BENGAL FIRE
The Temple of Mût I think must always be mysterious even by day. That
night it was more than mysterious. It was sinister.
Darkness shut us in among the pillars and the black, lion-faced
statues. The least imaginative of my charges seemed to feel the
influence of the place. Not an Arab, not even the superior boat
dragoman, would come inside with us: because after the sun has set,
dethroned Sekhet comes into her own again. Strange stories are
whispered by Arabs, of the Temple of Mût, and of the ghostly, golden
dahabeah that, once a year, sails slowly by to a faint sound of music,
on the Sacred Lake. We had brought candles with us, protected by smoky
glass from the wind that swept down the avenue of broken Sphinxes
outside, and hissed like angry cats through the dark courts lined with
granite statues of the Cat-goddess. Yet despite the mystery, or because
of it, people seemed curiously happy. The spirit of the past, of Old
Egypt, touched them in the shadowy spaces of this ruined temple,
brushed them with its wings, and whispered half-heard words into their
ears. They talked to each other in low tones, as if not to miss the
whispers or the soft footfalls of unseen things; and they did not laugh
and make jokes, or ask silly questions, according to their irritating
custom.
I blessed this mood, for my nerves were jangled (more than ever after
the Bronsons unobtrusively appeared) waiting for Brigit and Monny to
come, wondering if they would come, or what we should do if they
didn't; because suddenly in this place of gloom and eloquent silence
all the clever little plans Anthony and I had made, in case of
accident, seemed futile. How could we have let those two walk alone
into a trap? I blamed myself, I blamed Anthony; and sometimes I gave
the wrong answers to Mrs. East, who walked with me, trying to keep out
of the way of the crowd.
She was anxious to talk of her niece, and to relate how she had been
singing my praises to Monny. "You mustn't be discouraged," she said.
"Never mind about the hieroglyphic letter. Oh, no, you needn't worry! I
haven't told her it was yours. Better let her think what she thought at
first. Did she _tell_ you what she thought? _Please_ answer me, Lord
Ernest! I don't mind your knowing--_now_--that I believed it was from
Antoun to me. Believing so, did no harm. Why should it, to me, or to
him? I soon guessed that there was a mistake somewhere--when he didn't
--didn't follow the letter up. I was not offended by the proposal as
Monny would have been--oh, not if she'd known it was _yours_, but if
she'd supposed Antoun was making love to her. Don't you see--you must
have seen, you're so quick and observant--that she's been caught by the
romance of him, just as she was afraid she might be by some thrilling
prince, when she came to Egypt. She's miserable. She's hating herself.
And you _won't_ save her though I've prepared her mind!"
"So _that's_ what you meant when you hinted that I could spare her
humiliation!" I said, half in laughter, half in bitterness, suddenly
able to concentrate my mind upon the talk. "Do you think a man would
want a girl to take him for such a reason, when she's caring for some
one else?"
"But, if it would be impossible for her to marry the some one else?"
"Why should it be impossible?"
"She would think it impossible."
"Would she, if--" I checked myself, but Mrs. East understood instantly.
"If he has a secret," she said, "then none of us has a right to suggest
it to her. Every man for himself, Lord Ernest, in _love_! Antoun
Effendi has no reason too feel too kindly to Monny. You'll be robbing
your friend of _nothing_, if you speak to her. If he's in _love_ with
any one, it isn't my niece."
"At least it's not _you_. Perhaps it's Biddy after all!" my thoughts
interpolated.
"To care for Monny would be beneath his dignity, considering all that's
passed. And you can make _her_ happy, as well as yourself, by taking my
advice," Mrs. East went on. "Aren't you going to be sensible?"
Just then came a murmur expressing surprise or some other new emotion,
from one of the outer courts where the crowd wandered, Cleopatra having
lured me--yes, "lured" _is_ the word--into the sanctuary itself.
"Something has happened!" I said. "Let's go back, and see what it is."
