GATHERING CLOUDS.
Azim Bey was now all eagerness to communicate to his trusted ally M.
Karalampi the discovery he had made, which proved that he had been
right all along in fixing upon Charlie as the person whose removal was
necessary. But, as it happened, he did not succeed in meeting him
until some days after the picnic, and by this time the boy’s anxiety
to get rid of Dr Egerton had risen almost to fever-heat. M. Karalampi
was able to pacify him by assuring him that now that the most
important point was settled, Charlie should quit Baghdad within a
month--a promise which seemed impossible of fulfilment to Azim Bey,
who did not know that his agent had been secretly at work ever since
his services had been first engaged. He worked with extreme art and
delicacy, conveying to those he wished to influence slight intimations
which seemed nothing when taken alone, but which became dangerous
indeed when looked at in unison. At first he laboured chiefly to
influence the Pasha. Ahmed Khémi had hitherto known very little
respecting the doctor of the British Consulate, but for the space of
about a month M. Karalampi dinned his name into his patron’s ears in
season and out of season. Dr Egerton was a most dangerous man. He was
accustomed to disguise himself and go among the people, deceiving even
true believers. He was a spy, it was difficult to determine in whose
pay, but indubitably a spy. He intrigued with the Armenians, the Jews,
the Persians, the missionaries, the Russians, the Greeks. The Balio
Bey did not like him, but was forced to tolerate him, knowing, no
doubt, that he was employed by persons very high in authority. And so
on, and so on, until the harassed Pasha, bewildered by the number and
inconsistency of the charges, peremptorily ordered his too zealous
agent never to mention the name of that English doctor to him again,
on pain of his serious displeasure.
This was just what M. Karalampi had intended, and it closed the first
act of the drama. He had gone upon the principle of throwing plenty of
mud, and he was quite satisfied as to its powers of sticking, even
though he himself had bowed respectfully and promised to obey his
Excellency, averring that it was only zeal for the good of the
Government that had made him so troublesome. His own work was over for
the present, and it was the turn of his confederates. Each of them had
only one thing to do, but they were all to be counted upon to do it.
At some time or other, in the Pasha’s hearing, they were to throw a
doubt on Dr Egerton’s honesty, hint at double-dealing on his part, or
remark that he had been seen in company with suspected persons. To the
last accusation Charlie’s inveterate habit of picking up disreputable
acquaintances lent a good deal of colour, and this helped to establish
the rest. The Pasha was staggered at last. He had silenced Karalampi,
but here were all these independent witnesses giving him the very same
warning. There must be something in it, and it would be foolish to
disregard the testimony of so many unbiassed persons. It might be that
Providence was giving him notice of some plot laid against him, while
he had been obstinately rejecting the warning. He made up his mind to
look into things very carefully in future.
M. Karalampi perceived this, and chuckled as he made ready for the
third act of the play. Although his lips were sealed at the Palace, he
had not been silent in the city. Not that he ever spoke against the
English doctor, nor could any rumours be traced to him,--the only
thing certain was that Charlie Egerton had become desperately
unpopular. The shopkeepers with whom he had been wont to exchange a
passing word withdrew into the inmost recesses of their dwellings so
as not to be obliged to speak to him; children fled from before him,
or were snatched up by their mothers, in dreadful fear of the
evil-eye. There was one small boy who had once been brought by a still
smaller Armenian friend to the Residency, to be treated for a cut
finger or some other childish trouble, and who had been much impressed
by the well-filled shelves in the surgery. Hitherto it had always been
his delight to meet his doctor in the street and salute him with the
cry of “O father of bottles, peace be upon thee!” but now he crept
guiltily into a corner and hid himself if he saw him coming. This was
the hardest thing of all for Charlie to bear, even though the loungers
at the coffee-houses, with whom he had been something of a favourite,
crowded together and looked at him distrustfully as he passed,
muttering “Spy!” in ominous voices. The old women in the bazaars,
privileged by age and ugliness to have a voice in public, reviled him
roundly when they saw him, and then told each other in whispers that
he was paid by foreign enemies to bring in new diseases and spread
them in the city.
