The Terror of Algiers

by H. Bedford-Jones

  THEN he took up his own instrument and spoke into it. The voice which replied gave me a start; it was the laughing, gay, exuberant voice of Zelie Vassal.

  “So this is Mr. Solomon?” she said in English. “Delighted! I trust you are quite well?”

  “Thank’ee ma’am, quite well,” said Solomon.

  “And you’ve read the morning papers?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re ready to talk to me now, eh?”

  “There ain’t no ’elp for it, miss.” Her clear, brilliant, hard laugh rang on the wire.

  “You’re right about that! I suppose you’ve learned that the police are looking for you and your American friend, and that we know where you are. I suppose you know that when the word is given the police will do the rest?”

  “Yes, miss,” assented Solomon. “If so be as you’d like to talk it over—”

  “Very well. That is exactly what I’m proposing. A car is on its way—a Minerva. It will wait for you at the head of your street. You and the American—and no others—will be brought here. Do you consent?”

  “Dang it!” exclaimed Solomon. “There ain’t nothing else I can do!”

  She laughed again. “I’m glad you’ve sense enough to realize it. We don’t care to waste time or words. You understand that this is a complete capitulation?”

  “Werry sorry I am to say it, miss, but it’s just that.”

  “Good. We’ve found out a great deal about you, my friend,” she said coolly, “and I must tell you plainly that we have you pinched in a cleft stick. If you get out with a whole skin, you’re lucky. Understood?”

  Solomon sighed wheezily. “Yes, miss. There ain’t no two ways about it.”

  “Very well. Bring with you all those papers and other things which you took from Montjoy’s office.”

  “Very well,” returned Solomon submissively. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, that ’ere inspector wants to know whether ’e can get away from ’ere safely or not. Werry much worried ‘e is; and as ‘e ain’t no manner o’ use to me—”

  Her silvery laugh trilled with real amusement.

  “Yes, of course! We don’t care anything about him; but tell him to look out that his next prisoner doesn’t handcuff him. And you will leave Mile. Parker in your house, to act as hostage for your conduct. The streets and exits are being watched, and if you forget yourself something unpleasant will happen to her. You understand?”

  “Yes, miss, and werry good of you it is,” said Solomon. “I’ll be ready in ’alf an ’our or so. I ain’t ’ad me breakfast yet.”

  She rang off, with another laugh.

  “What the devil!’ exclaimed Santerre, regarding Solomon with the utmost astonishment. “Who told you that I was worried about anything? Who said that I could be of no use to you?”

  Solomon chuckled, and began to fill his pipe anew. Then he rose.

  “Well, sir, you can’t be no use to me ’ere, that’s flat. But there’s one or two errands you might do. If you’ll be so good as to come along o’ me, I’ll set you on your way, just like that. There ain’t nothing like getting off to a good start, as the old gent said when ’e buried ’is second.”

  Solomon called Dris, and the three of them left the room.

  I GAVE Alice Parker a look, and found no comfort whatever in her countenance. She was anxious, bewildered, uncertain.

  “It just can’t be true!” she explained. “He can’t give up like that, after—after all he’s done!”

  I took a cigarette, and shook my head.

  “Lack of men,” I said. “Santerre had the right idea. The old boy made a game play last night—a bold play—and lost. Apparently we’re in for real trouble. Solomon’s gone to pieces, and no mistake. It’s a complete capitulation. I imagine that he’ll make a play for time—try to get out from under as cheap as possible—and stage a comeback later on. As he said himself, he went into this thing without a bit of preparation, and he caught a tartar.”

  “Do you suppose the inspector from Paris was murdered?” she asked.

  “Undoubtedly,” I said. “Solomon sent him a long warning by wireless, as you know; but it was of no use. Zontroff had somebody he could reach aboard that boat. Wireless works for any one, regardless. And Solomon was staking everything on this chap Magnieux.”

  “But the police, here! How could they be looking for you and him—?” I laughed at that. “Bluff, largely. For the sake of all concerned, they’ve got to shut us up. There’d be no genuine police action against us; we’d be murdered even before the proces verbal, or hearing, took place.”

  “You?” Her eyes dilated on me. “You and Solomon?”

