IT WASN'T

A NIGHTMARE

L. F. Hay

(Lindsay Fitzgerald Hay, 1891-1946)

1937

Contents

1: Too Good to be True

2: Gresham

3: We Return to London

4: We Pass Over into France

5: La Chasse à l'izard

6: The Coup de l'Aspe

7: The Chateau

8: Obsession?

9: An Unexpected Traveller

10: Under The Aegis of the Gods

11: On the Trail

12: The Grand Couronne

13: Macedonian Methods

14: I Fall By The Way

15: The Belashitza Mountains

16: Wheels Within Wheels

17: The Spark

18: Several Irons In The Fire

19: The Battle On La Scie

20: The Cost

21: Two Messages

22: Doubled

23: The Bosphorus

24: A Proposition

25: Two Can Play At That Game

26: Abdullah Departs

27: An Old Friend

Epilogue

________________

1

Too Good To Be True

I WAS ON holiday last autumn waiting for Nigel. I had come out from the low front door of the rambling lodge of Garramore in South Uist and was breathing my fill of the mild airs which blow across the links from the Atlantic. Some cattle were feeding on the intervening machair broken here and there by deposits of fine sand. The ground to northwards rises in a ridge ending in a promontory, but of the ocean itself there is nothing to be seen, though the muffled roar of the incoming rollers provides an accompaniment to every other sound.

After finishing my last book I had come up here for a rest since the heat in London had taken it out of me. I had left my house in my secretary's efficient hands and had rented Garramore, which comprises half the island of South Uist, with as good sea trout fishing as you will find in the Outer Isles. But it was high time for breakfast. Nigel might be here at any moment. So I turned about and went inside.

I myself am on the wrong side of forty. At Oxford I assimilated a good deal of history and still more alcohol, but although I did not get a "First", or even a "Second", I have never regretted those glorious carefree days before the war. Armageddon claimed me of course, and I served in various capacities in France and the Near East. Here the intelligence branch caught my fancy for the first time and led me into many a strange adventure in Greece, Bulgaria, Turkey and the Caucasus, which perhaps one day I shall relate. For some years after the armistice I carried on in the same line of country but as the governmental purse strings tightened there appeared to be no effective place for me and I drifted into literature; first hack journalism which brought little pay and many a rebuff, then more regular criticism, and in the last few years fiction pure and simple.

The net result is that I now have money― well, not to burn, but enough to get me anything I really want, from a beat on the Tay or Helmsdale to the quickest kind of motor car, or voyages in comfort to distant lands. Besides that, when I enter the Berkeley or the Carlton people nudge one another and whisper; and once I actually overheard the following remarks: "Do you see that monstrous brute with the big moustache? Well that's Archibald Beldrum!" "Oh darling, surely not! He couldn't have written such lovely books with a face like that!"

Yes, it was time for breakfast and time that Nigel had arrived. Fishing for us, I thought, that day; and as I turned in through the front door I wondered whether the heavy clouds scudding from the sea would descend upon the links and blot them out. I had already been up north for a week or so and apart from sea trout had bagged snipe, duck teal, rock pigeon and golden plover, while on one or two memorable occasions accompanied by Jimmie the keeper and his eight bore I had lain hidden on an island in Loch Druidibeag and awaited the momentous coming of the geese, roused in their thousands from the for end of the loch.

Porridge? Yes! And sea trout done in oatmeal? Yes! Bacon and eggs steaming on the breakfast heater? Yes, if possible. Thank God there were no letters and I need not bother about the papers for they were three days old.

I was just pouring out the coffee when a high and cheery hail resounded in the pitch pine passage of the long old house. My cup was still in my left hand when Nigel burst into the room and had my right in his.

Now, I hate people who offer you a flabby flipper like cold plaice, and I abominate misguided young men who catch my long fingers extended to offer a friendly greeting and apply an excruciating torsion before I can close my hand and give them more than they bargained for. I well remember Nigel, when saying good bye to a nasty bit of work who had annoyed him, with a fair grip palm to palm, holding that man up against the wall for about a minute, athletic though the other was. He cannot crush my hand though; it is far too big and not weak either. But one of the best things I liked about him was the way in which he would put his whole hand in mine and then close firmly on it, as who should say, "That's yours, and pretty useful too!"

"My word you are looking well and brown, you great Zephyr!"

He always calls me this. "So are you!"

Indeed he was, for the clear eyes the grinning letter box of a mouth and his odd attractive face simply radiated life.

Before Nigel's father died he had asked me to look after the ugly little brute. The boy had come to stay with us then and in my house he had just remained. As he grew up we got accustomed to each other and Nigel now is not so little either, for he is twenty-six, broad of shoulder, slender of waist, can break a man's jaw or his neck at one go and tears through a pack of cards with a seraphic grin as if it cost him no great effort. So when after a year or two in the army he decided to go on the stage, there we were― I working with the pen, he with his voice, his hands, his feet, and above all his quick wits at the hard thankless early stages of a career in the profession

I expert though," I went on, "that you are rather pulled down after all your work in London. However we'll build you up here."

My tongue was in my cheek since Nigel seldom fails to rise to a leg pull like that, and I waited on my guard to see what line he would take

"Oh yeah," he observed and ate his porridge

Then he took a spoon up idly from the table and began to play with it. Nigel's fingers twirled it about with delicacy and address. Then for no apparent reason they got busy and made a nonsense of that spoon; first they twisted it wilfully this way and that, Then they tore it clean in two.

"I'm terribly sorry," he murmured, looking with embarrassment at his two hands, which were gingerly fingering the fragments. "They must have gone mad, but now they are trying to say they hope it wasn't a valuable spoon."

"You can't do that 'ere," I had begun. Then I remembered something and leaning back in my chair rocked with silent and offensive laughter. "Lead, you mutt!" I was able to say at last. "The silver spoons were left in London!"

Pocketing the trophy on his way, Nigel had moved round behind me and I felt his fingers closing gently on my throat.

In spite of that," he murmured In my ear, "It'll be just too bad if they go mad again!"

I did not move but opening my mouth I began to ejaculate a string of powerful invective. Then the fingers tightened just enough to stop the flow. I can settle most people even now but Nigel is a bit above the odds. So I tapped the table to signify enough. Besides, I wanted breakfast.

"After which hearty interlude," I remarked, "the two men went over to the window and gazed up at the clouds sweeping out of view above the house.  The rods are ready in the gun-room and as soon as Temperley has had his breakfast we can make a start for the Laxmore. It should be good to-day."

"Do you remember the time we had together spinning on the Tay? I haven't had a rod in my hand since then, and I've never fished for sea-trout anyway."

We finished our breakfasts comfortably exchanging news and enjoyed together the best smoke of the day.

Half an hour later we were bowling down the metalled road leading from Benbecula to Lochbolsdale in the south Jimmie with his dog the rods and tackle and the lunch― all were tucked into the back of an ancient Buick that went with the house― and as I drove I pointed out to Nigel the salient features of the landscape. Between the three mountains in the middle of the island and the Atlantic on our right the ground, though actually truncated with a multiplicity of water-courses, looks flat and uninteresting. Of the sea we caught but a glance or two. We had the place to ourselves and met no one save the new minister scooting north on his motor-bicycle, who signalled a greeting as he passed."

"What's that fellow's name?" I asked

"That'll be Skelton," Jimmie answered. "He's come fra Glasgow now that auld Mucklehoney's away on holiday. I doubt he'll have time on his hands for they're all R.C. here The manse is in Benbecula. But young Skelton's aye down in South Uist. Maybe he's attempting to proselytise!"

Some three miles south of the lodge we turned right handed by a track toward the sea. Hundreds of plover were fluttering unmeaningly over the stubblefields which lay between the road and links. A moment later we had passed between two sandhills, and were on the river-bank. While Jimmie was unpacking the contents of the car and putting up the rods, I called Nigel to a council of war.

Down before us to the right between two promontories the sea pool was somewhat sheltered from wind, and the curving stretch of water leading down to it was rich in interesting shoals, where trout can often be secured. On the landward side three lochs stood out fanwise, and the surface of the nearest was agitated by the sea breeze, which swept across it from the wilderness of peat bogs bordering its western shore. These lochs might be better after lunch, so putting on our waders we repaired to the sea pool

Fishing across the wind half-broken by the promontories, it was not over difficult to cast and Nigel got on well. I could see Jimmie, who stood on the bank above for some time, favouring the tyro with it gloomy and disparaging eye. But after a while his hairy face began to lighten and his close set eyes to twinkle under shaggy brows, for even the most prejudiced observer could hardly fall to note the aptitude with which Nigel gauged the timing of the rod and the delicacy with which he was already delivering the fly. Nor had a mistake to be Indicated more than once. Beginners luck, however, did not apply that morning.

I had not been fishing myself, and, when we had fished that water out, we wandered across the strip of links which shelters the sea pool from the western gales. Here, under the steep blow of a sand dune, we squatted while Nigel smoked a cigarette. The narrow stretch of sand between us and the surf was unsullied by any trace of man North and south, so for as the eye could see, long, straight rollers were coming in and falling monotonously on the shelving beach. Out to sea the visibility was none too good. But the Inshore breeze was steady, and I was conscious of tiny particles of sand grating between my teeth.

When we returned to the attractive waters just above the sea pool, luck changed, and Nigel had not been over a minute fishing before his rod bent suddenly, and I saw that he had tightened on a trout. That trout fought well, but Nigel offered no unnecessary slack, dipped his point easily to counter the effects of jumping, wore down his prey without hurry or excitement, and soon had him ready for the net. We were all delighted with the catch, a fine three-pounder.

No sooner had we lunched than it became obvious that Jimmie had come to a decision. In quiet and persistent tones he intimated that good fishing would be had from the boat in the small loch that afternoon, and, collecting Nigel's rod and tackle, he left no room for doubt as to who should accompany him in the boat, for so promising a pupil should not be denied the advantage of his own incomparable advice.

So I went off alone and fished down the river not without success, and whenever I had a moment I spied on the adventures of the boot. Sometimes I could see Nigel seated in the stern while Jimmie illustrated a refinement in the cast which should render it more deadly. More often Jimmie would be at the oars while Nigel cast, jolly well so far as I could see, or struggled with a fish. On one of these occasions it would seem that a mishap had overtaken him, for there was a sudden scrambling into activity on the part of Jimmie (from where I was I could not see too clear!) but seemingly the trout, conscious of the anglers inexperience, had bored beneath the boat. At any rate Nigel was looking rather helpless while Jimmie no doubt with comforting words of admonition was pointing out exactly where his pupil had stepped off. The picture told its own tale and I could almost hear the spoken words, but I never saw the upshot for a trout had shown in front of me. and I got immediately to business.

I had fished out the river, and Nigel most of the small loch, before we decided to chuck It. He had done very well, for he had secured about a third of the basket, totalling some twenty-five pounds of trout, and this was his first day.

Before we started home he dragged me up to the top of the sandhills, that we might enjoy again the blast from the Atlantic, a refreshing novelty for him after so many weeks of work in London in the dog days. The evening wind was rising, and a black wrack showed out to seaward. The visibility was pretty low, and the rollers seemed to have grown bigger since morning. The wind was getting rather cold. Before we turned inland, I noticed two fresh sets of footprints on the sand, one going south, the other north; though who could have come down to this lonely place, or what the creature's object might have been, I really could not say.

When we got back over the sandhills into shelter, we found that Jimmie had already packed everything into the car, and, after a dram apiece to celebrate the day, we piled ourselves in and set out, through the gathering dusk, for Garramore.

2

Gresham

THE AIR OF South Uist has not the champagne quality of the air upon the Cairngorms, nor does it find you out as do the savage winds which tear across the German Ocean and strike shrewdly at the East Coast. But the cumulative effect or such a quantity of air, blowing without a moment's interruption from the sea, is most invigorating, and tired though he must still have felt that morning, by the time Nigel was back within the lodge he seemed to be once more bursting with vitality.

Our rooms were rather low and dark, boarded with pitch-pine and lit with hanging oil lamps, but the baths were enormous and the supply of water, hot and cold, apparently unlimited. When I had bathed and changed and was feeling all of a pleasant glow I wandered into Nigel's room and found him drying himself with a bath towel in front of the large peat fire. Subsiding into an armchair I lit a cigar, and smoked while he told me all the London gossip.

We had fine appetites for dinner, and found it quite a simple matter to dispose of a rich Scotch broth so thick with barley as to constitute a meal upon its own, trout brought to basket that very day, and golden plover which I had shot. Then, when the things had been cleared away, we stretched out in comfortable chairs on either side of the open fire banked high with peat. Whisky and beer were at our elbows, cigars and cigarettes. We were a little tired and sleepily content. Real friends can often sit together without any need for talk, and I for one was Just dozing off into a pleasurable oblivion when a bell rang somewhere in the house.

No, Nigel had not rung, so it must have been the front door. Then the sound came once again, and somehow I did not like the tiny tintinnabulation thus insistently repeated.

"All right, Zephyr, I'll go and see!"

A moment later Nigel was back with a telegram in his hand. "Is there any answer?"

I was very much awake now, for the simple little message had about it something sinister, something which took me back, with that unpleasant leap of the heart which you get in an air-pocket, right out of the placid Western Isles to the uncertain, dangerous, excited life which I had led some years before.

London, 6.15 p.m.

Do not lock up until you have seen Gresham and heard what he will have to say. He should reach you some time to-night

Magruder.

Now the last person in the world from whom I wanted to hear at that Juncture was Sir Grimsdale Magruder. I had been associated with him In the past, and the association had not meant rest. For more that a quarter of a century that menacing old man had controlled the Intelligence Service of the British Empire and of its Government at Westminster.

I can see him now, seated behind his great gleaming desk, cold, emotionless, and rather frog-like. In the hard eyes and rat-trap mouth there is no mercy for a malefactor or for one whose interests do not tally with those of the all-important Service.

But towards myself he had always proved both kind and entertaining. Of course our ways had never clashed, or things might have been quite otherwise. Perhaps he knew that I could be relied on. But what might the old wretch want now? And why rout me out on one of my rare holidays in the back of beyond? I really was annoyed and showed it, for I crumpled up the telegram and chucked it in the fire.

"Tell the boy there isn't any answer, Nigel, will you?"

Gresham was a new one on me, anyhow. Probably some rat of an agent high up in Magruder's councils. Or possibly no more than a messenger sent to consult me about some Near Eastern problem. But in my heart of hearts I did not believe that it would turn out to be quite so simple as all hat.

When Nigel had returned I told him of my apprehensions.

"You sit there and finish your cigar," he said, "I'll get hold of some supper for the brute. Perhaps we'll want it ourselves before the night is out."

He was back in a little while with a ham and some delicious things arrived that very day from Fortnum and Mason. Already my greedy soul felt distinctly eased. So we helped ourselves to a dram. I lit another cigar. Nigel chain-smokes always, and it does not seem to hurt his voice or wind. Then, our preparations made and every thought of sleep completely banished, we sat down to await the arrival of the unwanted Gresham.

As a matter of fact we had not very long to wait. But Gresham did not come in the way one normally expects a guest. It must have been just after midnight when a low but imperative rapping, as of a knuckle on the pane, attracted my attention to the window. Nigel was before me, and as he lifted the sash the face outside receded just a little and a voice that was slightly out of breath said, "It's Gresham. Let me in quick! Not by the front door or through this lighted window, but somewhere where I shan't be seen!"

"Right!" I whispered. "The gunroom is the answer, three windows farther to my left. I'll have the window open for you."

He was a wiry little fellow, for the moment I had opened the gunroom window he was in, Nigel closed it after him, and I led the newcomer into the room where we had both been sitting, and where the supper was laid out

He went at once to the window where I had first seen him and asked If he might close the shutters. The man was clearly in a nervous state, so I poured him out a stiff drink, and as he turned round to the light I noticed that sweat was glistening on his forehead. His hand was moist and trembled as he raised the tumbler to his lips

"You're Mr Beldrum aren't you? Sir Grimsdale said I couldn't possibly mistake you." He had a faint trace of an accent, not quite Cockney, but something near akin.

"That's right," I countered, "and this Is Nigel Blair, a friend of mine "

'I know, I know," the little man replied ' Sir Grimsdale said he would be here. And he too, if I may say so, is not easily mistaken―" A ghost of a smile flickered across his worried, middle-aged face

"See here, Gresham," I Insisted, "It's clear to me that you have had a tiring journey I got Magruder's wire, but before we settle down to whatever business there may be give me the pleasure of seeing you do justice to the supper we have kept for you "

"You're a brick," said Gresham, "and perhaps you are right. I'll feel better then. But Is the front door locked?" He spun round, and the sweat burst out anew upon his forehead.

"It wouldn't do― it really wouldn't if we were interrupted. Pardon!" The little man mopped his brow with a handkerchief already soaked.

"Yes," Nigel Intervened. "When I took the telegram I locked the door. And if anyone should break in somewhere I'll guarantee to spot him before he gets to this room. Willie you two talk I'll watch and listen."

Gresham glanced at him in doubt, but on this point I was able to reassure the man and confirm that Nigel's power of hearing was uncannily acute.

While Nigel made a round of the house Gresham took my advice and fairly got down to it. He had four slices of the Bradenham and most of the mousse. I gave him beer on top of the whisky he had drunk, mid he put it all down, looking up from time to time like a dog who is grateful for his feed but cannot speak. He did not seem to mind my cigar, and I watched him while he ate. He had the square frontal development which I associate with classical scholars, and those regular lines across the forehead. His moustache and beard, the short nose, thin checks, and stooping shoulders all added to the impression of some minor don or a board school master. His clothes, though tolerably cut, were of a cheap material, and there were traces of ink on the fingers which must hold his pen.

By the time Nigel had returned with a report that all was clear, Gresham had perked up a lot, and I felt that port would put him in the right spirit for his yarn. Nigel went to get a bottle of the '08 Cockburn which I never drink myself, and which I only offer rarely. The sparkle in his eye and the relish with which he sipped that wine confirmed me in the impression that Gresham must be some kind of scholar, for it put me in mind of an evening, after I had taken my degree, when I was entertained for the first and only time in the senior  common room of my college, and watched with awe and veneration the learned ones lap down their vintage wine round after round.

I was musing thus when Gresham rapped suddenly on the table, and, leaning forward, addressed mo in quick, confidential tones

'Mr Beldrum, you've been most good to me. Now, if you will settle down and give me your attention I will explain why Sir Grimsdale has sent me up to Scotland in such. haste But first I must ask you to ease my mind on one point Have any suspicious strangers turned up here during the last few days?"

"No," I replied, for Mucklehoney's locum tenens was the only newcomer I had seen.

Speaking in sharp sentences with a fine command of words Gresham held out attention from the first.

To my surprise he began with a discourse on the properties of steel and, in particular, emphasised the fact that in armaments, steel was simply everything. He pointed out very aptly how, in war, victory will fall to those who know best how to drive particles of steel into other people's bodies. There was nothing new to me in this, although I had not thought the matter out in just that way. After all, if it be a matter of destroying the enemy's defences, his fighting ships, or his other implements of war, you have to fill your explosives into cases made of steel: torpedoes, shells, bombs, or what not, and when you wish to throw your shell among the enemy or against his ships the only method known to science is to drive it from another tube of steel with the aid of some propellant. Hence guns, howitzers, trench mortars. Even the smallest projectile, such as a bullet is made of steel or of some kindred substance, and is in turn projected from a steel tube, be it rifle or machine-gun. Operations in the air depend similarly on steel.

Widening his field, Gresham next pointed out that the need for steel is not confined to war, for the transport services, railways, lorries, ships― all are made of steel. The machinery in our great industrial centres is made of steel. All this is true enough, of course; in fact so obvious, when you come to think of It, as to be hardly worth stating. But I was beginning to wonder what it all had to do with my holiday in South Uist, when Gresham came to his next point

Just as some of these infernal self-satisfied super-scientists are always trying to split the atom, indifferent whether in the process they shall detonate us into dust, so some wretched chemist, grubbing about in a War Department laboratory on Salisbury Plain had invented a liquid which, though portable in glass tubes, would burn through steel as effectively as a wineglassful of vitriol will destroy a human face.

"What a mischievous brute!" I commented. "I hope he has been suppressed!"

"Oh, he's been suppressed all right," snapped Gresham. "Starling was murdered in his laboratory three days ago! But his invention hasn't been suppressed― very much the reverse. That's what is worrying us."

It appeared that the murderers had got away with Starling's pet copy of his formula for making the stuff. He had been fool enough to carry one in his pocket. Copies had been submitted of course, to the War Office, the Admiralty, and the Air Ministry. Adastral House were bitten with the idea at first, until someone pointed out that a few drops inserted in the petrol would burn the inside out of their machines, then the bird-men got the willies. The Admiralty and War Office had been dead against it from the start and the Cabinet was with them. As a nation, we had no use for a purely destructive formula and, from an Imperial point of view, its suppression was essential

"Yours is a strange yarn, Gresham," I remarked, for the man had paused to look eagerly at me I well know the care taken in official circles about matters which are really secret, and the first thing which strikes me is that there must be leakage in some highly confidential quarter "

"You are right" Gresham emphasised, drumming on the table, "and that Is the first point which has got us down, for we don't― er― quite know whom we can trust in our investigations But we have this matter in hand."

I could not help chuckling, and chuckled all the more when I saw how shocked Gresham was at the sight of my levity

"You must admit that, in the circs, there is a funny side to the situation. On the one hand we have Magruder, whose pride it is that no enemy agent on these shores can blush unseen. On the other we have the biggest secret of the lot gone west just like that, and bang in front of Magruder!"

Gresham did not relish my remarks, and so reverting to a serious vein. I asked which Power they thought was at the bottom of it. Hurriedly I ran over in my mind the various Powers most interested in armaments, and those whose political situations might make them keen to secure or at least to examine, an invention so far-reaching

Gresham told me, to my great surprise, that the Powers had nothing to do with it. He almost wished they had, for each one In a varying degree, was interested in preserving steel But the formula had fallen Into hands far more dangerous Magruder was convinced, although he would not say on what authority, that it had been acquired by Mr Babanian

"What?" I asked "The Armenian financier?"

Admittedly, you did not want a thing like that to fall Into anybody's hands, but for the life of me I could not see why a middle-aged millionaire should be tempted to make dangerous use of a recipe for destroying steel even if he had secured It, for if his money were invested in industrials his very income would depend on steel. Few people have heard of Babanian, I knew he was a power in the Near East, but knew little more.

Gresham must have realised my doubts for he proceeded to give us an outline of the money magnate's history, as known in the confidential records of Magruder's bureau.

An Armenian by origin, he had started in a small way out East where, as a boy he had wrestled and tumbled for a few piastres in bazaars. His early life had been― not to say the worst― obscure, and how he first obtained an entry into the munitions trade no one could exactly say But soon he had a profitable line of business that of supplying the Macedonian revolutionaries with arms against the Turks.

For a man devoid of scruple, once dug in, the crumbling Turkish Empire was a place where the kind of seed he sowed would be reaped a hundredfold Malcontents or princelings were always breaking out somewhere in opposition to the central Government, now in the Hejaz, now in the Yemen, now in Trans-Caucasia, and continually in Kurdistan. As time went on Babanian had developed an intelligence service which kept him posted with all the political rumblings of the Near and Middle East. Thus he would be in time to fan the flames and thereafter secure the first contracts for the delivery of arms.

But for the Turkish revolution of 1908 he would certainly have been undone, since the Hamidian Government had found him out and would have struck him down, had the power not been dashed so suddenly from their hands; and, whatever information the committee may have taken over from the director general of police, they themselves could not well act, for Babanian had supplied the very arms which had been used with least scruple in their movement.

During the Balkan wars he had reaped a colossal harvest, for he supplied  both sides. You would have thought that, with these dangerous activities, the man would have made, in a hotbed of fury like the Near East, ruthless enemies who would eventually have bumped him off.

But, no, he had been too clever; if everyone had suffered from the arms he had supplied to others, everyone had also benefited vastly from the weapons which he furnished without question to make the blackest deed a possibility. The really dangerous organisations, such as the I.M.R.O in Macedonia, and the Dashnak in Armenia, were thus hand in glove with him; and so able had been his decentralisation that Babanian's personal demise would not, so it seemed, have lifted the pall of blackmail which threatened every one of them. Hence the man's terrible immunity and hence his personal power.

When the Great War came along the Armenian massacres did not please him; he had been one of the first to diagnose the end, had realised those of his interests which were held by the Central Powers and by their friends in the Balkans, and had sailed in among the Allied and Associated Powers. Just when they were needing ready cash. How he had done it no one knew. He had picked up another million or two by rearming the Turks when the fully armed Greeks had been so unwisely launched at Smyrna. Thus his number had been made with the present Turkish Government. At the same time he had managed to keep in with the Little Entente and the various Powers which have been surreptitiously re-arming since the Treaty of Versailles.

"But, my dear man," I broke in at last. "Of what marketable value can an invention for the wholesale destruction of steel be to a man whose whole fortune depends on steel? Except, of course, to suppress it, for some consideration?"

"Ha! That is the odd part. You can take It or leave it as you like, but this Is what Sir Grimsdale thinks. Babanian is getting on. For donkey's years his mind has been set on acquiring wealth by hook or crook, and always through munitions, or inventions in the art of war. Every new development he has taken up, and he has made a good thing out of each one. People get into grooves, and this is his groove. Whatever the next development may be, he will take it up, and he will use it somehow; and he won't be able to stand back; he won't be able to keep his hands from picking and stealing. How his fertile brain will use this pernicious stuff we don't know. He might use it for sabotage all round, and then reap enormous profils from the people who found themselves obliged to replace material destroyed. Again, the Abyssinians are rather up against it now. What about his selling them the stuff and raising Cain in Italy and Eritrea?"

"That won't wash!" I put in. "If all you say is true about him, the Abyssinians could not pay his price."

"Oh, couldn't they?" sneered Gresham. "I don't suppose you have ever heard of the Great Treasure of Ethiopia."

"I have not."

"Very few people have; but it has been growing since the days of the Queen or Sheba."

"Well," I said, for I was getting tired, "if the blighter wants to sell it to the Abyssinians, why the devil shouldn't he? Mussolini is filling a pretty big size in shoes already. Give me Kemal Ataturk; he knows when to stop. Now I think we had better go to bed. You must be tired. There is a spare room ready. I always keep one In case somebody should drop in. You'll even find a hot-water bottle In the bed."

I had risen, as I spoke.

"No!" cried Gresham, rising too, and menacing me with extended arm. "This is but the prelude. I come to your part now."

I did not want to hear my part, and so I tried to hurry the little man away to bed. But Gresham would have none of it, and sat down firmly once again. Unsolicited, he helped himself to a still whisky-and-soda; and then, with a little shake of the head, as who should say, "I've got to take the plunge now," he looked me full between the eyes and asked, "Will you go and get the missing formula?"

"Will I my foot!"

"Mr. Beldrum, you know the ropes. You are in Sir Grimsdale's confidence; he would place his resources at your disposal. You know the south of France, where Babanian is living now; you know Istanboul and the Near East probably better than any living Englishman."

"I'm not English," I snapped. "I'm Scotch!"

But Gresham went on unperturbed. "You are a man of letters with an international reputation; you are a novelist about whom people say, 'I wonder what country that chap will write on next!' Why should the scene of your next book not be set in France and the Balkans? You could announce that, and go out to refresh your memory. You couldn't have a better cover for your real task."

The abominable little man had hit me right below the belt, for the scene of my next book was in fact to be placed in Macedonia and Istanbul; and, as soon as we had had our fill of fishing, Nigel and I had meant to go out there together on n cruise, see the old battlefields of Salonika, and have a good look round while collecting colour for the book.

Gresham must have been a skilled observer, for I could see he had noticed that his shaft had gone home.

I sat for a while in silence, pondering.

Gresham had the sense to sit still, too, and hold his peace.

Nigel sat as quiet as a sphinx, and seemed to be very busy with his finger-nails. There was utter silence in the room.

Then Gresham started, and switched round toward the window.

"Did you hear that?" he hissed.

Now, my hearing is, perhaps, not quite so good as it was; thus the fact that I had heard nothing might not count for much. But Nigel, without moving his head or the penknife from his finger-nail. Just turned his eyes, as a bull-terrier will turn, on to Gresham, and remarked, "If there had been any sound, I should have heard it."

"If there were a better oil, I should use it!" I found myself observing.

"Lock for you!" Nigel muttered. Nevertheless, he rose silently and left the room.

'"Look here Gresham," I said when he had gone. "This is all very fine and large and your arguments seem plausible. On the other hand the whole thing may be a mare's nest. Conversely, if Starling s copy― that was the chemist's name I think you said― right― if Starling's copy of the formula has fallen into improper hands they will know all about it now and will have made as many copies of the paper as they please What good can I or any other body do by going on a wild-goose chase?"

Gresham grinned for the first time

"There you're wrong."

He fumbled in his wallet fished out a photograph and handed it to me

"My department," he went on with pride, "refused to let Starling hold his copy of the formula without our having a photograph of it as it stood."

"What do you mean by 'as it stood'?"

"Well, Starling was a secretive and conscientious bird, so he didn't write the whole thing down in Stephens's blue-black ink. Look at the photograph closely!"

Gresham stood beside me now, and was indicating with a pencil certain spaces between the lines of hieroglyphics.

"You see," he chuckled, "Starling put down one or two of the key ingredients in an invisible ink― just there, there, and there―" His pencil stubbed the paper― "So we agreed to let him have his original, as he seemed to be so set on doing so. It kept him happy, poor chap, and we had the photograph, as well of course, as the complete copies held in the Defence Ministries. That's the photograph. You can compare it with the complete version held by the War Office "

"Well, then, it's pretty safe," I hazarded, snatching at an argument.

"No," Gresham countered, "for Babanian must have a host of chemists at call, and he might tumble to the possibility that there may be entries in invisible ink on the original copy which he has got―"

"Look here," I asked, "are you seriously proposing to dig me out from Garramore and invite me to proceed first to the south of France and then to the Near East in the remote hope that I may tumble on some clue to the mystery which is wording you? Perhaps it has not occurred to Sir Grimsdale that my time means money."

Gresham frowned.

"Sir Grimsdale knows that very well indeed. On the other hand, I don't suppose I am letting out a secret when I say that, in times of peace, public money is not liberally spent on secret service. You know that well enough, if I may say so, from personal experience. And that is just one of the many reasons why he wants to get you. You know the countries concerned, you have perfect cover as a novelist, and, above all, you have plenty of money of your own. The only thing that worries me," he went on, looking downward at the table, "is whether, having so much money and being dug in as a writer, you have― I don't want to be offensive― the patriotism and the pluck to face this job "

Gresham spat the last words out, subsided in his seat, and crossed his hands.

"Look here!" I began and then I did not know quite how to go on, so I offered him a cigarette.

"No, Mr Beldrum thank you "

"Now, what is this?"carne Nigel's voice. He must have re-entered the room while I was busy arguing. So I had to tell him

"Well," he said when I had done, "if you're worried about leaving me stranded for my holiday you won't be doing that, for I shall come too. Oh, yes, I will!" He had seen my deprecating gesture. "I've got a couple of months and we shall go together. We were going to Macedonia anyway to see your old battlefields "

I saw Gresham smile.

"How did you know that?" I snapped.

"We have means of knowing things."

"Hell!" I muttered 'You all seem to be against me." And in desperation I tattooed with my fingers on the table, for I really didn't know what I ought to do. I did not wish to be rushed into the business late at night and on the spur of the moment for Nigel's interests, which I had at heart, seemed to lead in another direction. Nor did I wish to have my judgment affected by the remark Gresham had made regarding patriotism

I rose and said with some formality. "I think it is time for us to go to bed. I will let you know to-morrow morning, Gresham, what I am prepared to do."

"Very well Mr Beldrum " he answered, rising too, and there was a smothered look of satisfaction on his face.

I led the little man to his room It was on the ground floor, like most of the others Nigel, being more nearly of a size, had lent him some pajamas, for the creature had come without any luggage whatsoever.

"Breakfast at nine, or any time you like after that," I was saying, when he clutched me by the wrist.

"You said that no strangers have been seen hanging about. Think again. Are you quite sure."

"Of course I am not sure. How can one be certain that no one has arrived in a place like this? As a matter of fact there is a locum tenens for the minister who is on holiday. Skelton is his name I think, and he came here nearly a week ago. But I cant imagine that you have anything to fear from him."

'No I expect not. Still, it is just as well to know."

Gresham seemed to be relieved, and as he appeared to have everything he  wanted, I bade him good-night and retired to my own room where, in spite of this worrying occasion, I was soon asleep

3

We Return To London

ONE SLEEPS WELL in the Hebrides and although I had been pretty late to bed the night before I was awake bright and early. The sun was pouring through my window and Nigel, in pyjamas, was seated on my bed regarding me with a queer quizzical expression.

"Hullo," I murmured stretching out a wrist to see the time― it was half past eight.

"Gresham's gone," said Nigel.

"What?" I exclaimed, starting up in bed.

"I didn't hear a sound― you know what a light sleeper I am― but as I came along here to borrow a razor blade I noticed that his door was open. So I went in. The bed appeared to have been slept on but he must have laid down in his clothes, for my pyjamas were still folded on the chair where I had left them. So far as I can make out he has just departed and there is nothing to show why or how."

I rose and followed Nigel into Gresham's room. It was as he had said; the hall door was still locked, but on examining the ground floor I found that the window of the gunroom, through which I had originally let him in, was unsnibbed. I went outside and though the ground was lather hard and traces necessarily confused, I found more footmarks than I felt could well be accounted for by one man getting in and out.

Breakfast had been laid while we were making these investigations, and Nigel went straight to the sideboard. Then he turned about with a paper in his hand.

"That's that!" he remarked laconically, and handed it to mc.

It was just a sheet of our Garramore notepaper, and on it, in block capitals, the following words were pencilled:

I THOUGHT I HAD BETTER GO.

We looked at one another.

"Now, who wrote that?" I mused. "Was It Gresham? If so, why the block capitals?"

"Why not? We don't know his hand-writing, but someone else may know it, someone he's afraid of."

"Something must have scared him in the night."

"Well, if he has gone, it must be via Lochbolsdale. That's the only port, isn't it?"

"We can pick up his traces there."

We ate our breakfast silently, sitting in pyjamas, and it was very good. I was still wrestling in my mind with what Gresham had told me the night before. I would have given a lot of money not to have been confronted with this situation. A holiday with Nigel In South Uist followed by our projected trip to the Near East, travelling comfortably by liner, would have been an ideal holiday for me. It would have done Nigel, too, a power of good. He loves the wild parts of Scotland, and can now so seldom get to them, in view of all his work In Lon-don. Besides, he had never seen the world, and was looking forward to the change just as much as I.

On the other hand I did not like to ignore Magruder's summons, especially now that his emissary had so oddly disappeared. I hoped, indeed, that no harm had come to him, and I did not well see how it could have, on this island, although the man himself had obviously expected trouble. An awkward decision must be made, and I was beginning to think that the best thing would be for me to run down to London and get in touch with Magruder, although that too would mean four days gone west, when Nigel lit a cigarette― a horrible habit to contract at breakfast― blew out a ring of smoke at me, and grinned from ear to ear.

"Zephyr," he cried, "we'll have tremendous fun! Think of the motor run to Pau or Biarritz along those straight roads you've told me about so often! And then our Mediterranean cruise. We'll have to go that way! And then the Balkans and Constantinople! We were going there, anyhow "

"Oh, were we?"

"We were!"

"You want to go, then?"

"Of course I do. Besides, we've got to: there's a job on!"

"For me, perhaps, but not for you."

"Say that again and I'll break your neck!"

"Well, I mean after all that the risk is legitimately mine, but I don't quite see why you, with the whole of your future before you, should―"

Before I tumbled to the fact that anything was happening, I had been torn from my chair and slammed down on the window-seat divan. I found my two hands imprisoned in a trice; and, half smothered under him, all I could see was one hairy forearm apparently sproutlng from my throat, in which a powerful thumb and finger were already buried deep. I could not move, I could not breathe. But, after about two seconds of that immovable grip I found myself released.

"You make me really angry sometimes, Zephyr," he said still kneeling astride me. The sooner you get this into your head the better. If you are going to take a risk, I'm going to take it too!"

I know I answered. But I had to say something

Of course, you mutt," he rejoined, getting up. "Now we've got to think what we are going to do. It'll be a holiday for us all right," he grinned, "only rather different from the one we had expected. Think of all the screamers in the south of France!"

"I suppose you are right," I said, "You blighter! I'll have to go and I can't prevent your coming too, though it would be pleasanter without you," I added with a marked asperity. And when I had made up my mind; or perhaps it would be truer to say when Nigel had made it up for me, I began to feel better about the whole thing.

I had not wanted to cut short our time together on the Island but the prospect as Nigel had described it of a different kind of holiday which involved motoring through France, a cruise in a liner and a visit to the Balkans already under contemplation, with an element of adventure not without danger underlying all these things― such a prospect had a good deal to recommend it and as I finished my breakfast I began to realise that after all things might have fallen out far worse.

Apart from our Scotch clothes, fishing rods and guns we had very little with us on the Island. Thus it was pretty simple job for Temperley to pack our grips and reserve berths for us on the boat due to sail that evening from Lochbolsdale. Next day we should be upon the mainland. A telegram was sent for sleepers on the nine twenty five from Queen street Glasgow so we should hit London on the morning of the second day. We would have dinner at the Malmaison before the train and renew acquaintance with the Imperturbable Pacini who would doubtless do us well.

Most of that day we spent again fishing the Laxmore and ruminating on tho adventures which might lie ahead. Then we piled into the Buick and trundled across the island to Loch Boisdale. But there was no news of Gresham. He had not booked a berth, and apparently had not been seen. The total disappearance of the man was disconcerting, but he had gone, so far as I knew, of his own will, by what devious manner probably I should never hear, and no useful purpose would be served by delaying our departure, and attempting a search, which must in those wild places be laborious and long. If anything had happened to the man the police would come in presently. Magruder would not fall to dig them in the ribs if his trusted servant should not turn up on time.

"How are you, my dear people?" came in a sheepy parsonical voice as I was in the act of taking a pull at my flask on the quay.

There was Mr Skelton, Mucklehone's locum tenens― tall, suave,  agreeable, well dressed.

"I have not had the pleasure of meeting you personally Mr Beldrum, yet I had intended to pay my respects within a day or two; but the manse is so far away and I have been busy with sick calls."

"I was not aware of any epidemic on the island," I rejoined

"And now I see you are going. Not for long, I trust, or far away."

Over the creature's shoulder I could see Nigel alternately grinning and making baa-ing noises which I only hoped he could not hear.

"Oh, yes; oh, yes," I babbled, beaming on the minister and frowning at Nigel as I spoke. "We are going away for a little while― on to the mainland." But while I chattered on about the prospects of a decent passage, I viewed him narrowly, for he was not like any minister that I knew― fine straight chaps as they are, without an ounce of affectation. No, his clothes fitted him too well and his face was over-smooth. However there was no time to question him. Moreover if the man was not what he set out to be we had little to gain from conversation, whereas he might have a lot. So I shook hands affably, and, expressing a hope that he would propose himself for a meal as soon as I had returned to Garramore, I made my way on board the boat. But as I looked back from the deck I noticed a tall, black figure hurrying into the telegraph-office on the quay

I will not recount the little-known horrors of a nocturnal crossing of the Minch in one of the antiquated steamers which ply those waters nor our laborious journey from the mainland port to Glasgow, nor our arrival in that sordid city; nor even our carefully selected dinner at the Malmaison spoiled somewhat by the stifling atmosphere which Glaswegians seem to like. We travelled in the spacious sky-blue sleepers provided by the London and North-Eastern Railway, and although I was awakened once by a sound as of some-one fumbling at my bolted door I slept like a log

I could hardly see through the grimy window of my sleeping-berth as the great train lumbered into King's Cross and came almost imperceptibly to rest. My berth had been most comfortable, but after the health-giving purity of the atmosphere which I had left, the close confinement of a railway-carriage, intensified by the acrid smoke which hangs about the tunnels north of London had imposed on me a heavy, deadened feeling not easy to shake off

I had neither washed nor shaved for I could do both more comfortably in my own house, and so my face had that rough unpleasant tightness inseparable from railway travel in the night. Nigel, too, looked as if his face would feel like sand-paper. Nor did the sight of our grimy finger-nails afford me any moral uplift, and as I descended on the platform, although the day was one of the best that London in autumn can produce, the muggy used-up air affected me unpleasantly, and my only thought was that we should hurry from the terminus with what speed we might.

Here Nigel sprang a surprise on me and I am not sure that it was an altogether agreeable surprise.

"I phoned from the Malmaison last night," he remarked with a smooth face, "for somebody to bring round my new car. So I'll drive you home!"

Temperley took off the luggage in a taxi, and I followed Nigel down the platform to a point where, at the end of a row of taxis and other lofty automobiles, there squatted by the kerb a new, semi-racing Arnoldo, low, black snub-nosed. At any late it was not a single-seater, that was something to be thankful for! How I hate these damned things! Give me a Magnette, into which I can tuck my legs with ease! For some time I doubted whether I could get into Nigel's beetle. This way and that I tried to stuff my limbs away, but always I was caught about the knees by the bottom of the facia board, or else I was forced to splay my leg out sideways until it interfered with the operation of the long, shambling gear-lever peculiar to these nasty cars. At last however, at the price of some skin off my right kneecap and a new pair of trousers, crushed into my seat in much the same attitude of torture as used to be imposed during the Middle Ages in the Tower of London by an instrument called the "Little Ease," I was driven discontentedly away, my only satisfaction being Nigel's absolute command of the fiery little car

Egerton Gardens seemed much as we had left them and a good bath makes you feel a different man. My French cook had come up to scratch as usual and the breakfast-warmer in the dining-room carried just the things we both most liked. But though you can chatter away in the Hebrides at breakfast you simply can't in London, and as I want to give nobody an excuse for words I take In all the papers from the Daily Herald to the Morning Post. I could see that while we had been easing our minds up north, the European situation had been getting very tangled, but the Telegraph was bringing me up to date.

"Bilge people put into personal columns," Nigel mused. He was quoting from The Times. 'When will confessions be heard in the House of the Snake?' That'll set some idiot back a quid or two!"

"New sect!" I muttered testily, though the expression smacked perhaps of Satanism, and reverted to my paper

Nigel shot off to his tailor for some clothes.

Temperley had gone to get my Magnette out. She might not prove to be so quick as Nigel's Arnoldo, but we could drive through France quite easily in convoy. I must have for the Balkans, too, some big seven-seater car with a high clearance and independent springing, capable of sustained effort and of with-standing the potholes which pit so many of the roads.

So I repaired to Piccadilly, where a friend of mine soon made me the owner of a seven-seater Cadillac. This Juggernaut, this battle-cruiser, as I examined her in Stratton street, seemed to offer all the security, carrying capacity, and speed we might require in the Near East, where the low-slung Magnette and the Arnoldo would soon be stranded on their undercarriages

Then I went to the War Office and rang Magruder on a private line. I got through at once, and heard his gruff old voice speaking at the other end. I told him that I would go and that Nigel would be coming too.

"Good man!" he said. "I believed that I could count on you, though it is a lot to ask. Do you want me to help with the expenses? I will, of course, though we are not feeling very rich just now "

I assured him I did not. Then I asked him what he thought of Gresham's disappearance.

"Don't worry about him! Gresham's a wily old bird and can look after himself. But his movements are sometimes as slow as they are tortuous. He is not here yet, but I expect him any moment."

"I can't imagine how this fellow Babanian got wind of the invention."

"You've said a mouthful! Hardly anyone knew of it in the Experimental Laboratory. Starling was terribly jealous of other people, and kept his work to himself Brigadier Drake, the chief of staff at Salisbury, has been through his office with a fine comb and no one bar the G.S.O. II and the staff sergeant-major appears to have seen the correspondence. The M.G.O. at the War Office has taken similar precautions and so have the Air Ministry and Admiralty people."

"What about your own show?" I asked with my tongue in my cheek.

"We've got an alibi; they only called us in at the last minute. That's what always happens. These amateurs in secrecy get so excited when anything comes their way that they forget to tell Nanny; then they cry when the bottle is broken and the milk split."

"But Gresham showed me a photo of the formula."

"Ah yes; that precaution anyway was taken, but with adequate warning we could have devised better means for its protection.