"Perhaps Antoun has come!" Mrs. East caught me up eagerly. "He was
coming, wasn't he, when he'd finished his business? Or maybe it's only
Monny and Brigit."
"_Only_ Monny and Brigit!"
In the hope of seeing Antoun, Cleopatra turned her back upon the dreary
sanctuary not unwillingly, even though the burning question was left
unanswered. I hurried her through the dark passages which lay between
us and the courts, lighting our way with a glassed-in candle; and it
was all I could do not to cry out aloud "Thank heaven!" or "Hurrah!" or
something else that would have opened people's eyes, when I saw that
indeed, Brigit and Monny had arrived. It was Rachel Guest and Willis
Bailey who had hailed them from afar, as candlelights flashed across
their faces; and suddenly to my eyes the gloomy temple seemed to be
brilliantly illuminated. I don't know exactly how I contrived to leave
Cleopatra, and get to the newcomers; but I did get to them in less than
a minute. Perhaps I was a little rude to Mrs. East. I wasn't thinking
of that at the time, however, nor of her.
I separated the two I wanted from the others. Their faces radiated
excitement, but I was not sure if it meant success. I was sure only
that they had been through an ordeal and were feeling the reaction.
"You're safe!" I said, and shook hands with them feverishly. Then I
shook hands all over again.
"Safe, yes," Monny answered. "And Mabel--why don't you ask about her?
Oh, Lord Ernest, we've done it--we've done it--thanks to Antoun
Effendi! We should have failed at the last if it hadn't been for him.
Just look over there, at the Bronsons, and see if you can guess who it
is they're talking to?"
I looked and saw tall, thin Mr. Bronson, and short, plump Mrs. Bronson
trying to form a hollow square around a little figure in a long gray
coat of Biddy's, and a hood with a veil I remembered her wearing the
day we motored to Heliopolis. It seemed about a hundred years ago. I
had conducted so much and so violently since; but I was not too old to
remember Biddy's hood. What if Neill Sheridan, poking about alone with
a candle, could see through that veil?
"Triumph!" I exclaimed. "You're heroines!" (I didn't know then how true
were my own words.) "Was it a great adventure?"
"_Was it_, Biddy?" the girl asked, half shyly of her friend.
"So great that I can't talk about it," Brigit answered, and her eyes
implored mine not to ask questions. Also they said that she had things
to tell me--not now but by and by. Things for me alone. Biddy's eyes
could be wonderful.
"Where's Antoun Effendi?" Monny broke in, when I had taken Brigit's
hint, and was beginning to say that we must go and speak to the
Bronsons.
"He hasn't come yet," I answered; and then her eyes, too, began to
implore.
"Not come yet? But--it's a long time. We found Mr. and Mrs. Bronson
outside, hoping for us to arrive, and we talked to them and introduced
Mabel, and explained things. They would have liked to go and take her
away quickly, but Biddy and I begged them not to. We said it would be
better to wait for the rest, and all the crowd to be together in case
of--trouble. Oh, we discussed everything, for ages--minutes and
minutes. I do think Antoun Effendi ought to be here, unless--"
I caught her up quickly. "Unless?"
"Well, you see, we left him inside Rechid's gate, where he'd just
knocked down a big negro, and was keeping back Rechid and _lots_ of
other men--anyhow three--with a pistol--not the one he lent me. He told
us to go, so we went."
He told them to go--so they went! A change, this, for the Gilded Rose.
She spoke at the moment like an obedient little girl.
"If he told you to go--it was all right, you may be sure," I said
encouragingly. But despite my faith in Anthony as a fighting man, I
felt--well, somewhat dismayed at the picture called up. "Rechid and
anyhow three men!" It was rather a large order. If with a wish I could
have sent every member of the Set back to their peaceful homes in
England and America, and thus rid myself of them in a second, they
would all have found themselves walking in at their respective front
doors.
