‘Then if the man you suspect has got it, the police or customs are certain to find it in his baggage when we dock this afternoon.’
‘I doubt that. He hasn’t the least reason to suppose anyone on board suspects him but, all the same, he’s bound to guess they’ll go through everybody’s stuff before we land, and he’s much too clever to risk getting caught that way.’
‘What will he do, then?’
‘Pass it on to a confederate,’ I replied. ‘Probably one of the crew who could conceal it safely until the search is over and smuggle it ashore later, or lower it over the side into a boat at night. That’s what we’ve got to prevent and where I want your help. It’s much too big for him to bring out of his cabin without our spotting it. We must take turns in watching, and if he does bring it out, mark down the man to whom he hands it.’
‘Of course we’ll help,’ Harry agreed eagerly. ‘I’m jolly grateful to you, Julian, for what you’ve done already, and for keeping mum last night when the Captain questioned you about our expedition.’
‘You’re going on with it then, in spite of Sir Walter’s death?’
‘You bet we are. Naturally we’re terribly cut up. It’s simply horrible to think of the poor old chap being struck down like that; but we must carry on if we possibly can.’
‘Why must?’ I asked.
‘Oh, for a number of reasons. For one, I’m sure he’d wish it. For another, Clarissa’s got a whole packet sunk in this show. The devil of it is, though, we’re scuppered before we start unless we can get that tablet back.’
‘But surely you’ve got a translation of it?’
‘No. The old man was so frightened of the secret getting out that he wouldn’t have one done. It was for that reason, too, that he took only the top half of it with him to England and left the bottom half with Sylvia in Cairo.’
I nodded. ‘Then we’ve darned well got to get it back somehow. If I’m right about it being the thing I felt in O’Kieff’s trunk we will, too, providing we keep a careful watch on him.’
‘Which is his cabin?’ Harry inquired.
‘No. 14. Just behind you to the left there. But for goodness sake don’t look now.’
‘Then he’s the old boy with the wavy white hair like a wig?’ Clarissa whispered.
‘That’s him; and, believe me, he’s no small-time crook. He’s so big that the police have never been able to get anything on him yet.’
Clarissa’s blue eyes widened. ‘This really is rather thrilling, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll get a thrill all right if only I can land that devil for murder,’ I muttered. ‘But in the meantime I’ve had no breakfast except some Harrogate toffee and a few chocolates. Will you hold the fort while I find myself some soup and biscuits to fortify the inner man? I think I’ll pack too, while I’m about it, so as to leave you quite free after lunch.’
As soon as I had done my packing, I rejoined them and we spent the half-hour before lunch together. They went down directly the gong sounded and came up again as quickly as they could to let me slip away. Directly I’d fed they went off to do their packing and by three o’clock, when they joined me again. Alexandria was in sight.
For the next hour we watched the city as it rose out of the flat horizon with steadily-increasing clearness. It was far larger than the Belvilles had imagined and, stretching as it does for thirteen miles in a series of bays right along the coast, it certainly is an impressive sight; but, as I explained to them, the whole city consists almost entirely of this maginficent long front. There is hardly any depth to the place at all; it tails off into masses of squalid hutments and ragged streets, in most places not more than a quarter of a mile inland.
Alexandria is not, and never has been, a really Egyptian city; it was founded by Alexander the Great after his conquest of Egypt. When the Macedonian Empire disintegrated at his death, one of his great captains, Ptolemy, took Egypt as his portion, and he and his successors ruled it from Alexandria for three hundred years. As the Ptolemys were Greeks, their capital became to Greece what New York has to the Anglo-Saxons in modern times; but long after the glory had departed from Greece herself, Alexandria radiated the light of Greek culture over all the ancient world. Romans, Arabs, Turks, French and English conquered it in turn through the centuries, so that to-day it is one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world, but its polyglot population still contains a large Greek element and has little in common with that of the rest of Egypt.
