When Benifett Bindane found himself writing "February 1st" upon his
letters, he suddenly became the victim of a violent fit of energy. Time
was passing, and not much progress had been made with his great scheme
for the floating of the Egyptian Oases Development Company. By nature he
was indolent, and he had thoroughly enjoyed his three months basking in
the Egyptian sun. It was always a great pleasure to him to sit in the
warmest corner of a veranda, to glance at the _Financial News_, and then
to stare in front of him with an empty countenance and a mind full of
wonderful commercial schemes.
He had the habit of thinking in millions; and his brain, in many ways so
deficient, was capable of visualizing an extraordinarily prolonged
repetition of the figure "o" at the end of any sum in pounds sterling.
He had quickly made himself master of all the available information in
regard to the territory in question, but there were a great many points
on which he desired enlightenment before he made his projected grand
tour through the Oases at the end of this month. He wished to go there
fully primed, so that he should not fail to take note of all those
matters on which personal observation might prove to be of value; but
now the calendar had awakened him to the fact of the days' rapid
passage, and he was obliged to make a serious effort to put some
stiffening into the loose fabric of his bones and brain.
In the secret council-chamber of his mind he had decided that Daniel
Lane was the one man really essential to the project, and it was his
main object now to enlist his services. He wondered what was the lowest
high salary that would tempt him; and he thought out many very fantastic
schemes for getting him away from the Residency. Lady Muriel was the
real obstacle; for Kate had kept him informed as to the progress of her
friend's love affair, and he realized that as matters now stood there
would be the utmost difficulty in persuading Daniel to abandon his
present post. Steps, however, in the desired direction ought to be
taken; and at any rate there would be no harm in ascertaining the
possibilities of the matter.
He therefore telephoned to Lord Blair asking for an immediate interview;
and as the clock struck noon he was being ushered into the Great Man's
presence.
Lord Blair received him in a very businesslike manner. A large map of
the Oases was spread upon the writing-table, entirely covering the
chronic litter of papers heaped thereon, and, indeed, covering the
greater part of his lordship himself as he sat in his desk-chair; while
upon a side-table there were numerous chorographic memoranda, and a
variety of type-written reports made upon the subject the last few
years.
Lord Blair opened the proceedings by describing to his visitor the
arrangements which had already been made for the forthcoming tour.
"The camels and camping-equipment are bespoken," he said; "perhaps you
would like to see the list of articles to be supplied."
He lifted the map, and dived his head under it in search of the
document, while Benifett Bindane stared vacantly at the folds of the
large sheet which rose and fell, like pantomime waves, as Lord Blair
moved about under it.
At length the long type-written inventory was found, and for some
minutes Mr. Bindane stared at it with dull, watery eyes. He might have
been thought to have gone off into a trance; and Lord Blair had begun to
fidget when at last the list was handed back.
"Please add 'one tea-tray' and 'one toasting-fork,'" said Mr. Bindane.
"That's all that is omitted, I think."
Lord Blair was profoundly impressed; but his rising enthusiasm was
somewhat damped when presently his visitor broached the subject which
was uppermost in his mind.
"There are certain points about which I wish to be informed," said Mr.
Bindane, "before I go out to the Oases." He drew a piece of paper from
his pocketbook. "Here they are. Do you think it would be possible for
Mr. Lane to give me his help?"
"Mr. Lane?" queried Lord Blair. "Why?"
"Because I think Mr. Lane's advice is essential to the scheme," replied
Mr. Bindane.
Lord Blair spread out his hands. "Oh, but I don't think he can be spared
just now," he protested.
"I thought I understood you to tell me," said the other, "that the
political situation was extremely quiet just at present. I was hoping
you might let Mr. Lane turn his attention now to the Oases."
"My dear sir," Lord Blair replied, leaning back in his chair, "the quiet
times that we are having, that we are enjoying, are very largely due to
Daniel Lane. His influence with the natives is extraordinary, quite
phenomenal."
"Yes, I know," Mr. Bindane replied, his face devoid of expression. "That
is why I want him for the scheme."
Lord Blair leaned forward. "I don't quite follow. Do I understand you to
mean that you want him to be associated definitely with the enterprise?"
Benifett Bindane's mouth fell open more loosely than usual, and for a
second or two he stared vacantly before him. "Yes," he answered, at
length. "I want him to be our General Manager."