"To change the subject," he went on, "Before you start for France I had better give you the latest about Mr Babanian. For some weeks he has been residing on his own property, the Chateau de l'Aspe in the Basses-Pyrenees. I suggest Pau as a good centre for your preliminary investigations; the place is a hotbed of gossip. What he is doing there I really don't know, and should like you to find out. Of course it may be just a part of his normal holiday. On the other hand it seems to me a little odd that, with most of his practical interests in the Near East, and the Starling problem to negotiate, he should select this moment for idling on a salmon river in the south of France. It doesn't sound like the man's previous history and I am inclined to think that he must have some good or bad reason for remaining there

"When you have got a line on his activities in France I suggest you transfer your centre to the Balkans or Istanboul itself. I know you hove many connections there as well as in the south of France. In the present complicated political situation it is hard to say what Babanian is likely to do with the Starling formula. We all realise that he won't want to smash his own munitions interests On the other hand in the Abyssinian situation there are lots of possibilities. He might seen an opening for using the stuff for grand sabotage among the Duce's forces, provided that he saw, or thought he saw, sufficient profit in the business.

"Thus the two main lines for your investigation are: (a) Has he worked out the formula in spite of tho Invisible ink and is he thus in a position to put the stuff into production. If he has so far failed in this your task narrows down to getting hold of the original formula and destroying it;  (b) Assuming that you cannot scotch the snake by obtaining quick possession or the formula you will have to find out what use he hopes to make of it, in order that we may have a line on where to set up blocks in his path

"I am sure I need not point out to you that, however loudly we may talk, the last thing we really want is to be dragged into a European war. It follows that the Cabinet would weigh in and give the very strongest support to any line of action you may discover for preventing this dangerous invention from being let loose at so critical a time.

"I have sent round by special messenger to refresh your memory a summary of the contents of our dossiers concerning Babanian. But apart from some names, dates and figures it probably contains nothing with which you are not already well acquainted I have also enclosed in the envelope a note on certain means for getting into touch with me at different states of your quest.

"When do you propose to start?"

"Start?" I said, "I'II start tomorrow."

THAT AFTERNOON I spent in making certain necessary purchases. Of automatic pistols I possessed an armoury, and equipped with a firearms certificate I laid in a good stock of ammunition. Flying suits for myself and Nigel for use while motoring in on open car, as we might well have to do over the windy mountains in Macedonia, Thrace or Turkey; hot weather garments and Jantzens for the Mediterranean: a medicine and first-aid chest― all these things I duly purchased at the stores

We dined at our mutual club rather early and unchanged. The big smoking room was full of jovial people old and young. Among them Nigel evidently had many a friend and not a few good stories were exchanged in the coffee-room we had a small table in a corner and partook of the regular fare which appertains to clubs. If you are on the one hand addicted to French cooking, and have on the other eaten for some little time nothing but trout, game, and oatmeal. In such a case the solid hams and decorated pies, the galantines and mousses under which the serving table groans, will undoubtedly possess a strong appeal.

The big dark room with its lofty columns, the few old gentlemen in dinner jackets solemnly consuming an austere repast, even the slips on which the member writes down his order, and the waiters of a type peculiar to a London club― all these things brought home to us that we were sitting in that quiet comfortable place which is the centre of the world, the hub of civilisation, the safest spot in either hemisphere. But what the next few weeks might bring neither of us could foretell.

4

We Pass Over Into France

WHETHER IT WAS the sudden change of plan with a prospect of adventure or something I had eaten at the club, at all events I dreamt in the small hours of the morning with a detail and a vividness of which I cannot recollect the like. Although the dream recalled an incident of my early life that Incident had nearly been forgotten by my conscious mind, and what is more remarkable it focused my attention on the Near East whither we were bound, and seemed to be a pointer but what it might be pointing to I simply could not fathom at the time.

So far as I could recollect on waking, my dream began among mountains dark and rounded, as amid a horde of horsemen I charged upwards to secure a pass. The pass was held by ragged figures in black head-dresses and from neck to waistline their bodies were girt about with ammunition-pouches. In the very centre of our path several of them, working like automata, fed and fired an obsolete fieldpiece. This glimpse of the defenders held my eye only for a flash of time. The next instant my companions had charged over cutting down the foe. But although among the fighters I was not one of them and it was this peculiar circumstance which placed the incident as real in my mind

More by accident than of design I had taken part some fifteen years before in a savage little skirmish in the province of Khudavendighiar in Asiatic Turkey And now in my dream clearly I descried riding at the head the heroic figure of the seventy-year-old Ahmed Anzavour in kalpak (fur cap) and picturesque Circassian dress. With flashing eyes and white beard he moved with his fiery little horse as if he were some kind of centaur. The light was over in a moment and he was examining the prisoners whose fate would doubtless be the sword Most of them appeared to realise it. But among the down-hearted warriors there stood a splendid man laughing jovially at Kismet. Never had I seen so devil-may care an individual, for this young fellow stood with his arms akimbo his kalpak at a jaunty angle while his blue eyes and flashing teeth set in a brown amusing face derided everything and every body.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Ertoghrul," he growled

So I begged and got his life from Anzavour, for he too knew a man when he saw one.

Ertoghrul looked at me with a full appraising took. He did not say a word of thanks, but, as he gripped my hand firmly in his own, his eyes held mine. Then he mounted and cantered away toward the east; but, before he disappeared between the rocks some thirty yards away, he turned in the saddle and raised his right arm, and his eyes held mine once more.

I was so glad that Ertoghrul had got away. But dear old gallant Anzavour was butchered in an ambush not long after. I am not sure how much of this is dream, and how much recollection fostered by the dream. But how it took me back to those fierce times when the Nationalists of Turkey, with their backs to the wall, were first directed and inspired by the master mind which has led them through much travail to honour and to independence!

We rose pretty early, and fortified by a light but delicious breakfast, set off betimes for Dover, where we meant to catch the midday boat; I in the Magnette, Nigel in his new Arnoldo, and Temperley with most of the luggage in the great new Cadillac. Nor was it until the motors had been slung on board and alcohol awaited us in our cabin that I had time or opportunity for telling Nigel about my dream.

The, I found that, by an odd coincidence, he too had dreamt, and the recollection of his dream, founded on no historical reality as mine had been, was by this time not a little mutilated. But, piecing together what he could remember, it seemed to have fallen out thus.

Full of exhilaration and treading as on air, he was mounting some very steep acclivity. A brilliant sun shone overhead, the sky was blue, and the prospect altogether entrancing. A brown and rugged mountain formed the background on his right, but farther on it lost its barrenness, and the precipitous slopes were clothed in sweet, dark woods. Below him, still en the right, an unruffled lake extended. Round as a mirror was the lake, and blue as cobalt. But the very quintessence of his dream lay in the maiden who walked, never so lightly, by his side.

Fair she was, with the dazzling fairness of the North, tall, and beautifully proportioned, sprightly in her paces and active as the mountain deer. The arch of her instep particularly struck him, as she deftly placed her small, strong foot on the shale-like slope. That the face he had seen was very beautiful and kind, he knew beyond any doubt, but their contour and the detail of her features had faded with dream, and, try as be might, he had been unable after waking to recall them.

Then, without a story to account for the change of scene, he was fighting in a rocky cavern in which shots reverberated like great guns. As he fought, some influence, unknown and overpowering, was drawing swiftly near. Desperately he strove for mastery, and he could still sense the thrill of exaltation as he felt that his fingers were overcoming the resistance of his opponent's throat. But before he could reach the climax of his satisfaction he was awake, and wishing that he were still in the realm of sleep where he might have followed on this promising adventure,

I was just a little worried by these dreams. My own had been natural enough: the recollection of an incident in which I myself had taken part must have lingered in my subconscious mind through these years, only to be brought forward by the circumstance that I was about to renew my acquaintance with the land where the event originally happened. But in Nigel's case it seemed to me quite different. To the best of his belief, his dream was based on no previous experience whatsoever. Of course the thing might be Just a dream. On the other hand, it might be a disquieting forecast of events  to come. After all, if time be merely a device whereby the discursive intellect of man can think of one thing after another, it must be possible, with but a little wrench, to derail one of us from the time scale, and put him into the omnipresent, that mysterious medium to which according to the theologians. God views all things, past, present, and to come.

Although by temperament and nature we are almost totally dissimilar, Nigel and I have shared one another's lives for so long, and have worked for our own and each other's interests so continuously, that, from a psychic point of view, we must be tuned very close together. Often I have known him to express a thought that was still forming in my slower mind. When we wrestle together in the gym, my plans of attack are transferred to his intelligence and countered almost before they have been made. On the other hand, when we discuss abstract questions or matters peculiarly affecting him, the solutions to thoughts which have been troubling him usually occur to me before he has grappled them at all.

Thus the fact that we had both dreamt of violence, and dreamt of violence at the same night, gave me quite a lot to think about; and once again I questioned my own wisdom in agreeing to his coming with me on what might well prove to be a dangerous wild-goose chase. You see, apart from being my greatest friend, on whom I can implicitly rely, there is so much difference between us in the point of age that. I cannot divorce myself from the responsibility which age must feel for youth. Had I done right in letting him come? Or were these disturbing thoughts merely a proof that I was getting senile?

But once we had landed on French soil and the cars had been decanted, and the formalities of the douane had been hurried through, when our respective mounts had been watered and fed; when Temperley had packed aboard the Cadillac everything we did not need; when I had tucked myself with labour into the Magnette; when Nigel, after feeding himself neatly into the Arnoldo, had signified his readiness to start― then all my worries were for the time being dissipated, for the engines were turning nicely over and we had in front of us the glorious roads of France calling for a joy ride.

All that day we cruised affably between 60 and 70 miles an hour, via Rouen, Chartres, and Blois; but, as we were not engaged in any kind of race, we pulled in that evening to a comfortable hotel at Tours. After good fare and comfortable beds, we resumed our journey at a reasonable hour next day.

Now it is the southern half of the route which I like best, and should you desire more of it you can always book a room. As we passed through the interminable forests of the Landes, rain fell sometimes in a drizzle, and our nostrils were refreshed by the odour of moist pine-needles. The sky was overcast and low. Thus no entrancing panorama confronted us as we dropped over the last ridge into the lower-lying ground in the midst of which lay our destination, Pau.

Pau consists of two towns. The lower radiates from a singularly hideous station until it disappears in the foot-hills to the south, and through this lower town rushes the turbid Gave de Pau, a promising-looking stream, but one devoid of fish. North of the railway station the ground rises abruptly in a bluff, crowned by the terraced Boulevard des Pyrenees, facing south, and backed by the big hotels, the casino, and some of the richest villas. Behind this boulevard the far larger upper town comprises the shopping centre, barracks, slums and a maze of other villas.

Our rooms in the Hotel de France were on the ground floor, and our little balcony overlooked the Boulevard des Pyrenees. Hot baths and a change set us, after our long run, in a mood for cocktails and for food. Thus, feeling fresh and clean, we wandered together into the lounge. The hotel did not seem to be particularly full. Still, the usual types were present, Spaniards of the stout yellow kind, who always seem to be motoring across the frontier from San Sebastian; one or two old Frenchmen, wigged, possibly made up, and dressed in the sort of racy smartness which one associates with Goodwood in the 'eighties; some English― not the ones I care for; and, last but not least, a sprinkling of Americans.

Most emphatically not least; for sitting at a table by herself not far from us was one of the most lovely creatures I have ever seen! Her clothing was just right― not American but French― her figure beautifully proportioned and just grace itself. The hands, feet and ankles were delicate and shapely while her face could not but seize your attention from the first. The eyes were widely set apart, and blue with the piercing brilliance of a spring sky, and they seemed to have opened just a little further as they fell in our direction

Between her lips parted as it were in anticipation I noted a set of teeth which might have served as an advertisement for Euchryl― they were real, too (my eyesight is tolerably good and I am a close observer). The girl's features were as vivid and as pretty as her form, and as she sat there with her legs discreetly crossed reading the local paper and partaking of a cocktail, I saw with relief that she understood how to handle a cigarette. Many women don't, even now!

I suppose I must have been guilty of staring at the creature― there are some women it is very difficult to take your eves off― because I suddenly realised that Nigel was silently convulsed with mirth.

"What is the matter, half wit?" I inquired. But I knew jolly well what the matter was; he was trying to pass it off on me. There would be trouble and I might find difficulty in getting him away from Pau. She was clearly an American; you don't get them quite like that from any other country. But although things have changed a great deal in the last ten years or so my old-fashioned mind was just a shade surprised at seeing a girl so obviously genuine and so obviously well off sitting by herself like that in an hotel in the south of France. Yet when I imprudently advanced this view Nigel said I was a back number, or implied as much, and guaranteed that he would find out all about her.

As a matter of fact this distinction suited my book very well indeed, for as soon as we had dined I meant to go round to the English Club of which I was a member and collect what information I could about the Chateau de l'Aspe. But I did not want Nigel.

To take his temperature I suggested going down to the little American bar where you can get better food than in the restaurant but as the lovely blonde clad all in black was rising from her table― she had finished that cocktail pretty quickly― Nigel waited just to see and then insisted on our following her to the restaurant. So I forwent the a la carte dinner which I had in mind and, grumbling inwardly, followed in their wake.

The girl dined alone and so did I; in point of fact since Nigel had eyes and thoughts for nothing but her table.  Thus I had no inducement to prolong my meal. l I had my own cigars― I always carry Romeos― and so in less than half an hour I rose and left them to it.

I made my way out of the hotel stealthily by the side door and crossed the little courtyard which separates It from the English Club

It is a cosmopolitan place the English Club; far more cosmopolitan than English but it combines some of the advantages of a London club with many of the advantages of a cocktail bar. You can be comfortable and quiet in the reading room where no one will assail you but if you feel otherwise inclined you will find all that you require in the bar provided that congenial spirits are about.

I made for the bar, a not infrequent habit of mine, and was In luck for apart from Jean the bar attendant, a very old friend, the place was empty save for a personage reclining in one corner I had met him once or twice before: a Rumanian prince― for my life I could not recollect his name― who was reputed to have owned several million acres but who for some reason now preferred to live abroad. Dégringole, perhaps but every inch a gentleman, a shrewd judge of men, and well acquainted with what was happening in the vicinity of Pau where for some years he had kept a pied-a-terre.

He recognised me at once, and beckoned me to come and sit beside him. "But first," he cried to Jean, "you must find for our friend something to sustain his thirst for it is occasionally remarkable."

When refreshments to our several tastes had been ordered and paid for by the Prince he asked me what good wind had brought me down to Pau

I answered that I was having a rest and had it in my mind to fish.

"Quite, my dear Beldrum, but you know that the spring is the best season for the salmon in the Gave d'OIoron."

"Perhaps," I countered, "but I am going elsewhere for fishing in the spring. I am fed up with the Tay at the back end and wanting sunshine in the south I thought I'd bring my rods down here. I know the autumn isn't thought to be so good but you never know. I want a change and I just thought I d have a crack at it. Where do you recommend that I should go?"

"Pierre de Richebourg could tell you more than I can. I fish so very seldom now. It is a fine natural river but these French are so stupid in their management Everything is poached. I have even seen boys netting out fry with butterfly nets. no doubt to eat them as whitebait."

"I know, but I have fished so many rivers in Norway and the British Isles that I should like to have a new experience! Where do you think I had better begin?"

"Well," the Prince replied, "there are―how do you say?― splendid pools. Here is Oloron." A highly manicured and pointed thumb nail indicated on the bar counter the whereabouts of the little town. The other hand, polished ringed, expressive, traced the river's course, placing tumblers, toothpicks salted almonds―anything in fact― to mark the salient features. "Travelling downstream you have the Coup d'Orin and several near Saucede. But if there are any fish up just now I expect they will be lying between Navarien and Sauveterre, and the best pools in this section are the Coup d'Audaux and the Coup de l'Aspe. This last is a fine bit of water but the wading is rather difficult. People get drowned there! But I see your glass is empty―"

I refused another drink and fished out my Michelin map

"Aah!" cried the Prince pointing with a toothpick. "Here is the village and that little square represents the Chateau de l'Aspe. Immediately under the chateau is the Coup de l'Aspe. I have not myself fished there for several years, not in fact since the death of my poor friend Holban. He used to fish a lot. He had been very rich― I was very rich too, but now I am very poor― Holban had fished everywhere―  Scotland, Norway, Central Europe― everywhere― and always he took the best beats. But after the war he had to be content with the Gave d'Oloron. It would be a fine river, too, if the French were not such damned fools."

He craned his neck round the room.

"It is quite safe. There is no one about; and Jean thinks the same as me. Don't you Jean? You would be mixing far more cocktails if all the very rich people were coming back thirsty from the Gave d'Oloron

"Oui, Monsieur le Prince!" rejoined the bar man grinning

"Well, my poor friend Holban was thick with the Aspe people― very rich yes, but not much good!" He waved an aristocratic hand. "One night he had intended to dine with them after fishing― he liked a good dinner― and they say the fish were taking, so he went on after dinner until it was getting dark when he is alleged to have stumbled on the big slippery stones and once he had fallen he could not got up― The current is so strong! Babanian saw it all happen but he was too far away to yelp. He was desolated!  The poor fellow's body was washed ashore at Sauveterre. His face had been terribly battered by the current and the rocks. Perhaps that was on the whole convenient. But he was no longer rich, so I do not understand it. Poor Holban!"

I raised my eyebrows. "Foul play?"

"Oh yes! I have no proof, you understand. But Holban was not the kind of man to take absurd risks; he knew that water.  It is dangerous of course, but he knew just how far it was safe to go. Provided that he was not given a little push.  In a place like that that a little push would make a lot of difference."

"But," I ventured, "surely the Babanian of whom you speak is the well known financier, and  a man in his position would hardly stoop to a  thing like that."

"Would he not?" the Prince cried loudly. "A scoundrel! An adventurer! An Armenian! What more need I say? In the Balkan war he got big contracts in my country and then he let us down. But Holban knew too much, his father had been the Minister responsible for the contracts in the Marghiloman administration. So he had to go. And a fast, deep river just below your house makes things very easy―"

"Well that's all past history, or past libel," I rejoined. "But what Is your charming friend doing now? Is he down here? I've seen nothing of him in the papers lately "

"What, Indeed!" the Prince chuckled. "You know the Pyrenees pretty well?"

"So-so!"

"When after Izard have you ever been round the Pic du Midi d'Osseau?"

"Why, yes!"

"Well, Babanian doesn't shoot. I don't suppose he has ever had a gun in his hand― not that kind anyhow! Yet he has bought the shooting-box that used to belong to those rich merchants Etchegoria and Personnan. I see you know it. Charming is it not, and ever so secluded, tucked away among the hills What good is a place like that to him? Yet he is continually going up there In his closed Mercedes and they say he has installed a lot of― how do you say?― queer birds about the place. You remember the road? It was bad enough before. But now it is all cut up by the lorries continually going up there. If he had big shooting parties one could understand. But the Duke of Albuquerque, whose ground marches with Babanian's, says there has been nothing of the kind and the watchers on the other side of the marsh seem to have a free hand to shoot what they like "

All this sounded mightily mysterious, and I determined to begin by having a chukker round next day to find out, if I could, what delightful pets were being kept in the shooting-box of Messrs Etchegoria and Personnan.

5

La Chasse à l'izard

WHEN NIGEL woke me next morning and dragged me out on to the balcony mist still hung about the low ground and clouds filled some of the valleys south towards the foothills. But 30 miles away the Pyrenees themselves had shed their wrappings Against the bright blue southern sky a serrated line of jagged mountains stretched from horizon to horizon under a brilliant sun. Here and there, staring over the shoulders of the front line, still higher peaks, incredibly pointed, kept watch from Spain itself.

Nigel was delighted with my little scheme, and eagerly tried on the tight black beret which I offered him. Sports shirts, grey flannels, and crepe soles for us! The day would be hot, and we might have some tricky motoring to do.

"You drive," I said, getting into the Magnette― she has more room than the Arnoldo. "I'll watch the road with a map, for I don't just rightly recollect some of the turns."

Though Nigel didn't seem to be driving fast, we had traversed the winding streets of the old town, crossed the bridge, and passed through Jurançon in a remarkably short space of time. But when we debouched on the Route Nationale numero 134, Nigel trod on the gas, and the bucket seat behind my back propelled me forward, accompanied by the rising whine of the super-charger. We were into third. The wind roared in our ears and the avenue of great trees went flying past like palings on a railway. We were in top, and I pulled my goggles down. Nigel changed down beautifully for the sharp turn under the bridge; we sailed through at 20 miles an hour in second, and then we started off again. I thanked God for that motor-car and that Nigel could handle her so well. The narrow street of Gan was negotiated at a snail-like pace. After that the fun began, for the road rises sharply over considerable foothills which separate the Gave de Pau from the Gave d'Osseau.

When the Magnette had nosed gently round the Rebenacq corners and begun the long descent to Arudy, I just lay back to revel in the view. Beneath us on the right the lower portion of the Vallee d'Osseau, backed by dark woods, led down towards Oloron and, beyond that, to the Chateau de l'Aspe, where Babanian was probably ensconced. Right ahead of the upper section, a wide, flat-bottomed valley dotted with villages and here and there the silver flash of a turning in the Gave, flanked by steep mountains of increasing height. led directly to the south and to our destination, the shooting-box of Messrs. Etchegoria and Personnan.

Just above the place where it must lie, and towering above the end of the valley, the Pic du Midi, hunched it little on one side and glaring down, had maybe noted the black car and was watching her approach.

South of Laruns the road turns abruptly left, leaving a big power-station on the right, and then begins to zig-zag up a wooded hillside towards Eaux-Bonnes. But I was just In time to make Nigel take the hairpin turning to the right, and switch his lights on, before we plunged through the cliff face Into a dank, dripping tunnel, cold as the grave. Once more in the fresh air, we slowed for the narrow streets of Eaux-Chaudes― like Eaux-Bonnes, a little, old-fashioned watering-place which would soon fall into its winter sleep― and when we emerged the road had become a track engineered on the side of a rocky brae above the left bank of the rushing, tumbling river. No sun penetrates Into this dark crevasse except at midday in the height of summer. We passed two more power-stations, seemingly deserted. Few people normally use this track, save perhaps smugglers going over Into Spain, but now Its crumbling, battered surface looked as if a young army had been maintained along it; and when we rounded a rocky buttress we were confronted by a brand-new notice-board, in-scribed thus in huge block capitals:

MEFIEZ VOUS DES BALLES I

BEWARE OF BULLETS!

We paused, and read beneath a terse statement to the effect that La chasse a l'izard was in progress and that a wanderer had but himself to thank should he stop a bullet intended for one of these Pyrenean chamoix.

"By the map," I said, "we should be about a mile and a half from the late abode of Messrs. Etchegoria and Personnan, and it doesn't look as if we'd be too popular!"

Some hundred yards farther on we carne on a side road which, sure enough, showed signs of heavy use, whereas the main track leading over the frontier into Spain showed none. Here Nigel turned the car and left her facing north, for a quick get-away might prove to be important.

The side track leading to the shooting box followed a tributary burn at the bottom of a narrow gorge. That noticeboard had not been there for nothing, and a watcher might be waiting on the track. The heights on our right appeared considerable, but a reference to the map showed that those on our left were the massive lower slopes of the Pic du Midi itself. It was a toss-up, but in theory the higher ground should offer better visibility; therefore we cut up to the left.

Reaching- the top of the brae, we found ourselves on a gentler slope, still I heavily wooded and less than a mile's walk brought us to what, as we cautiously approached, appeared to be a cutting. But when we peeked out from the edge of the wood we took in the situation at a glance.

On our left rose the elopes of the Pic du Midi, growing balder; on our right the ground fell sharply toward the track which we had left. Lying before us, some two or three hundred feet below, a cluster of roofs showed up above the bare but rather convex hillside. Beyond the shooting-boxes― this was what the roofs must be― another steep wood rose toward the Pic des Moines. The corner of some expanse of water could just be seen below us to the right Farther to the right again, and facing south, were other wooded hills; and as my eyes roved In this direction I thought for an instant that I saw a flash of light. So for a while we lay listening, watching. Everything was very still.

"Nigel," I whispered, "we've got to get near enough to that shooting-box to see what is going on there. There's no damned cover up above. We'll have to try farther down. There ought to be some water-courses leading to the loch."

Sure enough we found one about a hundred yards below and, walking circumspectly, but not like thieves or poachers, we drew under cover nearer to the house. That stream was a god-send, and soon I could see the chimneys standing up beyond the cut above us on the left, not 50 yards away. So we crawled up, and, wedging ourselves between the undergrowth, soon reached a splendid observation-post.

The place was like an overgrown chalet with long, sloping roofs weighed down by stones. It was built in the Basque style, and painted very brightly green and white. We lay, I suppose, some twenty feet above the ground-floor level of the house. A big window on the first floor stood wide open, facing us, and our attention became riveted on what was going on within.

Figures in white overalls and gas masks were bending over a polished metal table and what seemed to be a glass-lined sink. I fished out my binoculars, and things became more clear. Yes, they were making some experiment conducted with the greatest care, for ingredients were being poured out, weighed, and mingled in a crushmeter. At length their preparations seemed to be complete, for, while the others stood back and waited expectantly, one (whom I judged to be the chief) paused with the crush-meter in his hand, and then, as if his mind had been made up, leant forward suddenly and tilted some drops of the liquid on the gleaming surface of the steel before him.

Crack! In my very ear! Crack!

Crack! Dust spurted from the ground just beyond my head. Nigel had not been hit; he was grinning from ear to ear. The young wretch had never seen an angry man before! But I won't write down the remark I made. We were back in the little nullah as quickly as cobras glide and tearing up along it the way whence we had come. My middle aged heart was pounding like hell and I had to slow the pace down after a while

"Back the way we came!" I gasped for running had never suited me. Those shots must have come from the north. We couldn't have been spotted from any other side.

"We'll dodge 'em that way, touch wood." I placed my hand on Nigel's head

His eyes glanced round like those of a bull terrier registering a point not to be forgotten. But all he said was, "I didn't see any izard about. Did you, Zephyr!"

Soon we were once more in the wood, Nigel striding ahead, and I noted a landmark just in front of us which we had passed on our way up. It was a big split rock with vegetation growing out of it ; and I was thanking God that we had not missed our road when a great fellow in a beret stepped calmly out from behind the rock, raising a rifle to his shoulder. I can see that man now, a Basque, heavy, brown, and rather saturnine, a man who meant to hurt if he had an excuse to do so. But he hadn't time, for Nigel had dived in; and I can see, too, the look of surprise dawning oh his stupid face as Nigel's fist crashed to his jaw. It was a lovely right!

I examined the fallen man. Blood was oozing from hit mouth, his teeth were all over the place, and, as far as I could judge, the jaw was broken. But could he identify us? And, if so, would he give us away?  I was still hovering over him when Nigel intervened.

"Zephyr!" he said, laying a hand on my shoulder. "The thing was so quick he couldn't have known what hit him, and he'll be out for hours― so come along!"

I did; and five minutes later we had reached the Magnette, started her, and were on down the valley for Laruns and Pau.

6

The Coup De l'Aspe.

WHEN WE got in that evening thought the matter over, and began to feel a little worried. It had been a disappointing day. In the first place we had been lucky enough to reach at observation-post whence we could see at close quarters the chemists employed by Babanian carrying out an experiment with some liquid they had just dispensed, and I had no doubt whit that liquid was. If the blighter who had shot at us had only waited half a minute longer we should have been able to see for ourselves what, if any, degree of success had been attained in solving Starling's formula. As it was we couldn't have waited where  we were, for the bullets were a jolly sight too close; and if, in our eagerness to see, we had been left there dead or wounded, we should have lost not only that hand but also the game and rubber. And now I remembered that I had seen a flash of light among the trees across the valley. It must hare been the sunlight glinting on the watcher's weapon; he had spotted us then, and must have stalked us until he found a good place for a shot. If that was so, we were darned lucky to have got away at all.

But had we got away without leaving clues to our identity? Nigel's smashing blow would certainly have sent the Basque to hospital. But what had he seen before that fist got home? How much of it would he remember? And how much would his slow peasant brain and limited vocabulary be able accurately, to describe? With any luck he had fallen on something hard, nut I didn't look at the back of his head. After all, it might have been safer If... but I needn't think of that, for Nigel had stopped me anyhow.

No! Unless another watcher had taken the Magnette's number― and that I don't believe― we had probably made a clean getaway. But there remained just that little element of doubt!

What, then, was the nest move? Not another visit to the shooting-box. After the alarm which we had caused those fellows would be far too wide-awake. We should never get near, unless we attacked it with a gang, and I hadn't got a gang. Breaking in at dead of night was just a possibility; but even if we managed it, what should we find? The original formula, with its secret writing, still invisible I hoped, would not be lying about on the pantry table. It would be in a safe. Of course, there might he a safe somewhere in the shooting-box. But I felt that, unless they were actually experimenting on it for secret writing in that hurriedly constructed, laboratory, the original itself would far more likely be in Babanian's own hands, and he was at the Chateau de l'Aspe.

So that was the answer! A visit to the chateau! And there I should have a double cover. Apart from being a novelist refreshing my mind with local colour for a book, I had fished pretty often on the upper reaches of the Gave d'OIoron. People knew I fished there. Why should I not visit the Coup de l'Aspe, which, as a matter of fact, I had never fished before? It was said to be one of the best pools. But I had better go alone on that job. I knew the methods of French anglers spinning on the Gave. Nigel didn't. Besides, I had only tackle enough for one, and getting another set would mean delay. Again, if anyone had reported the shemozzIe at the shooting-box, we must at least have been described to Babanian as two active men, one a great deal bigger and older than the other, both in berets and sports shirts. It would never do for us both to turn up again at the chateau, just like that, on the very next day.

Therefore I explained, when Nigel came to my room about 8 o'clock next morning, that, after the shattering events of the previous day, I stood in need of a rest and wanted to think things out. I would have a quiet day's flailing, but felt a little worried about him. Would he be bored and feel I had let him down?

No, of course he wouldn't. A rest would do me good. I needn't bother about him. In fact, he swallowed the bait quite nicely (for I hadn't let on where I meant to go), and with all the more alacrity because be had set his mind on getting in touch with the blonde American that very day. This suited my book dawn to the ground, and so I made no bones about it.

When we had finished our coffee and hot rolls I overhauled my tackle. For all the ignorance I had professed while talking with the Prince, I had, as I have said, fished the Gave before and several other rivers in the South of France. Thus I possessed the material required. In case of further trouble I stored a loaded automatic in my pocket, and sent Temperley to have some sandwiches ready for me in the car. I did not mean to take him with me, for, on occasions of this kind, a domestic servant is generally a bore.

When I settled down behind the corded steering wheel the fresh air and brilliant visibility dispelled the doubts and questionings which had assailed me  on the previous night. I let the clutch in and set off westwards along the Biarritz Road. The car was running I well. She had done sufficient mileage to be loosened up. It was still early, and I thoroughly enjoyed the cool air rushing past the raring windscreen as I swept along the straight, white route nationale.

Soon I turned south by a side road and began to climb into the foothills which separate the strath of the barren Gave de Pau from that of the nobler Gave d'Oloron. At Navarreux I crossed the river; and, turning north, pursued the atrocious highway, shared by a railway-tramline, down the left bank to a road and track junction marked by the Prince on my map. Here I turned the car about, left her by the roadside, and, carrying my tackle, followed a muddy path down to the waterside. Beneath some trees I dumped my impedimenta on a bank, just above a recent spate-mark, lit a cigarette, end looked about me.

So this was the Coup de I'Aspe. An inviting bit of water certainly, provided that the fish were lying in it, but a grim enough place all the same.

A couple of hundred yards upstream, or to my right, the Gave d'Oloron came surging round a bend between high, rocky cliffs. The roar of the water could be heard from where I sat. Below the bend the current rugged the right bank, passing with unpleasant swiftness under a rock bluff to which clung stunted trees. That bluff held my attention, for it was crowned by a low wall at the right extremity of which a small stone building, with a stained-glass window and a high-pitched roof supported by masonry as on a bracket, overhung the stream some hundred feet below. This wall, I judged, must bound the policies of the Chateau de d'Aspe; and the little building appeared to be a chapel.

The opposite bank continued, high wooded, and precipitous, as far to my left as the eye could see. Down there the river seemed quite wide and slow, until I detected foam once more by the farther bank, swept by the main current, I figured to myself where from my own bank the sunken dyke which the Prince had described before I left him must extend diagonally down-stream. No wonder the Coup de l'Aspe was fished from the left bank! From this side you could wade out a bit, one way or another. No living creature, bar an otter, could enter the water from the other bank and live.

How had that poor fellow Holban been extinguished? He might have  slipped and fallen in the current up-stream, or even from the dyke below. But he must surely have fallen naturally, for the whole of the left bank was open to inspection by anyone in the woods that clothed and crowned the right bank, or from the precincts of the chateau. As, following the thought, I turned in that direction, my eyes registered some movement or flicker, the significance of which was not transmitted to my mind. I looked steadily at the wall. Its outline was undisturbed. I scrutinised the rocks and the clinging trees. There was no sign of life. Silence in the wooded valley, save for the roar of water, and utter loneliness.

Well, I must get to work, for, apart from justifying my presence at the water's edge, I felt honestly impelled to fish. Taking off my shoes, I donned several pairs of stockings, for the water looked exceedingly cold, pulled on my waders, and stooped to fasten my dubbin-covered brogues. But as I bent to my task the unease I had just experienced returned. I looked up at the stone wall, and I saw nothing but the wall. What had caused me to look up there so sharply? Again I bent to my task and managed to tie the greasy laces. I am not given to perspiring without cause, but when I had done I had to stop and wipe my forehead.

Then I set my rod up. It was small but stocky. My "Silex" held a good hundred yards of backing. To a plain steel trace I affixed one of those coarse brass Devons affected on the Gave, and, adding insult to injury, tied into the line a swivelled lead almost as heavy as the Devon. Thus equipped I rose and began to move cautiously into the water, treading gingerly on or between the uneven, shapeless slippery stones.

After a few paces the stream was urging round my knees with a force that grossly aggravated my difficulty in keeping upright. I looked down. The water was amazingly clear. I could see my brogues and the stones on either side, but I could not quite calculate the depths. Before I essayed to make my first cast, should I tread this way or that? How much farther could I go? Clearly it was no place for taking risks. I moved another step, and the stone I had trodden on gave a bit. With a view to selecting my next pace, I glanced down, and my heart leapt with a blow against my thrust. Immediately beyond the slipping stone, the water changed from a pale sea green to deepest indigo, shelving into an abyss, while two yards in front the full current was sweeping by, breast high it seemed to me, and with a bump on it. I staggered back-wards, slipped, plunged wildly, and recovered. Even as I did so, I became conscious of movement in the undergrowth behind me on my own bank. I may add that I waddled out of the water as fast as my brogues and the stones would let me, sat down again on my tuft of grass, and harkened, breathing hard. Nothing stirred, but the uninterrupted roar of the river in the gully upstream reminded me of what I had missed.

It was quite possible that, in a place like this, Holban had met his death by accident. Again, he might not have done so.

Something about the place was get-ting me down. Whether it was my impression― a very strong impression, I may say― that I had sensed and heard hidden persons moving and watching me from not so very far sway, or whether it was something uncanny about the place itself, the merciless power of that sea-green water, the swiftness of the current and the certitude that, if a man fell in, foul play or no foul play, he would not stand a chance of getting out again alive― whatever it may have been. I must not let myself be mastered. So I took a pull and gathered up my rod and gaff again.

Of the chateau, my objective, nothing save the garden wall could be seen from the river side. In order to cover my reconnaissance it was positively necessary that I should fish; but, after my experience of wading, the upper reach had not much appeal for me. So I decided to make my way down stream and try the lower.

Soon I found the submerged dyke, and advanced along it step by step. Of a sudden I saw a fish move in the lower pool, and it is a phenomenon to see a fish move in those thankless waters.

Now, the method of casting employed by native anglers in the Gave resembles nothing so nearly as the delivery of a hammer at the Highland games. With a powerful body twist you dispatch your uncouth bait soaring into the air like the projectile from a six-inch howitzer. After a certain interval of time, provided that you have exercised the correct amount of force, it pitches with a sullen plop in the water near the farther bank.

I went on patiently for some while, carefully fishing out each cast, and easing the heavy bait over the shallows into which the submerged dyke extends. Twice, however, I touched bottom. The second time it felt almost like a pull. But it was nearly one o'clock when, in the very fantail of the pool, I got into a fish at last. The little worrying tug thrilled me, and I tightened just enough to drive the hook well home. The reel screamed as the fish made off hard down-stream towards the sanctuary, but I cheeked her just in time. There followed a lengthy war of give and take, for the fish was heavy and clean-run. Moreover, once I had got the upper hand, it was necessary to coax and drag her back along the dyke up-stream, with the object of applying the gaff more safely in the shallows. In all it look me an hour to kill that fish, a hen of 34 pounds, and the best I had ever secured in France.

When I regained terra firm I felt quite tired and hot. It was 2 o'clock and I would have my lunch. Sure enough, the food was where I had left it in a haversack, but the paper parcel had been opened. I went through the tackle I had left beside the sandwiches. Nothing had been taken; but, in the mud, I saw footmarks which had not been there before. Nor were they a peasant's footmarks, but the imprint of light shoes with pointed toes. Holding my breath, I listened. Naught save the roar of water coming down disturbed the silence of the valley, I forced myself to eat my lunch, but the thrill of anticipation with which I had begun the day had given place to an increasing malaise, and, unwilling though I was to accept a conclusion so unpleasant, those footmarks left but little doubt that I was being watched. Instead of spying, I was being spied on. If I was armed, the others might be armed. The valley was very lonely; and, as the Prince had hinted, a swift river may have other uses than to harbour fish. Compared with the fresh green of England, the vegetation now looked drab and dirty; even the river, where it ran into a backwater, seemed brackish and bore a dead animal floating round in circles, I must admit that the effect which this place had on me was, per-haps, a little out of reason; but I did not like lt.

Considering what course would now be the wisest to pursue, I came to the conclusion that, as nothing could be seen of the chateau from the river-bed, I should be well advised to use the daylight for finding some post of observation whence I could get an idea of the general lay-out of the house and policies. At the same time I could take a chukker round and convey to the persons skulking in the undergrowth the impression that I had gone for good. Later on I would return, fish again, and see whether I was still an object of attention. Then I should be in a better position to decide whether to make my attempt to enter the policies from the north side that night, or whether I should have to postpone that operation for a day or two.

So I pulled my waders off and slung them round my neck, took down my rod, and, stringing my fish, started up the muddy path; but twice before I reached the car I thought I heard someone moving in the thicket. I looked, however, neither to right nor left; and, assuming an air of confidence which I did not feel, deliberately warmed the car up, lit a cigarette, and started slowly away in the direction whence I had arrived that morning.

I was in luck, for about half a mile from the spot where I had left my car the road runs out of the wood into open country, whence a good view north can be obtained.

Separated from me by the unseen river at the bottom of its rocky gorge, I beheld the chateau confronting me from the high ground on the northern bank. It was a graceful, 18th century building with a frontage of six tall windows on the ground floor, two stories, and a high, sloping roof. The white paint-work was spick and span; while the green lawns, dotted with trees, were well kept and indicated wealth. A dovecot and a sundial added the finishing touches. The chapel, if such it were, stood at the south-east corner of the wall, which, so far as I could see, surrounded policies extending perhaps to a dozen acres. The lodge and drive must be on the north side.

There was nothing more to be seen, so I went for a drive back toward Nayarrein, and the evening was drawing in when I returned to the Coup de l'Aspe. I parked the car at a different point, and, taking my rod, but not my waders, moved cautiously downhill until I came near to the water's edge. I remained for a while in cover under the trees, listening and looking out; but this time there was no suggestion of human agencies at work and the uncanny feeling had departed.

As soon as I waa satisfied that I was no longer being watched I made my way upstream, still hugging the edge of the wood, for I had in mind to wait a while and observe, in case there might be any sequel to the strange vigilance which had attended my earlier visit to the Coup de l'Aspe.

The highest fishable point of the run below the rapids lies almost straight below the chapel. I had my rod for camouflage, but it was getting too dark to fish by the time I reached this point. Sitting under the deep shadow on the south bank I had begun to take my rod down and to put away my tackle, when a loud splash in the water nearby made me start. I looked up sharply, but could see nothing to have caused the splash. The bottom of the gorge was very dark indeed, the water nearly black, the foam a silvery white. Below me, to the west, where the valley widened, the broad stretches showed a reddish glow, and the tall trees on the bank beyond the sanctuary were silhouetted against a glorious sunset.

I was still gazing downstream, with pleasure at the prospect, when I was startled by another loud splash, and it came from very near at hand. Something pretty heavy must have fallen into the water from above, for then was no one in the bottom of the gorge beside me― of that I felt quite sure. Squatting motionless in the darkest of the shadow, I looked up. The ragged edge of the northern bluff, the chapel remarkable and overhanging, the bare line of the garden wall: all these showed black against the prey blue sky. But the line of the garden wall was broker by a head which seemed to be peering downwards within a yard or two of the chapel. Even as I watched, the head withdrew, only to reappear some seconds later as a head and shoulders. The man's left arm was silhouetted for an instant, pointing upwards. Then it fell and the right arm heaved round, and as it straightened a dark object was separated from the hand. Falling with a gathering whir, a heavy stone reached the water and raised a silver column as it dived. Staring up, I beheld that head peering down once more.

Now, children throw pebbles into water and athletes practice putting the shot, but it was foreign to my experience that a grown man should spend his evening throwing boulders into a river far below, and almost in the dark. He could surely not be trying to drop a brick on me, for I was pretty certain that I had not been discovered. No, it looked more as if the fellow were trying to alarm anyone who might be below, and cause him by movement to give away his presence. Not a very clever way of doing it. But the fact that the head continued peering down with a craning curiosity seemed to confirm the hypothesis, far-fetched though it might appear to be. At last the head was slowly withdrawn.

Mightily intrigued, I leaned back so that I could go on watching, without discomfort, the mouth of the gorge above my head― it was almost a crevasse. I had not long to wait. On the bluff beside the chapel, outlined against the now starry sky, the figure of a man had tome suddenly into view, and he had some long and heavy burden poised across his shoulders. Thus the figure stood for perhaps a dozen seconds. Then the man bent forward, and with a mighty heave cast his burden into the abyss. I had a momentary vision of a human form, spread-eagled, whirling, against the sky above. Then, with gathering momentum and a rush of air, it hurtled down.

I darted forward, and as the body fell with a hideous thud upon a rock, half in the water and half out, I snatched at the clothing with my gaff. But the current was too strong; something gave, and with a tearing sound the dead man, turning over and over, was hurried downstream and out of sight.

7

The Chateau

THE head was still peering down. Had my precipitate move betrayed me? I stood very still, and the head was presently withdrawn. It was far too dark for anyone, to see a motionless figure at the bottom of the gorge, and the roar of the torrent most have drowned my footsteps. The only danger was that my sudden movement might have caught the watcher's eye; a small risk, perhaps, but disquieting for all that. Instead of starting forward I should have stayed put.

I waited for a few minutes in case anything else should happen, and than began to pick my way down stream. By now I had seen enough of these people's methods to make me view with disquiet the idea of attracting their attention to myself. Besides that, there was a good chance of breaking one's leg in the dark among those, great, smooth stones. But at last I was out of the river bed, had climbed the hill, and reached the car.

After that uncanny vigil and its horrid climax, her bucket seats felt very comfortable, as I sat by the roadside warming her up, I had a lot to think about. All along I had meant to gain admission to the policies and have a look at the chateau itself. Now my interest had been whetted. Someone had been killed, murdered probably; and people are not killed like that in a civilised country unless something very odd is happening. Rich men don't risk the guillotine for nothing. Babanian, of course, had many irons in the fire; yet I felt in my bones that this business had to do with us. If so, something important, something critical, must be going on up there; and the chance of making a discovery should on no account be lost. I could not put off my reconnaissance of the place itself until another night I had my automatic after all, and hanging from my belt, a so-called "sportsman's knife" which could do almost any job from a gralloch to picking locks.

Switching on the headlights, I drove off slowly to the Pont de Narp. There I passed over to the north bank, turned left, and made for the village of Aspe. I couldn't drive straight up to the chateau, for I had no shred of an excuse. So I parked the car in an alley just behind the church, but I did not zip the tonneau-cover over her, for later on a quick getaway would probably be required. Then I set out on foot through the dirty village streets. I always wear crepe soles, and as I padded silently along I felt glad I wasn't wearing tackets.