I wished this wish, but having a mere smoking candle in my hand, and
not Aladdin's lamp, it didn't work. There they inconveniently remained
in the Temple of Mût, looking twice as large as life.
"What if I tell them they've seen everything?" I muttered. "They
haven't, but that's a detail. If I could rush 'em all back to the boat
--and you with them, of course, and get Mabella Hânem and the Bronsons
off safely, I could go look for Anth--for Antoun. Of course we were to
wait for him, but I don't like the picture you've painted--"
"Oh, _do_ look for him!" broke in Monny. "Leave us to take care of
ourselves. I'm sure we can. There are enough of us. And Mr. Bronson is
a _Consul_. Go and get the police."
"I can't leave you," I said. "Antoun would be the last one to forgive
me if I did that. But I'll start off the party, now. The arabeahs and
donkeys are waiting. Listen to the stentorian voice of the Conductor,
announcing--"
I tried to speak gayly; but the announcement, which I opened my mouth
to roar through the temple, was never made. There came instead, at that
instant, a rival roar from outside. Mine would have been the roar of a
sucking dove. This other was a wild bull roar of rage. What it was for,
who was making it, and whether it concerned us, we did not know; but it
was the sound of many voices, and flowing to us on the wind, driving
nearer out of distance, it was startling and caused the heart to miss a
beat.
Suddenly the thought sprang into my mind that this was like something
in a theatre. We were on the stage, in a play of Ancient Egypt, and a
mob of supers was yelling for our lives in the wings. They would pour
out upon the stage and attack us. Only the hero and heroine would be
saved. All the villains and other unnecessary people would be polished
off.
Everybody had stopped talking. Involuntarily groups drew together. We
looked over our smoking candles, past the standing statues and the
fallen statues, away toward the columns of the temple entrance.
Mr. and Mrs. Bronson, and the girl in Biddy's veiled hood and cloak,
walked across the court and joined our party of three. Neill Sheridan
was at a distance. His prophetic soul told him nothing. "I hope that
fellow Rechid Bey hasn't worked up any trouble against us," the
American Consul from Asiut said in a low, somewhat worried tone.
Instantly I was certain that what he hoped had not happened, was indeed
the thing that had happened. I seemed to see Rechid stirring up a crowd
of his fellow Mussulmans, telling them that dogs of Christians had
robbed him of his foreign wife, who was on the point of accepting
Islam. Nothing easier than for Rechid to find us. All Luxor knew we
were in the Temple of Mût. These men of Luxor and other Nile towns of
Upper Egypt, had not yet settled down after the outburst against
Christian insults which had alarmed the authorities in Cairo. In three
days Anthony Fenton had discovered the dregs at the bottom of the
teapot and had doubtless done something toward calming the tempest in
it, but the troubled water had not time to cool. It could easily be
brought to the boil again; and the despoiling of a harem by Europeans
--the harem of an important man--would be oil thrown onto the dying fire
under the tempestuous teapot.
The furious voices grew louder. From the wave of sound words spattered
out and up like spray. Perhaps in all that astonished crowd gathered in
the Temple of Mût, Bronson and I were the only ones who knew enough
Arabic to catch their meaning. His question was answered. And this was
not a stage. Those shouting men were not supers in the wings. They were
in earnest. Foolish and dreamlike and utterly unreal as it seemed,
their hearts were hot with savage anger against men and women of an
alien race: and though what they might do to us would be visited on
their own heads to-morrow, they were not thinking of to-morrow now. As
for us--it was just possible that owing to this silly dream we were
having about a mob of common, uneducated Arabs, for some of us there
might not be any to-morrow.
"Is there a back door where we can dash out and give them the slip?"
asked Bronson.
