by Roger Bax
Directly after lunch he made his way to police headquarters and found Baird reading a copy of the Morning Call, four days out of London by air.
“Morning,” said Baird. “Just finding out what’s been happening in our city lately. ‘A succession of dastardly attacks on police officers.’ You’re getting quite heated, old man.”
Garve snatched the paper, glanced at the story, and handed it back with a snort of disgust. “That’s not mine—some sub-editor has been jazzing my stuff up again. Dastardly, my foot! What do they expect the Arabs to do—stop the police in the streets with bunches of flowers and doughnuts?”
Baird grinned. “Got out of bed the wrong side to-day, eh? Heavens, man, what have you been doing to your face? It’s—it’s——”
“Worse than usual,” said Garve irritably. “I know. I fell on it.”
Baird suddenly became serious. “More trouble last night?”
Garve nodded. “I went through Hezekiah’s Tunnel with an Arab named Jameel. Bloke with one eye. He attacked me with a knife, and we socked each other. He’s dead.”
“Suppose you pad the story out a bit,” suggested Baird.
Garve proceeded to give him a full account of the incident, but omitted all reference to the second tunnel. At the end Baird found himself grinning again.
“You always were rough,” he said. “Anyway, Jameel’s no loss. We know him—had our eye on him for some time. He had a bad habit of skulking about at night. All the same, there’ll have to be an inquiry.”
“I know,” said Garve. “You’d better send a couple of fellows along to bring out the body. And tell them not to fall into the pool themselves. You can let me know when you want me. Is there any news?”
“Nothing. No more murders—only yours!—no more ammunition dumps that disappeared overnight—nothing.”
Garve frowned. “Some of you people think I’m just playing the fool, don’t you, Baird?”
“No, no, old man, I’m only joking. You know your job all right. The only thing is, you’re bound to get bumped off pretty soon, and it seems a pity. I’m not the only one who’ll think so either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Young lady with the auburn hair——”
Garve swore rudely. “You read too many cheap novels, Baird. Any news of Kemal?”
“Not a word. He’s gone to ground. Oh, by the way, there’s a cable for you. Just come in.”
Garve took the message. It was from his paper. “Understand trouble likely in Syria and Turkey if Palestine revolts. Keep in touch with Beyrout and Ankara.”
“Fools,” ejaculated Garve with unusual heat. “I suppose they think I stroll over into Turkey for my morning constitutional. Give me a telegraph form, there’s a good fellow.”
Baird handed him the slip and he wrote, “Morning Call, London. Please send bicycle. Garve.”
Without a word he passed it back to Baird, who glanced at it and raised his eyebrows. “Tired of your job?” he asked, grinning.
“Sick of it. I’d like to keep poultry and be useful. Well, so long.”
He stopped at a shaded kiosk for a glass of orangeade, sent off the wire, and then proceeded at a leisurely pace to the Willoughby house.
Esther was out on the balcony, and she rose to greet him with a smile which faded as soon as. she saw his face.
“So you have been fighting!”she exclaimed reprovingly.
“Boys will be boys,” said Garve. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Not if it won’t hurt your mouth. How did it happen?”
Garve puffed contentedly at his pipe. “I fell down a hole.”
“One hole wouldn’t have done all that,” said Esther.
“Well, a succession of holes. Hezekiah’s Tunnel is full of them.” He stretched his legs contentedly in the sunshine and smiled at Esther. “It’s nice to be here.”
“You shall have some tea in a few minutes. It was good of you to come.”
“The most selfish thing I ever did in my life,” said Garve promptly. “Anyway, what’s on your mind? You’re the queerest woman. You ring up and start flirting violently, and the next minute you sound as worried as though you’d lost a fortune.”
Esther flushed and looked, Garve thought, delectable. “Flirting violently! It sounds horrid, but I suppose I do. I’ll tell you why I wanted to talk to you. Mr. Hayson asked me to marry him last night.”
Garve gazed at her curiously. “What do you expect me to do about it? Punch him on the nose?”
“Please. I’m trying to be serious.”
“But my dear girl,” said Garve abruptly, “what has it got to do with me? It’s hardly fair to Hayson to talk him over with me, is it?”
“I must talk to someone,” Esther exclaimed, and Garve could see that she was deeply disturbed. “I tried to tell father about it this morning, but he’s so busy, poor dear, and there really wasn’t time. You see—well, you seem so sensible. You know when I’m teasing and being all temperamental, and you treat me the right way. You laugh in the right places, and I seem to get on with you so easily. You’re a friendly person. I do such silly things. I’ve always been like that —impetuous and harum-scarum. I’m always sorry afterwards. Do you honestly think I encouraged Hayson?”
Garve tried to look judicial. “I wouldn’t say that you made flagrant advances—not up till yesterday anyway, when I lost track of you. It’s true you gobbled up his obvious admiration, but I don’t blame you—it must be very dull for you here. Blown up the first day and proposed to the second!” He grinned. “You’ve asked for frankness, you know. I think you’re quite hopelessly spoilt, as I must have told you at least a dozen times. By the way, I gather from your tone that you didn’t accept him.”
