“Think so,” she murmured. “Well, I’d do a year in prison if I could have your eyes. It’s a sin that eyes as blue as yours should be wasted on any man; but getting back to the chessboard, what move does the Red Knight, now clad in grey, mean to make next?”
“Wherever he moves he will be in danger from the White Queen,” Swithin replied promptly. Then, at that moment, she dropped her parasol and as he picked it up their eyes met. Hers were full of mocking laughter and as he turned away he kicked himself mentally for his folly in carrying on this game with her, yet he could not resist the temptation of adding: “How shall the hunted avoid the snare of the hunter?”
“If you refer to the goddess of my name, her arrows are weak weapons against the armour of a knight,” she replied, “but if to the ‘Beast’ every precaution is requisite. Has not the Red Fox his earth. Let him seek it and go not abroad for a season.”
“It is essential that he fraternise with late bomb-chucker number two in order to receive further communiqués.”
“Hope you then for further tidings from that source?”
“Yea, the bereaved one hath a ‘moll’ who is a stenog to one of the Mighty who imported her as a bedworthy piece of goods himself. This Nabob is a big shot in the tunnelling Company, or at least so bereaved one thinks and, as the trollop is an outlander, her boss confideth to her certain papers for tapping out on the old machine. Their nature is, so far, like next week’s weather to us, but our jealous and love-sick swain hopes to matriculate thereon. If his superstition is correct we may be able to fill in quite a piece of our little crossword.”
“Would this Nabob place such fateful matters in the handy-pandies of a chit?”
“Why not. She has no connection with Christmas pudding. Her sister danceth in the Folies Bergère and she probably knoweth nought of the true import of her labours.”
They had passed now from the big room to smaller ones beyond, where the bales of tobacco were stored and Stikolides, one of the clerks from the office, joined them. Lykidopulous duly presented him and then, as they moved on, spoke rapidly to him in his own tongue.
Between the rhythmic thudding of the presses Swithin just caught the words: “Where have you been all this … We have him now … at once, they can get here from … in ten minutes. I will keep them talking while … Hurry now, Stikolides!”
For a second Swithin stood quite silent. The presses thudded on, the drowsy hum of bees came from the garden, and a marvellous scent of flowers drifted in through the open windows. Then, without looking at Diana, he said in a swift whisper:
“Lucky he thinks I don’t understand Greek. I just heard him tell that other chap to telephone for the police. Evidently my description has been circulated. I’ve got to get out of here—and mighty quick.”
He turned as Lykidopulous rejoined them and said casually: “Have you heard yet from Constantinos regarding our offer?”
“Constantinos—yes,” beamed the Greek, “he write …”
“Fetch me his letter.”
“But I tell …”
“No, no,” Swithin protested blandly, “the letter—you bring—translate for us here—show Lady Duncannon the good business we make—yes-please.”
Lykidopulous paused for a moment, but Swithin’s air was so smilingly innocent that the Greek felt he could not possibly have any suspicion of his recent orders. He nodded quickly. “I bring—I show—fine business—you wait.”
No sooner was his back turned than Swithin whispered to Diana, “When he returns tell him I’m suffering from the heat, and that I’ve gone into the garden for a breath of air. Then ask him to give you more coffee in the office and say I said I’ll join you there. It’s thin, but keep him with you as long as you can—even a few minutes may help.”
“Yes, yes,” she replied impatiently, “for God’s sake don’t waste time—go!”
He opened a little side door and peered out. The coast was clear, but he did not leave at once. Instead, he turned to her with a cheerful grin. “I’m awfully sorry to have let you in for this, but I don’t think the police will worry you. As Sir George’s daughter you have a perfect right here, and they are not to know you are aware that I am anything but one of the firm’s employees.”
“Oh, for God’s sake go!” she repeated anxiously, “and do take care of yourself.”
“I will,” he promised, and slipped out into the garden, closing the door softly behind him.
