I HANDLE A REVOLVER
It was somehow a relief to me to find Brogden in a suit of civilian
linen. His exotic uniform, and the tarboosh which etiquette compelled
him to keep on his head throughout the evening, had increased his
effect of a figure in a bad dream. Now I could realise him as my old
friend--and keep him at arm’s length.
I answered his anxious enquiries by assuring him I was well. But I
intended, however, to remain on guard over the abomination hidden in my
room, and I made use of my supposed indisposition as an excuse for not
leaving the hotel.
He, of course, wanted me to lunch or dine at his club, to meet his
friends of the English Colony.
I knew that Edmund and Welfare might arrive at any moment, and the
sweat broke out on me as I thought of their walking in and finding me
with this man. And it was impossible to get rid of him!
Through all the gloom of my misery I saw, like a golden thread, the
humour of our being there together, of my having in my hands the
treasure for which he would have ransacked Egypt. Of all men he was one
I would most gladly have helped; up to last night. But now I must use
all my wits to foil him in his endeavour. I said the word to myself, to
“betray” him! Yet I too was on the side of righteousness. I too would
stop the issue of this poison. But the achievement of his ambition
would destroy my brother, and drag my own name in the mire of disgrace.
To deal uprightly was beyond my power now, and there were things I must
learn from him.
We agreed that my indisposition must have been a “touch of the sun,” a
diagnosis which in Egypt fulfils the same function that the familiar
“chill” does at home, and I decided that if I could not shake Brogden
off otherwise, I would have a relapse.
He wanted to talk about people and things at home, and anxiety began to
make me feel genuinely unwell.
“Tell me,” I said suddenly, “do you know these two Englishmen you are
after?”
He looked round uneasily, evidently disinclined to renew his
confidences of the night before.
“No,” he said, “I’ve never seen them myself. Not yet.”
“Do you know their names?”
“Oh, I expect they’ve a different name in every port! They’re known to
us as Montgomery and Ringrose. Don’t for God’s sake talk about them.”
“I won’t utter a word to a soul. But I’m deeply interested.”
“It is a queer business. Montgomery is said to have the manners of
a gentleman. The other one is a regular old shell-back, I believe.
Professes to be some kind of sea-captain. They’re both slim, though! By
Jove, they’ll want handling.”
“What’s this drug worth? How much a pound?”
“Well, one can’t say exactly. The actual buyer would give ten pounds,
perhaps, for a pound of it, if he could get it. But of course the
fellows who bring it in don’t get all that. It has to go through the
Lord knows how many hands. If they can dispose of it well, and in
fairly big lots, they might clear a fiver on every pound of it. They
wouldn’t take the risk for much less.”
Ten thousand pounds, I thought with horror, was represented by the load
in my bedroom!
“But don’t let’s talk about the business,” Brogden continued, “it’s
never safe. You never know. I’m going to have a cock-tail--the one
exception to the rule of ‘no drinks before sun-down!’ Do you mind
coming in the American bar?”
I went with him and sat on a high stool by the end of a marble counter
on which were vast blocks of ice with soda-water bottles sticking out
of them like spines.
Brogden went and busied himself in superintending the concoction of
some mysterious drink which he averred was the only one suitable and
wholesome for the time and place.
Behind the bar and opposite where I sat was a door which I knew opened
into Van Ermengen’s private office. It was slightly open, and through
the crack I heard Jakoub’s voice and Van Ermengen’s, speaking in Arabic.
If they had spoken in English I could not have heard all they said. As
it was I could distinguish only a few isolated words of which I knew
the meaning. I had no qualm of conscience in listening, and only envied
Brogden’s knowledge of the language.
It sounded as though Jakoub were urging something and the other were
demurring.
I heard the words “el moftah” (the key) repeated several times, and
then I recognised “a part of it,” “our share,” and “to-night.”
I trembled lest Jakoub should come out and be recognised by Brogden,
but instead there was an exclamation of annoyance or alarm, as someone
hastily shut the door.
