"No, Sir Raife, I fear not. That Apache-looking fellow is practically
in the employ of a certain Doctor Malsano."
Raife started, and his expression became engrossed.
"The important part of what I want to say is," proceeded the detective,
"that, although it is merely a coincidence that you should have been in
the middle of the night on the scene of an attempted burglary, I saw
you, earlier in the evening, dining at the Savoy with a Miss Gilda
Tempest, who is supposed to be the niece of this Doctor Malsano."
Raife sprang from his seat and said: "Come, come, Herrion, I can't hear
a word against Miss Tempest."
"I ask you to keep cool, Sir Raife, until I explain to you how serious
is the situation. It is incredible to feel that your good name--Sir
Raife Remington--should be associated with a gang of continental
swindlers, of whom this lady is the decoy."
Again Raife hotly intervened. "I must ask you, Herrion, not to drag
Miss Tempest's name into the dust."
"It is true, I think you will agree, that my professional position
entitles me to speak."
Raife winced, but his was not the nature to give in easily. In spite of
his own personal knowledge of the doctor, and of Gilda, he loved the
girl dearly, and love is blind--sometimes to the point of madness.
Herrion continued: "I assure you, in confidence, that Doctor Malsano and
Miss Tempest are liable to arrest at any moment. When I was in Nice, a
short while ago, they had a plan for stealing the Baroness von
Sassniltz's jewels. She was staying at the Hotel Royal, and so were
they. In addition, this Apache-looking fellow, who fell in the river
last night, was in their service for the purpose. He was employed as a
messenger, and I had him removed. I had other work on and could not
stay to protect the baroness's jewels. I did my best in the
circumstances. The doctor caught sight of me in the hotel, and he, and
his niece, disappeared at once."
This was circumstantial enough, and, but for the obstinate strain in all
young lovers, would have carried conviction. Raife remained obdurate,
almost defiant, but the skilled observation of the famous detective
noticed that he was wavering. With great dignity and deliberation he
added: "Sir Raife Remington, in your own interests, I beg of you to
abandon this mad alliance. It is suicidal."
Raife rose from his chair and walked slowly around the room. He mixed
himself a whisky and soda, and drank the contents at a gulp. He crossed
the room to Herrion, and, extending his hand, said:
"Herrion, you are right. I thank you heartily for your most
disinterested action. I will abandon the whole accursed crew. They
have blighted my life."
The strong, stern, little man, relentless in the conviction of crime,
unwavering in the performance of his duty, had saved a man's name--a
family name. A whimsical smile spread over his countenance as he left
the room.
Two days later Gilda Tempest received a letter from Raife. It was
brief, and to the point. It stated that it was his duty not to be
associated with a man whom he was convinced was an unscrupulous
criminal. He expressed regrets and bade farewell.
Gilda's wonderful, beautiful, and yet inscrutable face did not tell how
much she suffered. Doctor Malsano was furious, and showed growing signs
of weakness by allowing his passion to get beyond control.
A few days after the foregoing events, Raife Remington, accompanied by
Colonel Langton, was on his way to Egypt. Colonel Langton was a
big-game shooter, and a club friend of some years standing. Their
intention was to make for Khartoum and thence up the Blue Nile.
"The Nile-guarded city, the desert-bound city,
The city of Gordon's doom.
The womanless city, cradleless city,
The city of men--Khartoum."
This was to be the goal of Raife Remington who had emerged from a great
crisis, the crisis of a dangerous passion for a woman. A passion for a
beautiful woman--but a woman whose very presence seemed to herald
trouble. The big game was to be found beyond Meshrael Zerak, and he was
to forget the loss of his love, with the companionship of his friend,
Colonel Langton, among the mysterious and unfathomable Arabs of the
desert.