Lord Blair started. "Tut, tut!" he ejaculated, "By the time the company
is floated I expect Daniel Lane will have made himself altogether
indispensable to his Majesty's Government here at the Residency."
There was an uncomfortable silence. "I was counting on his support,"
said Mr. Bindane, presently. "Without it I don't know whether I would be
inclined to find the necessary capital."
Lord Blair instantly accepted the challenge. "Then the project will have
to be shelved," he replied, sharply: and when he spoke sharply there was
no doubt about his being the "Great Man."
Benifett Bindane, however, appeared to be entirely unmoved. "I don't
think Mr. Lane is as happy now as he was when he lived in the desert,"
he mused.
Lord Blair rose to his feet. "Please regard his services as unavailable,
quite unavailable, for this project," he said deliberately, "except in
an occasional advisory capacity."
Mr. Bindane had also risen, and now the two stood facing one another.
Outwardly the trim, eager little man and the tall, lifeless figure
before him might have appeared to the eye to be friendly enough; but a
reader of hearts would have detected in them two opposing forces arrayed
for battle, the one having in mind the extension of the prestige of
England, the other the increase of his private fortune.
Meanwhile, in the library, another of life's little plays was being
enacted.
Lord Barthampton had come to the Residency to invite Lady Muriel to a
picnic on the following day, and she had just disappointed him by saying
that she was already engaged. He had arrived with such a flourish,
spanking up to the door in his high dogcart, his little "tiger" leaping
to the cob's head as he pulled up, and the morning sunshine sparkling on
the harness and the varnished woodwork; and now, after waiting a very
long time in the rather severe library, Lady Muriel had come in and had
told him that every moment of her time was booked up apparently for
weeks to come.
"I never seem to get the chance to say half a dozen words to you," he
grunted, feeling thoroughly put out. "You women are all so mad about
having a good time that you can't spare a moment for us lonely fellows."
Muriel was quite concerned at his depression, and asked him whether he
would have a glass of port or a whiskey-and-soda.
"No, I will not," he said, with a gloomy laugh. "I'm on the water-waggon
for your sake, and you don't even say you're glad."
"O, but I am," she answered. "I'm awfully glad. I think you've shown
true British grit. You're one of the old Bulldog Breed, and, when once
you've set your jaw, nothing can get the better of you."
Somehow she could not help pulling this man's leg; and she spoke to him
in this strain the more readily in that he evidently appreciated the
language of what she called the Submerged Male.
"God knows it's been a struggle," he said: and, turning away from her,
he stared out of the window.
"How did you get into all those bad habits?" she asked, looking at him
with interest.
"Oh, India, I suppose," he replied, with a shrug. "When one's east of
Suez, and the memsahibs have all gone home...."
She stopped him with a gesture. There were limits to the game of
leg-pulling; and if he were going to become Anglo-Indian in his phrases,
the jest would be intolerable.
"I'm so sorry I can't come to your picnic," she said, checking the drift
of the conversation. "I'd come if I possibly could, but I've got to
attend a meeting."
"A meeting?" he asked, in astonishment. "That sounds a funny thing for
you to be doing."
"I'm honorary President of a fund for helping poor European children in
Egypt," she explained. "It's a very worthy object, I believe."
He seized his opportunity. "Yes, we've all got to help the unfortunate,
hav'n't we?" he said. "I do all too little myself--just a yearly
donation."
Muriel was impressed, and questioned him.
"Yes," he told her, "I always try to give between L500 and L1,000 a year
to the poor."
"I call that very fine of you," she declared, warming to him
immediately.
"Oh, it's nothing," he answered. "I'm blessed with abundance, you know;
and I like to practise what I preach. I'm not like _some_ fellows I
could mention--full of high principles in public, and full of sins in
secret."
"Who are you thinking of, specially?" she asked, noticing the marked
inflection in his words.
He hesitated. "Well, Cousin Daniel, for example."
"Oh, Daniel's all right," she replied.
"I don't know so much about that," he laughed. "There are some things
you couldn't understand, little woman. But ... well, there are some
pretty tough female devils in the Cairo underworld; and Master Daniel
has been seen more than once in low cafes and places with a girl who's
known as the 'worst woman in Egypt'--the famous Lizette: but I don't
suppose you've heard of her."
The words were like a knife in Muriel's heart. So people were right,
then, about Daniel's disreputable character.
