The Desert Wireless Station
"DONKEY, sah? Good donkey, sah? Me good dragoman. Talk Englis' like
Englisman, sah. Me good----"
"Oh, chuck it, do!" exclaimed Osborne. "No can do; savee?"
It was on the outskirts of Alexandria. Osborne and Webb, already
"bored stiff" with the doubtful charms of the sun-baked Egyptian
seaport, were longing to be afloat once more. Up to the present their
wishes in that direction had not been gratified. In common with the
rest of the surviving officers and crew of the lost _Portchester
Castle_, they were resting, first at Port Said and then at
Alexandria, pending Admiralty instructions and appointment to another
ship.
Early on this particular afternoon the two chums had gone for a walk
beyond the limits of the town. It was a glorious chance to tramp on a
broiling hot day, in a place where almost everyone rides, and then
only when it is necessary to be out and about. It was the time of
siesta, or midday rest, but the superabundant energies of the two
young officers were not to be denied. Both carried revolvers--a
precaution rendered necessary by the existing conditions of the
Egyptian frontiers.
Barely had they drawn clear of the squalid native quarter when they
were assailed by the demonstrative attention of a swarm of 'Gippy
donkey-boys, whose natural cupidity overcame their curiosity at the
sight of two Englishmen braving the scorching heat of the sun.
By dint of very forcible language, backed by a pretence of forcible
methods, Osborne had succeeded in freeing himself and his companion
from the undesired attentions of the mob, with one exception. The
latter, a tall, sparely built fellah, hung on like a leech.
"Tomb of Ctesos, sah," he vociferated. "Not far. Far to walk, but not
far for donkey, sah. Twen'-fivee piastres" (up went the fingers of
his right hand five times to emphasize the point) "all de way. Dirty
cheap, sah."
Osborne hesitated and was lost.
"Tomb of Ctesos?" he repeated. "H'm, I've heard of it. Sort of ruined
pyramid, I believe, Tom. Well, it's something definite to do. How
about it?"
"I'm on," replied Webb. "Figuratively, of course. When it comes to
the back of a donkey it may be a different matter."
"The brutes look quiet enough," resumed Osborne, eyeing the three
sorry-looking donkeys, who were continually flicking their ears in a
vain attempt to rid themselves of the tormenting attentions of a
swarm of flies. "All right," he added, addressing the donkey-boy.
"Twenty-five piastres, mind!"
The 'Gippy extended a grimy, sunburned hand. "On de nail," he
exclaimed, making use of one of many English idioms that he had
picked up in the course of his dealings with tourists in pre-war
days, and with British and Australian troops since the outbreak of
hostilities.
The officers smiled. The words, coming from the lips of a
dark-skinned Egyptian, tickled them. The fellow's eyes looked so
pathetic and trustful that Osborne obligingly paid for the hire of
the animals.
Evidently the guide was not going to exert himself by walking.
Throwing himself upon the back of the third donkey he urged the
brutes into a steady trot, yelling the while in a jargon of English
and Arabic, and belabouring the animals with a stick.
"Avast there!" said Osborne authoritatively. "Stop it! Not so much of
the stick business. They'll go just as well without."
The "boy"--he was a man of between twenty-five and thirty--obeyed,
but only for a time. Ere long he began to thrash the animals again.
"For the second time, stop it!" thundered the Lieutenant.
The donkey-driver muttered something under his breath. A momentary
scowl flashed across his olivine features. If looks could kill,
Osborne would have been stretched lifeless in the desert.
On and on the donkeys went, sometimes trotting, at others plodding
stolidly through the sand; for already the cotton-fields had been
left behind, and nothing but the desert could now be seen, bounded on
the right hand by the intricate swamps of Lake Mareotis. Before they
had gone five miles, both the officers discovered, to their great
discomfort, that their mounts possessed very aggressive backbones,
the pain from the sharp edges of which the meagre native saddle did
little to mitigate.
"How much farther?" enquired Webb.
"Not far," was the 'Gippy's non-committal reply.
"Hanged if I don't think the rascal is taking us past the place,"
declared Osborne, indicating a solidly constructed building on the
left, at a distance of about three-quarters of a mile.
The donkey-boy saw the gesture.
"No, sah, no," he expostulated earnestly. "Him no good. Nothing dere;
empty. Tomb of Ctesos, sah, him be right dere."
"Dash the tomb of Ctesos!" declared Osborne. "It's not good enough.
Look here, Ali Babi; we've chucked the idea. We'll have a look at
this place instead. We may find shelter from the sun, and get back in
the cool of the evening."
The suggestion did not at all meet with the native's approval.
Obviously he had strong reasons against falling in with the proposal.
"Evidently our dusky dragoman considers this to be a breach of
contract," observed Webb.
"Can't imagine why," rejoined Osborne. "If what he says is correct
with reference to the direction of this precious tomb, we're saving
his animals a considerable distance. He who pays the piper calls the
tune, you know; so let's be firm."
