“Shot,” stammered Peter. “Why! What crime have I committed?”
“Your memory is a peculiarly short one,” the Prince remarked acidly. “Obviously you have forgotten the last occasion on which you were in my presence.”
“No, I’ve only seen you once before—in England at the Boat Club Dance last June.”
“Well?—and it was you who was concerned with Captain Destime in that scandalous assault upon me.”
“Look here!” Peter protested hotly. “You can’t go and shoot people for a thing like that.”
“Can I not?” Ali slipped off the desk and drew himself up to his full height. “I am a Prince of the Imperial House of Othman. Your offence was lèse-majesté in the first degree. Now you are on Turkish soil I intend to see that you receive the full and appropriate punishment for your act.”
Peter’s mouth went sullen and he stuck out his chin angrily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Turkey is a Republic. There is no such thing as lèse-majesté here now.”
“There are those who still adhere to the ancient laws and they will be happy to undertake your execution.”
“Execution!—murder you mean—I …”
“Your Highness.” Diana stood up. “May I remind you that we are British subjects. Our presence here is known to our Embassy. If any harm befalls us our Government will demand …”
“Do you think I care what they demand,” he cut her short quickly.
“The Gazi will care,” she parried, “and he will punish you as he has punished others. Your Royal blood will not save you from his anger.”
His teeth suddenly flashed in a quick smile. “So you threaten me with the Gazi, eh? Why be so foolish when you know all about the Kaka. Within twenty-four hours he will be of as little account as the ash that falls from this cigarette. I, Ali Mahomet Bayezid Orchan shall be Turkey, and Caliph of all the Faithful under Heaven.”
“The more reason then for Your Highness to avoid giving offence to Britain.” Diana’s voice was very low but quite calm and clear. “This arbitrary action that you speak of—the execution of these gentlemen without trial—would cause immense indignation throughout the whole English-speaking world. Surely you could hardly choose a more inauspicious manner in which to begin your reign.”
Ali walked over and stood in front of her. “Do you think then that I am a complete fool,” he asked slowly. “You say that your Embassy knows of your presence in this house. If they do—what then? They may have it searched to-morrow if they wish—but you will not be here. Since you already know of the coming revolution we can speak freely of it. To-morrow night there is certain to be shooting in the streets. The dead bodies of all three of you will be left on some convenient street corner. When their discovery is reported to your Embassy my Foreign Minister will call in person on your Ambassador to offer our condolences that three of his nationals should have lost their lives through their own indiscretion. No Government can be held responsible for the safety of foreigners who chose to wander in public places during times of crisis.”
“You—Good God I you can’t mean to kill her too,” Swithin burst out.
The Prince turned and looked at him. “I find it regrettable myself, but what other course is open to me. As Miss Duncannon has so shrewdly pointed out, the British Government might bother me for explanations if they learned the true manner in which you two came to die, and I have no desire to quarrel with them—yet. It would be a great stupidity then, on my part, to release her so that she could tell them that I had you shot. However, before she dies I wish to give her also a little lesson in humility.”
Diana saw the spark in Swithin’s eyes. She knew that in another moment his control would snap, and that he would be shot down by the Eunuch as he launched himself on the Prince. She took a step forward and turned her back on him, placing herself so that she faced the desk and brought her body in the line of fire. By that small movement she had made it impossible for Swithin to spring at Ali without first thrusting her aside and she was certain that whatever happened he would not chance her being shot instead of himself.
Ali smiled as he noticed the manœuvre. It gave him enormous pleasure to be able to get under Swithin’s skin. So he went on quietly. “It will interest you to know, Miss Duncannon, that there is an ancient ritual when a Caliph summons a woman to his bed. I intend that you shall be the first to receive that honour during my Caliphate, or rather shall we say, since I anticipate by twenty-four hours, to receive it in the form of a dress rehearsal. The lady is bathed, perfumed, bejewelled, and robed in the most gorgeous garments by her envious companions who delight, by such servitude, to perfect the enjoyment of their lord; then she is led in procession to the Imperial chamber.”
