Another tug, and it began to creep up the wall, with Macgreggo paying it out from the coil.
During the wait that followed, to give Yakoff time to make the rope fast, there began a discussion as to who should go up first, for this was a point that had not so far been raised. Gimlet and Macgreggo were both anxious to take what was obviously a risk. The rope might slip, or break.
The man on it might lose his grip, in which case he would not stop falling until he crashed to his death in the bottom of the gorge.
Looking up, Cub judged the distance to the top of the wall to be not less than fifty feet.
This, he knew from experience, was a long climb for any man; and it would certainly tax the strength of the man above should he try to pull one of them up by simply hauling on the rope. When two were at the top the thing would be less difficult, because both could take the strain. And so on.
The more people there were at the top the easier the scaling operation would become. Cub therefore put forward the suggestion that the ascent should be made in order of weight, the lightest man going first, and the heaviest, last. As Yousouf was not going up, this meant that he, Cub, should go first. He would help the Cossack to pull up Trapper, and the rest would be easy.
This suggestion was not at first well received; but as the common sense of it became evident to everyone Macgreggo and Gimlet agreed, with reluctance. As they were all going up, argued Cub, it really didn't matter in the least who went first. So saying he settled the matter by taking the rope in his hands, and after giving it a pull to make sure it was secure, got a grip on it, commando fashion. No longer tired, he was full of enthusiasm. The idea of getting into a fort regarded as impregnable was a job after his heart. It had a medieval flavour about it, too. The days of romantic escapes were not done, after all.
A tug and a soft whistle and up he went at a pace that surprised him.
There was, he discovered, no need for him to climb. Yakoff, on top, could do all that was necessary. It struck him that the Cossack must be a man of no ordinary strength to pull him up with such ease.
The top of the wall came into view, hard against the sky. It appeared to be dropping down to meet him. Reaching it, he discovered what he took to be the reason for the easy ascent. A sheepskin rested on the edge, and over it the rope ran smoothly, with no risk of fraying. Throwing an arm across it he pulled himself up and rolled clear before rising to his feet to look for Yakoff.
He saw, not one, but four tall figures silhouetted against the sky; and even then the truth, so unprepared was he for it, did not strike him. It was only when the men made a rush at him that he realised, with a shock almost paralysing in its severity, what was happening.
As the men closed on him he dodged. One caught him by the arm. Another tried to put a hand over his mouth. He got the thumb between his teeth and closed his jaws on it with all the rage that now possessed him. With a cry of agony the man snatched his hand away and that gave Cub the one chance he needed. His voice rose clear in the heavy silence. "
Go back!" he yelled. "It's a trap!"
Then a fist struck him below the ear and sent him, half stunned, rolling and sliding, along the smooth stonework, to finish only a matter of inches from the sheer drop into the abyss.
That was the end of his resistance, for the men now laid rough hands on him, and in their grip he was powerless to do anything. A rag of some sort was clapped over his face so that he couldn't make a sound—not that he wanted to, for he knew that those below must have heard his warning cry. That was the main thing. A man who had taken no part in the scuffle was rasping orders in a voice of vicious anger. This was understandable, for he would have to be content with one prisoner, whereas it had been his intention no doubt to take them all. Thus thought Cub, still in a daze.
His first sensation, when he could think clearly, was anger—rage at the Cossack who had betrayed
them. What fools they had been to trust such a man, he thought bitterly.
Which of the four men was Yakoff he did not know, nor did he particularly care. He assumed that he was there. The fellow had betrayed them, and nothing he could do now could make any difference to the result. He was sick, too, sick at the failure of their mission, for now that their presence was revealed all seemed lost. The others would be lucky to get out of the country alive without any further attempt to rescue the Pasha, who in a few hours would be far beyond their reach, anyway.
These thoughts did not of course pass through Cub's head calmly, or coherently.
Naturally, he still suffered from shock from the suddenness of the disaster, and through his whirling brain thoughts rushed in chaotic succession. Dimly he saw the rope being pulled in, now that there was no likelihood of anyone else coming up.
As he was led away he was not thinking about his own fate, for that seemed already settled. He wondered what the others would do. That they would not leave the country without him he was sure. He was equally certain that, in view of what had happened, they no longer had the slightest chance of getting into the fort. If that was difficult before, it was impossible now that the alarm had been raised. How right Macgreggo had been! Hate was the governing factor in this vile country. Cub hated everything about it—
Yakoff in particular.
Thus ran his thoughts as he was taken along the top of the fort, passing antiquated cannon on the way, to a stone stairway that ran down the inner side into the yard. All was silent and in darkness. The air was chill and dank, and smelt of decay. The only sound was the scrape of boots and the heavy breathing of the men who held him. Even they had a sour smell about them.
Across the courtyard and through an arched entrance he was hurried in a manner which made him wonder if he was to be executed there and then.
More stone steps now spiralled upwards into a musty-smelling passage, at the end of which a door was opened.
Yellow lamplight flooded out with the warm reek of paraffin, half blinding him after his many hours of almost total darkness. Into the room, a vaulted chamber, he was taken.
