by Talbot Mundy
“Sahib, they were very much excited when he spoke of action. First one man and then another stood up and boasted of having made all things ready; how this one had supervised the hiding of sharp swords; how another had kept men at work collecting cartridges on battlefields; how this and that one had continued spreading talk against the Jews, so that they swore that at least ten thousand Moslems in Jerusalem are fretting to begin a massacre. ‘Let Faisal only strike the first blow from Damascus,’ said they, ‘and Palestine will run blood instantly!’”
“And we sit here drinking tea,” exclaimed Mabel, “while up at headquarters they’re dancing and playing bridge! I call this awful! We all ought to be ...”
Grim smiled and shook his head for silence.
“We’ve known all this for some time,” he said. “Don’t worry. There’ll be no massacre; the troops are sleeping by their arms, and every possible contingency has been provided for. Go on, Narayan Singh.”
“Well, sahib; when they had done babbling and boasting this Yussuf Dakmar got back on his stool and spoke sternly, as one who gives final judgment and intends to be obeyed. ‘It is we who must make the first move,’ said he; ‘and we shall force Faisal to move after us by moving in his name.’ Whereat this man here, whose nose was broken on the fist of Jeremy sahib, said that a letter bearing Faisal’s seal would make the matter easier. ‘For the men,’ said he, ‘who are to slit Jews’ throats will ask first for proof of our authority to bid them begin the business.’
“And at that speech Yussuf Dakmar laughed with great delight. ‘Better late than never!’ said he. ‘Better to think of a wise precaution now than not at all! But oh, ye are an empty-headed crew!’ he told them. ‘I pity the conspiracy that had no better planning than ye would make for it without my forethought! I thought of this long ago! I sent a message to Damascus, begging that a date be set and just such a letter sent to us. Faisal, I knew, would sign no such letter; but the paper he uses lies on an open desk, and there are men about him who have access to his seal. And because my appeal was well-timed it met with approval. A letter such as I asked for was written on Faisal’s paper, sealed with his seal, and sent!’
“‘But does it bear his signature?’ a man asked.
“‘How could it, since he never saw the letter?’ Yussuf Dakmar answered.
“‘Then few will pay heed to it,’ said the other.
“‘Perhaps if we were all such fools as you that might be so,’ Yussuf Dakmar retorted. ‘However, fortunately the rest of us have readier wits! This letter is signed with a number, and the number is that of Faisal’s generation in descent from the Prophet Mohammed. Let men be told that this is his secret signature, and when they see his seal beside it, will they not believe? Every hour in Jerusalem, and in all the world, men believe things less credible than that!’
“But at that, sahib, another man asked him how they might know that the letter really came from Damascus. ‘It well might be,’ said that one, ‘a forgery contrived by Yussuf Dakmar himself, in which case though they might stir many Moslems into action by showing it, the men in Damascus would fail to follow up the massacre by striking at the French. And if they do not strike at the French,’ said he, ‘the French will not appeal to the British for aid; and so the British troops will be free to protect the Jews and butcher us, by which means we shall be worse off than before.’
“Whereat Yussuf Dakmar laughed again. ‘If ye will go to the Sikh hospital,’ said he, ‘ye will find there the man who brought the letter. He lies in a cot in the upper story with a knife-wound between his shoulder-blades. It was a mistaken accident unfortunate for him; the letter was intended for me, but I did not know that. What does the life of one fool matter? He gave out that Jews stabbed him, and it may be he believes that; yet I have the letter in my pocket here!’ And he touched with one hand the portion of his coat beneath which was the pocket that contained the letter. I was watching, sahib, from where I lay hidden.
“He was about, I think, to show them the letter, when another thought occurred to him. He wrinkled his brow, as if seeking words in which to make his meaning clear, and they seemed willing enough to wait for him, but not so I, for I now knew where the letter was. So I sprang into their midst, falling less dangerously than I might have done by reason of a man’s shoulders that served for a cushion. It may be that his bones broke under my weight. I can give no accurate report as to that, for I was in great haste. But as he gave way under me, I pitched forward, and, kicking Yussuf Dakmar in the belly with my boot, I fell on him, they falling on me in turn and we all writhing together in one mass on the floor. So I secured the letter.”