“He wouldn’t let me say yes or no,” said Esther disconsolately. “If he’d been an ordinary person I should have been able to deal with the situation—you don’t know what a blow it is to my pride to be asking your advice, and I’d far sooner have kept quiet about it. The trouble is”—she hesitated—“well, he frightens me.”
“Frightens you!” said Garve, sitting up. “What do you mean?”
“He’s so intense and strong—strong-willed. His eyes frighten me. He takes command of the situation so completely. He almost hypnotizes me. You must admit he’s rather fascinating. He’s used to having his own way. His vitality overwhelms me. I can’t understand him at all—he’s so different from anyone I’ve met before.”
“It certainly sounds as though he’s swept you off your feet a bit,” said Garve, chewing nervously at his pipe-stem. He still felt very uncomfortable. “Suppose you give him a rest for a day or two and allow yourself to simmer down.”
“That’s just the trouble. He said he’d come to dinner and take me afterwards to see the city walls by moonlight. He didn’t ask whether I wanted to go—he just arranged it.”
For the first time Garve began to feel really worried. “You certainly have changed since you bullied me into taking you round the city yesterday,” he observed. “Do you want to see the walls by moonlight?”
“I don’t know,” said Esther. “In a way I do—yes, desperately—but I tell you I’m frightened. Oh, don’t you see——?”
“If I were your elder brother,” said Garve severely, “I should advise you to plead a headache and go to bed early. You may be in love with the fellow or you may not, but canoodling in the moonlight isn’t the best way to find out! That’s my advice, anyway.”
“He said that nothing would prevent him from coming,” said Esther miserably, and something in her tone made Garve shiver.
“For heaven’s sake, young woman, take a hold on yourself. Anybody would think he’d placed a spell on you.”
“It was the quarries,” said Esther faintly. “He took me right down into the earth. At first it was all great fun—he joked and helped me over the difficult places, and was very interesting. Then I suppose he got on my nerves. He kept on warning me about precipices, and made me listen to water trickling hundre
ds of feet below, and when we’d climbed down and down for hours I suddenly realized how completely I was lost and dependent on him. We sat down on a rock, and he made his torch throw ghostly shadows about, and—oh, I can’t explain it—I felt myself going all weak, and then he asked me to marry him—it was such a strange place to choose—and he talked and talked until I was quite dazed. One moment I thought I hated him for taking me down there at all, and the next I felt I just wanted to stay there with him for ever.”
“Take it easy,” said Garve gently, as her voice rose excitedly. “I can see there’s something very wrong somewhere. Maybe after all it’s just as well you told me. I know what we’ll do. I’ll stay here and have some tea with you, and then I’ll stroll over and tell Hayson you’re indisposed, and keep him occupied for the rest of the evening.”
“Do you think you can?”
Garve grinned. “I’m quite certain I can.”
“All right, then,” said Esther meekly. “Now, let’s talk about something nice.”
For the next hour Garve set himself to chatter foolishly. Most of the time he talked with one eye on Esther, noting with rising anxiety her flushed face and heavy shadowed eyes. As soon as dusk fell she became uneasy again, and suggested going indoors. She watched in silence while Garve fastened the big windows, and sighed with relief as the lights went on.
“I think I’ll go upstairs and read for a little,” she said. “I can always ring for the servants if I want anything.”
Garve nodded, but wished horribly that he could stay and look after her himself.
“By the way,” Esther added as he prepared to leave, “you didn’t tell me about your dream, after all.”
“Oh that!” said Garve. He looked into her eyes until her lids drooped over them. “I dreamt you were marrying me. Our subconscious minds play queer tricks, don’t they? Good-bye—and don’t worry.”
“Good-bye—and thank you.” Her pathetic little smile followed him down the drive, and as he turned into the highway she waved.
“Poor kid,” said Garve to himself, feeling less like a hard-bitten reporter than ever in his life before.
8. Thrust and Parry
Garve’s forehead was puckered with deep lines of thought as he covered the short distance which separated the Willoughby house from the square stone dwelling which Hayson rented. He felt ill at ease, and a little uncertain of his next move. He had nothing against Hayson—the man had upset Esther, it was true, but he was not the first suitor to have pressed his plea with more vigour than consideration. Esther was in a highly emotional frame of mind, and perhaps when she had had time to think the matter over she would regard Hayson in quite a different light. Anyway, it was really none of Garve’s business, as he had said, and, little though he liked the man, he could not see that he had any substantial grounds for picking a quarrel with him.
Hayson, smart and self-possessed as usual, opened the door himself in reply to Garve’s knock. As he looked out, and before Garve spoke, there was a moment of uneasy silence which lasted just a fraction longer than was strictly polite.
“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” said Garve apologetically.
“Indeed, no,” replied Hayson, staring. “Come in, my dear fellow; come in and make yourself comfortable.”
“You seem surprised to see me,” observed Garve.
“Surprised?—no, no, honoured, I assure you. I was just wondering what you had done to your face—that was why I stared so rudely. Here—you’ll find this chair all right. Will you smoke?”