This change in public opinion perplexed Charlie extremely. At first he
attributed it to another outburst of anti-English feeling, but this
theory was dispelled on his learning from Captain Rossiter that no
unpleasantness was displayed towards him. Then he set it down to some
temporary crank or fancy of the people’s, and thought little more
about it until, when he went one evening to call on Isaac Azevedo, the
old man told him plainly, though with many apologies, that his visits
were a source of danger to the whole Jewish quarter, and asked him not
to come again for the present. It was this which first opened his eyes
to the possibility of the approach of something more than mere
unpleasantness, but it was not really brought home to him until one
day when he had been to tea at the Mission-house, and Dr Yehudi took
him aside at parting, and asked him earnestly whether he still carried
a revolver, and whether it was ready for use. The danger of the
situation became clear to him then, and it was just about the same
time that M. Karalampi decided that matters were ripe for the
completion of his plan.
Of the steps which led to this end Cecil saw only the last, and she
was made aware of it one Sunday, when she arrived at the Residency to
find Charlie looking out for her, with a doleful and even
shame-stricken visage. She cast uneasy glances at him every now and
then during the morning, but the gloom did not lift, and she waited
anxiously for the quiet afternoon-time when they were wont to exchange
their confidences. As soon as they were together in a shady corner of
the deserted drawing-room Charlie told his story.
“I’ve been an awful fool, Cecil, and got myself into a nice mess.”
“Charlie! What do you mean?”
“It’s perfectly true. You know that I was to dine at the Farajians’ on
Friday night? They are awfully nice people, and Farajian’s brother
Ephrem was to be there,--the man who has been travelling in the
mountains and looking for ruined cities. He was educated by some
American missionaries somewhere, and he has picked up an amazing
knowledge of antiquities. Well, I went, and found that all the guests
were Armenians except myself and Stavro Vogorides, that Greek fellow
who hangs about at the Russian Consulate.”
“I know. I have seen him with M. Karalampi,” said Cecil.
“We talked very pleasantly all dinner-time,” Charlie went on, “but at
the end some one--I think it was Vogorides, but I can’t be
sure--started the subject of Armenia. We were all friends, of course,
but it struck me even then as rather a risky thing to do among such
excitable people. You know that there’s no holding Armenians if you
once get them on that subject, and one after another told stories of
the most awful atrocities I ever heard. They made my blood run cold. I
can’t conceive how people who believe that such things have happened,
and many of them to relations of their own, can ever speak civilly to
a Turk again, or bear to be anywhere near him, except rifle in hand,
and I said something of the kind. It seemed to set them off, for they
all stood up and drank the toast of ‘Free Armenia!’ solemnly.”
“And you drank it too? Oh, Charlie!” said Cecil, anxiously.
“That wasn’t all,” said Charlie, determined to free his conscience
completely, “for I said afterwards that I was sure if they ever did
rise, English people would help them with arms and men and money, just
as we did the Greeks in the War of Independence.”
“Oh, Charlie!” groaned Cecil again, “how could you?”
“I don’t know. I was carried out of myself, I suppose. Well, in some
way or other, I can’t imagine how, the thing has got to Sir Dugald’s
ears. He sent for me last night, and gave me such a wigging! Of course
I was a fool to say what I did, but he makes out that if the thing got
known I should have to leave Baghdad at once. He said it was an
unpardonable breach of diplomatic etiquette, an indiscretion he should
have considered impossible. He said I ought to consider you, too, and
not go imperilling my life and my prospects in the way I did. He also
said a good deal more--in fact, I got it pretty hot.”
“But what did he mean about imperilling your life?” asked Cecil,
quickly.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to say that, but perhaps after all you had better
hear it from me; you won’t be so much frightened. It may not have
anything to do with it at all, but yesterday, when I was out riding
with Rossiter on the other side of the river, a fellow potted at me
with a long gun. It may have been only that he wanted something to
shoot at, but the people round here do seem to have rather a prejudice
against me just now. Anyhow, he missed, and we gave chase, but he got
away.”
“But who can have told Sir Dugald about the Farajians’ dinner-party?”
asked Cecil. “The servants?”