Behind him and his escort a heavy door swung shut with a thud that had about it an unpleasant suggestion of finality.
Actually, Cub was not as unnerved by these proceedings as might be supposed. He was in the fort. The governor was, he knew, a man utterly devoid of normal human instincts.
There was no hope of escape. That he would be put to death he had no doubt whatever.
Thus, there was in the situation nothing in the nature of suspense, which can be a greater strain on the nervous system. He had nothing more to lose. In short, he had had it.
He looked about him without emotion. The chamber was, he saw, furnished in a manner which suggested that it was both a living-room and an office.
Massive old-fashioned furniture stood side by side with modern steel filing cabinets. Occupying one side of the room was a great table, black with age, littered with papers. Behind it was a chair of similar character. In it one of his captors was now seating himself.
Two of the men were now holding Cub while the other emptied his pockets, carrying the contents to the man seated at the table. On this man Cub's eyes now rested, and he saw at once that he was an officer of high rank.
Silver stars studded his upright collar and several rings of braid adorned his cuffs. Cub's eyes moved to his face, and then, and only then, did he realise, with a flurry of astonishment, that it was the governor himself. He was surprised because it had not occurred to him—indeed he could hardly have imagined such a thing—that an officer of senior rank would take a personal part in such an affair as had just occurred. He could only think that Karzoff suffered from the same handicap as everyone else in the district; he dare trust no one. However, there could be no mistake.
The description that Macgreggo had given of him, his size, his flat, slab-like features, his slanting eyes, the beard, all tallied; apart from which there was about him an air of authority that is only derived from power. From time to time he spoke in a low, hard voice, b
ut this of course meant nothing to Cub who did not even know what language was being used. But he remembered that Macgreggo had said that Karzoff spoke English. Cub wondered what the man intended
to say to him, for that he was going to say something was certain, otherwise he would not have had him brought to his office. Cub had expected, at the best, to be thrown into a dungeon.
The explanation was soon forthcoming; and as it was revealed, in a night of many surprises this was to Cub the most staggering of them all.
One of the men now stood behind his master. The other two retired to the door and stood with their backs against it. Karzoff leaned forward, elbows on the table, and regarded the prisoner with eyes as coldly inscrutable as those of a reptile. Yet, oddly enough, it struck Cub that there was nothing particularly hostile about his expression.
Karzoff's first words, spoken slowly, with a curious accent, were: "You know who I am?
" Cub answered, "Yes."
"I am master here," went on Karzoff. "You know what that means?"
Again Cub answered, "Yes." Indeed, he knew only too well.
"We will talk," said Vladimir Karzoff.
"As you will," returned Cub, not knowing what else to say.
Karzoff treated him to a long, calculating stare. "You will be told I am a wicked man," he said in a thick, flat voice.
"That seems to be the general impression," Cub told him frankly.
"Men who say that are liars," declared Karzoff. "I can be very good man."
Cub smiled faintly. "I should be happy to deny reports to the contrary if you will give me a demonstration of your goodness."
"You shall see," said Karzoff. "We will talk. You shall be surprised."
CHAPTER IX
KARZOFF RUNS TRUE TO TYPE
WHAT there was to talk about Cub could not imagine, but as he had nothing more to lose he was at least prepared to listen. Of course, he expected to be questioned—or rather, interrogated—as to his purpose there, his companions, and the like; and he was prepared to deny Karzoff the information that he would naturally be anxious to obtain.
But this seemed to be a queer approach to what is usually a harsh ordeal.
What, he wondered vaguely, did the man mean by his statement about surprising him? Cub put this down to a silly sort of boasting, a bluff.
But in this he was mistaken. The surprise was coming—slowly. For the moment the conversation ran on orthodox lines.
"You are English man?" said Karzoff, his eyes still on Cub's face.
"I am," answered Cub.
"You work for government?"
"Sometimes."
"Why you come here?"
Cub met his eyes. "You know why I came here," he asserted, feeling sure from what had happened that the man must know. In this he was right.
"Yes, I know," admitted Karzoff. "You come here for the Turk, Ismit?"
"That was my intention," admitted Cub, seeing that no purpose was to be served by denying it. At the same time it struck him that Karzoff, who must know that he was not alone, took him to be the leader of the rescue party. As he had been first up the rope he would naturally think that.
This might, thought Cub, be to Gimlet's advantage, so he decided to allow Karzoff to retain that i mpresssion.
"You think my Cossack Yakoff will be waiting for you?" continued Karzoff.
Cub did not answer.
"Instead, you find me."
Again Cub admitted what he could not deny. Obviously the governor knew about Yakoff'
s part in the affair or he wouldn't have known about the rope.
"Yakoff was a fool," said Karzoff with a sneer.
"Yakoff was a liar," declared Cub, also with a sneer. For so sure was he that the Cossack had betrayed them that no other explanation occurred to him. It had been his first and instantaneous impression when he perceived that the scheme had failed, and he still held it.
"What you think is wrong," said Karzoff. "Yakoff would be your friend, but he has bad luck, and behaves without wisdom."
