THE ASIUT AFFAIR
Nothing could be less appropriate to the Spirit of the Nile than our
spirit in setting out. We had turned our backs upon medieval Cairo, and
our faces toward Ethiopia. Our minds should have teemed with thoughts
of early gods, and the mysteries of their great temples. But not at
all. Medieval or prehistoric, it was all one to us in our secret
hearts, which throbbed with passionate excitement over our own small
affairs of to-day, and to-morrow. Little cared we, as our white boat
bore us southward, on the bosom of the sacred river--little cared we
for the love-story of the Great Enchantress--pupil of Magician Thoth,
--fair Isis, in whose honour that boat was named. Her tragic journey
along this river, whose stream she could augment by one sacred tear,
should have been followed by our fancy. We should have seen with our
minds' eyes the lovely lady asking news of the painted boat which
carried the dead body of her murdered husband Osiris, asking always
vainly, until she thought of questioning the little children. But
instead we thought of our own love-stories and amusements. We played
bridge, and danced the Tango on deck; we drummed on the piano, or
warbled the latest musical comedy airs. Above all, we flirted, or
gossiped about those who flirted, if for any reason we were off the
active list of flirters ourselves.
To be sure, we had brought learned books, and took pains to leave them
in our chairs, open at marked passages of deep interest to students. We
even scribbled heterogeneous notes, if for a moment there were nothing
more amusing to do; and bits of paper scampered wildly about the deck
informing those who retrieved them that "Nub" was ancient Egyptian for
"gold," that Osiris created men and women from the tears he wept over
his own body, cut in pieces by Set; that the ivy was his favourite
plant; or that "scarabeus" was the Greek word for a blue-green beetle,
which created itself from itself, becoming the symbol of eternal life.
All this, however, was affectation. Each hoped others might think that
he or she was not an ordinary tourist: each wished to pose as a devotee
of some phase of history concerning gods, temples, or portrait statues,
anything not difficult to "study up." But life was too strong for us.
The colour and glamour of the Nile got into our blood. Hathor, goddess
of Love, bewitched us into doing queer things which we should not have
dreamed of doing if we hadn't drunk "Nile champagne." Yet after all,
what did it matter? We were absorbing what our hearts, if not our
minds, called out for: the enchantment of Egypt.
More or less conscientiously I performed the duties Sir Marcus Lark had
bribed me to perform. I gave neat little lectures, and tried to remind
people, whether they liked it or not, that almost every moment the boat
was taking us past places of astonishing interest.
The so-called tombs of "Beni Hasan," the _Enchantress Isis_ stopped for
us to see, in order that we might admire wall-paintings in rock
chambers, and gabble about Queen Hatasu or King Seti and his mother
Pakhet, the "Beautiful Lady of the Speos." But it was difficult to
rouse emotion concerning things which we glided by without visiting.
Ruined temples were everywhere, "thick as flies," as I heard Harry
Snell say to Enid Biddell; but why bother about them, when finer ones
were waiting further down on the menu-card of the Nile-feast?
Especially when there was a pretty girl to walk the deck with,
meanwhile? As for Tell el-Marna, the Heretic King's great city, the
general vote went against a visit to the ruins. Antoun Effendi praised
it as one of the most interesting places near the Nile, because with
the exception of Queen Hatasu and Rameses the Great, Amen-hetep IV was
the most human personality in Egyptian history. But only Monny, who was
making a hero of Aknator, really wished to delay at the Disc
Worshipper's Utopia. It must have seemed strange to the Gilded Rose not
to have her will prevail; but there was a "clique" on board who
appeared to find pleasure in thwarting Monny. Her sacrifice to the
Harlows was misunderstood. She had made it, said those who did not like
her, in order to gain credit for unselfishness, or to have an excuse
for displaying herself _en route_ to the public bath, in a dream of a
dressing-gown, and a vision of a cap, carrying a poem of a sponge bag.
Rachel Guest was still mysteriously more popular than Monny, and was
said to have had two proposals on the first day. She didn't want to get
off the boat to see irrelevant painted pavements, in the harem of
Aknaton's royal palace, and her laziness won, when the vote was taken.
But what did anything matter, if the glamour of the Nile was in our
blood?
Not one of us but thrilled to the droning cry of the shadoof men on the
brown banks, as the dripping water jars went up and up, tier after tier
above the river level. Not one but felt a strange allurement in the
passing scene; the dark mystery of palm groves, whose slender stems
were prison bars against the shining sky; the copper glow of the
mud-bricks in piled-up villages; the colour of the flowing water, where
secret gleams as from flooded gold mines seemed to glint through masses
of dead violets, that floated with the tide. No eye so dull that it
could not see how the shadows on land and water were painted at evening
with a blue glaze, like the bloom on old scarabs and mummy beads, and
broken bits of pottery that art cannot copy now.
