Greenmantle
Peter scarcely looked up from his breakfast.
“I’m willing, Dick,” he said. “But you mustn’t ask me to be friends
with Stumm. He makes my stomach cold, that one.”
For the first time he had stopped calling me “Cornelis”. The day of
make-believe was over for all of us.
“Not to be friends with him,” I said, “but to bust him and all his
kind.”
“Then I’m ready,” said Peter cheerfully. “What is it?”
I spread out the maps on the divan. There was no light in the place but
Blenkiron’s electric torch, for Hussin had put out the lantern. Peter
got his nose into the things at once, for his intelligence work in the
Boer War had made him handy with maps. It didn’t want much telling from
me to explain to him the importance of the one I had looted.
“That news is worth many a million pounds,” said he, wrinkling his
brows, and scratching delicately the tip of his left ear. It was a way
he had when he was startled.
“How can we get it to our friends?”
Peter cogitated. “There is but one way. A man must take it. Once, I
remember, when we fought the Matabele it was necessary to find out
whether the chief Makapan was living. Some said he had died, others
that he’d gone over the Portuguese border, but I believed he lived. No
native could tell us, and since his kraal was well defended no runner
could get through. So it was necessary to send a man.”
Peter lifted up his head and laughed. “The man found the chief Makapan.
He was very much alive, and made good shooting with a shot-gun. But the
man brought the chief Makapan out of his kraal and handed him over to
the Mounted Police. You remember Captain Arcoll, Dick—Jim Arcoll? Well,
Jim laughed so much that he broke open a wound in his head, and had to
have a doctor.”
“You were that man, Peter,” I said.
“_Ja_. I was the man. There are more ways of getting into kraals than
there are ways of keeping people out.”
“Will you take this chance?”
“For certain, Dick. I am getting stiff with doing nothing, and if I sit
in houses much longer I shall grow old. A man bet me five pounds on the
ship that I could not get through a trench-line, and if there had been
a trench-line handy I would have taken him on. I will be very happy,
Dick, but I do not say I will succeed. It is new country to me, and I
will be hurried, and hurry makes bad stalking.”
I showed him what I thought the likeliest place—in the spurs of the
Palantuken mountains. Peter’s way of doing things was all his own. He
scraped earth and plaster out of a corner and sat down to make a little
model of the landscape on the table, following the contours of the map.
He did it extraordinarily neatly, for, like all great hunters, he was
as deft as a weaver bird. He puzzled over it for a long time, and
conned the map till he must have got it by heart. Then he took his
field-glasses—a very good single Zeiss which was part of the spoils
from Rasta’s motor-car—and announced that he was going to follow my
example and get on to the house-top. Presently his legs disappeared
through the trap, and Blenkiron and I were left to our reflections.
Peter must have found something uncommon interesting, for he stayed on
the roof the better part of the day. It was a dull job for us, since
there was no light, and Blenkiron had not even the consolation of a
game of Patience. But for all that he was in good spirits, for he had
had no dyspepsia since we left Constantinople, and announced that he
believed he was at last getting even with his darned duodenum. As for
me I was pretty restless, for I could not imagine what was detaining
Sandy. It was clear that our presence must have been kept secret from
Hilda von Einem, for she was a pal of Stumm’s, and he must by now have
blown the gaff on Peter and me. How long could this secrecy last, I
asked myself. We had now no sort of protection in the whole outfit.
Rasta and the Turks wanted our blood: so did Stumm and the Germans; and
once the lady found we were deceiving her she would want it most of
all. Our only hope was Sandy, and he gave no sign of his existence. I
began to fear that with him, too, things had miscarried.
And yet I wasn’t really depressed, only impatient. I could never again
get back to the beastly stagnation of that Constantinople week. The
guns kept me cheerful. There was the devil of a bombardment all day,
and the thought that our Allies were thundering there half a dozen
miles off gave me a perfectly groundless hope. If they burst through
the defence Hilda von Einem and her prophet and all our enemies would
be overwhelmed in the deluge. And that blessed chance depended very
much on old Peter, now brooding like a pigeon on the house-tops.