I was thinking hard. Mine was the responsibility for my charges, these
rich, comfortable tourists from London and New York, Birmingham and
Manchester, Chicago and St Louis. None of them knew yet that they were
in danger. They were thinking about their dinner, and their pleasant,
lighted cabins on board the _Enchantress Isis_, waiting for them not
far away. They realized that something was the matter out there, that a
lot of Arabs were making a row; but it interested and amused them
impersonally. If somebody had robbed or murdered somebody else, morally
it was a pity, of course: but it added to the picturesqueness of the
scene, and would be nice to tell about at home. I felt myself
overflowing with a sudden, new tenderness for the Set, so often
troublesome. This that was going to happen--unless we could stop it
--was in truth the affair of Monny and Brigit, Mabella Hânem and the
Bronsons, Anthony Fenton and me; but all would be involved, the
innocent with the guilty, unless very quickly the duffer of the company
could think of some way out.
"No," I heard myself say with decision, "we mustn't leave the temple.
They're superstitious about it. Few, if any, will venture in. What they
want is to lure us into the open. And there must be no panic. Certainly
my friend, unless he's been hurt, is working for us--somewhere. It's
only a question of minutes. He borrowed my Browning to-day. I wish--" I
glanced toward Brigit and Monny. They stood at a little distance, with
Mrs. Bronson and Mabel, but the faces of both were turned toward us. I
saw that they guessed the meaning of the uproar outside. Biddy's great
soft eyes spoke to mine, spoke, and told me all the truth about myself.
How I loved her, Biddy O'Brien, and no one else on earth! How I would
die for her, and let all the rest die, if need be, yes, even Monny
Gilder, to whom I had been idiot enough to write that letter! If I
could save Biddy, what did anything beside matter? But--yes, it did
matter. I must save them all. And the light that had lit up my dim soul
gave me inspiration. Because I loved Biddy, I knew what to do.
"I've got a little surprise for every one!" I yelled, to be heard over
the noise outside, where Rechid Bey's mob was now probably trying to
make our donkey-boys and arabeah-men join in the fight or the siege.
"Mr. Neill Sheridan will kindly lead the whole party to the sanctuary,
which his knowledge of architecture will enable him to find, on the
axis of the temple. Down that passage, please! In fifteen minutes the
surprise will be ready, and you will receive the signal to return, from
Mr. Bronson, American Consul at Asiut--no time for introductions now."
Sheridan, amazed, but perhaps not displeased, emerged from the dark
corner where, until the row began, he had been examining a half-erased
wall-carving. "Come along, then, everybody!" he shouted good-naturedly;
and as the procession formed--discussing the "surprise" and the noise,
now mysteriously linked together in the minds of my charges--I saw the
veiled and hooded Mabel shyly try to pull Mrs. Bronson into place with
her, as near as possible to Sheridan. She must have suspected that
there was trouble brewing, and guessed the cause. Her timid,
self-centred little soul instinctively sought shelter in the neighbourhood
of a friend, who would perhaps have been more than a friend, if he
could. So she followed him, he not knowing what eyes the gray veil hid:
but Mrs. Bronson broke away from the small hand and hurried back to her
husband.
"What am I to do?" she asked.
"Go with the others," he said, quietly. "Take care of the girl. Lord
Ernest has some plan."
She went reluctantly; but Brigit and Monny and Mrs. East lingered at
the tail of the procession, returning to us as the others vanished down
the passage that led toward the sanctuary. I motioned them away, but
Monny ran forward, while Biddy kept Cleopatra from following. They
talked together and argued, Biddy's arm round the taller woman's waist,
as Monny came straight to me, and put into my hand Anthony Fenton's
pistol.
"I didn't have to use it," she said. "It's all loaded and ready. And
I'm going to stay here with you and Mr. Bronson, to help. What are you
planning to do?"
"Please run away," I said, "and take Biddy and your aunt. You must.
That's the only help we want--"
"Not till you tell me what you mean to do."
