve lots of other information. The troops here have been warned of an intended massacre of Jews. The arrival of this letter probably puts a date to it.
“But it puts a date to something else on which the whole future of the Near East hangs; and that means the future of half the world, and maybe the whole of it, because about three hundred million Mohammedans are watching Faisal and will govern themselves accordingly. India, Persia, Mesopotamia, Egypt, all Northern Africa — there’s almost no limit to what depends on Faisal’s safety; and the French can’t or won’t understand that.”
There came the sound of heavy ammunition boots outside on the stone step, followed by a cough that I believe I could recognize among a thousand. Narayan Singh coughs either of two ways — once, deep bass, for all’s well; twice, almost falsetto, for a hint of danger. This time it was the single deep bass cough. But it was followed after half a minute by the two high-pitched barks, and Grim held up a hand for silence. At the end of perhaps a minute there came from the veranda a perfect imitation of the lascar’s ungrammatical, whining singsong from a fo’c’s’le-head:
“Hum dekta hai! — I’m on the watch.”
Grim nodded — to himself, I suppose, for none had spoken to him.
“Do you mind stepping out and getting that letter from him, Ramsden? Keep in the shadow, please, and give him this pistol; he may need it.”
So I slipped out through the screen door and spent a minute looking for Narayan Singh. I’m an old hunter, but it wasn’t until Narayan Singh deliberately moved a hand to call attention to himself that I discovered him within ten feet of me.
The risk of being seen from the street in case some spy were lurking out there was obvious. So I walked all the way round the house, and came and stood below him on his left hand where the house cast impenetrable shadow; but though I took my time and moved stealthily he heard me and passed me a letter through the veranda rails, accepting the pistol in exchange without comment.
I could see him distinctly from that angle. His uniform on one side was torn almost into rags, and his turban was all awry, as if he had lost it in a scuffle and hadn’t spared time to rewind it properly — a sure sign of desperate haste; for a male tiger in the spring-time is no more careful of his whiskers than a Sikh is of the thirty yards of cloth he winds around his head.
As he didn’t speak or make any more movement than was necessary to pass me the letter and take the pistol, I returned the way I had come, entered by the back door, tossed the letter to Grim, and crept back again to bear a hand in case of need. Grim said nothing, but Jeremy followed me, and two minutes later the Australian and I were crouching in darkness below the veranda. This time I don’t think Narayan Singh was aware of friends at hand.
His eyes were fixed on the slightly lighter gap in a dark wall that was the garden gate but looked more like a dim hole leading into a cave. There being no other entrance that we knew of, Jeremy and I doubled up on the same job, and a rat couldn’t have come through without one of the three of us detecting him. If we had had our senses with us we might have realized that Narayan Singh was perfectly capable of watching that single narrow space, and have used our own eyes to better advantage. However, we’re all three alive today, and two of us learned a lesson.
It wasn’t long — perhaps five minutes — before a man showed himself outside the gate, like a specter dodging this and that way in response to unearthly impulse. Once or twice he started forward, as if on the point of sneaking in, but thought better of it and retreated. Once his attitude suggested that he might be taking aim with a pistol; but if that was so, he chose not to waste a shot or start an alarm by firing at a mark he couldn’t see. What he did accomplish was to keep six keen eyes fixed on him.
And that gave three other men their chance to gain an entrance at the rear of the wall in the garden, and creep up unawares. It was probably sheer accident that led all three of them along the far side of the house, but it was fortunate for Jeremy and me, for otherwise cold steel between our shoulder-blades would likely have been our first intimation of their presence.
We never suspected their existence until they gained the veranda by the end opposite to where we waited; and I think they would have done their murder if the man outside the gate hadn’t lost his head from excitement, or some similar emotion and tried to make a signal to them. All three had brought up against the end window, where a shade torn in two places provided a good view into the room in which Grim, Mabel and the doctor were still sitting. Each of them had a pistol, and their intention didn’t admit of doubt.
“Are you there, sahib?” Narayan Singh whispered.
But Jeremy and I were aware of them almost as soon as he, and rather than make a noise by vaulting the veranda rail, we took the longer route by way of the front steps. Jeremy, who was wearing sandals, kicked them off and not having to creep so carefully, moved faster.
Of course, the obvious question is, why didn’t Narayan Singh shoot? I had a pistol too; why didn’t I use it? Well, I’ll tell you. None but the irresponsible criminal shoots a man except in obedience to orders or in self- defence.
You may argue that those three night-prowlers might have shot Ticknor and his wife and Grim through the window while we aired our superior virtue. The answer to that is, that they didn’t, although that was their intention. Narayan Singh, already once that night in danger of his life, and a “godless, heathen Sikh,” as I have heard a missionary call him, pocketed the pistol I had given him before proceeding to engage, he being also a white man by the proper way of estimating such things.
Jeremy was first on the scene of action, with Narayan Singh close behind him, and I was quite a bit behind, for I tripped against the top step in my hurry. The noise I made gave the alarm, and the three Arabs twisted round like cornered scorpions. I guess they couldn’t see us well at first, having been staring through the torn shade into the lighted room.