  “Of course,” I said bitterly. “With a crooked prefect of police, they’ll stop at nothing. You can see for yourself. That hellcat has covered everything perfectly. We’re trapped in this house—with heaven knows what charges laid against us. You’re to remain here as hostage. Solomon and I are going meekly into their hands. The game’s up, that’s all.”

  Her gray eyes were miserable, filled with consternation, with refusal to credit this information. Then Solomon entered, and she turned quickly to him.

  “It isn’t true!” she exclaimed. “We’re not—not beaten?”

  He nodded. “It looks werry much that way, miss; but don’t you worry. Mr. Santerre will take care of you—just like that.”

  Dris and the wireless operator came in, lugging a big suitcase and several bundles. Here was all the loot I had obtained from Montjoy’s office—even to the bundles of banknotes. All of it was stuffed into the suitcase while we looked on.

  “Fine ending to a big game!” I said bitterly.

  Solomon gave me a look.

  “You’re a werry ‘eadstrong man, Mr. Herries,” he observed, quite complacently. “When you’re as old as me, sir, you’ll maybe learn that ’urry don’t pay. Dang it! This is the first time in me ’ole life that I’ve been took napping, so to speak!”

  I shrugged. “Well, cheer up. We’ll pull through.”

  “I’m werry much afraid as ’ow we may not, sir,” he said soberly. Then he took out his watch and inspected it. “About time we was a-getting off, Mr. Herries. I’m werry particular about the time.”

  He turned to Alice and patted her shoulder. “You set tight, miss, and leave things to that ’ere Santerre. He’ll look after you.”

  “Good Lord, man!” I exclaimed disgustedly. “You talk as though we weren’t coming back!”

  He merely chuckled, and asked if I had a weapon.

  I had none, and he put a hand to his pocket as though to produce one, then checked the motion.

  “All ready, sir. Will you be so good as to carry that ’ere grip?”

  I picked up the suitcase, and in this grotesque fashion of defeat we left the house. The Arabs closed the doors behind us; and as we trudged up the narrow, winding street I must admit that I saw no indication that watchers were about, though they might have been anywhere. The thought crossed my mind that I might make a bolt for it with the grip, but the next instant Solomon touched my arm.

  “Don’t you try it, sir! There’s ’is car, up ahead.”

  “Mind-reader, too, are you?” I shot out.

  He only chuckled, and fell silent.

  The Minerva was waiting, sure enough. Boris and two of Zontroff’s Slavs were in it, and at sight of us they advanced. One of them took the suitcase from me. Boris caught my arm and grimly frisked me, finding nothing. With a glance of scorn at Solomon, whose pudgy little figure evidently caused him much contempt, he nodded.

  “Very well,” he said. “Get in, if you please.”

  We obeyed. He followed us, watching us narrowly. The two Slavs mounted on the front seat, while several half-naked Arab urchins pestered them for money. The next instant the car slid away and started up the hill.

  In this fashion began our abject and total surrender. I had completely forgotten about the film and the copy which Solomon had made from one of my prints before surrendering them to
the covetous Zontroff.

  CHAPTER X - PERFUME OF ARABY

  IN the course of that ride only one incident occurred, and this made no impression on me at the moment. Solomon reached into his pocket, and Boris’s hand slid under his coat to a pistol. When Solomon brought out his plug of tobacco and knife, Boris sniffed and leaned forward, extending his hand for the knife.

  “You cannot have any weapon,” he said in his heavily accented English.

  “Give it me.”

  “Dang it, ’ow can I fill me pipe, then?” said Solomon indignantly.

  “I do not care.”

  “Well,” said Solomon, resuming his apologetic tone, “you wait a minute, sir, till I get me pipe filled.—And take good care o’ that knife, ’cause why, I value it ’ighly. I’ve ’ad it a mortal long time.”

  As he sat there, a distinct bulge appeared in his right-hand coat pocket.

  Boris felt it. “What is that?” he demanded.

  “Perfume,” said Solomon.

  He reached into his pocket and produced a small bulb-atomizer. With it he dusted his coat-lapels in the most approved French manner. The odor of perfume rose heavily.

