“From that time he has come out into the open, and with an utter disregard of everybody else’s views, proceeded to smash all the antiquated religious taboos which have kept the development of Turkey so far behind that of the Western world. And that brings us to a new phase in Turkish history.”
Sir George Duncannon paused to light a cigarette and then went on. “At first of course we thought of Kemal only as a dissipated and ruthless but brilliant General. I have studied the problems of the Near East all my life so I may fairly say that I am something of an expert and I can honestly assure you that neither I nor others equally well-acquainted with the situation considered that there was the least likelihood of Kemal succeeding in getting the people genuinely to accept the reforms he advocated. Yet he has succeeded and it is my belief that he has succeeded beyond his wildest hopes.
“The Turks are almost entirely a peasant population. Lazy, ignorant, hidebound with tradition, accepting blindly as their rule of life on the smallest issue the decisions laid down thirteen hundred years ago by a fanatical soldier preacher, in the Koran. Their only good quality is that they make loyal and courageous troops. All business in Turkey before the Kemal era was transacted by Greeks, Armenians and Jews. The Turks despised such men and all their activities. The majority of these they have now butchered or deported, so how could one expect the country to carry on. Yet it does, and is slowly returning to prosperity.
“Kemal forcibly confiscated the fezzes of the entire population and made them wear peaked caps which, being contrary to the holy word, had always previously been the distinguishing mark of the hated unbeliever. He has abolished the harems and torn away the veils of the women, giving them equal status with men. Their whole law consisted of the Koran and its commentaries. He has torn it up and instituted the German Commercial, the Italian Penal and the Swiss Civil, Codes. He has done away with the religious ban upon images in the form of man or beast and set up statues of himself, which one would have thought would rouse these people to a frenzy. He has banned the ancient script and introduced our Latin alphabet. He has even gutted the Turkish tongue of all its foreign Arabic sounds and altered the whole language so that grown men and women have had to go to school again in order to learn to talk to each other. It is almost past belief that the Turks should submit to such things but there it is! In less than ten years this one man has utterly changed the life and outlook of his whole people.”
The banker stubbed out his cigarette and then resumed more slowly. “Now to return to the problem which interests me personally. The forces which have actuated the foreign policies of these Near Eastern countries in the past were highly complicated, but now that the Turks have withdrawn within their own frontiers the position is slightly simplified. However, the conditions which influence merchant banking in them are no less intricate than they were.
“In a fully civilised country the individual trader, and after all we merchant bankers are nothing but glorified traders, does not feel the immediate effects of an alteration in Government, or Government policy, on his trade. But out there, where every man’s throat is dependent on such things, there is a far more sensitive appreciation of the part which such changes may play in each individual’s problem.
“Now with Turkey rapidly recovering and adapting itself to western methods under an apparently stable Government I feel that we should invest in the country. If the present policy is pursued we should have what almost amounts to gilt-edged security. Yet I, who have studied the question all my life, still hesitate to do so.
“I cannot, and it annoys me, put my finger on the spot where the canker that my imagination suspects really is. Yet somehow, without the least evidence to support my view, I sense a strong movement which is about to sweep the country.
“If there is such a movement I have not the least idea who is at its head or the object of it. It may be a new step which Kemal himself is contemplating. A volte-face to territorial ambitions perhaps, now that his country is getting on its feet again, or a complete reversal of his antireligious policy.
“Ibn Saud holds all Arabia; for the first time in many hundred years the warring tribes have united under his leadership. Ben Djellone, the Mahommedan Hitler of Algeria, is causing the French appalling trouble. Even the native regiments are deserting to him. At the price of reinstating the Caliphate and the law of the Koran, Kemal could form an alliance with those two in order to drive every Christian out of Palestine, Egypt and Northern Africa. That sounds fantastic, I suppose, but I cannot get any wholehearted confirmation from my people on the spot that Kemal’s reforms are really being accepted as permanent, and the lust of massacring Christians is in the blood of every Turk. They gave him the title of ‘Gazi’ “The Destroyer of Christians’ on that account, and he is such a dark horse that one can never tell what he means to do next.
