TEMPTATION
Frank felt that while things might have been worse, they were quite bad
enough. The ostensible reason of his imprisonment being that he was of
military age, he foresaw the possibility of his remaining a prisoner
until the end of the war--perhaps a year, for while he had a great
respect for Germany's military power, he did not think it likely that
she could withstand the forces of the Triple Entente for more than
twelve months.
At first he had no great hardship to endure. His own servants had been
dismissed, but he had been given as personal attendant an old Arab named
Hussein who combined the natural courtesy of his race with another
Eastern characteristic--a keen appetite for bakshish. Frank had been
allowed to keep his ready money, and was thus able to purchase many
comforts to supplement the prisoner's fare supplied him. Hussein, of
course, made a handsome profit out of every transaction in which he was
thus employed, and Frank soon saw the necessity of self-restraint, for
money would not last for ever, and there was no chance of obtaining
more.
Hussein was talkative and intelligent, always polite, and, Frank
suspected, sly. It was from him that Frank learnt, after a few days,
that Joseph had been released from the common jail and had left the
town. The Turks were straining every nerve to collect supplies for
their campaign in the Caucasus, and Joseph's father the contractor was
too useful a man to be alienated. It was not long before Frank had proof
of Hussein's slyness.
"The days are getting colder, effendim," he said one day. "There was
snow in the night."
"Very uncomfortable for the army," said Frank.
"True. Our winter is very long, very bitter. It is not so in your
country, effendim?"
"Not so bitter, perhaps, but quite as long as we like it."
"Wallahy! This country is not a healthy place for Englishmen in the
winter. Hundreds of them have left Turkey, so it is told me. Of a
truth Turkey is not a healthy place for them now! A pity you are not
gone too, effendim."
"Well, I am certainly not here by my own wish."
"A wish is the father of an action, effendim. You have but to wish,
and----"
"What are you driving at?" said Frank as the Arab paused.
"There was a man of Trebizond who being falsely accused and unjustly
cast into prison, nevertheless after taking thought confessed with tears
that he was guilty of that crime; whereupon the heart of his jailer was
softened and his hand was opened to receive the slight gifts that were
the tokens of the prisoner's repentance, and within a little that man
was free, and able to sin again or to lead a virtuous life as so pleased
him."
"A parable, Hussein?" said Frank with a smile.
"For the ears of the wise, effendim. Wallahy! what are a man's goods in
comparison with his freedom?"
"Which being interpreted means that you will let me go in exchange for
what you call a few slight gifts?"
"Truly such gifts, here a little, there a little, will unlock prison
doors and unbar city gates. But there is first one small matter, and
that is that you breathe in my ear the nook where those few paltry rugs
lie hid. Wallahy! what are a few threads of wool against the open road
and the boundless sky?"
"Oho, friend Hussein! I must contrive a double debt to pay, is that it?
The pipe sings sweetly when the fowler is snaring a bird, but this
particular bird, I assure you, is not to be snared. You will waste your
breath, Hussein."
"Allah is great!" said the Arab, as he made the salam and left the room.
A few days passed. Frank noticed that there was a slight deterioration
in the quality of his food. Then one morning he had a visit from
Wonckhaus.
"Good-morning, Mr. Forester," said the German pleasantly. "What an
unfortunate thing this is!"
Frank made no answer. After a pause the German went on:
"We have been rivals in business, and now, through an unfortunate
misunderstanding between our Governments, we are enemies. But the
enmity is official, not personal, I assure you. We have crossed each
other in business, but business men do not quarrel. And there is one
circumstance that should make us friends. After all, you and I are
Europeans among Orientals; that is a bond between us; and you will not
take amiss advice honestly given by one European to another. You may
not credit it" (Frank didn't), "but up to the present I have stood
between the Turks and you. But for me your life would not have been
worth a snap. Now I am about to leave the city for the front. The
Turkish army, led by German officers, is about to deal a smashing blow
to the barbarous Russians in the Caucasus, and to occupy Batum. Before
I leave, it would give me great pleasure to see you in a safer position.
It merely needs the exercise of your capital English principle of
give-and-take. Why not disclose the whereabouts of your useless stock?
In return, I would contrive that you should be sent to Constantinople
and ultimately released."
Frank did not speak. His fingers were drumming on the table, his eyes
fixed on the German's.
"I merely drop you a friendly hint," Wonckhaus resumed. "Things are
looking very serious. The Turks are making a beginning with the
Armenians: when the appetite for blood is whetted, they may easily fail
to discriminate between Armenians and other enemies. You will not
forget that you are in a very remote place. Erzerum is not
Constantinople. Take a friend's advice and get back to civilisation. I
will act as a go-between. If you will confide in me, I will make your
peace with the Turks."
"What guarantee do you offer?" asked Frank, opening his lips at last.
"My word; you will not require more; the word of a German and an
officer."
"But surely, Herr Wonckhaus, unless I am mistaken your word has not
hitherto been accepted even by your allies the Turks. Pardon me for
asking what has happened to give it value."
"You insult me!" snapped the German.
"Really I don't think so; I merely state a fact. You offer me something
of no value as security for something of considerable value. That is
not a business proposition."
Wonckhaus, stung as much by Frank's scornful tone as by his words,
flushed darkly, and took a step forward, laying his hand on his sword.
"You English swine!" he cried. "You dare to insult me--me, an officer
of the Kaiser?"
Frank had sprung up, and seized the handiest weapon available--a small
three-legged stool. Keeping the table between himself and the German,
he grasped the stool by one leg, and said:
"Keep your distance!"
Wonckhaus, whether daunted by Frank's threatening attitude or for some
reason of policy, stood still, glaring venomously. Then he banged his
half-drawn sword into its scabbard, and swung round. At the door he
turned suddenly.