"Oh, only to try a trick to frighten those Arab sheep out there. They
funk this temple at night anyhow. And I've just remembered that I
brought some Bengal fire to light the place up and amuse the crowd. I
thought if a red blaze suddenly burst out it would give those fellows a
scare--and the police are on the way--"
"But the Arabs will see that you're only two!"
"They shan't see us at all. We'll hide behind those statues and pot at
them if they do come in, which I doubt. Now, off with the three of
you!" And I was getting my illumination ready.
To my surprise and relief, Monny obeyed without further argument. Dimly
it passed through my mind that she had been profiting by her lessons
lately. I threw one glance over my shoulder, more, I'm afraid, to see
whether my dear Brigit were on her way to safety than through anxiety
for Miss Gilder. The three figures had already disappeared in the
darkness, and Bronson and I gave ourselves to the work of lighting up.
An ocean-roar of voices surged round the temple entrance now; but the
red light flamed like the fires of hell, and I, peeping from behind a
statue, revolver in hand, saw that the temple itself had not been
invaded. The flare lit the foreground of the darkness outside, and the
columns of the front court. I could see a moving throng of white and
black clad figures, gesticulating, running to and fro, seeming to urge
each other to some action, yet none coming forward. I sprinkled on more
powder, and up blazed the Bengal fire again. Now somebody was taking
the lead. A tall man was pushing through the crowd. Would they follow
this brave one? My fingers closed round the Browning. He was between
the columns at last, but the light was dying down. I threw on all I had
of the powder, and stared through the red dazzle to make certain what
was happening--since this might decide our fate. The tall man's back
was turned to us. He seemed to be motioning the crowd away instead of
urging them on. How to make sure, in the blood-coloured glare, whether
a man's turban was white or green or crimson? But that gesture--that
lift of the head! No mistaking that. The man was Antoun--Ahmed Antoun,
the worshipful Hadji, haranguing the mob.
Hardly would they let him speak at first. Those on the outskirts tried
to yell him down. I heard the word "traitor!" and before the light
ebbed I thought I caught sight of Rechid's pale face under the red
tarboosh, Rechid's broad shoulders in European coat, edging past
jebbahs and galabeahs, toward the columns. Then, just as the light
died, from behind us in the temple came a cry. Above the shouting of
the Hadji, who was beginning to make himself heard by the crowd, it
rang out shrill and clear--a woman's voice: Monny Gilder's. She called
on the name of Antoun, and then was silent.
I lifted my candle-lantern--all that was left to illumine the darkness,
and saw at the far end of the court shadowy figures struggling
together. It seemed to me that there were not two, but four or five. I
ran toward them, and Bronson ran, but some one bounded past us both--a
tall man in a green turban. A shot was fired after him, and hit a
statue. I heard subconsciously a miniature crash of chipped granite,
but I don't think Anthony heard, or had heard anything since that call
for "Antoun!"
He had dashed ahead, though we had had the start and were running fast.
Rounding a group of statues, erect and fallen, I saw a candle-lantern
on the floor, and knew that Monny--and perhaps Biddy--had not
obediently followed the procession to the sanctuary, after all. They
had waited to watch and listen, hiding behind the black statues of
Sekhet, and men who had crept in by another way--doubtless by the small
Ptolemaic gate opening on the lake--had taken them by surprise.
Anthony had got to the shadowy mass, which, moved like black, wind-blown
clouds, vague and shapeless, before Bronson and I were near
enough to distinguish one form from another. As for our eyes, his tall
figure blended with the waving shadows; two revolver shots exploded
with thunderous reverberations. We did not know if he, or another, had
fired; but almost simultaneously with the second shot two black shapes
separated themselves from the rest, fleeing into darkness. They took
the way by which they must have come, the way leading toward the gate
on the lake.
Three seconds later we were on the spot; and the only shadows left
resolved themselves under my candle light into the forms of Brigit
O'Neill, Monny Gilder, Anthony Fenton, and Mrs. East somewhat in the
background.
Monny's hat was off, and Biddy's was apparently hanging by a hatpin.
