‘Who is this Jurgen you talk of?’
‘One who was a great seeker after things in general and in particular for a certain lost Wednesday of his youth.’
‘You speak in riddles,’ she frowned.
‘Forgive me. It is the witching hour, the silence of this room and your presence, all of which have gone to my head a little. What are the effects of hashish like?’
Oonas settled herself more comfortably on her divan and half-closed her heavily-lidded eyes as she replied slowly:
‘At first, perhaps, you might not like it. There is a feeling that the walls of the room are closing in until one is imprisoned by them as in a tiny cell. Then they expand again until the room seems large enough to hold the whole universe and one is only a tiny pin-point at its centre. But later there comes the sensation of limitless power and the fulfilment of one’s dearest desires. For a woman, strong-limbed tireless lovers; more handsome than she could ever find in real life. And for men, women more beautiful and more expertly amorous than any they have ever possessed in the flesh.’
‘One can hardly wonder then that the addicts of the drug go to such lengths to obtain supplies of it’.
She shook her head. ‘Considerable quantities must be taken to ensure these dreams and frequent indulgence to such a degree plays havoc with one’s mental abilities; only the weak allow it to dominate them to that extent. An occasional hashish dream does little harm; but more usually it is taken in much smaller doses which are just sufficient to stimulate normal sexual desire. Few women of my acquaintance would regard with any favour a lover who did not pay them the compliment of taking a little hashish before a meeting. But perhaps you are one of these cold, unresponsive Englishmen who has no interest in such matters, Mr. Lemming?’
‘On the contrary, Princess,’ I hastened to assure her, amazed but intrigued by the strangely unconventional turn the conversation had taken.
‘You are fond of beautiful women?’ she asked softly.
‘Certainly. What normal, healthy man is not?’
‘As you are a friend of Mr. O’Kieff, then, I must arrange for you to visit our House of the Angels sometime; there you will find many.’
For a moment I feared that I might offend her by even admitting the possibility that I could be attracted by anyone other than herself, particularly the girls in what I assumed to be a white-slaving joint, but on second thoughts I considered it wiser to appear to accept the invitation in the detached spirit in which it was offered.
‘That is most kind,’ I said, and added, with a view to getting all the information I could, ‘Where is it? Here or in Cairo?’
‘Neither. It is in Ismailia; down on the Suez Canal. We use it as a clearing-house for the new beauties who are being sent from the West to our depots in the East, and for the Eastern girls who are being imported from Asia into Egypt and for the cities on the Mediterranean. Practically all of them are young novices with little experience and some are quite remarkable for their loveliness. That is why we call it the House of the Angels.’
‘It sounds like Allah’s Paradise on Earth.’
‘It is,’ she nodded. ‘Beauties of every nationality are gathered there for a few days only before they are sent on to begin their careers elsewhere. But, naturally, they are all at the disposal of our friends during the short time they are in Ismailia.’
‘What a marvellous invitation,’ I smiled, and as she now seemed to have settled down to enjoy this strange talk I thought the time had come to strike a personal note; so I went on quietly: ‘But not one of them could be as lovely as yourself. Your costume tonight as Cleopatra was sheer inspiration. Never in my life have I seen anyone who fulfilled so perfectly what my idea of the real Cleopatra has always been.’
‘Cleopatra was a bad woman,’ she announced, giving me a queer, not unfriendly glance.
‘Are you?’ I asked, looking her straight in the eyes.
‘Sometimes, if I can be persuaded that it will amuse me to be so.’
‘And is that very difficult?’
‘Very. Plenty of people try but few succeed, Mr. Lemming.’
‘You are harder-hearted than Cleopatra, then, Princess.’
‘Perhaps, but I lack her opportunities. One does not meet men like Antony and Julius Caesar in these days. I would like to have had Caesar for my lover.’
‘If history is to be relied upon she had many others; lesser men as far as power was concerned, perhaps, but probably much more handsome and amusing.’