  “And now, I ’opes you’re satisfied,” he said, putting it away again, “and can let me fill me pipe in peace, sir.”

  Boris eyed him in contempt, and relaxed, until presently Solomon finished with his plug and gave him the knife. I gave him a curious glance, wondering at this strange, seemingly inconsistent affectation of perfume; but the matter was too slight to be worthy of comment other than the contempt of Boris.

  We rolled on up the hill. Solomon filled and tamped the tobacco down into his clay pipe; then he put it away again and sat looking out the car window in silence. After passing through El Biar, we swung off the main highway and into the maze of roads that cut up the heights. Presently we saw ahead of us the villa-topped hill of Zontroff’s stronghold.

  The powerful car swung up the drive and rolled to a halt under the porte-cochere. Here Zontroff was standing, dressed up to the nines as usual, even to a gardenia in his buttonhole. He glared at us as we alighted, then snapped a harsh command at Boris.

  “Have you inspected that suitcase?”

  “No, m’sieu’,” said Boris.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” put in Solomon, “it ’as what we got from Mont joy—”

  “Shut up!” roared Zontroff; and Solomon subsided.

  Boris took the suitcase and opened it. Zontroff joined him, glancing at the contents.

  Solomon turned to me and spoke in a low voice. We were, at the moment, quite alone.

  “You’ll ’ave to take ’im on, sir, when I give the word,” he said softly.

  I started in astonishment, then masked the look as Zontroff turned to us. What did the pudgy little cockney mean? Was it possible that he meant to try some desperate play at the last moment? That would be madness—utter madness. His chance had passed.

  However, with a shrug, I muttered an assent. Nothing much mattered now, and ever since our first meeting I had ached to come to grips with that big gorilla’. One good smash in his ugly face would make up for a good deal!

  Zontroff surveyed Solomon with a sneer, gave me one scowling look that boded me no good, and with a gesture strode into the house ahead of us. I followed, with Solomon. Boris came behind us, and one of the Slavs bore the suitcase inside.

  WE passed through the magnificent, glittering rooms to the same library that I knew so well. As we went, Solomon drew out his watch and glanced at it with an intent frown. He was just putting it away when the door of the library ahead was flung open and the Vassal woman appeared, her eyes flashing.

  “Nick!” she exclaimed sharply. “The telephone has gone dead! I was talking with Montjoy and it went dead on us—the wires have been cut!” Zontroff whirled on us.

  “You little liar!” he snarled at Solomon. “Is this some of your work? Are you trying some trick—?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Solomon unexpectedly. “You see, sir, last night I’d give orders to cut the wires. I ain’t been able to reach me own men all morning, sir, as you werry well know. If they’ve been and cut the wires, I’m werry sorry indeed, sir and miss.”

  So humble and apologetic was his manner that I could cheerfully have kicked him. My hope that he had some sort of action up his sleeve fled instantly.

  “So that’s it, eh?” said Zontroff, and looked at me. “Well, my fine young American? Anything left for you to do?”

  “You give me a chance,” I told him angrily, “and I’ll smash that monkey face of yours till you won’t know it! That’s all my talk to you. Now, let’s get it over.”

  “Yes, I agree,” put in Zelie Vassal, coming between us and laying her hand placatingly on Zontroff’s arm. “Come in, gentlemen, and let us settle the matter without any explosions. I will do the talking, if you please.”

  “Werry good, miss,” said Solomon. “Mr. Herries, I’d be ’appy if you’d keep yourself in ’and, so to speak. Callin’ of names don’t do no good.”

  I said no more. Angry and disgusted, I followed info the library, anxious only to get the bad news over as soon as possible.

  Zontroff took his place at the desk.

  Zelie Vassal took the chair he placed for her, at one side of the desk, and motioned us to two big chairs facing him—the two to which Santerre and I had once been chained. It was an ominous presage, although now there were no chains in evidence. Boris remained at the door, openly holding a pistol and watching us narrowly.

  Solomon glanced at his watch again; it was close to noon. I wondered what concern he had with the time, but he put up the watch again and got out his pipe.

  “If you ’aven’t no objection, miss—”

  “Smoke, by all means,” she said impatiently. “Well, Solomon, you’re singing another tune now, my man. Yesterday you sat high and mighty. Are you ready to hear the terms?”

