"All men are equal in the dark."
The first thing Goodenough did after Grim had sent Narayan Singh
off on his deadly mission was to summon the sheikh of the Dome of
the Rock. He himself went to fetch him rather than risk having
the sheikh bring a crowd of witnesses, who would be sure to talk
afterwards. The all-important thing was to conceal the fact that
sacrilege had been committed. But it was also necessary to
establish the fact that Zionists had had no hand in it.
"You see," Grim explained, sitting on the edge of the stone
coffin, "we could hold Jerusalem. But if word of this business
were to spread far and wide, you couldn't hold two or three
hundred million fanatics; and believe me, they'd cut loose!"
"The sheikh must realize that," said I. "What do you bet me
he won't try to black-mail the Administration on the strength
of it?"
"I'll bet you my job! Watch the old bird. Listen in. He's
downy. He knows a chance when he sees it, and he might try
to cheat you at dominoes. But in a big crisis he's a number
one man."
While we waited we tried to get an opinion out of Scharnhoff
about the coffin and the skeleton inside it. But the old fellow
was heart-broken. I think he told the truth when he said he
couldn't explain it.
"What is there to say of it, except that it is very ancient?
There is no decoration. The coffin is beautifully shaped out of
one solid piece of stone, but that is all. The skeleton is that
of an old man, who seems to have been wounded once or twice in
battle. The linen is good, but there is no jewelry; no
ornaments. And it is buried here in a very sacred place, so
probably, it is one of the Jewish kings, or else one of the
prophets. It might be King David--who knows? And what do I
care? It is what a man sets down on parchment, and not his bones
that interest me!"
The sheikh arrived at last, following Goodenough down the dark
passage with the supreme nonchalance of the priest too long
familiar with sacred places to be thrilled or frightened by them.
He stood in the entrance gazing about him, blinking speculatively
through the folds of fat surrounding his bright eyes. Goodenough
took the lantern and held it close to the prisoners' faces one
by one.
"You see?" he said. "All Syrians. All Moslems. Not a Jew among
them. I'll take you and show you the others presently."
"What will you do with them?"
"That's for a court to decide. Hang them, most likely. They
were plotting murder."
"They will talk at the trial."
"Behind closed doors!" said Goodenough.
"Ahum!" said the sheikh, stroking his beard. It would not
have been compatible with either his religion or his racial
consciousness not to try to make the utmost of the situation.
"This would be a bad thing for all the Christian governments if
the tale leaked out. Religious places have been desecrated.
There would be inflammation of Moslem prejudices everywhere."
"It would be worse for you!" Grim retorted. The sheikh stared
hard at him, stroking his beard again,
"How so, Jimgrim? Have I had a hand in this?"
"This is your famous Bir-el-Arwah, where, as you tell your
faithful, the souls of the dead come to pray twice a week. This
is the gulf beneath the Rock of Abraham that you tell them
reaches to the middle of the world. Look at it! Shall we
publish flashlight photographs?"
The sheikh's eyes twinkled as he recognized the force of that
argument. He turned it over in his mind for a full minute before
he answered.
"You cannot be expected to understand spiritual things," he said
at last. "However," looking up, "this is not under the Rock.
This is another place."
Goodenough pulled a compass from his pocket, but Grim shook
his head.
"Go on," said Grim. "What of it?"
"It is better to close up this place and say nothing."
"Except this." Goodenough retorted: "you will say at the first
and every succeeding opportunity that you know it is not true
that Zionists tried to blow up the Dome of the Rock."
"How do I know they did not try?"
"Perhaps we'd better ask the Administrator to come and inspect
this place officially and put the exact facts on the record,"
Goodenough retorted.
"You understand, don't you?" said Grim.
"Everything we've done until now has been strictly unofficial.
There's a difference."
"And this effendi?" he asked, staring at me. "What of him?"
"He is commended to your special benevolence," Grim answered.
"The way to keep a man like him discreet is to make a friend of
him. Treat him as you do me, then we three shall be friends."
