The House of the Falcon

by Harold Lamb

  When Edith climbed at last from the ekka, assisted by Iskander, she saw that the cart was drawn up beside the kneeling forms of a long line of camels. Near the shaggy beasts stood natives staring at her. In the hand of one she recognized the familiar black medicine pail.

  "So it wasn't a dream after all," she thought. "Poor Aunt Kate. She will have to do without her medicine pail!"

  CHAPTER VIII

  EVENTS OF A DAY

  Methodically Major Fraser-Carnie arranged the papers on his desk and glanced from the distressed countenance of Miss Catherine Rand to the handsome features of Monsey and the grim, bearded face of the Afghan driver of his own phaëton. The American woman and the Russian were seated in front of him; the native stood at attention by the door.

  For once the worthy major's ruddy cheeriness was replaced by a keen and somber gravity. He had his report to make to his superior officer, and—he was very fond of Edith Rand.

  Miss Rand sat very erect in the canvas-backed camp chair. Double misfortune had descended upon her within the space of a few hours.

  "I did see her for a moment in the ballroom, Major. Edith was standing with Mr. Monsey, Then Rawul Singh came up and spoke to them. At that moment the dancing began again."

  Almost absently Fraser-Carnie nodded. Miss Rand closed her thin lips severely, feeling that she had been snubbed. She demanded that Fraser-Carnie go at once to the Maharaja and request that a search be made for her niece. And she threatened to wire the American consul somewhere in India—she did not know where.

  Fraser-Carnie answered her quietly, aware that she had been under a strain.

  "My dear Miss Rand, the raja is quite ignorant of the disappearance of your niece. I can assure you of that. The servants at the carriage entrance did not see Miss Edith leave the palace. But those at a side entrance opening into the drive did see her. She went very quickly along the roadway, following Rawul Singh."

  Monsey leaned forward.

  "Your pardon. Major. Why do you not question the orderly?"

  For an instant Fraser-Carnie glanced at the man who had interrupted him, then continued calmly.

  "That was just before the storm broke. A Kashmiri horse boy gives evidence that a two-wheeled vehicle left the drive at that time, going at a round pace. The boy swears it was a covered, native cart, without a lantern. Several men were in it. I have had—ah—inquiries made among the guests of that evening. No one claims knowledge of the cart."

  "Rather, no one admits it, Major," put in Monsey smilingly. "Now what does Rawul Singh say?"

  He spoke lightly, as one entirely disinterested in the proceedings. Major Fraser-Carnie folded the paper he had been scanning and met the other's stare fairly.

  "Rawul Singh was found dead in the rhododendron bushes beside the carriage drive at the palace at dawn." he responded.

  "Oh!"

  Miss Catherine Rand had recourse to the salts. Monsey looked interested.

  "You connect the death of your orderly with the disappearance of Miss Rand?"

  Fraser-Carnie smiled, a trifle wearily. He had been up all night with a patient at the bungalow.

  "Rawul Singh had his orders—not to leave Miss Rand. He would obey orders, you know."

  "Yes, he would do that." Monsey's voice was uncertain, as if he were thinking quickly. "May I ask—how he died?"

  "Stabbed in the back, and his throat slashed. Quite clearly he was attacked in the road, for we found blood stains there. These led us to look for the body in the bushes. It was thoroughly wet, having been exposed to the rain during the night, so the murder must have taken place during the time of the ball." The officer took up his pen. "Dhar Beg!"

  The figure of the Afghan stiffened

  "Did Rawul Singh come to you among the carriages last night?"

  "Sahib, he did not come." Dhar Beg was the son of chiefs and he had been a noncommissioned officer in a native regiment. Wherefore, his words were prompt and to the point.

  "You did not see him seeking the carriage?"

  "Nay. A storm was arising, and I was leading the horses to a covered place. Sahib, I thought Rawul Singh called to me once. I did not answer, being busy with the beasts. But, later, I went to see if he had called and I did not see him. There was much confusion because of the coming storm."

  "Know you aught of this cart?" Fraser-Carnie and Dhar Beg were conversing in Hindustani.

  "A cart—nay." Dhar Beg plucked at his beard shrewdly. "But a carriage passed before my sight, rolling swiftly."

  "What carriage?"

