"The Enemy is nearly always useful if you leave him free to
make mistakes."
The next item on the program was to awaken Suliman. He did not
want to wake up. He had lost all interest in secret service for
the time being. Even the sight of Mrs. Davey's New York candy
did not stir enthusiasm; he declared it was stuff fit for
bints,* not men. [*Women]
"All right then," Grim announced at last.
"School for you, and I'll get another side-partner."
That settled it. The boy, on whose lips the word dog was a foul
epithet, was actually proud to share a packing-case bedroom with
Julius Caesar the mess bull-dog. School, where there would be
other iniquitous small boys to be led into trouble, had no
particular terrors. But to lose his job and to see another boy,
perhaps a Jew or a Christian, become Jimgrim's Jack-of-all-jobs
was outside the pale of inflictions that pride could tolerate.
"I am awake!" he retorted, rubbing his eyes to prove it.
"Come here, then. D'you know where to find your mother?"
"At the place where I went yesterday."
"Take her some of Mrs. Davey's candy. Don't eat it on the way,
mind. Get inside the place if you can. If she won't let you in
try how much you can see through the door. Ask no questions. If
she asks what you've been doing, tell her the truth: say that
you cleaned my boots and washed Julius Caesar. Then come back
here and tell me all you've seen."
"Sending him to spy on his own mother, Jim?" asked Mrs. Davey as
Suliman left the room with candy in both fists. She paused from
stitching at the cotton bags to look straight at Grim.
"His mother is old Scharnhoff's housekeeper," Grim answered.
"Scharnhoff wouldn't stand for the boy, and drove him out. The
mother liked Scharnhoff's flesh-pots better than the prospects of
the streets, so she stayed on, swiping stuff from Scharnhoff's
larder now and then to slip to the kid through the back door.
But he was starving when I found him."
Mrs. Davey laid her sewing down.
"D'you mean to tell me that that old butter-wouldn't-melt-in-
his-mouth professor is that child's father?"
"No. The father was a Turkish soldier--went away with the
Turkish retreat. If he's alive he's probably with Mustapha Kemal
in Anatolia. Old Scharnhoff used to keep a regular harem under
the Turks. He got rid of them to save his face when our crowd
took Jerusalem. He puts up with one now. But he has the
thorough-going Turk's idea of married life."
"And to think I had him here to tea--twice--no, three times! I
liked him, too! Found him interesting."
"He is," said Grim.
"Very!" agreed Goodenough.
"If it weren't for that harem habit of his," said Grim, "some
acquaintances of his would have blown up the Dome of the Rock
about this time tomorrow. As it is, they won't get away with
it. Suliman came and told me one day that his mother was
carrying food to Scharnhoff, taking it to a little house in
a street that runs below the Haram-es-Sheriff. I looked into
that. Then came news that two tons of TNT was missing, on top
of a request from Scharnhoff for permission to go about at night
unquestioned. After that it was only a question of putting
two and two together--"
"Plus Narayan Singh," said Goodenough. "I still don't see, Grim,
how you arrived at the conclusion that Scharnhoff is not guilty
of the main intention. What's to prove that he isn't in the pay
of Mustapha Kemal?"
"I'll explain. All Scharnhoff cares about is some manuscripts he
thinks he'll find. He thinks he knows where they are. The
Chronicles of the Kings of Israel. I expect he tried pretty hard
to get the Turks to let him excavate for them. But the Turks
knew better than to offend religious prejudices. And perhaps
Scharnhoff couldn't afford to bribe heavily enough; his harem
very likely kept him rather short of money. Then we come along,
and stop all excavation--cancel all permits--refuse to grant
new ones.
"Scharnhoff's problem is to dig without calling attention to what
he's doing. As a technical enemy alien he can't acquire
property, or even rent property without permission. But with the
aid of Suliman's mother he made the acquaintance of our friend
Noureddin Ali, who has a friend, who in turn has a brother, who
owns a little house in that street below the Haram-es-Sheriff."
"Strange coincidence!" said Goodenough. "It'll need a better
argument than that to save Scharnhoff's neck."
"Pardon me, sir. No coincidence at all. Remember, Scharnhoff
has lived in Jerusalem for fifteen years. He seems to have
satisfied himself that the Tomb of the Kings is directly under
the Dome of the Rock. How is he to get to it? The Dome of the
Rock stands in the middle of that great courtyard, with the
buildings of the Haram-es-Sheriff surrounding it on every
side, and hardly a stone in the foundations weighing less than
ten tons.