“Good man!” Grim nodded.
“Wish I’d been there!” mourned Jeremy.
“And, having what I came for, I broke free; and taking the red stool I hurled it at the lamp, so that we were in total darkness, which made it a simple matter to unlock the door, and proceed about my business. Nevertheless, I heard them strike matches behind me, and it seemed unwise to take to my heels at once, it being easy to pursue a man who runs.
“As the sahib doubtless remembers, between that coffee shop and the next house is a stone buttress jutting out into the street, forming on its side farthest from the coffee-shop a dark corner, for whose filth and stink the street cleaners ought to be punished. Therein I lurked, while those who pursued ran past me up the street, I counting them; and among them I did not count Yussuf Dakmar and three more. It happened that a man was running up the street and the pursuers supposed him to be me. So I was left with only four to deal with; and it entered my head that no doubt Jimgrim sahib would be pleased to interview Yussuf Dakmar.
“And after a few moments Yussuf Dakmar came forth, and I heard him speak to these three fellows.
“‘Those fools,’ said he, ‘hunt like street dogs at the sound of rubbish tossed out of a window. But I think that Indian soldier is less foolish than they. If I were he,’ said Yussuf Dakmar, ‘I think I wouldn’t run far, with all these shadows to right and left and all the hours from now until dawn in which to act the fox. I suspect he is not far away at this minute. Nevertheless,’ said he, ‘those Indians are dangerous fellows. It is highly important that we get that letter from him; but it is almost equally important that we stop his mouth, which would be impossible if he should escape alive. If we wait here,’ said he, ‘we shall see him emerge from a shadow, if I am not much mistaken.’
“So they waited, sahib. And after a few minutes, when my breath had returned to me, I let him have credit as a wise one by emerging as he had said. And those four stalked me through the streets, not daring to come close until I should lead them to a lonely place; and I led them with discretion to this house, where happened what the sahib knows.
“That is all I know about this matter, except that being absent from duty on sick-leave there may be difficulty in the matter of my tunic, which is badly torn.”
Having finished his story Narayan Singh stood at attention like one of those wooden images they used to keep on the sidewalk outside tobacco stores.
Grim smiled at the prisoners and asked whether they had any remarks to make — a totally lawless proceeding, for he did not caution them, and had no jurisdiction as a magistrate. They were three men caught red-handed attempting murder and burglary, and entitled accordingly to protection that the law doesn’t always accord to honest men. But, as I have said, a true tale in the ears of criminals acts like a chemical reagent. It sets them to work lying, and the lie burns off, disclosing naked truth again. But, mother of me, they were daring liars! The fellow who had come out of the scrap more or less unscathed piped up for the three, the other two nodding and prompting him in whispers.
“What that Indian says in the main is true. He did jump down from the gallery and surprise a meeting summoned by Yussuf Dakmar. And it is true that Yussuf Dakmar’s purpose is to bring about a massacre of Jews, which is to be simultaneous with an attack by Faisal’s forces on the French in Syria. But we three men are not in favor of
it. We have had no part in the preparations, although we know all details. We are honest men, who have the public interest at heart, and accordingly we have spied on Yussuf Dakmar, purposing to expose all his plans to the authorities.”
Jeremy began humming to himself. Mabel tittered, and little Doctor Ticknor swore under his breath. But Grim looked as if he believed them — looked pleasantly surprised — and nodded gravely.
“But that hardly explains your following this Indian through the streets and attacking him on the veranda,” he suggested, as if sure they could explain that too — as sure enough they did.