Peter trembled with suppressed fury. He felt that he could not possibly allow this to go on any longer. He glanced at Swithin and saw that he obviously could do nothing; he was standing with his feet apart, his fists clenched, his eyeballs staring, while little beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead—but Diana stood between him and the Prince. Peter looked across the fifteen feet of bare carpet at the Eunuch. The distance seemed the length of a cricket pitch or more. Kazdim was watching him intently out of his little round black eyes; he smiled with devilish amusement and toyed with the big automatic. ‘I shouldn’t have a hope in hell,’ Peter summed up the situation to himself in abject misery.
“The accompanying escort unrobes the lady garment by garment,” continued Ali, “then retreats backwards with low obeisances, closing the doors and leaving the favoured one naked in the presence of her lord. He reclines at ease in the great bed of State inspecting this thing which is to be the instrument of his pleasure. She, overcome by the honour done her, falls upon her knees, touches the ground three times with her forehead, and offers fervent prayers to Allah that, unworthy as she is, he may confer the inestimable blessing upon her of allowing her to conceive. Then with true humility she insinuates herself into the foot of the Imperial bed, creeps upwards little by little, until she can kiss the feet of the Descendant of the Prophet and, receiving permission to advance, presses her lips to each of his legs in turn, inch by inch as she crawls forward on her belly …”
Diana fought to keep a hold over her intense cold anger. If she once let herself go and struck him she knew that Swithin, whose jerky breathing she could hear behind her, and Peter, glaring at the Prince with murderous hate three yards to her left, would come rushing forward, and that a second later the Eunuch would butcher them with his gun. Ali was perhaps even playing for that. She knew that it would give him an added pleasure to have them massacred in front of her eyes before having her carted off to the private apartments of his house. The blood had drained from her face, her mouth was parched and dry, but she said slowly, evenly, so that every word should sink in. “Rather than let Your Highness touch me I would sleep with the filthiest hamal from the docks.”
The shot went home. From between her lowered eyelids she saw him wince, and knew that the lash of her tongue had caught his vanity on the raw. For a second he bared his teeth and she regretted her words, fearing that he was going to strike her, but only because she knew that if he did it would be the sign for the massacre to begin. Then he recovered himself and smiled again as he threw a glance at Kazdim.
“Evidently you are not aware of the persuasive powers of Kazdim Pasha. He has had much experience of recalcitrant women, and as by to-morrow night he will rejoice in the title of His Highness the Chief Eunuch to the Commander of the Faithful, he too shall play his part in our dress rehearsal. When the escort has retired we will permit him to remain, in order that he may coax you through each separate stage of the ceremony.”
Kazdim chuckled in his many chins and his thin falsetto came queerly from the rose-bud mouth. “To hear is to obey, Oh! Most Exalted One. May Allah bless the pleasures of the Illustrious Descendant of the Prophet. His servant is eager to show such small talents as he may possess in assuring the abject obedience of the slave that she
may bring felicity to the Highest of all masters.”
There was a discreet rap on the door.
“Yes?” barked the Prince.
It opened and Malik’s head appeared. He salaamed to Ali, and then looked across at Kazdim.
“Agent 264 is here,” he announced, “wishing to speak with you on a matter of great urgency and importance, but something is wrong with …”
Next moment the door was pushed open, a cloaked figure thrust her way past him. It was Tania.
Her dark hair hung matted and dishevelled about her face, her eyes were glazed and staring, little flecks of foam showed at the corners of her red mouth. Her beautiful face was blank and stupid.
She looked wildly round. Peter saw no recognition in her glance as it swept over him. Her great dark eyes held the crazed look of a madwoman who has lost her wits from extreme suffering.
Suddenly her eyes came to rest upon the Eunuch. She screamed as though she had trodden on a white hot coal and, before Malik could stop her, pulled an old revolver from under her cloak.