A short walk took me to the lodge. The iron gates were shut, and a surly individual in a beret was reading the paper under an arc light, while he smoked a "Caporal," about a foot behind them. The lodge was thus a washout.

Following the park wall eastwards, I soon reached a corner and, rounding it, found myself on a bit of waste land which extended to the bluff above the river. No one was in sight. No window gave upon the place. I was surprised to find a track beside the wall leading towards the river until, advancing cautiously, I reached the chapel and found a door giving on the path. I held my breath and listened. The roar of the river, rising from the gorge, was loud and continuous, for the edge of the bluff was but ten yards away. I could detect no other sound. I tried the handle. It turned easily. Once released from the latch, the door swung a little inwards of its own weight, and I found myself gazing through a chink some inches wide into a dark interior. Then I slipped within and gently closed the door behind me.

The chapel was very dark and the air laden with stale incense, but on my left I could make out the stained-glass window I had noticed from the river bank, and on my right a point of light which I took to be an altar lamp hanging from the roof in its little bowl of oil. I waited for perhaps a minute to acclimatise my eyes, but it was no good, for they could not penetrate the gloom. I should have to use my pocket spotlight. Screwing the head of the contrivance round in order to make the beam as wide as possible, I switched it on.

The altar, furnished according to the Roman ritual, was on my right, the. stained-glass window on my left, while, beyond a score of "prie-dieux," a wooden confessional jutted from the opposite wall in front of me. There was nothing remarkable in that, yet somehow it stirred a vague train of recollection in me. I went across and had a look at it.

Most confessionals consist of a central compartment in which the priest sits, and two "prie-dieux," one on either side, for penitents. This confessional comprised two closed compartments. That on the right had a slot above the door, designed to hold a card hearing the confessor's name ; that on the left was intended for penitents.

I was on the point of exploring the interior when a key grated in a lock at the back of the confessional, and someone entered the priest's compartment and sat down. But before the light inside was switched on I had stolen away and hidden myself behind the altar. Then the light was switched off; yet I could hear by the steady breathing that someone was sitting there waiting in the dark. It was an odd hour for a priest to hear confessions; still more odd that he should be sitting in the dark, for a priest waiting to hear confessions will generally spend the time reading his office, and you cannot read without light.

At last another sound broke into the silence. It was the opening of the chapel door through which I myself had entered. Covered by some gilt artificial flowers I peered over the top of the altar. Yes, the chapel door was opening inch by inch. Then someone passed inside and closed it gently. After a momentary pause a torch was switched on, and by its light I saw a hand insert a key and lock the door. So my line of retreat was cut! Then, following the beam of the torch, a dark figure passed straight across to the confessional and entered the further compartment. Some whispering followed, and the light was switched on. A sound like that of a lift door running on rollers; a slithering as of someone passing through a narrow way; the lift door rolling again and coming to with a thump; a key turning in a lock; the shuffling of feet; the light going out; the key turning again.

I waited for some moments, but not the slightest sound broke the silence, which had re-descended on the chapel. Then I stepped out from behind the altar and made for that confessional. The doors opened readily enough, and the light of my torch soon explained the mystery. Instead of a fixed partition with a little grille for speaking through there was a sliding door on rollers between the two compartments, and a locked door leading out from the back of that intended for the priest. I had never seen the like before. This was no genuine confessional. No! And the chapel wasn't genuine either, in spite of the smell of incense, for I had not for a second thought of reverence since I entered it; yet I have never been is a church, chapel, mosque, or shrine of any kind without feeling at once impelled to doff my hat or take my shoes off.

I was certain now that, in spite of the altar light, there was nothing in that tabernacle. One gets an uncanny feeling in real churches, and there was nothing of that here.

Now, all the time I had been in the chapel, something about that confessional had got me down; there was some connexion with it which I had in mind, but could not recollect. It is no good cudgelling your brain in search of the solution in a case like this. The only way is to let your mind drift on to something else; then, perhaps, the answer will come from your subconscious. So I sat down on a faldstool, and, resting my head in my hands, wondered vaguely how Nigel was enjoying himself at Pan with his American lovely. Dining, perhaps, and dancing at the casino; or, if he wasn't there, he might be reading a novel or the paper before he turned in to bed.

The paper! That had something to do with it; but what! Nigel reading the paper. What did I know of his reading the paper? He read damned little of Us only the headlines, the theatre and Aim news, and the agony column. The agony column! Of an extraordinary things, that was it! Nigel reading out to me from the personal column of "The Times" in London! The words came back from my subconscious as clear as light: " 'When will confession be heard in the House of the Snake.' That'll set some fool back a quid or two!"

"Confession'' and "confessional"; the "House of the Snake" and "Chateau de l'Aspe"! No great jump of the imagination was required to see the possible connexion. The enigmatic notice in "The Times" might even be a message from one of Babanian's English agents for the time and date of an appointment in this very chapel. And I had just witnessed such a rendezvous― very likely the one with which that message bad been concerned. It might even be― and my heart Ieapt at the thought― an assignation between Babanian himself and that mysterious source of leaking in high places which had first given the formula away, which Gresham had spoken of, and which was causing so much anxiety to Magruder.

The more I turned the matter over in my mind the more convinced I became that this was probably the explanation. What a lucky chance in point of time, and what an opportunity, if only I could win through to the chateau and overhear! What might he passing between the two men!

I sprang to my feet. The outer door of the chapel had been locked, sure enough. Next I examined the locked door in the back of the confessional, which led, I felt pretty sure, in the direction of the chateau. It did not appear to be very solid of construction. Out came my "sportsman's knife," and I began upon the lock. It turned out to be a feeble bit of work, and five minutes sufficed to open it. One would have thought that a man like Babanian would have seen to it that a door which held so many secrets was furnished with a good Yale lock, but there is generally a streak-of the "penny wise, pound foolish" in Levantines, even the biggest of them.

I left that door ajar, but wedged with a slip of stone to prevent its banging, for I might want it again. I was standing in the Chateau garden which I had seen that afternoon from the south bank of the Gave. The dove-cot stood up on my left, dead black against the starlit sky; big trees rose here and there, quiet and mysterious, sod towards the end of the path leading from the chapel they clustered together and formed a little coppice at the eastern end of the house. Several of the tall windows on the south façade were brightly lit, and the shutters lay open, for the night was warm.

Stepping carefully just off the path, lest the crunch of gravel should give away my movement, I made my way toward the house. Voices were coming from a ground-floor window at the south-east corner, men's voices, but the window was a good six feet above the lawn and I could not make out what they were saying. There was a narrow ledge, however, some two feet above the ground. Grasping one of the open shutters I pulled myself up; but I dared not risk looking into the room.

"It was as I suspected," a guttural foreign voice was saying, "One of my local people tracked him down an inquisitive little man called Gresham. Does that mean anything to you?"

"No, it tells me nothing." The answer came in a clear, English, well-educated voice.

"So much the better! He had seen too much. But in Garabed's hands he proved quite useful before he met with an accident two hours ago. Nasty place, that cliff! Take care you don't walk too far yourself one night when coming to the chapel! A false step is very dangerous!"

So it was poor, worried little Gresham whom they had done to death! What had they got out of him before he died? He couldn't have carried papers― he was too well-trained for that. But there are methods of persuasion, and Gresham had known all about me. Was my cover still good? Or had they found me out?  Either way, I knew now what to expect if I trod too far on the thin ice. But I would have given a Iot to have heard the beginning of that conversation.

"Before we go any further," the English voice continued, and now it held a sulky and resentful tone, "I had better tell you straight, that I am not inspired with confidence by the manner in which this affair is being handled."

" What do you mean?" the other demanded.

"It's one thing placing information, don't you know; but it's quite different being an accessory to murder, even after the fact."

"Hush! Who spoke of murder? I have no desire to discuss a matter so unpleasant. There are quite enough reported in the papers. You must not start imagining things; it is a dangerous practice!"

The two voices rambled on. The Englishman seemed to be soothing the other, who growled out interjections here and there, but for some time I could not catch a word. Then their tones began to rise, someone thumped a table, and the foreign voice came through.

"Not they! Those two were out for trouble. They nearly killed one of my men who tried to stop them. He has got concussion and a broken jaw― a stupid fellow― but Garabed got sufficient out of him to put us on their track. I'll find out who they were!"

What sounded like a question from the Englishman.

"No! You are getting things on your nerves. Just an English tourist in a tweed suit. They often come to the Coup de l'Aspe. It is public properly, after al!  But we did not want strangers hanging round, and so my people scared him off. Of course we have got the number of his car, and shall check up on that, just to be on the safe side."

So Nigel's blow had done good work. But I wondered what information "Garabed" had got out of the concussed Basque, and also how he had got it. I missed some of the conversation, for it was mostly carried on in low tones, though it seemed to be getting just a little heated. At last the English voice broke out.

''Of course it isn't! This is just a dirty scrap of paper. The copy I saw was written on Government foolscap. But you don't suppose I was fool enough to keep a copy for myself ! I'm not a chemist! How can I tell if this is just the same? "

"You must find out!"

"I've done my bit on this job. The rest is up to you."

"What about Reuben Heifetz?" The words were hissed out with the venom of a snake. "A word to the authorities in that connexion would not do you any good."

There was a long pause.

"Now, listen!" the English voice began again. "The formula must be all right, or the War Office would not have taken it. They must have tested it and found that the stuff has the effect on steel which the inventor claimed. But Starling's copy, which you've got, may be written in some kind of cipher. Again there may be stuff in invisible ink between the lines. Have you tested for that!"

"Of course we have, of course we have!" the other almost shouted. "But without result. And the cipher theory won't bold good because my chemists say that the― how do you say― expressions used are normal expressions used by chemists."

"It may be in cipher, for all that. I have known all sorts of queer ones tried. Or there may be other reagents; we had lots of different inks, each with its own reagent. I'll find out about that, if you like, when I get home. And I wouldn't be too rash about trying other reagents until you hear from me, or you may do more harm than good."

As I heard this English traitor talking glibly on, talking to some effect, and obviously with inside knowledge, my gorge began to rise. I have known spies who were splendid fellows, but for the creature who fouls his own nest there can be no mercy. If only I could get a look at him I should hold evidence which, placed in Magruder's hands, would rid Great Britain of this menace and secure for him a long term in prison.

Still clinging to the shutter, I shifted my position a little nearer to the window.

"Very well! I will send you on in my ear. I am returning to London myself. You like that wine!"

"Excellent!"

"And my bank notes. One, two three, four, five. The balance when this formula is solved and I can put the liquid into production!"

Someone pushed a chair back. The visitor was going. This was my last chance to get a look at him. Shifting my grip on the shutter, which would have to support most of my weight, and edging my feet a little farther along the ledge, I leant to my left in order to see into the room; but even as I leant the hook which held it to the wall gave way, and, with an ominous creak, the shutter slowly swung me out in front of the window.

A tall man was just turning away toward the door. But my gaze was caught and held by a pair of close-set gimlet eyes under a domed forehead, crowned with shocks of dead-black hair which stood out square like those of a Papuan. I had seen a photograph of Babanian before, but I hadn't realised that he was a baboon-man, and the reality, rising from behind that desk, simply wasn't true. His hand shot out, and a pistol bellowed in the little room. The first bullet ploughed through the clothing under my left armpit. I didn't I wait for more, but dropped to the ground and ran.

"Whack! Whack! Whack!" came the bullets after me, but I had dodged round the corner of the house and was running for my life. The chapel was no good, because the outer door was locked, but if the Englishman was going to start at once by car the lodge gate might be open.

They weren't; and the chap with the "Carporal" and the newspaper was still standing under the arc-light just in side.

Collecting my breath, I strode boldly up to him.

"Monsieur desires," I said commandingly in French, "that the gate be opened instantly. His friend departs at once in the Mercedes. There is a dangerous animal who ranges in the garden intent on mischief. Monsieur's friend must be subjected to no interference from that source. Once the gentleman has gone, we will occupy ourselves with rounding up that camel."

"The telephone has not sounded monsieur!" the man said doubtfully; but he had a key in his hand, and at that very moment a bell began to ring in the lodge. He spat reflectively and turned to answer it, and as he turned I hit him. Now, I had been envying Nigel his knock-out of the Basque, and wondering when I should have a chance to cap it. So I put all I had into that short-arm smash. It lifted the lodge keeper from his feet and dropped him fortunately for him, on the grass, snatched up the key, which had fallen from his hand, opened the gates, passed through, and locked them after me.

A moon had risen, and the silence of the street was broken by some village gossips issuing from a café a hundred yards away. The inhabitants of the chateau would not molest me here. But if they found out who I was there might be trouble waiting for me somewhere else. Babanian had caught only a glimpse of me; he had fired at sight; it was quite on the cards that he might he unable to give his people a description accurate enough to be able them to establish my identity Conversely, I had failed to see the Englishman's face; and, if I hung about, shouldn't be given another chance. Even supposing that I spotted the car which he was in, I shouldn't gain much by chasing it all over France, and probably I'd stop a packet from an ambush.  So I chucked the key back through the gate; it fell beside the lodge keeper and, as I started off to get my Magnette, I heard a big car coming down the drive.

THE RUN back to Pau was uneventful, but it was nearly midnight before I reached the Hotel de France. A band was playing in the lounge, and after a wash and change I wandered in. I was feeling tired and cross, ordered some whisky, and lit a cigar. The room was full of sultry-looking men and doubtful beauties, nothing with any appeal for me. Then I spotted Nigel. There he was at a table in the furthest corner with his new American lovely. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. At that age I had been floundering in muddy trenches.

Nigel had seen me and was hurrying across.

"Come along, old thing,'' he cried., "and let me introduce you. She's just off! to bed. Cornelia Vandelaer! Then we'll go up, und you can tell me all about it. I've been anxious about you all day, and it'll be just too bad for you it you've been up to any monkey tricks instead of fishing, as you told me."

Ten minutes later we wore in our rooms, and I was telling him the story.

"You've done damn well, Zephyr," he exclaimed when I had done. "Thank God you got away all right. I'll let you off this time, because you socked the lodge keeper good and proper. I bet my chap stays in hospital longer, though! But if you sneak away on the job again without letting me come with you, I'll put you in hospital as well, and you won't like that. I won't be left out!"

"I promise I won't, Nigel; but you'll have to stay here tomorrow while I go to London. I'll have to report all this to Magruder. Babanian will have the goods on him, I am sure, and I may get some line on him or the Englishman from Magruder. I'll come to no harm! In London; and someone has got to watch developments here. I'll be back here in two or three days; or, if there is a change of plan, I'll wire for you to join me."

"Well, God bless you, Zephyr, and sleep sound. I'll be seeing you the morn before ye go."

8

Obsession?

Twenty-four hours later I was back in London on my way to Magruder's office. I will not tell you where it is, for public interests are at stake; they are guarded, too, by an instrument known as "The Official Secrets Act," and the location of the place does not affect this story.

I had an appointment and was shown in at once. There sat the old man, a little humped now, behind his massive writing table, and the light from a tall window on his left fell diagonally upon him. It was a cunning face, a humorous face, cleft by a rat-trap mouth; the face of a man one would not care to cross; but for me it had always held kindness and good-fellowship. He rose to greet me now, and there was a genuine welcome and concern in those basilisk eyes, while the grip of the bony, veined hand was almost that of a father.

We sat down, and I made him a pretty full report, for the train had given ne plenty of time for marshalling my thoughts. The fate of Gresham appeared to leave him quite unmoved, but he said he didn't believe that the poor chap would have given anything away, as he had never been a double double. I didn't feel so sure.

Then I asked whether my stuff had given him a line on the Englishman, and he cross-questioned me about all I had seen and heard in that connexion. It didn't amount to much, but Magruder said it had provided him at least with something to work on. Had he got a clue at his own end. He passed that off, the secretive old wretch; but it was quite clear along what lines his routine work would be directed.

"Babanian is stopping at the Carlton," he continued, "but he's not stopping for long."

"Can't you get at him there?"

"What you used to do in the Near East, my dear fellow," Magruder laughed, "is nobody's business. But we really can't touch that kind of thing in London!"

I'd have touched it, if I'd been In his position; but then I wasn't, and that makes a lot of difference!

"We are keeping an eye on him, of course," Magruder went on. "He has been in touch with some of his Armenian friends from Manchester, and others. But it has not come out what he is in London for. There are people with him always. Business colleagues! Or possibly a bodyguard, even here! Anyway, we shan't nave him long upon our hands; he hat taken a reservation for two on the Luxuriatic from Brindisi to Salonika. The Luxuriatic has already sailed from Southampton. Pleasure cruise, you know!" He consulted a file on his table. "Calling Gibraltar, Marseilles, Brindisi, Salonika, Istanboul."

"When does she leave Marseilles "

"Saturday."

"That's grand I'll book from Marseilles, and shall be snug in my cabin when Mr Babanian boards her at Brindisi with his girl friend."

"You won't have one, too?" Magruder laughed.

"Good God, no!"

"Well, I wish you the very best of luck. More than that, as you know full well, I cannot offer you. You know how and where to communicate with me."

"Of course I do!"

We shook hands, and there was more than a professional interest in the long grip he gave me. A wonderful old man!

My mind was happy now, for I had a scent to follow, and I was pretty sure I had the means to follow it.

First, I sped in a taxi to the R.A.C. In Pall Mall, for that delectable club contains, among many other amenities, a private post and telegraph office from which I have been, for many years, accustomed to despatch any odd messages I may have to send. There yon can scribble your telegram in peace, with a pencil which will write, instead of being jostled in the suffocating air of a public post office.

And thus I wrote my telegram :

Nigel Blair. Hotel de France. Pau. B.P. France.

Book immediately best places for us plus Temperley and Cadillac in Luxuriatic leaving Marseilles Saturday for Salonika. Park small cars at Pau. Am travelling direct to Marseilles by Blue Train and will meet you on ship Saturday. Count on you for arrangements.-Zephyr.

The little man behind that counter is accustomed to my wires, and didn't even smile as he totted up the cable fee. I was still leaning over the counter when a fat hand, with smooth black hair all over its back and a diamond ring on the third finger, handed another cable to the assistant postmaster. Looking up, I perceived a huge nose and slits of eyes, set in an obese face with a double chin; the man was overdressed, and the back of his head rose from his collar, straight and flat as a board. " Armenian!" I reflected, and, paying the fee, crossed Pall Mall to have lunch at another club.

It was a very cheery place, and I found a lot of old friends. Everyone seemed to think that the Italians were in for a sticky time in Abyssinia, but I didn't feel so sure I had heard from a chap who knew the Abyssinians well that they were incorrigibly stupid.

"Here's the man who can tell us all I about, it!" cried Dick Mather. "What'll you drink?  Do you know Archibald Beldrum? Sir Gervase Flint!"

Dick Mather, a retired major-general and a cheery old soul, knows all the big-wigs at the War Office ; but I had never before met Sir Gervase Flint, the Master General of the Ordnance. Be was a tall, grave man with a bald head, a strong chin, and a dominant, penetrating eye. He professed to being no expert on the Abyssinian question; however, he rather agreed with me that the Emperor, who was the only enlightened man in the country, might hold his warriors back for a time, but that sooner or later they would get out of control and blindly fling themselves against the heavily armed Italians.

"Don't you think so, Julian!" He turned to another man who had joined our group, a man much younger but almost as tall as himself. "By the way, do you know Brigadier Drake? Mr Beldrum― who has given us all such a lot of fun when we've been out of sorts!"

Drake had a fine, intellectual head, and there was a twinkle in his ruminating eye as he kindly endorsed the M.G.O.'s remarks. We discussed one or two of my books which he liked the best. Now it often happens to me, who am difficult to forget, once seen, that I vaguely feel I must have met a man before and am a little embarrassed because I ought to recognise him yet do not. Once or twice I have asked people where it was we had met be-fore, only to be told, quite nicely, that I was mistaken, and that, in point of fact, we had never met at all. And that is worse still! So it was on this occasion. There was a tiny pause; and then Drake said in a deprecating way which sugared the pill that, if we really had met, he could never have forgotten his favourite author.

But my gaffe had made things a little awkward, and I was jolly glad when Sir Gervase Flint asked if he might have a word with me. We went round the corner to another table, where we were alone.

"I know, Mr Beldrum," he began, "what yon ors doing for Magruder, but you needn't be alarmed at that, for I'm the only man in the army who does, and I can keep my month shut."

"That's all right, General," I replied though I was vexed with Magruder for having mentioned me to anyone.

"I wonder if yon realise," he went on, "how serious it is. I sometimes wonder if Magruder realises. To him it is often just a case of 'hunt the slipper.' But it's far bigger than that this time. Would it amuse you to see for yourself what the stuff of which you are hunting the missing formula can really do?"

I saw again those figures in overalls and gas-masks bending over a table In the shooting-box of Messrs Etchegoria and Personnan, and had bitterly deplored the fact that I did not see the out-come of their experiment, fruitless though it must have been; so now I craved to see the real thing.

The M.G.O. smiled. "Well, come round to the War Office at a quarter to three this afternoon; just ask for me, and wall see what we can do,"

When I arrived at Whitehall at the hour prescribed, my old friend, McAndrew at the door had not forgotten me. I filled in the usual slip, and was escorted by an orderly up the great marble staircase which leads exclusively to the "Second or Principal Floor." A moment later I had been shown into a comfortable office and was once more in the presence of the M.G.O.

Telling his personal assistants that we were on no account to be disturbed, Sir Gervase Flint locked the door and extracted from a safe what appeared to be a sheet of stainless steel, about a yard square and an eighth of an inch thick. This he put down on a rough deal table standing by the window.

"There is no conjuring about this, Mr Beldrum," he remarked with the ghost of a smile as he drew on a pair of rubber gloves. "That is steel right enough, and the table underneath is wood― a cheap one though !"

He took a medicine bottle from the safe― it contained a colourless liquid― and. removing the stopper with great care, let a drop fall on the surface of the steel.

It is rather fun to direct the ray of a burning-glass on to the middle of a sheet of paper and watch the smouldering edges of the small initial hole spread in an irregular pattern outwards, as the paper is gradually eaten away by fire. The effect of that tiny drop of liquid on the steel was much the same. For perhaps a second it remained where it had fallen, just a gleaming drop. Then it seemed to flatten itself out, eating away the steel in a cup-shaped depression, until the metal had been pierced right, through. Then the tiny hole began to spread; now it was as big as a three-penny bit; now as a sixpence with a jagged edge; now, as a shilling; now as half-a-crown; and still it spread irregularly outwards.

At this point I became aware that the wooden fabric of the table underneath the steel was being similarly affected. A depression in the wood, like a shallow saucer, already had been formed. A moment later the inch or so of wooden board was penetrated; my eyes were glued to a gradually increasing hole through which the dark interior of the top drawer was dimly visible. What limit would be set to the widening circle of destruction? At what stage would the virulence contained in that tiny drop of liquid wear itself out?

We both watched intently. When a hole some six inches in diameter had been formed in the steel, and corresponding damage inflicted on the wood below, the limit of destruction attainable by one drop had apparently been reached, and during the next five minutes we were unable to detect any further increase in the area affected. But if the agencies concentrated in a single drop were so notably destructive, what effect might not be expected from a liquid ounce, from a pint, a gallon, ten thousand gallons of the stuff?

"A nasty toy," the General said at length. "Now, you see why we are so terribly anxious about it. What. I ask you, might not happen if the power of putting such stuff into production should fall into unscrupulous hands?"

What, indeed! I didn't know the answer. But I was very glad of having had the opportunity of seeing for myself what the stuff could really do, and said so. Then I took my leave.

September can be pretty warm in London; but I needed exercise, and walked from the Horse Guards through St James's Park and Green Park. The grass was parched; the poor chaps lying on it, down and out, looked hot and utterly fatigued; and the asphalt was so soft in places that I could hardly hear my own footsteps. As I emerged at Hyde Park corner a seemingly unending stream of traffic was roaring past me down the hill towards Grosvenor Place. I turned round to

look back at the park, and, as I turned, a man brushed past me and hurried off towards Grosvenor Place. He was short and stout, and the back of his head rose straight and square as a board from his collar to his bowler hat. I glared after him, but waited for a lull in the traffic and then pursued my way towards Belgrave Square.

I kept my eyes open after that as I walked down Pont Street, and in Beauchamp Place I stopped suddenly once or twice to look into antique shops, with an eye open for the passers-by. But I saw only the usual crowd.

A few minutes later I let myself into my house in Egerton Gardens, always a haven of refuge and a place of peace. My secretary had now gone on holiday, but the butler, a very competent man, would fix up my passage and air-tickets for tomorrow to Marseilles. Tea would be ready in my study, and when I had had it I would send for him and have the job done. Then relaxation till I started off next morning.

As I opened the door and walked in, a little dark man, who had been balancing his bowler hat between his knees, rose from the armchair before my writing table and bowed smugly. He had an enormous nose, and the back of his head was as flat as a board.

"Excuse me, sir," he began. "Will you give me some minutes, sir! I represent the Manchester Guardian. You are going abroad, we are informed, going to the Near East. Please, please, please, to tell me what you do and where you go. Good news for us! And good publicity for you! Please!"

"Thanks!" I said, sitting down at my table, and, picking up the telephone, dialled "TRU" and asked for Manchester.

That little man was out of the room, and out of the house, before I could rise to intercept him; not that I wanted the pleasure of his company! Needless to say, when I got on to the "Manchester Guardian," they confirmed that none of their people had been told to interview me, and that the fellow I described had nothing to do with them.

I gave my butler a piece of my mind for having let him in. I had never liked Armenians; nor they were becoming a personal scourge; and I realised, as I retired to bed that Telaat Pasha, when he signed the decree which resulted in their massacre In 1915, must have felt not otherwise."

9

An Unexpected Traveller

SULTRY THOUGH it had been in London, I had to jam my hat down as the cross channel boat steamed out of Dover harbour. I looked all round. The usual motley crowd; but, search as I might, I could not see an Armenian. The presence of that sham reporter had made it only too clear that I was not imagining things, but had become the object of a very close Armenian scrutiny, and it was idle to suppose that I was not indebted to Mr Babanian for these attentions. Perhaps, however, I had shaken the blighters off; perhaps they had been told to watch me only while I was in England; or perhaps they were not good sailors. I hurried away from the last hypothesis, for the thought of an Armenian trying to be sick in his Gladstone bag was not precisely strength-making.

But I got a nasty shock on the Paris-Mediterranean Express. I had left my wagon-lit for the restaurant car, but the corridor was blocked by a huge man with rolls of fat bulging over his collar, and the back of his head, which was grey, rose straight and flat as a board. Where had the brute come from? I hadn't seen him on the boat. But I didn't intend to be done out of my food, however thick the Armenian barrage might be.

" Excuse me, sir," I began.

''Bitte!" he answered in a deep bass voice, squeezing his bulk back through a door. The man's cheek was ridged with duelling scars; a copy of "Simplicissimus" protruded from his pocket and his cheery face was wreathed in smiles.

Such was my relief at running into this kindly German that I shook him warmly by the hand; and I dare say that he carried back to his own country the tale that stray Englishmen may not be so phlegmatic after all.

Marseilles was horrible as usual, hot, dusty, and thronged with people of every nationality and colour. But the Luxuriatic towered above the lesser vessels in the docks, and there was Nigel leaning over the rails above the gangway, looking out for me. It did me a power of good to feel his hand close round mine, and soon I was telling him all about my time in London. (Once or twice he clenched his fist, and I couldn't help reflecting that the Armenian against whose nose it might, with luck, one day be driven would no longer be able to earn good money by posing as a model for a parrot's beak.

Nigel, it seemed, had nothing to report from Pau, but as soon as the place was mentioned he had put on his smooth face, like a pink, skinned rabbit, with bulgy eyes. I told him so, and asked what the hell he had been up to.

"Zephyr, who d'you think's on board this?" he cried.

"Not Babanian!" I faltered.

"No!" he hooted. "Cornelia Vandelaer!"

"What? Then you've..."

"Good God, no'" He rocked with laughter, then spoke seriously. "Listen. Zephyr! She's a glorious kid―you'll simply love her. She comes from the southern States. Her people had luck after the Civil War. They managed to | keep their landed property, and when the boom came they fairly shovelled it in She's rolling, or will be one day. Her father's still alive, but he's a sick man, and the property is being man-aged by a brother not much older than herself. She got fed up, you see, and has started a tour round the world. Just now she's on her way to stay with some old uncle who in the American Ambassador at lstanboul."

"Oh, I see! She is going right on by sea to Istanboull"

"Er― no! She's getting off at Salonika, too."

"How is she going to get from there to Istanboul?"

"In her own car; she's got a chauffeur and a Duesenberg. It's a wonderful bus! She thinks of motoring up through Macedonia, Bulgaria, Poland, Czechoslovakia, and the other countries you have to pass through on the way to Turkey."

"Help! If that is all the geography you learnt at―"

"No insults!" he cut in. "Or I'll have to sock you now. Anyway, I'll do it in the gym― I suppose there is one! If not, your cabin will do. It's grand, and mine is next door. Come and see 'em!''

Definitely I had been worried when I first discovered that this girl was coming with us; but, after all, when you are harnessed to a susceptible young half-wit such as Nigel, the presence of a lovely girl in the party is cover enough in all conscience. I must see, however, what she was really like.

"Why not both of you dine on me this evening?"

"Certainly. If you pay!"

"We'll toss!"

"Thought you said 'on me'? Now you are backing out, are you? That's a lock at once!"

We had reached my cabin. It looked a jolly nice one, but I hadn't time to see, for Nigel was on me like a flash.

Less than half a minute later I was placidly admitting that I would be only too glad to pay for everybody's dinner.

After rearranging my collar and brushing my dishevelled hair, I made for the purser's office to have a look at the list of passengers. Sure enough, two of the best cabins were booked in the name of Mr Babanian from Brindisi to Salonika; but of any other Armenian I could fins no trace. A day's respite, anyway, and I needed it!

Well, we dined; and that girl was certainly attractive. She had the low quiet voice which comes from the Southern States. Her eyes were widely set apart and of a bright, rather startling blue. Her mouth was a dream. She could talk, and that is more than most of them can do. Her feet were short arched, neat― American feet― far better than the feet you see on women in this old country. Her hands were American too, but I was not sure about that; long, tallowy fingers, like those of a Pre-Raphaelite angel. Would those hands be any good to anybody? Nigel seemed to think so, but I wondered.

I have always made a study of hands and, as Nigel sat in a deck-chair afterwards, with his hands elapsed round his drawn-up knees, I compared hers with his. And I could not feel that those two would ever suit each other; really there was too much difference between Nigel's short, straight, well-formed fingers, his solid, reliable hands, and those exotic, manicured creepers which I had just been looking at. Some people, no doubt, would have called them exquisitely lovely; Nigel had just said as much, but once he is off about a pretty girl he can't think straight any more.

When I woke next morning, we hat put in to Brindisi. Everything was white, and dazzled you under that glaring sun. The gangway was being fixed in position. I took up my stance, still in pyjamas and a dressing-gown, where I could observe the people coming aboard and not myself be seen. But there was no sign of Mr Babanian, and girl friend, whoever she might be.

I had breakfasted, dressed, and wandered round to the purser's office.

"Have you any vacant cabins on the port side of the promenade deck?" I asked. "Mr Blair and I suspect it may be rather hot where we are, when we are going round the south of Greece."

"I'm afraid not, Mr Beldrum. All the port side is booked on the promenade deck. You wouldn't want to have accommodation lower down!"

"Good Lord, no! But what about those two big cabins, at the near fore corner of the promenade deck― nautical parlance isn't my strong point― there's no one in them."

The purser consulted a plan.

"You mean these two, Mr Beldrum, They are reserved for Mr Babanian. He is not on board so far; but they haven't been cancelled. If they are I'll let you know and you can move in as soon as we leave Brindisi. The fare for those particular staterooms is, I should say, a little higher than the ones you are in at present."

"That's all right!" I said superbly. If the blighter had given us the slip I would have his cabin, anyway!

SOME HOURS later things did not appear to me by any means so good. We were steaming across the mouth of the Adriatic, with a Bora bearing down on us; in fact, the great liner had been turned into a tolerable imitation of a battle-ship cleared for action.

With a slow, resistless movement my hew stateroom― Babanian's, I should say, for the damned fellow had not turned up after all― was effecting its roll from some 30 deg. of port slope to a corresponding Inclination starboard. Everything that could move had been removed. Every port or window, alow and aloft, was battened down or hermetically sealed; and even in this stateroom, where the electric lighting displayed every feature of the panelling to the best advantage, the air was getting pretty stale. I had retired to bed, but expected every moment to be decanted on the floor.

I am a pretty good sailor, but the weather means nothing at all to Nigel. There he was, in nothing but pyjama trousers, doing press-ups on the floor, or climbing like a monkey round the fixed steel chairs and tables without touching the ground.

"Why the devil did I come on this ship," I growled, "when I might have been rolling in the Orient Express t Why did I choose a gibbon for a play-mate? And why, above all, was I so mad as to willingly extend the hospitality of my cabin to a somersaulting ape, a grinning vertigo-machine!"

"Kick me out, then!" Nigel panted, swinging himself up by one arm, and coming to rest on the bedside. "You've spoken a mouthful, haven't you, and a split infinitive― thought I didn't know one when I heard it!  Thought you'd get away with that! But it'll all come out again! Breath wasted! And you won't have much to spare, if your fat old head is held down under water in the swimming pool!"

"Swimming-pool my foot! It's no mean otter who'd want one on a day like this."

"Cheer up ! We'll be under the lee of Greece some time this afternoon. And then we'll have one hell of a time all among the nymphs and sirens."

As a matter of fact, the huge vessel seemed to he rolling rather lees ; and, when I had got a "halfy" in my hand

We fell into serious talk.

"I'd like to see Baboony Ann," he mused.

"Babanian!" I corrected, for I hate to hear names wantonly miscalled.

"He's too free with his gun; he's handed us the frozen mitt; and I'd just like, ever to, to get my two weapons on his throat!" He had taken up my thermos flask in his two hands, and was adjusting them round it, as if it were a throat.

"Stop," I cried, "you clumsy mutt, or you'll smash the damned thing! Let us think. Babanian certainly hooked these passages, end even millionaires don't waste money for nothing."

"Particularly millionaires!" he cut in.

"If he has really changed his mind and intends to remain in London Magruder will know."

"Why not ring him up?"

"What, from the ship?"

"Why not?"

"We might be overheard."

"No one will be listening in on the chance of a stray call like that; and though I've never been the old bird myself, I can't help feeling that anyone caught napping in on his line in the metropolis would be a winner of seven years in jug, and with hard labour."

"Perhaps you are right. Let's try, anyway!"

I thought for a moment and scribbled on a sheet of notepaper.  "The phone won't do at this hour― we mightn't get him― but a wireless cable ought to do the trick. Does this sound all right?"

Trooper, London. Following for [Magrauder's code name].Babanian not on board Luxuriatic. Where is he? Cable me at once Luxuriatic.―Beldrum

"That's O.K.," said Nigel.

"Good! Well, if you'll buzz off for half an hour I'll bung it into cipher, but I can't show even you how Magruder's special pet is done."

When Nigel came back the job was finished. The decipher had been burnt; the blotting-paper burnt; and Nigel took the encipher off to the wireless cabin for despatch. Nothing now remained but to await the answer which ought to reach us next day somewhat off the coast of Greece. And so I went to bed and slept like a log.

WHEN I woke on the following morning it was pretty late, and the whole atmosphere had changed. Someone had come in while I slept and tidied up. Through the square window, open now, a bright sun was streaming. Everything was spick and span. The chromium-plated tubing of the chair and tables gleamed pleasantly against the panels; the bright covers of some new novels, disposed conveniently at hand, added a dash or two of colour. Fresh air, balmy and delightful, was blowing in; the gale had died away; no swell rocked the great ship as she lay at rest. We must have put into the Gulf of Corinth during the night.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I placed my feet on the inviting surface of the thick pile carpet, and views the prospect through the nearer port hole. Yes, it was the Gulf of Corinth, for there, hidden at the foot of dark cliffs, lay Delphi, whence the famous oracle had spoken cryptic words time out of number to men and women in the old days. Would the god vouchsafe a hint to us in connexion with on quest?

"Cable for you, sir!" said the steward, and handed me an envelope. The god had spoken! For, when I had worked the cipher out, I read the following message:

Babanian and secretary left for Salonika day before yesterday by Orient express.

There followed Magruder's code name.

So that was all right; we should pick up the trail again at Salonika. I knew the ropes there; and, though it is a rabbit-warren of a place, a man of Babanian's celebrity among the Balkan peoples would be sure to leave a trace. His going to Salonika at all had puzzled me from the first. It is not the capital of any state, and, so far as I had ever heard, it did not contain munitions factories; but he might have other business interests there, of course. Again, why the sudden change of plan? Why waste money on two sets of passages?

And then, of a sudden, I remembered the Armenian who had handed in a telegram at the E.A.C. just after I had written mine to Nigel about passages in the Luxuriatic. It would not have been difficult for him to read what I was writing, and if he was a creature of Babanian's that would account for the whole thing. It meant, of course, that Babanian had discovered how I was going to Salonika and had decided to proceed there by another route. Moreover, he would get to the place ahead of me.

A bore, no longer being unknown to the enemy, definitely a bore. Perhaps, indeed, I had not been unknown so long as I had fancied. But, after all, what did it matter really? As soon as one had to get busy and come out into the open we were bound to be discovered; but we had law and right on our side. Babanian had nothing but his own interest, and, granted, immense wealth. No, he must have more than that; how else could he have mobilised all those Armenians everywhere, and just in the nick of time? He must have some secret pull over them. However, we could go ahead with a clean slate, and I would talk it all over with Nigel, whose seemingly insensate outbreaks cover the very soundest common sense.

Looking into the next cabin I saw what I expected, the tousled bead of Nigel still slumbering on his pillow; and I marvelled, not without envy, at the limitless capacity of youth for sleep. Let the lazy wretch lie on! For myself a bath and breakfast.

After demolishing my marmalade, I established myself in a southern corner of the deck and perused the paper brought from shore. The change in the weather was almost past belief, and as I stretched my limbs in the sunshine, the desire to shed my clothes and step into a well-appointed swimming-bath which I had seen grew stronger. Going round to reconnoitre, I found the place deserted, and was on the point of making for my cabin to effect a change when Cornelia Vandelaer came suddenly in view, and, casting off her wraps, mounted on the diving-board with the evident intention of a plunge.

The girl had paused to adjust a covering for her golden hair, and the profile, classical in line yet modern in it's funny little tilt, was presented as a silhouette framed between her shapely arms raised to free the buckle of the cap. The dainty creature was moulded like the finest porcelain, a beautifully proportioned nymph of Sevres. She dived, rose, and made her way across the pool without effort, without hurry, albeit she seemed hardly to have started before she reached the other side. But as she turned to swim again some influence twisted my head round.

On the springboard, mysteriously arisen from his bed, stood Nigel, clad in a scarlet bathing suit, which set off his great shoulders to perfection. From his heightened colour and the care with which he poised himself before the dive, I gathered that the presence of the lovely vision at the pool was not altogether unconnected with his sudden rise from sleep. I tactfully withdrew.

"My God!" bawled Nigel, bursting into my cabin half an hour later. "She's the bee's knees! Hoooh!" He made a mouth like an inverted semicircle. "When I turned round and saw her I lost my bearings, tripped in a coil of rope, and nearly went a purler on the deck!"

"You uncouth lout. Why, on sight of a pretty woman, must you behave like a nigger drunk with bhang?"

"Urcha! But even you, Zephyr, must admit that she's a whizzer. Did you see her legs?"

"I'm not blind."

"Cocktails together as soon as we get dressed!" He went off whistling "Wayside Rose."

For me, Schubert's "Lachen und Weinen" seemed to fill the bill, and so I hummed it.

I must say that Cornelia was looking very fresh and nice when the three of us sat down to drink those cocktails. I had ordered them with care.

"I'm landing at Salonika," she explained, "with my chauffeur and the car. We'll be travelling overland from there, and I haven't figured out our road yet. Are you thinking of going that way, too?"

I was about to say that our plans were uncertain, when Nigel butted in, snatched my map away, and with his little finger began to trace out some semblance of a route.

"Look, people!" he announced. "We'll just run up to Skoplje (or Uskub); that sounds the place to me. After that we'll have a look at Ochrida and Prespa, and― what a name― the Sevena Stena! Then well run across like this."

With an airy gesture he swept his hand across the map.

"A week-end at Kavalla― mixed bathing and all that!" His face lit up. "Neohori! That's the place for me. I'll work out the mileage and the times. Temperley and your man can calculate the lubricants and petrol. You see, we can either come back to Salonika and get your uncle's letter, or go right through Philippopolis to Istanboul."

So I was quite behind the times, and must have shown it, for Cornelia hastened to explain.

"My uncle has asked me to stay at the Embassy in Istanboul, but he doesn't know which way I shall be coming or the date. I'll drop him a line from Salonika and get his answer there. But he may be at Angora, in which case I shan't hear at once."

"We had thought of going on to Istanboul, too," I explained. "Perhaps Nigel has told you that I'm after local colour for a book I have In mind. I've been in Macedonia before, but my memory has slipped a bit, and I may have to visit several places for my story."

"Well, that's just grand!" she cried. "I've nowhere particular to go, and if I shan't be in the way― too much in the way―" her eyes looked meltingly at me― "I'd just simply love to come along, too."

I found myself assenting with effusion to this project of her joining us. What the devil else could I say? I had it on my tongue to mention brigands ; but Nigel, who often manages to penetrate my inmost thoughts, favoured me with so venomous a stare that I thought better of it.

After lunch I made off, ostensibly to read a book; I at least must have some respite. But not so the young things. It seems they began by lazing together in deck-chairs, wandered round the ship, played deck tennis with each other, visited Cornelia's cabin, where they listened to some records, visited Nigel's, had tea together― this time in my cabin, for no apparent reason, while I felt obliged to discuss nothing with the captain on the bridge― danced together in the ballroom, swam together again, frolicking for an hour; more cocktails had ensued, with the result that both had had to dress for dinner in what, to persons of my generation, would have seemed uncomfortable haste.

Yet their fresh faces appeared well and happy, as I ordered dinner in the restaurant, for I could not leave the choice of food to those two innocents; they'd have sent for gin and lobster or something villainous like that.

After the fruit and coffee we drifted round to Cornelia's stateroom, where, at her request, an upright piano had been installed. Mild airs blowing through the casements added freshness to the warmth within, as the huge ship forged steadily, untrembling, through smooth waters spangled by the moon. Faraway sounds of revelry and radio were wafted down the deck, but aft there was nothing to disturb us.

Established in an easy chair near the corner of the piano, I lit a cigar and felt very much more at ease. Nigel was picking out pipe tunes, and I wished he had his pipes with him, for they would have sounded jolly in the night air. Although no pianist, he has a keen sense of harmony and a caressing touch. But I soon saw that Cornelia possessed both natural talent and correct technique, for when an air struck her fancy she would herself get busy on the keys and render it with verve and execution.

We had a grand evening. Nigel sang, of course, Scotch songs and German  Lieder, and he played the notes on his voice as a good instrumentalist might , play them on the 'cello. He gets me down when he sings like that, They even made me get my Schubert album; and Cornelia accompanied me, in songs  about which I am most particular, every bit as well as she had done his stuff,.

She was an asset, that girl, definitely an asset.

It was quite cold on deck. The sea was black and foam-flecked, and I leaned over the side finishing my cigar, as it swirled past the ship. To what were we going? I wondered.

My cabin was nice and warm; everything shipshape. An eiderdown on my bed; the hot-water bottle there all right, and hot, and that makes all the difference. What a bore to have to wash one's teeth, and all that, before I dossing down?

There I was at last, curling up in a wizard bed almost long enough for me; and, as my habit always is when snuggling in, I thrust my hand with a handkerchief underneath my pillow. It met a small square box. It fastened on the thing and pulled it out; a little cardboard box such as jewellers use, and, inside, a note. I opened it and read as follows, scrawled in very poor block capitals:

You had better not get off at Salonika. From one who knows.

10

Under The Aegis Of The Gods

ALL the next day I puzzled about that note. Was it a warning or threat? Who had inspired it, who had written it, and who had put it under my pillow? lf the idea was to keep me away from Salonika, the method was a clumsy one, for most men would only be strengthened in their purpose by a vague threat. If, however, the writer were some despicable Levantine, he might have judged things from his own standard and felt that menaces were a good egg. On the other hand, it was just possible that the writer had been rather subtle and used the double bluff; but, if I had been warned not to land in order to make me all the more determined to do so, they must have strong reasons for wanting me at Salonika. In this case, was it just delay that they were after, or had some trap been set?