"Oh," said Cub. In the circumstances he was no longer interested in the Cossack. It struck him, however, that the conversation was taking a curious turn. He still could not imagine what Karzoff was getting at unless he was merely playing cat and mouse with him. The governor's next words puzzled him still more.
"Shall I tell you what happens?" offered Karzoff.
Cub stared at the man in front of him, sure now that there was a sinister purpose behind all this. At all events, he could think of no sane reason why Karzoff should take him into his confidence over such a matter.
Still, he thought, if this was how Karzoff wanted it, it was all right with him; but knowing that he was dealing with a crafty rogue he decided to answer questions more carefully. "Where is Yakoff now?" he asked, for something to say, not expecting to be answered.
"Yakoff is now suffering for his foolishness," said Karzoff sadly. "His trouble is, you understand, his head is all bone. There are in it no brains."
"Why do you call him foolish when he betrayed me to you?" challenged Cub.
"That was not his wish," said Karzoff. "No. Now I tell you what happened.
By bad luck for him his guard is changed, because new men have come and he must go away. What can he do? He does a strange thing, a thing which no man here has done before. He offers to do the work for the new sentry who is to stay on the wall all night. Yakoff hates this work. Last week he sleeps when he should be watching. For that he is punished.
Now suddenly he likes watching. To myself I say, what is the reason for this strange thing? I tell the corporal of the guard that I agree to this. Yakoff shall be the sentry. But as he goes to the wall he is searched. What is found? Much string. What is this? I say. He will not speak. But here we have ways to make a man speak. He is put to the question. Then, in his pain, he tells me all."
"So you tortured him?" said Cub sombrely. with a mental apology to Yakoff for misjudging him.
"But of course," answered Karzoff. "It is the only way to make a stubborn man speak. It saves much time."
"I see," murmured Cub softly, still marvelling at this extraordinary conversation, which bore no resemblance to what he had expected. "And what did Yakoff tell you?" he prompted.
"Yakoff told me of the arrival of English men to take away from the fort the Turk Ismit.
He told me of the meeting of the English men with Greggo the robber, who promised to help them. He told me of his part in this. He told me all."
Cub said nothing.
Karzoff's eyes were still on his face. "You have been with this man they call Greggo?" he challenged.
"I have," answered Cub.
"He is a rich man after all his robberies, ha?" "So I have been told."
There was a short pause; and when Karzoff spoke again there was a curious inflection in his voice although it was now so low as to be almost a whisper. "When I asked Yakoff for how much money he betrays me to Greggo, he tells me—a thousand gold roubles. Is that the truth?"
"No doubt he would have been rewarded," replied Cub carelessly. He still did not see the drift of the conversation. All that struck him about Karzoff's remark was the way he took it for granted that Yakoff had been bribed.
The governor's face twisted into a smile that reminded Cub of a cat about to be fed. "
Money is the key that opens all doors," he almost purred.
"In this part of the world, apparently," acknowledged Cub, a hint of contempt in his voice.
"Greggo has much money."
"I think so."
"Have you seen it?"
"No. Why should he show it to me?"
"He has gold."
"You should know more about that than I do."
Karzoff hesitated. A frown knitted his forehead.
"Are you a fool or do you play fool with me?" The surprise Cub's face registered was genuine.
"What do you mean?"
There was a suspicion of irritation in Karzoff's voice when he was forced to
speak plainly and to the point. "If Greggo would give a common Cossack a thousand roubles for this Turk, how much would he give an officer of high rank . . . like me?"
Then Cub got it. To say that he was astonished would be to say nothing.
The idea of a general officer betraying his trust for money was something beyond his understanding. It was something that just did not happen. As if a curtain had been drawn he perceived now the meaning of the whole conversation. His memory recalled certain words that Macgreggo had said. This was the Orient, where bribery and corruption were part of the daily life, affecting the highest as well as the lowest.
Here, bribery was not a thing to be ashamed of, but rather, something to boast about. He could have kicked himself for not grasping the implica-tions earlier. Even so, he found himself tongue-tied before such a revelation.
Karzoff was still watching his face. "You understand now—yes?" he said softly.
Cub drew a deep breath. "Yes, I understand." "Could we say, you think, five thousand gold roubles?"
Cub thought fast. He was in no position to pledge Macgreggo's money, even though the bandit chief, on his own statement, had more than he knew what to do with; but if this man was ready to make a deal the cash could be produced from somewhere. As it was a matter of saving the Pasha's life, he had no doubt that the Pasha himself would be prepared to pay for his release. When Cub spoke, his voice sounded far away. "Why didn't you suggest this to Ismit Pasha? He has plenty of money."
"But not here. He could only get it by going to Turkey. Then he might have changed his mind."
Cub nodded. So that was the way Karzoff's brain worked, he thought.
Crooked himself, he assumed everyone else was crooked.
"Greggo has the money here, in the country," went on Karzoff.
"The money is his, not mine."
"But he would give it to you because you would promise to pay it back,"
said Karzoff. "
Your government has much money," he added, revealing a shrewd grasp of the political angle.
Cub shook his head. "Greggo would not lend the money unless Ismit Pasha was first freed. He would say he could not trust you."
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