“We did not attack him. He attacked us. It was obvious to us from the first that he must be an agent of the Government. So when Yussuf Dakmar told us to follow and murder him we decided it was time to expose Yussuf Dakmar, and that this was our opportunity. We knew surely that this Indian would take that letter straight to some official of the Government; it was only necessary to pretend to hunt him and in that manner inveigle Yussuf Dakmar into the toils.
“But when we reached this house Yussuf Dakmar was afraid and refused to approach nearer than the street. He insisted on keeping watch outside the garden gate while we should draw near and shoot everyone who might be in the house and recover the letter. He is a coward, and we could not persuade him.
“So we decided to pretend to do his bidding, and to whisper through the window to the people within to pass out to the street by some back way and capture him, after which we would give all our evidence to the authorities.
“It was while we were looking through the window, seeking to call the attention of those within for that purpose and no other, that we were attacked and submitted to much unnecessary violence. That is the whole truth, as Allah is our witness! We are honest men, who seek to uphold the law, and we claim the protection of the Government. We are ready to tell all we know, including the names of those connected with this plot.”
CHAPTER 5. “Nobody will know, no bouquets”
There followed a tedious hour or two, during which Grim cross-examined the three “honest men,” and took down lists of names from their dictation, getting Doctor Ticknor meanwhile to go for the police because Yussuf Dakmar might still be lurking in the neighborhood for a chance to murder Narayan Singh. It was only after the police had carried off the prisoners to jail (where they repudiated their entire confession next morning) that Grim showed us the letter which, like a spark, had fired a powder magazine — although a smaller one than its writer intended.
“It isn’t in Faisal’s handwriting,” he said, holding the feathery Arab script up to the lamplight; “and it’s no more like his phraseology than a camel resembles a locomotive. Listen to this:
To the Pan-Arab Committee in Jerusalem, by favor of Yussuf Dakmar Bey its District President, Greeting in the name of God:
Ye know that on former occasions the foes of our land and race were overwhelmed when, relying on the aid of the Most High, and raising the green banner of the Prophet — on whom be peace — we launched our squadrons in a cause held sacred by us all.
Ye know that in that fashion, and not otherwise, the accursed conquerors were driven forth and our sacred banner was set on high over the Damascus roofs, where by Allah’s blessing may it wave for ever!
Ye know how those who claimed to be our friends have since proven themselves foes, so that the independent state for which we fought is held today in ignominious subjection by aliens, who deny the true Faith and hold their promises as nothing.
Ye know how Damascus is beset by the French, and Palestine is held by the British who, notwithstanding the oath they swore to us, are daily betraying us Arabs to the Jews.
Know now, then, that the hour has struck when, again in the name of Allah, we must finish what we formerly began and with our true swords force these infidels to yield our country to us. Nor on this occasion shall we sheathe our swords until from end to end our land is free and united under one government of our own choosing.
Know that this time there shall be no half-measures nor any compromise. It is written, Ye shall show no quarter to the infidel. Let no Jew live to boast that he has footing in the land of our ancestors. Leave ye no root of them in the earth nor seedling that can spring into a tree! Smite, and smite swiftly in the name of Him who never sleeps, who keeps all promises, whose almighty hand is ready to preserve the Faithful.
Whereunto ye are bidden to take courage. Whereunto our army of Syria stands ready. Whereunto the day has been appointed.
Know ye that the tenth day from the sending of this letter, and at dawn, is the appointed time. Therefore let all make common cause for the favor of the Most High which awaits the Faithful.
In the name of God and Mohammed the Prophet of God, on whom be blessings.”
There followed the Moslem date and the numerical signature over Faisal’s indubitable seal. Grim figured a moment and worked out the corresponding date according to our western calendar.
“Leaves six days,” he said pleasantly. “It means the French intend to attack Damascus seven days from now.”
“Let ’em!” Jeremy exploded. “Faisal’ll give ’em hell! All they’ve got are Algerians.”
“The French have poison gas,” Grim answered dourly. “Faisal’s men have no masks.”
“Get ’em some!”
