John Hazel got up from the granite seat, saluted Miss Forbis, and
moved with long strides across the lawn, to meet the visitor....
With strained interest Katharine watched the meeting. The Egyptian
Flying Officer, a dark-skinned, bright-eyed, wiry man, whose short
and slight, but muscular and active figure was set off by his
well-cut uniform of khaki cotton-drill,--said something in a rapid
undertone as he met Hazel. Hazel replied. Their colloquy lasted
barely a minute, but to Katharine, vibrating with the sense of great
issues, it seemed as though the few words spoken by the Egyptian had
settled the question at stake.
Then both men crossed the greensward together, the top of the Pasha's
sun-helmet barely on a level with Hazel's middle arm. Hazel
presented Major Essenian Pasha. The Egyptian bowed like a Frenchman,
from the hips, and was profoundly honoured to meet Miss Forbis, of
whom he had heard so much from Lady Donnithorpe. And Katharine,
responding with her high-bred grace and composure to his frothy
compliments, found herself at once repelled and attracted by
something in this man.
Small, alert, dark-hued as bronze, with the long, narrow eyes, the
wide brows and curving profile of the statues of the Egyptian god
Horus, Essenian Pasha might have been barely past thirty, and
certainly conveyed the idea of mental vigour, abounding health and
restless vitality.
"I had the pleasure some years back," he said to Katharine, "of
meeting in Cairo an English officer who may be your relation!
Captain Mark Forbis, of a regiment belonging to the Brigade of
Guards.... He was for a short period, A.D.C. to the
Commander-in-Chief at Ismailia. Captain Forbis was exceedingly
handsome. May I say, although he was a blond man, and blue-eyed,
that I detect a remarkable resemblance to him in you...."
Katharine answered as the speaker waited, with his gleaming eyes upon
her:
"My brother Mark held a Captaincy in a well-known Guards Regiment,
the 'Cut Red Feathers.' He was killed at Mons in August, 1914." She
added, of purpose, "My younger brother Julian is a Catholic monk of
the Order of S. Gerard. He served as a Chaplain with our troops at
Suvla and Gallipoli...."
The Pasha's beryl eyes suddenly lightened. He said in his most suave
and dulcet tones, his slender fingers smoothing his clipped black
moustache:
"Your brother has then undergone some terrible experiences. May I
venture to ask if he was present at the assault on Scimitar Hill?"
"He was with his brigade when the 29th Division fought their way up
through the scrub-fire." Too late she caught a warning glance from
John Hazel's sombre eyes.
"He was not wounded? ..."
"I--hope not! I--I believe not...."
"It must have been a great joy to welcome him back again!"
"It would be, if--"
"If I had!" the sentence would have ended.... But she broke off, her
cheeks and the rims of her delicate ears and her fair temples
crimson. Yet, after all, why should she prevaricate? What matter if
the man did know, thought candid Katharine? Was he not going to help
Julian--at least, according to John Hazel? Why, then, had John
enjoined reserve and secrecy? ...
Her quick flush faded, but it had not escaped the observation of
Essenian. The Horus smile on his dark, smooth lips was subtler and
more insinuating, and the gleam between the lids of his long-lashed
eyes more languid than before, as he said:
"I understand. Though the Allied Forces have been withdrawn--and the
Campaign of the Dardanelles is relegated to the pigeon-hole where
Whitehall keeps its failures--your brother has not been lucky enough
yet to obtain leave? ..."
He seemed to be probing, with his bland, persistent questions and
veiled looks of sympathy, in Katharine's aching heart. She gave a
little, irresistible shudder. He saw it, and continued in his
smooth, caressing voice:
"Or possibly the duties of a priest detain Mr. Forbis elsewhere? We
Easterns have a proverb--it may be new to you:" The insinuating tones
were even more gentle and velvety:
"_For a plain man to become a priest is robbery of one woman. For
one handsome man who becomes a priest a hundred women are robbed!_"
The tone, rather than the words, conveyed something indescribably
offensive. John Hazel started, palpably, and his scowl was
thunderous. Wrath surged in Katharine's blood and she tingled to the
finger-tips with a momentary, almost ungovernable desire to strike
this man's smooth face. Scandalised at herself, furious with him,
she commanded herself sufficiently to say in cool unruffled tones,
rising from her seat:
"Charmed to have met you, Major Essenian Pasha.... Mr. Hazel, ever
so many thanks for showing us your beautiful house. Now I must go
and say good-bye to your aunt, and collect my friend, Lady Wastwood,
for we are due at the Hospital. No!--please don't come with
me--though you might 'phone for the car! ..."