“On the other hand this movement that I suspect may not come from Kemal at all but from the people. Perhaps his day is almost done and the religious reactionaries are about to rise against him. But if that happened it would be almost equally dangerous for us. The revival of religious fanaticism would mean certain trouble for Great Britain in Transjordania and the Arab Kingdoms which were part of the Turkish Empire before the War, over which we now have Mandated Powers.
“Well, there it is!” Sir George sighed a little wearily and leaned back in his chair. “My co-directors are pressing me, they have been for months past, to seize this apparently golden opportunity of investing heavily in the new westernised Turkey that Mustapha Kemal is creating. I have opposed them, almost entirely on instinct, with the argument that, if Kemal is hatching something, or his Government is likely to fall, we are almost certain to lose our money. I want someone like yourself to go out at once and investigate the situation at first hand. It will be a dangerous undertaking, mind you, for, if anything is going on, and they catch you trying to find out their plans, they’ll kill you without a second thought.
“The remuneration of course, if you take this job on, will be handsome, you may leave that to me, and you would have the additional satisfaction of knowing that you are also serving your country, since any information you may secure will be passed on to the Foreign Office and might enable them to avert serious trouble by acting in time if there are any grounds for the sort of thing I fear. Now, how do you feel about it?”
Swithin’s blue eyes twinkled. “I’m your man sir, I was afraid that you were going to offer me a job in an office but this looks the very thing for me.”
“Good—I’m delighted. I shall be able to give you further particulars during our voyage out to Athens, and you will have an opportunity to get a little practice in this newfangled pronunciation of the language, as one of my yacht stewards is a Turk.”
“Are there others with whom I am to work when I arrive in Constantinople,” Swithin inquired, “or do you wish me to play a lone hand?”
“I should have liked you to work with Brendon. He was a very different type of fellow to yourself but he had a lot of experience at this kind of thing and between you I think you could have found out anything there is to know. Unfortunately however he is out of the business now, so all I can do is to put you in touch with my old friend McAndrew. He has been established in Constantinople as a merchant for over thirty years so he should be able to give you something to go on, and he doesn’t miss much of the latest gossip in the Bazaars. Apart from that I fear I can give you little help once you arrive.”
Swithin nodded. “Yes, I should think Bazaar whispers can prove a very useful indication in a thing like this. Haven’t they given you any sort of pointer at all so far?”
“No. Frankly that is one of the things which strengthens my belief that we are up against something really big. The Bazaars are unusually, I might say uncannily, silent.”
“I see, but this chap Brendon that you mention. Is it quite impossible for me to get hold of him when I arrive. Even in half an hour’s chat he might be able to give me quite a lot of useful tips.”
/> “I’m sorry,” Sir George shook his head. “Poor Brendon was, in a way, your predecessor and I learned that he had been found murdered behind the station at Sirkedji only a week ago.”
CHAPTER VI
THE JEALOUS LOVER
For the next five days Swithin Destime lived on the top of the world. His was one of those happy mercurial temperaments which can readily forget even a serious set-back provided that new prospects are opening up before them.
Twenty-four hours after he had left Sir George Duncannon he was already telling himself that the fracas at Maidenhead had been a piece of good fortune in disguise. Up to that time he had been wrapped up in his profession it is true, but now he looked at the other side of the question. Promotion in the Army was desperately slow, unless there was a first-class war, and there seemed little likelihood of that. With his meagre private income he would have had no chance to save, let alone marry, had he continued in the Brigade of Guards, and he would not have cared to transfer to a Line Regiment where the standard of expenditure was lower. For another fifteen or twenty years perhaps he would have carried on the old routine; route marches, rifle practice, manoeuvres, courses, inspections, and leave; rising in time to be a Brigadier, if he were lucky, but more likely to be retired as a Colonel with the best part of his life behind him and insufficient capital to travel widely or buy an estate to occupy his time.