No one was about, and under cover of a row of young ilex trees, he reached the landing stage unobserved, unmoored his boat and jumped in; a moment later he was heading for the centre of the Bosphorus.
Once in mid-channel he turned the launch down stream, and, aided by the current, it skimmed through the water under the feed of a fully open throttle. Then, seizing a piece of twine, he lashed the small wheel into its set position and dived into the cabin. When he emerged he was in the dirty dungarees and check cap again.
Within fifteen minutes of leaving the Tobacco Depot, he was opposite the Dolma Baghtche Palace, and turning in to the steps just south of it.
As the launch grazed the stone work, he flung a looped rope over a bollard, jumped ashore, and scurried into a nearby alley. Then he made his way up the steep hill, past the gasworks, across the open space, through the old cemetery by the Armenian Hospital and so to Tatavla.
As he pushed open the street door leading up to his flat, he gave a sigh of relief. The escape had been a narrow one. If he had not overheard the Greek he knew that he would have been occupying a cell in Ortakeuy police station by this time.
He climbed the stairs slowly, since he was rather tired, having had little sleep the night before owing to his long discussion with Arif. On the landing he paused smiling at the thought that no one could find him in this hideout, then he let himself into his hall sitting-room.
“Welcome,” piped a high thin voice. “When they telephoned me that you had left the Tobacco Depot I thought that you would come here.” It was the Eunuch, smoking placidly in the best armchair, and beside him stood two of his men who drew their automatics and levelled them at Swithin’s stomach.
CHAPTER XVII
TRAPPED
For a moment Swithin was completely nonplussed. If he had come face to face with Kazdim in the open street he could at least have made a bolt for it, but to find the Police Chief here, in his secret hideout, placidly waiting for him to put in an appearance, left him temporarily gaping and witless.
“Hello!” he exclaimed awkwardly; then realising that he must make some attempt to appear innocent, however useless it might prove, he added: “I don’t remember giving you my address when we met the day before yesterday on the old wall.”
The Eunuch’s rosebud mouth twitched into a smile. “That was an omission which I found it comparatively easy to repair.”
“But what are you doing here with these desperadoes?” Swithin waved a hand towards the other two Turks who stood stolidly by, their dark eyes watching his face intently and their pistols still pointed at his midriff, “and how did you manage to get into my flat?”
“We are the police.”
“I see. For the moment I was afraid that this was some kind of a hold-up, but if you’re the police I suppose you have the right of entry. Anyhow you might restrain your friends with the heavy armaments. A little carelessness and one of those things might go off.”
“Both of them would at a sign from me, but my people are so used to handling firearms that you need have no fear of any genuine accident. Sit down. I wish to talk to you.”
Swithin sat. There did not seem to be much option, but as he did so, he remarked with absurdly forced cordiality, “Well, fire away. If I have been unconsciously hobnobbing with some criminal you’re after, any information I can give you will be a pleasure.”
“It is information about yourself which I require,” piped the Eunuch.
“Indeed, I was not aware that I had broken any of the laws of your good city.”
“That
we will discuss later. You will tell me please, the true purpose of your visit to Istanbul?”
“Certainly,” Swithin agreed with a heartiness he was far from feeling. “As you apparently know already I have just come from the Tobacco Depot which was once the Palace of the Shah of Persia. Sir George Duncannon’s firm hold a controlling interest in that concern, and I was sent out by him to supervise its finances.”
“Do not trifle with me, please.” The Eunuch’s little beady eyes gleamed momentarily between their rolls of fat. “I asked the true purpose of your visit?”
Swithin was mentally berating himself for ever having walked into this trap. He recalled Diana’s taunt about amateurs who knew nothing of the game and it stung him afresh. No doubt an experienced agent would have taken measures to ensure his knowing if his hiding-place had been broken into, each time he returned to it. An inconspicuous piece of cotton sealing the door, perhaps, but in this case that would have been useless, as Arif had visited the place earlier in the day to secure the soiled dungarees which he was still dressed in. Now that he had been caught, he did not disguise the fact from himself that the chances of his getting out of the Eunuch’s clutches were extremely slender, but it seemed that a bold front was the only attitude to maintain, so he shrugged and repeated; “Sir George Duncannon sent me out to supervise the finances of the Tobacco Depot. That is the purpose of my visit.”