"Mine is at the door.... I should be honoured and charmed if Miss
Forbis and her friend would use it!" came in the soft ingratiating
tones of Essenian....
John Hazel, already striding towards the house, halted and wheeled,
looking at Katharine. Something in the expression of his black eyes
conveyed the warning: It would be wiser not to snub this man! And,
with revolt and distaste thrilling in her blood, Miss Forbis forced
herself to smile and be gracious, and accept the officious offer of
the Pasha's automobile.
"One moment, my King of Damascus, while I instruct my chauffeur where
to take the ladies, and call for me later.... 'The Palace, Montana,'
is it not?" Essenian said to John Hazel, glancing at a platinum watch
in a band of grey gazelle-leather, strapped on his slender dusky
wrist.
If a second rapid exchange of glances between Katharine and Hazel did
not escape his observation, he gave no sign. He smiled, and went
back across the lawn to the house, a small, slender figure, moving
with short rapid steps, almost mincingly, and--for the Pasha's
presence oppressed her physically--Katharine could breathe freely
again....
"Miss Forbis!" John Hazel spoke quickly and in an undertone: "It's
for your own sake I presumed to dictate to you just now in the matter
of accepting the Pasha's civility. You see, when you let out your
brother was a priest, you put Major Essenian wise to the prisoner's
identity. Can't very well snub a man when he's going to risk his
life for you! And the thing's fairly settled. We leave Ismailia Air
Station for Shechem at the latest," he glanced at his wrist-watch,
"by three to-morrow morning!"
"To-morrow morning! ..." She caught her breath, and he could see her
heart's tumultuous throbbing under the thin white silk of her dainty
blouse.
"Oh dear John Hazel!" she said with passionate fervour, her wide
eyes, their irises mere tawny circles round the dilated
pupils,--fixed upon his swarthy, excited face.... "May God protect
and keep you!--and help you to save him!--my dear old Julian--my poor
boy! ... Tell me how long I have to wait before I may hope to hear
from you! How and when shall I hear? ..."
"If things go wrong I can't answer for your hearing...." John grinned
with the grin of Private Abrahams.... "Unless they let me come back
from the Other Side to report! But if things go right,--and we get
your brother out of that"--he did not finish the sentence, "I pledge
you my word you shall hear from me within twenty-four hours of the
snatch!"
"Thank you. And--Mr. Hazel," she was holding out two letters, one
inscribed only with a name, the other addressed twice over--once in a
large, ornate, feminine hand, to "Lieut. Col. Edward Yaill, Kerr's
Arbour, Cauldstanes, Tweedshire, N.B." and again in old Whishaw's
staggering round-hand to "Care of Miss Forbis, No. --th Unit V.A.D.
Royal Red Cross Society, Care of the Commandant Convalescent
Hospital, Montana, Alexandria, Egypt."
"Were these a charge for me?" he asked.
"Yes. I am going to ask you to take them with you, in case you
should again meet Colonel Yaill. One is my answer to the letter you
brought. There is a line in it for Julian.... You see," she turned
the envelope, "I have sealed it with my onyx ring. That is Julian's
really--and a day may come when I shall be able to hand it over to
him! The other came yesterday with my mail from Home.... I do not
know, but I imagine--it is from the lady who--is Colonel Yaill's
wife...."
"Righto! I'll take 'em both along. If I can't get 'em where they
ought to go, you shall have 'em back anyway."
"Thanks!" She drew a breath of sheer relief as he took the letters
from her. Ah! my sweet-hearted Katharine. How womanfully you had
striven with the urgent desire to tear that buff-coloured envelope,
leprous with stamps of different hues and scored with many postmarks,
into a thousand infinitesimal pieces; and how thoroughly, as things
turned out,--you would have been punished if you had....
"Does it strike you as it does me," John glanced at the concave
impression of her ring, "that just about here is where--" He stooped
his tall head nearer and dropped his voice to a tone even lower,
"that just here's where the signet both of us wear may be useful!
Don't take any screed you get from me as Gospel truth--because it
happens to be signed 'John Hazel'! Even suppose you got a line from
me, saying, '_Come at once!_'--don't come unless the paper bears an
impression of this...." He thrust forward the big left hand that
wore the onyx head of Hercules. "Stuck underneath the signature, in
sealing-wax, or clay, or mud--or bread, even.... And test it by the
ring you wear, before you accept it.... And seal your communications
to me in the same old way. Do you tumble? I mean--do you say
'Done!'"
"Done! ..."
"And--you trust me? ..."
"I trust you absolutely! Even though you sent for me, not saying why
I was needed, the signet-seal would be enough--I'd say 'Julian,' and
come! ..."
