A HAVEN OF REST.
Of what happened after this I have no recollection whatever, and it was
not until many days later that I was in a fit state to be told anything.
Then my good friend George Edwards doled out scraps of news in a
niggardly manner, and refused to allow me to do much talking. He,
however, set my mind at rest on one point. He himself had removed the
Golden Girdle from my body, and it had been locked up in the Residency
safe.
In the course of time I learned everything, and I had much to hear,
though not more than I had to tell the Consul-General and Edwards, who,
as I became convalescent, spent many hours of each day sitting with me.
I had not yet been allowed to see the Girdle, I supposed because my
doctor thought that the sight of it might upset me; and he confessed to
me afterwards that, for a long time, he had doubted whether the shock
that I had evidently received would not permanently affect my reason.
Strange as it may seem, I had no immediate wish to see the thing. I felt
that I was afraid to look at it. It might not really be what I
imagined--the true Golden Girdle of the Great Queen. I asked Edwards to
describe it, but he told me that he had hardly examined it, as the
Consul-General had locked it up at once, and would not allow it to be
taken out of the safe until I should be well enough to inspect it with
him. That it was the Golden Girdle, Edwards affirmed, there could be no
doubt whatever. He had seen enough to be certain on that point.
"What became of the boatman who brought me down here, and saved my
life?" I asked. "You have never mentioned him."
"Well," said Edwards, "I will tell you all about it. I was sleeping
peacefully, when my boy rushed up on to the roof, and nearly upset my
bed in his eagerness to wake me. He told me a garbled tale, about two
men having come to the door; that one of the men was dead, and that the
other man said that the dead man was an Ingleezee whom he had found in
the river. So I bolted down, and heard what the old Arab had to say, and
then I overhauled you, and you can imagine my astonishment when I
eventually discovered who you were. You had been reported as drowned
weeks before, we had had courts of inquiry about it all; and had wired
and written home to your people. The whole thing was a mystery,
especially when I learned that the boatman had found you miles above
Baghdad, and you were supposed to have been drowned on the way down to
Bussorah. However, as I found that you were not actually dead, I had you
carried indoors, and we soon took your clothes off. Then I came across
the gold belt, and I knew that you had been at that desperate game
again; so I sent off to the Consul-General, asking him to come round as
quickly as possible. He nearly had a fit, and it was a long time before
he could believe his eyes. After a bit, he went off with the belt and
your boatman, and having investigated the matter thoroughly, paid the
old man the thirty kerans which he said you had promised him, and gave
him another five as bakhshish."
"He deserved every penny of it," said I; "for, if it had not been for
him, I should never have seen Baghdad again."
"There you are right," said Edwards. "You ran things about as close as
possible, and you may thank your stars that you tumbled across the
fisherman when you did."
The next matter of interest which Edwards related to me was the fate of
the unfortunate Kellner. I had told him what I had heard from Daud about
his death, but I was surprised to hear that Edwards himself had been
with Kellner when he died. Just after I was supposed to have been
drowned, the Turkish Governor at Hillah had sent word to say that the
German in his hospital was thought to be dying, and that he had
expressed a wish to see me or Edwards, or both of us if possible. The
Consul-General sent Edwards off to Hillah at once, with a small escort,
and when he reached the place, he found Kellner still alive, though in a
state of collapse. He lived, however, for another three days, during
which time Edwards remained with him continuously, and received from his
lips his dying confession--for by no other name can it be called. It was
a wretched story, and I was really sorry for the poor fellow. As far as
daring and pluck went, if anyone deserved to succeed, he certainly did;
but, of course, he had been ill-advised.
From what he told Edwards--and he was most anxious to tell him all--it
seems that he was in the employ of a South African millionaire, who was
a great collector, and who, in some way, had got possession of my
uncle's secret. Kellner, much to his credit, refused to tell the name of
his employer, but he made a clean breast of everything else. As I had
imagined when I came across him at the Birs Nimroud, he had been put on
to my track from the very beginning, and, when I thought of it all, I
was astounded at the cunning of the man. In one way and another he had
got an immense amount of information out of me during the voyage, and
before we reached Baghdad he had made himself acquainted with the
contents of all my papers. In one matter I was greatly interested:
Kellner and I had jumped together at the document relating to Shahzadi's
shoe; but he had an advantage over me, in that his employer had given
him instructions to seek out the Jew Mersina, take him into his
confidence, make him his agent, and promise him a large reward. Money
was to be no object; the Girdle was to be obtained at any cost.