The steward who usually attended me could throw no light on the matter. He was an Englishman, right enough, but there were masses of stewards on board, and some of them were dagos. Again there were hundreds of passengers among them, several nasty-looking bits of work― any one of these might have slipped into my cabin and planted the note under my pillow. There was nothing I could do. Time alone might show the answer.

If I was worried, Nigel seemed at first to be elated by the mystery and prospect of adventure ; but, as the day drew on, I began to think that he, too, was just a bit concerned. There is something malefic about the definite presence of an unknown influence working close at hand.

However, he could arrive at no solution, and night was falling as the Luxuriatic steamed up the Gulf of Salonika, cleaving a limpid sea. In her huge hull a thousand lights had begun to twinkle, while the music of a hand dispersed across the oily water. Of the passengers the great majority were busy with their games, dwelling for pleasure in the bar, playing cards, bathing, or changing with deliberation as a prelude to their dinner. Thus we had the boat deck to ourselves― myself, Nigel, and Cornelia― so we lounged bare-headed in the cool of evening; and, as we gazed west from our point of vantage high above the sea, it seemed that some spell had fallen on us, for our eyes were held by the sunset over Mount Olympus.

Twenty miles away the beetling massif, dark with the purple of the night, rose from a flattened plain of land and sea a sheer ten thousand feet. The battlemented crags which crowned the towering escarpment piled themselves, black, unscaleable, against a crimson sky. The. sun itself had sunk, but its fierce rays spread as from a fiery mountain, and puffed out cumulus clouds of smoke, or dust, churned from the courtyard of the gods by the hooves of coal-black horses. At any moment a chariot, or quadriga, might rise from the inferno, gallop for a moment in silhouette against the orange glow, then snoop towards the dark valleys of the plain, to bear Apollo forth on some devastating errand. The roar of the furnace and the general hurly-burly were loud enough, no doubt, upon the mountain ; but in the shrouded gulf around the liner forging north, a silence oblivious of these things prepared the mysteries of night.

As the vessel travelled further the angle of vision was distorted, and the spell broke.

"No wonder," said Cornelia, "that the gods chose Mount Olympus for the dwelling-place on earth. Somehow the mountain is out of keeping with the things about it. I don't know how to put it quite. The plain looks ordinary and humdrum. But the mountain is different; it is supernatural, a thing apart. And that sunset seemed to belong to the mountain, to be part of it; I almost feel as if the gods must still be there."

"Perhaps they are," I said. "We might wander up and see one day."

"You two must go alone," asseverated Nigel. "I'm no coming wi' ye! Yon place is as full of bogles as Glen Shira. And when gods get busy on a mountain top I widna interfere wi' 'em. Jengs, no!"

He shifted in his deck chair.

"Abyssinia!" I remarked (a corruption which we used for 'I'll be seein' ye!"), and wandered off. I require now more time to change for dinner than the young appear to do.

There was no one moving on the promenade deck below as I sauntered towards my cabin. I was wearing crepe soled shoes, and turned the handle of the door quite silently.

The light was on, and a steward was bending over my bed, with his right hand foraging underneath the pillow.

"Good evening!" I observed. Can I help you!"

"Oh, no, sir!" the fellow answered cheerily. "I'm answering for your steward, who is not so well this evening. I'm just laying out your things. It is nice and cool this evening, sir."

I had never seen the man before. His English was perfect, even down to the slight Cockney accent; but he was squat and dark, and the back of his head rose from his collar flat and straight as a board.

He had turned away again without concern, and was shoving studs into my evening shirt.

Now you can't go about assaulting people just because they have flat backed heads, nor can you very well subject them to mysterious interrogations. I had not forgotten the incident of the German in the train. Possibly this man was not an Armenian either. Anyhow, in the Near East I should see many of the brutes, and they could not all be agents of Mr Babanian. So I let the matter rip; and after memorising the man's features, which were not aggressively Armenian, I passed the time of day with him pleasantly enough. When he had gone, though, I had a good look round, but there was no sign of another billet doux or of anything suspicious.

On the other hand, there was something definitely odd about Nigel and Cornelia when they sat down with me to dinner. But it was not until we went to bed that Nigel, unable to hold his secret any longer, slipped into my cabin and avowed, not only that he was simply mad about the girl, but also that he meant to marry her! Yes, definitely! She was a marvellous kid in every way, and the fact that she returned his love was just too good to be true. How grand also was her genuine affection for myself! (I thrust my tongue in my cheek while he enlarged on this theme.) She was well off, and that would make things easier. Not that he would live on her, of course ; but, although he was earning good money just now, things were precarious in the "profession" and if she had plenty to fall back on she would never be in want.

When youth is in this state, discussion is quite useless; the best thing you can do is just to listen and hope that it will ramble on. At last I saw Nigel off to bed in his cabin next door. He took up a book to read; but when I turned round after arranging the window and the curtains, that book had fallen on the floor and he was fast asleep.

Back in my cabin, I, too tired to read, or rather made a pretence of reading, while I let my mind browse on this new development and its repercussions.

I suppose 1 know Nigel better than any other living being, and if I was aware of his susceptibilities I was no less conscious of the weapon in his own armoury. If he was prone to be attracted by a pretty face, the continual ringing of the telephone in London and inquiries as to where he might be found in an unending litany of female voices, testified to his popularity with the fair sex. That Cornelia was attracted I had but little doubt. A charming girl like that, endowed with the world's goods, might one day form a very pretty mate for him; but I doubted the advisability of harnessing so brilliant, so swift a temperament as Nigel's to the matrimonial chariot at an early stage in his career. Perhaps I was prejudiced in that I myself had never married, yet I held the point of view that so far as success might be concerned in most of the professions, a young man single is in a far stronger position than that which a young man married can ever hope to hold; for even if there are tons of money it is no easy matter, in the early twenties, to lug a wife about the world.

The idea of his playing in America, for instance, turned me into another train of thought. Supposing he were married to a rich American girl, brought up under the strait-laced canons habitual to those classed at the aristocracy of the southern States, how far would he be free to pursue the life incidental to his profession? Of course her income would be useful; but American women are apt to be proprietary. Would she stand for it? Again, you will find among American women some of the greatest snobs on earth. Would she play her part? Would she make herself agreeable among the various types of people who sway the world of theatre and picture? I doubted it.

As for Nigel, no doubt the boy was very much attracted. But would his passion last? In Nigel's calling he was continually thrown among the very prettiest and most fascinating members of the sex. Small wonder that one so placed should fall a victim! If Cornelia got him, would she manage to keep him? Certainly not, unless she threw in her lot completely with his own, buried her social prejudices, embraced Nigel's career, and was ready to embrace his friends.

I might have been perturbed by these considerations, but for one thing: on the whole, I was inclined to the opinion that time would very likely show this affection to be little, if any, deeper than the rest. At the moment his sentiments were hot enough; if the girl were suddenly to change and drop him, the blow would be a shrewd one; and there is no limit to the follies into which a susceptible young man may fall, if only he be caught upon the rebound. That was the immediate danger as l saw it. The rest must lie in the hands of time.

11

On The Trail

The Olympos Palace is a pretentious structure standing on the quay at Salonika; and by seven o'clock next evening our party had come to rest in the lounge. It had been a tiring day. Nigel and the two chauffeurs had been pretty busy supervising the disembarkation of the Cadillac and Duesenberg, and in securing permits for our journey. They had got down to this last job after lunch, when they had the services of one Tsaldaris, an hotel guide whom Cornelia had found that morning.

I had gone ashore at once to pick up the trail of Mr Babanian and his precious formula. I had not far to seek, for the hotel register at the Olympos Palace revealed that E. Babanian and G. Pantikian had arrived three days previously.

"No, sir," the manager explained. "the gentlemen are not here now. They have left, but they have retained their rooms and will be coming back in four days' time. Where have they gone? I do not know. They leave no address for letters to be forwarded. Mr Babanian, he very big man, and don't often come to Salonika; but Mr Pantikian, the secretary, he often come and travel inland for a few days to Stramitza or Petrich― a very nice gentle-man!"

"Perhaps G. Pantikian was the "Garabed" whose name they had mentioned at the Chateau de l'Aspe as having got the goods from Gresham; and I did not suppose that he had been "a very nice gentleman" on that occasion.

Anyhow, this information settled it: we had better not go on at once to Istanboul. What is more, I should have two or three days for looking at the old battlefields near Doiran; a scene in my book was to be laid among them. Besides, I was itching to go over the ground again, for I had spent a year there, and a jolly uncomfortable year at that.

Thus, when the others walked in. I had cocktails ready for them, and my plans were cut and dried.

The furniture in that lounge was a vulgar imitation of the French style, upholstered in red plush. Everything was gilt and glittered. The carpet, an expensive Western product, was dyed a shocking shade of orange; purple panels had been painted on the falls with stunning arrogance; while the ceiling, done in bright canary yellow, added a final touch to a most distressing room.

"Where, darling, did you find that useful little man!" asked Nigel. "He was simply 'it' with the dagos on the quay."

"Greek police!" I hissed in a penetrating whisper.

"Yes, wasn't I in luck!" Cornelia spoke in answer. "You remember that sweet steward with the funny head who was always putting out chairs for me on board! He did a lot about the luggage, too, and when I had written to my uncle and you had both gone off to see about things, the poor dear followed me ashore. He thought I might be wanting things and unable to get them because I didn't know the language. So he just came to see that everything was all right. Wasn't it sweet of him? And then he produced Tsaldaris, who is a pal of his. It all just fitted in. When I'd done with him, I sent him on to you."

"Chin-chin!" said Nigel, raising hit glass. "And what have you been doing, Zephyr?"

"Lots!" I answered, fishing out a map. "As you know, I'd like to see those darned battle-fields again. Well, I've ascertained that there is quite a decent inn at Doiran. It must have been built since the war, for the place was shelled to bits. I think it would be rather fun, and the scenery is simply grand."

"Can I come, too?" from Cornelia.

"Of course, my dear!" I found myself replying, and Nigel half-suppressed a smile. "We can go in convoy. You see, I know the roads, or what may be left of them. The best way should be via Dudular and Karasuli. If we start after lunch, we'll reach Doiran in time for dinner. I'll wire tonight for rooms."

"Good evening, madame, and both my gentlemen," came in an oily voice from just behind my back. "What you do tomorrow, I arrange, yes, no?"

I swung round with a scowl which Nigel intercepted.

"This is our one and only Tsaldaris," he hastened to explain.

A little man bad stepped in from the veranda with a straw boater in his hands. His shiny black hair and eyes, his pinched, clean-shaven features wreathed in smiles, his neat blue suit padded in the shoulders, his one-piece double-breasted waistcoat-trousers, his little yellow shoes, with knobs on them― all these advantages betrayed the kind of Greek who is asking for a kick in the middle of his pants; while an uncut nail, which protruded a full inch from his left-hand little finger, implied that Tsaldaris had never stooped to manual labour.

"I arrange, yes, no?"

My mouth had opened to say "no" and a good deal more than that, when Cornelia butted in.

"Oh, yes, do, please!" And before I could get a word in edgewise she had prayed him to bespeak our rooms in the hotel at Doiran. "For it will save us all a lot of trouble, and I'm sure you are tired, dear Uncle Zephyr."

So that was that; but they are too determined, these American girls.

With the self-satisfied smile of the man you cannot snub. Tsaldaris hurried off, and, rising quietly, I, too, left the lounge, for a nasty little thought had risen in my mind.

Beyond the reception-office in the lobby a telephone-booth stood in one corner, half-concealed. Tsaldaris was busy at the instrument. His back was turned, and he had failed to close the door. Thus, as I paused to examine the correspondence in the letter-rack, I was well placed to hear something of what passed inside the booth. Tsaldaris was gabbling rapidly in Greek and in an earnest tone. Of course, he was ordering our rooms, but more than once he repeated the names "Dudular" and "Karasuli," and I did not see what the route we chose to take might have to do with the innkeeper at Doiran. I did not wait for more, but left the lobby as quietly as I had entered it.

There is nothing much worth seeing now in Salonika, for the city has been rebuilt. All of us were anxious to be off; there was nothing more to arrange that night, and so, after a greasy and indifferent dinner, we all repaired to bed.

Fortified with a pretty simple novel, I had meant to read myself to sleep, but thoughts of Tsaldaris and his telephone, the steward "with the funny head" who had introduced him to Cornelia, and my ignorance of what Babanian was actually doing at that moment― all these things drew on my attention, and I lay still, thinking, for some time.

As the warmth of my body began to permeate the bed, however, it came as no surprise to mc that the lurking inhabitants should begin to manifest their presence. I waited patiently until I judged the moment ripe; then, hurling off the bed-clothes, I began to slaughter my assailants. A score or so I killed, and my nostrils were offended by the odour of the dead. After searching the crevices and thus adding to my bag, I laid the dead on a sheet of paper, and, proceeding to the window, flung them out into the heavy-laden atmosphere of the Levantine port.

Tucking myself up again, I tried to sleep; but I had forgotten the hill-men clinging to the roof and ring of the great mosquito net. These fell, one by one, on top of me. After a further campaign, conducted standing on the quaking mattress, I laid my cheek once more upon the pillow and dotted off, before the last reserve, emerging from their inmost fastnesses, should disturb me yet again.

It was therefore with unmitigated satisfaction that, after lunch next day, we all took refuge in the motors, and, starting at a foot pace through a curious crowd, set forth along the dusty road which skirts the railway leading west from Salonika.

The Cadillac went first with Temperley driving and me by his side. Nigel, who must needs sit behind the wheel of my car, had easily got leave to drive the Duesenberg. Cornelia sat with him; her chauffeur, Jackson, in the back. They followed us, keeping in view and out of dust.

The early portion of the route is uninteresting, but for me it was fraught with memories of dumps and depots and the vast, uncomfortable camps, crowning low hills upon my right, where reinforcements had to dwell before joining their units up the line. After 20 miles or so the road runs, still through flat country, northwards by the Vardar River. I glanced back from time to time and saw that the Duesenberg was following.

It was not until we had reached Lake Ardzan that I began to look about me with a keen interest and to recognise features which used to lie behind the line on the unhealthy Vardar front. The village of Karasull, which had been our railhead, was still in a large part hidden by the dense, rank vegetation. Foothills rose before me, and directly to the north both river and railway disappeared between them in a narrow gorge.

With a signal to the Duesenberg I forked right, and as I skirted the foot-hills on my left I made out the remnants of the dugouts which had once been the head-quarters of the 26th Division. After this the hills grew higher, but the road followed the low, flat ground between them and the swampy surface of Lake Ardzan.

Well I remembered bow, eighteen years before, I had one hot day dodged the Bulgar shelling as I drove a rickety Ford along that very road. It must have been the high-velocity gun which used to worry us from somewhere near Bogdanci, and the shells would have just cleared the crest above me, north of Kalinova,

When, in the security of peace, you pass a spot where you have been your-self subjected to vindictive shelling, and conjure up a reconstruction of the past, a gratifying sensation may be drawn from the comparison. So now, as I rode in my comfortable Cadillac, bathed in a dusty sunlight, and aimlessly plotted the trajectory of projectiles which had once caused me inconvenience in that very place, my eye was caught and held by a tiny point of brilliant light that pricked and scintillated from the undergrowth which clothed the spur above the valley. It was all in keeping with my thoughts. Somebody's cable had been cut, and while linesmen were out to mend the damage the sender was using helio for an alternative method of communication. Very natural, had the date been 1917. But the date was 1935. Why this signalling in a barren and deserted countryside? I wondered for a moment with a vague disquiet. Then the explanation was borne in on me, simple, reassuring. This must be the autumn training season. Greek Army signallers would naturally be at work. So that was all right. Well, whoever they might be, the fellows made good use of ground, for nowhere in the landscape was there a living body to be seen.

Thereafter the hills grew steeper and more rugged, and as we turned north into the valley of Kilindir, the high massif of the Krusha Balkan loomed up before us to the east. Northward, where Lake Doiran must be lying, the low ground was full of mist, but above the thickest concentration, visible as through gauze, a range of gloomy mountains could be outlined, clothed in woods. Quite close upon our left some sharp conical hills were occupied by the outposts of the mist.

Now, I had intended to await the other car about this point, and, when first they should look down towards Doiran and behold the mountain circlet that girds the border of the lake, to enjoy the prospect with my friends. The lack of visibility caused me to reject this plan. I drove on slowly, therefore, to the Greco-Serbian frontier some two miles short of Doiran, and, after the usual formalities, did not pause again before I reached the little town.

Here the mist was very thick, but I could not well mistake the inn― there was reputed to be no other― for as the big car nosed along the narrow street she was of a sudden loudly hailed by a fat man standing at the door of a considerable building on my right.

It proved to be the inn, and the inn-keeper himself was on the look-out. Pleased by this attention and relieved of any possible doubt. I did not ask myself at the time why the innkeeper should have been waiting at his door so opportunely, but, drawing up before the threshold, I thanked the fellow for his trouble and waited till the others had arrived.

The Duesenberg was hard on our heels, for Nigel had drawn closer in the fog. Cornelia seemed delighted with the exterior of the rough, white inn, its red roof and shuttered windows.

As we passed through the small, tiled hall there was no sign of any other visitor. The landlord, who was dark and sleek and even shaved, perhaps to honour the occasion, pressed us to partake of coffee and of brandy, a deplorable habit of the Greeks. These trials were inflicted on us in an airy sitting-room which gave on a terrace that overlooked the lake. Some shallow steps led down into the water, where a rowing-boat was moored. Not a ripple stirred the surface, over which the mist hung dank and heavy.

Our bedrooms were located on the upper floor; baths did not exist; so we had an early dinner.

There would be no difficulty, so the landlord said, in our visiting the old trenches on the Kala Tepe next day. Tourists, be added with a shrug, were accustomed to climbing up the hills, and he knew all about providing them with sandwiches. Thus a visit to the battlefield would be simplicity itself.

Nigel and Cornelia were full of talk that evening. So I left them to it; and while they exchanged the unmeaning prattle of the young, I passed the time before I went to bed in getting things ready for the morrow. I saw that the automatic pistols were loaded and in order, laid out my precious Leica with its battery of lenses, told the landlord what kind of food we wanted, ensured that my flask bad been refilled from a bottle in the Cadillac, and eventually prepared myself for bed.

The inn was taller than the neighbouring houses, and one of my windows faced the north. I undid the shutter and the dark hills were outlined against and looked out. The mist had cleared a starlit sky. I filled my lungs with fresh air, and was turning round to go to bed, when my eye was caught and held, in the self-same way as on that afternoon, by a tiny spark of light which flickered on the hillside. More signalling! This time an Aldis lamp or something of that kind. But the message, whatever it might have been, came abruptly to an end. and the light was blotted out. I waited for some moments watching. Then my attention was drawn by a sound which came from within the house. Stealing to the door, I softly opened it and craned my neck into the passage. Thrown into relief by the light of a lantern which he earned, barefooted, and half-dressed, the crouching figure of the landlord was padding stealthily away.

12

The Grand Couronne

IT IS not a long walk from Doiran to Kala Tepe, but the going is pretty steep. The French Colonials, who in 1916 staked out the Allied claim upon the Doiran front, had assigned every prominent feature a characteristically French name. "Le Grand Couronne" was the name they had given to the Kala Tepe, and as "The Cue Couronne," suitably mispronounced, was thereafter known to the British Salonika Force.

Although well on in autumn, the bright, clear autumn of the Balkans, at eleven o'clock next morning a remarkably hot sun beat down upon us out of cloudless sky. Nor had our cruise the Luxuriatic been the best of training for a mountain walk. I led the way as we scaled the arid slope immediately below the summit, and perspiration glistened on my forehead. Although he was not prepared to admit as much, Nigel also was distinctly warm. Only Cornelia, with the uncanny aptitude of woman for putting men shame, appeared as cool as if she had just sallied from her bath.

A few seconds later we had scrambled up the fast ascent and were standing in the battered, rocky cap which, year in year out, had protected the Bulgarian observers in the casemates underneath from the attentions of the Allied howitzers. Glad of a rest, we subsided on the hot, rough surface of the rock, fished a map out and began to take my bearings. Nigel lit a cigarette and observed aggressively that he was "as cool as one cucumber," a palpable falsehood! While Cornelia just patted her golden hair into place and lit another.

We sat on the south-eastern edge of the convex summit of the hill, and thus the prospect to the north and west was hidden from us. I was mainly interested in the south. There lay the British trenches, which had crowned the lower hills and had clung precariously to the top of those above them; there the glens through which reliefs had been effected under cover of the night; and there, between the humped back of the Petit Couronne and the flat top of La Tortue, lay the Vladaja Ravine, more than once a shambles, an obscure and ill-lit stage where many a gallant deed had been enacted and straightway lost to history.

While I thus considered the panorama to the south and envied the lynx-eye enemy their lofty coign of vantage Nigel's attention had been riveted I the prospect in the east. Turning to look in that direction, I was struck by his strange appearance. There he sat with open mouth and screwed up eyes gazing, almost in a trance, at what he saw.

What the devil was he staring at? The town of Doiran was hidden by a buttress which supported a shoulder of the hill, but down below the circular expanse of lake stretched unruffled, a vivid cobalt blue. The triangular plain beyond was crossed by seven rivulets and threaded by a railway. This plain was bounded on the right by an accidented mass of hills known a the Krusha Balkan, on the left by a higher wall of sombre mountains which, half mantled in dark woods, extended as far as the eye could see.

That was what he was staring at― for the round blue lake, the wall of mountains, and the woods had formed the background of his queer dream in London; and the girl who had been the central figure of that dream how sat beside him. It was she, in fact, who had stepped so daintily upon the mountain-side, planting her small, strong foot on the shale-like slope.

How he had come to picture to himself in sleep, one night in London, a scene that he was not to see in concrete form till near on a fortnight later; this presented a problem, akin to second sight, which needed a good deal of explanation. It was not as if he had seen this country somewhere in a film. Film-fan though he was, Nigel felt sure that he had not seen this particular view under any guise before. On could not see that brilliant lake, and the wooded mountains over it, without some recollection remaining in the brain. He was far too young to have seen the place in war, and no one hat recognised the girl beside him for the lady in his dream only when he had seen her background for the first time in real life. He had never admitted to me that be was fey in any sense before, but now he felt sure that the dream had simply come to show him that this enchanting girl had been cast to play opposite him in the theatre of life.

A good deal of what was passing it his mind I fathomed at the time, but the details were supplied to me afterwards by Nigel. Now the two were staring at each other. Something had to be done about it, and so I interrupted.

"If you two go on sitting there, I'll get a photo of you both on the mountain top."

I had risen with an exposure-meter in my hand. The actinic value of the light was something which you never come across at home. Making the requisite adjustments of aperture and shutter, I took several studies of the pair with their heads in silhouette against the north-eastern sky.

Rather pleased, I put the camera away, and then I perceived that the two were regarding me with a kindness not unmixed with pity. Good God! It was just the expression with which I have regarded a very old man marvelling at and toying with a modern instrument just beyond his ken.

But, for all their nonsense, I was not to be diverted from my photographic purpose, and I was looking round to consider the advisability of taking some panoramic views, when a crumbling piece of shale broke beneath my foot. I slipped and. in saving the camera, came down rather heavily on my knee.

Nigel sprang to my assistance. "Have you hurt yourself?"

He pulled me up.

"Not a bit!" I answered, clapping my hands together to remove some particles adhering to the palms.

"Sit down, you old stiff. There's a nasty cut on that knee of yours." He drew his handkerchief to wipe the blood away.

I was wearing shorts, and, true enough, I had cut my knee. What a bore! One must be careful in Macedonia, for the ground is poisonous, particularly on the old battlefields.

"Don't use your handkerchief, Nigel," I advised. "I've got some dressings in my haversack."

He took one out.

"I'll just tie it up, and then we can go on."

"You'll do nothing of the kind!" said Nigel firmly.

With a quick movement he twitched the dressing from me, and, squatting down beside me, proceeded to clean and bind the jagged cut.

But Cornelia was bending over us.

"That's my job," she remarked. "It up to the women of the species to dress a wounded man. You get along, Nigel, and let me take a hand. I'll do it better than you."

"Bet you wouldn't," Nigel answered. "Besides, I've started now and may as well complete the job."

He concentrated on his task, while resigned myself to these attentions. Perhaps the cut was deeper than it looked. At all events, when Nigel had extracted one or two particles of grit, washed the wound, stopped the bleeding, and affixed a bandage several minutes had elapsed. He was justly proud of the dressing, and cried out to Cornelia that she should come and see.

Cornelia did not answer.

Still sitting, Nigel turned his head.

She was not there.

Springing to his feet, he looked a round. There was no sign of her.

"Where the devil has she got to?" muttered.

Nigel ran to what appeared to be the crest behind us, but the summit of the Grand Couronne is convex, and with every step he took a fresh vista of rocky surface came in view.

Perceiving from his nonplussed attitude that Nigel had not been able to set eyes upon the girl, I became suddenly alarmed, and hurried up the hill to join him. Soon we were standing on the very summit of the crag, but of Cornelia there was nothing to be seen. We raised our voices up and shouted together. No answering cry rewards us, but a moment later the eerie echo of our shout retained to us from a lofty, undulating ridge that lay mile or more away and blotted out the country further west.

Anxiety and bewilderment increase the beating of our hearts as we skirted the perimeter of the rocky summit. We scanned the ground below, with an without glasses, north, south, east, an west, but no trace of the missing girl could we detect, or sign of any other living thing,

"Hell!" cried Nigel, his forehead tied in a bewildered knot. "What can have happened? I can't have been about two minutes doing up your knee. It's absolutely baffling. Oh, Zephyr, we brought her here, and now we've lost her. It's worrying!"

"I know," I said, putting an arm on Nigel's shoulder. "But there must be a simple explanation for her disappearance. The foothold is not too good, and if I slipped and fell she may well have done the same. We'll search the whole way round the summit once again. Active though she is, she may have sprained her ankle and fainted with the pain. That would account for her not answering. We had better walk some twenty or so yards apart and cover all the ground we can."

Although I had tried to speak, cheerily enough, there was, even to myself something unconvincing about my hollow tone, and the theory of a sprain brought little comfort.

Moreover, when we returned to the place whence we had started we had met with no success. Cornelia could not have descended to the south, for the declivity was oversteep; besides, that face had been commanded from the spot where Nigel had bandaged my knee. The eastern shoulder, up which we had climbed from Doiran, was quite open for three-quarter of a mile or more.

Northward from the summit ran a ridge, broken here and there by patches of dark scrub ; but, unless she lay concealed, the undergrowth appeared to be too low to hide a human being ; nor was it clear how she could have covered the intervening distance before we missed her and the search began. But between the Grand Couronne and the "Pipe Ridge" to westward, a narrow valley, rugged and precipitous, wound away in a northerly direction. Here there was abundant cover for anyone who wanted it. But what cause had she to hide?

Nigel and I must have been following a similar train of thought, for at this moment we looked at one another, struck by the same idea.

"Foul play!" cried Nigel. "She must have been carried off. My God, if I could lay my hands upon the―!"

Twisted by a sudden understanding, he uttered an appalling threat.

"It looks rather like it," I replied. "May God blast my knee for taking our attention off her! She must have been carried down that valley ; it is the only way they could get her quickly out of sight. There is no need our following directly down the bottom; we should command no view, and would be best for any kind of ambush. Let us start due north as fast as we can move. If we keep east of the ridge with the scrub on it we shall be under cover for a mile or so. Then we must turn west and try to cut them off lower down the valley. It is our best chance."

While I checked the automatic pistols and found them loaded and in order, Nigel, who had the keener sight, spied the valley once again. The bottom of the winding glen was hidden from view, and, through a heat haze which now impaired the visibility, he could detect no flicker of a movement on the slopes.

Then we rose and set off together with great strides towards the north.

13

Macedonian Methods

IT WAS NOT far short of midnight when we made our way, tired, hungry, and in my case not a little footsore, through the dark, uneven streets of Doiran towards the little inn whence we had set forth so joyously that morning. The night was rank with odours that hung about the undrained courts; not a light was visible; and an infinitesimally fine drizzle had set in.

Our quest had been a failure, for, although we had pursued the plan originally made and had quartered the countryside for hours, we had not seen a living soul or come on a trace of the missing girl. In view of the state of mind in which we had undertaken the pursuit and of the depression which had grown steadily upon us during our weary hours of search, this, perhaps, was just as well; for, had we met with the very least encouragement, were it no greater than a footprint or a coil of smoke, we should without reflection have continued to press on, and there is no saying whither our obstinacy might have led us. But, although no clue rewarded our endeavours, it had been well forward in the afternoon before we called a halt and took counsel of the situation. We had descended from the Kala Tepe, crossed one valley, and mounted another considerable hill. To go on aimlessly beyond this point, so far from bringing us nearer to our quarry, might well take us farther away with every mile we covered. It was therefore, in obedience to the voice of reason that, with heavy hearts, we turned about and trudged bitterly back towards Doiran by the high road which skirts the lake.

The little square before the inn was silent and deserted, but a light shone behind the Persian shutters in a room on the ground floor. The faithful Temperley, perhaps, was sitting up for us. Or the other hand, I had not forgotten the light which had shone from the hillside on the previous night, or the odd behaviour of the innkeeper stealing to his bed at a later hour than he had any call to be about.

After a whispered consultation, moving under cover of the wall, we sidled I up to the window from which the light was shining ; and I, who alone was tall enough, applied my eye to a crack between the shutters.

In a low-roofed, squalid chamber, which I judged must give on the tiled passage leading from the front door, lit by an oil-lamp hanging from a bracket, Yanni, the pasty-faced inn-keeper, sat at a deal table eating a sordid supper. The man was ill at ease, for he would start from time to time and harken as if he were waiting for something to occur.

Signalling to Nigel, I moved a little from the window and told him what I had seen. Although no light shone elsewhere in the house, there might well be others still awake; and so, after a brief confabulation, we took off our heavy shoes and put them in our haversacks. Then I tried the door. To my satisfaction and surprise it yielded Pushing it open with an infinity of care, I stepped silently across the I threshold. Nigel followed me without a sound. And then we saw that our precautions had been well advised, for the door leading into the room where the innkeeper sat was half open, and we could observe the fellow's rounded back as he sat at his repast. I was already at the second door, and as I thrust it open inch by inch I was fascinated by steady crunching of the eater's teeth as he chewed some kind of biscuit, and by the muscles on his jaw, which bunched themselves with every mastication. Then, with a swooping stride, I placed a hand upon his shoulder.

As the man turned with a convulsive movement and a terrified intake of the breath a half-chewed morsel escaped from his open mouth and fell on the plate with a little plop. When his eyes rose and he saw who it was that had come in, such colour as normally relieved his pallid face was drained away. But when Nigel took station by his other side and likewise put a hand on his shoulder, Yanni, after glancing fearfully at each of us in turn, thrust back his chair and, grovelling suddenly upon his knees, raised both arms in supplication or in token of surrender. Thus any doubt which we might have had about his complicity in the abduction of Cornelia were dispelled, for a respectable inn-keeper is not wont to manifest signs of abject terror on the return of affluent tourists to his roof, albeit late at night, unless some matter hard to digest is weighing on his conscience.

"Secure that shutter and the front door!" I spoke in an English undertone to Nigel. "Then we'll drag this lump of dough to the terrace room above the lake. There we shall be less likely to be overheard or interrupted."

When, after these precautions had been taken, we secured the innkeeper, each by one arm, and raised him to his feet, he offered no resistance, but came with us in silence to the secluded room where first he had provided coffee and liquor. Here I indicated to my host a straight-backed chair, while Nigel locked the door and ascertained that there were no eavesdroppers on the terrace.

"Shimdilik, Effendim!" I made the labials hum as I gave the Turkish words full value. "And now, sir." Then, with a sudden change of tone, I hissed the rest of the sentence. "Just spill the whole thing, quick!"

With a shudder the innkeeper at-tempted to reply in Greek, but I would have none of that, and the fellow's sallow face grew sulky as he began to frame in fluent but Greekified Turkish non-committal phrases with which, apparently, he had hopes of fobbing off my interrogatory.

Focussing Yanni straight between the eyes, I began to smile, and I did not intend it to be a pleasant smile. Deliberately I lit a cigarette, but I didn't smoke it. Instead, I began to examine the back of my left hand, and, holding the cigarette between the thumb and index of my right, I gradually advanced the burning stump nearer and nearer to the back of that hand, smiling all the time. The innkeeper watched me fascinated, as some bloated bird will watch a snake; then, clapping his two palms to his head, he began to pour out confused and abject speech. Clearly he had understood the meaning of my little demonstration.

It was true, he admitted, that the brigands had been at the bottom of Miss Vandalaer's abduction; he himself was not to blame.

"How do you know she has gone, then?" I snapped.

At least, he was not to blame directly. Tsaldaris had been the moving spirit. Tsaldaris had arranged it all. Vanni's own activities had been confined to the role of messenger, a role which he had accepted solely out of fear. How could an innkeeper hope to live at Doiran, where three countries met, without some practical indication of goodwill towards the brigands? Apart from the I.M.R.O.. who came down periodically from their fastnesses beyond the Beles Dagh, there were the brigands of Jugoslavia, and even the brigands of the Greeks. He himself had only passed a message, and if he had boggled at the task they laid on him, apart from the probability of instant death, he would have found himself deprived of local custom.

"For whom, then," I interposed, "was the message which you passed intended? For which band of brigands were you working? And where can they be found?"

"I do not know. I do not know!" the innkeeper dribbled, beating his open palms on his forehead. "How should I know whom it may please to send me orders? I am a small person, and not of any importance."

"You had better know!" I retorted. "Should there be any doubt about it. or should it strike me that you are endeavouring to gain time, or anything stupid like that, I will torture you! Then, when you have told me all you know, you shall have a swim in the lake! A small and unimportant person with a weight tied to his neck will experience difficulty in rising to the surface."

Wringing his fat, unwashed hands together, the abject creature hastened to asseverate by all he held most holy that he had, in actual fact, done nothing more than transmit a message to an agent, and confirm the tourists' hour of starting for the Kala Tepe by light-signals on the previous night.

"I am an insignificant man," he whined. "and the leaders will not trust me with their names or with the places where they lie. They tell me nothing, for they do not trust me!"

I could quite understand that. On the other hand, I was inclined to believe that the innkeeper spoke, in the main, the truth: no one in his senses would entrust to such a worm a piece of information vital to himself; and even although Yanni might know some at least of the brigands' names and the places where they were likely to he found, it was improbable that the ruffians who had carried off Cornelia should have left with this poltroon, in a place sure to lie the centre of any subsequent investigation, all the evidence required to hang them. But while I was being drawn through these avenues of thought to a conclusion that I should have to seek elsewhere for a first clue, I continued lo regard my prisoner's expressive face; and, although he must have realised that the gist of his story was acceptable, I thought I saw in it evidence of continued terror and foreboding. For whom, then, had he been sitting up when we surprised him? And for what was he waiting palpably a prey to trepidation?

With his arms folded Nigel had been standing a little behind the prisoner and rather on one side. Now he froze into attention, as if he had caught some sound inaudible to my harder hearing.

As we waited thus in silence Yanni's fears had every appearance of increasing. Then a door creaked somewhere in the silent house.

'"So," I thought grimly, "the man has doublecrossed me;" and I gathered myself to spring.

The innkeeper started; he too had heard some sound, and presumably he could assign to it a meaning, for his eyes began to glance over his shoulder towards the door. Of a sudden, as one who hardens himself to a resolution, he took a short, sharp breath and opened his lips, perhaps, to give a warning cry.

But he was too late. Converging like two flashes in the ill-lit room, Nigel's hands pounced on Yanni's throat, one behind and one in front, and the thumb and fingers of his left hand almost met in the yellow flesh behind the fellow's windpipe.

Thus we waited for some seconds, listening to a stealthy footfall which continued to approach. After what seemed to be at least a minute, the handle was depressed and the door swung inward on its hinges.

A head, surmounted by a conical fur cap of astrakhan, appeared across the threshold. The intruder was very dark, and his chin and forehead receded from a huge hooked nose that was positively obese and evil. The little gimlet eyes were fixed on the innkeeper and on Nigel's fingers embedded in his throat. Thus the sallow, peering face hung for ward for a moment, supported by a sinewy neck, from which his head stretched straight and flat as a board.

It was a golden opportunity for the rabbit punch, and I brought my hand down knifewise on the very nape of that neck. Down went the flat head as he subsided on all fours: then, with a gurgle, he slumped sideways and lay still.

At the same moment Nigel released his terrible hold on the innkeeper, who rolled, gasping, purple-faced, on the floor and he hastened to administer first aid, for the wretch's painful inhalations sounded like a death-rattle.

The individual of whom I had disposed wore a dark coat and trousers tucked into high boots, but, in place of a waistcoat, row on row of gleaming cartridges were girt about his torso, and a couple of Parabellum pistols were strapped beneath his armpits. His astrakhan kalpak had fallen off, and there was no doubt that his brachycephalic head was that of an Armenian. I felt inclined to jump at once to a certain conclusion; but, having been trained in the hard, logical school of Military Intelligence, I registered the thought, but deferred the conclusion until it might be confirmed.

By now the innkeeper was coming to but he clutched his throat as if it  pained him, and appeared to be unable to do more than croak.

"I haven't improved that blighter's chances for an audition at the Garden," said Nigel savagely. "I felt something give in his throat."

"Nigel, wake Temperley and Jackson as quickly as you can. They can take Yanni to the room beside the outhouse, where the two cars are, and keep close watch on him. Judging from his rigout, this Armenian must be one of the brigand. Doubtless the innkeeper was waiting up for him, and they had better not we each other before I can ask the Armenian one or two questions. I've known Armenians who were tchettedjis (Land leaders), but it is rare in Macedonia. It's a long shot, perhaps, but I'm wondering if the man has anything to do with Babanian. We must find out."

"I'll choke it out of him. People can't hold out against a real good throttling."

"You're telling me! But I know of other methods less dangerous and equally effective. There's always the risk or their popping off when strangled."

"All the better, if he's one of the sugs who got Cornelia!"

Nigel was not long in fetching the two chauffeurs. Temperley had been for some time in our employ and was, therefore, accustomed to surprises. Jackson, however, in spite of coming from the other side of the Atlantic, had never seen a gangster; but, as a well-trained servant will, he managed to dissemble his surprise, and, accepting one of the Armenian's pistols, assisted Temperley to lead Vanni off.

Soon after the coast had thus been cleared the Armenian gingerly felt the back of his neck and tried to sit up. Thrusting my arms Mow the convalescent's shoulders, I dragged him across the floor and propped him up in a corner, where he began to look about him with an ill grace. The threat of cold water from a jug brought him to his senses. Perceiving suddenly that he had fallen among strangers, he groped for the pistols at his sides; but when he looked down and saw that they had been taken from him a sly smile indicated that he had tumbled to the pickle he was in.

"Now," I began, seating myself astride a chair before the prisoner, " I'll give a little demonstration of how people are interrogated in the Near East, and, before I get down to it, you might oblige by fetching from my room the Meta lamp and saucepan, and a couple of eggs. A useful thing is a Meta lamp!"

Nigel was back in a jiffy, and the Armenian watched sullenly while I lit the lamp, filled the pan with water, and gently dropped the eggs in.

"What is your name?" I began in Turkish.

"Dikran," He replied in the guttural tones which appertain to persons of Armenian race.

"Where have you put the American girl?"

"What American girl?" Dikran had a defensive eye.

"The one you took this morning on the Kala Tepe."

"I know nothing of Kala Tepe," he muttered with a shrug.

"That is just where you are out of date!" I laughed. "For Yanni told me all about it before my friend there broke his throat. Hs tried to warn you, but he was not quick enough, and so he will never speak again."

"May he be struck blind as well as dumb!"

"Your attitude towards Yanni is not too kind. Admittedly he is but a Greek; but then you are an Armenian, which is worse. Would it surprise you to discover that the merciful English can also be unkind?"

I pointed to the Meta lamp, where the eggs were already bobbing in the boiling water. But Dikran uttered never a word.

"Very well!" I continued. "Bashka tchare yok dir.* Come on Nigel, well strip him to the waist !"

_________

(* There is no alternative.)

We leapt upon the man, and it did not take him long to realise that any project of resistance was mere waste of time in Nigel's grip. Moreover, the use of eggs for making dumb men speak― you insert them boiling in a fellow's armpits and strap his arm to his sides― was clearly not unknown to Dikran, for his resolution failed him, and be signified a willingness to speak.

I left the eggs on the boil, for I judged that the sign of them would have a good moral effect, and proceeded to address the Armenian in unrelenting tones.

"Double-cross me or state a falsehood, and those eggs go on at once I"

"I will tell the truth. Your lofty person's information is correct. The American girl has been taken to the Beles Dagh. But"― he hesitated for a moment― "she grew tired. We moved fast, and when we had come to a secret place among the mountains we halted for the night. We could not take her further for she could not walk any more; we could not carry her, for there was no horse or cart, and there were only four of us―"

"Only four!"

"Yes, sir!" He paused for perhaps a couple of seconds. "If there had been more of us we could have taken both of you as well."

He had made a strong point.

"Very well," he went on. "Being only four in number, when the American girl could go no farther, we discussed what we had better do. One of us was sent ahead to warn the chief of our predicament. Your servant was sent back to see if there was any sign of pursuit. I did not want to go, but Kurd Yassin insisted on my doing so. Curse him!"

"Do you mean that the girl in lying guarded only by Kurd Yassin and one other man?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Evet, Effendim." He reflected for a moment, and then went on as if he had reached a difficult decision. "That dog of a Kurd is in charge of her. The man with him is a Gagaoux of no account. The chief's stronghold is very far away."

"Who is the chief?" I interrupted.

Dikran looked round furtively.

"I must not say."

Picking up a spoon, I gently stirred the eggs in the boiling water.

"You must get me out of this if disclose his name."

I winked at Nigel and he gripped the fellow's wrist, while I lifted out an egg and balanced it steaming in the spoon.

Then Dikran spoke in a whisper. "It is Todor Kara-Vassiloff himself!"

"Are you sure," I asked, charging my words with menace, "that it is not a certain Mr Babanian?"

The Armenian's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. Then he laughed aloud. "Babanian Effendi! He would be a rich prize for Kara-Vassiloff. What a ransom! But he is dangerous to touch; that man is well protected and his arm is long !"

While I wondered whether he was lying, the Armenian hurried on. "As your servant has already said, Kara-Vassiloff is far away, and the men whom he will send cannot reach the place where the American girl is lying before tomorrow evening. If you are energetic, you can rescue her before these men arrive. I will be your guide But I must have a good reward and a safe-conduct out of the country afterwards. Otherwise it will be death for me."

"Why are you suddenly offering to help us?"

Dikran smiled, and his smile was evil.

"Yassan is a Kurd, and, by intrigue, he has supplanted me in the favour of the chief. Do I want my place taken by a Kurd who has been instrumental in the slaughter of many persons of my race! This, I now see, is the opportunity for me. Do I look like a man who let slip his opportunities! Led by your servant, you can fall on Yassin while, perhaps, he sleeps."

I didn't like it, not one little bit, but there seemed to be no other course. We had a chance now of rescuing Cornelia. We could not wait, or that chance would be gone. To leave her to her fate was out of the question.

"So be it!" I replied. "You shall lead us, Dikran, and well start at the crack of dawn. But if you play us false, by God, I'll make of you a man that is no man!"

14

I Fall By The Way

I WAS EARLY awake next morning and I lay for some minutes on my pallet bed without any movement. I had only taken off my boots and coat for the night was destined to be short. The room was still, and in the faint light from a window I could Just make out the bed where Nigel slept. My coat and watch, together with a cooling drink, rested on a chair beside me. It must be getting on for six; but as I made the little effort required to turn and slake my thirst, I was conscious of discomfort and a hot, dry feeling in the head, while the prospect of the coming day began to worry me.

lf we relied on the shifty brigand Dikran, we might very possibly be snared. But we could not well reject the chance offered by the presence of this man. Success or failure? The scales were nicely balanced. No! On the whole, they were favourably biased.

With my knowledge of the Turkish language, and, if need be, a little persuasion in a quiet place among the hills, it should not prove impossible to extract the prisoner's knowledge and keep him in control.