It was not till the late afternoon that Hussin appeared again. He took
no notice of Peter’s absence, but lit a lantern and set it on the
table. Then he went to the door and waited. Presently a light step fell
on the stairs, and Hussin drew back to let someone enter. He promptly
departed and I heard the key turn in the lock behind him.
Sandy stood there, but a new Sandy who made Blenkiron and me jump to
our feet. The pelts and skin-cap had gone, and he wore instead a long
linen tunic clasped at the waist by a broad girdle. A strange green
turban adorned his head, and as he pushed it back I saw that his hair
had been shaved. He looked like some acolyte—a weary acolyte, for there
was no spring in his walk or nerve in his carriage. He dropped numbly
on the divan and laid his head in his hands. The lantern showed his
haggard eyes with dark lines beneath them.
“Good God, old man, have you been sick?” I cried.
“Not sick,” he said hoarsely. “My body is right enough, but the last
few days I have been living in hell.”
Blenkiron nodded sympathetically. That was how he himself would have
described the company of the lady.
I marched across to him and gripped both his wrists.
“Look at me,” I said, “straight in the eyes.”
His eyes were like a sleep-walker’s, unwinking, unseeing. “Great
heavens, man, you’ve been drugged!” I said.
“Drugged,” he cried, with a weary laugh. “Yes, I have been drugged, but
not by any physic. No one has been doctoring my food. But you can’t go
through hell without getting your eyes red-hot.”
I kept my grip on his wrists. “Take your time, old chap, and tell us
about it. Blenkiron and I are here, and old Peter’s on the roof not far
off. We’ll look after you.”
“It does me good to hear your voice, Dick,” he said. “It reminds me of
clean, honest things.”
“They’ll come back, never fear. We’re at the last lap now. One more
spurt and it’s over. You’ve got to tell me what the new snag is. Is it
that woman?”
He shivered like a frightened colt. “Woman!” he cried. “Does a woman
drag a man through the nether-pit? She’s a she-devil. Oh, it isn’t
madness that’s wrong with her. She’s as sane as you and as cool as
Blenkiron. Her life is an infernal game of chess, and she plays with
souls for pawns. She is evil—evil—evil.” And once more he buried his
head in his hands.
It was Blenkiron who brought sense into this hectic atmosphere. His
slow, beloved drawl was an antiseptic against nerves.
“Say, boy,” he said, “I feel just like you about the lady. But our job
is not to investigate her character. Her Maker will do that good and
sure some day. We’ve got to figure how to circumvent her, and for that
you’ve got to tell us what exactly’s been occurring since we parted
company.”
Sandy pulled himself together with a great effort.
“Greenmantle died that night I saw you. We buried him secretly by her
order in the garden of the villa. Then came the trouble about his
successor ... The four Ministers would be no party to a swindle. They
were honest men, and vowed that their task now was to make a tomb for
their master and pray for the rest of their days at his shrine. They
were as immovable as a granite hill and she knew it.... Then they, too,
died.”
“Murdered?” I gasped.
“Murdered ... all four in one morning. I do not know how, but I helped
to bury them. Oh, she had Germans and Kurds to do her foul work, but
their hands were clean compared to hers. Pity me, Dick, for I have seen
honesty and virtue put to the shambles and have abetted the deed when
it was done. It will haunt me to my dying day.”
I did not stop to console him, for my mind was on fire with his news.
“Then the prophet is gone, and the humbug is over,” I cried.
“The prophet still lives. She has found a successor.”
He stood up in his linen tunic.
“Why do I wear these clothes? Because I am Greenmantle. I am the
_Kaába-i-hurriyeh_ for all Islam. In three days’ time I will reveal
myself to my people and wear on my breast the green ephod of the
prophet.”
He broke off with an hysterical laugh. “Only you see, I won’t. I will
cut my throat first.”
“Cheer up!” said Blenkiron soothingly. “We’ll find some prettier way
than that.”
“There is no way,” he said; “no way but death. We’re done for, all of
us. Hussin got you out of Stumm’s clutches, but you’re in danger every
moment. At the best you have three days, and then you, too, will be
dead.”
I had no words to reply. This change in the bold and unshakeable Sandy
took my breath away.