“So—and you have no other?”
“None.”
“Now!” Kazdim hoisted his enormous bulk forward in the chair. “You have a room at the Pera Palace Hotel. Is that not so?”
“I had until two nights ago.”
“Yet you rented this flat under another name immediately on your arrival here—early in July.”
“Yes, why not? I am a romantic soul, and felt that I would like to see something of the city under conditions which are not possible to any tourist.”
“Why did you give up your room at the Pera Palace so suddenly two nights ago?”
“I thought that I would like to live here instead.”
“Explain please why you did not notify them of your intentions and left all your heavy baggage behind?”
“Because I haven’t actually given up my room there. I shall return to it later.”
“A contradiction, Malik—note that,” Kazdim glanced up at the wiry little man who stood on his right. “First he said that he had a room there until two nights ago—now that he has not yet given it up—as to his returning to it—we shall see.” His great moon-like face broke into a smile of evil enjoyment as he slowly crushed out his cigarette with that air of terrible finality.
Beneath the smile which was beginning to feel stiff and frozen on his face, Swithin felt a cold chill of real apprehension. He knew that he was properly up against it, and that all these pourparlers were only due to the fact that the huge man before him took a subtle delight in playing with his victims.
In his mind, he sought desperately for a way of escape, but he could think of nothing. Again Diana’s taunt came back to him and he wondered miserably just what those gifted amateurs of fiction did when they had walked blithely into the arms of their enemies. Bulldog Drummond, he supposed, would have tackled the present situation with fantastic ease. Having the courage of a lion and the strength of a rhinoceros, he would have risked the bullets, grabbed the two ‘tecs’, one in each hand, brought their heads together with a skull-shattering crack and, seizing the twenty-stone Eunuch, carried him off across his shoulders as a memento of the occasion. Bulldog might not be exactly subtle, but at times he certainly possessed the advantage of being devastatingly heavy handed. Then there was that other fellow, an infinitely more dangerous gentleman adventurer, ‘The Saint’. Swithin had followed his amazing prowess in many countries, through fifteen novels, and admired him greatly. The remarkable flow of cheerful badinage which he managed to sustain even in the most desperate situations was a joy to read, and his methods a perfect example of how matters should be handled in the present instance. How ‘The Saint’ would revel in an encounter with Kazdim; his old enemy Chief-Inspector Claud Eustace Teal would lack flavour on his epicurean palate ever after. Swithin could almost hear the tall, slim, modern buccaneer burble one of his carefree witticisms as he placed an index finger gently in the middle of the Eunuch’s stomach. Then doubtless, a seraphic smile lighting his dancing blue eyes, he would lay his free hand upon the nearest pistol with lightning rapidity and reverse it, remarking brightly, ‘Brother, permit me. You are not holding that correctly—it should point the other way.’
Those were the sort of things he should be doing, Swithin knew quite well, but as it was, he sat there staring dumbly at the Eunuch, while the great brute placidly lit another cigarette and puffed at it thoughtfully, watching him with that unwinking stare by which a snake fascinates a bird.
He tried to nerve himself into attempting something, but he had neither ‘Bulldog’s’ strength, or ‘The Saint’s’ quick wits, let alone the courage of either, and although he had an automatic in his pocket, he felt certain that he would bungle the job if he tried to draw it. Filled with the bitter, hopeless misery of defeat, he knew that sudden violence would be simple suicide, for the two plainclothes men would shoot him like a rat before he could hope to get through the door.
Suddenly Kazdim spoke again. “You wear now the costume of a working man—why?”
“To keep the oil off my clothes. I came down from the Tobacco Depot in a motor-boat.”