The seven bays which make up its waterfront are not easy to identify from the sea, but I was able to point out to the Belvilles the peninsular upon which had stood the original city where Ptolemys had reigned in such splendour, as the last independent dynasty of Egyptian Kings, until their line ended with the beautiful Cleopatra.
At the extremity of the mole jutting out from its northeastern end we could see the ruined Arab fort of Kait Bey which marks the site where the mighty Pharos, the great lighthouse counted as one of the Seven Wonders of the World, once towered to the skies; and as we drew nearer I could distinguish, among the big blocks that overlook the promenade running right round the sweep of the wide East bay, the Hotel Cecil, where we had all arranged to stay the night before going on to Cairo.
The Belvilles would have been more interested in their first glimpse of Egypt and I in telling them what I knew of Alexandria, if we hadn’t all been so anxious that O’Kieff or Grünther, both of whom had been in the cabin behind us for the last half-hour, should not pop out of it with the tablet unnoticed by us.
The ‘Hampshire’ hung about outside the harbour for some time but O’Kieff and his valet both remained secluded in the cabin. All three of us felt a growing sense of excitement as the ship at last drew in towards the dock. It seemed that O’Kieff must make some move soon unless he meant to try and run the tablet through himself, but in any case the dénouement of our day-long vigil could not now be long delayed. We were prepared to swear that nothing the size of the tablet had been brought out of the cabin since I had left it, and we intended to stick to O’Kieff like leeches once the move ashore began. I could hardly supress my impatience as I thought of the kick I’d get in watching the customs people undo that sacking-covered package in his trunk.
When one goes south to the sunshine, but does not actually cross the equator, one is apt to forget that everywhere in the northern hemisphere sundown comes early in the winter months although, of course, the sun does not set quite as early in the Mediterranean as in England. It was barely six o’clock when the ship was made fast against the wharf, but all the same I wondered vaguely if the ship’s time and land time differed, as I noticed that dusk was already falling, and falling much faster than it does at home.
There was a rush of passengers with their hand-luggage to the gangway immediately it was thrust aboard, although they might have known that there would be the usual tiresome delays, quite apart from the matter of the murder, and that even normally it would be the best part of an hour before they would be allowed off.
Numerous officials came on board and, among them, a number of Egyptian police, varying in colour, with the exception of their Chief Officer who was a tall, thin, beaky-nosed Englishman, looking very smart and businesslike in his well-cut uniform and red tarboosh. Evidently the Captain had wirelessed for them to meet the ship as we saw the Chief Purser lead them straight from the gangway to his cabin.
A glorious, salmon-coloured sunset now suggested a huge bonfire somewhere behind the town, throwing the long façades of big buildings into sharp relief, while out to sea visibility was fading rapidly. While we stood there, for about a quarter of an hour perhaps, daylight disappeared and the lights about the harbour began to prick the growing gloom here and there, turning Alexandria into a fairy city.
We were watching the metamorphosis when the Chief Purser suddenly appeared with the request that Harry and Clarissa would join the Captain in his cabin.
Harry shot me a dubious glance.
‘Go ahead,’ I nodded, and
added significantly, ‘I’ll keep an eye on your luggage.’
‘Thanks, Mr. Day,’ the Purser said as he turned away. ‘I’d be glad if you’d remain here, as we shall be wanting you in a few minutes.’
Evidently the Captain had reported all he knew of the murder to the police and they meant to check up on our stories separately. But O’Kieff was still inside and once he emerged I did not intend to let him out of my sight whatever happened.
The Belvilles had hardly left me when the Second Purser and two stewards came up to O’Kieff’s lair. I was not near enough to hear what passed between them and him but he stepped outside followed by Grünther, who was carrying his despatch case and wraps, and a moment later the stewards began to pass out his baggage while the Purser led him aft along the deck.
I waited for the stewards, my eyes glued to the precious cabin trunk as it seemed to me this was just the point at which it was likely to be spirited away to some carefully selected hiding-place below decks. Rather to my surprise, they humped it off with the other luggage; so I followed wondering anxiously what this special attention to O’Kieff portended. The little party thrust their way through the crush of passengers near the gangway and crossed to the far side of the ship which was facing away from the wharf.