As she fired the explosion seemed to shake the room. Kazdim had risen, his little mouth opened, a thin wail came from it. His black eyes started out from between their rolls of fat, a terrible agony seemed to shake his great body for a second, then he crashed forward on his desk, shot through the stomach.
Before Kazdim had fallen Peter flung himself on Malik from behind. With his much greater height and strength he swung the little Turk off his feet and brought his skull crashing against the woodwork of a bookcase.
“The door,” he yelled, as he smashed Malik’s head into the wooden shelving, “Lock the door!” but Diana needed no urging. She had slammed it shut behind the now gibbering Tania and turned the key.
As Diana moved from in front of Swithin his fist shot out. The blow caught Ali full in the mouth. Two of his front teeth gave under it and he went down in front of the desk. Swithin hurled himself on top of the prostrate Prince and, as he landed full upon his body driving every ounce of breath from it, he let out a shout.
“Peter—the man outside—for God’s sake tackle him!”
Tania stood pointing at the great body of the Eunuch with the still smoking barrel of her gun. She was screaming wildly “He killed my mother—he killed my mother!”
Diana snatched a heavy ledger from the Eunuch’s desk and hurled it at the light. There was a crash of splintering glass.
Darkness blacked out the whole scene with startling suddenness, but Peter had already snatched up the Mark V revolver from the desk, leaped across the struggling forms of Swithin and the Prince, and out on the balcony.
Swithin felt no scruples. With the ferocity of madness he smashed his fist into the prostrate Prince’s face, kneed him in the stomach and then began to tear, with frantic fingers, at his collar.
It gave. He ripped away the linen shirt, thrust his hand inside and grabbed the locket. One wrench and the new ribbon which held it snapped. He staggered to his feet and gasped out:
“Diana?”
“Here!” she cried from the balcony. “Here—come on.”
As he turned there was another shattering report. The flash lit up the room as brightly as full daylight. The Eunuch, his withered apple cheeks sagging horribly, his face a grey distorted mask of pain—was firing from his desk. Tania stood opposite him, an imbecile smile upon her parted lips.
“Crash—crash—crash—crash.” The shots followed each other in rapid succession. By the light of the flashes, Swithin saw that Tania had a small round hole right in the centre of her forehead, and that there was a terrible gash just below her right eye. As the last shot reverberated through the room he saw her sag and collapse upon the floor.
“Swithin,” Diana was calling. “Swithin—for God’s sake come.”
Heavy blows were thudding on the door as the Lazz outside strove to break it in with the butt end of his rifle. Swithin dashed out on to the balcony. Diana was already astride the low balustrade. She dropped from sight as he appeared.
“Peter,” he yelled, as he slid over the balustrade and fell sprawling beside her. “Peter—where are you?”
“Here,” came Peter’s voice from above. “Where’s Tania?”
“Safe out of it—gone on ahead—come on, you fool,” Swithin shouted back as he picked himself up. Diana was running hard—already half-way across the garden.
Swithin pelted after her. The moon was sinking but it still gave them sufficient light to see a low arched doorway in the farther wall. As Diana reached it Swithin joined her.
Careless of their nails they both tore at it to get it open, but it was locked.
“Peter! Where the hell are you?” Swithin roared into the darkness.
“Coming—” came an answering shout and the sound of Peter’s feet thudding as he fled across the garden.
As he came up Swithin snatched at his revolver. “Give me that thing,” he panted. “We’ll be out of here in a second—did you manage that sentry?”
“Yes—hit him with the butt-end of the gun then chucked him head first over the balcony,” Peter gasped “but where is Tania?”
“Gone out a different way,” Swithin told him tersely, jamming the barrel of the revolver against the ancient lock.
A chorus of shouts went up from the balcony fifty yards behind them. The Prince’s Lazz guard had broken through the door. A rifle cracked, and then another. A bullet flattened itself on the stonework above the door with a sharp smack. Swithin pressed the trigger of the revolver. Its bullet burst the lock and they wrenched the door open.