"Then that's arranged! ..." He saw in the sudden change of her face
that something menaced. Even before he turned his head the smooth
voice of Essenian said, a long way below the level of his own great
shoulder:
"I have given the necessary instructions to my chauffeur. He will
take the ladies out to the Hospital, Montana, and come back to pick
us up, at the 'Aviators' Club.' For, remember, you are engaged to
dine with me there, my King of Damascus, and sleep at my house at
Ismailia to-night.... I have obtained you the necessary leave from
your C.M.O. at the General Hospital." He turned to Katharine, and
the beryl eyes and the dazzling teeth gleamed together in the bronze
face as he resumed: "Dear lady, do you wonder why I bestow that title
on our friend? ... Because it belongs to him. He descends--although
he may not know it--in an unbroken line from Hazaël, King of
Damascus--the son and successor of the Scriptural Ben-Hadad--against
whom Shalmaneser II. of Assyria waged war, in the year 842, before
your Christian Era. In one of the cabinets in that room"--he pointed
to the windows looking on the loggia--"is a clay tablet inscribed in
Semitic--Assyrian-Cuneiform,--an heirloom preserved in your family,"
he looked at John, "for many centuries."
"How tremendously interesting!" Katharine commented, doing her best
to be pleasant with this man, for whom she had conceived, what she
was wont to term, one of her loathings: "My brother Julian used at
one time--I suppose he has forgotten it all now!--to dabble a good
deal in Semitic--tell me if I pronounce the rest of it
badly!--Assyrian-Cuneiform. He was secretary and amanuensis to the
Father General of his Order, Abbot Lansquier, of whom perhaps you may
have heard."
"He is a great man. I have heard of him," said the Egyptian,
quickly. "He would be interested in this tablet. It is," he went on
addressing John, "a letter from Achab, King of Israel, in answer to
some communication from Hazaël.... Your late grandfather and I were
much interested in deciphering it at one time. We translated it into
Hebrew, French, and English--and though I might miss out a word
occasionally, I could repeat the substance of the letter by heart."
And he began to repeat in his smooth voice:
"_Now let us measure our strength together against this scornful King
of Assyria, fat with the conquest of Tabul, and Milid, where are the
silver, salt and alabaster mines. I, the King of Israel, with two
thousand chariots and ten thousand soldiers, and thou the King of
Damascus with seven hundred horsemen and twenty thousand unmounted
men. And thou and I will be brothers, and thy son shall take to him
my daughter; and the dowry I will give him with the Princess shall be
twenty talents of gold, twenty-three thousand talents of silver, five
thousand talents of copper, with coloured raiment from Egypt, mantles
adorned with embroidery, a jewelled diadem, an ivory couch, a parasol
of ivory studded with jewels, all which shall be delivered thee in
Damascus, in the chambers of thy palace there. This is the word of
Achab, King of Israel, to Hazaël the King of Damascus._"
As the Egyptian repeated the final words, looking at John Hazel,
Katharine, whose eyes had followed Essenian's, recognised with a
thrill of alarm, the now familiar transformation of the swarthy face
with the great hooked nose, into a mask of stone. The light died out
of the man's black eyes. He seemed to be mentally searching. She
knew that he groped for the end of the spider-thread that linked for
him the Present and the Past.
Essenian, in the same instant, saw the change and stopped in sheer
amazement. He was about to speak, when the monotonous voice came
from the mouth of the mask:
"_So it was, and there was a compact, and peace between Hazaël and
Achab; and Istâr the Princess of the House of Israel, was wedded to
the son of King Hazaël. And Achab and Hazaël went forth together to
meet the King of Assyria; and he fought with them and defeated them,
and destroyed with weapons sixteen thousand soldiers, and took eleven
hundred chariots, and four hundred and thirty horses, and all the
treasures of their camps. And he drove King Hazaël from the Fortress
of Mount Saniru, and laid waste towns and villages, and hemmed him in
Damascus, even the city of his glory. Its gardens of trees he cut
down. And he slew the King with a stone from a war-engine, even in
the Court of his Palace; and his son reigned instead of him, and paid
tribute to the King of Assyria. But the Queen said, 'Must I bear a
son to the son of him who has been worsted in battle?' And she
ceased not--day nor night to taunt--him, like Lilith--who--_"
The voice faltered, broke, and stopped short. And Katharine, noting
Essenian's rapid breathing, guessed, despite his well-maintained
composure, that curiosity and interest raged in him.
"Is there no more, my King?" he almost whispered. "Think again....
There must be more to tell!"