  “Yes, miss,” he said, and held a match to his pipe.

  “This gentleman with you,” and she flung me a savage sneer, “is to remain in our hands—as a prisoner. You are to give him up absolutely. Then we’ll put through the program arranged for his benefit. Understood?”

  Solomon merely nodded, his eyes fastened on her with a blank stare.

  “You’re to leave Algiers and stay outside North Africa entirely. To ensure this, you will sign a confession acknowledging your attack on this villa of last night, for the purpose of robbery, and you’ll acknowledge the death of two of our servants. Understood?”

  “I can’t ’elp meself, miss,” said Solomon humbly. “Dang it! If I sign that ’ere paper, you’ll blackmail me.”

  She laughed, and struck a paper lying on the desk.

  “Perhaps we will. What of it? You’ll sign, if you want to leave this house alive. What’s more, you’ll hand me a check for five hundred thousand francs, and you’ll remain here until it has been cashed. We know all about you. We know that you’re a rich man. Understood?”

  SOLOMON appeared greatly agitated by this demand. He pushed back his chair and came to his feet, walked up and down, puffing at his pipe. Then he halted, facing her and Zontroff.

  “Look ’ere, miss, that’s a bit steep, that is!” he expostulated.

  “Shut up!” roared Zontroff, in a sudden explosion of rage that purpled his ugly face. “You’ll do what we say! And what’s more, you’ll sign an order giving us admission to that house of yours in the Arab quarter. I want every document and paper in your possession, do you hear?”

  Solomon regarded him as though stupefied.

  “But, dang it, I can’t lose me priwate papers! They’re wallyble to me, I tell you—”

  “You’ll do it, or the police will seize them for us inside half an hour!” snapped the woman, suddenly flaring up. “You cheap little cockney, don’t you know you’re through?—Do you agree or not?”

  Solomon seemed to shrivel before her fierce flame of passion.

  “Yes, miss, I’m through,” he said. A w
heezy sigh broke from him. He took out his watch again, glanced at it, and I saw fine beads of perspiration bedewing his forehead. “I’m an old man, sir and miss,” he went on, pleadingly, “and you’ve ’it me werry ’ard. But I ’opes as ’ow you won’t take me last cent—”

  Zontroff rose up in brutal passion. “You fool! We’ll take everything you have, and we’ll throw you out naked. D’you understand that?—And as for this American—” He checked himself abruptly and turned to the woman. “Zelie! M. le Préfet should have been here long ago. No word from him?”

  “None,” she returned.

  “I expect,” put in Solomon mildly. “as ’ow he ain’t a-coming, sir. That ’ere prefect is a werry busy man just now. And werry sorrowful, likewise, if I ain’t mistook.”

  They both stared at him sharply. He reached into his pocket, took out the little bulb atomizer, and the heavy odor of perfume came to us as he sprayed his coat lapels. Zontroff started to speak, but at this instant there came a knock at the door.

  Boris opened it, and after a moment he approached the desk. His swarthy face looked thunderstruck.

  “M’sieu’—madame!” he stammered. “A man has come in a hired car. He wants to see M. Solomon. He says his name is Magnieux.”

  There was an instant of stupefied silence.

  “Magnieux? Magnieux?” repeated Zontroff in a bewildered manner. ”But that is impossible!”

  “An impostor! A trick!” exclaimed the woman sharply. “He is alone? Send him in. We’ll soon settle this affair. Send him in!”

  Boris went to the door, passed on the message.

  Zontroff scowled at us.

  “Magnieux is dead!” he said. “It was in the newspapers this morning. What does this mean?”

  “It means as ’ow ’e wasn’t dead at all,” said Solomon, calmly. “I expect as ‘e ’as some werry interesting information for you, sir.”

  “You’re a fool!” snapped the worn-an. “And so is he. If it is Magnieux, we’ve got him, as well as you.”

  I looked at Solomon, but could read nothing in that inscrutable face of his. Was it some trick, then? Or had the report of Magnieux’s death been false? If so, there seemed no sense to all this. I forgot, of course—we all forgot—that this villa was isolated; its telephone wires were cut.