But all that was past now. He had been given a job that mattered. Something which would give him an opportunity to use his initiative and wits and all the surplus energy that was always bubbling up inside him. He was now the confidential employee of a great financial house. The sum that Sir George had suggested as his remuneration had caused him to catch his breath, it was higher than Brigadier’s pay with full allowances, and Swithin felt that if he could produce an accurate summary of the information that the banker wanted there would be other jobs for him and probably a permanent appointment to watch the firm’s interests in the Near East.
That he might be risking his life on this secret mission did not cause him serious concern. He felt that the element of danger justified his acceptance of the high pay and he was fully confident of his ability to take care of himself. His luck was in again, there was not a doubt of it, and, as Diana was travelling out with them to Athens in the yacht, he felt that he would soon be able to put right with her the matter of having taken the job against her wishes. They were to call at one or two places on the way so that meant at least half a dozen days in her company.
He lunched with Peter Carew on his last day before leaving England and, to account for his high spirits, announced that he had been invited to spend some weeks cruising in the Mediterranean on Sir George Duncannon’s yacht.
“I know—Diana told me.” Peter nodded his fair head. “She’s got a young party hasn’t she. The Claydonffinchs, Boo-Boo Skelton, Harriet Helm and Conkey Malvern—I forget who else. Oh that writer chap Cæsar Penton and that other little filth Waldo Nauenheimer. I should hardly have thought you would find much in common with that crowd.”
Swithin’s spirits were a little dashed. Not having seen Diana since his visit to Belgrave Square he had forgotten her mention of a party and he had been blissfully picturing himself as her sole entertainer during halcyon days of glorious sunshine while the yacht steamed through the blue waters of the Mediterranean. As he could not disclose his projected activities in Constantinople he contented himself with the bald statement that he had never met any of them.
“Haven’t you?” Peter wrinkled his freckled nose in faint distaste. “They’re not a bad crowd really I suppose, only a bit wet if you know what I mean. Hado Claydonffinch is something on the Stock Exchange. He can be rather an amusing bird but his wife’s a kind of cooee-stupid blonde. They are being taken so that she can chaperone the party I expect. Old Lady Duncannon hates the sea so she never goes on these trips. Boo-Boo Skelton’s darned attractive but a most colossal snob. She’s determined to be a Grande Dame or nothing and Peers without money need not apply. She’s been trying to hook young Malvern for the last few months. I expect that’s why Diana asked them both—to give Boo-Boo her chance. You must have met Harriet Helm before. She’s got a hellish tongue but I suppose that’s why people invite her everywhere. She was Lady Verdmont for the inside of a year; then when he lost his money she chucked him up and reverted to her maiden name. Waldo Nauenheimer is her boy friend at the moment. He fairly stinks of money but I’ve always thought him a pretty dirty piece of work. Hitler slung him out of Germany and if he’s a fair sample of the type for whom the Germans have no use there’s a case of sorts for Hitler. Cæsar Penton’s a pretty smart young man. Clever enough to write the sort of thing that’s hailed as genius by the literary lion hunters, so society has taken him up. Diana’s always been keen on books and Cæsar’s not bad looking so he has been making the running pretty well with her. She’s evidently taken it into her head that she’d like to hear him do his stuff about the stars in the Adriatic, on the boat deck, for her especial benefit. So where you come in I don’t quite see—unless it is to act as runner-up to Cæsar—and make him jealous.”
“Perhaps that’s it.” Swithin agreed modestly. “But you seem pretty bitter about them all. Are they really as bad as that or is your liver out of order?”
“Neither,” confessed Peter. “You’ll probably find them quite an amusing bunch, but I’ve had some bad news this morning so I’m feeling pretty grim and unusually malicious I suppose.”
“I’m sorry. Is it anything where I could be a help?”