She smiled again. ‘You, I think, could be amusing, Mr. Lemming. There is that something in your nice, dark eyes; but you would not call yourself handsome, would you? No.’
‘On the contrary,’ I smiled back. ‘If by handsome you mean those regular, rather girlish features which some women admire, perhaps I’m not; but I’ve always been told that I am decidely good-looking, so I make no bones about saying so and I’m rather proud of the fact.’
She studied me closely for a moment. ‘There is certainly an attraction in the strength of your face. I like your mouth and your good chin. But I can hardly judge you to the best advantage now with all that mess of paint you have on.’
‘May I come and see you again tomorrow when I’m all cleaned up?’ I asked.
‘Tomorrow?’ she echoed. ‘But you’ll be in Cairo then. The train leaves as 3 o’clock and I never receive till late in the afternoon.’
Her words recalled me with a little shock. So powerful was the fascination exerted by those blue eyes of hers, set in the broad, beautiful, golden face, that for some time past I had completely forgotten the real reason for my presence there. Time was slipping by and the Belvilles would be getting anxious about me.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I forgot; but you’ve probably been told a thousand times before that a man might even forget his own name when he’s sitting looking at you.’
She laughed—a deep, musical chuckle. ‘I hope that you have not forgotten yours.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s not quite as bad as that; and I’m here to collect a parcel from you. I do hope, though, that you’ll let me see you again, maybe in Cairo.’
‘There or elsewhere,’ she said lazily. ‘If so, perhaps I will allow you to try your persuasive powers on me—handsome Mr. Lemming. I warn you that it is unlikely they will prove adequate but, all the same, I think you’re rather nice.’
She moved to stand up and I was not altogether sorry to see that the interview was ended. Attractive as she was, it would have been madness on my part to get myself mixed up with this seductive houri who resided in the enemy’s camp, particularly with the police after me for murder. Yet, on an impulse as she moved away, I caught her hand and kissed it.
The moment she had left the room my glance switched to a dwarf desk-table which stood in the bay of a tall window masked by heavy curtains. I had noticed it immediately I came in and that numerous papers were scattered on it. If she came back and caught me prying into them her suspicions would certainly be aroused and she might call up her servants to detain me until Zakri Bey could be fetched. My masquerade as Lemming would then go up in smoke and my life be not worth a moment’s purchase. I could only attempt to fight my way out before he arrived and that might prove far from easy.
Yet the temptation to steal a glance at some of those papers was irresistible. From the way Oonas had spoken of hashish and the House of the Angels it was quite clear that she was up to the neck in O’Kieff’s organisation, and that correspondence, left lying so casually there, might easily contain valuable data to assist me in my vendetta against him.
I knew that I was taking an absurd risk as I tiptoed softly across the heavy carpet, but I banked on such a valuable thing as the tablet being locked up somewhere so that Oonas would be away a good couple of minutes getting it.
I did not dare to pick up any of the papers, so that at least she would not catch me red-handed, but I ran my eye as quickly as possible over the stuff spread out on the little table. There were five small
piles of letters and, without touching them. I could only read the top sheet on each. Three were in French and two in Arabic and, to my disappointment, they were all of a social nature, but from under one pile there protruded the top half of a foolscap sheet. It was headed ‘Nights of Collection from Gamal’, and consisted of a long typed list of names with a date against each. The dates started from mid-November and continued at intervals of only two or three days. It was now the early morning of December the 10th and as I ran my eye swiftly down the column I noticed that against the date December 11th stood the name Yusef Fakri.
There was no indication whatever as to where ‘Gamal’ lived, what sort of goods the people listed were collecting or where they were to deliver them when collected, but I memorised that date and the name Yusef Fakri as it seemed reasonable to suppose that the list had some bearing on O’Kieff’s nefarious activities. Another glance at the five piles of letters assured me that nothing else there would prove of assistance and I stepped back quickly, anticipating that Oonas might reappear at any moment.
