THE REVELATIONS OF A RETIRED COLONEL
Fenton's orders were, when the Cairo business should be finished, to go
slowly up the Nile in native dress, and get at the truth of certain
rumours which had disturbed officialdom at Cairo. At Denderah, Luxor,
and two or three other places there had been "incidents," small but
troublesome. English sightseers had complained of being hustled, and
even insulted by the inhabitants of several river towns, and it was
important to find out whether the Egyptians or the foreigners had been
more to blame; whether there were real symptoms of sedition, as
reported, or whether the young men of the suspected places had merely
resented with roughness some discourtesy of tactless tourists. Fenton
had seized upon the idea that, as Egyptian lecturer and conductor--a
sort of super-dragoman--on board Lark's Nile boat, he might find a
plausible pretext for his secret errand. "Why do you travel?" would be
the question he must expect from suspicious leaders of any plot that
might be hatching, if he journeyed from one Nile village to another
without the excuse of business. As a glorified conductor of a pleasure-trip
for a party of tourists his excuse would be readymade for him; but
he had been far from sure that I would fall in with Sir Marcus Lark's
plan, despite the bribe. He had wanted me to hear the whole story, the
whole project, from Sir Marcus' own lips; and in his uncertainty of the
result, he had thought of Miss Gilder as an attractive "victim." There
she was, as he had said, presented to him by Providence. If I should
pour scorn upon the Lark suggestion, he might find it worth while to
guide the Gilded Girl and her friends on their Nile pilgrimage. He left
the question for me, and I decided to kill as many birds as possible
with one stone. The name of the yacht was in itself an incentive:
_Candace_--Queen of Meröe--our Meröe. She seemed to call, and to
promise good luck. We would accept Lark's terms, and enter his service
in return for a written agreement to hand over his ill-got digging
rights to us, whether or no we turned out to be satisfactory as guides.
We could but do our best, and at all events we should earn the reward
which we had looked upon as ours already. Anthony would play his double
part, serving the interests of government and those of Sir Marcus Lark.
As for Monny Gilder, why shouldn't she and her party become Lark's
passengers? The only reason against this "inspiration" (as Sir Marcus
would have called it), lay in the fact that Monny wished to engage a
private dahabeah. When she wished for a thing, it appeared that only a
miracle or a cataclysm could induce her to give it up for something
else suggested by an outsider. But when I mentioned this peculiarity to
Fenton, he was fired to punish the girl by forcing her compliance with
our will. She had treated him like a servant. She looked upon a man
supposedly of Egyptian blood, even though of princely birth, somewhat
as she looked upon an American "nigger." True, Anthony Fenton had in
his veins but very few such drops. On his father's side he was all
English, and his mother had been more than two thirds Greek and
Italian. Nevertheless this spoilt girl had struck a blow at the pride
which went ever walking about the world with a chip lightly poised on
its shoulder. Anthony had no desire to poach on my preserves. At the
same time he yearned to show Miss Gilder that he could be her master,
not her servant.
Once Anthony and I had made up our minds, everything else arranged
itself with lightning speed. Sir Marcus, rejoicing in his ill-got
conquest of us, broke to me the news that I must go by the first ship
to the Piraeus, to meet the _Candace,_ and head off the recalcitrant
band of passengers. He flattered me by thinking that, if I took the
place of Colonel Corkran as conductor, they would abandon their plot to
desert the yacht at Alexandria. It was, according to Lark's secret
information, only the "smart and would-be smart set" who had combined
to spring this mine upon the management. The rest grumbled no more than
it was normal for all pleasure-pilgrims to grumble; and as, roughly
speaking, the contented travellers were all going on to Palestine after
a week's wild sightseeing in Cairo, the colonel might be allowed to
continue his voyage without the interruption of a "row."
"I should have had enough common sense at the start," growled Sir
Marcus with crude candour, "to engage a lord for the Smart Set, and a
parson for the Ernest Inquirers. There's a world of difference catering
for a Set, and a Flock. The art is, to know it, and how to do it. Now
I've secured you, I'm all right with the S. S. and thanks be, I've a
young reformed missionary on board to shepherd the Flock. Now the
Reverend Watts will come in handy, herding his sheep through Palestine,
while the colonel swaggers and fancies he's bossing the show. It's the
Egypt lot I worry about: girls out for dukes, and dukes out for
dollars. Not that there's a darned duke on board, but there are some
who think they out-duke the dukes, and it's our business to humour 'em.