This thought made things better, and I flung the bedclothes off; but when I tried to get up a sharp pain stabbed my right knee, and I sank back: with a groan. Switching on a torch, I examined the afflicted member; and the bandage, placed by Nigel on the previous morning, recalled my accident on the hill. To be sure, I had given that knee a nasty cut, but a timely disinfectant had been liberally applied, and there was nothing in the cut itself to account for the gnawing pain which now began to throb within the joint. Just above the bandage, too, my thigh seemed rather hot, hotter at all events than was the other thigh. Slipping off the bandage, I saw to my dismay that the whole knee had swollen in the night. With both my hands I sought gingerly to lift the leg, only to perceive that, at a moment most inopportune, I was once again a victim to water on the knee; and, as I realised that nothing but a thorough rest for several days would be likely to effect a cure and enable me once more to play an active part. I was overwhelmed by a knowledge of the consequences which my own defection must entail.

I alone knew Turkish, and could draw from the cunning guide the help of which we stood in need; I alone was acquainted with the countryside and with the strange ways of its polyglot inhabitants; I alone had experience of Armenians, and I feared lest Nigel's enthusiastic energy should lead him into some pitfall carefully prepared. I am not given to over-rating my own powers -perhaps I am more inclined to an inferiority complex than to the other kind of thing― but on this particular occasion it was borne in on me cruelly that my own absence might wreck the object of the day, and that while I lay macerating on a couch my best friend might be marching to a treacherous death in quest of the captured lady whom he loved.

Forcing myself to move in spite of pain, I put my left foot to the floor and prised myself erect with the muscles of my sound leg; but when I tried to put my weight upon the other, the knee gave at once and proved me incapable of walking.

Nigel must have been awakened by these movements, for he sprang from lied and placed himself by my side. In a flash he had taken in the situation. seen its implications, and accepted the inevitable. He lowered me once more on to the pallet, adjusted the disabled leg in comfort, and pulled up the cover-let lest I should take chill, for I was sweating with the pain.

'Had luck, Zephyr!'' he said quietly. ''You can't possibly move today; but don't worry, you old stiff. Temperley and I will manage all right." He looked cheerful as he spoke. "And I'll break that ――'s neck if there is any trouble. We'll be back tonight and bring Cornelia, you must lie down and keep that leg up. It's the only way." He put his hand on my forehead. "You're got a temperature. But Jackson will be here to see to you, and be can get things from your medicine chest. I hate leaving you like this, but you see I must be off."

Nigel was dressing as he talked.

"I can't bear to think of her in the hands of more brutes," he went on. "You know what she means to me."

"Of course I do. It's your duty to go. My God, you'll win through and catch these fellows bending. Keep a close eye on Dikran. He will double-cross us if he can; of that I feel quite sure. And he may know more of Mr Babanian than he is ready to admit. But it is our only chance, so you and Temperley must take it. Hell! I wish I could come too! I can't think of anything more damnable than having to leave you in the lurch. But there it is. I'd merely he a drag on you if I tried to go! and, in point of fact, I simply couldn't."

Nigel was ready. Temperley had Dikran waiting in the next room.

"God bless you!" I said with a heavy heart. " Take what care of yourself you can!"

Nigel took both my hands and squeezed them. Then the door closed und he WBS gone.

As I began to tie a bandage round my swollen knee I cursed aloud. If I had been able to set out on the adventure, if I could have plotted and planned and fought by Nigel's side, if I could have shared his dangers― well, in that case, I should have been happy enough; for, whatever governments may say, it is the duty of the middle-aged to share the dangers of the young, and if their bodies are no longer made of steel, their brains are sometimes far more cunning. But now, as I lay behind, useless in the hour of need, the risks attendant on the enterprise loomed large; and, pessimistic as I am, perhaps by nature, I wondered whether in fact they ever would return.

No! Not useless altogether― I had both cars and the chauffeur Jackson.

Crowding on my clothes, I called for Jackson, explained to him my case, and ten minutes later left for Salonika in the Duisenberg to arouse the powers of law and order on behalf of the girl and of my best friend.

15

The Belashitza Mountains

I SHALL HAVE to write the next few chapters second-hand, for I myself was away stirring up the authorities from Salonika. But I heard so much afterwards about what happened up in Macedonia from Nigel, Hilmi, and Cornelia, that I seem to have lived through their adventures with them; and thus I hope that the story of those hectic days will not lose in the telling. Anyway, here goes!

The sun which had risen over the rugged outline of the Krusha Balkan, was high in the heavens before the rescue party had gained the summit of the ridge, which rises to the north of Karaoghloular. First strode Dikran, the lean, dark Armenian, dressed once more in his brigand kit, but still unarmed. Nigel had no language common with the prisoner, and so, before they started, the necessity for exchanging signs had been made clear. Following immediately in Dikran's wake, he moved as one whose thews and sinews are unaffected by the weight they carry. Temperley came last in a prodigious fluster of heat, for although lifting wheels about and other heavy garage work may develop the back, the shoulders, and the wrists, it no training for hill, or, indeed, for any kind of walking.

The early morning mist had peeled of Lake Doiran some fifteen hundred feel below, and the blue surface of the water looked, as they glanced down, fresh and cool. Standing out above the right shoulder of the ridge they were ascending, the wooded parapet of the Belashitza Mountains, or Beles Dagh extended unbroken to the east. No cloud marred the clear expanse of sky. Heat radiated from the dusty ground. As they drew nearer to the top a little col was gradually unfolding to the north-east. Towards this they made their way and, looking round with an expressive gesture, Dikran signalled that the time had come to move with caution. Clearly he knew the country, for, as a good stalker, he made them crawl a measurable distance before they reached the skyline.

Drawing up beside him on the left, Nigel raised himself a little on his elbows in order to see round a boulder which stood across his path, and he bade Temperley watch the prisoner well, while he drew out his field-glass for a spy.

The ground fell at first gradually before him and then more steeply, with the result that the lower slopes of the hill on which he lay, and the bottom of the valley, forming according to his map the water-shed of a stream which flowed towards the Vardar River, were hidden from him. Directly to the north rose a range of hills, now wooded, now brown and bare, and scored by water-courses which fed the unseen stream below. He remembered my story of how the First Bulgarian Army in retreat had been caught by the pursuing British aircraft as they struggled up the Kosturino Pass. From where he lay he could not make the road out, but surmised that it must skirt a rugged valley to the north-west. On the lower slopes villages were visible here and there; and as he swept the far side of the valley, first with the naked eye and then with the glass, he doubted if strangers could pass that way unseen. Further to the east the prospect was more hopeful, for the ridges on which he lay turned northwards, and, covered in part by scrub and trees, it seemed to rise gradually until it merged in the steep and wooded upper slopes of the Belashitza Mountains.

Without moving he could not see farther to the east, for the saturnine, unshaven face of Dikran blotted out the view; but as he turned toward Dikran, Dikran turned toward him, and, catching his attention with a beckoning glance, stretched a wiry hand north-eastward in the direction of a path which disappeared over the mountain crest, perhaps some five miles distant. As the man's leering face invited his attention. Nigel dwelt for a moment on the yellow teeth, the mobile lips, the dark brown eyes seeking to impress his confidence.

"Americali keuz! Americali keuz!' ("American girl") he kept on muttering in the pathetic way that people do when ignorant of a foreign language and at each reiteration he would point with a long and dirty index toward the distant path. Although completely innocent of Turkish, Nigel realised that Dikran was doing his best to show the place where Cornelia had been left in charge of the Kurd and his companion; but now, with elaborate pantomime and explanatory gestures, the Armenian was directing him to cast his eyes farther to the east. Nor was Nigel slow to grasp the intention of his guide. Clearly he perceived that an advance across the naked valley was sure to be detected by anyone posted to observe. On the other hand, a detour, discreetly undertaken through the close country on their right, stood every chance of bringing them within striking distance of their quarry, unsuspected and unperceived.

No sooner had he come to this conclusion, with which he heartily concurred, than he explained to the palpitating Temperley the manoeuvre which they had in mind. Then he tapped Dikran on the shoulder und signalled that they should crawl backward out of sight. Once behind the crest, he indicated with gestures which an intelligence of the meanest could hardly fail to understand that the proposal of an out flanking movement had met with his approval. Furthermore, he hinted with a clutching o the fingers that, in the event of any kind of truculence or treachery, those hands would settle on the prisoner's throat with a grip of which he had already felt the strength. Finally he displayed the gleaming barrel of his pistol as a threat of still more instant death. But if the Armenian were cunning, Nigel was cunning, too, and he did not show the strong, sharp knife which dangled at his hip and could thus be driven upward without warning into the kidneys or the entrails, as the case might be.

Dikran did not look like one accustomed to displaying mercy, and, so, no doubt, he understood, for he grinned and shrugged his shoulders and pressed his open palm against his forehead, after the manner of the Muslim.

"Bash ustuneh, Effendim! Bash ustuneh!" {"On my head be it.") he cried with an increasing vehemence intended seemingly to breed conviction.

A few seconds later they had plunged into the thicket and were threading their way along a tolerable path in the direction of the wooded col which connected the ridge, whence they had spied the land, with the Belashitza Mountains. Once more Dikran walked ahead, and as be proceeded farther into the wilderness of scrub, punctuated with increasing frequency by small deciduous trees, his gait became more furtive. The bump of his shoulders and the thrust of his dark, fur-capped head suggested with every step the gathering need for caution. Nigel followed close upon his heels, springy and alert, his hands in readiness to pounce on the fellow's throat and choke him, to shoot if need be accurately and quick, or to bury the black knife in him to the hilt. Temperley plodded after, breathing a little noisily but carrying out, as best he could, his orders to watch the flanks and rear.

They had walked thus for about an hour and the trees were growing thick in proportion to the undergrowth affording them some shade, when they reached a path which intersected that on which they trod. The little pr cession could not hare traversed half the distance which had separated the from that spot on the Belashitza where Cornelia was believed to lie, yet the Armenian stopped abruptly and, hoiding up his hand, paused motionless and listened. Now, Nigel's ears were pretty good, but, listen as he might, he could detect no sound save a murmur, not far away, which suggested a mountain stream. After a while, with a reassuring gesture, Dikran strode out again, and the others followed up a narrow path which soon brought them to a little glen among the woods. On Nigel's right the ground rose steeply, clad in a thorny undergrowth interspersed with stunted trees. On his left a sharp brae fell to a burn some twenty feet below, and he was reflect ing that the water looked inviting to a thirsty palate, when, with a sudden shout which sounded to his British ears like "Arkadash," Dikran dropped as if he had been shot. Nigel, closely following, almost stumbled over him.

A savage fellow in a shaggy kalpak stood some five yards before him on the path, and he was raising a rifle to his shoulder. But Nigel did not give him any time to aim his weapon, far less to shoot; doubling up, he ran in under the other's guard and, catching him about the thighs, overset the sentinel― such he seemed to be― and tossed him into the watercourse below. An English oath behind him, followed by a painful grunt, suggested that Temperley had leapt on the prostrate form of Dikran and was taking full advantage of the chance to utilise in earnest the skill in Judo taught him by his master.

But the disturbance had clearly given an alarm, for there rose a sound as of other persons tumbling in the under-growth, and a shouting of hoarse voices close at hand. Nigel gathered himself to spring on the next assailant, hut saw, to his dismay, that he was covered by several ragged figures with rifles to their shoulders, and as he paused to j take counsel of the situation he became

conscious of a man, better dressed than his companions, coming slowly toward him down the path with a pair of Parabellum pistols in his hands. The new-comer's head was covered with a kalpak, but he sported a well― nay, elegantly― cut coat, with collar and tie, riding breeches of the very smartest shape, and black, commanding field boots garnished with brass spurs, of which the monstrous rowels, with radiating points not unlike sharks' teeth, jingled proudly as he moved.

As the conviction was born In on Nigel that be had been double-crossed and that Dikran had drawn him into some stronghold of the brigands far nearer than the aerie pointed out on the hill, the impotent exasperation was succeeded by a shock, for the swarthy face of the man upon the path cracked suddenly In what must have been in-tended for a grin, and, of all the contingencies that for which he was possibly the least prepared, he found himself addressed in fluent but peculiar English.

"So," observed the leader in a tone of cruel irony, "I have got the little trouts but not the salmon. Dikran shall explain as soon as your clumsy servant have done mauling him. Then you will honour, I hope, of such poor hospitality as my camp in this rough mountains can afford and see your fellow guest, Miss Vandelaer."

16

Wheels Within Wheels

"THAT'S O.K.," said the brigand chieftain, Kara-VassiIoff. "We've got the girl ; we've got the boy; both safe and sound. We are in the strong position."

"Yes, Chief," Dikran answered in English no worse than his own. "And the old fox will follow them into the trap, as soon as he can move. I send him information where to come to, and we get him. No danger, Chief. England, she afraid of war. She no bother about their kidnaps."

"Um!" mused the chieftain Kara-Vassiloff, and the look which he shot at his chief of staff might well be termed " old-fashioned."

These two spoke in English, and their reasons were threefold. First, Kara-Vassiloff had been expelled from Bulgaria by the pro-Entente regime following the Armistice, and had spent several profitable years in Soho learning the language, until the Home Office had seen no further use for him in England.

Secondly, Dikran's youth had been spent in Manchester, where he had been apprenticed, not without cost, to a well-to-do Armenian uncle, in the hope that he would learn the intricacies of the cotton trade. The boy had shown no little aptitude; and, mastering the rudiments of business, had acquired a good knowledge of the English language and the proceeds of a cheque for several hundred pounds. This occurrence, unfortunate from his uncle's point of view, had resulted in the lad's transference to the land whence he had come, confident in his capacity for making good, and free from the embarrassment which the upkeep of an un-sullied reputation is sometimes apt to constitute. The Manchester police records tell of him no more than that.

Thirdly, the two worthies were seated by themselves― or so they thought― under an overhanging rock which afforded shelter from the sun; they had just finished a tasty little lunch; they were leaning back in every sense. No other member of the gang spoke English; thus, from the point of view of secrecy, this language seemed the best to use.

But this is where both of them stepped off― for Nigel was lying on that rock, and his sharp ears overheard the greater part of what they said. While his low-brow captors indulged in the siesta, he had wriggled away like an eel to spy out the land. If his absence should be noticed he would have a very natural excuse.

Dikran was speaking now with the greasy swagger common to his race when riding on the crest of the wave.

"Someone hit me on the back of neck, with leading piping I should say. I have no chance, I fall. Two of them are on me. I am stronger than either but not both together. Slow, slow they strangle me. I am K.O. When I come to I am bound because they fear me. Then I have them cold, I listen to their English, and they have no idea I understand. Beldrum has water on the knee, you see, I kick him. He no moving for some days. So could not bring him too. But I bring the young one like baby into trap, could do no more."

"Beldrum, you say, prepared written telegram for Salonika? A pity you did not read what he said! Mistake like that sometimes hang a man." Kara-Vassiloff grinned evilly at Dikran " He will know soon that we operate from the Petritch province of Bulgaria; and if the Greek and Jugoslav police get busy, they will try to cut us of at Doiran and Strumitza. I do not want a clash with their police in case it brings the soldiers out; but in the last revert, we could mow them down with our sub-machine-guns."

"Dog of a Bulgarian!" Dikran was probably thinking of himself. "He think he know the English, but do not know her very well." But he said, "So, owing to the forethink of the chief, our plans need not be change, ya?"

Kara-Vassiloff went on loftily. "That is so. We retrograde to Podkovnic after lunch. It is an easy stage. There we can snap our fingers. Governments may change at Sofia, but the Belashitsa Planina (Belashitza Mountains) do not change."

Kara-Vassiloff paused, for Dikran's attention had been attracted by the buzzing of a field telephone, connected, as the brigands often managed to arrange, with a friendly office not so very distant; and, as Dikran listened to the message, Kara-Vassiloff reclined observant, although he seemed to be watching the blue-grey rings of cigarette smoke which kept issuing from his mouth,

"This is not so funny, Chief," he said at length, putting the receiver down. "That was our Nevrokop agent relaying on to us, by Plovdiv and Odrin, a massage addressed to London from Istanboul less than an hour ago. The message state that Calhoun Janapleri, the American Ambassador in Turkey, has received cable that his niece, Miss Vandelaer, have been captured by brigands at Doiran. It say he raising hell with all the Powers, and that Governments of Sofia and Belgrade are doing all they can to secure return of wealthy lady, and punishment of men responsible for abdication of said lady." He laughed awkwardly. "You make one bloomer. Chief, in getting that girl."

Kara-Vassiloff's face was a picture, as Nigel craned down over the rock to we precisely what was happening.

"Is that wise?" he snarled. "Why was I not told that the girl is a niece of the Ambassador? It is you who make one bloomer, Dikran!"

"I did not know myself. Chief. I had my orders to report on Beldrum's movements, but none about the girl."

"Whose servant are you," hissed the chief, "mine or this Babanian's?"

"Yours, Chief, yours! But you know what we owe to Mr Babanian. If he should cut supplies off, what happen? That I ask!"

The chief ignored this thrust and pondered silent for a while. At length he spoke.

"This alter the complexions. Calluni, you say. An Italian-American, and probably vindictive! Yet the girl, she look no wop! But Calluni! I do not like the sound of him. He will stir the powers to make us trouble."

Once more the telephone was busting, and now Dikran too was looking scared.

"That one from Strumitza, Chief. Our agent, Popovich, was on the line, Dimitri Popoff that was, the telegraphist at Strumitza."

"Get on!" snapped Kara-Vassiloff.

"The Serb police and pursuit detachments have got orders to intercept us on our way back to Bulgar frontier. And the cavalry regiment at Strumitza is moving south to cut us off. It is the girl they are after, Chief. Let us leave her tied to a tree beside the road where they will find her! Once they have got her, no more trouble for us. Then we move west with the boy as a bait to get Beldrum into our hands. That will satisfy Mr Babanian."

"To hell with Babanian! I no give up the girl. I keep her. I have her. Then, when I am tired of her, she pay me ransom. After that, perhaps I let her go. Perhaps not."

"Well, keep the boy too, Chief?"

"You bet!" Kara-Vassiloff rose. "Now rouse the band. The cavalry will come by the Kosturino pass. We start in half an hour. We move by the Kara Bail, west, to cover in the woods near Chernitsa. They lie conveniently on the left bank of the Vardar River. After dark we slip across the ferry and cut south. The Greco-Serbian frontier is badly guarded, and no one will expect us back in Greece."

"What about Beldrum, Chief?"

Kara-Vassiloff seemed to ignore this question, yet there was a barb in his reply.

"Give it out to all the band," he said in measured tones, "that if anyone is so foolish as to give away my plans, then, after his toe and finger nails have been removed, I shall see that he does not become the father of another traitor!''

17

The Spark

AT TWO O'CLOCK on the following afternoon, the brigand chieftain Kara-Vassiloff was reclining at considerable ease in a little whitewashed room in a house at the topmost corner of Mayadagh, a house which for the time being he had made his own. The night march had been carried out successfully ; they had dodged the cavalry sent from Strumitza, and now the band was lodged in a remote spot where their presence would never be suspected, and where the chief could deal at leisure with his prisoners, and, if necessary, with Dikran.

Although the sun heat fiercely on the red roofs and protean walls of the great village clustering on the southern slope of a ridge which wound its way from the mountains towards the Vardar, the atmosphere was cool and pleasant in the little room, for one side was open and gave upon a courtyard endowed within three portions of the house. A tiny fountain was playing in the middle, fed with pure water from farther up the hill. A rough wall some six feet high secured for the courtyard both privacy and shelter, while an unsubstantial trellis work, stretched from wall to wall above the fountain, afforded hold for the mulberries and thus provided shade.

Still smoking his fine Kavalla cigarette Kara-Vassiloff rose and opened a door in the outer wall; it gave on a dusty road which connected Mayadagh with Kara-Sinanchi at the eastern end of the ridge; and the sentry outside was standing at his post.

Between the great twin villages a conical hill with a rocky top like a periscope stared north, grim, alert, inquisitive, to spy the beautiful and varied prospect of the Vardar valley. The hot summer had left the upper ground burnt and arid, both the villages were full of pleasant habitations, varied here and there by a dome or a crumbling minaret and interspersed with fruit trees, while the lower slopes were covered with a checker work of vineyards which proved the diligence of the Mohammedan peasants who still formed the bulk of the population in that hilly fastness. Most of the inhabitants were enjoying their siesta. But here a man was methodically moving, a coloured turban wound about his shabby fez, clad in a dark waistcoat and many-folded pantaloons baggy in the seat. There a woman, dressed in loose black garments, was bending in a vineyard, her veil cast aside.

The terrain swells upwards to the west, where high, woody mountains, relieved by many a rocky outcrop, rise to the jagged peaks of Dzena and the Mala Rupa. The higher mountains looked beyond the reach of law. But the great Moslem village slumbered that sultry afternoon.

But in the small white room which Kara-Vassiloff had left sat Cornelia, and her face held the mulish look which can be seen in American face as soon as the owner's pocket is affected. That beautiful mask, dumb with fury, should have been enough to make any man wilt away. But not so Kara-Vassiloff, who was lounging back towards her, hands in pocket and great spurs jingling on the flat stones. He sat down on the other side of a little table which bore the remnants of their lunch, and lit another cigarette.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well," she answered, and it was almost "Waal!"

"Those are my terms; one hundred thousand dollars― and― yourself until they come!"

"You wop!" Her words cut like whip. "If there were a white man here among your bunch of dagos, he'd give you the thrashing you deserve!"

Kara-Vassiloff had paled under his sun-burnt skin, and his teeth gleamed unpleasantly through his straggly black moustache. He clapped his hand and two brigands instantly appeared.

"There is in this house," he hissed, leaning across the table, "what yon miss, would call a 'white man.' He shall have a chance to thrash me, If he can. But I think he look really 'white' when he find what he is up against!"

He swung round on his two henchmen and gave a rapid order in some foreign tongue. They saluted and strode out, only to return a moment later, in one carrying a japanned tin case, the other a long, beautifully finished mahogany box, both of which were set down carefully upon the table.

As the men withdrew again, Dikran stepped forward from the courtyard which he must have entered by some other door.

"Ne var!" ("What's the matter!") snapped Kara-Vassiloff, rounding on his second-in-command. A Turkish altercation followed. The chief seemed to be laying down the law with an increasing fury, the Armenian seeking to dissuade him from some course of action with which he did not agree. The discussion was ended by the chief with an imperious gesture which left his second-in-command no alternative but instant departure or open revolt.

Swinging on Cornelia, Kara-Vassiloff glared at her, and his glare held wounded pride, lust, and the cruel satisfaction of assured revenge.

"Stay here!" he commanded. "You cannot escape." And, turning on his heel, he strode from the courtyard into another part of the house where his voice could, be heard bawling for his body-servant.

No sooner was the chief gone than Dikran reappeared. Stooping over Cornelia, with furtive glances round about, he poured an excited string of broken English in her ear.

"But what am I to stop?" she cried, for in his vehemence he had not been clear.

"Stop the fight!" he hissed. "I do not wish the fight. I have my orders. Kara-Vassiloff, he kill anyone he fight with pistol or the sword. He is one king-pin master of the weapons. And now he make your Mr Nigel fight him, because you have insult him."

"But how can he make Nigel fight is the British don't fight duels?"

"Oh, he make him! That O.K. I He will offer your liberty without ransom as the stake. The boy will have to fight. Then Kara-Vassiloff kill him, because he is enrage! But we want him alive. You love him, yes! I not love him, no! But I want him alive. You alone can stop the fight. Forbid it! Stop it! I must go before Kara-Vassiloff return."

Dikran had gone as swiftly as he came.

Cornelia was alone. She glanced round. No-one in sight! She stooped over the boxes on the table and un-fastened them. The japanned tin box proved to be a medicine chest crammed with lint, gauze, and bandages. The other contained a pair of rapiers with chased hilts.

She dosed the lids in a hurry, as people were coming in. They were first, Kara-Vassiloff, stripped of his big boots and naked to the waist: secondly, Nigel, in similar undress, and followed by two brigands, with drawn knives; lastly a wild-eyed, bearded goul, with a high black fez upon his bead and a yellow turban round it. It was the last figure which terrified Cornelia, for he seemed to be the prey of some horrible exaltation, and mouthed oddly as he opened a box of dressings and gloated over the contents.

Beside the fountain Kara-Vassiloff paused dramatically and addressed Cornelia.

"This young man, he has insulted me! I explain just now you are my woman and will pay me one hundred thousand dollars for the privilege. He call me 'liar' and would have struck me but be was held back. What I said is true, for so you are, and you will pay. But this insult, it must be requited. He challenge me with this insult, so the choice of weapons fall to me. What weapon shall I choose?" He veered round, appearing to consider so delicate a problem.

But Cornelia had risen from her chair.

"This is all nonsense, Kara-Vassiloff," she cried, and, stepping forward, patted him on the cheek. "Why bother about a little tiff like that.  You're both children. Let's just call it a dayl"

"So you are my woman!" Kara-Vassiloff's voice was trembling as he clutched her by the arms and thrust his face into hers.

Nigel sprang forward, but something in Cornelia's eyes commanded him, and he stepped back between the two guards, who were ready with their knives on either side of him.

"Ya?" queried Kara-Vassiloff, turning round to Nigel, and there was an infinity of sarcasm in his tone. "So we do not wish to fight, ya?" He reviewed Nigel with the kind of eye which Tom Walls knows how to use. "Very well! I make you a little proposition; we fight, and if you win, that beautiful lady you take her away (no ransom, no troubles) right down to Salonika, where you meet your friend!"

"And if I lose?" asked Nigel, lighting a cigarette.

"Why, of course, she stay with me!"

"Well, then," said Nigel, "what weapon do you choose?"

"What weapon do I choose " Whisking a coin from his breeches pocket, Kara-Vassiloff tossed it in the air; then, without apparent hurry, he drew an automatic hitherto concealed, and, firing with incredible rapidity, twice struck the whirling coin before it clattered on the flag-stones, twisted out of shape.

"No!" he laughed, putting his gun away. "It would not be fair. I plug him anywhere I like. You see, I am professional Big Shot. He would have no chance, and in his excitement perhaps he plug you, miss, by mistake! But Kara-Vassiloff is fair! Kara-Vassiloff is a gentleman! So it shall be swords, for with the sword I have retained my amateur status!" He smiled complacently, and signalled to a servitor to bring forth a pair of rapiers. "The sword, she is no longer used in my profession. Still, I have some skill. With the fleuret I have practise all my life, and the duelling weapon, she come naturally to me. I have killed many with her!"

All the time he had been speaking Nigel's face had held a whimsiest expression which Cornelia did not understand; but as Kara-Vassiloff turned about to offer him the choice of swords that expression faded out into the smooth face that I know so well but which told nothing to Cornelia.

"There!" he went on, as Nigel chose a sword. "I expect, my boy, that your stage experience has told you how to handle swords supplied by Nathan. But these ones, they are different, for they are sharp, and they were made by Andrea Ferrara!" Selecting for himself the other sword, he turned to his adherents and ordered them and the local Dervish doctor to withdraw.

After a glance at the even surface of the flagstones, Nigel had kicked off his tackety shoes and waited in his stockinged feet, feeling the balance of his rapier.

Kara-Vassiloff stood facing him, while the sunlight played uncertainly on both, through the mulberries and trellis-work above their heads. Despite the fountain in the middle, there was plenty of room to move, and although Kara-Vassiloff was the smaller, wiry, light, and active, Cornelia remembered that Nigel was not only quick and strong but also very much the younger; and, having seen some fencing in her time, she noted with satisfaction that, in point of reach, he held a marked advantage. But what could that avail a tyro when confronted with a noted swordsman who had already slain a score of other men? And even as she speculated thus, Kara-Vassiloff saluted with his sword in the easy, confident manner of one who knows full well how to handle such a weapon, and her heart sank.

Nigel smiled, and somehow to Cornelia's mind the smile suggested that he was both surprised and pleased; and this relieved her, although precisely how she would not have been able to explain. The fact that he himself did not salute she had no time to comment on, for the fight had started, and her thoughts, thus far a prey to apprehension, were immediately centred on the two men who moved so easily before her, and her eyes followed their blades as they grated on each other in attack, parry, and riposte, while the combatants sought each to find the other's weakness. Nigel's face was like a mask, alert but expressionless, and whatever might be passing through his brain was hidden. Then she glanced at his opponent and was disagreeably affected, for the man's dark face was condescending, and he made from time to time a moue as if he were just playing with the boy. Cornelia's heart kept leaping in her throat, for at every dexterous movement of the brigand's lean and hairy arm she expected to see his darting point driven into Nigel. But as time went on and nothing happened, she came to the surface and began to inhale the breath of confidence.

In spite of Kara-Vassiloff's electrical activity, Nigel hardly seemed to move at all, yet wherever his opponent's sword might flash there was his own, apparently at rest, but ready for it. A petrified slowness, she had at first conceived this circumstance to indicate, or the instinctive following of a superior's initiative, just as a man may flinch at a threatening gesture. But her views were in process of a change, when the first dramatic incident occurred.

Kara-Vassiloff went out upon a lunge. So sudden was its delivery and so fierce the accompanying grunt that Cornelia felt, during an instant of desolate suspense, that the blade had passed clean through, and that the man she loved, still poised in his parry, would crumple at the knees and, falling, pull the sword from his murderer's hand. Then with a clash Nigel struck the spent sword away, and she realised that, missing, Kara-Vassiloff had over-reached, and was at his mercy.

But he did not strike back; and, as the brigand recovered with an awkward scowl, a comment slipped from Nigel's half-closed lips,

"Quite good for a beginner; but get back quicker next time, or you may be hurt!"

Kara-Vassiloff resumed his position with a bitter glance, and now the fight grew quicker, for clearly he was vexed at having made a slip and meant to leave nothing more to chance. As Cornelia watched with bated breath, the silence in the little courtyard was only broken by the clink and grind of steel on steel, and shuffling feet.

After some intricate play too swift for the eye to follow, Kara-Vassiloff seemed to find his chance, and went out on another desperate lunge, only to find that there was nothing there, for Nigel had leapt three paces out of distance, and all he could see was a grinning face above the sparkling circle of his hilt.

"You're much too slow," laughed Nigel. "I warned you not to do that kind of thing.''

It seemed that this remark caused Kara-Vassiloff to lose control, for, with a cry of rage, he feinted low before essaying to attack the upper arm.

"Well, buy it then!" cried Nigel, as he idly let his point drop and prick the other's wrist.

With an oath Kara-Vassiloff sprang back, but the man was not a coward, and, gripping his sword extended at full length, he rushed like a bull upon his adversary, attempting what is known as a fleche attack. Nigel, however, had drifted out of reach, with the result that, instead of bearing his opponent down by sheer violence of onslaught, Kara-Vassiloff found no billet for his blade and was summarily checked by half an inch of Nigel's embedded in his shoulder.

Then with a silent, ruthless fury, importunate and not to be denied, Nigel turned on the disconcerted brigand and, pressing him severely backwards, thrust his sword arm up, hilt to hilt. After an appreciable pause, during which the two men seemed to strain against each other, Kara-Vassiloff's wrist gave suddenly, and, wrenched upward by Nigel's greater strength, his hand relaxed its hold on the sword, which clattered ignominiously upon the flagstones. Still quiet and collected, Nigel placed his own point at his opponent's throat, and drove him slowly to the wall. There he held the brigand chief powerless but uninjured, and he laughed from ear to ear, like a young lion, Bt the man who had been so truculent but a little while before.

"You didn't think I could do that, did you?" he remarked.

With his back to the wall, Kara-Vassiloff could only scowl. He dared not stir, for Nigel's sword was at his throat, and before he could have raised an arm or ducked the sword it would have penetrated to his backbone.

18

Several Irons in the Fire

"NOT A MOVE, either of you!" came in a harsh voice well known to both the combatants. Dikran's head had appeared at a little window in the wall just above the spot where Kara-Vassiloff was pinned against it, and with a sardonic smile the chief of staff was balancing two long Parabellum pistols in his hands.

The chieftain's eyeballs rolled, but he could not move to look up, for a tiny drop of blood showed where Nigel's steady point just pricked his Adam's apple, and Nigel's eyes did not waver from that drop of blood.

"I have sent off the men on duty, Chief," Dikran deliberately went on, "with the American girl― she was looking rather faint! So the three of us are quite alone. I could drill a hole in both your skulls at once, and no one would be any wiser. What is more, I do it if either of you move!"

Those brown, wiry forefingers were curved around the triggers, and the Iran, sinewy hands were steady as steel.

"Swear, Kara-Vassiloff," said Nigel quietly, "that Cornelia, Temperley, and I shall be immediately released and allowed to return to Salonika unmolested, or I'll drive this point home." It was not for nothing that Nigel had been from boyhood a swordsman of international repute; and now that he had won the victory by his unsuspected skill he did not mean to let the profit slip, if it could possibly be made.

"I swear on my honour, curse you!" growled the chief.

"You'd better not!" smiled Dikran, overtrumping. "For you won't be able to carry out your promise, because Nigel here is not going to be released. I want him as the baits for Beldrum. But to-morrow morning you will send the American girl down to Salonika under escort, and I shall command the escort to see that there is no funny stuff on the way. That girl is only danger with her Ambassador uncle. Once she safe, the powers won't bother about us any more. Got all that?"

"You jackal !" growled Kara-Vassiloff. "You turn against me, would you? I punish you for this!''

"Oh, no, you won't! You respect me, Chief, more than before, because I, the Armenian jackal," he snarled the words out, "represent the man we serve."

"I serve no one!" snapped the chief.

"You going to serve him, anyway, and do as I have said! You don't seem to grasp the positions you are in. Listen, Chief!" There was mockery in those words. "What will the band think when they hear that the great Tehette-Basili, Todor Kara-Vassiloff, has been beated in fair fight by a boy!"

"You not tell them that!"

"How will you like the headlines in the papers: 'TERROR OF BALKANS PINKED AGAINST OWN WALL BY STRIPLING'...'NOTORIOUS BRIGAND WHIPPED BY CHILD'!"

Kara-Vassiloff did not reply, hut a sullen acquiescence showed in his lowering face; and Nigel felt that, if the tables should be turned again, Dikran's would not be a "good life" from an insurance point of view.

"And as for you," Dikran was addressing Nigel, "put your sword down. You only tire the arm, and I have both covered. Put him down, I say!"

With a grin, Nigel did as he was bid. "You've won, guv'nor," he remarked, "strite, you 'ave!"

Looking round, Nigel saw that, as Dikran had explained, Cornelia was no longer in the little room. She must have been removed during the last rally of the fight.

"I'd like to see Cornelia first," he said, "if she is going to be taken away.''

"No, you don't," ruled Dikran. "You will go now right to your cell. I can't have the lady rattled. Your escort will be here immediately."

"You think, rat, you get away with this!" snapped Kara-Vassiloff, able to contain himself no longer.

"Yes, I do," returned the Armenian imperturbably. "You see, Chief, Ermeni Hassan over there is in my confidence."

A swarthy, stocky figure in the brigand garb was standing in the little room, and a suspicious bulge protruded from his trouser pocket. "You did not know he was Armenian? No, I thought not. He will be always with you, and will keep you covered. May I remind? He is as quick a shot as you! And if anything happen to Ermeni Hassan, I am in the background to spread the news of your defeat today. You only rule by fear. No one love you, Chief!" He sniggered. "And once the fear is gone, you do not rule at all. Na poo! Finish!"

The last remark was lost on Nigel, but not on Kara-Vassiloff, for death lurked behind his eyes; death lurked too behind the eyes of Dikran up in the window just above; and death lurked behind those of the squat Armenian in the little room. Who would release it first? Not the chief, for he held no power at that particular moment; and Nigel felt almost sorry for his late opponent

Two minutes later Nigel was locked once more inside his cell. He sat down on the pallet bed and began to file his nails, what would be the upshot of the internecine strife within the band! He felt inclined to back Dikran, for the man had Babanian behind him, but Dikran's plan would separate him from Cornelia; that would not be too funny, anyway. Besides, he would just be left, hooked like a prawn as bait, to bring me, Beldrum, up from Salonika. And I should fall― or so he thought― into the same trap. Then we should all be properly in the soup together. He and Cornelia must both get out of it, and get out that very day, but how?

The door of his cell was opening, and, as Nigel looked up, the boy who had been attending him since they came to Mayadagh slipped in, and carefully closed it after him. In manner and appearance he was quite different from the brigands, nor, now that Nigel came to think of it, had he seen him in the camp upon the Belashitza or on the march. His well-worn, shapeless fez proclaimed him a follower of Islam. Eighteen years of age he might have been at most. Now, his almond eyes were bright with some hidden purpose, and his large mouth, set in a pert brown face, seemed full of drollery and impudence. About the same height as Nigel, he looked a hardy, spirited lad who might prove useful in a scrap.

"Bakiniz!" ("Look!") the youth observed, broadly grinning and in a hoarse, amusing voice. Then, after harkening at the door, he turned suddenly about and, twitching from the folds of his baggy pantaloons a long curved knife, balanced it point downwards on the palm of his extended hand.

Sitting on the pallet, Nigel watched, without a move, expressionless.

But the boy seemed to know no fear, for with a laugh and a graceful gesture he stooped and, placing the knife upon the bed, handle foremost about a foot from Nigel's side, signalled that he should take it up.

"Hilmi!" the youth asserted, tapping himself on the breast; and then, in a tone of voice which might have been adopted by a nurse imparting the first -words of speech to an infant in her charge. "Dost!" ('Friend!') he reiterated several times, and, bending almost to the floor, made as if to pick up earth and carry it to his mouth and forehead.

Nigel was nothing if, not quick at picking up another being's thoughts, and he read the friendly intentions of this kindred spirit like a book.

"Hilmi," he replied, and pointed to the region where the heart is said to be even at the age of twenty-six. "Dost!" and, in token of his own good will, essayed to return the knife.

But Hilmi shrank away with a gesture of refusal and pointed to the bed. Then Nigel remembered how I had once told him that in the Near East a knife is never passed from hand to hand; and so, with a smile of comprehension, he put the knife on the bed with the handle pointing to its owner.

After placing the palm of his hand once more on his forehead, Hilmi retrieved the knife with a sigh of satisfaction, and slipped it beneath his belt. Then he put his finger to his lips, enjoining silence, passed his hand across his throat to indicate the penalty for indiscretion, and, with a gesture such as motorists may use for the purpose of reducing others' speed, slipped through the door and locked it after him.

With the careless gait adopted by young Moslems, Hilmi's legs, swinging from the hips, carried him down the passage and across a larger courtyard than that wherein the duel had been staged to another door which seemed to appertain to menials. He glanced over his shoulder before opening this door, but no one was in sight, and he passed within.

It was a long, low room in which he found himself, with a floor of beaten earth, rough white walls, and a wooden ceiling; a room not meant for men to live in, but one in which women normally performed the duties of the house hold. Yet, since the intrusion of Kara-Vassiloff with his prisoners and gang, the family of Kassim Agha, to whom the house belonged, had been segregated in the women's quarters. Hilmi the headstrong, the only son, would have resisted the intruders, but his father, who owned many acres of the vineyard on the hill, feared for the safety of his roof and land, since well he knew that eating salt meant nothing to the Macedonians. With the prudent forethought of an elder, he was prepared, though unwillingly, to submit to a great deal of inconvenience so he could preserve those acres for his son. Had he been able to harbour the comforting reflection that the resentment of the brigands would be confined to reactions against the middle-aged wife of whom he had long tired, he might have acted otherwise.

Thus Kassim Agha sat cross-legged beside the window, a man with heavy brows and a grey, wiry beard, a man of sixty years perhaps, with a clear light in his dark eyes, a squat nose, a firm mouth, and a command of his limbs shown by the ease of his position. So picturesque did he appear, and Eastern, that the average European would have expected to see the long stem of a hookah dropping from his lips and the impressive hubble-bubble, cooled with rose-water, gurgling on the floor beside him. But as Hilmi made his sudden yet deferential entrance, his father's stocky fingers held a fragrant cigarette, even such as the modern Kara-Vassiloff had smoked.

"Elv' Allah!" (By the Lord). The old man's voice was full and round. "What has that son of the devil been doing now?"

But before Hilmi could get a word in, Kassim Agha went on with that security from interruption which is a privilege of age, his anger gathering with his voice. "To a sufficient degree have Kara-Vassiloff and the dogs who serve him dwelt beneath my roof. They come not by any wish of Allah or of mine. The Yunanlilar" (Greeks)― a world of scorn was concentrated in the term― "who used to be our slaves, now profess to keep order in this country, but they are too cowardly to do it. Things were otherwise when the Vail implemented the suave rule of our Padishah. In 1904―"

"Quite so, Father," Hilmi interrupted deftly. "But the dogs have saddled up with Kara-Vassiloff."

"Yes, and I am too old a hand to call in the Greek police. Once they get access to the house they would rob me more thoroughly than do these brigands. After all, the gang have so far done no more than to make free of the house. But if the Greeks found brigands here, I should be accused of harbouring them, ya! And there would be nothing left for you, my child I Besides, the cunning brute knows the weakness of my position: living in this house, he is my guest and has eaten my salt. I cannot touch him."

"Your guest!" Hilmi broke in with the open mouth of ridicule. "Your gaoler, rather!"

"So it might appear to one of your generation. But I am not a neo-pagan. and the fact remains that the dog is domiciled on me. With all your modern logic can you gainsay that?"

"Yes!" cried Hilmi, and squatted with a supple flexing of the knees beside his father. "Does the Kouran-i-kermeh bid you bend the knee to a Giaour? (Non-Moslem). What I have in mind is, as it were, a holy war. Surely my father would not lag behind!"

"What is my child proposing?"

"Father, these Bulgar bandits rage round your honourable house like mad dogs, snarling right and left. To protect ourselves from hydrophobia is our duty bound. Is that not so!" But he went on before Kassim Agha had any time to answer. "I do not propose that we should slaughter guests; I merely suggest a means of getting rid of them."

"Your casuistry, my son, smacks of the Ittihad ve Teraki Jemieti (Committee of Union and Progress), a new-fangled body of conspirators whose activities do not appeal to Allah or his servant. Let me see! They were never heard of before 1908!"

"Or after 1928! But listen! Is just that you should be put upon by these foreign dogs?"

"I have you to think of, boy. I must reserve the house and land for you."

"You are too good to me. But I have in mind a scheme that will help us to preserve it."

"Go on!"

"Kara-Vassiloff has not come here with the intention of seizing your house and property. Had that been his idea he would assuredly have slain us with his gang."

The old man bridled.

Hilmi went on: "They have come because this is an out-of-the-way place. They care for nothing save to hide the prisoners. The two young Christians―"

"I am tired of Christians. What good are they to us? They do nothing and talk without cease."

"The brigands, too, are Christian, Father; Orthodox Christians they are called, so they must be still more Christian than their prisoners, who have not done us any harm. Anyway, Kara-Vassiloff wants to hold them quietly until he can touch their ransom from the West; then he will get rid of them. Is that not that an evil purpose which a good Moslem should abort?"

"You have spoken the truth. But how?"

"You know the hill just the house and the castle constructed by the French in the rocks on top? If we can help the two young Europeans get out and reach the castle on the hill, Kara-Vassiloff, followed by his pack of mongrels will hurry after them. Then will the house be cleared of vermin."

"But even Europeans would not be so foolish, Hilmi, as to try and hold the castle on the hill unarmed."

"We shall give them arms all right. There are plenty hidden in the medresseh (school). If we do not use them to help these two unfortunates who really are our guests, I expect that the Macedonians, who have been routing round like rats, may find the arms, and if they do..."

"Say no more! I may be old, but I am not senile I know, without being told, what they would do were they to find the arms. I must say I like the look of those two children; and it would be fun― ha, ha― to balk the Macedonian jackal of his prey." The old man slapped his thigh and rocked on his haunches. "But you are joking, Hilmi; it would be very difficult, for the brigands guard the house back and front."

"Now listen!" Hilmi placed his palm on his father's rough old hand. "Listen, Father! Kara-Vassiloff is smitten with the charms of Kordelis Khanum― he is no bad judge!"

"Irreverent boy!" his father chuckled.

"He made her lunch with him to day and told her that he meant to honour her with his love. She was not having any. Then Kara-Vassiloff and Nigell Bey fought for her with sword! I did not see what happened ; but Kara-Vassiloff must have got the worst of it, for if he had won he would have killed Nigell Bey. The Armenian jackal, Dikran, had to intervene, and they have had some kind of quarrel. More over, Nigell Bey was very much alive when I attended him in his cell just now. He is a grand man, is Nigel Bey. He is getting a bit old, of course, 26 or so, but he is still young in spirit― his face is full of laughter, and his muscles are of iron. I have gained his confidence. Being your son I an strong, and I wished to show him, so this morning I took up a stick― it was quite a thick stick― thus between my hands and broke it. Nigell Bey laughed, though the stick belonged to him, and patted me on the back; then he put the two broken parts together and snapped them both across, and solemnly offered me the four small parts to break. Oh, he is grand, it Nigell Bey!"