“There were none in the room at the time. No, he absolutely declined
to tell me--said it was enough for me that he knew. I don’t know who
it could be.”
“It may have been M. Vogorides,” mused Cecil. “Charlie, have you ever
made an enemy of him or of M. Karalampi?”
“Would you have me make a friend of either of them?” he inquired.
“Well, there is a kind of distant civility you might employ towards
them.”
“Not towards them, that is just it, any more than towards a snake,
except with something between--bars or glass or something of that
sort. I cannot stand these Levantines. There is something picturesque
and romantic about a Jew, even if he does try to cheat you; and as for
the Arabs and Turks, it makes you quite sorry to know the trouble they
take to get the better of you, when you see through them all the time.
But those Greeks, ugh!”
“That sounds as though you objected to them because they were clever
enough to be able to cheat you,” said Cecil. “But if this is the way
you regard them, no doubt you have hurt M. Vogorides’ feelings at some
time or other, and he has tried to revenge himself on you by telling
Sir Dugald. But do take care of yourself, Charlie. What should I do if
anything happened to you?”
“I think you would do much better without me,” broke out Charlie. “I
see that I ought never to have asked you to marry me, Cecil, such a
heedless fool as I am, and I also see that I ought to give you up now,
instead of worrying you with my misfortunes. I really mean it.”
“Happily, the decision doesn’t lie with you,” said Cecil. “Why, what a
fair-weather friend you must think me, Charlie! Have I deserved it?
Have I ever seemed worried by your misfortunes? I should have thought
I had felt them too much for such a word to be applicable.”
“You are an angel,” said Charlie, and kissed her.
“I have only this to say,” went on Cecil, freeing herself. “You may
give me up if you like, but I decline entirely to give you up. If you
wish me to go through life in the ridiculous position of a girl
engaged to a man who doesn’t consider himself engaged to her, I must
bear it, I suppose.”
“You know I don’t,” said Charlie, and the conversation after this
point became somewhat personal and lacking in coherence, until Charlie
tore himself away to go and visit his patients. But Cecil was still
anxious and uneasy, and at afternoon tea, finding that Charlie was
still absent, she moved boldly across to Sir Dugald, determined to
learn the worst.
“To what am I indebted for this unwonted honour?” was the question
asked by Sir Dugald’s eyebrows as he rose and gave her his chair, but
in words he only inquired whether she found the spot shady enough.
“I wanted to speak to you about Dr Egerton,” she said, breathlessly,
too anxious about Charlie to answer his question politely. Sir
Dugald’s eyebrows went up.
“Would it be rude to say that I have already heard rather too much
about Dr Egerton lately?” he asked.
“That was just the reason why I wanted to talk to you about him,” said
Cecil. “Were you in earnest in what you said to him last night?”
“I am not in the habit of playing practical jokes on the officials of
this Consulate,” said Sir Dugald, rather stiffly. “If you mean to
inquire whether Egerton has really endangered his prospects, I can
only say that I fully believe he has.”
“But it seems such a little thing,” urged Cecil, “merely akin to
talking politics in society at home.”
“Certainly,” said Sir Dugald, “in one way. It is as if a member of the
Government, at some very important crisis, should take the opportunity
of declaring, at a dinner-party of opponents, that he differed from
his party as to the policy to be pursued, and meant to thwart it in
every way he could.”
“But Charlie never meant that,” said Cecil, aghast.
“Probably not,” said Sir Dugald, grimly. “It was a momentary
indiscretion, but such indiscretions are unpardonable. Support your
agents through thick and thin, to the brink of war if necessary, so
long as they obey orders and act with common-sense; but you must get
rid of them and disavow their actions the moment you find they are
swayed by enthusiasm, or fanaticism, or too much zeal, or anything of
the kind.”
“But surely you must expect them to be either angels or machines,”
said Cecil. “Have you no enthusiasms, Sir Dugald?”
“I have preferences, unfortunately, but I do my best to nullify them.
When I find myself sympathising with one party, I make it a point to
do the other rather more than justice.”
“But that is unfair to the first party,” objected Cecil. “Why should
they suffer because they have your sympathy?”