"_And the Queen, Istâr, said: 'Woe is me! For the star of this house
is declining, and the days of its glory are done! I cannot go back
to my father, for Achab has turned himself to idols. But if this
that I bear in my womb be a son, he shall worship the God of Israel
in His Temple at Jerusalem.... For there is none other than Him!_'"
The dragging voice stopped.
"And then ... what more? There must be more!" urged the Egyptian,
avidly.
"I--I--cannot! ..."
John Hazel stared glassily at Essenian, and as Essenian looked back
at him with long gleaming eyes of beryl, he lifted a hand to his
forehead as though bewildered, and a dew of fine globules of
perspiration broke out and glittered upon his temples, and cheeks,
and jaws.... And, then, stirred to solicitude, warned by some inward
voice to interpose, Katharine stretched forth her own hand and
touched John Hazel lightly on the hand he lifted, saying in her
clear, full, womanly tones:
"Mr. Hazel!"
"You ... you wanted me?"
He asked the question dully, but in his natural, ordinary voice. His
black eyes lost their glassy stare as they encountered
Katharine's.... And holding them with her own bright, steady gaze,
she spoke to him again.
"It is getting late. Will you please find your aunt and the
Commandant and tell Lady Wastwood that a car is waiting; and that we
have only sufficient time to get back to the Hospital by seven!"
"Certainly. In half a jiff! ..."
He shook himself, and moved off with his lengthy strides in the
direction of the shrubbery. And the beryl eyes of Essenian were on
Katharine, scintillating evilly, and the smooth lips were stretched
in that inscrutable, hateful smile....
"A very remarkable type of man--our good friend Hazel!" Essenian
said, still smiling; and Katharine returned in cool, unruffled tones:
"Remarkable, and interesting."
"You find that? ..." What hinted meaning lurked behind that smooth
interrogation? "Physically and _psychologically_, I myself find him
quite uniquely interesting. His is a curiously dual personality;
does it not strike you as being so? What wonderful powers of
clairvoyance are his! What a link between the Seen and the Unseen,
such powers might forge, for one who could employ them well! A
Seeker after Wisdom, such as I am myself...." He drew out a fine
white linen handkerchief exhaling some delicate essence, and passed
it over his face, and dried the palms of his dark hands. The hands
shook; their owner was the prey of some overmastering agitation as he
went on: "But why should I speak ambiguously to one who understands?
I saw him pass into the trance, from which you roused him by the
exercise of your will.... You who can control--naturally you desire
to keep to yourself, such a gift as Mr. Hazel's--a source of
knowledge beyond all estimate...."
He went on, with increasing earnestness and persistence, as,
conscious of increasing dislike and resentment, Katharine looked at
him without making any reply:
"Miss Forbis, you may not know that I am rich.... Whether you are so
yourself or not, ladies appreciate exquisite jewels, and I own many
that are unusually fine.... Gratify me in connection with my desire
to see your friend in a similar condition to--that I just now had the
privilege of witnessing! Permit me to question him--and name your
price! ... Do not be offended, I entreat!" the Egyptian pursued,
warned by the flush on Katharine's cheek, and the frown that gathered
on her forehead--"There may be something in which I can serve you....
If so, command me.... I ask no more! ..."
He changed his tone as John Hazel returned, accompanying Lady
Wastwood and Mrs. Hazaël.
"I mentioned to you a little previously that--several years
ago,--your late brother, Captain Forbis, honoured my poor house at
Ismailia by being my guest. May I hope that you will similarly
honour me? The gardens are really worth seeing.... Though the
house, naturally, does not boast the interest attaching to this...."
"You are most kind, Essenian Pasha," Katharine returned, somewhat
hesitatingly, conscious on the one hand of the insolence of the
native who had presumed to offer her a bribe, painfully sensible, on
the other, of the fact that Julian's freedom possibly depended on the
co-operation of this unspeakably objectionable man. "But the time at
my own disposal being so exceedingly limited, it would be impossible
to give you a date."
"My profound regrets!" He bowed from the hips with his acquired
French elegance. "Though I hope that a day will come yet when you
will consent to honour me! Most of the beautiful English ladies who
have visited our country have praised the house and garden.... Must
the dwelling be darkened, and the trees about it wither, because
denied the presence of the most beautiful of all! ..."
The flourishing Eastern hyperbole was delivered with Essenian's
velvety softness, and accompanied by a display of glittering eyes and
teeth. And Katharine, stifling her acute dislike as might best be
managed, thanked the Egyptian in some formal phrase of polite regret
and gratitude--cut short as John Hazel returned accompanying Trixie
and Mrs. Hazaël, by the less formal utterances of leave-taking....