"You become garrulous, my son. What is your plan?"

The old man's interest was evidently roused, for his eyes were sparkling.

"Kara-Vassiloff means to have his fun," the boy went on. "I have heard that be will have a feast this evening in the little room off the courtyard. That dog of an Armenian, Dikran, was giving the instructions, and I overheard. Kordelis Khanum is to feast again with Kara-Vassiloff, and a bed is to be ready in the room. Before the feast I shall visit Nigell Bey and dress him in my clothes; he is a little bigger, but not much. Then I will dress myself in the clothing of my sister, Lutfieh. After unlocking Nigell Bey's door I shall visit Kordelis Khanum, and provide her with more of Lutfieh's clothes ; I shall go in instead of Lutfieh, who generally attends her. Instead of taking Kordelis Khanum to the feast I shall lead her across the back courtyard to the medresseh, where Nigell Bey will meet us. No one will be suspected― two Moslem girls, Nigell Bey disguised as me, and you, father!"

"What am I to do?"

"Dish out the arms and ammunition! Then the four of us will slip away through the back door and up to the French castle on the hill. There, if we are pursued, we shall defend ourselves, and we shall be in a good position to spot the approach of the rescuers, since rescuers there will be in time for Kordelis Khanum and Nigell Bey. Is the plan good?"

"Surely Kara-Vassiloff, or Dikran, or one of his men, will discover the absence of the prisoners from their cells?"

"No. I shall lock the door."

"What about the yellow-headed servant, Tamerlenk?"

"He is tired and footsore. I doubt if he has much stomach for a fight. He will be locked in his cell and left behind."

For some time Kataim Agha pondered. his heavy brows drawn down towards his beard. Then he slapped his thigh again and roared with hearty laughter.

"The plan is good! Make you your preparations and I'll make mine!"

19

The Battle On La Scie.

A DILAPIDATED mosque adjoined the house of Kassim Agha, and a tiny medresseh or school, tightly wedged between the two buildings, formed a buttress to them both. A door, normally disused, connected a room in the house with the medresseh itself; and it was with the consent of the Imam― who had no use for Christians whether they followed the Exarch in Bulgaria or the Oecumenical Patriarch himself― that the weapons from the house of Kassim Agha had been temporarily secreted in the medresseh. Giaours are not given to profaning mosques in a district inhabited mainly by the faithful. But even some of these have an eye to the main chance and tongues in their mouths. The mosque itself would have been just a little public. Thus Abd-us-Selaam Effendi had decided, in a secret conference with Kassim Agha, that the disused medresseh, being both secret and religious, was the answer.

As darkness fell the dusty little chamber, surmounted by its appropriate but tiny dome, was no longer dark or empty. An oil lamp standing on the floor threw up against the rough stone walls vague shadows cast by the draped figures which stooped about the pile of arms. It lit up their faces too. Kassim Agha, squatting on his haunches, was a figure well known in Mayadagh; and, although he was not often seen with a rifle in his hand, now he was assuredly appraising one and deciding to whom it should be given. But no villager would have recognised the two girls, clad in the black, sweeping garments of Mohammedan women, who watched him so intently. One was fair and beautiful, with a sparkling delicacy which could, perchance be equalled on the Bosphorus but was quite unknown in Macedonia.

The other's face was brown and impudent, with a self-assertion uncommon in a village maid, and when she stretched her hands out to take a rifle they seemed unduly large even for a woman used to working in the fields, while the wrists and forearms, though young enough and fresh, were unreasonably muscular.

They found themselves in a cavern some eight feet high, rough-hewn from the solid rock; and Hilmi's lantern threw their shadows, flickering oddly, against the jagged surface of the roof and walls. The cavern had been constructed to protect the French artillery observers from the unwelcome attentions of hostile batteries defending the valley of the Vardar. Its construction was extremely solid, for thirty feet of rock formed a kind of cap tilted on the forehead of the hill. The door by which the fugitives had entered faced south, und it had been designed to withstand the back-blast of a shell. Over against the door and facing, respectively, north-east and north-west, two horizontal observation slits, cut through some eight feet of stone and concrete, equipped with rusty shutters, each perforated by a loophole, and still susceptible of movement, had commanded the whole system of the Bulgar trenches to the north. Hilmi, still in his woman's garb, took post at one, and Kassim Agha at the other. Each had two rifles and two automatic pistols, loaded and ready to the hand. To Cornelia was entrusted the store of ammunition in a recess close by the north-eastern loophole. Nigel himself stood sentinel at the door. In the upper left-hand portion of the panel a small loophole had been pierced, and he found that by standing behind the concrete jamb he could secure the maximum protection and yet see through the loophole if he craned his head to one side.

While they had been finding their places in the cavern, a moon had risen; and now, as Nigel scanned the approaches to the door, he was glad to see that the surface of the slope was concave and that his loophole commanded a prospect extending to the very edge of the village. Although the layout of the ground would thus militate against surprise from the south, it possessed the corresponding disadvantage that snipers posted in the village could keep the door well under fire. Nor was he slow to notice that, as the light improved, persons slipping from the village could easily crawl up to the cemetery, where the gravestones would afford cover from a closer range.

Nigel signalled to Cornelia for a moment to replace him while he viewed the defences on the northern face. Here he found with some dismay that the loop-holes, though admirably designed from the point of view of distant observation, appeared to have dead ground at close quarters just beneath them. How much dead ground he could not tell without going out, and, anyway, the fault could not be remedied. Bombs would have been welcome, but they had none. Time alone would show whether attackers could climb up from this dead ground and thus gain access to the northern loopholes. Hilmi and Kassim Agha seemed, however, quite unmoved.

When Nigel got back to his own door and once again looked out the moonlight had grown considerably brighter. Lights shone in Kassim Agha's house, and a search was clearly being made, for two lanterns were moving on the lower slopes in ever-widening circles. Down below the village gaped the dark chasm of the Kodja Dere, while the southern hills, rising to the wooded massif of the Qandak, stood sharply out against the grey-blue sky.

Presently Nigel was aware that their had come a change. Some discovery had evidently been made, for a shout went up, echoed in the night air between the village and the hill, and was soon succeeded by many eager cries. The lanterns, too, had come together, seemingly to help examine some tell-tale trace upon the ground. After an appreciable pause, during which voices were audibly raised in altercation, the two lanterns began to move, now side by side, and from their oscillation and steadily in creasing brightness Nigel surmised that the band had found a scent and had began to clamber in procession up the hill toward him.

For a time, which seemed immeasurable, the two lanterns drew gradually nearer; and now Nigel could detect the confused clattering and shuffling which indicates the movement of a company of men by night. With thickly beating heart he was estimating how far the enemy might be away when first one lantern and then the other turned outward and was lost to view. Their disappearance was more disquieting than had been their continuous approach, for he had no precise idea at what distance they had halted, or whether indeed they had merely been extinguished; and in this case his enemies might still be stealing forward in the dark.

Nigel strained his eyes and ears in the hope of picking up some clue to the enemy's intention or his progress. And then it suddenly occurred to him that the light of their own lantern, still burning in a corner on the floor, if not already discernible without, would undoubtedly be seen as soon at he withdrew his head. Covering the loophole with his hand, he signalled to Cornelia to turn out the light, and when she had done so, cautiously looked out again. Just at first the night seemed darker, but his eyes were growing once again accustomed to the moonlight when, without sound or warning, someone stroked the back of his neck, Nigel leapt round as one whom a live wire has touched, ready for a fight; but he could detect no shadow of s stranger until, as he switched his torch about, he finally perceived from a rafter and still rocking from its recent flight, a bat. Mightily relieved, he laughed, and switching off the light, clapped his eye once more to the loophole.

Silhouetted against the pale stones of the graveyard just below, several figures were creeping uphill with a bend, and the foremost was not a dozen yards away. Some would have counselled silence in the hope that the pursuers might be deceived, and, finding the door locked and no light or sound within, suppose that the fugitives had carried on over the brow in the hope of reaching the Serbian border not so far away. But this would have given the enemy an opportunity to nose about at will, end the defenders could not afford so dangerous a proximity. This reflection was quite enough for Nigel, and, aiming low at the foremost figure, he pressed the trigger of his Männlicher.

The flash and detonation for an instant dazed him, and it seemed an age before he could see again quite clearly. Yet it must have been a very little time, for the man he had shot was still crumpling up, and his companions, after an uncertain pause, were making up their minds to venture an assault. Nigel had been a soldier for a little while, and now he felt this to be the moment described as fleeting in the text books. So he gave them five rounds rapid. Two more brigands bit the dust, where they lay twitching. The remainder made no bones about a nasty business, and, turning incontinently round, fled downhill to the graveyard, where they were quickly lost from view.

Now silence reigned. The interior of the cavern, thick with the fumes of cordite, was of that hollow darkness which seemed to herald an abyss. But Cornelia's calm, low voice said all was well; and Nigel heard Kassim Agha  chuckling delightedly in Turkish. After that they resumed their watch, and the strains of silence and uncertainty continuously grew, as Nigel curbed his breath to render his keen hearing yet more keen.

The time thus passed appeared Incredibly long. No sign of life was visible from Nigel's loophole, and he was beginning to conclude that the brigands must be thinking better of it, or reserving their assault until the light of day, when a flash behind him and a deafening report made him whip round, switching on his torch.

In the centre of the beam Kassim Agha was sinking to the floor, his turban terribly deranged, while the small black circle made by the muzzle of a smoking pistol protruded through the loophole which had been entrusted to the old man's care. Then the muzzle was pushed forward through the loop-hole by the hand, and Nigel could see the light of his torch reflected from the eyes behind the barrel. Two quick snots came, but not a third; for leaping at the beam of light like some wild cat, Hilmi, who had torn his tcharshaff (Turkish woman's head-dress) off, struck down the hand and sent the intruder's pistol clattering to the floor. With a moan the fellow sought to draw his hand away; Hilmi seized it with his left, and, drawing from his girdle a great knife, almost severed it at the wrist before he let the screaming wretch escape.

Then things moved fast. As Hilmi stooped to tend his father, another of the brigands, thrusting the muzzle of a sub-machine-gun through the boy's deserted loophole, raked the interior with a spate of bullets.

"Keep down,  Cornelia!" Nigel yelled, but in that drum-shattering din merely hurt his throat. Running on his hunkers, he reached the point of danger and, still crouching, raised the automatic beside the bellowing machine gun. He fired two shots as fast as he could press the trigger. The infernal rafale ceased; and the muzzle of the hostile weapon, canting up, subsided outwards.

As Nigel wondered which way to turn between the loopholes and the door, a shattering blow resounded on the latter, split the protective bar, and swung the stout structure violently inwards.

Three men, one carrying a lantern high above his head, dashed in. With a snap-shot Nigel brought the lantern-bearer down; and before the light was totally extinguished he caught a fleeting glimpse of the other two hurling themselves on Hilmi. He flashed his torch in their direction, and as they hesitated for a vital instant he dodged behind them and, thrusting the door back into place, wedged it with the broken bar.

Having thus cut off the enemy's retreat and reinforcements, he turned torch in hand, to succour Hilmi. He saw the boy duck beneath a swinging arm and drive his big knife, with thud, into his opponent's ribs. By this move had exposed him to the other brigand, who brought the heavy barrel of his Parabellum pistol crashing down on the nape of Hilmi's neck.

"Watch the loopholes!" Nigel cried as he gathered himself to spring; and that moment's hesitation was nearly his undoing, for the brigand fired instanter on the light. The torch was wrenched from Nigel's hand and went out, leaving him in utter darkness.

Nigel now had no idea of the location of his enemy, and it is unwise to blunder in the dark against an armed opponent. Yet he could not waste a moment, lest the fellow should come upon Cornelia, or lest his comrade should batter down the door anew. So he listened for the sound of breathing and then made straightaway for the sound. In the darkness his foot struck sharply against some projecting stone and a moment later the brigand, who had thus located him, fell upon him from behind. As one band seized his throat, a heavy blow struck him on the right side, but the fellow stabbed too hard, and it must have been the wrist which hit him. Nigel's right hand fastened like a vice on that wrist and his left on the long fingers round his throat. Something clattered to the ground, and the man began to moan, first in a tongue incredibly guttural, then in English. So it was Dikran after all, and at his mercy, for Kara-Vassiloff was not the man to moan.

Now, from the moment when Dikran had led him into that trap, Nigel, pre-disposed to their dislike by Beldrum's diatribes against Armenians, had connived for this Armenian a resentment full as boxers feel towards those who hit them of set purpose well below the belt. Thus, with a devilish satisfaction, he was driving his thumb into the place in Dikran's left wrist where doctors feel a pulse, and at the same time forcing the hand over his fingers, when be paused and, with his opponent spread-eagled powerless across his back, listened. But there was no sound of a renewed attack. Yet it night be renewed at any moment. He had the brute at his mercy. They were alone. No, they were not alone, for the girl was there. But they were in the dark. What would she think If he killed or seriously injured Dikran in cold blood? Yet, with her there, he could not leave the fellow loose about the save. He could not bind him in the dark; and, if he let him go, Dikran might secure his-knife, or some other weapon, and be more lucky in the next encounter. Hell! What was the answer?

Then Cornelia screamed, a long, low scream of utter horror.

That settled it, and Nigel's muscles braced instinctively. As the man's wrist broke with a grinding snap, Nigel pitched him forward, and the fellow's shriek was silenced as he crashed down and crumpled up.

Nigel felt for his torch. It was not in his pocket. Of course, it had been shot out of his hand. As he fumbled in the dark his left hand come down on something soft― a face horribly inert. With a shudder he recoiled, and his right hand came on the torch. Would it work? It did, but only fitfully.

To his left the lantern-bearer, the other brigand stabbed by Hilmi, and the boy himself lay together in a draggled heap. Straight before him the man he had just thrown lay on his back. His kalpak had gone west, and from the bald head, stove in by impact with the rocky floor, blood trickled. Deflecting the beam from these sinister relics of the fight Nigel sought Cornelia.

Crouched In a corner on his right, her upper lip drawn back in horror, her eyes squinting with some obscene fascination, tho girl he loved knelt hypnotised. Just in front of her an little evil snake, unwinding from its gleaming coils, swayed slowly as its flat head considered where to strike.

The torch in Nigel's hand died on him, and he was left again in utter darkness.

20

The Cost

THE BLACKNESS was so absolute that many people would have lost their bearings, and even their balance, on the uneven floor. Nigel's balance was secure enough, but when the torch went out he lost his bearings for a while?

"Whatever you do," he cautioned in a whisper, "don't move, for the love of Mike!"

Somewhere in the darkness, half suppressed, the girl's terrified sobbing went on steadily. Perhaps she could not speak.

Nigel wasted no time in cursing the torch. Spent, it might be, or injured by its fall. Even if the battery had some kick in it, he could not rectify the trouble without a constant light. How could that be found? He struck a match. It threw a faint glimmer on his hand and on a yard of two of floor: farther into the surrounding gloom it could not penetrate. After nearly burning his fingers he let fall the first match and lit a second. Then he remembered the lantern dropped by the brigand he had shot. Perhaps he might find and set that going, provide all the oil had not run out. Creeping with arms extended and holding his sorry light in front of him, he move in that direction where, according to his judgement, should lie the pile of bodies. Even as he found them the second match went out. He did not light a third, lest the spilled fuel should catch fire and start a conflagration in the cave.

Stooping, be began to feel about among the bodies for the lantern. Something heaved beneath his hand and his heart stood still. Then be remembered that neither of the brigands was any case for giving trouble; one he had shot amidships, and Hilmi's big knife was buried in the other's stomach; thus, if anyone had really moved it must be Hilmi, who after all had only received a blow across the head. Then as he groped, he felt something wet, and a sniff at his raised hand told him it was paraffin. Next instant he came on the lantern. Provided it were still intact, and that all the oil had not run out, then something could be done. Soon his fingers found the bolt. Opening the lantern he struck another match and applied it to the wick. Joy! It lit at once, and, after a pause, burned brightly.

Holding the lamp well up so as not to baulk his vision, he glanced round to find his bearings and locate the snake. But the light had no great quality of penetration, and at first he could not see the walls and roof; the grotto seemed to have gained in size. An other step and he spied Cornelia crouching on the floor. The snake was still where he had seen it last, but now it was unwinding its black coils, and the flat, diamond head had turned with a hiss in his direction. As he took another step toward it, alarmed perhaps by the intrusion of the light, the reptile began slowly to move away towards Cornelia, whose hands strained out in horror, as if to fend it off.

Nigel had to think at lightning speed Should he risk a shot with his pistol in that uneven light? He had not the skill of Kara-Vassiloff with guns. If he should miss, the flash and report might goad the reptile into fury, or drive it in panic to Cornelia's lap. He had no cane wherewith to strike it. "Hit them behind the neck!" his father had told him when a little boy in India. "That is where a mongoose grips then and they can't get him with their fangs." This recollection gave him an idea. In two strides he put the lantern between Cornelia and the snake. Stepping back he judged the distances and as the reptile reared up angrily, his right hand pounced and gripped it by the neck, just behind the head. The long, repulsive thing coiled like a whip about his forearm, and he was astonished by its nasty strength. Then, shifting the grip a little, he drove his thumb in where the base of the skull must be. As the gasping mouth was opened wide, he could see the forked tongue, the poisonous fangs, before he placed the head on a rocky outcrop on the floor and ground it flat under his heel. Finally he took the still writhing body to the door and thrust it through the loophole.

Strained almost to breaking point with shock, Cornelia was on the point of fainting, but her arms closed instinctively round his neck as he knelt down tenderly beside her. Stifling her sobs as best she could, the poor girl let her forehead rest against his neck and shoulder, while he held her fast in the crook of his right arm and with his left hand stroked her golden hair. Thus for awhile they rested, happy in that close presence. In a very little time Cornelia's tears were dried and she was looking up at him, brilliant, vital, all his own.

"I must keep a look-out, darling," he said at length. "It won't be any fun if we're surprised. Here's the lantern, better keep it in a corner, lest anyone should spot the light! And keep down, old thing, keep down, if any of those―" he changed the epithet― "blighters get up to one of the loopholes with a gun. I wonder if Hilmi has come to. He showed signs of stirring. I'll see to him when I've had a good any all round."

But when Nigel had left her and was staring through the various loopholes in succession, Cornelia rose, and, taking the lantern, made her way across the cave. It may have been the light or the pressure of her hand on his forehead, but Hilmi stirred and the colour began returning to his face and lips. When his eyes opened they gazed at her for a moment in amaze; then he stretched a hand out for companionship. But still he knew not who she was. Then in a flash his mind came back; he recognised and thanked her, pressing her hand in both of his without embarrassment, yet with a becoming deference; and the merry gleam was coming again into his eyes, when his face fell once more and he looked round anxiously

"Kassim Agha, ne oldou!" he cried, and began to search hurriedly about. The search was not for long; within a yard or two he came upon his father lying on his back where he had fallen. Cornelia brought the light, and kneeling side by side they tended him. The poor old face seemed terribly aged and fallen in. The wound in his head was hidden by the turban, but a great deal of blood had formed a pool in a hollow of the rocky floor. Breath still came, but fitfully.

Cornelia raised his head, and Hilmi, rolling his tcharshaff, slipped it as a pillow underneath. She put her cool palm on his forehead, while Hilmi, taking his father by the shoulder, stirred him gently; but at first there was no response.

At last, with a look of wonder and surprise, such as must be written on the faces of the warrior faithful as they tread across the threshold into Paradise, the old man opened his glazing eyes and glared about him. Once they were focussed on something far away, and wandered seeking what they did not find. After a moment or so his hand met one of Hilmi's, and, recognising, clung to it. The action seemed to bring him back to earth, and, looking up, be saw his son. For a long time be did not seem to breathe at all; then, with one deep inhalation, he raised himself a little, and felt with his other hand for Hilmi's, but could not find it.

"The house will he yours," he whispered in the Turkish, and his eyes were filled with pride and love. "I have lived for you, my son, and we have fought together.... It is victory... Now I die for you."

He struggled for breath, but not for long; his old eyes were focused once again afar off, while the look of bewilderment and joy returned. Then, sinking back, he died.

They laid him out most reverently, and tears nearly blinded them to see The brave, devoted old man thus rudely done to death. But when Hilmi rose his face changed, and, stretching out his strong arm, he shook his fist and cursed beneath his breath in Turkish.

Even as he stood thus, Nigel cried from the north-eastern loophole that dawn was coming. Hilmi joined him once, and signified that he would watch the south side. The boy's reappearance was clearly a relief, for Nigel smiled and nodded; then Cornelia joined him and hand in hand they both gazed from the broad north-eastern loophole.

Black on either side, but floored with a misty carpet, the valley of the Vardar lay to the north. Over the hills beyond Hudova the last twinkle of the stars was fading. The dark night was growing paler. Farther east, beyond the purple ridge which Nigel recognised as that which separated them from Doiran the pure flush of dawn was spreading out and upwards. Immediately below the watchers were grouped the foot-hills of the west bank, peeping from the mist, and beyond the valley of the Lioumnitza, which runs from west to east, they were conscious of a whiteness which, from his recollection of the map, Nigel thought must be the town Gyevgyeli. No sign of any brigands on the northern front; but the fall of hill below the loophole was dead ground.  So, changing places with Hilmi, he went over to inspect the southern front.

On this side, sure enough, two sentinels were plainly visible, for the huddle of their heads and shoulders stood out against the grey stones in the cemetery. No light shone from the house of Kassim Agha now, and the great village of  Mayadagh seemed still asleep. As yet the foothills to the south and the steep  valleys lying in between were draped shade; and, although the first tinge of the rosy glow were already visible the prospect to the south was dim and meaningless.

Of a sudden Hilmi hailed him to the  northern loophole. It was far light now, and Nigel had no difficulty in seeing what had stirred the other interest Something long and dark which had not been there before stretched in their direction from the white houses of the town of Gyevgye. As be watched, uncertain of its meaning, the head of the thing appeared to move. Visibility was rapidly improving and suddenly it was borne in upon him that the long dark thing was a long dark column of cavalry coming to the rescue. Even as he came to this conclusion, a few of the leading horsemen detached themselves and pricked forward at a higher speed.

"Nigel!" cried Cornelia from the southern loophole, and there was thrill in her voice. He ran across. She pointed.

The road which crossed the wooded ridge to southward was now quite possible to trace, and coming down towards them from the crest were two big automobiles advancing steadily without lights. These in turn were followed b a column of lorries, come up from Dreveno and trundling over the ridge under a canopy of dust.

Nor were Nigel and Cornelia the only ones to notice these phenomena. One of the sentries in the graveyard had turned about and was signalling wit outstretched arms. Several men came tumbling out of a postern in the house of Kassim Agha. They stood considering, gesticulating, in some doubt, and the sound of their voices was borne upwards to the anxious watchers on the hill.

Next three men who must have been watching on the northern front, put up like game by the horsemen drawing near from Gyevgyeli, came tearing round the shoulder of the hill, yelling as they ran. A moment more and all was confusion at the headquarters of the band. A big gate, which Nigel had not noticed in the dark, was violently swung open and men scrambling into the saddle, surged out in a disordered mob. Nigel had entertained any doubt concerning the identity of the newcomer from the north and south, the band had none at all, and clearly possessed no stomach for a fight against armed and disciplined men, for the whole lot had mounted and were trotting off up  the ridge towards the wooded mountains of the Mala Rupa in the west.

No, not all; two men had stayed behind, one kneeling near the bottom of the graveyard, the other holding two restless horses near at hand. In this half-light Nigel could not make out what the kneeling man was doing. There came a loud report, bringing to his mind the posture adopted by a rifle grenadier. Surely the fellow could not hope with a mere grenade to harm the rocky fortress on the hill! But it was a rifle grenade, for a faint whistling grew shriller, until the missile struck the hillside with a plop, not a dozen yards before the door. Nigel ducker behind the loophole, but the grenade did not explode.

"A dud!" he cried.

"Or a message!" commented Cornelia. "Look! The man who fired is waving."

True enough, the man was standing now and brandishing the weapon in a manner calculated to attract attention. Then, with a low Levantine gesture of contempt, he mounted and cantered off, followed by the other, in the wake of the retiring band.

21

Two Messages

WHEN, AFTER Nigel's departure, I got busy on the wires from Salonika, at first I had some difficulty in persuading anyone to listen; for, whatever may be said in the European Press, Central Macedonia, it appeared, was still in a parlous state. The mere kidnapping of two persons, albeit foreigners, was not a matter of sufficient moment fur any local authority to risk a step which might bring him into conflict, on one hand with the brigands, and on the other with the pursuit detachments of a neighbouring State. Nor was it until I had got right through to Istanboul and had, to begin with, the First Secretary of the American Legation, and then Mr Calhoun himself on the line, that things began to move. Once the representative of the Great Republic had been satisfied that his niece was really in the hands of brigands, the offended pride of on American stood out a foot, and things began to hum. Goaded by the sense of personal and national affront, he lost no time in getting into touch, not only with the representatives of the Balkan States, but also with those of the great Powers in order that no stone should be left unturned with a view to securing concerted and immediate action backed by high authority.

I did not care two hoots about the niece, but I eared a lot about Nigel and his safety was pinned, of course, to hers.

To cut a long story short, Serbian cavalry were moved south from Strumitza via the Kosturino Pass; they picked up the trail at Geukcheli-Bala and followed west. That night, while the brigands lay in the woods neat Chernitza, a disaffected member of the band was isolated and suborned. Cajoled with money on the one hand and threatened with torture on the other this weakling let the pursuers in upon his leader's plan of withdrawing with the prisoners to Mayadagh until a ransom should be paid.

I must say the cavalry commander showed enterprise of a kind unusual in a Balkan leader, for no sooner was this information in his hand than, Serbian though he was, he telephoned from Pardovitza right through to the Greek authorities at Salonika and arranged with them a plan for tackling the brigands in their refuge simultaneously from north and south. It says a lot, too, for the power of Mr Calhoun that such a proposition, involving as it did an infraction of the frontier, should have been accepted in that jealous and suspicious corner of the globe.

Of course, I knew the terrain well, having served both on the east and on the west of the Vardar River. Thus, as our lorry column, stuffed with Greek troops and headed by their commander and myself in the Cadillac, wound its way up the steep and dusty road from Dreveno, I could have believed that it was seventeen years before and that we were delivering ammunition to batteries hidden in the woods and valleys just in front. Would they strafe the crest before we could run down into the comparative safety of the Kodja Dere?

We had hoped to catch the band at dawn asleep in Mayadagh and to secure their prisoners without trouble. But as we approached with lights switched off it was a shock to find that they were very much awake, had taken the alarm, and were streaming off westward, where the Serbian cavalry, due to arrive at any moment from the north, would find it hard to intercept them.

Concealment was now useless, so I switched the lights on in the Cadillac and, bellowing to Jackson in the Duesenberg that he should do the same, stepped on the gas. We roared through the narrow streets of Mayadagh, jolting wildly over the rough, unmetalled surface, and as we emerged on the north side the only sign of life was a pair of horsemen galloping away. Knowing that we could not follow in the cars, I was champing for the arrival of the Serbian horse when the unmistakeable voice of Nigel crying on us from somewhere up the hill nearly made my heart stop beating. I roared out an answer, and of a sudden a light shone from the summit of La Scie.

Drawing an automatic pistol, I started up the hill with great strides, followed by the panting Greek commander and his active little khaki soldiers, bunch after bunch, as they de-bussed.

A few minutes later we were all shaking hands and clapping each other on the back, while the Greeks in their shabby uniforms grinned from ear to ear and shouted with delight until their stout officer arrived, felled the most vociferous with a round-arm swipe, and placed his little yellow boot on the victim's chest. Discipline was thus restored, and the men spread out to protect the rescued prisoners and do violence to any suspicious person they might find.

Five minutes later the van of the Serbian cavalry appeared over the crest, A short confabulation followed, and the Greek commander seemed only too glad to pack them off in chase of the band in a direction which would lead them eventually back on to Serbian ground.

In a torrent of excited speech Nigel explained how things had fallen out and the part which the brown boy Hilmi had played in their deliverance, a narrative which Hilmi was beginning to supplement in Turkish, when Cornelia, who had stooped to pick up something from the ground, gave a little cry.

"Look, Nigel! There's a paper sticking out. It is a message as I thought,"

Nigel firmly took from Cornelia the rifle grenade which Kara-Vassiloff must have fired. Although of an ordinary pattern, it was covered with a kind of cap tied on with string. This cap was broken and showed a corner of the paper stuffed inside.

"Give it to me!" I said. "The young are unfit to handle things like that. You'll blow yourselves to bits, but I've dealt with hundreds of 'em."

"I've handled them at Hythe since you; and what is more I was taught properly how to strip them, which I bet you never were!"

He had me there, for our methods had been pretty crude.

Nigel cut the string and gingerly removed the cap, threw the grenade behind a rock, and spread the paper out. The message was pencilled in a Frenchified, Levantine hand, and came, as we supposed, from Kara-Vassiloff.

"First tric to you! Fine boy, I like you! But go back now to England or you will be swallow up. Dikran can explain. You make him! Then liquidate the double-crossing dirty worm!"

"Jolly good scout, old Kara-Vassiloff!" cried Nigel. "But we can't take his advice about Dikran. I'm afraid I― er― settled him!"

Well, to cut a long story short, we walked down to Kassim Agha's house, and there, in the little room whence she had watched the duel, Nigel and Cornelia told me all about it. I learned for the first time that Kara-Vassiloff's interest in us had been just what you might expect from a Macedonian brigand chief― the interest of the money-bags, and the interest of the flesh: whereas Dikran, the lean, dark Armenian, had been Babanian's secret agent with the gang and must have held, in point of fact, great power.

Temperley we found in the room where Hilmi had locked him, sweating from malaria and fear; of both he seemed to have contracted a pretty serious dose. First, hospital for him in Salonika, as the poor wretch was not cut out for this kind of picnic; then home by the first ship, and I'd get another man.

Hilmi too was a bit of a difficulty. We could not leave him with his mother and sister in the house of Kassim Agha to the tender mercies of the band, for they might swoop down from the Mala Kupa presently and take an unpleasant vengeance for the part he had played in the battle on la Scie. With I lip help of an interpreter, I explained all this to the Greek commander, and he promised to provide police protection. But when I passed this on to Hilmi, his face fell, and he indicated in no uncertain terms that the presence of Greek policemen about the house was the last thing his father would have wished.

"No, Effendim," he announced with a bright smile, "I will put my mother and sister into a house belonging to some neighbours, and they can tend the  vineyards on the hill. But I myself I shall come with you to Salonika and be servant to Nigell Bey. He needs one, and I shall serve Nigell Bey always. I would not serve most men!"

Here was a pretty kettle of fish! Hilmi's relationship to Nigel was a violent kind of hero-worship. But Nigel had no Turkish; and by the time Hilmi had learned enough English to carry on, his mind would probably have changed, and he might he craving for his vineyards on the slopes of Mayadagh. So much the better; for a handsome young Turk let loose in London would be a devilish nuisance later on. In the meantime I had better take him on myself, for I could see from Temperley's pinched mouth and genteel manner that he was only waiting for the opportunity of giving notice. I suppose I had been too good to him, and he was working up for trouble.

"Spoil't fo'c's'le hands make, devils," as Captain Smollett shrewdly said in "Treasure Island."

It took an hour or two to get these matters fixed, but somehow or other we all arrived that afternoon in Salonika. After our last experience I had no wish to stop in an hotel, and so I had already chartered a furnished villa out at Kalamaria, to which we could go at once.

That villa was square and white, with a wide red roof, a veranda, and green shutters. It stood in a large garden, surrounded on three sides by a high stone wall and in the fourth by the sea itself.

As I wallowed on that terrace in a wicker chair, and allowed my mind to wander across the smooth, wide Gulf of Salonika to the dreamy outline of Mt Olympus, some sixty miles away, I felt I should like to stay― until the mosquitoes began pinging round my head and drove me indoors. A few days' rest would be welcome, anyway, to get my knee quite right again. I had informed the Greek police of the part played by Tsaldaris, and had been assured that immediate steps would be taken for his apprehension. Of Babanian's connexion with the matter I said no word; thus there remained nothing else just then for me to do.

During these few days Hilmi showed marked aptitude in picking up his new job. Although his baggy trousers very picturesque and all that, they were rather too noticeable in a man-servant; besides, the wearing of a fez in Turkey is an indictable offence, and I had no wish to see my servant quodded on arrival in Istanboul. We got him something tolerable in a Salonika store, and, being naturally well made, he did not look at all bad. Everything connected with our service he took up with a keenness and a concentration most refreshing to one accustomed to the supine indifference of the English servant; and, while Temperley sulked and sweated in his hospital, Hilmi was never tired of singing Nigel's praises and descanting on his strength, his humour, and his skill in fight.

Cornelia had been surprised to find no answer waiting from her uncle, for she bad given the Olympos Palace as an address. Of course, Mr Calhoun might have gone to Angora, and the Balkan post is sometimes very slow. But on the third day the answer came by telegram. Thus:

Come by all manner of means, and bring your two friends, Beldrum and Blair, whom I particularly wish to see and personally thank. Have arranged facilities for you to motor via Gumuldjina, Dedeaghatch, and Adrianople. Expect you all to stay with me, and wish you pleasant ride.

Calhoun.

'I knew the old dear would turn up trumps," Cornelia cried, ' "Where are Gumuldjina and Dede-what-not?"

"Both near the coast in Thrace. In Greece, you know. Adrianople is the Turkish frontier on the Maritsa. It is a great point that your uncle has made these arrangements on the frontier, and the Turks must be In a very accommodating mood."

After our recent experiences in Macedonia, I should, on the whole, have preferred to go by sea, and ship the cars. On the other hand, the route proposed led more or less along the coast, and we should only have one frontier to cross. Moreover, I had never been to Adrianople and rather wished to see the place. We should avoid the tiresome port control at Istanboul and all the bother of shipping and unshipping cars. Yes, on the whole, the overland route would doubtless be the best. The Cadillac would stick the roads all right, but I did not. know about the Duesenberg. She had better go first, and I would follow as a breakdown gang.

I had already decided not to be deterred by Kara-Vassiloff's message from going on my way to Istanboul, and if we were all to be shepherded into Turkey under the auspices of the American Ambassador and stay with him at the Embassy there would be no danger for Nigel or Cornelia. After a very short while― the minimum time in fact which politeness would require― I meant to break away and carry on with my risky mission by myself. I should have to be rather tactful with Nigel, though, or, in spite of the Cornelia pull, I should not manage to keep him out of it. I should have to deploy a certain measure of duplicity. After all, it was I whom they were really out to stop. I would send Cornelia ahead in the Duesenberg, and Nigel would be only too ready to go with her. I would travel behind in the Cadillac, on the excuse, as I have said, of being the breakdown gang. This would be the thin end of the wedge, and the attraction which the girl already exercised on Nigel should throw them more and more together, thus releasing me to pursue alone my quest

And so it befell. Things generally do when I think them out ahead. Two days after receiving Calhoun's telegram, after a very early breakfast, we piled ourselves into the two cars, which stood invitingly, and already packed with luggage, In front of the villa door. Without any prompting. Nigel seized the wheel of the Duesenberg, and Cornelia installed herself contentedly by his side.

Everything seemed fun that morning: Jackson's willing work on the Cadillac, the boyish glee of Hilmi in his new clothes at the prospect of a long run through country quite outside his ken; last, but not least, the obvious delight of Nigel and Cornelia in each other's company.

At last we were all stacked into our respective places, Hilmi and I in the Cadillac and the other three in the Duesenberg.

With a "Whoopee!" Nigel drove off first, and I followed in the Cadillac, suppose we must have become celebrities, for a small crowd had collected  outside the villa gate. I smiled at them as I steered out, turning to the right; then, as I straightened the car out, looked behind suddenly, for standing at the back of the crowd, complete with straw boater, was the split image of Tsaldaris. What is more, as I turned in my seat he was staring after us with concentration. Surely it could not be he? For I had the impression that the Greek police had effected his arrest. After all, there were lots of nasty little Levantines of that type; so, driving firmly on, I dismissed the matter from my mind. But I had ignored my suspicions of Tsaldaris once, and before the present journey had been finished I was to kick myself for under-estimating him again.

22

Doubled

THE RUN over the hills from Salonika to Stavros on the Gulf of Orfano is  picture and reminded me at every turn of the campaign in Macedonia. Some two hours later we had reached Kavalla, whence comes the tobacco that makes the best cigarettes so fragrant; a bone of contention between the Greeks and Bulgaria, perhaps the Bulgars' greater loss, and now Greek, truculently Greek. After Gumuldjina came Dedeaghatch and the Maritza with its marshes, all reminiscent of the Balkan war. But it was not until we had done between seven and eight hours' running that we came, during the middle afternoon, in sight of the city of Adrianople, Ediru or Odrin, with its domes.

Later on in 1928 I had been concerned with a project to seize from the Turi by a coup de main the great bridge over the Maritza. Day after day we had entrained at Jisr Mustapha Pash to carry out the raid; but every day, as soon as we were teed up, our instructions had been cancelled. Thus I had  never seen the bridge, and thereto! studied its proportions with a very personal interest as I drove across, hundred yards or so behind the Duesenberg. I caught her up at the Custom office, and while the Turkish officials― they looked beastly in their European head-dress instead of the fez or kalpak― came out to establish our identities. Nigel and I shouted comments to each other concerning the behaviour of our respective mounts. The Duesenberg was entirely to his liking― so was the owner passenger, of course― and I must say I was pleased with the performance of the Cadillac, for, considering the condition of the roads, we had kept up a pretty good average.

Our passports were meticulously examined not only by the police but also by some plain-clothes people with the hard, unyielding faces which label the secret police of every land; and then was a good deal of back-chat between these and the uniformed officials of the Customs. So, I thought, Mr Calhoun really has had things smoothed for us, or the plain-clothes chaps would never have taken so much trouble to make sure of our identities. Then salutes were exchanged, and with a cheery parting wave, Nigel drove on. One of the plain-clothes men stepped on to my running-board, and said he would show the way through the streets of Adrianople out on to the Istanboul road.

The Duesenberg was out of sight, but we turned right― the way he had gone― then sharply to the left, and I was beginning to feel glad that the man was there to guide me through such intricate streets, when, after turning abruptly to the right again, we found ourselves not in another street but in a mean courtyard where there was no room to turn the big car without considerable reversing.

Now I wished I had been alone, for the guide had made one of those mistakes which waste at least five minutes, when you cannot spare them on a long run. The fellow had leapt off with an apology, and I thought he had gone to save time by waving me on when the way out should be clear. I most have misunderstood him. Indeed, unless a man articulates extremely well, sola (to the left) can easily be mistaken for sagha (to the right). My fault, evidently: I must get my ears syringed, or Nigel would have something rude to say to me about it!

I had just one more turn and reverse to do when my eye fell on a big, black, closed Mercedes purring gently in a corner, and half a dozen other plain-clothes men about her. Then it happened in a flash. Three huge devils hurled themselves on me and three on Hilmi, by my side. The steering-wheel prevented me from rising or drawing out a gun, but I socked one brute at close range on his unshaven, lantern jaw, and he went down with a nasty smack. But another had sprung into the tonneau at my back, and wound a scarf about my neck; the third was fumbling for my wrists. I might have dealt with him but for the chap behind; he knew too much about it. In a moment he had thrown his calves across my shoulders, and I could hear him chuckling as he began to drag me backwards and tightened the noose about my neck. As I wriggled slightly to the left to mitigate the effect of this garrotting, I caught a glimpse of Hilmi, still desperately struggling in the seat beside me against several men, one of whom had him firmly by the throat.

Perhaps a minute later, we had both been effectually bound and were being trundled into the big Mercedes, where we were dumped side by side on the back seat. Once inside that prison van― so it seemed to me― gags were tied firmly into our mouths and knotted like bibs behind our necks. This may sound quite funny, but I assure you that when a man is completely out of breath after a violent and unsuccessful scrap and is bound both hand and foot, however big and strong he may be he has no option but to take his medicine.

Then the fellow who had first stepped on to the running-board, and now appeared to be the leader, explained to us quite affably in Turkish that he and another would travel with us inside the car and would apply strangulation if either of us made a sound until the sound had ceased. The others called him Hamid, and I must say I like a man who does not beat about the bush, but calls  a spade a spade.

The two rascals nettled themselves on strapontins in front of us― powerful looking devils; and, anyway, bound as I was I could not have fought a mouse. So I just lay back and watched.

Surely Nigel and Cornelia, when they saw that we were not following them would stop or turn about to look for us, and, if they could not find us, raise hell with the police. I felt pretty sure that no-one now would dare touch the American Ambassador's niece. But even as these comforting though presented themselves to my mind, my attention was suddenly attracted by what was happening in my own car. But I could not believe my eyes. Perhaps I had got concussed in the struggle without knowing it, or it might be the beginning of a nervous breakdown. For Archibald Beldrum had just got into the Cadillac; and Archibald Beldrum, bound hand and foot in the Mercedes, was watching myself settle in behind the steering wheel of my own car. It was me, as children say, and I felt like a puzzled youngster. The height, the cap, the clothes, the aquiline profile, and the big moustache; all appeared to be my own Or was the profile just a thing too aquiline, and the moustache a shade to big?  Then I saw the youngest of the plain-clothes men, who might have passed for Hilmi at a distance, get in beside the other; and I tumbled to the game. I was to disappear for good an ail while this damned fellow doubled for me, reassured Nigel and Cornelia if they looked back, and eventually drive my new car over some cliff where we should be thought to have come to sticky end.

It was all clear now, and this devilish plot must be the work of Babanian for no-one else had any interest in going to such lengths against me; and again I marvelled at the man's ruthlessness and power, his thoroughness and the perfection of all detail. How the devil had he discovered that we were travelling thus in the two cars! How did he know their numbers, and the time at which we were likely to arrive? And, above all, how had he secured my likeness and dimensions, in order that a double― he would command a fee at Elstree or Hollywood anytime― should be equipped and ready on the spot at such short notice?

Anyway, I was fairly in the soup, for unless something quite exceptional occurred there was no reason why the two cars, separated by a decent interval, should not drive right on to Constantinople, where the Duesenberg would head for the American Legation and my double could easily slip down  any side street. My God! I was sunk this time!

Then the blighter started up the Cadillac, and, with a wave in my direction, steered slowly out of the court.

A moment later the blinds were al pulled down inside the limousine, ant we, too, began to move. Slowly the big Mercedes lurched over the right  entrance to the little court, and as we straightened in the street outside the back seat thrust me strongly forward and for a moment I heard the supercharger whine. After turning to the right and left for some time in the city, the car began to gather speed, and we were on the open road.

That journey was a nightmare. I do not suppose that many people know what it is like to ride bound hand and foot even in a comfortable car. We bumped on and on over the rough, uneven roads, but I could not move to ease the muscles which get tired in any case from constant sitting, with the result that the weariness and discomfort gradually became a veritable torture. The only comfort that I had was Hilmi's presence with me, for whenever I caught his eye I realised that, if later on we had some chance of action, I could rely on him to the full. After a while the inside fight was turned out and I could see nothing; but, just to make their presence clear, our two gaolers leaned across and suggestively fingered the slipknotted scarves which they had already tied round our necks. But I was past caring. The great car roared on! and, in spite of my gathering discomfort, I eventually went to sleep.

23: The Bosphorus

I AWOKE from time to time, but the unabated drumming in the limousine and the continued oscillation testified to the fact that we had not slowed down. The first two times I stirred and woke I could still see the daylight through crevices between the blinds and windows, but when I woke again darkness must have fallen, and I felt so stiff that I gave up the unequal task of wondering where we were. I could not make out the time either, for the luminous dial of my wrist-watch was no longer luminous, and I cursed the indifference which had prevented me from having it seen to.

When I woke for the fourth time, the car had definitely come to a standstill; one of our gaolers had got out, and I could hear voices talking indistinctly round about the car. It must have been a private place too, for now the second gaoler switched on the roof light; and, after that long journey in the dark, seeing him thus suddenly lit up was really like a nightmare. He was an unpleasant ruffian, and to make things worse he now held a stubby automatic in his hand.