“I don’t know--to show them I am not an angel, I suppose,” said Sir
Dugald.
“But still,” said Cecil, returning to the charge, “I can’t quite see
why it should be so very wrong and dangerous for Dr Egerton to have
said what he did.”
“Simply for this reason, that what he said was calculated to foster in
the minds of the Armenians the mischievous delusion that they will be
supported, unofficially at any rate, by England if they rebel. News of
such a kind spreads like wildfire, and is likely to make the task of
Turkish government more difficult. Now we are here to bolster up
Turkey, as these people put ropes round an old house to keep it
together in a storm, and Egerton tries to spoil our work.”
“But is it right to bolster up Turkey?” asked Cecil, doubtfully.
“Oh, if we are coming to questions of morals, I shall have to take a
back seat,” said Sir Dugald. “I will only say this, I conscientiously
believe that if Turkey fell to-morrow, a far worse tyranny would
ensue. You would not remember the Polish horrors, but we heard plenty
about them when I was young.”
“And Dr Yehudi has told me of the persecutions of the Jews,” murmured
Cecil.
“Exactly. So you see what we are doing. We are keeping up a bad state
of things for fear of a worse. The Turks are sensible enough not to
kick, but we can’t expect them to like our helping them, and they
don’t feel inclined to give us any assistance. They won’t make the
slightest attempt to whitewash themselves in order to spare our
feelings, or make our proceedings look better to the world. We do what
we can to put down atrocities, but changes of policy at home and
changes of ambassador at Constantinople have succeeded in frittering
away most of our moral influence, and we can’t descend to brute force.
It’s inexpedient, and it’s ungentlemanly. We are the stronger party,
and we can’t hit a State weaker than ourselves. Now do you see where
the doctor went wrong? He let his feelings carry him away, and said
just what came into his head, regardless of all this. His tongue has
got him into trouble before, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Cecil, with a sigh. “Isn’t it wonderful that he
can manage to keep safe when he disguises himself as a native?”
“I am afraid that it shows he has the power of silence, but does not
care to exercise it except on great occasions,” said Sir Dugald, with
a peculiar smile.
“But what do you think he had better do now?” asked Cecil.
“Lie low for a little, I should say. I am thinking of sending him and
D’Silva out to Takht-Iskandar for a week or two’s shooting. Now that
the _Nausicaa_ is here, her surgeon can look after the hospital. But
I give you fair warning, Miss Anstruther, that if there is any more
foolishness on the doctor’s part he will have to pack. If you can
impress that on him I shall be thankful.”
And Sir Dugald gave up his place to Charlie, who was approaching, and
went away muttering, “She thinks he can keep quiet when he is
disguised, so that the natives don’t find him out, does she? I believe
they take him for a madman, and so let him go unmolested.” But in this
he was unjust to Charlie, who, as he himself had once said, seemed to
put on a different nature with his oriental garb.
Cecil returned to the Palace that night feeling nervous and depressed.
It was as though a foreboding of coming trouble was hanging over her,
and she tried in vain to reason herself into the belief that the
depression was purely physical, and due to the fact that the weather
was hot and thundery. The next day the storm came. It was unusually
early in the season for thunder, but the Baghdadis said they had
seldom known a more tremendous storm. It began about mid-day, when
Cecil and her pupil were taking their usual rest, and Azim Bey was
declaring his views on the subject of a book he had been reading. It
was nearly time for dinner, but the sky became suddenly dark, and the
trembling servants, leaving their work, crept into the lower part of
the schoolroom and sat huddled together. Azim Bey was constitutionally
timid on some occasions, and he exhibited now such fear as almost
paralysed him. He crouched in a corner, shuddering at every fresh
flash of lightning, and trembling violently when the thunder crashed,
his face ashy white with terror. The wind howled and shrieked around
the house, tearing off projecting portions of the ornamentation, and
making such a noise that no one could be heard speaking. Cecil caught
a glimpse once, by the glare of the lightning, of her pupil’s face,
and its expression surprised her. Fear was portrayed there, as she
expected, but also a tremendous determination. Azim Bey’s lips were
locked together as though he were defying all the powers of the storm
to force him to disclose something he was resolved to keep secret.