Accordingly, the two officers turned the donkeys in the direction of
the ruined building that Osborne had indicated. With ill-concealed
sullenness the Egyptian slowed down, riding at twenty paces in the
rear of the chums.
Suddenly he gave vent to a shrill cry. Instantly the animals that
Osborne and Webb were bestriding came to a dead standstill; then,
keeping their forefeet planted firmly in the ground, they lashed out
furiously with their hind legs.
In vain Webb attempted to keep his saddle. Describing an inelegant
curve he alighted on his head in the sand. Fortunately the softness
of the ground deadened the impact; but, feeling considerably shaken,
he regained his feet to find Osborne sitting regarding him ruefully.
As for the donkeys, they were skeltering off more quickly than they
had done before in the course of that afternoon, while the 'Gippy,
still astride his mount, jeered at his employers until he was out of
ear-shot.
"The fellow's got his own back," admitted Osborne, laughing at his
own discomfiture. "And we paid him beforehand, worse luck! No matter!
we'll carry on now we're about it, and inspect this ruined show. If
we start at four o'clock we ought to be back before sunset, and it
won't be so oppressively hot to pad the hoof."
"We're taking a long time to cover this half-mile," remarked Webb,
when after a steady tramp the ruins seemed no nearer. "Suppose it
isn't a mirage, what?"
"Hope not," replied Osborne. Then he had to admit that the real
distance had been diminished by the vagaries of the atmosphere.
Although the tomb, or whatever it might be, was a real object, it had
seemed to be less than three-quarters of a mile away when Osborne
first noticed it. Actually it was four times that distance.
At last they approached the elusive building. It consisted of a
rectangular central edifice with a few smaller buildings attached.
The roof was originally a dome, but the greater portion had fallen
in. Fronting the main portion was a row of weather-worn pillars of
red sandstone, ground smooth by the action of the sand-storms of
centuries. In places the portico still remained, but was evidently in
a very insecure state.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Webb, who with true scouting instinct had been
examining the ground. "Look here; someone has been here recently.
We're just converging upon the track of a couple of men and a led
camel."
"Yes," agreed Osborne, "and Europeans, too; or at any rate not
barefooted felaheen or sandalled Arabs. Well, I suppose they have a
perfect right to come here, as much as we have--perhaps more if they
have fixed up their abode in this desirable suburban residence."
"There's the camel," said the Sub, indicating the humped animal
which, hobbled in characteristic Arab fashion, was standing in the
shade of a partly shattered wall. "No signs of the owners. We'll have
to be careful, old man. We don't want to intrude upon these fellows
if they are engaged in their devotions. If they are Mohammedans they
are bound to be pretty sensitive as far as the presence of
unbelievers is concerned."
For the last hundred yards the two chums maintained silence. Their
footfalls made no sound on the soft sand. At the lofty entrance they
paused. The dense shadows, in contrast to the powerful slanting rays
of the sun, made it impossible to see what was within the place until
their eyes grew accustomed to the violent transition from the glare
to a deep gloom.
Suddenly Webb grasped his companion's arm.
"Hist!" he whispered.
His trained ear had caught the faint cackle of a wireless apparatus.
For some moments the chums stood motionless. The sounds came from an
apartment either built in the thick walls or else in a raised
outbuilding. Presently the message ended, and the two men began to
engage in conversation, speaking in Arabic--a language of which both
Webb and Osborne knew but a few words, acquired during their brief
stay in Port Said and Alexandria.
Both officers drew their revolvers. Clearly this was a time for
action. The ruins were not a Government telegraphic post. Since the
Western Egyptian Frontier campaign that ended in the defeat of the
somewhat formidable Senussi rising, a quantity of wireless gear,
known to have been smuggled ashore with other warlike stores for the
use of the enemy, had been unaccounted for. So thorough had been the
methods adopted by the Turks and their German taskmasters, that even
the nomad Arabs of the Tripolitan hinterland had been instructed in
the use of the most modern form of telegraphy.
When sufficiently accustomed to the gloom, Osborne advanced
cautiously, Webb following at his heels. Guided by the sounds of
conversation they crossed the floor, where the dust of years lay
ankle-deep, until they came to a flight of stone steps, flanked on
either side by gigantic stone images representing two grotesque
Egyptian divinities, seated with their hands resting on their knees
and their orbless eyes staring blankly. So smooth were the carvings
that they might have been chiselled yesterday, instead of several
centuries before the Christian era.
Up the flight of stairs the two officers crept. The illicit
operators, still engaged in an animated conversation, were unaware of
their presence until with a bound Osborne entered a small room on a
level with the roof of the portico, and covered them with his
revolver.
Even as he did so he recognized one of the men as Georgeos Hymettus,
the Greek spy, who in the disguise of Alfonzo y Guzman Perez had
furnished the U-boat officers with information concerning the
movements of shipping at Gibraltar, and who had so nearly been laid
by the heels by Osborne and Webb during their adventurous trip to
Algeciras.
"The world is small, my festive Hymettus," observed Osborne suavely.
"Now, kindly put your hands up and give no trouble."