"Before your English carcase is flung to the dogs of Erzerum," he
sputtered, "you will have time to--to repent your insolence."
He swung round again, slammed the door behind him, ordered Hussein
outside to lock it, and clattered down the steps.
Frank dropped the stool and sat down, smiling at the feeble end of the
German's explosive sentence. But the smile soon passed. His English
spirit would not allow him to be cowed by Wonckhaus's threat, but
remembering his isolated situation he could not help feeling uneasy. It
was well for his peace of mind that he was not aware of what German
frightfulness had already accomplished in Belgium.
It was not long before he began to feel the effects of Wonckhaus's
malice. The cold weather had set in, and the Armenian winter is
excessively cold. His apartment had been warmed by a nargal or charcoal
stove. This was not replenished.
"The fire has gone out," he said to the Arab, when he brought his
dinner.
"Fuel is very dear, effendim."
"I have still some money; I will pay."
"It cannot be bought, effendim. It is all required for the troops, who
are slaying tens of thousands of Russians in the bleak mountains."
"Buy me some blankets, then."
"That also is impossible, effendim. Our brave soldiers need all the
blankets in the frosty heights. Why does not your nobility send for
those wasted rugs?"
The man's sly look made Frank itch to thrash him. It was clear from his
manner that he was acting under instructions. Frank noticed, too, that
his food was being reduced in quantity as well as poorer in quality, and
suspected that this was directly due to Wonckhaus; the Turks as a rule
do not treat their prisoners inhumanely. More than once he had thought
of trying to escape, and with his increasing hardships his mind recurred
to it again and again. To get out of the building might not be very
difficult; Orientals are notoriously slack in guard; the lock of his
room might be forced, and the soldiers in the rooms below evaded. But
then the real difficulties would begin. He would be recognised in the
streets as a European; even before he could reach the walls discovery
and arrest were certain. Escape was impossible without assistance from
outside, and he had no means of communicating with friends, nor was it
probable that any European friends remained in the town.
Tortured by cold and hunger, Frank spent the most wretched month of his
life during December. Strong though he was in constitution, he felt
that he was growing weaker. For a time he tried to keep himself in
condition by daily physical exercises; but insufficient food and lack of
fresh air--he was allowed to mount to the roof for an hour a
day--gradually reduced his energy. There was nothing to alleviate the
tedium of his imprisonment: no newspapers, no books, nothing to occupy
his mind. He was often tempted to purchase his freedom by surrendering
his secret; but his native resolution and the mental picture of
Wonckhaus's triumph kept him steadfast. And it was no ordinary will
that could have withstood day after day Hussein's sly reminders of how
easy it would be to command all the comforts he lacked.
One day early in January he heard unusual sounds on the staircase--a
series of heavy clumping blows slowly ascending towards his room. The
door opened, and Wonckhaus hobbled in on a crutch, assisted by an
orderly, who stood in the doorway as if on guard, motionless, with
expressionless face. The German looked pale and worn. He was swathed in
heavy furs.
"I had not thought to revisit you so soon, Mr. Forester," he said, "but
a Russian bullet has enforced me to return to the city for a short time,
and I felt bound to see how you were faring."
Frank was silent; he was, in fact, amazed that Wonckhaus should have
cared to show his face again after what had passed at their last
interview. "The Germans must have uncommonly tough hides," he thought.
"Is there anything I can do for your comfort?" Wonckhaus continued.
"You are not looking very well. I have some influence, a very little,
with the Turks."
The German's manner was so subdued, his tone so courteous, that Frank
wondered whether after all he had misjudged him. Perhaps he had been
over hasty; perhaps there was some decent feeling in the man, which his
own uncompromising attitude had prevented from showing itself before.
"I want warmth and good food," he said.
"Not warm enough?" exclaimed Wonckhaus. "Yet it does not appear cold.
Indeed, I am too warm." He unloosed his fur coat. "And food, too; why,
what do they give you?"
Frank saw that the German was playing with him. In a revulsion of
feeling he flushed hotly, and was about to give utterance to his
thoughts, but he restrained himself with an effort and remained silent.
"Call Hussein," said Wonckhaus to the orderly, whom Frank had seen
without observing.
The Arab entered. The orderly followed him, and stood in the
background. Frank just glanced at him, and was surprised to see him
raise a finger to his lips, then drop his hand quickly and stand
motionless as before, looking, however, hard at Frank. Wonckhaus and
the Arab had turned towards each other, or they might have noticed the
slight start and the enquiring glance into which Frank had been
surprised by the orderly's movement.
"The effendi complains of his food," said Wonckhaus. "What does he
get?"
While Hussein, with a look of sly enjoyment, was retailing the list of
the meagre rations supplied, the orderly drew from his tunic a watch,
apparently of cheap European or American make. He did not look at it,
but held it up, then glanced at the window in the wall above his head on
the left. Wonckhaus, following Frank's eyes, turned round. The orderly
was affecting to look at the time.
"You surprise me, Hussein," said the German. "The diet is more than
liberal. How often during the past month should I and my brave men have
been grateful for such rations! Ah! these luxurious English! They have
lived on the fat of the land. And what is the result? They are
degenerate; they have fed the body and starved the mind. They are
learning their mistake. That will do, Hussein."
The Arab left the room. The orderly returned the watch to his pocket,
holding it significantly suspended by the chain for a moment. Then he
stared straight in front of him, unintelligent, impassive.
"Well now, Mr. Forester," said Wonckhaus, "the lot of a prisoner can
never be quite comfortable, though it is preferable to the hard lot of
the fighting man. If you feel discomfort, the remedy is in your own
hands. I need not repeat the explanations which you received so
churlishly at our last meeting. I will give you another week for
reflection. At the end of that time--well, we shall see!"