Their pistols were cocked, but Jeremy’s fist landed in the nearest man’s face before he could shoot, and he went crashing backwards into his friend behind, whose head disappeared for a moment through the window-pane, and the only blood shed on that occasion came from the first man’s nose and the back of the second man’s neck where the smashed glass slit a gash in it.
The third man fired wildly at me, and missed, a fraction of a second before Narayan Singh landed on him with hands and feet; whereat the man in the street emptied his pistol at me and ran away. I was in two minds whether to give chase to him, but made the wrong decision, being heavy on my feet and none too fond of running, so the big fish got away.
But even with my help added, the three less important fish still gave a lot of trouble, for they fought like wild cats, using teeth and finger-nails; and the doctor and his wife and Grim were all out lending a hand before we had them finally convinced that the game was up. Mabel trussed up the worst man with a clothes line, while I sat on him.
I expected to see a crowd around the house by that time, but Jerusalem works otherwise than some cities. The sound of a pistol-shot sends everybody hurrying for cover, lest some enemy accuse them afterwards of having had a hand in the disturbance. And the nearest police post was a mile away. So we had our little outrage all to ourselves, although strange tales went the rounds of the Holy City that night, and two weeks later several European newspapers printed a beautiful account of a midnight ma
ssacre of Jews.
We dragged our prisoners into the sitting-room, and stood them up in front of Grim after the doctor and Mabel had attended to their hurts, which weren’t especially serious; although nobody need expect to get in the way of Jeremy’s fist and feel comfortable for several hours afterwards. The cut made in the second man’s neck by broken glass needed several stitches, but the third man was only winded from having been sat on, and of course he was much more sorry for himself than either of the other two — a fact that Grim noted.
There was another noticeable circumstance that shed light on human nature and Grim’s knowledge of it. They were all three eager to tell their story, although not necessarily the same story; whereas Narayan Singh, who knew that every word he might say would be believed implicitly, was in no hurry to tell his at all.
Now when you’re dealing with Eastern and near-Eastern people of the sort who lie instinctively (and it may be that this applies to the West as well) it’s a good plan to establish, if you can, a basis of truth for them to build their tale on; because the truth acts like acid on untruth. They’re going to lie in any case; but lies told without any reference to truth knit better than when invented at a moment’s notice to explain away another’s straightforward statement. There’s a plausible theory that culprits taken in the act are best examined in secret, one by one, in ignorance of all the evidence against them.
The wise method is to let them hear the evidence against themselves. Nine times out of ten they will accept that as unanswerable, and strive to twist its meaning or smother it under a mass of lies. But the truth they have accepted, as I have said, works just like acid and destroys their argument almost as fast as they build it up. In the few cases when that doesn’t happen, they break down altogether and confess.
Anyhow, Grim, who taught me what I have just written, refused to listen to their bleating until Narayan Singh first told in their hearing all that he knew about the night’s events. They were forced to sit down on the floor and listen to him like three coffee-shop loungers being told a story; and I don’t doubt that the effect was strengthened by the Sikh’s standing facing them, for the contrast was as between jackals and a lion.
Not that they were small men, for they weren’t, or mere ten-dollar assassins picked up in the souk. They looked well fed, and wore fine linen, whereas Narayan Singh was in rags and had lost weight in our recent desert marching, so that his cheek-bones stood out and he looked superficially much more like a man at bay than they did.
But their well-cared-for faces were lean in the wrong place, and puffy under the eyes. In place of courage they flaunted an insolent leer, and the smile intended to convey self-confidence betrayed to a close observer anxiety bordering on panic.
The most offensive part about them really was their feet, which are indices of character too often overlooked. They had come to their task in slippers, which they had kicked off before reaching the veranda, and instead of the firm, tough feet that a real man stands on, what they displayed as they squatted were subtle, soft things, not exactly flabby, but even more suggestive of treachery than their thin beaks and shifty eyes.
To sum them up, they were dandies, of the kind who join the Young Turk Party and believe the New Era can be distilled of talk and tricks; and they looked like mean animals compared to that staunch conservative Narayan Singh, who, nevertheless, is not without his own degree of subtlety.
CHAPTER 4. “I call this awful!”
Sahib, in accordance with instructions I proceeded to Christian Street to the place you spoke of, where I found Yussuf Dakmar drinking coffee and smoking in company with these men and others. They did not see me in the beginning, because I entered by the door of a house threescore and five paces farther down the street; and having by that means gained the roof I descended to a gallery built of stone above one end of the coffee-shop, and there lay concealed among evil-smelling bags.
“They conversed in Arabic; and presently when other men had entered, some of whose names I overheard and wrote down on this slip of paper, Yussuf Dakmar locked the outer door, turning the great key twice and setting a chain in place as well. Then he stood on a red stool having four short legs, with his back to the door that he had locked, and spoke in the manner of one who stirs a multitude, gesticulating greatly.