  "The same, sahib, that nearly ran us down, owing to the thrice-cursed arrogance of its driver, when we first entered the palace grounds. I knew the horses.''

  "Do you know the owner of the carriage?"

  Before the Afghan could answer, Monsey, who had followed the conversation, broke in. "It was mine, I believe."

  "Ah. But you were not in it?"

  "You have heard my testimony."

  Monsey was quite at his ease now. He had come to the quarters of Major Fraser-Carnie fully understanding that he must answer for his whereabouts the evening before. And he had made it clear that he had not left the palace until some two hours after Edith Rand had been seen with him. What was more to the point, his story was verified by certain native dignitaries and British officers whose word was better than a bond.

  Well aware of the hostility of Fraser-Carnie, reticent though the Briton was, Monsey enjoyed his advantage; his alibi was complete. Perhaps for this reason he insisted on making his testimony as formal as possible—as if he had been charged with complicity in the matter of Edith Rand.

  "Then," inquired Fraser-Carnie, ignoring the other's tone, "who was in your phaëton?"

  For just an instant the black eyes of the Russian flickered. Whereupon the Afghan drew a deep breath and glanced at his master.

  "The driver, my friend, Fraser-Carnie," responded Monsey carefully. "I had sent for the carriage to escort Miss Rand back to the bungalow. Unfortunately,"—he shrugged—"she chose to go with Rawul Singh."

  Dhar Beg waited until the speaker bad finished, then let out pent breath.

  "Sahib," he addressed the major, "the carriage came not to the palace entrance but went swiftly from the stables out the gate."

  "After the two-wheeled cart had passed out."

  "As the sahib has said."

  Fraser-Carnie glanced inquiringly at Monsey.

  "You said the phaëton called for you at the drive entrance?"

  "I did not enter it. Because Miss Rand—she had gone." Just a trifle, Monsey's slight accent thickened. "So, I dismissed the driver."

  "Who returned to the stables?"

  Monsey was quick of thought. At the card table he seldom hesitated. Nor did he hesitate now.

  "Yes, monsieur —I believe the chap drove around the drive, however, to arrive at the stables."

  Fraser-Carnie glanced at Dhar Beg. It was not an easy matter to give the lie to a white man; but an Afghan has principles of his own and he generally lacks fear.

  "Sahib, with my eyes I saw the carriage roll from the palace gateway and it did not come back."

  This time the major nodded slightly. By long experience he knew when Dhar Beg was telling the truth. All that he had learned, however, was that the carriage had left the palace grounds shortly after the cart. Monsey rose.

  "My dear fellow," he observed idly, "am I answerable for the route followed by that scoundrel who is my driver? Was I or was I not at the palace during the whole of the evening?"

  At this Miss Rand announced that she must return to the bungalow. Fraser-Carnie ushered her to the door and commanded Dhar Beg to escort her. Then he swung around on his remaining visitor, gnawing at his white mustache.

  "Monsey!" His full voice rang out sharply. "Where was your friend Abbas Abad last night?"

  The Russian stared, and the skin of his face darkened.

  "Abbas Abad? The Alaman drug seller of the bazaar? Why do you call him my friend?"

  "On t
he testimony of Rawul Singh."

  "Really?" A hard smile crept across Monsey's thin lips. "I fancy your orderly was mistaken." To himself he muttered: "Les absents ont toujours tort!"

  "Was Abbas at the palace last night?"

  "Dear Major, where was your watchdog? I do not follow the nightly prowling of the scum of the bazaar."

  The British officer paced the narrow confines of his quarters, glaring at the more nimble-witted man, much as a caged lion glares at its keeper.

  "I think you do, sometimes," he admitted frankly, "when there's a chance of money in pocket"

  Monsey's hand twitched toward his coat and his smile was wiped out on the instant. But he had broken the gentleman's code so often that he could well afford to overlook one other insult. Besides, he realized that he held the whip hand. Fraser-Carnie was helpless to accuse him of any wrongdoing. Nor could any blame be affixed to Abbas. So he smiled, although his eyes blinked.

  "Each to his taste, my dear chap. You Englishmen have a saying—'Trade follows the flag.' Voilà!" He lowered his voice earnestly. "Fraser-Carnie, you cannot afford to offend me. Have a care what you say. Remember this: I did not kill your orderly nor did I abduct Miss Rand. But, through this man Abbas I believe I can trace her—perhaps. Do not forget that."

