Jack sucked his cheeks in. ‘Pretty high, I would have thought. After all, although Durant Craig isn’t exactly a pal, I can’t deny he’s the first man you’d turn to if you were planning an expedition to Arabia. Von Erlangen probably underestimated just how eager Vaughan was. It must have been a real shock for him. He thought he’d have a gentlemanly archaeologist to deal with, not a hardbitten type like Craig who knew all about Ozymandias. Craig blamed me for the death of his Arabs, but that wouldn’t stop him blaming Ozymandias as well. He’d want to settle with Von Erlangen and no mistake.’ It was odd, he thought. The more he said the name the less scary it became.
‘I still don’t understand it,’ said Isabelle. ‘It made sense when we thought Von Erlangen was Mr Madison, an innocent art dealer who wanted to find a lost city, but I can’t make head or tail of it now. I mean, I follow everything you say about how he contacted Mr Vaughan and murdered the poor guard and so on, and why Craig would have acted the way he did, but why was Von Erlangen so anxious to get to Arabia? You said he was very cultured, but there must be more to it than a thirst for knowledge, surely?’
Bill Rackham looked startled. ‘That’s a very good question, Miss Rivers.’
‘It’s a damn good question, Belle,’ said Jack. He sat down in a chair and, tilting it back, lit a cigarette thoughtfully. ‘No, I can’t see that Von Erlangen had a merely academic passion for archaeology.’
‘Well, if you ask me,’ said Arthur Stanton hesitantly, ‘I think it’s obvious. The gold from the convoy went missing, didn’t it? I think he was after the gold.’
Jack’s chair abruptly jerked forward. ‘Bloody hell!’ He glanced at Isabelle apologetically. ‘Sorry about that. Arthur, you’re a genius. The gold! Of course, it hits you between the eyes, doesn’t it?’
‘But how could he have known where the gold was?’ asked Isabelle. ‘The Turks thought the Arabs had taken it, didn’t they? Craig’s Arabs.’
‘Craig denied it,’ said Jack. ‘If Craig or his men had recovered the gold, he’d have been cock-a-hoop. He’d have told everyone.’
‘But didn’t you say the gold had been taken by the Beni-whatever-it-is Arabs, Jack? I thought you knew that because of the way the bodies were treated.’
‘I didn’t say it. That’s what everyone assumed. Those poor devils of Turks had actually been massacred by machine-gun fire and mutilated afterwards.’
‘But Von Erlangen wouldn’t attack his own men,’ said Isabelle. She stopped and drew her breath in. ‘Would he?’
‘For a fortune in gold?’ said Jack thinly. ‘I think he very well might. He’d know enough to make it look as if the Arabs had done it, as well. He must have got the Turks to hide the gold and then massacred the lot of them. I’ll tell you something else, too. I didn’t see any machine guns when I was a prisoner in the fort, but Von Erlangen had at least two. Both the Vickers and the Lewis guns and the ammunition were taken from the B.E.2c when I was captured.’
‘But could he really do it?’ persisted Isabelle. ‘Physically, I mean? After all, he would be one man against a whole troop of soldiers.’
‘Easily,’ said Bill Rackham. ‘Especially as they’d be totally unprepared. Did you say a Lewis gun, Jack? That has a rate of fire of about six hundred rounds a minute, as I recall.’
‘And a Vickers is even faster,’ said Arthur. ‘That’s about seven hundred rounds a minute. He could do it, Isabelle.’
‘All right, I suppose he could, if you’re so sure. But why’s the gold still there? Why wait all this time before trying to get hold of it?’
‘It might not have been safe for him to try and get it,’ said Rackham. ‘We know he went to America after the war and set up as an art dealer. He was probably trying to get enough money together to get back to Arabia when he went to prison.’
‘He’d have a problem actually moving the gold, too,’ said Arthur. ‘I don’t know how much there is, but it’s heavy stuff to cart about.’
Jack clicked his fingers. ‘Exactly, Arthur. You’ve got it. That’s why he needed Vaughan to pay for an expedition. He’d need help to transport the gold back to civilization from this lost city.’
‘If the city exists,’ said Rackham sceptically. ‘After all, it would be easy enough to paint a picture of an imaginary place and produce a few bits and pieces to convince Vaughan there’s really something out there.’