Mrs. Hazaël, in taking Katharine's offered hand, made the slight
curtsey appropriate to Royalty. And Katharine, as she bent to kiss
the little lady's cheek, was conscious that Essenian's strange eyes
leapt out of their drowsy languor into glittering curiosity.
She had longed to give John Hazel another hearty hand-grip, to have
whispered another parting word,--but the Egyptian intervened....
It was Essenian who conducted Miss Forbis to the car, a palatial
Daimler of huge size, enamelled black and violent red; overloaded
with solid silver and ivory fittings; lined with primrose satin
brocade upholstery, and driven by a handsome Italian chauffeur.
"How gorgeous! And in what native taste!" cried Trixie, delightedly
as the springy yellow cushions received her. "And does it belong to
the Egyptian Flying Officer--the little, purring Pasha with the
extraordinary eyes? I shall call him 'The Basilisk' because he
reminds me of one!"
They had quitted the dust and racket of the city, and as they passed
through the Rosetta Gate, and out upon the Aboukir Road, and were in
the quiet suburbs on the east, near the European cemetery, Katharine
rose and looked back, and gave a cry of admiration. For
Alexandria,--with her domes and minarets and huge square blocks of
modern buildings,--bathed in the rose and amber light of an Egyptian
sunset--was beautiful with something of the beauty of the Past....
"That is something to have seen," Katharine said with a sigh, as she
dropped back on the springy primrose cushions. "Thank you, dear Lady
Wastwood, for a wonderful afternoon! You have been happy, haven't
you?"
"Quite amused," Lady Wastwood answered. "And if I haven't been quite
happy, well, then neither have you!"
She moved nearer to Katharine, and took her hand, and patted it,
affection mingling with solicitude in the green eyes that questioned
the face of her friend.
"I won't make pretences to you, dear Commandant," Katharine returned
after an instant's hesitation. "I have cause to be happy, and cause
to be anxious. And the anxiety weighs so heavily that Happiness
kicks the beam."
Trixie patted her hand again, and said as the car bowled along the
Aboukir Canal Road with its charming country villas shaded by palms
and casuarina-groves:
"If I can help in any way, you promise--you will let me? Won't treat
me like a stranger--will give me the chance I'd like.... To show you
that I don't forget--what I can never speak of, but what I live
through in my dreams--nearly every night! Promise! For I am a
lonely woman, Kathy dear, though I keep my end up and don't go round
howling for sympathy!--and I am truly fond of you."
"I promise, dear friend. And I would tell you now what the trouble
is--because I trust you absolutely--where I myself am concerned! But
I am not free to give away the confidence of another."
"Meaning the Jew Colossus with the great hooked nose," said Trixie
mentally. And Katharine went on:
"You're looking better. You've not had that dream of late. Probably
because it has done you good--sleeping in the open."
For Lady Wastwood and Miss Forbis shared one of the roomy
sleeping-tents in the grounds of the Palace, distinguished from other
similar groups as the "V.A.D's Annexe."
"I shall hate it when the rains come and drive us back indoors,"
Trixie responded. "And to-night at any rate I shan't dream of
shipwreck,--I shall dream of The Basilisk! That man gives me cold
shivers all down my spinal column. Why, I couldn't exactly explain.
Some people have a horror of cats--the gentlest and most faithful
pets to those who love and understand them. Others simply abominate
dogs--I'm not keen on them myself! But my feeling for the little
Pasha isn't one of those mild antipathies. Shall I tell you what
those basilisk eyes of his keep saying to me? No!--it's all
right--the chauffeur can't hear! They say: 'My dear lady--I'm a
wealthy Gyppo Notability, esteemed an Ace of Aces in the hand of the
R.F.C.... I've a chestful of decorations--all earned brilliantly.
_But my Mother was a Tigress--and my Father was a Snake!_ ...'"
"_Est ce que les dames feront un petit tour en campagne, ou
retourneront elles directement à l' Hôpital?_"
"Will the ladies take a little tour in the country, or return
directly to the Hospital?"
The question, asked in French through the speaking-tube fixed above
the seat in front of them, made Katharine and the Commandant start.
Briefly informed of the ladies' desire, the Italian turned the car
upon the sanded road curving past the Khedivial Palace; and after
half-a-dozen miles, swept round in a northward curve and presently
was climbing a gradient between the orchards of peach and apricot
trees, the fig-groves and pine-woods and gardens of beautiful
Montana, gleaming like a fairy palace of rosy mother o' pearl in the
fires of the sunset; on the square green promontory at whose
shoreward base break the pearl and sapphire surges of the Western Sea.