Actually it was a good ten minutes before she rejoined me and when she did I was sitting, smoking quietly, on the low stool near her divan. She was carrying a large, flat package measuring about two feet by two-and-a-half. It was done up in sacking with thick cord, just as I remembered having touched it in the bottom of O’Kieff’s cabin trunk, and as I took it from her I felt a glow of satisfaction at the thought that I had pulled off my impersonation of Lemming with such excellent results.
‘You know where to deliver it?’ she asked.
‘Deliver it?’ I repeated. ‘But my job is to decipher the hieroglyphics on it.’
‘No, no!’ she shook her head impatiently. ‘You are to make the translation from the photographs we had done of it as soon as it was brought in. They will be delivered at your hotel first thing in the morning. The stone itself is to be handed over to Zakri’s agent directly you reach Cairo.’
My spirits sank a little. As they had already photographed the tablet it would now be impossible to prevent their learning its secret, but it was some consolation to know that having got it back would enable us to learn its secret too.
‘I’m sorry’, I said, ‘but I’m afraid Zakri Bey left me rather in the dark. I only thought that I was to take it to Cairo. What’s the idea of passing it on to his agent?’
‘Because he in turn will take it to Fergani the Seer, whom, it is hoped, may be able to tell us more about it after he has held it to him and gone into a trance.’
This rather unusual idea did not surprise me in view of the tremendous faith Egyptians place in the powers of their mystics and I did not like to display too much ignorance of their plans by questioning her further, but she added without prompting:
‘Zakri would take it himself if he were going to Cairo and Mr. O’Kieff thinks it better not to have it with him when he leaves Alexandria tomorrow; just in case the police become inquisitive seeing that his was the only baggage which was not searched before it left the ship. That is the reason they are using you for this purpose.’
‘Of course’, I said at once. ‘Probably Zakri Bey meant to give me instructions tomorrow morning about handing it over, but I have to be up early so perhaps you would prefer to do it now.’
‘By all means. You know the Sharia Kasr el Nil, in Cairo?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you will take it straight to the Banque de la Mediterranée Orientale which is at the top end, going towards the Bridge, on the left. The offices will be closed when you get there, but ring the night-bell and ask for Monsieur Carnot. Hand it over to him and he will give you a receipt for it.’
‘It shall be done just as you say,’ I agreed, and added on a sudden inspiration. ‘Bye the bye, I’d certainly like to try a hashish dream sometime. Can you tell me whereabouts in Cairo I could do so?’
She smiled. ‘As you’re one of us there’s no reason why you shouldn’t spend an evening at Gamal’s.’
At the mention of the name my heart leapt as it confirmed what I had already half-suspected. Gamal’s name headed the list on her desk and so the dates of collection from him referred to consignments of hashish.
‘It’s on the left-hand side about half-way up the second turning on the right out of Mohammed Ali Street going from the Opera Square. The ground floor is quite a well-known carpet-shop to which anyone will direct you. Zakri will give you a card to Gamal if you ask him.’
‘Thank you ever so much,’ I said. ‘I shall look forward to that. But I shall look forward infinitely more to seeing you again.’
‘Good-bye, Mr. Lemming.’ She looked so ravishing that I felt a sudden temptation to kiss her, but she seemed to sense it and, with an imperious gesture, extended her hand palm downwards. Submissively I kissed that instead of attempting to reach her soft, half-parted lips and, with a last smile from those strange blue eyes, I left her; congratulating myself on having got away with both the tablet and Gamal’s address; but I was soon to find my self-congratulation was a little premature.
It had been very still in that dimly-lit room of hers and no sooner was I outside the door than I caught the faint sounds of distant shouting. As I crossed the first of the two long, garish salons I thought it was some drunken quarrel out in the street, but it grew perceptibly louder and, by the time I was striding across the parquet of the second, I realised it was coming from somewhere within the house.