The sheikh nodded, and that proved to be the beginning of a
rather intimate acquaintance with him that stood me in good stead
more than once afterwards. The influence that a man in his
position can exert, if he cares to, is almost beyond the belief
of those who pin their faith to money and mere officialdom.
The prisoners were marched out. All except Scharnhoff and the
woman were confirmed temporarily in the room in which Grim and I
had breakfasted. The woman was taken to the jail until an
American missionary could be found to take charge of her. They
always hand the awkward cases over to Americans, partly because
they have a gift for that sort of thing, but also because, in
case of need, you can blame Americans without much risk of
a reaction.
Goodenough left a guard of Sikhs outside the street entrance, to
keep out all intruders until the sheikh could collect a few
trustworthy masons to seal up the passage again. Grim,
Scharnhoff and I walked quite leisurely to Grim's quarters, where
Grim left the two of us together in the room downstairs while he
changed into uniform.
"What will they do with me?" asked Scharnhoff. He was not far
from collapse. He lay back in the armchair with his mouth open.
I got him some of Grim's whiskey.
"Nothing ungenerous," I said. "If you were going to be hanged
Grim would have told you."
"Do you--do you think he will let me go?"
"Not until he's through with you," said I, "if I'm any judge
of him."
"What use can I be to him? My life is not worth a minute's
purchase if Noureddin Ali finds me--he or that other whom they
let go. Oh, what idiots to let Noureddin Ali give them the slip,
and then to turn the second-worst one loose as well! Those
English are all mad. That man Grim has been corrupted by them!"
Grim hardly looked corrupted, rather iron-hard and energetic when
he returned presently in his major's uniform. You could tell the
color of his eyes now; they were blue-gray, and there was a
light in them that should warn the wary not to oppose him unless
a real fight was wanted. His manner was brisk, brusk, striding
over trifles. He nodded to me.
"You sick of this?" he asked me.
"How many times? I want to see it through."
"All right. Your own risk."
He turned on Scharnhoff, standing straight in front of him, with
both arms behind his back.
"Look here. Have you any decency in that body of yours? Do you
want to prove it? Or would you rather hang like a common
scoundrel? Which is it to be?"
"I--I--I--I--do not understand you. What do you mean?"
"Are you game to risk your neck decently or would you rather have
the hangman put you out of pain?"
"I--I was not a conspirator, Major Grim. If I had known what
they intended I would never have lent myself to such a purpose.
I needed money for my excavations--it has been very difficult to
draw on my bank in Vienna. Noureddin Ali represented himself to
me as an enthusiastic antiquarian; and when I spoke of my need
he offered money, as I told you already. I never suspected until
last night that he and Abdul Ali of Damascus are French secret
agents. But last night he boasted to me about Abdul Ali. He
laughed at me. Then he--"
"Yes, yes," Grim interrupted. "Will you play the man now, if I
give you the chance?"
"If you will accord me opportunity, at least I will do my best."
"Understand; you'll not be allowed to live here afterward.
You'll be repatriated to Austria, or wherever you come from.
All you're offered is a chance to clean your slate morally before
you go."
"I shall be grateful."
"Will you obey?"
"Absolutely--to the limit of my power, that is to say. I am not
an athlete--not a man of active habits."
"Very well. Listen." Grim turned to me again
"Take Scharnhoff to his house. You know the way. When afternoon
comes, set a table in the garden and let him sit at it. He may
as well read. If nothing happens before dark, take him out a
lamp and some food. He mustn't move away. He'd better change
into his proper clothes first. Your job will be to keep an eye
on him until I come. You'd better keep out of sight as much as
possible, especially after dark. Better watch him through the
window. And, by the way, take this pistol. If Scharnhoff
disobeys you, shoot him."
He turned again on Scharnhoff.
"I hope you're not fooling yourself. I should say the chance is
two or three to one that you'll come out of this alive. If
you're killed, you may flatter yourself that's a mighty sight
cleaner than hanging. If you come out with a whole skin, you
shall leave the country without even going to jail. Time to
go now."