“If you don’t mind,” said Garve, “I prefer a pipe. He glanced appreciatively round the spacious room, which was furnished with an almost extravagant regard for comfort. “Cosy place you’ve got here.”
Hayson’s lips smiled, but his dark eyes had no laughter in them. It was all like the cautious opening to a deadly duel with rapiers.
“Snug, isn’t it? I work such a lot in uncomfortable places that I feel entitled to a little luxury at home. The house is small enough, but ample for my needs. This, as you see, is the lounge, and the next room is my study. I’m afraid it’s too untidy to show you—my collection of relics has grown so large lately. Some time you must see it—I’ve had a small laboratory fitted up and a dark room for my photographic work, of which I’m very proud. I like to think there is nothing like it in Jerusalem. But tell me —you have met with an accident?” “Oh, this?” Garve’s hand crept to his face. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “you weren’t far wrong about Hezekiah’s Tunnel. It’s the devil of a place.”
“Ah! You had a fall?”
“Several—but it wasn’t that that did the damage. I wish I’d taken your advice now about that guide fellow. He was a regular cut-throat.”
“Good heavens! Did he attack you?”
“He did. The blighter tried to pinch my money.”
Hayson nodded. “Well, I won’t be unkind and say, ‘I told you so.’ What happened?”
“I was lucky and managed to scare him off after we’d had a bit of a scrap. He got away—but the police will probably catch him. He’s fairly conspicuous.”
“I sincerely hope they do,” said Hayson, his dark eyes not leaving Garve’s face. “A scoundrel like that is a peril to the whole community.”
Garve suddenly wanted to laugh at the stark unreality of their conversation. Here he was lying flagrantly about Jameel’s fate, for reasons which he could hardly have analyzed himself, and Hayson was sympathizing with him over his unpleasant experience in tones which were far more polite than convincing. Actually, thought Garve, Hayson was probably feeling highly delighted over the whole episode.
Abruptly Garve changed the subject. “By the way,” he said, “the real reason for my visit is that I have a message for you from Miss Willoughby.”
“Indeed,” said Hayson, suddenly very intent. It was almost as though he had been waiting for her name to be mentioned. “I am expecting to see her quite shortly.”
“I’m afraid you won’t,” said Garve, and he could not keep a faint unpleasantness—a more than accidental abruptness—out of his tone. “She tells me she has a frightful headache, and asks me to present her apologies to you for not being able to see you to-night.”
“I’m sure she could not have chosen a more excellent ambassador,” said Hayson with biting courtesy. “I am so sorry to hear she’s indisposed. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go round at once and find out if there’s anything I can do.”
Garve puffed comfortably at his pipe. “Miss Willoughby specifically asked me to say that you were not to bother to call as she had gone to bed, and left instructions with the servants that she was not to be disturbed.”
“You have a retentive memory,” said Hayson. The antagonism between them was becoming more marked the more carefully they chose their words. It was touch and go, Garve felt, whether or not in a few minutes there would be an open, perhaps a violent, breach.
“I am always glad to convey a lady’s message,” he declared, watching Hayson’s eyes. “I understood that, having invited yourself to dinner, you proposed to take her to look at the walls by moonlight. I am sorry that she has missed the experience—they are a never-to-be-forgotten sight. But strong moonlight is so bad for a headache, and I advised her that in the circumstances it would be better to postpone the outing. Don’t you think I was right?”
“Undoubtedly,” said Hayson, with a smiling mouth. “It was very thoughtful of you. Tomorrow, no doubt, her headache will be better, and the walls will still be standing.”
Garve gently blew out a cloud of smoke and scattered it with his hand. “To-morrow I shall be taking Miss Willoughby for a dip in the Dead Sea. You will remember our making the appointment—you advised me that the road was not very safe. Perhaps the night after …”
“Yes,” said Hayson, and his face was a mask, “the night after.”
Garve silently studied his features. Rarely had he seen so strikingly handsome a man. The lips, perhaps, were a little too sensual, but the lines
of the face were almost beyond criticism. Beneath a fine forehead those dark eyes glowed and burned with almost unnerving power. It was Hayson’s eyes which always drew one’s attention in the end. His face was strong, pleasant, commanding. Garve was looking at his eyes now. They had a magnetic attraction. No wonder Esther had been distressed by their gaze—no wonder she had felt herself falling under their influence.
“By the way,” asked Garve casually, “have you got any other plans for to-night?”
“Nothing special,” said Hayson cautiously. He was always cautious (“scientific training,” thought Garve). “I was keeping the evening open, of course. Anything on your mind?”
“I should like you to take me down the quarries,” said Garve without beating about the bush.
“To-night? Good lord, no.”
“Why not? Darkness makes no difference when it’s dark all the time. Besides, there’s a reason.” Briefly Garve told Hayson of his discoveries in the quarries, and of his strong suspicions about a dump, still without giving any hint of Jameel’s fate.
Hayson studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. His impassive face gave nothing of his thoughts away. Presently he said, “I know the chamber with the carvings round the wall. I never dreamed there was a passage out of it to the tunnel. As I told you yesterday, I’ve never seen any signs myself of a munition dump, and if there were one I think I should have seen it. I imagine you’re wasting your time.”