“Here you are,” cried Brogden, bringing a wine-glass filled with an
amber liquor with an olive at the bottom of it. “That will do you more
good than all the medicine in the chemists’ shops! Good health!”
“Good health,” I answered, tasting the liquor, which was certainly very
agreeable.
“I hate leaving you alone, old man. But I can’t cut lunch at the
club--or dinner to-day, and to-morrow I have to go to Cairo for a day.
When does your boat sail?”
“I’ve not decided yet. I may rest here a day or two in any case.”
“Then we shall meet again, and I’ll be able to trot you round a bit
when I get back.”
“Yes, I hope so. But remember if we miss each other we must not ‘lose
touch’ again. We will write, and I’ll hope to come out next winter. And
you must spend part of your next leave with me.”
His going to Cairo was an unspeakable relief; but I longed for an
opportunity to make him some amends. So we parted very cordially.
I got wearily back to my room and counted over again the cases of
hashish! They were undisturbed, but I felt more nervous of my trust
than if they had been solid gold or dynamite.
I ordered my meals to be sent up to my room, sent for some papers and
books which I knew I should be unable to read, and sat down once more
trying to plan out my immediate future.
One thing only was certain. I must remain where I was until the
_Astarte_ came into harbour. Then I must face Edmund. I felt how much
easier it would be to be the guilty one. What was I to say to him?
How were we to adjust our new relationship? I was determined to insist
on his coming out of this life in which he had lost his honour and his
caste. I did not shrink from the notion of impoverishing myself if
necessary. But even if I succeeded in restoring Edmund to his caste,
how could he take his place in it?
I knew that, as a matter of practical experience, there really is no
absolution without penance. Knowing Edmund as I did, I knew that he
would impose the penance on himself, and refuse the absolution. How was
I to persuade him that all the best of his life, which lay before him,
must be lived vigorously and honourably if only to make reparation?
I feared the weakness and petulance in his character, which I knew
might drive him to shirk the issue in a cowardly suicide. I determined
that I would hold him by the immediate plain duty of getting rid of
this present cargo of potential infamy. I began to see in the hated
packing-cases the means of Edmund’s deliverance from himself.
About their destination I was clear and determined, but as to how to
get them there, how even to move them from this room without exposure
and disgrace, I had no idea whatever.
Of Captain Welfare I thought little. In other circumstances he would
no doubt have prosperously added sand to sugar like my churchwarden at
home, or have made an “honest living” out of poverty as a pawnbroker.
He belonged to the class whose ideal is “respectability.” It would be
wrong to expect of such a higher ethical standard than their own.
No doubt he had expected to retire on his share of the profits of this
infamy. Once I had seen the stuff destroyed I would give him his pieces
of silver. He could just “put up the shutters” for the last time and
appear no more in his shirt sleeves.
The long day wore itself away amid my fretting; but Edmund did not
come. Once more I watched the sun set across the sea and, with the
darkness, my fear of Jakoub revived.
I knew now that he was in league with Van Ermengen, that they both knew
I was an enemy to their schemes. In my loneliness and sense of weakness
I wished that even Brogden were back. I was in the enemy’s camp and had
no means of finding even one man whom I could trust. I wondered about
the fragments of their conversation I had overheard. What key was it
they spoke of?
“A part of it--our share--to-night!”
I had not thought much of the words when I heard them. I was not quite
certain if I had their meaning right, caught as they were in isolated
fragments of a conversation I could not understand. Besides, my mind
had been concentrated on the fear of Jakoub’s appearing and being
recognised. But now, at the end of my day of solitary pondering, they
came back into my mind, and it seemed their meaning was obvious.
The key must be the key of my own door. Jakoub must intend to steal the
poison from my room, or at least as much of it as he regarded as his
share--his and Van Ermengen’s.
From what I knew of its value I realised that a few cases of it would
recompense him.
And the attempt was to be made to-night.
My dread of the man almost overcame me. I longed to leave the place, to
escape, and let him do as he would. I do not think it was fear of any
violence he might attempt against myself.
