WHEREIN A BISHARIN CAMEL BECOMES USEFUL
To the Arab every white man is a Frank. The European invader was given
that name during the First Crusade, and the Paynim does not change
appreciably with the centuries. But he has learnt to differentiate
between certain varieties of Frank, and Abdur Kad'r murmured
maledictions on the Italian species as he watched the mirage slowly
fading into nothingness. Though no one had told him the ultimate
objective of the caravan, he felt that the presence of Italian soldiers
at the nearest stopping-place put a bar to further progress. The mere
fact that the _kafila_ came from French territory was unanswerable.
There were difficulties enough already, difficulties which must be
discussed that evening, but this obstacle was wholly unforeseen.
Under his bent brows the gaunt sheikh had noted Mr. Fenshawe's manner
when he turned excitedly to demand an explanation from von Kerber. The
Effendi's change of tone told its own tale. Abdur Kad'r, true believer
and desert-born, remarked to a brother Arab that Allah was Allah and
Mahomet was undoubtedly the Prophet, but that of all the misbegotten
produce of swine now cumbering the earth the Italians ranked easily
first--or words to that effect. Then he relieved his feelings by
objurgating the panic-stricken Somalis, whose superstitious minds
interpreted the appearance of the air-borne host as a sure indication
of war. He was in the midst of an eloquent outburst when his employer
summoned him.
"How far is it to the next oasis?" came the dreaded query.
Abdur Kad'r, shrewd judge of men, knew that he must be explicit.
"Sixty kilometers, honored one," he replied.
"What! Nearly forty English miles?"
"It may be so, Effendi. In our reckoning it is twenty kos and one kos
is three kilometers."
"But these Italians--in the mirage--they must be camped near water?"
"There is none nearer than the Well of Suleiman, Effendi."
"Is it possible that a mirage would reveal so clearly a scene taking
place at such a distance?"
"Strange things happen in the desert, Effendi. I have seen a village in
the sky which my camels were four hours in reaching, and I have been
told of sights even more wonderful."
"You are sure about the sixty kilometers?"
"Quite sure, O worthy of honor."
Mr. Fenshawe was skeptical. Mirage-phenomena were familiar to him, but
never had they dealt with natural objects beyond a range of a few
miles. For the most part, the mirage of the desert is a baseless
illusion, depending on the bending of light-rays by air strata of
differing densities. The rarer "looming," witnessed occasionally in
more northerly latitudes, shows scenes actually in existence, and the
best authenticated instance of a long-range view is that testified to
by the inhabitants of Hastings, who during three hours on July 26,
1798, saw the whole coastline of France, from Calais to Dieppe, with a
distinctness that was then regarded as miraculous.
But, whether Abdur Kad'r's figures were correct or not, there was no
gainsaying the evidence of the mirage itself. The collapse of the
undertaking was imminent, and the millionaire's tone was exceedingly
curt when he called von Kerber to conference.
"There are certain matters which must be cleared up, now that nature
has assumed the role of guide," he said dryly. "I have been well aware
during the past few days that you were not able to fix on the exact
place described in the papyrus. I could pardon that. We are in a
country where landmarks are bewilderingly alike, and therefore apt to
cause confusion. But how comes it that our rivals can go straight to
the place we are in search of, while we wander blindly in the desert?
You assured me that yours was the only copy of the papyrus extant with
the sole exception of the photographic reproductions supplied to me. Is
that true? And, if it is true, who gave these others the information
that has brought about our failure?"
Mr. Fenshawe's pride was wounded. All the wrath of the disappointed
connoisseur welled forth in his contemptuous words. Their very calmness
and precision showed the depth of his anger, and von Kerber, like Abdur
Kad'r, felt that the time for specious pretext had gone. So he
answered, with equal exactness of phrase:
"I gave you that assurance months ago in Scotland, and repeated it in
London, but I have not said it since we met on board the yacht, for the
very good reason that the papyrus was stolen from me at Marseilles."
"Stolen!"
"Yes, I was waylaid and robbed while driving from the station to the
harbor."
"Purposely, do you mean? Was the papyrus the object of the attack?"
"Yes."
"Then this man, Alfieri, knew of it?"
"I have never concealed that from you."
"It is hard to say what you have or have not concealed, Baron von
Kerber. My confidence in you is shaken. How am I to know that this
latest version of Alfieri's amazing interference in your affairs is the
true one?"
No man is so sensitive of his honor as he who is conscious of by-gone
lapses. Von Kerber started as though the other had stabbed him.