In her way, even Miss Hassett-Bean felt the charm of the Nile, and its
shores of brown and emerald and peacock-purple. "I don't call it
_scenery_," she explained. "Except when the light is different, or
there's some green stuff for cattle growing on the banks, everything's
the same yellow-brown; and nothing happens but palms and mud villages,
and shadoofs, and a few Arabs, or camels, or those ugly water buffaloes
they say the devil made, to show what he could do. But the funny thing
is, you can't bear to shut your eyes for a single minute for fear of
missing a tree, or a mound, or one of those tall-masted gyassas loaded
with white and pink pottery: they all seem so ridiculously _important_,
somehow! Then, there's that bothersome north wind following you, and
trying to freeze your spine, unless you pounce on the best seat where
it can't reach. If you put on your fur coat you're too hot; if you
don't you're too cold. At night your bed creaks, and so does everybody
else's. You hear a creaking all down the line when people turn over,
which gets on your nerves: but you soon forget; and the whole
experience is so perfectly wonderful that I'd like to spend the rest of
my natural life going up and down on a Nile boat!"
Through the opalescent dream of these first days and nights, shot the
fiery thought of our mission in Asiut. I had been surprised at first
that Anthony, who knew so well the dangers and mysteries of the East,
encouraged Miss Gilder to meddle in so delicate an affair; and there
had never been any explanations between us. But I told myself that his
motive was sympathy with Monny's desire to help: or else he had been
tempted to associate himself with her in an adventure where again, as
once or twice before, he had been able to win her gratitude. Perhaps
both motives combined.
As for Mrs. East, she frankly sulked. Intuition told me that she had
never dared speak to "Antoun Effendi" about the proposal in
hieroglyphics (so difficult for me to explain) which she attributed to
him. Never had she dared say: "You have written me a love letter. Why
don't you follow it up, and give me a chance to answer it, one way or
the other?" But it was puzzling her, disappointing her, if not breaking
her heart, that he avoided rather than sought her, on this glorified
houseboat where "the Egyptian Prince" was more or less a hero with
romantic women. While we four planned, in thrilling whispers, how to
rescue the "Ship's Mystery," and Rachel Guest walked the deck with Bill
Bailey or Harry Snell, Cleopatra was reduced to writing picture
post-cards. I thought, if Sir Marcus had but the inspiration to reappear
at some stopping place farther on, she might be ready to forgive him the
false lotus flowers: and perhaps he would come, for the Lark type is as
difficult to snub as Cleopatra's Needle. I was half inclined to send
him a telegram, on some excuse or other.
* * * * *
We came to Asiut in the morning, and it was to be a long stop, for
there was much to see, and every one was excited at the thought of our
first Nile town, a town already of Upper Egypt, which made it seem that
we had come a tremendous way from Cairo. For us, Egypt existed no
longer as a country, but as a golden brown, purple-green river-bed and
a flowing stream of history on which we floated; so it was fun for
those having no special mission, to feel that once again bazaars and
more or less sophisticated "Sights" awaited their pleasure. I had given
my after-dinner lecture the night before, trying to behave as if I were
not boiling with emotion, and had told those who deigned to listen that
Asiut, "City of the Wolves," was the capital of a province. I had
babbled, too, about the tombs which self-respecting tourists must see,
even if they hurry over the inspection of carvings, cartouches, and
representations of very small queens smelling very large lotuses (most
Egyptian queens apparently spent much of their time, lightly clothed,
and smelling lotuses, a ladylike pursuit for those about to have their
portraits taken); in order to find time for the mummied cats, the
bazaars, the silver scarves, the red and black pottery, and the images
of wolves, crocodiles, and camels cheap enough to be freely bought for
poor relations at home. "Antoun" and I hinted at business which must
prevent our joining the sightseers, who would be chaperoned by the
dragoman. Luckily, they got the idea into their heads that our affairs
were connected with Sir Marcus, and the "trip." We were pitied, rather
than blamed, but our real difficulty was with Mrs. East, as Monny did
not wish Cleopatra to be let into the secret. If she knew, she would
want to be in the adventure, and in Monny's opinion, Aunt Clara was a
dear, but unfitted for adventures.