I have not tried to tell what the loss of my faith in Edmund meant to
me. But I do know that I would have surrendered my life then without
regret. Yet I shrank from the idea of conflict with this man. I
mistrusted myself and my own will. It was exactly the same feeling I
had had before my first fight at school. I was then not frightened of
being hurt. But I was sick with the terror of finding myself a coward
and showing it.
However, I determined I would not desert my trust.
I got out Edmund’s revolver, laid it on the table, and sat down by it
to wait.
The night was hot and it was late before I heard the voices and the
closing doors of other occupants of the hotel retiring. Had there been
an Englishman among them I believe I should have appealed to him to
share my vigil.
But they were all foreigners. I had heard nothing spoken but Italian
and a language I took to be Greek. I could speak neither. To explain
would be impossible.
A clock somewhere struck one, and suddenly the strain became
intolerable. I reflected that they would not come at all while my light
was on, and like a kind of vertigo came the desire to get the encounter
over. It was the same longing that one has to throw one’s self down
from a height. But could I endure the waiting in the dark?
I decided that I must.
There was a switch attached to a long cord over my bed. I placed it
under my pillow. I turned the key and took it purposely from the
key-hole, took the pistol in my hand, and putting out the light lay
down on the bed.
I listened to my heart like a muffled drum within me, “beating its
funeral march to the grave.”
And then the one thing I had not contemplated happened. I slept.
I awoke dumb with horror and the certainty that someone was in the
room with me; but I had heard nothing, and there was no sound but the
“funeral march” within me, beating time.
I do not know how long I listened, but at last came the unmistakable
gentle sound of fingers sweeping along the wall. It is a sound that
would wake no sleeper. But I can imagine no sound more terrifying to
one listening in the dark.
In a spasm of terror I pressed the switch and sat up, covering Jakoub
with the revolver. He stood by the wall near the end of my bed. One
hand was in the bosom of his galabieh. He was not smiling, but his lips
were drawn back and his teeth bared in a kind of snarl, the reaction of
a man startled and disconcerted by sudden fright. Fear was like a third
party between us.
“Put your weapon on the table or I’ll fire.”
I had not meant to speak, and my own words startled me.
Jakoub hesitated. The revolver was not cocked and I began to pull the
trigger.
Jakoub could see the hammer rise. He laid a knife on the table.
“It was but to cut the strings, effendi,” he said with a return of his
smile. I slowly relaxed my pressure on the trigger, the hammer sank
again, and I cocked the thing with my thumb as Edmund had shown me how
to do. Jakoub watched me.
“You know what will happen if I pull the trigger again?”
“I have used a revolver,” he sneered.
“Sit down on that chair at the end of the table.”
He obeyed, and I took a chair at the near end. I propped the pistol on
a pile of books, so that it was impossible to miss him if he moved.
“Why do you threaten me, effendi? I mean you no harm.”
“Why have you stolen into my room at night?”
“I have but come for my property. You have taken it from me unjustly. I
knew you would not give it to me. I wished for peace to be between us.
I am a very good, very peaceful Arab.”
In spite of myself I smiled at his remark, and at my smiling I saw to
my surprise a new respect and fear of me awaken in Jakoub’s eyes.
It was as though he knew our Irish proverb, “Beware of the front of a
bull, the heels of a horse, the teeth of a dog, _and the smile of an
Englishman_.”
An immense relief swept over me as I realised that fear had changed
places across that table. I no longer dreaded my own cowardice.
“Let me go now, effendi, and I will await my share till the Captain
come. It is now morning, he will be here to-day.”
“If you move, I will fire.”
I was aware of an extraordinary feeling within me. It was an intense
desire to pull that trigger and kill him. It was blood-lust. It had
never visited me before, and I felt it now as an intolerable temptation.
Jakoub saw it in my face. I saw it reflected by the terror in his eyes.
“Do not, effendi,” he moaned, and I pitied him. The desire for his life
faded out.