  "Ah. You can find her?"

  "I do not know—but—I will see. If you have—patience—I will make inquiries, now."

  He bowed to the steady-eyed Briton. "Is the inquisition over—the concours at an end? Yes? Then I have your leave to depart."

  "By all means," growled the officer.

  CHAPTER IX

  ABBAS ARRANGES

  In the roadway without Monsey gritted his teeth and spat heartily.

  "Idiot! Donkey with ears a yard long! Cochon! Canaille! Oh, what a fool. By all the saints and the ninety-nine holy names of Allah: his brain is transparent as the monocle in his eye!"

  Thus muttering he strode to the canal bank and hailed a passing gondola. Making sure, without appearing to do so, that he was not followed, he directed the paddler to the bazaar quarter.

  Monsey did not go to the house where Abbas sold his poisons, but landed at the silk shop of a Bokharan Jew. Pushing impatiently through a splendid rug hung as a curtain, he confronted the squatting proprietor who was deep in talk with Abbas Abad. The Alaman had buttoned the open flaps of his dirty drill suit and boasted a new pair of English boots, but he lolled over the spluttering water pipe, very much at his ease. Like the Turkish dignitaries he sought to ape, he was solidly fleshed and eager to gratify his senses; unlike the average Turk, he was active in the brain cells, energetic when it was necessary, and possessed of unusual strength in his massive figure.

  Monsey dismissed the Bokharan with a jerk of the head, and took the precaution to stand near the curtain until he was satisfied that no one lingered on the other side.

  "What luck?" he demanded of Abbas.

  The Alaman grinned, picking at yellow teeth.

  "Patience, my Excellency. Am I not a splendid man-of-business? By Allah, I am!" He slapped his girdle until it chinked. "Gold, silver. I would take no paper bank notes. We have enough——"

  "For a good outfit—good horses, guides, and followers?"

  Abbas nodded complacently.

  "Am I not Abbas Abad, who once made a fortune out of nothing in Khokand and Baku? Nay, my own men will guide us."

  "How many? Are they well armed?"

  "Is a beetle ever without his shell? Eh? They are as many as the fingers of two hands, less one—Sarts, godless thieves—one or two Tartars, dogs without wit but hardy—a cousin of mine who would rip up his grandfather for a silver ring. These will suffice until we reach Kashgar."

  "And this Bokharan advanced funds?" Monsey nodded toward the curtain behind which their host had disappeared.

  Again Abbas patted his girdle.

  "Khosh! I persuaded him, and he gave a letter to his uncle in Kashgar who will aid us—with more money. There we will have many friends, of other days."

  "All this without security. Abbas?"

  "Aye, Timan is generous."

  "Look here!" Monsey scowled at his companion. "If you are lying, I'll stretch your hide over the doorpost of Yakka Arik."

  "Excellency mine, would I embark upon a journey where I did not smell a profit at the end? Would I have slain the rat of a Garhwali if I were not in earnest?"

  "That was a blunder!"

  "Now, by the prophet's beard," growled the Alaman, "how was I to know that the woman would be whisked away from under my eyes while I was attending to the affair of the dog of a Rawul Singh? Eh? I have not the eyes of a cat, so I did not see the cart drive up."

  Monsey shrugged his shoulders.

  "You blundered. I brought you to the palace in my carriage, so that you might seize this woman. You saw the girl and the soldier outside, in the roadway; you were a fool to slay the man before seeking Miss Rand."

  "Ah-h-h." Abbas Abad grinned. "Shall I, who am no man's fool, take a wolf cub from under the teeth of a grown wolf before striking down the stronger one? The Garhwali was active and swift as a snake."

  "But you saw the woman put into the cart?"

  "Aye."

  "And the cart was that hired by Iskander ibn Tahir in the relay station?"

  "Aye. likewise—for my ears are keen—I heard the Arab shout to his men." Abbas Abad paused to spit, then nodded with great self-approval. "Monsey, my friend, verily your luck is good. For lo—the woman is taken, and not by us. Now we have but to take her from those who hold her"—he laughed gleefully—"and Iskander, that dog of a desertman, he is a fox that I can trail. Maili barlik! (Everything is prosperous!)"