Kellner found Yusuf Mersina the very man for his purpose, a man with a
rapid brain, who weighed the pros and cons of everything carefully, and
who, having once formed his plans, never hesitated. Now, the Jew had
spies and friends all over the country, and as soon as he heard of the
paper about Shahzadi's shoe, and the defunct Munshi of Kerbela, he
decided to take Kellner to that town, and see what could be discovered
there. They were in Kerbela some days before Edwards and I had started
from Baghdad; and Mersina went straight to the Hindu astrologer, whom
Daud subsequently consulted. Mersina was an old client, and always paid
well for information and advice, so the astrologer received him with
open arms. He did not, however, altogether like having anything to do
with the Golden Girdle, the history of which was well known to him; but,
after a time, he confessed that he knew where it was, though, as the
secret was his own and his alone, it would require much money to
purchase it. In the end, terms were agreed upon: a goodly sum down, and
a still larger sum if the Girdle were secured. Kellner was astonished to
hear that it was no longer buried, but, as Mersina told him that the
astrologer never lied, he was forced to believe what he said.
The next step was to open up communications with the Seer of Katib, who,
according to the astrologer, possessed the Girdle. He himself had had a
quarrel with the seer, and could not, therefore, communicate with him;
but there happened to be in Kerbela at that time a Bedouin sheik, who,
if paid adequately, would doubtless be able to obtain the Girdle. This
sheik was the Shammar Abbas-ibn-Mirshid, and Kellner and Mersina were
soon introduced to him. After matters had been satisfactorily arranged,
Mersina returned to Baghdad, and Kellner became the guest of Abbas,
accompanying him to his temporary camp near Babil. Kellner now confided
in Abbas, and told him about me, and how important it was that I should
be balked in my attempt to obtain the Girdle, explaining that he thought
it quite possible that I might know that Raspul had it. Abbas decided to
watch the Baghdad road and to check my progress, but as Kellner refused
to allow him to do me any bodily harm, he contented himself with the
theft of my money, under the impression that that would be sufficient to
delay me. Why he did not wait to see the result Kellner did not say,
but, apparently, they thought it best to get away in the direction of
the ruins of Katib as quickly as possible.
What happened after this I knew, or had guessed correctly. Raspul had
agreed to sell the Girdle to Abbas for two thousand kerans, and to bring
it to a certain place at a certain time. But Faris upset all their plans
by overwhelming the Shammar and killing Abbas. All this Edwards and I
had heard from Daud, and Kellner threw very little fresh light on the
events that followed. He maintained, however, that when he rode away
with the Girdle, he was unaccountable for his actions. He was under the
delusion that the Shammar intended to murder him, and when he found
himself pursued, he felt bound to defend himself with his revolver. The
terrible privations that he underwent from that time until he found
himself at the Birs Nimroud put all my own experiences in the shade,
and, as I listened to Edwards, I could not help wondering why my luck
should have been so good and Kellner's so bad. It would appear that he
never heard that Mersina had played him false, and he fully imagined
that the Birs Nimroud Jews had taken the Girdle to Mersina, who was to
retain it until he arrived to claim it. In proof of this he gave
Edwards a note to convey to Mersina, whom he instructed to hand over the
Girdle, on payment of a certain sum, for conveyance to the British
Museum. He expressed many regrets that I had been drowned, and it pained
him to think that I had not lived to receive his apologies for the way
in which he had treated me.
The pathos of the story made a great impression on me, and I grieved at
the thought that Kellner's end had been such a sad one. But Edwards
quite restored my spirits by describing how, for a time, armed with
Kellner's note, he had sought Mersina, in the full expectation of
acquiring the Girdle, and of taking it home to my uncle.
"You see," said he, laughing, "I could have made a very good story out
of all our adventures in pursuit of it, and everyone would have thought
that I was no end of a hero."
"Not you, George," said I, "I know you well enough."
"I wonder what became of Mersina," said Edwards.
"As I told you," said I, "Daud fancied that he had cleared off with his
ill-gotten gains, to start afresh in Syria or Egypt. I am rather glad,
though, that he let in that scoundrel of an astrologer. He is a bad lot,
I am sure. He gave away poor old Raspul, and he tried to give away
Mersina to the Turks. But it was a case of the biter bitten that time."
"That is all fair enough in this part of the world," said Edwards. "The
Turks themselves would give away the astrologer, or anyone else, without
a blush, if they thought it to their own advantage to do so. But, as a
rule, they find it more profitable to let the various badmashes cut each
others' throats."