We planned that Brigit and Monny should call upon the wife of Rechid
Bey, whose house would be easy to find. If they were admitted, they
would try to bring her out, as if for a drive, for it seemed a case of
now or never if she were to escape. In case she were able to come, they
would take her straight to the American Consulate, which I was to visit
meanwhile, in order to explain matters. But if the rescuers were
refused admission, the Consul must be entreated to give active help. I,
as a "diplomat," was considered a suitable person to deal with this
side of the affair; and Antoun Effendi was to keep unobtrusive guard
within sight of Rechid's house until Brigit and Monny, with or without
a companion, should come forth safely. As I said, however, the
difficulty was Mrs. East. She would expect her niece if not Brigit to
go about with her, and would not be easily persuaded to join any other
party. As for Rachel, we need not think of her, as she had been annexed
by the Biddells, who would otherwise have lost Harry Snell. But
Cleopatra! What to do with Cleopatra? It was Anthony who had an
inspiration.
There lived near Asiut, it seemed, an Italian who bred Sicilian lap-dogs,
said to be like those which had been favourite pets in the day of
Cleopatra the Great. Indeed, Antony was supposed to have given one to
the Queen. Now, Fenton asked permission to present a Sicilian lap-dog
to Mrs. East, a dog so small, so polite, that he could be taken
anywhere. Anthony could not go himself to select the gift, but would
find an interpreter as a guide to the kennel and bring her back to the
exploring party. Cleopatra, delighted with her hero's thoughtfulness,
caught at the idea: and when the Set went tearing furiously away in
arabeahs or on donkeys, Mrs. East followed sedately in a carriage with
the elderly Greek interpreter, and Miss Hassett-Bean, who also fancied
the idea of a Sicilian lap-dog, to replace the lamented Marmoset.
Everything glittered at Asiut. The sun glittered on the water; palm
trees in gardens glittered as the wind waved their big green fans; the
white or pink facades of large, square houses glittered, those fine
houses along the Nile, in one of which Rechid Bey was known to live.
But brighter than all glittered the silver scarfs which Arabs begged us
to buy. Hanging over arms raised to show them off, the shining folds
glittered like cascades of running water in moonlight. "Very cheap!
very beautiful!" cried the merchants. "Ladies, see here! Your
gen'lemen, they buy for you!"
In spite of "Antoun's" dignified refusals, putting the men off till our
return, they ran after us, waving scarfs and shawls and robes, white as
scintillating hoarfrost, pink as palest roses, purple as sunset clouds,
green and golden as Nile water, or sequined black as a night of stars.
Their vendors feared that if we did not buy of them, others might
beguile us, and saw danger ahead in a distant group of rivals crowding
round some tourists from another boat. This group we had to pass, and
as we did so, who should break out from the glittering ring but Bedr.
He came toward us, humble and cringing, giving the beautiful Arab
salute. "Dear gen'lemen and ladies!" he exclaimed. "I am very happy to
see you again. Won't you shake hands, to forgive, because I meaned no
harm, and did no wrong thing but obey the sweet ladies' wish when they
would go to that House of the Crocodile. I too much punished when I
been sent away."
"That's past now, and forgotten," said Monny, shrinking slightly from
the outstretched hand. "Perhaps it wasn't your fault, that trouble we
got into, but we didn't need you afterward, anyhow, and probably the
people you are with now are nicer to you than we were."
"Oh, no peoples could be nicer, though they are very nice, my two
gen'lemens you seed with me in the desert. They travel with me yet. We
go everywhere by trains, because it takes not so much time as the
boats. And Miss Guest, that nice good young lady, is she well?"
"Yes, she is very well," replied Miss Gilder, beginning to be restless,
her beauty-loving eyes avoiding Bedr's face, as had been her habit when
the man was in our employ. She did not like to hurt his feelings (Monny
can't bear to hurt the feelings of any one below herself in wealth or
station, though apparently she doesn't consider that one is bound to be
kind-hearted with the rich); but I could see that she wanted to escape.
Never had she liked Bedr. He had been Rachel's man from the first.
"Miss Guest has gone to see the tombs," Monny explained.
"You not go there, and to the bazaars? I take my gen'lemen in a few
minutes."
"We shall go by and by; just now we've other things to do," said the
girl evasively, rather too evasively, perhaps. But in the hope of
killing two birds with one stone (luring the man to betray his secret
if he had one, and then shunting him), I broke in.
"How have you been getting on," I inquired, looking into the squint
eyes, "since that night I saw you at Medinet-el-Fayoum?"
But the eyes opened wide, with a stare of innocence.