I slipped the heavy pistol into my pocket and led the way without
saying a word. Scharnhoff followed me, rather drearily, and we
walked side by side toward the German Colony, he looking exactly
like one of those respectable and devout educated Arabs of the
old style, who teach from commentaries on the Koran. We excited
no comment whatever.
"What will he do? What is his purpose?" Scharnhoff asked me
after a while. "If a man is in danger of death, he likes to know
the reason--the purpose of it."
I had a better than faint glimmering of Grim's purpose, but saw
no necessity to air my views on the subject.
"I'm amused," said I, "at the strictly unofficial status of all
this. You see, I'm no more connected with this administration
than you are. I'm as alien as you. You might say, I'm a
stranger in Jerusalem. Yet, here I am, with a perfectly official
pistol, loaded with official cartridges, under unofficial orders
to shoot you at the first sign of disobedience. And--strictly
unofficially, between you and me--I shan't hesitate to do it!"
He contrived a smile out of the depths of his despondency.
"I wonder--should you shoot me--what they would do to
you afterwards."
"Something unofficial," I suggested. "But we'll leave that up to
them. The point is--"
"Oh, don't worry! You shall have no trouble from me." It took a
long time to reach his house, for the poor old chap was suffering
from lack of sleep, and physical weariness, as well as disappointment,
and I had to let him sit down by the wayside once or twice. Being
in hard condition, and not much more than half his age, I had almost
forgotten that I had not slept the night before. Keen curiosity as
to what might happen between now and midnight was keeping me going.
He could hardly drag himself into the house. But a bath, and
some food that I found in the larder restored him considerably.
He helped me carry out the table. He chose a book of Schiller's
poems to take with him, but did not read it; he sat with his
elbows on the table and his back toward the front door, resting
his chin gloomily on both fists. He remained in that attitude
all afternoon, and for all I know slept part of the time.
Between him and the window of the room I sat in were some shrubs
that obscured the view considerably. I could see Scharnhoff
through them easily enough, but I don't think he could see me,
and certainly no one could have seen me from the road. I felt
fairly sure that no one saw me until it began to grow dark and I
carried out the lamp. Even then, it was Scharnhoff who struck
the match and lit it, so that I was in shadow all the time--
probably unrecognizable.
It had been fairly easy to keep awake until then, but as the room
grew darker and darker, and nothing happened, the yearning to
fall asleep became actual agony. It was a rather large, square
room, crowded up with a jumble of antiquities. The only real
furniture was the window-seat on which I knelt, and an oblong
table; but even the table was laid on its side to make room for
a battered Roman bust standing on the floor between its legs.
I had left the door of the room wide open, in order to be able to
hear anything that might happen in the house; but the only sound
came from a couple of rats that gnawed and rustled interminably
among the rubbish in the corner.
It must have been nearly eight o'clock, and I believe I had
actually dozed off at last, kneeling in the window, when all at
once it seemed to me that the rats were making a different, and
greater noise than I ever heard rats make. It was pitch-black
dark. I couldn't see my hand in front of me. My first thought
was to glance through the window at Scharnhoff, but something--
intuition, I suppose--made me draw aside from the window instead.
Then, beyond any shadow of a doubt, I heard a man move, and
the hair rose all up the back of my head. I remembered
the pistol, clutched it, and found voice enough for two words:
"Who's there?"
"Hee-hee!" came the answer from behind the table. "So Major
Jimgrim lied about a broken leg, and thought to trap Noureddin
Ali, did he! Don't move, Major Jimgrim! Don't move! We will
have a little talk before we bid each other good-bye! I cannot
last long in any case, for the cursed Sikhs are after me. I
would rather that you should kill me than those Sikhs should, but
I would like to kill you also. If you move before I give you
leave you are a dead man, Major Jimgrim! Hee-hee! You cannot
see me! Better keep still!"
If it was flattering to be mistaken for Grim in the dark, it was
hardly pleasant in the circumstances. For a moment I was angry.
It flashed across my mind that Grim had planned this. But on
second thought I refused to believe he would deceive me about
Scharnhoff and use me as a decoy without my permission. I
decided to keep still and see what happened.