‘It exists, all right,’ said Jack thoughtfully. ‘Basak, my guard, told me the massacre had happened in a deserted city. They’re not that uncommon, Bill.’ He drummed a tattoo on the table. ‘D’you know, it’s just as well for Vaughan that he did ask Craig along to the meeting that afternoon. Otherwise, Vaughan, the poor sap, would have forked out for this expedition and, as soon as Von Erlangen got to the city, I bet he’d have been murdered for his pains.’ He shook his head reflectively. ‘Nothing can make me love Craig, but I don’t half feel grateful to him.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ said Rackham. ‘I’ll say this, though. Once we do manage to get our hands on Craig, it’ll do wonders for his defence when it becomes known exactly who Madison was. If Craig has a decent lawyer, I wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to get away scot-free.’ He cocked an eyebrow at Jack. ‘How would you feel about appearing for Craig in court?’
‘I suppose I will, if I have to,’ said Jack unenthusiastically. ‘I can’t say . . .’ He broke off as Isabelle gave an excited squeak.
‘Jack! Look!’ She was pointing at the poem in the front of the book. ‘It’s all about treasure! A hundred thousand dragons lie, Underneath an Arabian sky. The Silent Ones, when asked, will measure, the hidden way to dragons’ treasure. Dragons collect treasure, don’t they? In fairy tales the dragon always has a hoard. The treasure must be the gold, the gold from the convoy.’
Jack looked to where she was pointing. ‘Good Lord, Belle,’ he said softly. ‘You’re right.’
Isabelle laid the book flat on the desk. They all studied it intently. ‘There’s another clue,’ said Jack. ‘Look at the title. A Tide In The Affairs Of Men. You remember Julius Caesar, don’t you, Arthur? We did it at school.’
‘A tide in the affairs of men? Hang on a mo. Yes, I’ve got it. There’s a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune,’ said Arthur softly. ‘I say, Jack! Fortune!’
ELEVEN
All four stared at each other. ‘So what we’re saying is that somewhere, somehow, hidden in this book are the directions to a fortune?’ said Rackham. He sat down, shaking his head slowly. ‘How come Professor Bruce missed it?’ he demanded.
‘He doesn’t know what we know,’ said Jack. ‘After all, we know – or I’m as certain as I can be of anything – that Von Erlangen stole the gold convoy and hid it in the desert.’ He ran his hand round his chin thoughtfully. ‘Why’s he writing a coded message? He must know where the gold is.’
‘Perhaps he was afraid of forgetting it?’ said Isabelle doubtfully. ‘Maybe he painted the pictures to remind himself where it was.’
Arthur clicked his tongue. ‘I can’t say I’m convinced.’
Isabelle wriggled in dissatisfaction. ‘Neither am I, but it’s the only reason I can think of.’
‘Miss Kirsch,’ said Rackham suddenly. ‘Miss Kirsch who might be Freya Von Erlangen. I bet he painted the book for her. He was very ill in prison. He was nearly a goner. If he had any feelings at all for her, he’d want to make sure his secret didn’t die with him.’
‘But you found the book in Von Erlangen’s room, didn’t you?’ objected Arthur.
‘He must have taken it back,’ said Jack. ‘Say Bill’s right and he did paint the book in prison. I doubt if he’d give Miss Kirsch or whoever the key to the code, because that doesn’t square with what I know of him. He wouldn’t want to risk having the gold pinched while he was in stir.’
‘He might have intended to give her the key if he was ill again,’ suggested Isabelle.
Jack nodded. ‘Yes. He probably wouldn’t mind her having it if
he was dead, but once out of prison, he’d want to keep the book safe and sound.’
‘So safe and sound he brought it with him,’ said Rackham. ‘Yes, that adds up. I wish to goodness we did have the key to the damn thing,’ he said in irritation. ‘If there really is a convoy of gold lying in the desert, the government will be interested, to say the least.’
‘Can’t we have a go at cracking it?’ asked Isabelle. ‘After all, we’ve got a good idea of what it’s about.
Jack looked at Rackham. ‘Why not?’ He picked up a pencil from the desk. ‘Describe the pictures, Isabelle, will you? Something might click.’
‘All right. The first picture is of an Arab. The second is of palm trees at sunset and the third picture is of a lot of rocks. Hang on. That’s three pictures altogether and the next page has three pictures too, arranged in a triangle. There’s a big flock of birds, some camels and a picture of some soldiers.’