You just duff all you want to, Lord Ernest, they'll swallow anything
you do, like honey. Don't bother about a line of conduct: only be
genial. Murmur soft nothings to the women; flirt but don't have
favourites. Don't be too political with the men: work in plenty of
anecdotes about your swell relations."
I replied that I could confidently promise geniality, except if
seasick: but Sir Marcus implored me at all costs not to be seasick.
That was the one thing I must not be. My whole time between the Piraeus
and Alexandria, on board the _Candace,_ must be spent ingratiating
myself with the sulky passengers, and obliterating from their memories
the crimes of Colonel Corkran. In Sir Marcus' opinion my future charges
had taken passage on the _Candace,_ and would go up the Nile, not to
see sights, but to be seen doing the right things. According to him not
two out of twenty cared tuppence for Egypt, but wished to talk about it
in sparkling style at home. My friend Captain Fenton and I must make it
sparkle. Sir Marcus had resigned himself to the fact that one of his
trump cards--Anthony--could not be produced until the arrival in Cairo
of the troupe, and that even then, the name of Fenton must not be used
as an attraction. Lark felt confident that I was a good enough card to
make his hand worth playing, and in spite of the half contemptuous
amusement with which I regarded the whole scheme, I couldn't help being
"on my mettle." I found myself wanting to succeed, wanting to please
the big, common man whom a few hours ago I had been cursing.
I had to start for Greece the night after our decision. Meanwhile, I
was anxious to explain the unexplainable to Brigit and Monny, and
secure the party for Sir Marcus Lark's alleged dahabeah, which turned
out to be one of Cook's old boats bought and newly decorated. Both my
tasks would be difficult. I had to hide the secret reason for selling
myself to the financier, and at the same time keep the respect of the
ladies. As for inducing Miss Gilder to give up her dream of a private
dahabeah, I foresaw that it would be like persuading the youngest
lioness in the Cairo Zoo to surrender her cherished wooden ball. But I
began by giving Monny a present; a fine old turban-box of rare, red
tortoise shell inlaid with mother of pearl, which I found at an
antiquary's. In the silklined box reposed a green turban; and that
green turban told its own story. Miss Gilder flushed with pleasure at
sight of it. "I've won my bet!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," said I. "To my astonishment! The man consents. He's a great
prize, knows Cairo and upper Egypt like a book. But you'll have to
surrender him when you go on the Nile."
In her haste to know why, Monny forgot to ask how I had obtained the
green turban; and for this I was glad, because it was only the second
best headgear of my smart friend the Hadji. In explaining that the
distinguished Egyptian had been engaged by Sir Marcus Lark, I slipped
in a word about my own part in the trip, describing it as an ideal
rest-cure for a budding diplomat on sick leave. I praised the boat and
spoke of the fun on board. I regretted Miss Gilder's preference for a
private dahabeah, so obvious, so millionairy! Still, I added, every one
to his taste! And anyhow, no doubt all the best cabins on the
_Enchantress Isis_ were taken.
That was the entering wedge--the mention of an obstacle to overcome.
Miss Gilder looked thoughtful, though she kept silence: and next day,
when making my adieux before starting for Alexandria, she flung out a
careless question. When would the _Enchantress Isis_ leave Cairo? How
many passengers would she carry? Would there be a rush at the Temples,
or would there be plenty of time for proper sightseeing? And was I sure
that all the nicest cabins were engaged? No, I was not sure. I could
inquire. I tried not to look triumphant, but I must have darted out a
ray, because Monny withdrew into her shell. She had inquired out of
curiosity, she explained. I had told such stories about the
_Enchantress Isis_ that she would like to see her. Perhaps Antoun
Effendi could get permission for a visit to the boat.