"Do you think you deserve to live, Major Jimgrim?" Noureddin
Ali's voice went on. I heard him shift his position. He was
probably trying to see my outline against the dark wall in order
to take aim. "You, a foreigner, interfering in the politics of
this land? But for you there would have been an explosion today
that would have liberated all the Moslem world. But for that lie
about a broken leg you would have died a little after ten o'clock
this morning--hee-hee--instead of now! Don't move, Major
Jimgrim! You and I will have a duel presently. There is lots of
time. The Sikhs lost track of me."
I did move. I stooped down close to the floor, so that he might
fire over my head if, as I suspected, he was merely gaining time
in order to take sure aim. I tried to see which end of the table
he was talking from, but he was hidden completely.
"Do you think you should go free, to perpetrate more cowardly
interference, after spoiling that well-laid plan? Hee-hee! You
poor fool! Busy-bodies such as you invariably overreach
themselves. Having tricked me two or three times, you thought,
didn't you? that you could draw me here to kill Scharnhoff, that
poor old sheep. You were careful, weren't you? to let Omar
Mahmoud go, in order that he might tell me how Scharnhoff had
turned witness against us. And the Sikhs followed Omar Mahmoud,
until Omar Mahmoud found me. And then they hunted me. Hee-hee!
Don't move! Was that the plan? Simultaneously then, being
yourself only a fool after all, you flatter me and underestimate
my intelligence. Hee-hee!
"You were right in thinking I would not submit to capture and
death without first wreaking vengeance. But vengeance on such a
sheep as Scharnhoff? With Major Jimgrim still alive? What
possessed you? Were you mad? I satisfied myself an hour ago
that Scharnhoff was the bait, which the redoubtable Major Jimgrim
would be watching. Perhaps I shall deal with Scharnhoff
afterwards--hee-hee!--who knows? Now--now shall we fight that
duel? Are you ready?"
I supposed that meant that he could not see me and had given up
hope of it. He would like to have me move first, so as to judge
my exact whereabouts by sound. I reached out very cautiously,
and rapped the muzzle of my pistol on the floor twice.
He fired instantly, three shots in succession. The bullets went
wild to my left and brought down showers of plaster from the
wall. I feared he might have seen me by the pistol-flash. I did
not fire back. There was no need. Something moved swiftly like
a black ghost through the open door. There was a thud--and the
ring of a steel swivel--and a scream.
"Has the sahib a match?" said a gruff voice that I thought
I recognized.
I was trembling--excitement, of course--only children and women
and foreigners ever feel afraid! It took me half a minute to
find the match box, and the other half to strike a light.
Narayan Singh was standing by the end of the table. He was
wiping blood off his bayonet with a piece of newspaper. He
looked cool enough to have carried the paper in his pocket for
that purpose. I got up, feeling ashamed to be seen crouching on
the floor. But Narayan Singh smiled approval.
"You did well, sahib. All men are equal in the dark. Until he
fired first there was nothing wise to do but hide."
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"Five minutes. I only waited for a sure thrust. But hah? the
sahib feels like a dead man come to life again, eh? Well I know
that feeling!"
The match burned my fingers. I struck another. As I did that
Grim stood in the doorway, smiling.
"Is he dead?" he asked.
"Surely, sahib. Shall I go now and get that other one--that
Omar Mahmoud?"
"No need," said Grim. "They rounded him up five minutes after he
had found Noureddin."
"Then have I done all that was required of me?"
"No, Narayan Singh. You haven't shaken hands with me yet."
"Thank you, Jimgrim."
The match went out. I struck a third one. Grim turned to me.
"Hungry?"
"Sleepy."
"Oh, to hell with sleep! Let's bring old Scharnhoff into the
other room, dig out some eats and drinks, and get a story from
him. All right, Narayan Singh; there'll be a guard here in
ten minutes to take charge of that body. After that, dismiss.
I'll report you to Colonel Goodenough for being a damned
good soldier."
"My colonel sahib knew that years ago," the great Sikh answered
quietly.