The deck there was considerable less crowded, but a number of the less impatient passengers lined the rail, looking out over the harbour dotted with its innumerable small craft or haggling with the Arabs below who, packed in their flimsy boats, were endeavouring to sell them fly-whisks, fruit and a variety of junk. O’Kieff and his baggage were escorted along the deck behind the row of passengers until they came to a halt where there was a break in the rail and a shipside ladder had been lowered. With a swift glance over, I saw that a large motor-launch was waiting alongside its lowest step.
Up to that moment everything had seemed so simple. All I had to do was to keep fairly near O’Kieff when his baggage was inspected, so that if the customs people looked like letting him through without examining that package there would still be time for me to tip them off, and then, if it was the tablet he would be promptly arrested.
Now, apparently, all my calculations were to be upset. O’Kieff had no accomplice on board among the crew neither did he intend to smuggle his loot through the customs like a common little crook. As usual, he was doing things on the grand scale and had managed, somehow, to wangle special permission to leave the ship without having his luggage searched. If he really had the tablet, once he got it ashore all chance of tracing it would be gone, and, after that, all possibility of getting him for murder. In an agony of frustration I saw that he would get clean away with it unless I risked everything by intervening. But that meant facing him at once and exposing myself to recognition, which was the very last thing I wanted to do.
Just as I was striving to reach a decision it looked as if the luck had taken a sudden turn in my favour. A police sergeant came hurrying up.
‘No one is to leave the ship,’ he barked at the Purser.
‘Good gracious, man, why?’ inquired O’Kieff with bland surprise.
‘It is an order,’ said the sergeant.
I was just chuckling to myself at his having been caught out when he leant over the rail and spoke to someone in the launch below. Next moment a short, stout figure wearing a red tarboosh came swiftly up the ladder and stepped on to the deck. In the glow of the electric light I recognised him instantly as Ismail Zakri Bey and my heart sank like a stone.
Zakri was the Egyptian among the Big Seven whom I had met in Brussels and I saw their whole plan in a flash. Before O’Kieff left Marseilles he had arranged that Zakri Bey, who could give him diplomatic immunity from all landing formalities in Egypt, should come off to meet the ship and take him ashore. I was near enough to hear the two of them greet each other, while the police sergeant drew himself up and saluted smartly.
‘Sorry to have to bring you up on deck, Bey,’ O’Kieff was murmuring, ‘but there seems to be an order that no passenger should leave the ship as yet.’
‘That does not apply to this gentleman,’ Zakri Bey said quickly to the sergeant. ‘He is a friend of mine.’
‘Pardon, Excellency,’ replied the man, ‘but it is an order of the Miralai that all baggage must be searched before any passenger leaves the ship.’
O’Kieff laughed, and I gave him full marks for his magnificent self-assurance, as he said, ‘Well, you can search mine if you like. I haven’t the least objection.’
‘No, no.’ Zakri shook his head. ‘We have no time.’
He turned to the sergeant again. ‘Mr. O’Kieff is my personal guest and I take full responsibility. Tell your officer that we had to go ashore at once to keep an important engagement. Come now,’ he added to the stewards, ‘put all these things in the boat.’
The sergeant did not dare to protest further, but saluted again and, to show his efficiency before such an important personage, began to shout curses at the Arab riff-raff below for the noise they were making as they endeavoured to coax piastres out of the watching passengers.
Zakri Bey’s arrival on the scene caused me finally to abandon any thought of trying to prevent O’Kieff from leaving the ship. Zakri was a power in the land and he obviously did not intend to allow that cabin trunk to be opened whatever happened. If I attempted to force an issue he would simply overrule everybody, have the trunk thrown into the boat and make his peace with the authorities afterwards. Besides, if one of them failed to recognise me under the thin disguise of my brown beard it was quite certain that the other would. I could only stand there half-choking with fury at the way O’Kieff had slipped through my fingers, as he followed Zakri down the ladder.