The thunder and lightning diminished in intensity at last, the wind
ceased to howl, and daylight returned in some measure, but the rain
continued to pour down, and the roof was discovered to be letting in
water in streams. Azim Bey, whose courage had now returned, roused the
servants from their lethargy of terror and set them to work to repair
the leaks, finding himself in his element as he sat upon the divan and
directed operations. When the roof was made fairly water-tight again,
he despatched the women to bring in the long-delayed dinner, and when
the meal was over, requested Cecil politely to bring her
photograph-album and tell him about her brothers. Cecil complied,
wondering to find him so agreeably disposed. Ordinarily, after such a
display of timidity as that of the morning, he was wont to swagger and
bluster a good deal in order to remove the impression. But this
evening his behaviour was perfect. He was deeply interested, as usual,
in the young Anstruthers, and particularly in Fitz’s adventures with
his latest possession, the camera Cecil had given him, by means of
which he had succeeded in sending out to his sister painful and most
unflattering portraits of the rest of the family. In after-days Cecil
looked back to this evening to try whether she could discover in her
pupil’s manner any signs of compunction for the work he had in hand,
but she could remember none. He was cheerfully polite, with the kind
of politeness a magnanimous conqueror might show to a prisoner in his
power. No youthful Black Prince could have been more courteous than he
was.
The next morning, however, things were changed. Azim Bey was summoned
by a message from his father to attend a grand State ceremony, the
investment of Ahmed Khémi Pasha with the insignia of a very exalted
order sent direct from Constantinople by the hands of a special
functionary. The welcome to be accorded to the envoy of the Padishah,
and the formalities of the investiture, would occupy the whole day,
and Azim Bey resented strongly the command he received to be present.
He grumbled for some time because Cecil could not come with him, and
went off at last in a very bad temper, leaving her pleasantly occupied
in writing her letters home.
It was Um Yusuf who first scented something wrong. Cecil could never
discover whether her silent attendant had suspected that mischief was
brewing, and had laid her plans accordingly, or not; but it is certain
that she could not be found when Azim Bey desired to speak to her, and
give her a few directions for her mistress’s comfort before he went
out, and that she reappeared some time after his departure, with the
excuse that she had met her cousin in the bazaar and had been having
a talk with her. This she explained volubly in the presence of Basmeh
Kalfa and old Ayesha, and then curled herself up on the carpet for her
mid-day nap; but as soon as the other two had dropped off to sleep,
she rose, and approaching Cecil with her finger on her lips, laid a
note on the table before her. The handwriting was Lady Haigh’s, and
Cecil tore the envelope open in alarm. The letter was short:--
“My dearest Cecil,--Come to me _immediately_. Let _nothing_ prevent
you, if you wish to escape _eternal regret_. Put on your riding-habit
under your sheet, and bring _no one_ but Um Yusuf.”
“You go, mademoiselle?” asked Um Yusuf in a whisper, as she met
Cecil’s terrified eyes. Cecil nodded, and rose from her table. They
passed on tiptoe between the sleeping women (Um Yusuf had adroitly
placed herself in such a position that they could not block the door)
and gained their own rooms. Um Yusuf knew only that the note had been
placed in her hand by a cavass from the Consulate, with a warning to
deliver it secretly and at once, together with an intimation that the
man would wait at a certain spot outside the Palace to escort Mdlle.
Antaza to the Residency, if she decided to come. More she could not
tell, and Cecil hurried into her riding-habit and arranged the sheet
over it. They left the courtyard without remark, for Masûd was in
attendance on Azim Bey, and at the great gate the guards knew them and
let them pass. They met the cavass at the appointed place, and
hastened through the streets to the Residency under his guardianship.
At the gate they were met by Mr D’Silva, one of the clerks, who took
them to Lady Haigh at once.
“O, Lady Haigh, what is it?” gasped Cecil.
“It is a great trouble, dear,” said Lady Haigh, taking her in her
arms.
“Is it Charlie?”
“Yes, dear; it is Charlie.”