It was a great disappointment to me to find, when I was well enough to
think of such things, that all my letters from home, of which I was told
there had been a number, had been packed up, with my other belongings,
and sent home to my people, directly after I had disappeared from the
steamer. I had written very fully to my uncle as soon as Edwards and I
had returned from our wanderings, and I had hoped that I should now find
answers to my letters; but the only home news that I received was in a
note which my mother had written to Edwards. There was nothing much in
it, except thanks for the care which he had bestowed on me when we were
together in the desert, and a request that he would take the greatest
care of my health, and not allow me to run any further risks. Still,
even that short letter was something; it was in my mother's handwriting,
and it brought me nearer home. Since she had written it, however, she
had heard of my death, and all my papers and clothes had probably
reached her. But there was just a chance that the telegram announcing my
safety might have arrived before my boxes, and I hoped that it had been
so. My one thought now was to get home as quickly as possible, but my
gaoler damped all my ardour by telling me that he certainly would not
let me think of the journey for another month or six weeks.
Among my earliest visitors was the captain of the river steamer, who had
quite forgiven me for all the trouble that I had been to him, though he
warned me that if I ever took passage with him again, he would have me
chained to my berth. As I had surmised, my absence from the steamer was
not discovered until some hours after I had gone. The steward had
brought a cup of tea to my cabin, and finding it empty, and that the bed
had not been slept in, went and reported matters to the captain. Then
the steamer was searched from stem to stern, and a whole day wasted in
sending boats up the river to look for me. At last the search was
abandoned, the captain coming to the conclusion that I must have walked
overboard in my sleep. He laughed heartily over his story, and though,
of course, I apologised most humbly for having deceived him, I inwardly
enjoyed the description of his discomfiture.
I promised him that I would never willingly jump overboard again, and we
remained the best of friends.
So the time dragged on, and I began to have a craving to see the Golden
Girdle which the Consul-General guarded so jealously. I noticed that
none of my visitors ever referred to it, and if I happened to mention
it, they promptly changed the subject. I grew suspicious, and one day I
suddenly tackled Edwards.
"Why is it," I asked, "that you will never speak about my Girdle?"
"I am always talking about it," said he.
"Not to me," said I. "Is it still safe and sound?"
"Perfectly," he replied.
"Then I propose," said I, "that we shall have a grand inspection of it."
"Not just at present," said Edwards, "I do not think that you are strong
enough."
"Look here, George," I said, "I believe that you are keeping something
from me."
"I swear I am not," said he.
"Then," said I, "you are under the impression that, if I gaze on the
Golden Girdle, something will go wrong with my brain."
I saw Edwards colour, and I was convinced that I had hit the nail on the
head. But our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a telegram
for me. My people had already spent a mint of money in telegraphing
congratulations, and in asking almost daily after my health; but the
telegram which I now received contained a huge surprise. It was from my
uncle, who said that he and my father had decided to come out to Baghdad
and bring me home, and that I was to remain until their arrival. They
were starting at once, and it was a great joy to me to think that,
within five or six weeks, I should be free, and moreover, have no
further responsibility for the Girdle, of which my uncle would himself
be able to take charge. I now found, after a lengthy talk with my
doctor, that he was painfully superstitious about the Girdle; he was
evidently afraid that when it was let loose from the safe, something
dreadful would happen, and I laughed at his fears. He was greatly
relieved at the news that my uncle was coming out, as he did not like
the idea of my going off alone with the dreadful serpent belt.
"Of course," he said, "you will not think of examining your treasure
now, until your uncle arrives."
"To tell you the truth," I replied, "I intend to ask the Consul-General
this afternoon if it will be convenient to him to hold the inquest on it
to-morrow."
"Well," said Edwards, "I suppose you will get your own way, as you
usually do. Shall I be expected to be present?"
"Naturally," said I, "who else will make the post mortem?"
That evening I strolled down to the Residency, as I was now allowed to
do, and sat among the orange trees talking to the Consul-General who, I
discovered, shared my eagerness to inspect the Girdle. He confessed to
me that on more than one occasion he had surreptitiously peeped into the
safe, but as the belt still had my rope wound round it, he could not
satisfy his curiosity to any extent, and he did not like to take off the
rope until he had my permission to do so.
"Has it ever struck you, sir," I said, "that our friend Edwards is a
little bit afraid of it?"
"Well, do you know," he replied, "now that you mention it, I believe
that he is. I have suggested once or twice that we should ask you to
show us your prize, and he has always put me off by saying that he did
not think that your nerves were strong enough to stand the strain, as
the sight of the Girdle would bring back so many memories."
I laughed outright, and vouchsafed that, in my opinion, the person with
the shaky nerves was Edwards himself.
The words were hardly out of my mouth than I saw the subject of our
conversation striding across the courtyard towards us.
"You look as if you had something very important to tell us, George,"
said I.
"So I have," he replied. "News that will set you thinking."
"I know what it is," I said. "The Golden Girdle has escaped, and you
have seen it flying back towards the desert."
"I almost wish that I had," said Edwards.
"If you talk like that," said the Consul-General, sharply, "I shall have
to ship you off on six months sick leave. Your nerves are giving way."
When I looked at Edwards's face, I was of the same opinion.