That was Jeremy again. Grim didn’t answer, but went on talking:
“They’re going to get Damascus. All they’ve waited for was poison gas, and now there’s no stopping ’em. They forged this letter after the gas arrived. Now if they catch Faisal in Damascus they’ll put him on trial for his life, and they probably hope to get this letter back somehow to use as evidence against him.”
“Go slow, Jim!” Mabel objected. “Where’s your proof that the French are jockeying this? Isn’t that Faisal’s seal?”
“Yes, and it’s his paper. But not his handwriting.”
“He might have dictated it, mightn’t he?”
“Never in those words. Faisal don’t talk or write that way. The letter’s a manifest forgery, as I’ll prove by confronting Faisal with it. But there’s a little oversight that should convince you it’s a forgery. Have you a magnifying glass, doc?”
Ticknor produced one in a minute, and Grim held the letter under the lamp. On the rather wide margin, carefully rubbed out, but not so carefully that the indentation did not show, was the French word magnifique that had been written with a rather heavy hand and one of those hard pencils supplied to colonial governments by exporters from stocks that can’t be sold at home.
“That proves nothing,” Mabel insisted. “All educated Arabs talk French. Somebody on Faisal’s staff was asked for an opinion on the letter before it went. My husband’s Arab orderly told me only yesterday that a sling I made for a man in the hospital was magnifique.”
The objection was well enough taken, because it was the sort the forger of the letter would be likely to raise if brought to book. But Grim’s argument was not exhausted.
“There are other points, Mabel. For one thing, it’s blue metallic ink. Faisal’s private letters are all written with indelible black stuff made from pellets that I gave him; they’re imported from the States.”
“But if Faisal wanted to prove an alibi, he naturally wouldn’t use his special private ink,” objected Mabel.
“Then why his seal, and his special private notepaper? However, there’s another point. Faisal writes the purest kind of Arabic, and this isn’t that sort of Arabic. It was written by a foreigner — perhaps a Frenchman — possibly an Armenian — most likely a Turk — certainly one of the outer ring of politicians who have access to Faisal and seek to control him, but are not really in his confidence. Damascus is simply a network of spies of that kind — men who attached themselves to the Arab cause when it looked like winning and are now busy transferring their allegiance.
“I think I could name the man who wrote this; I think I know the man who wrote that magnifique. If I’m right, Yussuf Dakmar will notif
y the French tonight through their agents in Jerusalem. The man who wrote that magnifique will know before morning that the letter’s missing; and it doesn’t matter how careful I may be, it’ll be known as soon as I start for Damascus.
“They’ll dope out that our obvious course would be to confront Faisal with this letter. The only way to travel is by train; the roads are rotten — in fact, no auto could get through; they’d tip off the Bedouins, who’d murder everybody.
“So they’ll watch the trains and especially Haifa, where everyone going north has to spend the night; and they’ll stop at nothing to get the letter back, for two reasons; as long as it’s in our hands it can be used to establish proof of the plot against Faisal; once it’s back in theirs, they can keep it in their secret dossier to use against Faisal if they ever catch him and bring him to trial. You remember the Dreyfus case?
“I shall start for Damascus by the early train — probably take an auto as far as Ludd. If I want to live until I reach Damascus I shall have to prove conclusively that I haven’t that letter with me. Anyone known to be in British service is going to be suspected and, if not murdered, robbed. Ramsden has been seen about too much with me. Jeremy might juggle by but he’s already notorious, and these people are shrewd. Better hold Jeremy in reserve, and the same with Narayan Singh. A woman’s best. How about you, Mabel?”
“What d’you mean, Jim?”
“Do you know a woman in Haifa?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well enough to expect a bed for the night at a moment’s notice?”
“Certainly.”
Mabel’s eyes were growing very bright indeed. It was her husband who looked alarmed.
“Well, now, here’s the point.”
Grim leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette, not looking at anybody, stating his case impersonally, as it were, which is much the shrewdest way of being personal.