  He leaned forward to slap the leg of his companion.

  "Monsey, effendi, in your carriage I followed the ekka without the gate, through the lanes of this accursed city, and up into the northern road to the first relay of horses. By the winged horse of Afrasiab, they went swiftly. Come, in the name of Allah, we must lose no time. All is ready. Oh, I have not been idle. I and you, also, know whither that fox of an Iskander will run to earth. By riding certain sheep paths, we can overtake them."

  "And then——"

  "The Arab will have but one or two men and the woman will encumber them. O Most Generous and Most Wise, have you forgotten that in the uplands we have a mighty following who will come at our summons? That, and a little gold, of course. When I sent the firman to the effendi, I sent also a little whisper to these, our allies of the uplands, where there is no law save that of strength. Now they await our coming. They know where the fairest women of the Sayak village or the Kirghiz hamlets are to be found, and where they may be sold at the highest price. Aye, with the Americain khanum——"

  "My wife. I tell you, I will marry her, and then sell her back to her father, who will be fool enough to take her."

  Abbas nodded readily.

  "The wisdom of Iskander was no greater than that of the effendi. Aye, by pretending to seek for the woman on behalf of the British pig—for a little price, to lull his suspicions—we will cause him to wait here idly."

  Attentively, Monsey had followed the complacent words of the Alaman. Now he checked Abbas.

  "Will you take Alai Bala?"

  "Nay." The Alaman took up the stem of his hubble-bubble. "She abides here.''

  "I could make a place for her in our party—she rides well."

  "Nay," said Abbas sullenly, "those sons of many jackals, my men, would not respect her." He fancied that Monsey found the Georgian attractive.

  "Well, then, where will you leave her?"

  "With Timan, the Bokharan. He will keep her."

  Monsey frowned irritably. It was significant of the relations between the two that the Alaman was obdurate in trifles, whereas he recognized the superior leadership of the Russian in weightier matters.

  "So long as you are certain you can overtake Iskander at Kashgar—well and good. We will leave before sunset."

  "Effendi mine, my men can trai
l a marmot through hell. They know the hills yonder as a Tartar knows his sheep."

  "But first," murmured Monsey, "I shall visit the American father. Abbas, these American fathers have nothing but their children in their hearts and their purse strings are open to the touch. Be ready with the horses in an hour and take heed that the British major sees you not."

  "Nay, the eyes of the man are closed, now that Rawul Singh is dead——"

  But Monsey had stridden from the curtained chamber. Abbas Abad yawned and stretched, binding his girdle more tightly about his stout body.

  "Sa'at," he murmured, "it is the hour of commencement. Eh, but that Russian milor' has wits—little else he has, but wit—yess! He is not one to sleep when the dogs are a-prowl, by Allah, no. He is useful. Ohé—Alai Bala! My parrakeet, my soft pigeon. Have you forgotten the voice of your friend and father?"

  He stepped into an arched hallway leading into the rear of the shop. At a curtained recess he paused prudently. Timan was a Bokharan, and the rooms beyond were those of his women. Even though the two were firm friends-which was the case—it would have been a mortal offense for the visitor to enter the space beyond the curtain where the women lived. To speak as he did was daring enough. Abbas heard Timan curse in his beard, and grinned softly.

  "Alai Bala," he called, "be kind to your new master. He is a righteous man. Verily, an honorable man. Abide here and think not of the hills and pathways of the uplands."

  Leaning forward, he listened shrewdly. He heard a half-sob, then the growl of a man's voice in an angry whisper. The whimper of Alai Bala came to him faintly.

  "... you swore ... we were mounting to ride to the hills ... I would ride to the hills and the valleys of Khorassan ..."

  "Kaba-dar" (have care), grumbled the heavy voice of Timan.

  "Dance lightly for Timan, my delightful pigeon," added Abbas. "Bathe in musk for his pleasure and scorn not the kohl. O weep not, for I said to Timan that you were a rose of beauty. But now we go—the effendi and I—to take another rose." He muttered to himself as he slipped away from the curtain: "May you cost the Bokharan a pretty penny for your opium—that he suspects not. However, a bargain is a bargain." Whereupon he slapped his girdle and listened to the chink of coins, well pleased with himself and the world.