‘Turkish soldiers,’ said Jack, looking over her shoulder.
‘Turkish soldiers, then. The next page has . . .’ She paused while she counted them up. ‘Eleven pictures all together. ‘There’s one of oil drums, the next one is some odd looking black tents . . .’
‘Arab tents,’ interposed Jack.
‘And a battery of guns.’
‘Field-guns,’ said Arthur. ‘Artillery. Isabelle, how many pictures are on the next page?’
She turned the page. ‘There’s only three but the page after that has nine.’
Rackham sat up. ‘Maybe it’s an alphabet code.’ He jotted down the alphabet quickly. ‘Miss Rivers, how many pictures are on the first page?’
‘Three.’
‘Equals C. The second?’
‘That’s three, as well.’
‘Oh. C,C.’
‘It’s not looking good, is it?’ said Jack. ‘There’s eleven on the third page, as you said. That equals L. I think we’re barking up the wrong tree but carry on. Page four?’
‘That’s three.’
‘C again. C, C, L, C.’
‘And page five is nine.’
‘That’s I. At least it’s a vowel.’
‘Page six has five pictures,’ said Isabelle.
‘And that’s E,’ said Arthur. ‘Another vowel.’
Rackham tapped the pencil on the table. ‘This can’t be right. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘They look like Roman numerals, don’t they?’ said Jack. ‘One hundred, one hundred, fifty, one hundred and one. I can’t see that gets us very far and the E tears it. Go on, though. I suppose we might as well carry on to the end of the book but I’m not very hopeful.’
After the best part of a quarter of an hour, they looked at the letters on the paper. ‘C, C, L, C, I, etcetera’ said Rackham moodily. ‘If you can make anything of that, you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.’
‘How about if we take every third letter?’ asked Isabelle, optimistically. ‘Does it give us ‘All is known, flee at once,’ or something?’
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘It gives us L, E, C, C, C, E, C, H, C and two letters left over at the end. There’s not enough vowels to make a readable message if we substitute letters for numbers like that.’ He tapped the pencil on his teeth. ‘It can’t really be a message of the ‘All is known, flee at once,’ variety, because that implies haste. If you were in a rush you’d hardly sit down and painstakingly paint dozens of pictures. Besides that, we’d worked out it was meant to tell us where the gold was.’
‘So what does it imply?’ asked Rackham in frustration.
‘Give me a few minutes,’ said Jack, retreating to the window sill. ‘I want to think.’ He hitched himself on to the sill, lit a cigarette and fixed his gaze upon a spot on the ceiling. Rackham, Arthur and Isabelle gazed at him with anticipation.
‘It’s not very exciting, watching Jack think,’ said Isabelle after a few minutes.
‘Well, you can think as well,’ answered her cousin absently. ‘I haven’t taken out the patent.’
Isabelle shrugged, picked up the pencil and idly started rearranging the letters to pass the time.
Jack finished his cigarette and stood up. ‘Look, I’m going to assume that although Von Erlangen was an officer he wasn’t a cipher expert. That means he’d probably use one of the common military codes.’
‘What, such as the Playfair code, Jack?’ asked Arthur.
‘I’d say that was the obvious choice, yes.’
Bill Rackham and Isabelle looked at each other blankly. ‘You’ll have to explain what you mean,’ said Rackham. ‘I’ve heard of it but I never did any signalling work.’
‘The theory is simple enough,’ said Jack. ‘You need an alphabet square.’ He walked over to the table, picked up the pencil and a piece of paper, and marked six lines down and six lines across. ‘You see what I’ve done. I’ve divided it into twenty five little squares, one square for each letter of the alphabet.’
‘But there’re twenty-six letters in the alphabet,’ pointed out Isabelle. ‘Or there were last time I counted.’
‘Ah, but in this system you pretend you’re a mediaeval monk or an ancient Roman and count I and J as one.’
‘You need a keyword now,’ said Arthur. He glanced at Isabelle. ‘Choose a word.’
‘What, any word?’ She looked down at the paper in her hand where she had arranged the letters I.E. Simes, R.A. in a neat little pyramid. ‘Could this be the key word, Jack?’