"You see _me_ there, milord? I thought your party had not come when we
went away. My gen'lemen not like that camping place, and we stay there
not even one night. You must make mistake, and think some other man me.
Sure!"
We could not help laughing at the "Sure!" It was spoken in so truly an
American way that it was funny on those lips. Afterward, however, it
struck me in remembering the scene, that the man's accent in speaking
English was even more distinctly American than it had been. This was
odd, if he had been associating with Germans; but natural if his new
clients were Americans.
Another question was on my tongue, but before I had time to speak,
Monny cried out: "Oh, there's Wretched Bey, in a carriage, all alone
with some luggage! I hope he's going away!"
Naturally we turned, but I saw Biddy raise her eyebrows warningly. The
girl looked puzzled, as if, for an instant, she did not see what she
had done that was wrong. But I guess that Biddy's distrust of Bedr as a
possible spy was still alive in her breast. She did not know of my
suspicions concerning the "camp thief," for the affair at Medinet,
thanks to a white fib or two, had never assumed serious proportions in
her mind. It did not need that, however, to make her feel that Bedr's
ears were not fit receptacles for secrets.
Monny had not been mistaken. It was Rechid Bey, leaning comfortably
back in an old-fashioned but not badly appointed open carriage, drawn
by two very decent horses, and driven by a smart, red-sashed, white-robed
negro. We saw him in profile as he passed along the road at some
distance, but he was reading a paper with an expression so placid that
I felt sure he had not seen us. On the seat beside him was a suitcase
with the air of having been made in France; and circumstantial evidence
said that Monny's wish was to be granted.
I glanced hastily at Bedr, to observe, if I could, whether the girl's
impulsive exclamation had aroused undue interest; for it was not
unlikely that he had seen Rechid Bey and Mabel landing at Alexandria
the night of his first meeting with us. But the ugly face showed
nothing.
"If you have things you want to do, my ladies," he said, "please excuse
that I have keeped you. I go to my gen'lemen or they give the men with
the silver shawls too much money."
The "gen'lemen" in question were more interested in observing our
movements than in completing any bargain with the street vendors;
nevertheless Bedr hastened back as if in great fear that they might be
cheated. An arabeah waited for them; and having bought a scarf or two,
they drove off before we had parted to go our several ways. An arabeah
was in attendance upon us, also, and we put Brigit and Monny into it
alone, for Rechid Bey's house, the driver informed us, was not far off.
"Good luck!" I said encouragingly, and Brigit smiled gayly at me; but
Monny was looking at Fenton. She was telling him something with her
eyes; and, with a significant little gesture, she touched the small
leather handbag she carried.
"One would think she was a suffragette with a bomb," I remarked to
Anthony, trying to speak easily, as though I were not at all anxious,
when the carriage had turned its back on us.
"Instead of which," said Anthony, gazing at the dark head and the fair
head, as earnestly as if he never expected to see them again, "instead
of which, she's merely a brave girl with a pistol that she knows how to
use. Or, anyhow, she says she does."
"Great heavens! Has she got one in that bag?" I gasped.
"She has. My Browning."
"Jove! You gave it to her?"
"I did. Last night."
My heart began suddenly to feel like a cannon ball, in my breast. I
felt that I had not understood the situation, and that now I did not
understand Anthony--though that was far from being a new sensation.
"I thought that _you_ thought there was no danger?" I bleated. "You
know Egypt and I don't. I didn't want them to go in for this thing, but
when you said it would be all right, I yielded. I wish to heaven I
hadn't!"
"Do you think if you hadn't given in, Miss Gilder would have given up?"
"You and I together could have kept them both out of the business."
"Only by sheer force. You see, Miss Gilder was interested in this girl
and fond of her before she met you. So was Mrs. East. As Rechid tricked
the pretty little governess by making her believe she would be his
first and only wife, they don't look upon her as married to him: And I
think they're right. Don't you glory in them both for knowing there's a
risk, yet taking it so gayly for that foolish child's sake?"
"I glory in them, but I wouldn't have let them go if--"
"You've changed your mind, just because I gave Miss Gilder my Browning?
Honestly, Duffer, I don't think there's actual danger. But, anyhow,
don't you see, they _had_ to go, and they had to go alone. They would
have hated us and themselves and each other if they hadn't answered the
girl's appeal. And _we_ couldn't do the thing, unfortunately, as it
deals with the harem. If it can be done at all, it's woman's business.
These two are the right ones, as they felt bound to do it, and you and
I can but see them through, from the outside."