"We shall stop here for some while," he said in Turkish, "until the launch is ready for us. This is not a place where we shall be disturbed. Therefore, should any difficulty arise it will be my duty to throw lead at you."

I signified my understanding with a nod, and reflected as I turned this new situation over in my mind how very apt the Turkish, idiom was. So we had reached the sea, and were waiting for a launch. I could not ask where we had got to, for that infernal gag was still stuck across my tongue, and any movement of the palate made me retch.

Where could we have got to! Assuming that we were bound for Constantinople, or one of the suburbs up the Bosphorus, and that we were waiting for a launch and not a yacht, we could not be so very far away. Nor did I believe we were on the Black Sea coast. For one thing I could not remember any good road, except the one to Kara-Barun; and the motor-launches which  people keep on the Bosphorus would hardly venture a twenty-mile trip along a lee shore in autumn through the open sea. The Black Sea can be very rough indeed: and so far as I could recollect from travelling more than once in British warships to Varna, Batoum and Trebizond, north and north-east wind prevailed. No, that would not do: so I dismissed the idea of the Black Sea Coast.

Were we on the Bosphorus itself? Somehow I did not think so. You can't drive a big car slap through the Forest of Belgrade, you have got to go via Istanboul, Pera, and Therapia. It was all very well for these chap to have driven us in a closed car with the blinds down through the sparsely inhabited plains of Eastern Thrace, but it would be a very different thing to risk driving through a city of more than a million inhabitants. The police, too, used to be pretty hot in Istanboul, and I had no doubt that they were hotter now under the new regime.

No! By process of elimination, we must be lying up near some quay between Biyuk Chekmedje and Makrikeny, just south-west of Istanboul on the Sea of Marmora. That would be quite logical, for many launches ply the roads off Galata and Istanboul and travel up and down tho Bosphorus all night. No one interferes with them; and it would be far easier to convey prisoners past the crowded city that way. Even as I came to that conclusion, my ear was caught by the characteristic roar and rumble of a passing train, not so very far away. This settled it; we must be east of Kuchuk Chekmedje, for the railway only hits the sea just beyond the lake, thus we could not be more than half a dozen miles from Istanboul.

My hands by now were numbed, and, glancing down, I saw that both mine and Hilmi's were a nasty purplish blue. Silently I registered a vow that if ever I got the chance and had recovered the use of them, I would settle that basket of a fellow who still sat stolidly in front of me with an automatic lying on his knee.

Then the door was pulled open, and the first man, Hamid, thrust his head in. ''Get busy, animal!" he snapped. "The launch is ready. We'll carry them both out, just as they are, and place them in the cabin. You can put that gun away. I'll keep them covered."

These people seemed to have no lack of man-power, for two brawny Lazes yanked me out of the car― hamalo (porters) I should think they were from their skill in handling heavy baggage― and carried me across an open space to a big motor-launch moored beside a quay. We were not near to any habitation, so far as I could see, but it was pretty dark. Someone switched on an electric torch, and I was bundled into the cabin. By its light I observed that the craft was well appointed, a luxury launch in fact, with fine broad windows through which by day you could study the view without having to move from where you sat. A moment later Hilmi was put down by my side, and somehow or other his brown roguish face, gagged though it was, still seemed cheerful, though in a way the situation must have been worse for him than it was for roe. He had never been about at all; and, for one whose experience is limited to the villages of Mayadagh and Kara-Sinanchi and the country thereabout,  this disagreeable adventure must have given an unpleasant eye-opener to the civilised world without.

We still had the scarves with slip-knots round our necks, but when the two gaolers followed us into the cabin they could not resist laying their automatics, side by side, upon the table, until we cast off and the light had been extinguished.

I was very tired, and after some time the steady rolling of the little craft acted on me as an opiate. Huddled in my comer on the starboard side, I dozed off.

How long I slept I cannot tell, but the early morning light had broken when I woke, and there was land to right and left. Moreover, it was land I knew. Yes, the launch was chugging up the Bosphorus, and although she must have been a powerful craft, the choppy waves thrown up by the current which rages through the narrows made her progress very slow. At the point which we had reached, the waters, elsewhere pretty broad, are crushed into a narrow channel between the great twin fortresses of Europe and of Asia, which crown the opposing heights. Muhammed the Fatih had built those fortresses in 1452 to throttle the Byzantines holding out in Istanboul at the bottom of the straits.

But when the Esmeralda― for such I afterwards discovered was her name―  fighting her way out of the current, drew close into Rumili Hissar, she began to make more headway under the lee of the western shore. Here wooden houses rise from the water's edge and skirt the promontory, and I could see people lounging on the balconies, even at that early hour, but no one seemed to notice us.

Half an hour later we turned into a secluded inlet on the western shore. The sun had risen above the Asiatic coast, and the tall trees were reflected in the still, dark waters of that little cove. The launch was making for a jetty which belonged to a rambling wooden place. Its dark walls and latticed windows, some of which were barred, gave off a vague impression of recluseness. My God! I knew the place! It belonged in the old days to Damad Ahmed Zekl Pasha. I had dined there more than once. It had been a place of state, and my host, his immaculate fez perched slightly at an angle, his fine eyes, his clear complexion, his marvellous white moustache and the rolling, succulent quality of his Turkish― all these things had pleased and put me into the atmosphere of Versailles in the days of the Roi Soleil. Now I was coming to the place as a gaol, or possibly a mortuary.

And it was an oddly situated house. The main road from Pera to Buyukdere passes to landward of it, but it passes between high walls, so that the eyeshot of the vulgar shall not penetrate within or incommode their betters unless perchance one of these shall use a footbridge passing overhead from wall to wall. It had been a palace of the old regime. Now the great building looked forbidding, inhospitable, and grim.

As the Esmeralda came alongside a Berberine servant, tall, black, inscrutable, secured the craft with a boathook, while another stood ready to receive us on the little quay. Then four other blacks sprang down into the launch, and, extracting us like parcels from the cabin, carried Hilmi and myself up the steps and into the seclusion of the house.

The interior was dark and old and ornate, built of wood, panelled in wood, and furnished in an out-of-date, official manner regardless of the cost. We were taken down a long, dim passage; then a door opened on our right, and we were deposited, still bound, each upon a comfortable and well-appointed bed.

Here our wrists and ankles were untied, and under the direction of Hamid, who had accompanied us throughout, two of the Berberines proceeded with some subtle balsam to massage our hands and wrists and restore the circulation. They seemed to enjoy their job, and to judge from their broad grins and the grimacing comments which they exchanged in some outlandish tongue they approved of my perhaps fairly powerful forearms.

When we were able to move again with comparative ease it unfortunately occurred to Hamid that we hadn't been searched. As a matter of fact I had forgotten all about my automatic pistol― if you are bound hand and foot for many hours you are apt to forget something which is no longer any use to you― but had they failed to think of this precaution we should have been in clover, for I should have remembered right enough when left alone, and a man with an unsuspected automatic is in quite a strong position. However, the brutes come immediately upon it, and Hamid seemed rattled when it was suddenly displayed, for he whipped it with an oath into his own pocket, and I felt inclined to think be would conceal the fact that for all this time it had remained in my possession,

At last we were left alone and Hilmi flashed his great white teeth at me. "Effendim, we'll get out of this," he said in a voice more husky than usual, from the gag no doubt, "even as we got away from Kara-Vassiloff at Mayadagh."

"Insh Allah (D.V.)" I replied. "On the spot we'll make a reconnaissance!"

The room was sparsely furnished. Apart from the two beds, good enough in their way, though mine would be far too short for me (if I were alive to live in it), there was nothing save a table covered by an Oriental shawl descending to the floor, and a couple of chairs. That room was made of wood throughout, but wood of a solid kind, for the walls, though plastered, gave off no hollow sound in answer to repeated rapping. The latticed windows which overlooked the creek where we had landed were protected on the outside by a heavy iron grille, while the door was quite unyielding to a surreptitious shoulder push. A room in the harem, I appreciated, for the old harems were often so constructed lest a lover should make his way in and profane their contents in defiance of the master and of the eunuchs whom he had placed on guard. The floor was bare and boarded, nor had had it been polished for some time. I made Hilmi lie down and listen with his ear to a crack, and after awhile he pronounced that he could bear the faintest gluck and gurgle of water underneath. So the harem had been built on piles immediately above the water of the creek.

And then I made a remarkable discovery. We had shifted both the beds and there was nothing under them; but when I came to shift the table a trap door was disclosed. I got my knife out. Try as I might, I could not prise it up. There was no fastening on top, so the bolt must be below, unless the thing was just too heavy for the knife. I stepped gingerly upon it. It did not give a millimetre, There must be a bolt or fastening of some kind underneath. I could not get my nails in, nor could Hilmi; and, search as we might, the was nothing in the room which we could use to exert more force in the close-fitting crack round that trap-door, for the bedsteads were of wood, and nothing could be got out of the window grill without a axe. It was a funny thing to have in a harem, was that trap-door, for I should not have thought that any Pasha would have wanted people popping up through the floor among his wives. Perhaps, however, it was a recent addition to the conveniences of this old house. That seemed more likely, and when I came to scrutinise the woodwork my supposition was confirmed, for the edges seemed sharp and new, although carefully bevelled off. But I feared that the thing would prove of little use to us, unless someone should come to our assistance from without.

Fortunately I had risen to my knee when a key turned in the lock of the bedroom door behind me. I had barely time to replace the table and drop the shawl in place, when a man came in and closed the door behind him. The back of his head rose sheer from his collar as flat as a board.

However, when he turned smilingly towards me, he proved to be a man whom I had never seen before. His round face was positively cherubic, in spite of the Armenian nose, and his broad lips, disclosing a fine set of teeth  plentifully stopped with gold, were like a Cupid's bow. But there was some-thing horrible about the fat, dimpled hands which lathered themselves with an unending, circular movement before his ample corporation.

"Garabed Pantikian, Mr Beldrum!" He announced himself with a bow. So this was Babanian's own secretary, the "very nice gentleman" who had got the goods from poor little Gresham before they slung him over the cliff! "I hope you are not too tired after your long― er― run. And I trust that the Nubian wrestlers, Ahmed and Abdullah, who are waiting just outside the door, will be assiduous in their attention to your person. You must be a little hungry, and I am to say that my employer will be very pleased if you would care to have breakfast with him in his study. Your servant will feed here."

Pantikian locked the door behind me, pocketing the key, and started off along the passage by the way that we had come, while the two strapping blacks fell in immediately behind. He paused before another door at the end of the long corridor; then, after venturing a discreet knock, he opened the door and ushered me within.

I found myself in a large, warm room which had been modernised regardless of the cost. Apart from a low divan upholstered in a red brocade, the place looked like an ideal office exhibition run riot. There was a long row of windows which must overlook the Bosphorus, but that room was bathed in artificial light so cleverly arranged that at first sight the source was not apparent. Filing cabinets, opulently done in walnut, towered like the Shell-Mex building where some people would have rather seen a cocktail-bar. On a colossal writing-table of the very newest type squatted a dictaphone amid a little grove of telephones, while the luxurious tilting office-chair must have come from Kingsway or High Holborn.

Seated in that chair was Mr Babanian himself. I had only seen him for a flash of time before, and had not realised how obese he was; but now, in his black cost and double-breasted waistcoat, he positively bulged behind the table. Under the shacks of dead black hair― which stood out square like those of a Papuan― and the great domed forehead, those close-set eyes had glared like gimlet eyes as he rose, pistol in hand; now they were little slits of almond eyes that twinkled a the coarse mouth broke into a lazy smile.

"How do you do?" he said in the guttural voice which I remembered. This time he did not rise, but sat on, with his small hairy hands clasped upon the table and a huge diamond gleaming on the little finger of the left.

One of the telephones began to ring. He let it ring until he had had his fill of scrutinising me, then, picking up the receiver, listened for a moment and replied in Turkish. Thus:

"Effendim? Mr Babanian is here. You are speaking from Angora― Pek-i-ala! (very well). In that case be so good as to call the Minister for National Defence himself to the head of the telephone?"

A pause ensued. Then an unctuous smile spread across the speaker's face, and he went on.

"Zat-i-aliniz? (Your lofty person) Yes, it is Babanian at this end. You have had time to study my proposal? ...Have I what?... Yes I am in a position to produce everything required for a test... Where do I keep them?... Zat-i-aliniz should not worry about that.... Khair Effendim (No Sir). I have no fear of burglars, there is nothing anyone would want to steal... I cannot say more upon the telephone, but when you see for yourself you will understand... No, a later day would I suit me better... Shugheh yok! (For sure!) Of course I have it, but two or three days will be required to source enough of one of the ingredients to enable experiments to be made on a big scale... No, no, it is not bulky.... When?... The day after to-morrow?... Two days later would be best. Very well, Effendim, we will split the difference and make it two days hence.... I am to be honoured at 10 p.m. on Friday, then? Bol bol geurenshuruz, Allaha ismarladik!"' (We shall have a lot to say.) Good bye."

He hung up the receiver, and after a glance at his correspondence, arranged with orderly precision on the table, he favoured me with his attention for the first time.

"Well, well, Mr Beldrum," he began in the harsh but fluent English which I had already heard him use, "I thought it just as well that you should hear I for yourself how this matter stands. Pray take a seat and have some breakfast. I expect you are in want of it. I will not join you. I have had mine already. But you will find the rolls and coffee fresh."

Indeed they were; and, as a matter of fact, I could have done with a real Northern breakfast of a more substantial kind. As I sipped my excellent coffee, I glanced at the "Tevhid-i-Efkiar," "Hukimiet-i-Mille," and one or two other morning papers, but they contained no mention of my disappearance. Perhaps it was too soon to expect that.

I rose at length, and Babanian pointed blandly to an armchair at one corner of his writing-table.

"I think," he said, "you will find that comfortable, and, if you care for such a thing so early in the morning, you will find cigars or cigarettes in that table at your elbows. Then we can talk business."

With a word of thanks I accepted the offer of that chair, but I did not want a cigar so early, as I was still pretty tired and I had no idea how my physical energies might not be taxed at any moment.

"Very well!" he went on when I had settled down in what I hoped was an attitude of unconcerned attention. "We can now discuss at our leisure the object which has brought you to my house."

24

A Proposition

"A MAN OF THE WORLD like you." Babanian went on, "will readily appreciate that my conversation on the telephone was directly connected with the object of your visit here."

"In that case," I intervened, "I shall be vastly obliged if you will specify that object."

"Not quite so fast, my dear sir, not quite so fast!" he parried. "Perhaps you did not come in quite the way you had intended; but sooner or later you would have come here all the same!" He chuckled and rolled a big cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.

"If you mean that you are responsible for my abduction," I retorted, "and for my forcible detention in this bug-ridden shack, I shall make it jolly hot for you when I get out."

"And when do you think that will be?" he queried softly.

"Today, you damned old ass!" I snapped aggressively, for it is well to make your opponent lose his temper if you can. "You can't hold people up like this nowadays in Turkey."

"Wait and see!" he laughed good humouredly.

"You don't seem just able to face up to facts," I went on in the tone of a man addressing someone in his second childhood. "I should be staying in the American Embassy now. My unaccountable absence will already have been reported to the police, and the report will have been backed by the authority of the American Ambassador, who moved mountains just now in Macedonia for the rescue of his niece, and moved them at my instigation. You seem to think you've got some easy proposition on, but it will sink you if you don't back out damned quick."

"You are under a considerable misapprehension," Babanian proceeded in a suave tone, "as reliable witnesses can prove. At a quarter after three on the afternoon of yesterday, two cars, a Duesenberg and a Cadillac, crossed the Adrianople Bridge. They were examined in the usual way. The Duesenberg drove on at once, but the driver of the Cadillac stopped just inside the town to light a cigarette. So he had to step on it to overtake the Duesenberg, but he managed that, and thereafter had a pleasant run, waving to his friends when they looked back, until darkness fell as they entered Istanboul. As will often happen in the crowded streets, he lost track of the preceding car. After crossing Galata Bridge, for some reason which no one will ever know, he missed the American Embassy and went right on by the coast road which leads to Arnaout Kieui. Perhaps he thought the American Ambassador was at Tarapia, for the weather is still warm; but, as I say, we shall never know, for as he passed along the narrow quay near Bebec― it is not well lit― he missed a turning and plunged over the edge into the Bosphorus. I suppose the poor fellow could not free himself from behind the steering wheel, and his companion could not swim. What a tragedy!"

"That may sound all right to a fossilised intellect," I broke in; "but it won't cut much ice when you can't produce recognisable bodies."

"You have not had time to think this out; some men are slow, but the problem has, I assure you, been well considered. It was quite dark when the car fell over the quay, but the night was fairly young, and the current down the Bosphorus is very fast. Unless the bodies were held down by the car at the point where she fell in, or unless they came to shore at some point farther down the straits― for the purpose of your argument you had better dismiss both of these contingencies― they would by now be somewhere far out in the Sea of Marmora. There they might never be found, or if they were eventually washed ashore they would be hard to recognise."

There was a lot in what he said.

"There is no use beating about the bush unless you are an Abyssinian. I have obtained a certain formula in which you are interested. So interested are you that you have been sent out here to get it back. Now, owing to the crabbed writing of the man of science who invented it and is now defunct, my experts have not been able altogether to decipher it, to acquire all the requisite ingredients, and to compound the mixture, which, as you well know, may have world-wide effects"

He was once more at his table, and he paused to shoot at me a penetrating glance, as if to gauge the effect of his remarks and to probe any thought which I might be wishing to conceal.

Babanian's plan for my removal seemed tolerably complete; anyway, I could so far see no weakness in it; but aggressive tactics had made him show his hand, and so I felt I could, for the time being, do no better than continue them. Packing each word with insolence,

I returned to the attack.

"If you've got hold of some moth-eaten formula and haven't got the brains to read it, that's your funeral, and no one else's."

"It might he yours, though!''

The man was quick in repartee, but as he seemed to hold the cards it was easier for him, and he continued calmly before I could think of a suitable rejoinder.

"You can't bluff me like that, Mr Beldrum. Yon have been sent here by the British War Office to recover for them a formula which they have lost, not that they need it for themselves, but because they are determined to keep it out of other people's hands, particularly mine. They are not completely foolish in Whitehall. Therefore you must have been shown how to recognise the thing if you should see it. You cannot have a photograph of the original which I  possess. It follows that you must have been told what the hieroglyphics look like and what they stand for. Otherwise I could fob you off with any scrap of paper just like this!"

His small hairy hand, moving with remarkable rapidity, twitched from his breast pocket a folded sheet of paper, displayed it for a fraction of a second, and then put it back.

"I think you will now agree that there is some force in what I say. Just think the matter over! Take your time. Then we can talk business."

"What?" I asked, "has given you the absurd impression that I know anything about the matter which you speak of?"

"Gresham!"' he replied. "He spilled it all, for he was very frightened. Then the poor fellow repented and chucked himself head-foremost down a cliff."

The statement that Gresham had thrown himself down was undoubtedly a lie, for I myself had seen him thrown by someone else. But he might have double-crossed us. I knew nothing of the man, except that he had been working for Magruder; and, even among the most trusted, there are queer fish in that game. Gresham had certainly gone or been taken to the Chateau de l'Aspe, and he might have given something away. However, I realised now how the land lay; Babanian must have against me something stronger than suspicion. That being so, he would feel he had ground for going to extremities. My position, then, was not so good!

My object was to secure the formula and get away with it, or, failing this, to destroy the thing. But that would be no use if they had brought the secret writing out and taken photographs of the formula complete. Yet surely, if this were so, they would have made the whole thing out! If, on the other hand, they bad failed to find the requisite reagent, all photographic copies would be  valueless. Thus my first step must be to ascertain whether they had brought out the secret ink or not. To do this I must see the paper at close quarters, and I had a hunch that it was the one which Babanian had taken so mysteriously from his pocket.

"Well," he returned encouragingly "'what about £100,000― and your life, of course! We could easily cover this little matter up and account for your returning empty-handed."

"And what is the alternative?"

"Surely there can be only one!"

So that was it! Of course I had really known this all along, but it makes it just a little worse to have the thing so plainly stated. After what he had told me, Babanian could never afford to let me get away. But he hoped to use me first. What a fool the man must think me, though! Or perhaps he argued that the instinct of self-preservation would falsify my judgement in so tight a hole, and blind me to realities. My only chance would be to play on this. In order to obtain a look at the paper, I must offer him a quid pro quo. In other words, I must weaken.

"I think I will change my mind." I faltered.

"I am glad to hear it."

"And have one of your excellent cigars."

"Do not play with me!" he snapped, showing for the first time that I had touched him.

But I had suited action to the word. The cigar was in magnificent condition, and, what was more, I might get a chance of burning some vital part of the formula.

"The flavour is extremely good," I went on, "but I wasn't only thinking of cigars."

"So! What were you thinking of?"

"Well, I've been turning the situation over in my mind. I admit that you've got me in a nasty lock, and I don't see two ways out. After all," I went on, feeling a meaner cur with every word, "this is mainly a commercial question in which I am not personally interested. But I have― er― some duty to myself. Self-preservation is said to be the strongest natural law. I hope I make myself clear!"

"Quite clear! I congratulate you on the logical way in which you are now treating the question."

"As to the money, I am, as perhaps you are aware, tolerably well off. I do not need it. Besides, a large sum is rather difficult to account for."

"Just as you please!"

Now, if anything were needed to confirm my view that Babanian intended to double-cross me it was this ready acquiescence, for if he had meant to let me go he would have pressed the money on me, preferably against a receipt, in order that he should be able thereafter to keep my mouth shut by threat of exposure. What was £100,000 to him? This retraction warmed me to my task, and I went on thus:

"I am no poseur, Mr Babanian, and therefore I will not excuse myself by saying that I have a duty to my reading public, whom I cannot very well deprive of books. But I have, admittedly, a duty to myself."

"Admirable, my dear sir, admirable!"

"There is such a thing, however, as pulling a bluff. I presume we are alone here and that what we say will go no further."

"That is so."

"Very well! Then you will appreciate that before I take any definite step I must assure myself that you really are in possession of the genuine, original formula."

"That's more like it! And what you ask is reasonable. You shall see it But I must take precautions. First I must ask you to put that cigar down― paper burns, you know. Secondly, you must be secured by two of my men. Then I hold the paper in front of your eyes until you are satisfied. Will that do?"

He pressed a knob on the table, and bell shrilled in the passage. Almost as soon as it sounded the two big Nubians were in the room standing at attention. Babanian gave his orders in Turkish, and the two closed in on me. I extended my arms and each was secure in a hammer-lock. No budging, even had I wanted to. Then the financier rose slowly from his table and, advancing across the floor toward me, drew the paper from his pocket.

There was no doubt about it. From the description I had been given this  must be the formula itself, for I saw no reason why Babanian should be carrying a copy. I knew the place where the bits of secret writing should have been, and these were blank.

"Thank you," I said after a decent interval, during which I appeared to examine the thing minutely. "I am satisfied on that point."

After returning the paper to his pocket, Babanian once more entrenched  himself behind the writing-table, placed a heavy automatic by his right hand and dismissed the Nubians with a nod.

"Now," he growled, "we can get or, but I warn you that I shoot quick and straight."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to elucidate that formula so that my experts can make the stuff  at once in sufficient quantities for the experiments next Friday, which you heard me arranging on the telephone. If you can write the stuff out now― you can use that table in the corner― there will be no trouble ; and, as soon as my experts have been able to check the results, you will be set free. The sooner the better, thus, for all concerned!"

" Mora haste, less speed," I countered. "I cannot do what you suggest, much though I should like to get the whole thing over." This, I felt, was a masterly turn of phrase. " You see, it will not be so easy for me as all that. I will speak quite frankly." I have generally found this expression useful when about to tell a thumping lie. "I was made to memorise an extremely difficult and complicated key― difficult for me, at least, who am no chemist― whereby I, a layman, could check whether the formula I was after was really the original and correct in every detail."

"But you have acknowledged that already," the financier snapped. "You admitted that the paper I held in my hand was genuine after a very short  scrutiny. What are you getting at now?" His voice rang with suspicion.

"Listen!" I interrupted with a brain-wave. " I wanted first to see whether the paper you held was sufficiently like the thing which I am looking for to justify my taking a further step. So far as that is concerned, I am satisfied; but after all, I have gout through during the last week or so, and particularly since Adrianople, I simply cannot concentrate enough to recall the key which I memorised and check your paper through in a room like this, with you sitting over me and glaring at me. Surely you can see that!"

" I suppose," he answered crushingly, " I must make allowance for weaker intellects. For my own part, I have always been able to concentrate― even when in danger!"

"You do not understand. In order to apply this memorised key, in fact to howk it out of my memory at all, I must have peace and quiet. Therefore, let me take the paper to my own room. You must have photographic copies, so surely you can trust me. I don't mind submitting to what safeguards you consider necessary, provided that my calculations are undisturbed. Weak I may be in intellect, but if you want the job done, I assure you there is no other way."

"Very well!" he decided, after thinking for a while. "You can have the paper with you in your room, subject to two conditions― first, your ankles must be bound; secondly, one of the Nubians must stay with you, though I shall give him orders to remain absolutely quiet unless you give trouble, in which case he will settle you. But the Turkish boy cannot stay with you. He will be for a while confined elsewhere."

Of course, I should have preferred Hilmi's being left with me in my cell, for unity is power, but in the circumstances I could not well object to his temporary removal, though it would make things a lot more difficult. I therefore signified agreement.

"One word of caution!" Babanian concluded as he rose. "I shall personally inform your Nubian guard that in the event of your destroying or even injuring the formula, he himself will be destroyed, slowly, bit by bit. Believe me, those men are tough customers, and they know that I keep my word. Your guard will leave nothing to chance. There is a bell in your room. Ring it as soon as the work is finished! The work will be immediately examined by my experts. If it is found good, you will be released, subject to the condition that you will uphold the following explanation of your absence from the embassy, namely, that, when your motor fell into the Bosphorus you were rescued by my servants, who happened to be passing in a launch, that you were taken to my house, and put to bed with hot-water bottles at your waist and feet, and that you remember nothing but the kind treatment, for which you will be eternally indebted. The reason for your being so far north was that you thought the embassy was still up at Terapia."

"So be it!" I replied in a voice which I had no difficulty in making sound dejected.

"If you should change your mind," he added suddenly, "after you have gone, I shall display to your Government the receipt which you are now about to sign."

Leaning across the table, he pushed a form across the table. It read as follows!

"Received for services rendered from the Military Attaché of the U.S.S.R. in Istanboul the sum of £100,000 (one hundred thousand pounds sterling)."

I had not expected this development. The cunning old devil had devised an instrument which would cover himself after my death, for I still did not believe that he had the remotest intention of letting me go away alive in any case. Moreover, it would provide him with a weapon of no mean order for stirring up strife between two world Powers which had been drawing of late much closer together. He saw my hesitation.

"Take or leave the money as you will," he rasped, "but sign on the dotted line!"

As I would not accept the money, I could always deny the receipt, if ever I should get away from this damnable old house. At that moment I had very little hope of getting away. I might manage to destroy the formula after it had been brought to me in my room. But that would probably be the finish. I must get on with it, however. There was no alternative.

I signed on the dotted line.

25

Two Can Play At That Game

FIVE MINUTES later I was back in my own room, and Hilmi had been removed next door. The poor boy did not understand my acquiescence in his going, for he knew nothing of the formula or of the circumstances which had led to our confinement. Like a faithful dog he had followed me from Mayadagh, and like a faithful dog he wanted to stand by me now. We should stay together, fight together, escape together, and, although I don't think he entertained for a moment the thought that I was double-crossing him, or trying to get away by some secret method on my own, he was just as puzzled by my telling him to go that he could not put a meaning to it, and departed in a kind of daze, rubbing his forehead with the back of a large brown hand.

As soon as he was gone that ferret of a secretary came in, followed by the Nubians. Evidently Babanian had been minute in his instructions, for, although my ankles were bound so firmly that there was no hope of setting them free unless I could use my hands, and so closely as to prevent me from walking or balancing easily as I stood. I experienced no pain or inconvenience, and was forced to admit that the restriction would not affect the freedom of my thought.

I was then assisted to the table under which the trapdoor lay, and on which pens, ink, pencils, paper, rubber, and everything which might assist the calculations which I was supposedly about to undertake, had been provided in full measure. But I didn't like the hard rush-bottomed chair, and said so. I was determined to gain all the time I could; besides, when you are in a life-and-death predicament. why not be as comfortable as you can? I had therefore no compunction about asking for whisky and soda, for cigars and cigarettes, and, what is more, l got them.

But when I asked for matches the fat secretary, who had already begun to look a little bored, must have reached the limit of his discretionary powers, for he favoured me with an old-fashioned glance and deported to consult his master.

I have seldom seen a face so changed as his when he returned. This time I had got before me Mr Garabed Pantikian, "very nice gentleman", and as he set an electric lighter down before me his face was positively wreathed in smiles.

"Let it be clearly understood," he said, "before I leave that here, that if anything should happen to the formula― even if it was only just a little scorched― I have been empowered to deal with you. Yon know the Near East and what has sometimes been done to so many of us poor Armenians. Perhaps I need not add that I have my instrument case at hand, and that if you were held down naked by these two black wrestlers there would be no difficulty in carrying out on you, successively, all kinds of minor operations."

The brute meant what he said: in the event of my trying to burn the paper, he would be given a free hand, and he was a sadist. They were, in fact, in a bit of a hole, for Babanian was committed on the telephone to an experiment with the steel-destroying liquid two days hence. Angora would not wait― how like Angora! So he had not much time to lose, and I resolved to gain every hour and every minute that I could.

But at last I couldn't think of anything else to ask for. Even snuff had been produced in a fine silver box, though I had no idea that anyone used the muck in Istanboul: and a bell-push had been installed on the table, with flex leading through the door, in order that I might be able to call for hot coffee, or anything like that, when might wish for it.

So far so good, but the more difficult part was still to play. I had memorised no hocus-pocus requiring hours of abstract study. The appearance of the original formula had been accurately described to me, and I had recognise it almost at the first glance. But I had another problem to consider.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that brawny negro watching me from little more than three yards' distance: and had I really had a crucial calculation to get through. I am positive that the fellow's presence, the gimlet effect of his eyes, and the faint effluvium which seems inseparable from persons of black blood, would have mad the task of concentration very difficult. I had better have a good think all the same; and so, while I began laboriously to draw out what anyone bar a cryptographic expert would have taken for the framework of a complicated transposition cipher, and to fill it in with characters where I thought they might look well, I began to consider seriously the prospects of getting the formula away and my own chances of escape. But every now and then I shook with silent laughter when I thought of the horrified expression with which some of my learned friends in London would have regarded this wanton, this sacrilegious desecration of their high art.

To begin with, I recalled in detail Babanian's reconstruction of the crime― for crime it was to drive a brand-new Cadillac slap into the Bosphorus, even if no one had been actually hurt. Was there any weakness? Just now, as I had listened to it lucidly expressed, the story had sounded convincing enough People say that a mistake is made in every crime. Was this true of the case in hand? I put myself in my double's place, imagined that I was sitting behind the steering-wheel, and that I was for no good end, personating my own self. What would I have done at each stage of the journey?

Barring accidents, such as a puncture to the Duesenberg, which would necessitate a halt and change of wheel, the run through Eastern Thrace would be money for jam; I could keep some way behind and wave to Nigel or Cornelia, whenever one of them looked back. Through Istanboul and through Galata, it would be easy too, but I should have to keep well back in case of traffic blocks. As a matter of fact, we had said nothing before starting as to whether the American Ambassador was residing in the Pera Embassy― we had all taken it for granted that he must be― or was still in his summer palace at Buyukdere. Thus, if Nigel and Cornelia should remember that this point had never been mentioned, it might not seem too unreasonable in their eyes that I should have jumped to the wrong conclusion and have driven right on through Pera bound for the upper Bosphorus. A trifle thin, perhaps, but acceptable enough!

And then as I pictured myself in person at the wheel, driving straight on up the Grand Rue de Pera, past the Cercle d'Orient, past Taxim, the first snag in the man's yarn stood out from the big street junction just beyond the Harbieh and simply barked at me; for it was unthinkable that anyone who knew his "Constant" tolerably well should have forged right for Beshiktash, Ortakleui,  and Bebek! He would have forked left through Shishli and followed the main road over the open country to the north. Why go to Bebek at all? Bebek with its narrow quays, its ill-lit, difficult street, and no good way on, so far as I could recollect. No, this snag should sink the story right enough. Detectives would begin to buzz, and Mr Calhoun would buzz too, and, As I knew, his was some buzz!

But, on second thought, was the snag insuperable? I might have taken the wrong turn after all these years, and once embarked on the wrong road I might have carried on with the idea of cutting inland by some side road.

Well, supposing I had done this, taken the wrong road, and found myself eventually at Bebek! I had often been along those quays while I was learning Turkish, for as I took my exercise I would carry a notebook with me and memorise phrases as I walked. When Babanian described to me the incident, I remembered very well the spot where the car must have fallen in; the cobbled quay, the narrow picturesque houses mostly made of wood, the little Greek cafes and tobacco-stalls. I used to sit there sometimes― it was about the limit of my normal walk from Arnaout-Kieui― cool down, light a cigarette, and wonder if any fish lay in that peaceful little backwater. Peaceful little what? Little backwater! Of course the damned thing was a back-water. Then bodies which fell in with my car could not have floated down the Bosphorus, unless they had been helped! Hope and excitement rose in me anew. Surely the police could not fail to spot this fact. Surely Nigel, would undoubtedly be visiting the scene of the alleged disaster as soon as he had heard the promulgated theory, would not fail, with his strangely observant eyes, to see the way the water ran, and tumble on the inference. Things looked brighter now. Babanian had not  thought of that― the old ass!

Then I came a cropper. Was the spot which I had in mind, that sharp left-hand turning in the quay facing on the little backwater, really the place where my car had fallen in? Or had they chosen some oilier place and driven her in there! When I first heard the story I had at once jumped to the conclusion that this bad been the spot: but there were several other places round about where a similar mishap could have occurred. These I couldn't bring to mind so well, but I felt pretty sure that they would not all be back-water. Thus, perhaps, I had little ground for optimism after all.

There was, however, another point which I had overlooked. Suppose Babanian killed me and Hilmi and deposited our bodies in the Bosphorus that very night in such a manner that they should infallibly be found washed up in a lonely spot, would not pathologists find out that the bodies were 24 hours too fresh? Of course it all depended on their having a Spilsbury or a Thorndyke; but, although there had been good doctors accredited to the hospital at Haidar Pasha, I did not know whether medico-legal work loomed large in Turkish practice or whether it was utterly neglected.

However, I was getting far too academic; for on the one hand this matter of the frostiness of the corpses would probably never have occurred to Babanian, a man inured no doubt to the disposal of such merchandise in the easy condition of the Near East, and on the other, what earthly good would it do me that pathologists should wrangle over my remains?

Still, I felt inclined to kick myself for not having found out exactly from Babanian where my car had been driven into the water. It was no good asking now. however, for a question might betray my own line of thought, and there is no use crying over spilt milk. On the other hand no useful purpose could be served by pessimism; such pessimism does not make for progress or for getting yourself out of a nasty jam.

I believed I had found three possible weak points in Babanian's explanation. Even though it were too much to hope that all three would really prove to be as weak as they seemed, it was reasonable to suppose that one of them at any rate should do so, and one alone would cause suspicion. So long as there is no suspicion a criminal is in clover, but the moment that suspicion starts he has to watch his step, for everything will be subjected to a scrutiny which it would otherwise have avoided altogether.

Nigel would start suspicion anyway. Gullible though the little brute was in some things, I could not see him lying down inactively under a thin statement that I had lost my life by pitching myself head first into the Bosphorus. Knowing that I was out to get the formula and that Babanian had been connected with the abduction of Cornelia, he would immediately suspect that the financier had had a finger in this pie. I knew his persistence on occasions such as these. He would lose no time in ensuring that the American Ambassador shared his suspicions; nor would it be difficult to ascertain Babanian's address. Thus, in spite of all the difficulties, in spite of the plot which had been weaved so cunningly around me, there were, after all, good grounds to hope that a thorough investigation of my disappearance would be promptly undertaken, and the attention of the representatives of law directed to the very building where I sat. Even now they might be observing the kiosk from across the water, or stealing about in the tall old garden among the thick shrubs.

With these comforting reflections I had whiled away an hour, when my door opened and I turned to see that Garabed was standing on the threshold smiling at me.

"What progress have we made by now?" he asked, steadily washing his hands.

Now the gibberish I had been writing down would never bear a close inspection, so I shook my fist at him impatiently and cursed him for the interruption to my line of thought.

"Yon may have till ten to-night," he answered. "After that, my instrument case!" And silently he left the room.

They had to produce the stuff for the Minister of National Defence in two days' time; the chemists would require a day at least to collect the various ingredients, and a day for preliminary tests; hence I was not surprised that they were getting rabid for my answer. I must act before ten o'clock, In fact, as early as I could. I should have to wait, however, till after dark. In answer to a question, I ascertained that my dinner would be served at eight o'clock. Time must be allowed for them lo clear away, or I might be interrupted in the act. Thus, it looked as If zero should be eight o'clock. My object was to get away safe and sound with the formula in my pocket. But to attain this object three preliminary objectives must be reached; and each of these confronted me with a problem difficult to solve.

(a) How could I do in the black? My ankles were bound, I was unarmed, and If the fellow were as strong as he looked he would prove a handful even for a free man.

(b) Assuming that I managed somehow to do in the black, how could I get the trap-door open? I was pretty sure that the thing was bolted on the underneath, and, although the black might have some sort of knife upon him, It would not be likely to contain a saw or file with which I could sheer the bolt through. It was too much to hope that the trap was held down merely by its own weight and that a reasonably strong knife would enable me to prise it open.

(c) Hilmi's rescue― how could that be staged? Not at the same time as my own escape, since the safe removal of the formula must come first. Of the three points, this seemed the easiest to solve; for, although it was just possible that they might revenge themselves on Hilmi when they learned of my escape, I saw no particular reason why they should, and felt confident that we should be able to collect him later with the assistance of the police.

A prey to these puzzling reflections, I found the time pass quickly. I had covered sheets and sheets of foolscap with my hieroglyphics and had written out a connected letter-sequence in the hope that, if anyone came nosing round, I might be able to pass it oft as the solution of the first half of a double-transposition cipher.

I will say that they looked after me very welt Sharp on the stroke of eight an excellent little dinner was brought, in, and champagne, whisky, or red wine offered. In the circumstances I elected for champagne, and made short work of my repast. I asked for the tray to be cleared and the wine left. This was done by half past eight. Darkness had fallen and I was half an hour ahead of schedule. The time had come to put the first part of my plan into practice.

Explaining to the black that I was suffering from a touch of indigestion, engendered no doubt by all those hours of stooping over the table and aggravated by a hurried meal, I lay down for a short rest on my bed to rid my-self of this indigestion and to be able to go on with my work for Mr Babanian with the least possible delay.

The fellow seemed to register sympathy rather than suspicion. So far so good! The next move was to get him over to the bed. Lying well back I complained of heartburn, and begged him in a feeble voice to hand me my unfinished glass of wine.

He reacted like a lamb and obliged good-humouredly. I felt a bit of a brute, though I might have spared myself the trouble, he brought the drink along all right, and bent down, as I had forecast, to hand it me.

Then I raised both my legs together and kicked him in the stomach with what force I could. I had been unable to rehearse this business. Kicking with one foot is child's play. To kick effectively with both feet bound together is quite another thing. Try it out for yourself! I got him too high up and within sufficient power. I partly lost my balance, too.

More from surprise than from any damage done him, my onslaught brought the black's head forward sure enough. There is no good smashing your fist on a negro's jaw. So I caught him, with both hands crossed, by the lapels of his coat, after the manner of the Japanese, and began to draw him down toward me. If you get that lock just right, the big muscles on either side of your victim's neck are crushed in on the carotid arteries, and stop the flow of blood to the brain; insensibility follows in ten seconds. But, handicapped by my position, I had not got the grip just right, and the big black, who apparently had little to learn about ju-jitsu, vaulted on to the bed astride my bound legs, and, passing his arms above my arms, applied the lapel grip to me.

The man was very strong, and― what was worse― I realised, as he pulled himself down on top of me, that he had got the grip just right, for immediately I experienced that humming in the head, that coldness about the jaws, and that darkening of the atmosphere around one which means that you are going swiftly under. Automatically I relaxed my own ineffective grip, and, with desperation, strove to break that of my assailant; but I had not got my hands out soon enough and they were imprisoned between our chests. Of course, when practising ju-jitsu, I had been caught before, sometimes in that lock; but then I had tapped at once and been released, and everything was all right. This time it was no tapping matter. Perhaps I tapped from force of habit. I don't know. Almost as soon as the struggle had begun, it seemed to me, everything went black and I had fainted.

26

Abdullah Departs

AS I CAME to I was first aware of a bright light shining through the dull red of my eyelids. I had been through that experience before, somewhere― somewhere― yes, in hospital after an operation. Was I in hospital, I wondered, now? No, for I could not detect the sickly smell of ether. Yet, as I turned my head on the pillow, my neck felt very stiff, and the throat was parched if not positively sore. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry, and the effort made me retch.

My head was being held up and a glass was at my lips. It must be hospital, so the war was still on; a Red Cross hospital, though, for the R.A.M.C. were pretty stingy with their fizz; what is more, this fizz was spliced with brandy. I must be in a bad way. It was the surgeon leaning over me and his breath was none too sweet. Now, that was odd, for I had never known a surgeon's breath smell. I forced my eyelids open.

The man whose eyes were peering into mine had an obese face and a beak-like nose; in one fat hand he held a reading-lamp; with the other he had been pressing the champagne to my lips. A sinewy black arm supported me, and now I could also detect the odour of a negro, I closed my eyes again, for the prospect was not pleasing.

"The animal will come round now, lnsh' Allah!" The voice which spoke was that of an Armenian. " If you had killed him it would have been just too bad."

"May he be bumped against God's flail!" a thick, provincial voice responded, and there was an Arabic click about the gutturals. " He attacked me as I helped him to some wine."

"Attacked you with his ankles bound?"

"Yes, Effendim, he tried to kick and throttle me! So I had to hold him down till he was quiet."

"Kicked you with his feet tied together? Don't lie to me, you dog!"

"Vallahi! (Good God!) As I have said, so did he do, this one!"

"How?"

"He was lying on the bed..."

"So you attacked him on the bed! Are you drunk once more with hashish?"

This dialogue had served to bring me to my senses, and I remembered what had happened― how long before I did not know. My wrists were bound now as well as my ankles.

The way the conversation had been shaping was a Godsend! but I couldn't allow it to go too far, or the black, Abdullah, might convince the secretary that his story was the truth. That would never do. Luckily, the black was ignorant, aggrieved, and almost inarticulate; while Garabed was terrified lest anything should happen to me before he had managed to extract the goods― after that, he would not care  two hoots.

"You see, Effendim." Abdullah was beginning in his blathering fluttering voice. "It was like this..."

High time for me to intervene! I therefore groaned, opened my eyes, rolled over on one side, and began to retch; but I had no need to act, and perhaps the less I said about this episode the better. Anyhow I had cut short Abdullah's explanation; and when I had been given another glass of wine I was able to talk at last with some coherence, and put out my spurious version of the facts. Thank the Lord, Garabed was predisposed to accept my explanation in a favourable light. So I piled it on and let the black have it good and proper.

I explained how I had lain down for a moment with indigestion after dinner― I had often had it after too much sedentary work and knew the cure quite well― and had, with the best will in the world, asked for a drink, which I intended to sip slowly. As he handed me the drink, I had rolled over the more easily to take it, when the ignorant fellow, nervous perhaps with the responsibility of his charge, had, for no rhyme or reason, suddenly fallen on me with a grunt and strangled me. It was lucky that I was still alive.

"There," I concluded, "are the fragments of the glass which broke when Abdullah dashed it from my hand!" As a matter of strict truth, it had fallen from Abdullah's hand; but when you want to point a story why be too exact?

That masterly touch clinched the matter for Garabed Pantikian, and the black never got his explanation in at all, I could see the fellow mouthing at me, but he had neither the brains nor the command of language to enforce his point.

"See here!" Garabed said at last. "Can you finish the job now? I see you have done a lot of work already."

So the gibberish I had written had indeed had some effect. What the devil was the time? I must gain time, I thought― the more the better. But I said, "Your bungling black has torn it. But for him I should have had the thing ready, as I promised, by ten o'clock."