“Indeed, and how do you explain all the other rags we have found in the cupboards of this flat?”
“Oh, I’ve always had a passion for dressing up,” Swithin replied with an attempt at brightness.
“You think such conduct in keeping with your responsible position as Sir George Duncannon’s financial representative?”
“Now look here,” Swithin stood up slowly, “I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but there’s no crime in having rented a flat as well as a room in an hotel or in possessing a collection of second-hand garments.”
“Did I say there was?”
“No, but you are questioning me as though I were a criminal, and I advise you to be careful. If you have anything to charge me with, you can do it at the nearest police-station. If not, you had better clear out, or I shall be compelled to seek the protection of the British Ambassador.” Swithin realised the futility of his bluff even as he made it. Sir George had fully impressed the fact upon him that he would be playing a lone hand and that in the event of his coming to grief he must expect no help from official sources. Now that he had been caught nosing into the highly dangerous personal secrets of the Eunuch, he had little doubt that his double life would be used against him as a frame-up on a charge of espionage, and the chances of him escaping a long spell in a Turkish fortress looked extremely slender.
“I do not propose to charge you with any crime,” the big man bleated in his high thin voice. “You have committed none as far as I know. But it is a pity you did not take the warning which I gave you when we visited the Marble Tower together the other day. Do you remember? I spoke of the unpleasant fate which, in this old city, has so often overtaken those who know too much.”
“What the deuce do you mean?” Swithin protested; but he knew only too well what the words portended. They did not mean to take him off to prison. Instead, when night fell, he would be bundled into a car and driven across the city to the old wall, his arms corded behind him, and then, despite his frantic struggles, he would be pitched head foremost down that rocky chasm in the sinister tower. His hands went damp at the thought of that awful death which awaited him, gasping in vain for air, a dozen feet below the foaming surface of those rushing waters.
The Eunuch had taken a paper from his inside pocket. He smoothed it out carefully on his enormous lap and held it up for Swithin to see.
“Do you recognise this,” he asked quietly. “It is the letter which you left two nights ago at the Pera Palace Bookstall. It was to be called for by a lady
, I believe.”
Swithin shrugged and answered promptly, “I’ve never seen it in my life before.”
“A lie, Servet—note that,” Kazdim glanced up at the tall man who stood upon his other side, then he turned back to his prisoner. “Have you not? How strange then that it should be in your writing. You see, I have had the opportunity to compare it with some of your notes on the Tobacco Depot which we found here in your desk.”
“Well, have it your own way. What are you going to do about it?” Swithin said desperately.
“I am going to send you on a long journey, to a place where you will have no further opportunity to meddle in Turkish politics.”
For a second Swithin’s eyes lit with hope. There was just a chance that as he was a foreigner, the Eunuch meant to deport him rather than risk the necessity of making awkward explanations if his body were discovered, and possible trouble with the British Government. No country allows its subjects to suffer the extreme penalty without a protest, even if they are guilty of espionage, unless they have first received fair trial; much less their secret murder.
“Do you mean that you are going to send me out of the country?” he asked evenly, “or, as they say in the United States, ‘take me for a ride’?”
“A ‘swim’ would perhaps be a more correct description in this case,” the Eunuch chuckled.
Again Swithin heard in his imagination the hissing of those dark waters below the oubliette. He held his breath and wondered how long the horrible business would take. The fall must be about forty feet. Would it seem seconds or years before he struck the surface of the torrent? Would he hit the water with his head or turn a somersault in midair? The wall-like cleft was narrow—if he did turn over in his fall it was probable that he would be bashed against the rocky walls. If he hit his head, he would probably be unconscious when he went under, a thing to pray for perhaps, because whatever people might say about drowning being an easy death, he wasn’t quite so sure. It might be, if one’s faculties were numbed from the exhaustion of long efforts to keep afloat, but that sudden icy plunge with one’s arms lashed behind one’s back seemed too horrible to contemplate.
The Eunuch of Stamboul Page 19