He looked at it critically. ‘You’d have to be goofy to send the key word and the cipher together. And you’ve got a repeat of I, S and E in it. Ideally, you don’t want any repeated letters.’
‘If there are any you simply leave them out,’ said Arthur.
‘Ter-rue. OK, we fill up the remaining squares with the letters of the alphabet that don’t occur in the key word.’ He quickly filled in the squares. ‘Like this. And, having got our alphabet square, we can read off the code. Let’s say the letters we culled from the book are indeed the message.’ He tapped the sheet of paper Rackham had written on. ‘Now, if you’re putting a message into code, you substitute it with the letter on its immediate right.’
Rackham nodded. ‘I see. So if you’ve got a message and want to put it back into plain English, you read off the letter to the left.’
‘That’s right. Or left, I should say. What have we got? C, which gives us D, and then a repeat of C. DD. Then we’ve got LC, which becomes ND, and I, which is at the beginning of the row so we substitute it for the letter at the end which is R . . .’
‘I thought this was meant to be simple?’ complained Isabelle.
‘Don’t be so impatient, old prune. And the next letter is E, which gives us S, then F, which gives us A and C again which gives us D. Another C – I feel as if I’m all at sea – which is D and E which gives us S once more.’ He looked at the letters he had written down and scratched his nose. ‘D, D, N, D, R, S, A, D, D, S. I could have a crack at pronouncing that, but it’d sound as if I needed false teeth.’
‘It sounds half-baked,’ said Isabelle.
Jack scratched the side of his nose. ‘Well, it is, really. We don’t have the key word and we don’t have a coded message to read. I can’t believe that C, C, L, C and so on is the code. It’s too easy.’
Isabelle threw the pencil at him. ‘Do you mean to tell me that we’ve been fiddling around with bits of paper when we could have been having dinner?’
‘It was you who wanted to have a crack at the book,’ said Jack, dodging the pencil and returning it to her with a grin.
‘It’s about time I was off,’ said Rackham, standing up and boxing his papers together. ‘I’ll ask Superintendent Ashley to interview Vaughan again. He might know more than he’s let on about the location of this city.’ He paused, looking at Jack. ‘Do you want to talk to Ashley first? I don’t want to say anything that you’re not happy with him knowing.’
‘Tell him, Bill,’ said Jack, reaching for his hat. ‘Tell him everything.’ He buttoned up his coat, avoiding Rackham
’s eyes. ‘I’d . . . I’d be grateful if you could do that. I think a dickens of a lot of Ashley and I don’t know how he’s going to react.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ said Rackham reassuringly. ‘You just wait and see.’
Jack, Isabelle and Arthur turned the corner into the crowds on the Strand. ‘Where shall we eat?’ asked Arthur.
‘There’s always the Savoy,’ suggested Isabelle.
‘I might have known,’ said Arthur with a grin. He turned to Jack. ‘That’s all right with you, isn’t it?’
‘Fine,’ agreed Jack absently.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Isabelle.
‘It’s Freya,’ he said slowly. ‘If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have made it, you know? If she is Miss Kirsch, she must know Von Erlangen murdered the prison guard. She’d know an innocent man died.’ His face twisted. ‘I don’t like to think of her mixed up in it.’
‘She might not be,’ said Isabelle. ‘After all, you said he was a secretive type. It would be easy enough to say he was planning to escape without going into details.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Arthur. ‘Not that we’re sure she is Miss Kirsch, of course,’ he added. They stopped on the corner of the entrance to the Savoy Hotel, waiting for a stream of cars and taxis to go past. ‘It beats me why she married a swine like that.’
‘She must have been very young,’ said Isabelle. ‘She’s our age, isn’t she, Jack? And, after all, he was a Von Something. Poor thing,’ she added softly. ‘She was frightened of him, wasn’t she?’
He nodded. Freya must have felt trapped. If he ever met her again, could he persuade her to trust him? He’d like to have her to trust him, to see her smile, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t married any longer. She was free . . . ‘God Almighty!’ he said, stunned. ‘It’s her. The woman in black coming out of the Savoy. It’s Freya Von Erlangen.’
Jack dived through the traffic and, threading his way through the crowd on the opposite pavement, intercepted the woman in black.
It was Freya. She looked anxious and annoyed as he stood in front of her, effectively barring her way. She obviously didn’t recognize him.
A Hundred Thousand Dragons Page 16