"That is an unworthy imputation," he cried. "Mr. Royson can tell you
that the papyrus was stolen. He rescued me from my assailants, yes?
Mrs. Haxton is aware of it, and, unless I am mistaken, Miss Fenshawe
also is no stranger to the news, seeing that our second mate is so
greatly in her confidence."
The older man, still watching the last wraiths of the mirage, seemed to
be deaf to the Austrian's biting allusion to Irene.
"I did not look for such a web of deceit," he murmured. "The papyrus
was genuine, and I sought no other proof of honesty. You say Mrs.
Haxton and my granddaughter are in this pact of silence. Let us have
their testimony."
Irene, as might be expected, indignantly disclaimed any sympathy with
von Kerber's methods.
"I heard, by chance, of the part Mr. Royson took in the affair at
Marseilles," she said. "My maid told me. It was the gossip of the ship.
Yet, when I questioned Mr. Royson himself, he refused to discuss the
matter, owing to some pledge of secrecy drawn from him by Baron von
Kerber. You forget, grandad, how often you have told me that I did not
understand this undertaking sufficiently to justify my hostility to it.
I have never believed in it, not for one moment. If you wish to know
what happened at Marseilles, why not ask Mr. Royson himself?"
"Yes," said Mr. Fenshawe quietly, "that will be well. Send for him,
Irene."
It was noteworthy that he addressed no question to Mrs. Haxton. That
lady, nervous and ill-at-ease, could not guess how far the rupture
between von Kerber and his patron had gone. She felt intuitively that
the Austrian was puzzled, perhaps alarmed, by the presence of an
official expedition in the very territory he had hoped to explore
without hindrance--yet his manner hinted at something in reserve.
Though he quivered under Irene's outspoken incredulity, his aspect was
that of a man whose schemes have been foiled by sheer ill-luck. A rogue
unmasked will grovel: von Kerber was defiant. For the moment, Mrs.
Haxton was struck dumb with foreboding. Mr. Fenshawe's dejected air
showed that a deadly blow had been dealt to the project to which she
had devoted all her resources since the beginning of the march. She,
too, had begun to doubt. Here, in the desert, the buried treasure was
an intangible thing. In England, the promises of the Greek's dying
message were satisfying by their very vagueness. In Africa, face to
face with the tremendous solitude, they became unbelievable, a dim
fable akin to the legends of vanished islands and those mysterious
races to be found only in unknown lands, which have tickled the
imaginations of mankind, ever since the dawn of human intelligence. So,
a live millionaire being a more definite asset than the hoard of a
forgotten city, she had coolly informed von Kerber that if he wished to
improve his fortunes, he would do well to pay attention to Miss
Fenshawe, and leave her free to win a wealthy husband. It was a
villainous pact, but it might have succeeded, at any rate in Mrs.
Haxton's case, for no woman could be more gracious and deferentially
flattering than she when she chose to exert herself. And now, reality
seemed to yield to unreality. The substantial fabric of close
friendship between Fenshawe and herself had crumbled before the fiery
breath of the wilderness. What a turn of fortune's wheel! Here were all
her plans shattered in an instant, and the man on whom depended the
future changed into a hostile judge.
Royson found a queer conclave awaiting him. Irene, distressed by the
injustice of her grandfather's suspicion that she was sharing in a
conspiracy of silence, had retired to a corner of the tent, and wore an
air of indifference which she certainly did not feel. Mrs. Haxton,
pallid, striving desperately to regain her self-possession, draped
herself artistically in a comfortable camp chair. Von Kerber, scowling
and depressed, stood near the entrance, and Mr. Fenshawe was seated in
the center of the tent. The red light of the declining sun was full on
his face, and Dick fancied that he had aged suddenly. Nor was this to
be wondered at. No enthusiast, not even a wealthy one, likes to have
his hopes of realizing a great achievement dashed to the ground, nor is
it altogether gratifying that a woman who has won one's high esteem
should be associated with a piece of contemptible trickery.
Mr. Fenshawe's first question told Dick that a serious dispute was
toward.
"It has been stated," said Mr. Fenshawe, looking at him in a curiously
critical way, "that a valuable document was stolen from Baron von
Kerber at Marseilles--what do you know about it?"
Dick, hourly expecting a strenuous turn to the placid marching and
camping of the past few weeks, was not taken unaware. He had mapped out
a clear line, and meant to follow it.
"I regret to say that I cannot answer you, Mr. Fenshawe," said he,
meeting the older man's searching glance unflinchingly.