He seized Diana’s arm. “Run,” he urged her. “Run.”
She shook herself free, snatched at the hem of her dress with both hands, pulled it up to her waist and, with her long silk clad legs flickering in the waning moonlight, pelted down the hill.
As they shot round a bend in the street a hundred yards farther down, Peter, who was bringing up the rear, threw a glance over his shoulder. The soldiers were pouring out of the little door in the Eunuch’s garden wall. One paused to fire. The bullet clicked on the cobbles, ricocheted with a loud whine and sang on into the wall of a house. Then the Lazzes started forward in pursuit.
Another moment and Swithin reached the Dolma Baghtche steps. With silent fervour he thanked the Gods of all mankind. The launch was still there. He grabbed the painter that secured it to a bollard.
Peter took a flying leap and landed in the stern. Diana tumbled after him. Swithin had loosed the rope.
“All clear,” he sang out as the soldiers came charging round the corner of the street. Peter pressed over the starting lever and the propeller churned the water. Swithin, kneeling in the bow, thrust off the nose of the launch with a boat-hook and they were speeding out into the Bosphorus.
Diana looked back. Dark figures were already running up and down the landing place in search of a boat with which to follow. Two of the figures stopped running. Then Swithin called sharply from the bow.
“Lie down!—they’re going to fire.”
She dropped to her knees and scrambled into the low cabin. Peter flung himself flat beside the engine. Instantly after came the crack of rifles and the splintering of glass as the bullets crashed through the windows of the little deckhouse where Diana was crouching.
Swithin crawled back from the bow. “You all right?” he whispered anxiously.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
Then came Peter’s voice. “Tania!—where is she? Are you sure she got out the other way?”
There was another burst of firing from the shore. They cowered in the bottom of the launch as it raced through the water, then Swithin answered soberly. “She saved us, Peter—but she went out the way we’ve all …”
“What!” Peter cut him short. “You mean …?”
“That’s it, old chap. Kazdim’s dying now with a bullet in his guts, but he rallied after you dashed out to the balcony and put five shots into her at point blank range. One of them went clean through her head. She w
as quite dead, Peter, or else I wouldn’t have left her.”
“Oh Hell!” moaned Peter. “My dear … my dear!”
Diana stretched out a hand from the cabin to where he was crouching by the engine. “Peter, you saw her. She had gone out of her mind. She was raving that Kazdim had killed her mother—poor girl, she must have been half-crazy with worry—torn between her love for you and the awful job she was forced to do. That last shock must have turned her brain.”
“That’s it,” Swithin agreed slowly. “The only clear thought she had left was to get the Eunuch—and she did.”
He lifted his head cautiously above the gunwale of the launch, wondering why the firing had stopped and muttered: “They’ve managed to get a boat—they’re after us.”
Diana peered up at him. “Shall we be able to reach the Golden Falcon before they catch us do you think?”
“We ought to—I can see her anchor light already. More to the right, Peter—more to the right.”
Peter put over the wheel until Swithin checked him. He was so broken up by the thought of Tania—so young, so gay, so beautiful—lying dead where they had left her, that his actions were now like those of an automaton.
Swithin was thinking rapidly. If they succeeded in getting on board the yacht Prince Ali and his Lazzes would follow.
Diana, Peter and he would be arrested—and lugged ashore again to be butchered. Even if Sir Francis Cavendish were still on board, British Ambassador though he was, it was extremely unlikely that he would be able to protect them from the mad fury of the Prince. Still, there might be a chance to hide Diana if they could reach the yacht with a few moments’ grace.
The Lazzes began to fire again. A shot sang over the launch, another and another. Diana shut her eyes. Swithin swore profanely.
A hail sounded out of the semi-darkness ahead. It came from the after deck of the yacht. Peter risked a bullet and knelt, peering at the dark shape of the Golden Falcon as it loomed up before them. He gave the wheel a sharp twist and shut off the engine.
The Eunuch of Stamboul Page 34