"Oh, that's all past," she replied, hardly knowing what she said.
"No, it isn't," he answered. "Only the day before yesterday one of my
brother-officers saw him with her. And I saw him myself dining with her
not so long ago--in fact I tried to separate them. I admit it was only
for the honour of our family that I interfered. He was drunk, I think,
and wanted to fight me."
Muriel stared at him with round, frightened eyes; but Lord Barthampton
had shot his arrow, and now desired only to make his escape.
"I must be going," he said, nervously. "I oughtn't to have told you
that: it slipped out."
He could see plainly enough that she was grievously wounded; and his
conscience certainly smote him, though it smote with a gentle forgiving
hand.
She turned away from him with tears in her eyes; and he, feeling
decidedly awkward, bade her "good-bye," and hastened out of the room.
In the hall he came upon Benifett Bindane, who was also making towards
the front door. The two malefactors greeted one another; and Mr. Bindane
being, as Kate had said, "very fond of lords," attached himself to the
younger man with evident pleasure.
"That's a smart turn-out," he remarked, as they came out of the house
into the glare of the sunshine.
"Give you a lift?" asked Lord Barthampton. "Anywhere you like."
"Thanks," the other replied. "I'm going to the Turf Club."
"Right-o!" said his friend. "In you get. Hold her head, damn you, you
little black monkey!" he shouted to the diminutive groom. "Now
then!--_imshee riglak!_"--which he believed to be Arabic.
They drove off at a rattling pace, presently scattering the native
traffic in the open square outside the Kars-el-Nil barracks, and nearly
unseating a venerable sheikh from his slow-moving donkey.
"Why don't you get out of the way!" shouted Lord Barthampton, turning a
red face to the mild brown wrinkles of the clinging rider. "Lord! these
niggers make me impatient."
"Yes," said his companion, who always disliked a show of temper, "I
notice that it's only the English resident officials who have learned to
be patient with them."
Arrived at the Turf Club, Lord Barthampton accepted Mr. Bindane's
invitation to refresh himself with dry ginger-ale; for, during the
drive, a good idea (with him something of a rarity) had come into his
head. He had suddenly recollected that Kate Bindane was Lady Muriel's
bosom friend; and it had occurred to him that if he could obtain the
sympathy of the husband, the wife might plead his cause. It would be
better not to say very much: he would adopt the manner which, he felt
sure, was natural to him, namely that of the stern, silent Englishman.
He therefore lowered his brows as he entered the club, and looked with
frowning melancholy upon the groups of laughing and chattering young men
about him.
"God, what a noise!" he muttered as he sank into a seat.
Mr. Bindane stared vacantly around, and waving a flapper-like hand to a
passing waiter, ordered the ginger-ale as though he were totally
indifferent as to whether he ever got it or not.
"I'm feeling a bit blue today," said Lord Barthampton, leaning back
gloomily in his chair.
"What's the matter?" asked his friend.
"I'm in love," was the short reply.
Mr. Bindane was mildly interested. "Who with?" he asked.
"Lady Muriel," the other replied, between his clenched teeth. He was
anxious to convey an impression of sorrow sternly controlled.
"A very charming young lady," said Mr. Bindane, "and my wife's best
friend."
"Yes, that's why I'm telling you," replied Lord Barthampton, looking
knowingly at him. "I've been wondering if you could get her to put in a
word for me."
"I'll see," said Benifett Bindane.
"Thanks awfully," answered his companion.
That was all. There was no more said upon the subject; but Charles
Barthampton felt that the brief and pointed conversation had been very
British and straightforward. There had been no mincing of matters; what
he had said had been short and soldierly, as man to man.
When he was once more alone, Mr. Bindane lay for awhile loosely in the
deep red-leather chair. His open mouth, his vacant eyes, the perpetual
pallor of his face, and his crumpled attitude of collapse, might have
led an observer to suppose that he had passed quietly away. He was,
however, merely absorbed in a series of interesting thoughts. He was
thinking that a possible engagement between Lady Muriel and Lord
Barthampton would probably have the effect of sending Daniel Lane back
to the desert in despair. He was thinking what a great deal of tact
would be needed in buying up the land of the Oases from the natives, as
he intended ultimately to do. He was thinking how very tactful Daniel
Lane was said to be; and how wasted, commercially, he seemed to be at
the Residency.