"Why not?"
"Because I gave an undertaking to that effect to Baron von Kerber."
"But I am your employer, not he."
"No, sir. That is not my view of the contract I signed."
"Have you a copy of that contract'?"
"Yes."
"Will you show it to me?"
"That is unnecessary," broke in von Kerber, with a savage impatience of
the quasi-judicial inquiry which Mr. Fenshawe was evidently bent on
conducting. "I give Mr. Royson full permission to answer any question
you may put to him."
"You do, eh? You give permission? Do you pay his salary?" demanded the
millionaire indignantly.
"Yes, on your behalf. Surely the arrangement between us cannot be
disputed. I was to make all arrangements, yes?"
"As my paid agent, you should add."
Mrs. Haxton suddenly sat forward in her chair.
"We had a tacit agreement for an equal division of the spoil," she
interposed, with an acidity that Mr. Fenshawe probably found in marked
contrast with her usual honeyed speech.
"That agreement would have been kept by me," said Fenshawe. "You may
not be aware that Baron von Kerber pleaded poverty, and I promised to
remunerate him for his services, whether we won or lost. I have no
doubt he has my letter, duly stamped at Somerset House, carefully
packed away with Mr. Royson's agreement."
The retort was in the nature of the tac-au-tac riposte beloved of the
skilled swordsman. It was succeeded by a tense silence. Mrs. Haxton
glared at the Baron. The ghost of a smile flickered on Irene's lips as
she glanced at Dick. Von Kerber swished one of his boots viciously with
a riding-whip. He found he must say something.
"Why are we creating difficulties where none exist?" he snarled. "If
the agreement stands in the way, I absolve Mr. Royson from any promise
he has made. I wanted to guard against treachery, not to tie him down
to serve me exclusively."
"You asked for obedience and a still tongue, Baron. I have given you
both," said Dick.
"There is your employer, and mine--speak."
Von Kerber could not be other than dramatic. He pointed to Mr. Fenshawe
with a fine gesture.
"I have not much to say, unless in the form of opinions. You certainly
were attacked at Marseilles, and you yourself charged one of your
assailants with stealing the papyrus. Beyond that, I know little of
your business, though, from letters and cablegrams which reached me at
various places, it seems to have been quite extensively known in
London."
"Who was your informant?" asked Fenshawe.
"A solicitor named Forbes. He is not personally acquainted with Baron
von Kerber, but this man Alfieri, of whom we have heard so much,
employed private detectives. They, in the course of events, discovered
my identity, and met Mr. Forbes. It is only fair to Baron von Kerber to
say that I have never heard his version of the charge brought against
him by Alfieri."
"I have," said the millionaire, grimly.
There was no mistaking the inference to be drawn from his words. Von
Kerber was wholly discredited. It was exceedingly probable that the
first march of the return journey to Pajura would be ordered forthwith.
Indeed, Fenshawe rose to his feet, meaning to bid Abdur Kad'r prepare
to strike camp after the evening meal, when Mrs. Haxton, divining his
intent, cried shrilly:
"May I ask what new circumstance has brought about this remarkable
change in your plans, Mr. Fenshawe? It is true that we have been
favored by an extraordinary vision of an Italian expedition at no great
distance from our own, but what proof have we that it is successful, or
even engaged on an errand similar to ours?"
"The mere fact that extensive research is being carried on is
sufficiently convincing. Italian soldiers and Arabs do not form huge
earthworks in the desert for amusement," said Fenshawe.
"They may be trying a last desperate chance," she retorted.
"You forget that they have the same information as ourselves. There is
no trouble in deciphering demotic Greek and the hieroglyph minerals are
quite simple. Once the papyrus left Baron von Kerber's possession, our
exclusive right to it vanished, and you can hardly expect me to engage
in an armed attack on the military forces of a friendly nation."
"So far as the papyrus goes, it is utterly useless to any one," broke
in von Kerber suddenly.
Mr. Fenshawe was stirred out of his studied calm by the seeming
absurdity of the interruption.
"Useless!" he exclaimed, and his brow seamed with anger, "that is a
strange word to apply to the only evidence of your story that you have
ever produced."
"I always feared Alfieri," said the other, throwing his hands out as if
he were pushing away a threatening phantom. "He was spiteful, and
jealous, and he knew enough to drive him mad with desire. But I would
allow no one to interfere with me, yes? When I was sure of my ground,
when I had secured translations of each piece of the papyrus, I altered
it."
"Altered it!"