“The argument he made was thus: He said that Jerusalem is a holy city, and Palestine a holy land; and that promises are all the more sacred if given in connection with religious matters; whereat they all applauded greatly. Nevertheless, a little later on he mocked at all religion, and they applauded that too. He said that the Allies, persuaded thereto by the British, had made a promise to the Emir Faisal on the strength of which the Arabs made common war with the Allies against the Turks and Germans, losing of their own a hundred thousand men and untold money.
“So, sahib. Next he asked them how much of that promise made by the Allies to Emir Faisal as the leader of the Arabs had been kept, or was likely to be kept; and they answered in one voice, ‘None of it!’ Whereat he nodded, as a teacher nods gravely when the pupils have their lesson well by heart, and said presently in a voice like that of a Guru denouncing sin: ‘A woman’s promise is a little matter; who believes it? When it is broken all men laugh. A promise extorted under threat or torture is not binding, since he who made the promise was not free to govern his own conduct; that is law. A promise made in business,’ said he, ‘is a contract contingent on circumstances and subject to litigation. But a promise made in wartime by a nation is a pledge set down in letters of blood. Whoever breaks it is guilty of blood; and whoever fails to smite dead the breaker of that oath, commits treason against Allah!’
“They applauded that speech greatly, sahib, and when they grew silent he bade them look about and judge for themselves at whose door the breaking of that sacred promise really lay. ‘Show me,’ said he, ‘one trace of Arab government in all Palestine. Who owns the land?’ he asked them. ‘Arabs!’ said they. ‘Yet to whom has the country been given?’ he shouted. ‘To the Jews!’ they answered; and he grew silent for a while, like a teacher whose class has only given half the answer to a question until presently one man growled out, ‘To the sword with the Jews in the name of Allah!’ and the others echoed that which satisfied him, for he smiled, nevertheless not using those words himself. And presently he continued:
“‘We in this room are men of enlightenment. We are satisfied to leave past and future to speculations of idle dreamers. For us the present. So we attach no value to the fact that Faisal is descended in a straight line from the founder of the Moslem faith; for that is a superstition as foolish in its way as Christianity or any other creed. But who is there like Faisal who can unite all Arabs under one banner?’
“They answered, sahib, that Faisal is the only living man who can accomplish that, making many assertions in his praise, Yussuf Dakmar nodding approval as each spoke. ‘Yet,’ said he when they had finished, ‘Faisal is also fallible. In certain ways he is a fool, and principally in this: That he insists on keeping his own promises to men who have broken their own promises to him.’ And like pupils in a class who recite their lesson, they all murmured that such a course as that is madness.
“‘So,’ said he, ‘we are clear on that point. We are not altruists, nor religious fanatics, nor slaves, but men of common sense who have a business in view. We are not Faisal’s servants, but he ours. We make use of him, not he of us. If he persists in a wrong course, we must force him into the right one, for the day of autocratic government is past and the hour has come when those who truly represent the people have the first right to direct all policy. If the right is still withheld from them, they must take it. And it is we in this room who truly represent the Arab cause, on whom lies the responsibility of forcing Faisal’s hand!’
“Well, sahib, these three prisoners who sit here offered, at once to go to Damascus and kill the men who are advising Faisal wrongly. They said that if they were given money they could easily hire Damascenes to do the dagger w
ork, there being, as the sahib doubtless knows, a common saying in these parts about Damascus folk and sharp steel. Whereat Yussuf Dakmar suddenly assumed a sneering tone of voice, saying that he preferred men for his part with spunk enough to do such work themselves, and there was an argument, they protesting and he mocking them, until at last this man, whose neck the glass cut, demanded of him whether he, Yussuf Dakmar, was not in truth an empty boaster who would flinch at bloodshed.
“He seemed to have been waiting for just that, sahib, for he smirked and threw a chest. ‘I am a man,’ said he, ‘of example as well as precept. I have done what I saw fit to do! I make no boasts,’ said he, ‘for a man who talks about himself sets others talking, and there are deeds creditable to the doer that are best not spoken of. But I will tell you other things, and you may draw your own conclusions.
“‘Because Faisal refuses to attack the French, having promised those promise-breakers that he will not; and because Faisal has promised to protect the Jews and is likely to try to keep that promise to the promise-breaking English, certain of his intimates in Damascus, in whose confidence I am, have determined to force both issues, taking steps in his name that will commit him finally. Faisal’s army of fifty thousand men is as ready as it will ever be. There is no money in the Damascus treasury, and therefore every moment of delay is now a moment lost. The time has come for action!’”
Our three prisoners were listening to the recitation spellbound, and so were we all for that matter. The mere memory feat was amazing enough. Few men could listen in hiding to a stranger’s words, and report them exactly after an interval of more than an hour; but Narayan Singh did better than that, for he reproduced the speaker’s gesture and inflection, so that we had a mental picture of the scene that he described. Mabel offered him stewed tannic acid in the name of tea, and Ticknor suggested a chair, but he waved both offers aside and continued as if the picture before his mind and the words he was remembering might escape him if he took things easy.