"He reasons it out that there must be a tunnel somewhere, leading
to the tomb, if it really is under the Dome of the Rock. I have
found out that he went to work, while the Turks were still here,
to find the mouth of the tunnel. Remember, he's an archaeologist.
There's very little he doesn't know about Jerusalem. He knows
who the owner is of every bit of property surrounding the
Haram-es-Sheriff; he's made it his business to find out. So
when he finally decided that this little stone house stands over
the mouth of the tunnel, all that remained to do was to get
access to it. He couldn't do that himself, because of the
regulations. He had to approach the Arab owner secretly and
indirectly. That's where Suliman's mother came in handy.
"She contrived the introduction to Noureddin Ali. Innocent old
Scharnhoff, who is an honest thief--he wouldn't steal money--
sacrilege is Scharnhoff's passion--was an easy mark for Noureddin
Ali. Noureddin Ali is a red-minded devil, so smart at seeing
possibilities that he is blind to probabilities. He is paid by
the French to make trouble, and he's the world's long-distance
double-crosser. I don't believe the French have any hand in this
job. Scharnhoff needed explosives. Noureddin Ali saw at once
that if that tunnel can be found and opened up there could be
an atrocity perpetrated that would produce anarchy all through
the East."
"As bad as all that?" asked Mrs. Davey.
"That's no exaggeration," Goodenough answered. "I've lived
twenty-five years in India, commanding Sikh and Moslem troops.
The Sikhs are not interested in the Moslem religion in any way,
but they'd make common cause with Moslems if that place were
blown up and the blame could be attached to Jews. It's the
second most sacred place in Asia. Even the Hindus would be
stirred to their depths by it; they'd feel that their own sacred
places were insecure, and that whoever destroyed them would be
protected afterwards by us."
"Gosh! Who'd be an Englishman!" laughed Davey.
"I don't see that it's proved yet that the idea of an explosion
wasn't Sharnhoff's in the first place," Goodenough objected.
"For one thing, he wouldn't want to destroy antiquities," said
Grim. "They're his obsession. He worships ancient history and
all its monuments. No, Noureddin Ali thought of the explosion.
He knew that Scharnhoff needed money, so he gave him French
money, knowing that would put old Scharnhoff completely in his
power. Then he tipped off some one down at Ludd to watch for a
chance to steal some TNT. He had better luck than he expected.
He got two tons of it. He didn't have all the luck, though.
His plan, I believe, was to time the fireworks simultaneously
with a French-instigated raid from El-Kerak. But the raid
didn't come off."
"Scharnhoff will hang!" said Goodenough.
"I think not, sir. He'll prove as meek as an old sheep when we
land on him."
"There, will the bags do?" asked Mrs. Davey.
"What are they for?" Goodenough asked.
"We're supposed to have a slush fund in this room of a hundred
thousand dollars," Davey answered dourly. "My Oil Company is
supposed to be buying up Mustapha Kemal! I see my finish, if
news of this ever reaches the States--or unless my version of it
gets there first!"
Grim turned to me.
"We've got to find two people to take your place and mine in the
car tomorrow morning. Perhaps you'd better go in any case;
you'll enjoy the ride as far as Haifa--stay there a day or two,
and come back when you feel like it. We'll find some officer to
masquerade as me."
But there I rebelled--flat, downright mutiny.
"If I haven't made good so far," I said, "I'll consider myself
fired, and hold my tongue. Otherwise, I see this thing through!
Send some one else on the joy-ride."
"Good for you!" said Davey.
"Dammit, man!" said Goodenough, staring at me through his
monocle. "The rest of us get paid for taking chances. The only
tangible reward you can possibly get will be a knife in your
back. Better be sensible and take the ride to Haifa."
"My bet is down," said I.
"Good," Grim nodded. "It goes. All the same, you get a joy-
ride. Can't take too many chances. Tell you about that later.
Meanwhile, will you detail an officer to come and spend the night
in this hotel and masquerade as me at dawn, sir? He can wear
this uniform that I've got on--somebody about my height."
"Turner will do that. What are you going to put in the bags?"
asked Goodenough.
"Cartridges. They're heavy. You might tell Turner over the
phone to bring them with him."