Incredulity and hope were oddly mixed in the cry which came
simultaneously from the lips of two of his hearers. Even Irene and
Dick, less wrapped up in the dream of finding the Sabaean hoard,
awaited von Kerber's next utterance with bated breath. The man was too
unnerved to feel any triumph at the sensation he had created.
"Yes," he said, sinking wearily into a chair, though his voice almost
cracked with excitement. "I changed the distances in every instance
permitted by the text. As it stands now, the papyrus is utterly
worthless. I acted for the best, yes? A secret known to more than one
ceases to be a secret. But I am tired of pretense, and you shall have
the truth, though it carries with it a confession of ghastly failure. I
do not know what good fortune Alfieri has blundered into at Suleiman's
Well, and I admit that the place offered my own last chance. Yet, if he
has found the treasure, it was not because of the papyrus, but despite
it. Here are photographs of every section in their present form," and
he produced some prints from a pocket-book.
"You were taught some Greek at school, Mr. Royson? Very well. Look at
the passages which are faintly underlined, and you will, see where I
have altered whole phrases, converted tens of miles into hundreds, and
hundreds of paces into thousands. And that is the document which
Alfieri obtained at Marseilles. He would recognize it as the original,
though it is now quite misleading. If he is digging at the right place
by reason of the directions given there, it is something beyond belief,
yes?"
"You speak of Alfieri recognizing the papyrus. Evidently, then, he had
seen it earlier. In what manner was he connected with its discovery?"
Mr. Fenshawe's coldly direct question came in sharp contrast with the
Austrian's impassioned outburst. Von Kerber did not reply. With his
elbows resting on his knees, and supporting his chin between clenched
fists, he looked through the open door of the tent with eyes that
stared into vacancy. The man was in a frenzy of despair. He saw the
chance of his life slipping away from him, but he could urge no plea in
his own behalf. It was Mrs. Haxton who answered, and her composure was
oddly at variance with von Kerber's distress.
"Alfieri was assistant curator of a museum at Naples when the Italian
occupation of Erythrea led to his appointment as government
archeologist in this territory," she said. "My husband was in charge of
the Red Sea cable at that time, and Signor Giuseppe Alfieri was a
friend of ours. An Arab named Abdullah El Jaridiah, grubbing among old
tombs for curios, came across a roll of papyri. He sold it to Alfieri
for a few francs, and Alfieri gave it to my husband."
She paused; she was not a woman who said too much.
"I take it that Alfieri knew no Greek?" said Mr. Fenshawe, with a touch
of irony that was not lost on the lady.
"He certainly failed to appreciate its importance," was the quiet
response. "My husband deciphered most of the narrative, but he, in his
turn, had no knowledge of hieroglyphics, and, as you are aware, many of
the words and figures are contained in ovals, or cartouches, and
written in Egyptian characters. He would have learnt their meaning from
some other source, but he--died--very suddenly. An accident caused
Alfieri to suspect the value of the papyrus, and he asked me to return
it. Unfortunately, I led him to believe that I would meet his wish, but
Baron von Kerber, who, as you know, was medical officer to a German
mission to King Menelek, came to my assistance at the time, and I told
him of my husband's views with regard to the portion he had translated.
Baron von Kerber read the hieroglyphics, though he had to wait nearly a
year before he could obtain expert advice as to the accuracy of his
rendering. Meanwhile, Signor Alfieri and I had quarreled. I may as well
tell you that he was pestering me to marry him, and I grew to hate the
man. Then I returned to England, and a friend suggested that I should
endeavor to interest you. Now you have the whole story, so far as I am
concerned in it."
"If that is so, it would have been better had you taken me into your
confidence at the outset," said Fenshawe.
"Alfieri was using threats. I feared the loss of your co-operation if a
melodramatic element were introduced."
"But are not you and Baron von Kerber, and, as it would seem, your
Italian admirer also, attributing an absurdly fictitious value to the
find? People do not pay high prices for old coins merely because they
are historic. I have always regarded this treasure-trove as purely
antiquarian in its interest. It may contain some vessels or statuettes
worth money; but to what extent? Certainly not such fabulous sums as
you appear to imagine."
Mrs. Haxton smiled sourly.
"We are dealing in candor," she cried. "Pray complete your confession,
Baron von Kerber."
The Austrian did not abandon his dejected pose, but he took up the
parable readily.
"There is one slip of papyrus you have never seen, Mr. Fenshawe," he
said. "Perhaps you have been surprised that such a careful scribe as
Demetriades gave no details of the loot? I kept them back. There were
fifty camel-loads of precious vessels and rare stuffs brought from the
East. There were one hundred and twenty camel-loads of gold coins, and
two camels carried leather wallets filled with pearls and rubies and
diamonds."