Their hair was in disorder, a rope of Biddy's falling over one
shoulder, a shining braid of Monny's hanging down her back. Monny
seemed to be more or less in the arms of Antoun, but only vaguely and
by accident. Dimly I gathered that she had stumbled, and he had saved
her from falling. Biddy was fastening up the front of her gray chiffon
blouse, which was open, and torn. Her hands trembled and I could see
that her breast rose and fell convulsively; for, though the light was
dim, I was looking at her, while I merely glanced at the others. Mrs.
East was crying. But Brigit and Monny had smiles for Bronson and me as
we came blundering along, stumbling over unseen obstacles.
"Some one stole up behind with an electric torch, and tried to drag me
away," said Monny, in a weak little voice, scarcely at all like her
own. It sounded as if a ventriloquist were imitating her. "Some one
called me Esmé O'Brien--whispered right in my ear. And I screamed, and
fought, and Antoun came. I think then the man pushed me down as he ran
away. Anyhow I fell, and Antoun picked me up. Oh, Biddy, are you safe?
Why, your dress is torn!"
"Yes, but I'm safe," answered another small, weak voice. "I fought,
too. I--I think they wanted to rob me. Thank goodness, I didn't have it
on."
"The bag, dearest?"
"Yes, darling, the bag. I thought I wouldn't wear it to-day."
Out in the night the yells had subsided since the Hadji's harangue, if
not wholly because of it.
"The police have come," said Anthony. "It occurred to me that Rechid
and some friends of his were cooking up a plan, and while I was getting
into my clothes in the village it jumped into my head what it might be.
So on my way out to the temple I stopped and left a warning. We're all
right now. And I don't think the Arab lot would have dared venture in
anyhow. These chaps who sneaked in at the back and attacked the ladies
were dressed like the rest, but I doubt they were Arabs."
He would have doubted still more, if he had known all that I knew. But
the one secret I'd kept from him was Biddy's secret. The words "Esmé
O'Brien" whispered to Monny, as yet meant nothing save bewilderment to
Fenton.
"The fifteen minutes are up, and no signal yet for your famous
surprise," called out Sir John Biddell's complaining voice, from the
end of a dark passage. "Has anything gone wrong?"
"Oh, I was going to give you a Bengal fire illumination of the temple,
for a climax," I explained, coming suavely forward to meet him with my
candle. "But the beastly stuff--er--sort of went off by itself, and
it's all used up. I was--er--just going to call you."
"Well, not much harm done," said Sir John. "We've seen the sanctuary,
such as it is. A little disappointing, perhaps, especially as Mr.
Sheridan found a friend with Mrs. Bronson, the Consul's wife, and
preferred talking with her to giving out information to us, from his
stores of knowledge. But luckily not more than twenty minutes wasted.
By the way, what's become of the row outside? Seems to have fizzled
down while we were away, like your red fire."
"Yes, a great man of some sort was addressing the crowd. But the police
came along and made it move on. There's been a bit of native grumbling
in these Nile towns lately--you may have read some paragraph about it
in the Cairo papers? So the police are rather quick to break up
meetings."
"Why should men meet near the Temple of Mût?" inquired Sir John. "_I_
shouldn't think of doing it."
"Perhaps in the beginning they hoped to get something out of the
Europeans," said I lightly. "But they've given that up, evidently."
"I hope they haven't seduced our donkey-boys and arabeah drivers!"
exclaimed Sir John. "I'm hungry. And I'm in a hurry to get home."
"Not they. Donkey-boys and arabeah-men aren't easily seduced when
there's a question of baksheesh. _They're_ all right! I'm only sorry
about the Bengal fire."
"Well, it was a good idea, anyhow," Sir John patronized me.
"_C'est vrai_," I heard murmur in his chosen language, the Hadji, who
had saved the situation. "_C'etait une idée très bien pour
un_--duffer."