Opening the far door I stepped out on to the landing and a grand hullabaloo instantly struck my ears. One glance over the balustrade was enough to show me what was happening. Half the front door stood open and wedged in it two figures were struggling fiercely—Harry in his clown’s get-up, and Lemming, naked now except for his underclothes and one arm of his light overcoat. A part of the garment hung from it and it was evident that Harry had torn the rest of it from off his back. The elephantine major-domo and two other Egyptian servants were standing there near them in the hall gaping, apparently not knowing which side to take.
‘Let me in! Let me in!’ Lemming was yelling. ‘Help me, you fools! I’ve got to see the Princess!’
‘Stop him! Stop him!’ Harry was shouting in reply. ‘Can’t you see he’s got no clothes on? He’s mad! Help me to throw him out!’
As I ran to the stairhead Lemming flung Harry from him and dashed inside. The second he saw me he began to shout again.
‘That’s the man! That’s not Lemming! I’m Lemming! Don’t let him get out! Don’t let him get out!’
I had been much longer with the beautiful Oonas than I had intended when I entered the house and, including my long wait while she fetched the package, I must have been there close on three-quarters of an hour. The second I saw Lemming I guessed that he must have hobbled as far as the main road and had had phenomenal luck in getting a lift immediately on a passing car back into Alexandria I saw that my delay was near proving my undoing.
For a second Lemming stood there in the middle of the hall clad only in his socks, vest and pants, pointing at me in wild accusation; but he presented such a comic spectacle that, to my immense relief, the two native boys suddenly began to laugh.
Harry, Clarissa, our taxi-driver and several other people, doubtless those who had given Lemming a lift, were now crowding into the doorway; but with my pistol and Harry’s help it did not look as if I should have much difficulty in dominating the situation and securing a passage to the open street. I began to run down the stairs and was just slipping my hand under the Red Indian tunic to draw my gun when a quiet voice said behind me:
‘What is the meaning of all this?’ and switching round I saw Oonas standing there, gripping a large automatic in a small but very steady hand.
8
The Tomb of the Bulls
The last thing I wanted was a bullet in the back and Oonas was holding the gun as though she were no stranger to it. From my very short acquaintance with her I had already decided that she was an extremely dangerous young woman and, knowing of her association with Zakr
i and O’Kieff, I had not the least doubt that she would shoot me if I attempted to draw my own weapon.
She was standing on the landing at the top of the stairs; too far above me for there to be any chance of my making a spring and grabbing her pistol. On the other hand, I felt that if I could only get down among the little crowd in the hall she would hesitate to fire there, unless she were a remarkably good shot, for fear of hitting one of her servants.
‘What is happening here?’ she asked sharply, raising her voice to a higher pitch.
Clarissa leapt into the breach most nobly. From the open doorway she pointed at Lemming:
‘This poor fellow has had too much to drink at the McPhersons’ party. We were taking him home, but he insisted on stopping here for a moment because he says he’s in love with you. The next thing we knew was that he’d pulled off half his clothes and was trying to batter in your door.’
‘That’s right,’ Harry supported her. ‘We tried to stop him but he’d rung the bell before we had a chance to get up the steps. We’re frightfully sorry you’ve been troubled.’
Lemming swung round on him indignantly. ‘You liar! It was your friend who lured me into that blasted car and …’
He got no further. I had been keeping a watchful eye on Oonas and she had turned her glance away from me to the others who were shouting at her from the hall. As Lemming swung round on Harry, I dived right on to him from the fifth stair.
We went down with an appalling bump but he broke my fall and I managed to retain my hold on the precious package.
Once again Clarissa acted with really splendid speed and decision. I had hardly launched myself on Lemming before she had spun on her heel and was pushing the little mob of curious onlookers clear of the door. Harry remained standing inside it just long enough to see me scramble to my feet, then he rushed to her assistance. One of the Egyptian boys flung himself in my path but I had my head well down, for fears Oonas should still take a flying shot at me, and it caught him in the ribs sending him spinning backwards.
The Quest of Julian Day Page 10