At that point Suliman returned, sooner than expected, with news
that made Grim whistle. Suliman had not been inside the place
where his mother was. She would not let him. But he had seen
around her skirts as she stood in the partly opened door.
"There was a hole in the floor," said Suliman, "and a great stone
laid beside it. Also much gray dust. And I think there was a
light a long way down in the hole."
But that was not what made Grim whistle.
"What else? Did your mother say anything?"
"She was ill-tempered."
"That Scharnhoff had beaten her."
"I knew he'd make a bad break sooner or later. What did he beat
her for?"
"Because she was afraid."
"That's a fine reason. Afraid of what?"
"He says she is to sell oranges. Four wooden benches have been
brought, and tomorrow they are to be set outside the door in the
street. Oranges and raisins have been bought, and she is to sit
outside the door and sell them. She is afraid."
"Fruit bought already? Can't be. Was it inside there?"
"No. It is to come tomorrow. She says she does not know how to
sell fruit, and is afraid of the police."
Grim and Goodenough exchanged glances.
"She says that if the police come everybody will be killed, and
that I am to keep watch in the street in the morning and give
warning of the police."
"That should teach you, young man, never to take a woman into
your confidence--eh, Mrs. Davey?" said Goodenough.
"We're certainly the slow-witted sex," she answered, piling the
finished bags one on top of the other on the table.
Grim took me after that to the hotel roof, whence you can see the
whole of Jerusalem. It was just before moonrise. The ancient
city lay in shadow, with the Dome of the Rock looming above it,
mysterious and silent. Down below us in the street, where a
gasoline light threw a greenish-white glare, three Arabs in
native costume were squatting with their backs against the low
wall facing the hotel.
"Noureddin Ali's men," said Grim, chuckling. "They'll help us to
prove our alibi. The enemy is nearly always useful if you leave
him free to make mistakes. You may have to spend the whole night
in the mosque--you and Suliman. I'll take you there presently.
Two of those men are pretty sure to follow us. One will probably
follow me back here again. The other will stay to keep an eye on
you. About an hour before dawn, in case nothing happens before
that, you and Suliman come back here to the hotel. The car shall
be here half-an-hour before daylight. You and Turner pile into
it, and those three men watch you drive away. They'll hurry off
to tell Noureddin Ali that Staff-Captain Ali Mirza and the
deaf-and-dumb man have really started for Damascus, bags of gold
and all.
"Turner must remember to drop a couple of bags and pick them up
again, to call attention to them. There'll be a change of
clothes in the car for you. When you've gone a mile or so, get
into the other clothes and walk back. If I don't meet you by the
Jaffa Gate, Suliman will, or else Narayan Singh. Things are
liable to happen pretty fast tomorrow morning. Let's go.
"I'm supposed to have found out somehow that you're awful
religious and want to pray, so it's the Dome of the Rock for
yours. Any Moslem who wants to may sleep there, you know. But
any Christian caught kidding them he's a Moslem would be for it--
short shrift. He'd be dead before the sheikh of the place could
hand him over to the authorities. If the TNT were really in
place underneath you, which I'm pretty sure it won't be for a few
hours yet, that would be lots safer than the other chance you're
taking. So peel your wits. Let Suliman sleep if he wants to,
but you'll have to keep awake all night."
"But what am I to do in there? What's likely to happen?"
"Just listen. The tunnel isn't through to the end yet, I'm sure
of it. If it were, they'd have taken in the TNT, for it must be
ticklish work keeping it hidden elsewhere, with scores of Sikhs
watching day and night. But they're very near the end of the
tunnel, or they wouldn't be opening up that fruit stand. You'll
hear them break through. When you're absolutely sure of that,
come out of the mosque and say Atcha--just that one word--to the
Sikh sentry you'll see standing under the archway through which
we'll enter the courtyard presently. That sentry will be Narayan
Singh, and he'll know what to do."
"What shall I do after that?"
"Suit yourself. Either return to the mosque and go to sleep, if
you can trust yourself to wake in time, or come and sit on the
hotel step until morning. Have you got it all clear? It's a
piece of good luck having you to do all this. No real Moslem
would ever be able to hold his tongue about it. They're
superstitious about the Dome of the Rock. But ask questions now,
if you're not clear; you mustn't be seen speaking in the street
or in the mosque, remember. All plain sailing? Come along,
then. If you're alive tomorrow you'll have had an adventure."