Irene could not restrain a little gasp of wonderment at von Kerber's
amazing catalogue. Her grandfather looked at her.
"You were wiser than I, little girl," he murmured. "You warned me that
these people were deceiving me, yet I refused to listen."
"Oh, one has to follow the path that promises success," interrupted von
Kerber savagely. "Had I told you these things you would have been the
first to inform the Italian government. Why do you prate of deceit? Had
we found the treasure, you must have seen everything. I only meant to
hold you to your bond and demand my third share. _Lieber Gott!_ if you
were not a stiff-necked Englishman you would now, even at the twelfth
hour, force these Italian hirelings to disgorge."
"Meaning that you advise a surprise march on Suleiman's Well, and the
massacre of every person who resists us?" inquired Mr. Fenshawe, acidly
impatient.
"Better that than turn back at the very threshold."
"Excellent! The voyage of the _Aphrodite_ would then achieve an
international fame which would survive the ages."
The blank despair in von Kerber's face won Royson's pity. He could not
help sympathizing with him. And there was something to be said for his
point of view. If Mrs. Haxton had given the true version of the finding
of the papyrus, the Austrian's methods were comprehensible. Seldom has
poverty been tempted by a vision of such enormous wealth.
"May I make a suggestion, sir?" he asked, seeing that no one was
willing to resume a somewhat acrid conversation.
"As to the form of attack?"
Mr. Fenshawe was still amused by the idea of treating the Italians to a
_coup de main_.
"No. We have made a long journey, and it might at least be determined
whether or not it was justified. Will you allow me and Abdur Kad'r,
and, perhaps, one other Arab less widely known than the sheikh, to try
a small experiment. Let us endeavor to enter the Italian camp and find
out what is going on? I can pass easily as a member of a shooting party
who has lost his way. They will not slay me at sight on that account.
At any rate, I am quite prepared to risk it."
"The very thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Haxton, springing out of her chair.
"Abdullah is there, and you know him. You must not appear. Let Abdur
Kad'r send one of his men into the camp by night. He will bring
Abdullah to you at a preconcerted rendezvous, and Abdullah will tell
you what Alfieri is doing. Better still, let Abdullah come here. If he
knows I sent you he will accompany you without a moment's delay."
"The proper person to go and summon Abdullah is Baron von Kerber," put
in Irene tremulously.
"Before I sanction any proceeding of the sort, I wish to ask why
Abdullah is apparently in league with your sworn enemy?" demanded Mr.
Fenshawe.
"The Governor of Massowah told me he was despatching an expedition to
the Five Hills," said Mrs. Haxton eagerly. "I was sure it would fail,
for reasons which the Baron has explained, but I bade Abdullah join the
_kafila_, seeing that we could not carry out our first plan of landing
lower down the coast. Then, if the Italian party received news of our
whereabouts, Abdullah would steal away and warn us. The mere fact that
he is not here now shows that our presence in this locality is
altogether unsuspected." Fenshawe seemed to weigh his words before he
answered.
"I prefer that Mr. Royson should go, and not Baron von Kerber," said
he. "On the understanding that he interferes with our rivals in no way
whatever, I shall be glad of his report. If we have failed, there is no
harm in knowing the facts. May I ask, Baron, have you any other
surprises to give us in the shape of history, ancient or modern?"
"I have nothing else to say," muttered the other.
"Then, as it is nearly dinner-time, I trust we may forget Saba and its
legends until we learn what progress Signor Alfieri has made. You start
to-night, Mr. Royson?"
"At the first possible moment, sir."
"No, no. Eat, rest, and travel under the stars. That is the golden rule
of a forced march in the desert. We will give you two nights and a day.
Then, if you do not return, I shall send an open embassy to inquire for
you."
Thus it came about that, soon after night fell, three sulky Bisharin
camels were led away from their fellows and compelled to kneel
unwillingly to receive their riders. The operation was attended with
much squealing and groaning.
"They love not to leave their brethren," said Abdur Kad'r, pausing to
take breath for a fresh torrent of abuse. The camels were forcibly
persuaded, and Royson climbed into the high-peaked saddle. His last
thought, as he quitted the red glare of the camp-fires, was that Irene
might have snatched a few minutes from her rest to bid him farewell.
But she was nowhere to be seen, so after a final hand-shake with Stump,
he rode away into the night.