Peter shook his head and smiled lazily. “ ‘Fraid not—it’s just the governor up to his usual tricks.”
“What’s he done—cut down your allowance?”
“No, but you know I’d planned to go to Biarritz. Well he’s put that up the spout. He wrote me this morning that, owing to his efforts with the powers that be, His Gracious Majesty has seen fit to entrust his well-beloved servant Peter Heriot Carew with a Foreign Office bag—and that I’m to report at the F.O. on Monday.”
Swithin’s blue eyes twinkled. “Well, I may be an old-fashioned soldier, but honestly I don’t blame him.”
“You wouldn’t.” Peter’s lazy smile came again. “Still I suppose there are worse fates than tagging round Europe with dispatches for the Embassies.”
“Of course,” Swithin consoled him, “and you’ll meet any number of interesting people on your trips.”
“Oh to hell with interesting people!” exclaimed Peter. “I want to sun-bathe on the beach at Biarritz.”
The information received at that lunch was the first cloud to dim the opalescent blue to Swithin’s mental horizon. The second was to learn, when he met Sir George Duncannon on the Continental departure platform at Victoria the following morning, that they were not to travel with Diana and the rest of the party. The others had gone on ahead in order that the women might put in a day’s shopping in Paris and would arrive at Marseilles the night before them. Swithin’s companions on the journey were Sir George, a young man with a bulbous forehead named Vernon Bentley, who was the banker’s secretary, a prim-looking spinster who acted as stenographer and several servants. The third cloud, immense and threatening to obscure the whole of Swithin’s mental heaven, was his reception by Diana when he eventually arrived on board the Golden Falcon.
He had been travelling all night, and their embarkation was delayed by Sir George taking him first to his firm’s office in Marseilles where they spent some time transacting business. In consequence, by the time Swithin had unpacked, bathed and changed it was nearly twelve o’clock. When he left his cabin he went on deck and, guided by the sound of laughter, made his way to the stern of the vessel where he found a small cocktail bar open to the deck and shaded from the midday glare by a wide, striped awning. Beside the bar a little group were lounging, the women in light frocks, the men in flannels. Diana, enchanting in pale blue, was among them.
As Swithin turned the corner she was carrying on a laughing discussion wit
h a tall, good-looking young man who he afterwards learned to be Cæsar Penton. She caught sight of Swithin at once but ignored him for the moment in order to finish what she was saying to the writer, then she turned, gave him the most casual “Good morning” and, having airily announced “You know all these people of course—don’t you,” turned back to continue her conversation.
“I’m sorry but I don’t,” Swithin said a trifle curtly. He was not a nervous man but at that moment he felt distinctly awkward—which probably accounted for the fact that his voice sounded louder than he intended.
A sudden silence descended on the little group and they stared at him with faintly hostile curiosity. Diana introduced him to her other guests and suggested that he should order himself a drink. The rest gave him a lazy nod and then resumed their chatter with fresh animation.
Swithin asked the barman for a Gin Fizz and glanced at Diana but she was deep in her argument with the beautifully tailored Mr. Cæsar Penton again and never gave him another look.
He stood there for a few moments trying to think of some suitable remark by which to open a conversation with Lord Malvern and Miss Boo-Boo Skelton, who were standing nearest to him. They were talking of someone called Wendy Polkington and another person, presumably male, whom they referred to as ‘Rabbit.’ Swithin gathered that Wendy and Rabbit were living in sin together and the question was—how long this presumably blissful state of affairs would continue.
When there seemed to be no further speculation to be made upon this point Swithin broke the short silence that had fallen by saying, “I am looking forward tremendously to seeing Athens. Do either of you know it at all?”
Miss Skelton regarded him with a faintly surprised look in her enormous blue eyes and shook her beautifully poised head; while Malvern replied with a shrug of his narrow shoulders “Why no—but what does it matter where we go as long as we get good bathing—or are you an archæologist?”
The Eunuch of Stamboul Page 5