“She made me her accomplice,” he went on. “I should have killed her on
the graves of those innocent men. But instead I did all she asked and
joined in her game ... She was very candid, you know ... She cares no
more than Enver for the faith of Islam. She can laugh at it. But she
has her own dreams, and they consume her as a saint is consumed by his
devotion. She has told me them, and if the day in the garden was hell,
the days since have been the innermost fires of Tophet. I think—it is
horrible to say it—that she has got some kind of crazy liking for me.
When we have reclaimed the East I am to be by her side when she rides
on her milk-white horse into Jerusalem ... And there have been
moments—only moments, I swear to God—when I have been fired myself by
her madness ...”
Sandy’s figure seemed to shrink and his voice grew shrill and wild. It
was too much for Blenkiron. He indulged in a torrent of blasphemy such
as I believe had never before passed his lips.
“I’m blessed if I’ll listen to this God-darned stuff. It isn’t
delicate. You get busy, Major, and pump some sense into your afflicted
friend.”
I was beginning to see what had happened. Sandy was a man of genius—as
much as anybody I ever struck—but he had the defects of such
high-strung, fanciful souls. He would take more than mortal risks, and
you couldn’t scare him by any ordinary terror. But let his old
conscience get cross-eyed, let him find himself in some situation which
in his eyes involved his honour, and he might go stark crazy. The
woman, who roused in me and Blenkiron only hatred, could catch his
imagination and stir in him—for the moment only—an unwilling response.
And then came bitter and morbid repentance, and the last desperation.
It was no time to mince matters. “Sandy, you old fool,” I cried, “be
thankful you have friends to keep you from playing the fool. You saved
my life at Loos, and I’m jolly well going to get you through this show.
I’m bossing the outfit now, and for all your confounded prophetic
manners, you’ve got to take your orders from me. You aren’t going to
reveal yourself to your people, and still less are you going to cut
your throat. Greenmantle will avenge the murder of his ministers, and
make that bedlamite woman sorry she was born. We’re going to get clear
away, and inside of a week we’ll be having tea with the Grand Duke
Nicholas.”
I wasn’t bluffing. Puzzled as I was about ways and means I had still
the blind belief that we should win out. And as I spoke two legs
dangled through the trap and a dusty and blinking Peter descended in
our midst.
I took the maps from him and spread them on the table.
“First, you must know that we’ve had an almighty piece of luck. Last
night Hussin took us for a walk over the roofs of Erzerum, and by the
blessing of Providence I got into Stumm’s room, and bagged his staff
map ... Look there ... d’you see his notes? That’s the danger-point of
the whole defence. Once the Russians get that fort, Kara Gubek, they’ve
turned the main position. And it can be got; Stumm knows it can; for
these two adjacent hills are not held ... It looks a mad enterprise on
paper, but Stumm knows that it is possible enough. The question is:
Will the Russians guess that? I say no, not unless someone tells them.
Therefore, by hook or by crook, we’ve got to get that information
through to them.”
Sandy’s interest in ordinary things was beginning to flicker up again.
He studied the map and began to measure distances.
“Peter’s going to have a try for it. He thinks there’s a sporting
chance of his getting through the lines. If he does—if he gets this map
to the Grand Duke’s staff—then Stumm’s goose is cooked. In three days
the Cossacks will be in the streets of Erzerum.”
“What are the chances?” Sandy asked.
I glanced at Peter. “We’re hard-bitten fellows and can face the truth.
I think the chances against success are about five to one.”
“Two to one,” said Peter modestly. “Not worse than that. I don’t think
you’re fair to me, Dick, my old friend.”
I looked at that lean, tight figure and the gentle, resolute face, and
I changed my mind. “I’m hanged if I think there are any odds,” I said.
“With anybody else it would want a miracle, but with Peter I believe
the chances are level.”
“Two to one,” Peter persisted. “If it was evens I wouldn’t be
interested.”
“Let me go,” Sandy cried. “I talk the lingo, and can pass as a Turk,
and I’m a million times likelier to get through. For God’s sake, Dick,
let me go.”