In this state I had to leave affairs, and start for the Piraeus, where
I must await the return of the tourists from Athens. I had two days at
sea in which to work up an agony of apprehension, and I could have
thanked heaven when, arriving on board the big white yacht, I found
that I was ahead of the passengers. I was expected, however, and a deck
cabin was ready for my occupation. I hoped that I had not turned out my
rival from the room, but dared not question the steward. He seemed to
know all about me, nevertheless, and said that my name had been "posted
up" as conductor of the Nile party. "If I may take the liberty of
mentioning it, my lord," he added, "it has made a very good
impression." We were to steam for Alexandria the moment the passengers
arrived in the special train--having had three days of sightseeing in
Athens--and I had just got my possessions stowed away when a wave of
chattering voices broke over the ship. My heart gave a jump, as a
soldier's must when called to fight on an empty stomach at dawn on a
winter's morning. What ought I to do? How was I to make the
acquaintance of my future charges? Must it be en masse, or could it be
done singly? I had neglected to ask Sir Marcus what would be expected
of me, and I was in a worse funk than a new boy on his first day at
school. Soon it would be dinner time. I wished that I were ill, but I
remembered that the one thing I must not do was to be seasick. Already
the ship was beginning to move out of the Greek harbour, or I should
have been tempted to get a telegram calling me home. Even the Mountain
of the Golden Pyramid seemed not too great a sacrifice to make--but it
was too late to make it--and some one was knocking at my door.
I opened it with such courage as I had; and the instant I set eyes on
the man I knew that he was Colonel Corkran. He was born to be a retired
colonel. What came before the retiring could have been but a prelude. A
stout figure of middle height; red face, veined on cheeks and nose;
pale blue eyes which looked as if they had faded in the wash; purple
moustache and eyebrows; close-cropped gray hair; a double chin
clamouring for extra collar space; and a bridge-player's expression.
This was the rival whose place I had virtually, though not officially,
usurped.
I was prepared to hear him hiss "Viper!" between his teeth, as
characters in melodramatic serials do to perfection, their front teeth
having doubtless been designed for such purposes. But his look seemed
to denote pity rather than hatred. So might a prison-warder regard a
condemned man, in coming to announce the hour of execution.
"Lord Ernest Borrow?" said he, in a slightly hoarse voice. "I'm Colonel
Corkran. Delighted to meet you. I've met your brother, Lord Killeena.
Daresay he wouldn't remember me. I don't think I can begin better than
by thanking you for coming to take over my job."
"Oh, I haven't done that!" I hastened to protest, as he sat fatly down
in a chair I pushed forward. "As I understand, I'm to take a few people
off your hands, and the hands of your assistant, Mr. Kruger, so that
you can go to Palestine instead of leaving that important excursion
entirely to the chaplain, Mr. Watts."
Colonel Corkran laughed. "Thank you for trying to save my feelings,"
said he. "But I assure you they're not hurt. I'm sincerely delighted to
see you--for my own sake. For yours--well, that's another pair of
shoes! My dear fellow, I wonder if you've the smallest idea what you're
in for?"
"In for?" I echoed.
"Yes. I'm saying this as a friend. Don't think I'm jealous. Lord, no! I
look on you as a deliverer. And don't think I want to frighten you. It
isn't that. But I feel it's my duty to prepare you. I might have got on
better if there'd been some one to do the same by me. There wasn't.
Kruger, my so-called assistant, is a spy. At best, he's a mere
accountant, not supposed to look after the passengers socially. I
gather that he was some secretary of Lark's. Beware of him. He writes
to Lark from every port. As for the passengers, the saintly lot are bad
enough. Yet it's only the food and the cabins and the attendance _they_
grumble about. I'm shunted off the worldly lot onto them in future. But
at their worst, they'll be a rest-cure! and Lark has the decency not to
reduce my screw. It's the worldly lot that's going to make you curse
the day you were born."
He wanted me to speak, or groan; but I maintained a stricken silence,
to which I gave some illusion of dignity. After a disappointed pause he
went on: "You'd better know something about these people. Beasts, every
one of 'em, young or old, some beastly common beasts, but all beastly
rich, except those that are beastly poor, and on the make--to marry
their daughters, or cadge for smart friends. Lark was bidding for
swells, and got snobs. Thinks his silly title will carry weight in
society as it does in the city. 'Lark Pie,' we're called, I hear. I
call us a 'Pretty Kettle of Fish!' The girls are the worst of the
caboodle, though some of 'em aren't bad looking. You won't believe the
trouble I've had with the creatures till you begin to get the same
yourself."