The sergeant had passed along the deck, still shouting at the Arabs, while I leant over the rail gloomily watching the luggage being loaded into the launch. It was just pushing off when I heard a voice call up to me from the semi-darkness below, a little further aft.
‘Mr. Day, sir! Saida, Julian effendi! Please to regard me! What pleasure to welcome you to Egypt again!’
I turned, and there, standing up in a small motor-boat ten yards away, was a tall figure in a long, wide-sleeved silk jibba and tarboosh, with a crooked stick hanging over one arm and two rows of enormous gleaming white teeth shining up at me out of a dark, smiling face. It was Amin Khattab, the admirable Arab who had been my dragoman during my three months’ stay in Egypt the previous winter.
‘Welcome, Mr. Day, sir! Welcome!’ he was crying cheerfully. ‘I come by train to-day from Cairo to be here to meet you.’
How he could possibly have known that I was on my way out to Egypt again passes my comprehension. I have often heard stories of Indian bearers turning up in the same way to meet ships in which their old masters were returning but such a thing had never previously happened to myself. It is just one of the mysteries of the East that native servants do often travel many miles to be on the dock for the purpose of securing their old jobs; although how they receive the news that their former employer is on a particular ship is a thing that no European has ever fathomed.
The second I saw Amin I realised that there was still a chance for me to keep in touch with O’Kieff. I had no doubt at all now that he had the tablet. Zakri Bey having come off to meet him and ensure his baggage immunity from inspection proved that, at all events to my satisfaction. Once he had the tablet ashore he could easily fake up some story to show that it had come into his possession after he had landed, So there was little hope of pinning the murder on him through it; but the tablet itself was of immense importance. The Belvilles would certainly have gone to the Captain that morning and insisted on O’Kieff’s cabin being searched if I hadn’t persuaded them not to. They would be as sick as mud when they learned that I had allowed him to get away with it. I knew that I stood no chance at all of getting it back forcibly from Zakri and his crew but now fate had given me an opportunity to follow them and see where they took it, that seemed the very least I could do.
The Sec
ond Purser was still standing at the gap in the ship’s rail so I tapped him on the shoulder and said quickly: ‘That’s my old dragoman in the boat below there. I shan’t be a moment, but I want to fix things up with him.’
Without waiting for his reply I pushed past him and, waving a greeting to Amin, ran down the ladder. As Amin’s boat came alongside I lowered my voice and muttered to him in Arabic, ‘You saw that launch go off just now? There may be trouble, as I am not supposed to leave the ship yet, but I want to follow it. Are you game to take me?’
He glanced up at the Purser and nodded. ‘I am a Cairo guide, so the ship people do not know me. It shall be as you wish, my lord. Step in the boat, please.’
Without further ado I jumped down beside him. He gave an order to his boatman and the motor purred.
‘Hi! Come back, there!’ shouted the Purser. But I took no notice.
‘Hi!’ he called again. ‘Come back at once! You’re not allowed to land without a permit! Come back there, or you’ll be in trouble with the police!’
I turned and then cupping my hands, yelled back: ‘Don’t worry! I’ll attend to any formalities later. Ask Mr. Belville to see my baggage through the customs.’
By that time we were fifty yards from the black bulk of the ‘Hampshire’. The Purser’s reply was drowned among the excited-murmur of the passengers near him and the shrill cries of the Arab hawkers in the crowd of boats alongside.
Zakri Bey’s launch had a good quarter of a mile’s start of us and was heading for the harbour mouth, but we could see his lights quite clearly and, as our boat was a good one, I felt we had a decent prospect of keeping him in sight.
‘How the deuce did you know that I was on my way back to Egypt?’ I asked Amin, as we settled down to the chase.
He grinned at me in the darkness and shrugged his powerful shoulders. ‘It was told to me that you were on this ship by old Mahmoud who reads the sands, and old Mahmoud never lies.’
Knowing that every Arab is an inveterate believer in fortune-telling and has the sands read for him at least once a week, I did not press the question further.
The Quest of Julian Day Page 5