Some men are destined, by nature, to live in an atmosphere of altered
plans or broken hopes. Raife Remington's inheritance had, so far, been
attended by both. Raife got to Khartoum, but he did not reach Meshrael
Zerak; there were other plans for him. When he and Colonel Langton
arrived at Khartoum, there remained much to be done before it was
possible to get together the entire outfit necessary to a big-game
shooting expedition. Colonel Langton's experience was essential to this
part of the work, and Raife took the opportunity of seeing what there is
of the fantastic life of the desert city of Khartoum. In the daytime
the city slumbers, and when the stars or moon rise, there is life.
There are cafes in Khartoum, as well as poultry-farms, in this late land
of the Mahdi and incredible horrors. Raife selected a seat at a cafe
from which point of vantage to observe the passers-by on the broad plank
walk. He called for a bottle of Greek wine, an impossible concoction,
less for his consumption than as a passport or ticket for the use of the
table and chair, and the enjoyment of the vantage point of observation.
There were many other tables at which men sat, for be it remembered that
Khartoum is "The womanless city, the cradleless city. The city of men."
They were men of many nations, from Greece, Sicily, Roumania, and
nomadic Semitics from no one knows where. The British conquerors govern
there, as in so much of the east and south, not by weight of numbers,
but by the inherited knowledge that he is pre-eminently the sahib, the
acknowledged ruler in such quarters.
There was not much of comfort in the cafe of Raife's choice. The Greek
wine was bad, the food he called for was worse. A couple of arc lights
shed a flickering brilliance which revealed myriad insects of all sizes
and shapes, and possessed of malignity in varying degree. They fell in
shoals all over the place and created a sense of nausea. In spite of
all this, overhead was the deep-blue vault of the unfathomable skies
flecked by a million stars. The stolid, sulky silence of the dusky
Arabs, in every variety of costumes, which include the turban, the
tarboosh, loose, flapping drawers, and the coarse woven jibba, added to
a melancholy sense. If it were possible to supplement Raife's
dejection, that was achieved by the snuffling dogs who sought garbage
under chair and table, and a certain smell which belongs to much of the
East.
Raife tired of the cafe, the plank walk, and his neighbours. He rose
from the table, paid his _addition_ and sauntered away. He was passing
a narrow, evil-smelling street of the native quarter when he heard blows
and cries. Raife, being unfamiliar with Oriental methods, sought a
reason for the disturbance, imagining that a good row would cause a
diversion and relieve the monotony of the last few hours. He proceeded
down the street and discovered that there was a woman in Khartoum, and
she was being beaten by a big, dusky Nubian. The woman seemed to look
appealingly at Raife, and he, with all the proper, but, in the
circumstances, unwise impulse of a normal man of the West, sailed in and
hit that Nubian many blows with his useful fists. He should then have
beaten a hasty retreat, but he did not. The result of this later
indiscretion was that he received from somebody, from somewhere, a stab
in the shoulder, which taught him some of the wisdom necessary in the
Orient. He found his way back to his hotel, and the regimental surgeon,
being sent for, treated the wound, which, though not very serious, would
take a long time to heal in a place like Khartoum.
When Colonel Langton returned from purchasing water-bags, sacks, girths
for camels, and many of the articles necessary for a well-equipped
caravan, he discovered Raife bound up in bandages, and the regimental
surgeon putting on the finishing touches to a very neat job of surgery.
Having learnt the cause of things, the Colonel swore, in a
characteristic fashion, at the prospect of his plans for big-game
shooting being at least altered, if not indefinitely postponed.
The news of the occurrence spread, and a few of the officers called on
Raife to learn about it. The story having been repeated several times,
headed by Colonel Langton, the regimental surgeon and each visitor, in
turn, talked interminable lectures on the folly of Raife's action.
Raife's pride, as well as his shoulder, was sorely hurt. He felt he had
made an ass of himself, and that these fellows, with their experience,
were inwardly laughing at him. He cursed the fact that, for the second
time, a woman had landed him in trouble.
His days at Khartoum were very miserable. His wound would not heal and
he saw that he would be a drag on the expedition if he started. He
decided to return to Cairo, and try and patch himself up there.