“Not you. You’re wanted here. If you disappear the whole show’s busted
too soon, and the three of us left behind will be strung up before
morning ... No, my son. You’re going to escape, but it will be in
company with Blenkiron and me. We’ve got to blow the whole Greenmantle
business so high that the bits of it will never come to earth again ...
First, tell me how many of your fellows will stick by you? I mean the
Companions.”
“The whole half-dozen. They are very worried already about what has
happened. She made me sound them in her presence, and they were quite
ready to accept me as Greenmantle’s successor. But they have their
suspicions about what happened at the villa, and they’ve no love for
the woman ... They’d follow me through hell if I bade them, but they
would rather it was my own show.”
“That’s all right,” I cried. “It is the one thing I’ve been doubtful
about. Now observe this map. Erzerum isn’t invested by a long chalk.
The Russians are round it in a broad half-moon. That means that all the
west, south-west, and north-west is open and undefended by trench
lines. There are flanks far away to the north and south in the hills
which can be turned, and once we get round a flank there’s nothing
between us and our friends ... I’ve figured out our road,” and I traced
it on the map. “If we can make that big circuit to the west and get
over that pass unobserved we’re bound to strike a Russian column the
next day. It’ll be a rough road, but I fancy we’ve all ridden as bad in
our time. But one thing we must have, and that’s horses. Can we and
your six ruffians slip off in the darkness on the best beasts in this
township? If you can manage that, we’ll do the trick.”
Sandy sat down and pondered. Thank heaven, he was thinking now of
action and not of his own conscience.
“It must be done,” he said at last, “but it won’t be easy. Hussin’s a
great fellow, but as you know well, Dick, horses right up at the
battle-front are not easy to come by. Tomorrow I’ve got some kind of
infernal fast to observe, and the next day that woman will be coaching
me for my part. We’ll have to give Hussin time ... I wish to heaven it
could be tonight.” He was silent again for a bit, and then he said: “I
believe the best time would be the third night, the eve of the
Revelation. She’s bound to leave me alone that night.”
“Right-o,” I said. “It won’t be much fun sitting waiting in this cold
sepulchre; but we must keep our heads and risk nothing by being in a
hurry. Besides, if Peter wins through, the Turk will be a busy man by
the day after tomorrow.”
The key turned in the door and Hussin stole in like a shade. It was the
signal for Sandy to leave.
“You fellows have given me a new lease of life,” he said. “I’ve got a
plan now, and I can set my teeth and stick it out.”
He went up to Peter and gripped his hand. “Good luck. You’re the
bravest man I’ve ever met, and I’ve seen a few.” Then he turned
abruptly and went out, followed by an exhortation from Blenkiron to
“Get busy about the quadrupeds.”
Then we set about equipping Peter for his crusade. It was a simple job,
for we were not rich in properties. His get-up, with his thick
fur-collared greatcoat, was not unlike the ordinary Turkish officer
seen in a dim light. But Peter had no intention of passing for a Turk,
or indeed of giving anybody the chance of seeing him, and he was more
concerned to fit in with the landscape. So he stripped off the
greatcoat and pulled a grey sweater of mine over his jacket, and put on
his head a woollen helmet of the same colour. He had no need of the map
for he had long since got his route by heart, and what was once fixed
in that mind stuck like wax; but I made him take Stumm’s plan and
paper, hidden below his shirt. The big difficulty, I saw, would be
getting to the Russians without getting shot, assuming he passed the
Turkish trenches. He could only hope that he would strike someone with
a smattering of English or German. Twice he ascended to the roof and
came back cheerful, for there was promise of wild weather.
Hussin brought in our supper, and Peter made up a parcel of food.
Blenkiron and I had both small flasks of brandy and I gave him mine.
Then he held out his hand quite simply, like a good child who is going
off to bed. It was too much for Blenkiron. With large tears rolling
down his face he announced that, if we all came through, he was going
to fit him into the softest berth that money could buy. I don’t think
he was understood, for old Peter’s eyes had now the faraway absorption
of the hunter who has found game. He was thinking only of his job.
Two legs and a pair of very shabby boots vanished through the trap, and
suddenly I felt utterly lonely and desperately sad. The guns were
beginning to roar again in the east, and in the intervals came the
whistle of the rising storm.