“In an hour it will be day,” he argued. “The people will awake. If I am
found here there will be plenty questions. It is not wise, effendi!”
I reached out with my left hand and took his knife from the table.
“To cut strings only,” he repeated.
It was true that if he were found there, questions might be asked, and
talk might arise that would ruin everything. I was at a loss how to end
the situation.
“Jakoub,” I said, “I know now what is in those cases.”
“Of course the effendi knows. Are they not his?”
“No they are not mine. I did not know what was in them until I came
here the other night.”
Jakoub’s face told me what I wanted to know. He understood it was a
time for truth between us, and I saw that he was surprised. He had
evidently believed that I was all along privy to the conspiracy. I
suppose his manifest contempt for me was due to some idea that I was
willing to accept less than my proper share of the profits.
“I did not know what was in those cases,” I repeated. “I did not
understand that this was a scheme to poison your own people and make
money out of their misery. I knew nothing about your accursed trade.
Now, I tell you, I know; and as long as I live not one ounce of that
stuff shall be sold. I will pay you for your services to me, but you
shall not get one piastre of profit from your drug.”
The man’s avarice almost overcame his self-control. He started forward
in his chair.
I raised the revolver an inch or two, and he sank back.
“It is my property, my share of it. Even the poor Arab cannot be robbed
always. I have paid for what I have there. I will see the Captain. Who
are you to take from me my goods?”
“I know the man who is hunting you, Jakoub. He is very close on your
heels. If I speak to him to-day, you will be in prison to-night.”
“If I am, _I_ speak! What then for you and the others? We’re all in one
ship.”
“I am not. I knew nothing of the business, and I can prove it to my
friend who is looking for you--_only for you_, mind. The others can
take care of themselves. They have deceived me.”
I watched him closely to see if he believed my last statement. I
gathered from his look of discouragement that he did. I suppose from
his point of view, there was nothing surprising in it.
“If you wish to see Captain Welfare again, you may see him here, in
my presence, when he comes. I will let you live till then. I will not
answer for Montgomery Effendi.” He showed no surprise at my mention of
this name, and I hoped that perhaps he knew no other.
“Have you complaint of me for him? Have I not served you?”
“You served me well on the journey. I shall not forget to say so. But
he will be angry when he learns what I know. You will not understand,
perhaps, but he will not be just. This is his pistol. If he were here
holding it now, you would be dead, Jakoub.”
“I do not fear him or any man.”
“All right. You can go now. I shall not lock my door. But I think you
will not try again to take your property. See, there is the daylight.”
I rose and opened the shutters. I had to risk the movement because my
forearm ached so with holding the revolver that I knew I could bear it
no longer.
The amber light of morning filled the large bare room, revealing the
feebleness of the electric lights which before had seemed so brilliant.
They glowed now as points of light without power to illuminate anything.
Jakoub looked yellow-skinned and old. I saw points of grey in his black
hair that I had not noticed before. I felt as if I looked a hundred
years old, and knew that whether he went or not I must sleep.
He was standing with his hands folded before him looking at the ugly
pile of packing-cases.
“Effendi,” he said, “it is many thousands of pounds. We have worked
hard and suffered much. We have paid much money to bring it here.”
“Go away,” I answered petulantly. I was rocking on my feet with the
desire to sleep. The man simply bored me now, like a guest that will
not depart.
“It is no good,” I added. “You cannot have it. You cannot have any of
it.”
“All my life I have dreamed of such a chance, and now you rob me. Why?”
“If you don’t get out of this I’ll--I’ll ring the bell.”
I was conscious of bathos in this threat, but somehow the ordinariness
of daylight made it impossible to threaten him with the revolver. I was
a clergyman again, longing to get into my pyjamas.
Jakoub went sorrowfully out of the room.
I undressed and lay down, leaving the door ajar.
I knew there was something more potent than gunpowder protecting me and
my charge, and I slept secure under the ægis of my own will.
I had overcome Jakoub and I was proud of it.