"What kind of trouble?" I inquired gingerly.
"Every kind a woman can make. Apart from food troubles, they think
they're not being entertained enough on board; think I ought to get up
more dances; tango teas I suppose! Don't like the way I organize games;
are mad because they can't have music at meals--which they can't
because the band's all stewards; blame me because the men don't make
love to them, or because they do. And at the hotels where we go on
shore, it's Hades. Naturally the people staying in the hotels resent
us. They look on us as a menagerie--a rabble. So we are. At least, they
are. I don't count myself in with them. What can I do? I'm not
omnipotent. Perhaps you are. Anyhow, they're prepared to believe it,
for you're a new broom--a broom with a fine handle. I'm only a poor
colonel with a few medals given by my country for services that were
appreciated. You're brother to a marquis."
"You paint a lurid picture" I said, when he stopped for breath.
"I couldn't paint it lurider than it is. But you'll have to find out
for yourself. It won't be so bad while you're a novelty. Don't say I
haven't warned you. And oh, by the way, I've announced that you're to
be presented to the passengers at dinner to-night, on coming in, before
the soup is served."
"As a sort of _hors d'oeuvre,_ I suppose," I murmured weakly.
Colonel Corkran stared, without a smile. "As the titled conductor of
the Egypt tour," he explained to my dull intelligence, with a slight
sneer. "So will you please be in the dining saloon just before the
bugle blows the beasts in? I have to introduce you, in a short speech.
It's all I can do, except say, God help you! But I don't see how He
can. I suppose your friend Sir Marcus told you that you would be
expected to deliver a lecture on Egypt, to-night at the dinner table?
After you've finished your dinner, of course. I hope the cracking and
crunching of nuts doesn't disturb you much? I confess I've found it
getting on my nerves."
I was aghast. My mind jumped to the wild thought of eating soap, in
order to froth at the mouth and simulate a fit. It seemed my only way
of escape, and after that, the Deluge. But my rival was so revelling in
the mental havoc he had wrought that I rallied, replying that, as Sir
Marcus had not broken the news to me, I didn't see how it would be
possible to deliver a lecture.
"Aren't you up on Egypt?" the colonel asked, pityingly. "Neither am I,
though I've sweated over Baedeker with my head in wet towels, when I
wanted to be at bridge. But I thought that was the excuse for engaging
you? That, and your title, of course, which is going to make you
popular. As fast as I fag up the names of those beastly Egyptian gods
or kings and queens, they run out of my brains like water out of a
sieve. Or if I do contrive to remember any, by chance, together with
their dates, which is almost more than can be expected of the human
intellect, why, I find that I pronounce 'em wrong; or they're spelled
another way in the next book. But I suppose as you know Egypt, its d--d
history comes natural as breathing."
How I wished it did! And how different was this new programme from the
one outlined by Sir Marcus. Just to be genial, and flirt with the
girls. "My recollections of Egypt are from some time ago," I admitted.
"To give a lecture at half an hour's notice.----"
"In justice to yourself I'm afraid you'll have to," the colonel
persisted. "It's been announced that you will give the lecture, and the
Egypt lot are looking forward to it as the animals in a zoo look
forward to their food. If they're defrauded, they'll think you a
slacker, and that you're presuming on your title."
"I shouldn't like that!" my anguish racked out of me.
"I fancied you wouldn't. But what's to be done? Am I to announce, when
I introduce you, that your knowledge of Egypt isn't equal to the
strain?"
I took an instant for reflection. I knew that he was hoping I might
throw myself on his mercy, or else that I would speak and fail; but I
determined to do neither. "On second thoughts, I may be able to give
some kind of a pow-wow," I replied.
Colonel Corkran's face fell. "That's all right, then!" he exclaimed,
getting to his feet. "Well, I must be off. Will you have a cocktail?"
"No, thanks," said I. "I think I can get on without it."
He was at the door. "Kind of hash of gods and goddesses with a
peppering of kings and queens, and mixed sauce of history and legend,
is what's needed," were his farewell words. Then he shut the door; and
I tore my watch from the pocket of my waistcoat. I had twenty-eight
minutes in which to prepare the said hash with its seasoning and sauce;
and the bugle was inviting my judges to dress for the inquisition.