"It is nine-thirty now," Garabed hissed excitedly. Can you do it by eleven?"

So long did it seem since I had been borne down upon that bed that I should not have been surprised had he said that it was three or four in the morning. Yet all these things had come to pass in half an hour.

"No," I answered. "I really don't think I can. You see, that kind of work isn't exactly easy, particularly for an amateur. And if you are half-killed in the process far no reason whatsoever, you can't pick up the thread again just like that, Besides, I need rest now; I don't believe I could sit up at present if I tried. Give me another glass of wine, and leave me in peace for half an hour at any rate. Have no fear! Mr Babanian bas offered me my price, and Beldrum keeps his word, yes, he keeps his word!"

Although I thought I saw a knowing look flit across the secretary's face― probably he knew jolly well that I did not stand an outside chance of touching whatever money had been offered― this tosh went down all right; and so I added hurriedly, "When I've done, Abdullah can ring for you, and I'll make it midnight if I can."

Garabed gazed fixedly at me for several seconds, and he must have been convinced that I was in no state to carry on immediately with a complex calculation, for I felt like death and must have looked it.

"Very well," he said at last in a grudging tone. "Mr Babanian is out and will not be back till twelve; you can have till then."

If Babanian was out, I understood why the secretary seemed so worried, and how he had been forced to come to a decision on his own. The orders which he now proceeded to give Abdullah confirmed my opinion that his nerves had come unstrung. Turning savagely on the black, he spoke rapidly in Turkish.

"The gentleman may rest on his bed for anything up to an hour, or until he tells you he has had enough and is ready to resume his work. While resting, he had better remain bound hand and foot; then he will try no tricks, and you will not interfere with him. Press the bell-push on the table as soon as he is ready, and I'll come at once. I shall then unbind his wrists, and stay with him while he works. You see that paper he was working at lying on the table? Mind, nothing is to happen to it! In case of alarm of any kind, press that bell three times, and I'll be with you immediately― it rings in my room. Do not let that gentleman escape on any account; and, if anything should happen to him, you'll be for it either way. Mr Babanian would remove a useless servant Instantly from his surroundings. Sit still and don't disturb him while he rests, but watch closely. I had better add that, if he should collapse as a result of the insensate mauling to which he has been subjected― before he has done his job, I mean― that would likewise involve your removal from your surroundings. Is that all clear, animal!"

As a recipient of this diatribe, I felt almost sorry for Abdullah. After one more crushing glare Garabed took himself away and closed the heavy door behind him. I could not hear his footsteps in the passage, but I didn't think he would be waiting just outside. Thus, my room must be reasonably soundproof, or the sharp heels of his yellow shoes would have rung on the polished wooden flooring of the passage.

Clearly the black was rattled by the way in which things had fallen out, and the conflicting orders of the secretary had not served to reassure him; for now he stood above my bed, his great arms folded, his brows drawn down, his eyes glittering with a furtive exaltation. I did not like the way in which he looked at me; for when a powerful savage has been badly scared and is too confused to see straight, it is a dangerous thing to have about the room. He had been all right before, but, now that my story had been accepted rather then his own, I was Public Enemy Number One, likely to snuff me out then and there. To his primitive mind, the task which he was set seemed difficult and perplexing. He looked at my bound hands and feet: he looked banteringly at my throat (still red, I expect, and swollen); he looked nervously at the formula lying on the table, and the bell-push by its side; and after a painful working of his forehead, he must have come to the conclusion that it would be expedient to add a little intimidation of his own.

"Allah sizi mahy etsun!" he spat to relieve his feelings. "May God blot you out! You heard the remarks of Secretary Pantikian. Try any more jokes with me, you liar, and you know what you'll get!"

With a savage intake of the breath, he swooped suddenly on top of me, and, crossing his hands, caught me once more in that terrible lapel lock. Convulsively I moved, and found that my ankles had been bound, not merely together, but also to the bed; I was quite helpless; at the same time I could sense, from the trembling of his forearms wedged against my throat, how intense was his desire to draw his hands fiercely in and to lie there on me for a minute or two till death had supervened.

It was touch and go, for the fellow's fear worked two ways; but, his fear of Babanian and his formidable secretary got into the ascendant, he glanced back at the table, and I could read his thoughts like a book; there was the bell-push, there, too, lay the formula. In the case of alarm, one of his orders had been to ring thrice, another to secure the formula from harm; in face of these instructions, what excuse could he find which would justify a murderous attack on me? A bead of the negro's nauseating sweat fell from his face on mine, as, with a grunt of disappointment, he relaxed his hold, and, looking furtively towards the door, reluctantly resumed his seat on a chair half-way between the writing-table and my bed.

What with the odorous proximity of that great black brute and the renewed pressure on my throat, slight though it had been. I felt sick again, and had to ask for further sustenance. Frightened, I suppose, that he had hurt me. Abdullah propped my head up once more and held another glass of wine to my lips until I had drained it to the dregs. Then I sank back and tried to think.

If my chances before had been slender, now they were practically nil. With only my legs bound, and with the initiative on my side, the black Had quickly overpowered me. now that I was completely hound, I simply stood no chance at all; and, rack my brain as I might, I could think of no ruse whereby I might materially improve the odds. The only thing left was to gain time, to gain us much as I possibly could, on the chance that some outside influence might supervene; but so little hope had I that eventually I dozed off.

When I woke it was quite suddenly, and as if something had occurred to stir me ruthlessly from sleep. An excitement seethed inside my breast, and my senses seemed to have been stimulated to a preternatural acuteness. Perhaps it was all the brandy and champagne that I had drunk; yet, somehow, I felt it was not that. With an extremity of care I raised one eyelid slightly, and I was disappointed, for the room looked just the same― the electric lights were blazing, there sat the negro on his chair, his dangerous eyes fixed unwinkingly on me, his long fingers playing with one another as if they itched to settle on my throat; there on the table were the papers, the formula, and the bell-push. Yet there was something different, something new; but for the life of me I could not gauge it, though the air seemed fresher than when I had fallen off to sleep.

Abdullah rose, and coming across stared searchingly in my face; but my eye was shut now and I was breathing steadily. Then I heard the chair creak as he sat down again. Why had he come across? I was lying on my back; perhaps I had been snoring and had stopped when I awoke. I would begin again and covertly observe what the effect might be. I opened my eye― just a tiny slit― and saw that the negro seemed more satisfied; but the excitement in my breast continued, and I wan conscious of an unaccountable impression that some new influence was at work in the room. Yes, certainly it was fresher now; and I switched my eye from the negro to the writing-table once again. The embroidered Oriental shawl which covered it and hung almost to the floor was moving, moving over so slightly, as if something were trying to push it out, about six inches from the floor, now in one place, now in another, for all the world as if a solid body hidden underneath were feeling for resistance. I snored on steadily and watched.

Then the lower border of the shawl was raised a little and a human hand emerged, a white man's hand, with short straight fingers, compact, rightly proportioned. Now I snored all the harder, for I should have known that hand alone anywhere on earth; and, when it was followed by a sinewy wrist and a strong, hairy forearm, I knew that the miracle of which I had dreamt had happened, even before Nigel's face with tousled hair, grinning, Pan-like, was cautiously thrust out below the cloth. Such was the intensity of my relief― such, also, a moment later, my apprehension for his own safety― that, unable to intervene by force in any way, I redoubled my snores to cover any other sound, and watched with a semi-closed hut very anxious eye.

Would the black notice anything unusual? Not so far, at any rate, for his scrutiny was concentrated on myself, and I prayed that his senses might be dimmed.

Furtively and with infinite precaution Nigel was coming out now from beneath the table, about three yards behind the chair on which Abdullah sat. Out came another arm, and then bare shoulders glistening under the electric light. I understood; of course he had oiled himself to resist the cold, for the swim, and for any rough-house which might ensue once he had got inside. Would some sound, some movement of the table, betray him to the black before he had got free? If not, he would have a tactical advantage, for he would he between Abdullah and the bellpush. I snored on while Nigel drew himself out inch by inch.

Thank God, he was free now, crouched in the position of a sprinter waiting for the pistol, his body curved like a steel spring and one hairy thigh drawn forward under him. In another second he would have sprung on the black, and from behind. But I must have overdone the snoring; for, in that critical moment I swallowed something down the wrong way, caught by breath, grew red in the face, stuttered, and finally half choked myself. The black's eyes opened wide with fear as this phenomenon confronted them, a fear lest, after all, something had gone wrong inside my throat, and he would have to take the consequences. Rising, he turned about and made for the bell-push on the table; but when he beheld the crouching form of Nigel, where just before not a soul bad been, perhaps It flashed on Abdullah that his sins had found him out and that hashish had conjured up some powerful spirit from Jehennem, dangerous, malign ; for Nigel's eyes now glittered with a slanting concentration, horrible almost as a squint, and the corners of his mouth were drawn down as I have seen them only once or twice when delivering a knockout to an opponent in the ring.

I shall never forget that picture: Nigel about to spring; the muscles tautening in the big black's neck as his forward move was stayed by something which he did not understand. I am sure that if he had hackles they would have risen in a ridge along his back. Up went his hands as if to fend this demoniac vision from him, and in that instant Nigel leapt with the speed and force of lead from a catapult.

Down went the big black on the floor beside my bed, and the back of his woolly skull struck the boards with a crack that would have laid out most men. But when he saw that he had flesh and blood to deal with Abdullah began to fight furiously. His long legs shot up, but Nigel had already straddled him; and he could not give a cry, for those white fingers were already buried in his black throat; it seemed as I leant across the bedstead to watch from just above, that they must he almost meeting just behind the fellow's windpipe. Abdullah's right hand, unseen to me, must somehow have been pinned; but his left was free to drive a black thumb into that painful place just in front of Nigel's ear so well known to jiu-jitsuists. But Abdullah bad miscalculate! there; though, far from being insensitive, Nigel, as I knew so well, would be driven by pain, not to submission, but to fury, and the spare tanks of his astounding strength, so seldom tapped, would be brought into use. So it was now. Without a sound― Nigel fights silently― he removed his right hand from the black man's throat, and, locking the fingers of his left, which was already behind the fellow's neck, into his right elbow, drove with that great leverage his right forearm in under the negro's chin; then, after a moment of intense strain, he secured with his right hand a firm hold on his left upper arm, and had thus obtained what we always call the mangle lock. Once that lock has been fixed there is no way out, no hope for the victim, whose throat can be crushed in or his neck broken at will.

Abdullah's head was now bent dangerously back, and his chin was pointing towards the ceiling; he had no resistance left.

"I've got him, Zephyr! Bind and gag the blighter if you can move."

"I can't do a thing; I'm bound both hand and foot, and tied to the bed as well."

"Well, it looks as if I've got to do it. I daren't let him go― he's too strong, and he'd make a noise anyway.''

"They may come back at any moment. The formula is on that table, and we must get away with it. That's our first duty. I can't help, so I'm afraid you must!"

"Well," said Nigel, and the muscles stood out on his great shoulders, just about a foot below me, as his back bent suddenly forward from that slender waist. There was a slow, grinding, horrible crack, a drumming of feet, a wild flopping of a big, black hand. Then gingerly Nigel rose to his knees, and his face, now that the deed was done, was a face of desolation.

''Zephyr, before I came out here I'd never killed a man before!"

"Well, I have, anyway. Besides, he nearly did me in just now, and he'd have settled me after I'd been bound, had he dared to do so. What does my throat look like now?"

Nigel's fingers were feeling my bruised neck. "Good God!" he said. "I don't mind now."

Then he searched the body of the dead black, and, fishing out a kind of bowie-knife, cut my bonds. They had been tied carefully, though firmly, and had not stopped the circulation, so I was able to move as soon as he had set me free.

We propped the dead man up against the door, and set the heavy writing table over him. This we wedged effectively by switching round my bed.

The trap-door was open, with the lid leaning against the wall; it presented a square, black cavity through which the cool air was blowing up from the water underneath; hence the draught I had experienced.

"Zephyr, we'll have to swim; can you manage it?"

"I'll manage now that you are here; it puts new life in me. I've had an awful time, but I'll tell you all about that, and you can tell me how you got here, later. Now I must get my clothes off quick; we've got no time to lose. What is the time? My watch is bust."

"I haven't got a watch, you mutt! Do I look as if I was dressed to carry watches?"

"We must get away at once! How can we take the formula without obliterating it in the water Ï I'd like to have it with me to prove I've really got it, if I can."

Without a word, Nigel produced an electric torch from behind the trap-door, unscrewed it, folded the paper neatly up, and slipped it inside.

"A good torch, that!" he laughed. "I bagged it from you at Salonika, and you shan't have it back. It's waterproof, too, for it works after swimming with it, as you see."

My clothes were off now, and as I had no Jantzen I judged nudity to be the answer. I can swim of course for a limited distance, but I'm nothing to write home about. Ten minutes earlier I had felt upon the point of death; yet such was the effect of my surprising rescue and of Nigel's help that I now felt ready for the dip. I looked at my clothes, discarded on the bed. There was money in the wallet, but also proof of my identity. All the better; it would be up to the other side to get rid of such incriminating evidence before the police appeared on the scene.

"I'll go first with the torch." said Nigel, lowering himself through the trap. "I know the geography and can light you down in the water." After dangling in the darkness for a moment by one hand, he disappeared.

As I began to lower my great weight I realised how I had been weakened by confinement, and my strangulation: and had it not been for Nigel's presence I'm sure I should have flopped. For an instant Vie switched on the torch, nun I saw the water at my feet, black, forbidding, stagnant: and as my legs and then my waist, went in it felt most damnably cold. Now I went right in, and we were holding ourselves in position by the wooden piles on which the kiosk had been built. Nigel did not use his light again, and so far as I could judge there were shout two feet of air between the surface of the water and the rafters just above our head. Using the piles, we pulled ourselves out to the edge of the great wooden building, which lowered above us in the starry night.

"That way!" Nigel whispered, and I could just see his pointing arm. "We'll hug the shore. The Duesenberg is ready in a lane running through those trees. It's only a hundred yards or so. Take your own time. I'll be there beside you, and come if anything is wanted."

I was afraid I might have to take him at his word; for now that I had been about a minute in the water, I began to feel so cold and weak that I doubted my capacity to swim even that short distance. Now we were off; and as I swam, slowly, steadily, with an easy side-stroke, I suppose the circulation must have brightened up, for I began to feel comparatively good, and so, whispering to Nigel that he should watch the way, I turned over on my back.

The huge oblong of the old wooden palace we had left loomed against the sky. Light shone through Venetian shutters from two windows on the ground floor at the end whence we had come; the remainder of the great façade was dark, solemn, and forbidding.

Then, at the other end, a row of windows flashed suddenly alight, and after some few seconds light after light was switched on as someone made his way in the direction of the illuminated window where I had been confined. Babanian must have returned early!

Outside, under the dark canopy of night, as we swam along the shore, everything was still, save for a faint ripple and our breathing. How long would this silence last! How far had we got to go?

I was beginning to think I must have misconstructed what was happening, when a roar, like that of a lion at Whipsnade, rose in the far end of the house and re-echoed from the tall trees across the water. A shattering detonation followed. One of the lighter pairs of shutters was flung violently open, and a square figure, leaning out, bulged large against the light behind. That figure was as suddenly withdrawn and the shutters crashed to again. An alarm bell, brazen, loud, began to shrill insistently. More lights sprang up here and there, with a shouting of hoarse voices and a pounding of feet upon the wooden boards.

"Were for it now!" I gasped. I had little breath to spare, but swam on quietly upon my back.

"Cheer up, Zephyr," Nigel answered. "We'll make it easily."

My heart was pounding and my legs were getting tired. A moment later I was nearly blinded, for a searchlight blazed out from the water level at the near end of the great house. Perhaps it was lucky that the thing opened first on us, for immediately it switched off from the shore, and the circle of its beam played on the tall trees away to our right. Then, with the roar of a racing engine, a motor boat shot out from the self-same place, prow up, stern down, and that searchlight glaring from the bows. As the craft tore past us, not twenty yards away, I saw three men huddled in the stern― one with a spotlight in his hand; one, go far is I could see, with a sub-machine-gun, and, seated in the middle, bigger than the other two, black haired, bellowing aloud, rode Babanian himself. As they swerved to port, the swelling wash tossed my tired body up and down ; and, swallowing a mouthful of the water, I began to splutter. But Nigel's hands got me by the chin and neck ; and thus, swimming quietly on his own back, he pulled my weary carcass gradually to cover.

The white wake of the motor-boat was swiftly spreading, while the craft at its apex angle cleft the black waters and sped towards the open Bosphorus; but the owner's voice was drowned by the shuddering exhaust.

A moment later we had scrambled out of the water and were making our way towards the lane where the car lay under tall old trees. I wished I had not such tender feet, for every pebble made me wince, whereas Nigel, whose feet seemed insensible to pain, hurried me along. We were out of the wood, and there stood the Duesenberg, a safe harbour, a relief, and rest.

I got into the back seat and Nigel wrapped me round with rugs. He slipped his own shoes on and a greatcoat, fed himself into the driving-seat, and then the car was away.

"Don't you catch a chill!" he called across his shoulder. A moment later we had nosed out on to the main road, and, turning south, we gathered speed, for between the high walls and over-hanging trees those headlights made the visibility as good as day.

27

An Old Friend

"WHENEVER Cornelia looked round there was the car, and it never occurred to us that the chap who waved back could be anyone but you!"

Nigel was sitting on my bed, as I sipped a cup of coffee an hour later in I a big, comfortable room at the American Embassy in Pera.

"Of course we lost you in Istanboul, but that didn't seem to matter, as you knew the place backwards, and could find your own way here without our help. But when you didn't appear we hardly knew what to think. It was the ambassador who insisted on ringing up the police, but it was a couple of hours before the First Secretary got news of the car. Then it transpired that a Turkish Robert had seen a car with your number heading north through Taitim Square. That astonished us, but the ambassador thought you might have imagined that he was still at the summer embassy up the Bosphorus. It was not till midnight that the First Secretary came in with a grave face, said there had been a terrible accident, that your car had fallen into the Bosphorus somewhere near Debok, and that no bodies had been recovered. That shook Cornelia badly, poor kid! The ambassador told the First Secretary to take a car and go and see what had really happened.

"How did it all strike you?" I asked.

"Well, I wasn't exactly enjoying it, as you can imagine, but although I couldn't remember that we'd said anything about it― I for one hadn't known there was such a thing as a summer Embassy― I just knew in my own mind that you had meant to come here. It was worrying, but somehow I simply couldn't believe that you were really bobbing down the Bosphorus. There had been enough drowning in this show already, and I didn't feel that everybody would get bumped off the same way. Besides, you had always told me that you knew the place backwards, and that you had lived up the Bosphorus, and I couldn't picture even you being mutt enough to drive slap into the water in a place you knew."

"I'm glad you give me credit for some common sense."

"You weren't too darned clever to be caught at Adrianople! However, my great brain argued that, if you hadn't driven the car in, someone else must have driven it in for you."

"Bravo!"

"It's all very well to laugh, but lots of people wouldn't have thought of that; in fact, the others didn't. In the circs, however, if anybody had driven your car in for you, it must have been Babanian or one of his bright boys, for no one else had a motive, so far as I knew. I think you'll agree that my train of reasoning was pretty smart. The more I thought it over, the more sure I became that I was on the right lines: that you had been kidnapped and that they had bunged the car in to make out you were dead. They must have got you in Istanbul, I thought at first; and, if you were hidden in same potty little wooden house or one of the burnt areas it might be hellish hard to find you. Here again I reasoned logically."

The creature's ape-like face was split from ear to ear.

"I checked up in my mind on the whole story of the formula (as you had told it to me), and it seemed to me that, unless Babanian wanted to get something from you, he would be more likely to keep out of reach and hand you off than to go after you himself. But if he wanted to get something from you, instead of leaving you stuck in Istanbul, he would obviously have you brought to his own abode.

"When I had argued this all out I put on a knowing look and asked old man Ambassador if he'd care to hear my reconstruction of the crime. He looked a bit surprised, but answered 'yes' in a voice that obviously meant 'no,' and I went on glibly before be could repent. I didn't give the whole show away― trust me for that― but I let fall a bombshell when I said I happened to know that you were here on a mission connected with Babanian and that the mission was of such a nature that I wouldn't put it past the old rogue to try to do you in. Cornelia seemed a bit excited that I hadn't told her this before; but here the Ambassador came to my assistance, patted me in a fatherly manner on the back, and said, 'Quite right, my boy, quite right! If your friend was entrusted with a confidential mission and has seen fit to put you wise, you would have no right to let in any third party!' He made quite a speech about it and fairly lectured the niece on the duties of diplomatists.

"But when I got the old man back on to the subject he felt he couldn't play. He said that, whereas he was the last person in the world to wish to tap a guest's confidence, it was out of the question for him to take official action with the Turks on the subject of an international millionaire whom I might have good reason to suspect, unless he himself were fully au fait with the grounds for such suspicion and could personally sustain the gravamen of the charge, whatever that may mean! But the old man helped me all the same, for he gave me an introduction to the Governor of Istanbul, whom he described as a good man and a live wire, adding that there was no reason why I, as a private individual, should not go to the Governor, explain my suspicions, and ask if he could see his way to helping me at all. 'That,' he said, handing me a written note, 'should secure you an interview with the Governor himself.'

"I took a taxi and shot across to Istanbul. The note worked magic, and I wasn't kept waiting long. I was shown right through into a big office where a middle-aged, clean-shaven, nice looking chap was sitting at a desk. This was the Governor himself, and he got up as I came in. He speaks jolly good English, but uses some weird expressions. He murmured something about a 'hearty growl' as he shook me by the hand. So I laughed and said it was a 'hearty squeeze' at any rate, for he has got a darned good grin; but the Governor looked a little puzzled.

"Without giving away too much I had to give him some idea what we were up against and the moment Babanian's name was mentioned he perked  up and I got the impression that the Governor was already on the scent, although he wouldn't let out everything he knew. I told him I thought the old man must have kidnapped you, and of course he wanted your description. I gave it exactly from head to foot, and as I went on he grew more and more excited. He took no notes, but had a far away look in his eye. He wrote your name down, though, and me spell it. For a while he sat with puckered brows. At last he laughed and slapped his thigh and said something in Turkish which I couldn't understand. I didn't like to press him, because I don't know all your murky past in the Near East and I was afraid that my description might have let out something dangerous.

"But the Governor seemed so pleased and once he thought he had established your identity he seemed all out to help; so I felt I hadn't done much harm. He told me that he knew the place where Babanian was living, and that it was just the kind of house to hide a man in. Then he said― and he begged me to respect his confidence― that, for reasons which he was not at liberty to disclose but which were probably the same as those which interested me, he already had the house under discreet surveillance. He added that he was unable to take more active steps without more definite information.

"I cursed under my breath and thought that I was just up against officialdom again, until the Governor went on to say that he'd be glad to help me through, and that if I'd take a ride in his motor up the Bosphorus he'd see what could be done.

"So we piled into his car. Gosh, what a car! And what a run! After Belisha, it shook me to the core. The moment his chauffeur started up, the gates were hurled open and the sentries simply tumbled back. Just in time, too! For we tore through that gate about forty miles an hour, and the people fell aside like ninepins. As we roared across Galata Bridge and up the Grand Rue, it was like the progress of the London Fire Brigade; and, although I expected a crash or a corpse at any moment, the Governor sat by my side, bolt upright in uniform, and never glanced right or left. People who are 'somebody' in this country know how to make the fact quite clear.

"Before we got to those long walls which lead up to the old Noah's Ark where I found you, we stopped behind a corner, and the Governor collected a report from some plain-clothes men. They said that early in the morning two men, one very tall and one of medium height, had been brought to the kiosk by water in a launch, and carried inside like invalids. So we got out; and, led by one of the plain-clothes men, we made our way through the little wood where you and I landed, to have a look at the house across the creek.

"Two windows on the ground floor were pointed out to us, for their shutters had been opened just after the two stiffs had been brought in from the launch. It looked pretty certain that they must have been you and Hilmi, and that the windows were those of the room in which you were confined. So I took my bearings carefully, and told the Governor that I meant to return after dark and have a good reconnaissance. He was all out to help; told me I was just the kind of chap he liked, and wished he was still my age. Hiding in the wood, I worked the whole plan out with him.

"He introduced me to one of his officers, Sheref, who spoke English and would be left in charge. I was promised a safe entry through the cordon, a free hand while I was in the house, and, so far as that could be ensured, a clear getaway when I emerged. In fact, they went so far as to say they would do their best to balk any pursuit. The Governor and Sheref assured me that, even if I were caught and Babanian preferred a charge against me for lingering or breaking in, no official action would be taken. It's just as well I got that undertaking, in view of the dead man we left lying in the house. The Governor explained that his patrol at the south end of the long wall would report to him tonight if they didn't see the car pass back toward Constant. And he himself is coming round here tomorrow morning to find out what has happened.

"He dropped me near the embassy, and I made my preparations. The less  old Calhoun knew, the better he'd be pleased. And I didn't want to upset Cornelia, so I just took her car without saying anything about it.

"There's nothing much more to tell. I left the car where we found her,  crept through the wood, and looked out across the creek. Sure enough, I could see two lights just above the water level on the exact bearing of the windows where we thought you were confined. I swam across and was lucky; for I hadn't been paddling about long, looking for some way in when I heard what you might call 'suspicious conversation' break out overhead. I didn't know the lingo; but when your ugly voice piped up, that sealed it. Then I fished out the torch from a pocket sewn into my bathing gown, and it didn't take me long to spot the trap-door. I suppose old Babanian must have had it made as a additional 'prop' for that room to let people secretly in and out. But, as there  were people in the room with you, I didn't like to shift the bolt till you began to snore. I used to think snoring was hellish trick, but now I see its uses. I was like an organ and saved the situation. You know what happened then."

I had closed my eyes while he was speaking, and lay, comfortable an sleepy, listening to his tale.

"You silly swab!" I muttered. "You ought never to have come; but I'm  grateful."

"Lock for saying that!"

"And I'll make a point of thanking the Governor of Istanboul if he turn up tomorrow. I wonder who he is and why he seems to know me. Well, night-night, and thank God things have turned out well."

By eleven o'clock next morning we were all assembled in the Ambassador's study, and I told him as much of my story as I deemed fit for his ear.

I said nothing about Magruder, merely remarking that I had been sent, and leaving it at that; but I describe Starling's invention in general terms; the murder, the theft of the formula― and, lastly, its recovery. That paper was too dangerous to carry further with me, and I wished to destroy it in the ambassadorial presence, since Mr Calhoun should prove an unimpeachable witness whose neutrality was beyond question.

He was tall and thin and rather bony with the stamp of the Red Indian across his rat-trap mouth, and the slightly exotic look, which well-to-do  Americans so often carry. He had listened to me with a detached air but gradually increasing interest.

"I congratulate you, Mr Beldrum," he remarked when I had done, and  offered me a large, well-manicured hand. "So that's the famous formula," he went on, examining the paper through his spectacles. "No doubt your Government has its own copy for reference in case of some emergency; but I don't reckon it's a thing that any world Power would use, assuming that the stuff is as potent as you say, for its indiscriminate employment would bring down the whole fabric of society. A thing like that is best well out of the way, and if you intend to destroy it I think you will be well advised."

He handed me a silver tray arranged for sealing-wax and matches. I lit one corner of the paper and held it with a tiny pair of tongs while we all watched it burn right out. Then I pounded the charred fragments into dust.

"I must congratulate you, too, Mr Blair, not only on your rescue of my niece― of that I have already spoken― but especially on your intrepid conduct last night, and apologise for having been at that time unable to give you any direct help. You seem to have used the introduction which I gave you with rare initiative and discretion. But we'll say no more about that, if you please!"

He turned towards Cornelia with a broad smile,

"The representative of a foreign Power must tread warily on the soil to which he is accredited, but where there is evidence that activities prejudicial to the interests of the nation which he represents are going on, it may become his duty to step in, as I did about your kidnapping in Macedonia.

"Mr Beldrum, however, is not an American subject, and I am inclined to think that, in the matter of obtaining satisfaction for himself and the release of his servant Hilmi― a Greek national, no doubt― steps initiated by my British colleague would be more appropriate; unless, indeed, the Governor of Istanbul should himself take action. You say, Mr Blair, that he will be getting in touch with you to-day? On the other hand, apart from reporting what has happened confidentially to Washington, you may count on me to keep my mouth shut."

The telephone rang on the Ambassador's table, and he listened for some moments with attention before hanging the receiver up.

"The Governor of Istanbul has called to see me on urgent and confidential business. From what they tell me on the telephone it sounds as if it must have to do with you. Perhaps you would care to stay with me. But it would be just as Well for you, dear, and for Mr Blair to withdraw for the moment. My sitting-room next door is at your service. So many of us present would look like a kind of family gathering."

Those two children departed, nothing loth.

A moment later the Governor of Istanbul was announced. A man of middle height, erect, well made, dressed in the neat uniform of a Turkish general, he strode in, spurs jingling, with a self-possession not at all offensive but characteristic of a man of the world who knows his own mind. To me it was strange to see an officer come in thus bare-headed and with a European cap held in his left hand, for I had been accustomed to the kalpak, which suited the Turkish military so well, and of which I regret the disappearance. That brought me to his face― bold, independent, fearless, with bright blue eyes, and a humorous, almost rollicking expression. He bore his middle age lightly; surely― yes, it must be the man I had saved fifteen years before in Khudavendighiar― the man of my dream in London, Ertoghrul Bey! In some odd way that dream had been prophetic. So I waited silently on one side, yet seething with suppressed excitement. No doubt the visitor should take me for a member of His Excellency's staff.

After the usual preliminaries, and without so much as a glance in my direction, the newcomer went straight to the business in hand, and it turned out to be my own; but he approached it from an angle which I at least had not expected.

He began, indeed, with a reference to the unfortunate kidnapping of the Ambassador's niece in Macedonia; but I was mistaken in supposing that he would use the incident solely by way of introduction, for he proceeded, in short, clear-cut sentences after the manner of a Turkish soldier and so unlike that of their journalists or politicians, to follow up a sequel which explained things that had not been clear to us before. Although the Greek authorities in Salonika bad assured me that the dishonest guide, Tsaldaris, would be immediately arrested on the information I had laid, it appeared that they had been too optimistic for the man had gone to ground and evaded capture.

But after we left he had been taken, and under pressure― Ertoghrul gave a deprecating smile as who should say it was not for him to say what kind of pressure Greeks might use― Tsaldaris had divulged a packet. First, he had admitted complicity with Kara-Vassiloff and confessed that it was he who had informed the brigand chief of our arrival and kept him posted with our plans. This much I knew already. Under further pressure― a still more deprecating smile from Ertoghrul― he stated that he had not so acted purely as a matter of routine but had been moved in this instance by special instructions received from a source which he was for a long while unwilling to divulge. At length, however, he had, so far as the Greek authorities believed, come clean and electrified the interrogating judge by asserting that both he, the guide at Salonika, and Kara-Vassiloff, the brigand chief among the mountains, were subsidised to do his work and obey his orders by a certain Mr Babanian, the international financier.

Once he had taken the plunge and given away the identity of his secret master he had spilled all sorts of other details, some of which would be of peculiar interest to the American Ambassador. In the first place, he affirmed that Miss Vandalaer's capture had been a sideshow, staged by Kara-Vassiloff, who could not resist the idea of getting hold of an American heiress when he heard that she would he touring in the mountains; whereas Mr Babanian's orders had been to capture me and to hold me somewhere among the hills until Mr Babanian himself sent further orders with regard to my disposal.

When this plan miscarried owing to Kara-Vassiloff's greed: he had gone off in the direction of the Mala Bupa with his female booty. After that things had got too hot, and, when Cornelia's release had been effected through the combined action of the Greek and Serbian forces, Tsaldaris had received orders from Mr Babanian to maintain the closest watch on our movements, should we return to Salonika, and report exactly what we meant to do. Acting on his first instructions, he had already intercepted Miss Vandalaer's letter to His Excellency, and, with the help of another agent employed in the post-office, had likewise intercepted the Ambassador's reply. Both had been dispatched by sure hand to Mr Babanian.

"I certainly was surprised," Mr Calhoun observed, "by the time those letters took. I replied in writing and naturally supposed my second letter had got through, because my niece arrived."

It was now clear enough to me that the telegram from Istanboul was a fake prepared by Babanian to lure us into a trap.

Tsaldaria had admitted that, pursuant on further instructions, he had telephoned to Mr Babanian the time and date of our departure from Salonika, and the numbers of our respective cars. Ertoghrul went on to explain that, owing to the new Government in Greece, great changes had as usual been made in the civil administration, and that, when Athens had learned the facts disclosed from Salonika, the Government, which was anti-Venizelist and therefore for anti anything subversive, had seen a way of striking at the old statesman's power by weakening the financier who supported Macedonian bands and had so many irons in the fire. Hence it had taken the unusual course of transmitting all these facts to Angora where the Minister of National Defence had not been impressed with Mr Babanian's ability to deliver the goods which purported to be essentially destructive. Nor had the idea appealed to the Ghazi, whose policy was to build a state and not to pull one down. He was not, however, a man to let things slip, but preferred to see whatever might be going. A discreet watch had, therefore, been kept on the Damed Ahmed Zeki Pasha kiosk.

My disappearance on the previous day and the wreckage of my car had supported the Greek story, tallied with a report of two persons brought secretly to the kiosk, and strengthened their suspicions of Babanian himself.

When Mr Blair had come to see him, certain procedure had been arranged― quite unofficially, of course. Mr Blair had he understood, returned safely from his "visit" to the kiosk with a gentleman whom he sincerely trusted was the missing Mr Beldrum. He had, therefore, come to pay his respects to the Ambassador and to inquire whether His Excellency was in a position to throw further light upon the matter. He concluded by observing that he had referred the question to Angora and had received instructions to find the missing gentleman and the servant who had been with him in the car. With these objects in view, he felt that a perquisition of the kiosk might now yield excellent results.

The Ambassador laughed pleasantly and thanked the Governor of Istanboul for having given him his confidence. "But I don't think you will have far to look for Mr Beldrum," he went on. "There he sits. Allow me to introduce you to each other !"

"We are already well acquainted," I replied, rising to my feet.

Ertoghrul started at my voice and stepped back as if he saw a ghost. Then, after a moment's eager scrutiny, he pressed forward and took me by both hands.

"So it is really you," he cried. "I thought it must be yesterday, when Mr Blair described you. That is why I gave him all the help I could."

It was the Ambassador's turn to be surprised.

I let Ertoghrul have speech and he described the incident in Khudavendighiar. I told of my dream in London. And he said how he had waited for this day, but never thought to see it.

As he spoke, two thoughts were rising in my mind; first Hilmi must be rescued and without delay; secondly, I would get my own back on Babanian,  and here stood the very man to help me do it. Ertoghrul and the Turkish Government knew all about the invention which the old rascal had been hawking, but the formula itself had been destroyed, so that was safe enough. Thus I could do no harm by giving Ertoghrul the information he required to make things hot for Babanian. I explained, therefore, in the shortest terms that the invention was not Babanian's to sell; that he had obtained its secret by murder and theft; that he had been unable to decipher the formula even when he had got it, and so would have the Turks a pup in any case. There was no call to speak about the secret writing, for that was dead and best forgotten. I told in greater detail how Babanian had captured me and repeated his own account of the destruction of my car, adding that I could be called in evidence to this point as I should be staying on in Turkey some time longer.

"Vadnhi, azizini!" ("Good God, my dear fellow!") Ertoghrul exclaimed. "You've given us all the evidence we want, and I'll repay my debt to you as best I can by returning Hilmi to you safe and sound. May I use one of your Excellency's lines? The police are standing by in motor cars ready to raid the Damad Ahmed Zeki Pasha kiosk, and my assistant, Sheref, is waiting for orders at the head of the telephone."

The ambassador pressed a bell on his table.

"Most certainly! I'll have you conducted to the chancery, where you can use another line. I shall be interested to hear what happens; but before you go it might be as well for me to confirm that the formula which Mr Beldrum has described was actually destroyed in my presence not half an hour ago. There," he added, "are the ashes."

"Teshekur ederem, teshekur ederem!" ("Thank you! Thank you!") Ertoghrul pronounced his thanks. "I will await Kheref's report in the room which Your Excellency may appoint, and as soon as I get his answer it will be an honour to submit it personally to your lofty presence."

With a military click of the heels, and bowing stiffly from the hips Ertoghrul strode out in the wake of the kavass who had come for him.

"Not much 'bendenir' ('your servant') about that man!" His Excellency observed.

"No, thank God I And that is what prompted me to intercede for him with Anzavour."

We were discussing that curious, troubled time, when a secretary came in and said that a letter marked "Personal and Very Urgent" had been sent across from the British Embassy addressed to me. I took it and, asking the ambassador's permission, retired to my own room.

It was from Magruder and informed me that all the loose strands left in Great Britain had been tied; a surprising narrative it was. I, it seemed, had been mainly responsible for the unravelling of a tangled skein. Gresham had been sent to France as an independent check on me. It had been hoped that his reports would either confirm mine or throw such fresh light on the doings of the other side as should enable Magruder, collating one with the other, to arrive at a good percentage of the truth. This plan has miscarried through young Skelton, who had replaced the old minister, Mucklehoney, in Uist, for a week or two. Skelton was the first man I underrated, and my error cost us dear. A minister in fact, he was of those few who have gone wrong; and, falling in difficult ways, he was fertile ground on which Babanian could sow his cash through an intermediary in Glasgow. By leaving Garramore at dead of night, Gresham thought he was clear, but the smug young reprobate had reported his movements and even followed him to France.

Thus it befell that, when Gresham chose for visiting the Chateau de I'Aspe the very day on which Babanian had arranged to meet his principal English agent, he was taken by surprise in a compromising situation, and was denounced by Skelton on the spot. Subjected to torture, Gresham had admitted that I, Beldrum, had been charged with the task of recovering the formula. Then indeed Babanian had kicked himself for having let me slip while I was fishing the Coup de I'Aspe that afternoon. He had thought me just a sideshow, and had been content with frightening me away. But when I returned and must have overheard a part at least of what had passed between Babanian and his very secret visitor, and yet had got away a second time, then indeed the financier's rage had been terrible, and the decision had been taken to hound me down at all costs.

Babanian and the secretary had gone forthwith to London, where I was placed under close surveillance. My wire to Nigel about reserving places in the Luxuriatic had of course been read by the Armenian at the R.A.C., and for this reason Babanian had travelled by land instead. Arriving ahead of me at Salonika, he had prepared a trap from which he thought I should not escape; but when, owing to the truculence of Kara-Vassiloff, this plan had gone wrong, the Adrianople scheme was substituted. I saw it all now.

Skelton himself had remained at the chateau until after his master's interview with the mysterious visitor had been held, and had not returned immediately to England. But, once on British soil, he had been arrested and charged with complicity in Gresham's murder, although none of this had come out in the papers. Thus it was that Skelton, who did not know the man himself, had been instrumental in unmasking on identity hitherto so carefully covered, for he had placed Magruder in possession of the exact time and date when the interview had taken place.

A great deal of routine work, in collaboration with the French Police, had resulted in establishing the fact that only one man who had access  to Starling's invention had travelled from Salisbury, via London, Calais, Paris and the Côte d'Argent Express to Bordeaux at the time in question and had returned to London immediately thereafter. When it was further established that on the day following the interview, this man had arrived at Bordeaux  in time to catch the Sud Express for Paris in a black Mercedes run by Babanian, the circumstantial evidence against him was already pretty strong; but when he asked a junior in Magruder's own department for details regarding secret ink his guilt was proved to all intents and purposes.

And now I come to the strangest part of the whole tale, one that would have disconcerted most people, convinced as they are of the loyal incorruptibility of the British officer; for the man was Julian Drake, brigadier-general, staff, of the Wessex command.

I knew him, too, and that seemed to make it worse. Now I was given a resume of his odd career, and it confirmed my first impression. A university candidate, and brilliantly endowed, he had graduated at the staff college in 1912. During the war and the Berni war which followed, he had risen from strength to strength through various intelligence appointments. Employed after the armistice with Denmiss in South Russia, he had got into financial  difficulties, and, in a weak moment, accepted from one Reuben Heifetz, a substantial bribe for securing him a visa to his passport. This lapse might have had no lasting consequence, had the fact not become known to Babanian, for whom Heifetz did a lot of business. Endowed with a bottomless purse, and always ready to seize an opportunity of securing a well placed agent in a powerful country, Babanian had forced Drake, by threat of exposure to, accept a substantial sum which should put him on his feet, and extracted a receipt. From that day Drake had been the millionaire's unwilling slave. How much he had given away no man could tell, for he had never been suspected. But when it came to Starling's invention passing through his hands at Salisbury, the information had been discreetly placed with Babanian, who, failing to corrupt the inventor, had had him murdered in his laboratory and had thus obtained possession of the formula.

Magruder's letter ended thus:

"I chanced to see him at the club studying the tape-machine, so I bore down on him, as no one was about, and told him that the game was up. Poor fellow, he was found dead in bed next morning. Perhaps it was better so. 'Suicide while of unsound mind,' the coroner said, and he was in financial difficulties, I got a confidential letter from him, though― he must have written it just before his death― and that cleared up his story. All this is for your private ear and to keep you posted with the facts from my end.

"Let me know at once how you stand about recovering the formula."

I burned this letter carefully. No wonder I had felt, when introduced to the man in London, that I had met him somewhere before, since his was the cultivated English voice which I had heard talking so glibly with Babanian at the Chateau de l'Apse, before the shutter swung us in upon them! Poor chap what a horrible existence! He had a wife, too, no doubt. Better, certainly, that she should never know!

Well, to get on with it! I could not go straight back to the Ambassador in his Office, where he would probably be transacting business. So I betook me to the sitting-room whither Nigel and Cornelia had been sent.

There the children were, sitting side by side on an ottoman, and there they remained as I came in.

"Lunch for us," I cried, "at the Pera Palace, chaps! For my job is done and I need to celebrate. "

"Okey-doke!" from Nigel.

"Yes," drawled Cornelia, "we'll be seeing you when all the old beans have had their say."

The door swung open from his study, and the Ambassador came in, smiling, unruffled, and urbane. He ushered past him, as he held the door open, Ertoghrul, whose eyes lit up the moment that he saw Cornelia. But after bowing ceremoniously to her the first thing that he did was to stride across to Nigel and take him by the hand. Different in size, different in age, utterly different in race, the two were very much akin. Both were adventurous spirits, ready to stake their all on a cause or on a person. Both radiated vitality in a way which it did one good to see.

"You have done for me," said Ertoghrul, "a double service, Nigel Bey (as the boy we have rescued from the kiosk calls you). You have brought me in touch again with the man who saved my life 15 years ago, and you have enabled me to repay in a small degree the service done me. But all the credit is yours, Nigel Bey! I congratulate a brave man. You might almost be a Turk." He laughed good-humouredly.

"What happened," I asked, "about Babanian?"

"We found the boy Hilmi," Ertoghrul replied, "locked in a ground-floor room of the west wing. Babanian had gone, and he had taken with him every paper from his office. I should have liked to run through them, for Babanian is very high up in the Dashnaksoutioun, the Camorra of the Armenians, if not its very chief. But the whole lot had gone, bar one dead negro found in the room next door to Hilmi's."

"That's me!" said Nigel, pointing to his chest,

"A good riddance!" Ertoghrul responded with a smile. "It is time I should be going."

"Very well" the Ambassador rejoined. "We are all deeply indebted to His Excellency the Governor of Istanboul. And the reunion of two old friends, such as be and Mr Beldrum, must be cause for gratification to them both. But I feel sure that those of us who are more advanced in years will join me in wishing to the two young people, who have shared each other's dangers in the Macedonian Mountains, our very best wishes for a happy future."

Ertoghrul and I signified assent; and, after a warm but ceremonious shaking of everybody's hands, the Governor strode out to rejoin his A.D.C's waiting in the ante-room, Mr Calhoun led me off to have a cocktail. As he closed the door behind us, Nigel and Cornelia were still standing side by side, with satisfaction written on their faces.

Epilogue.

THE WIND was howling as it always howls in mid-winter down the English Channel. The Dover boat had just put out from Calais. As the leaden sky above the white horses out to sea promised a rough passage, Nigel and I had made our way into the cosy bar, not yet crowded, and were about to fortify ourselves before we bed to face the weather. Nigel held a gloomy air and for some time could not make up his mind what to order. But at length we moved to a table in the corner, where windows commanded the promenade deck, and were served with large brandy cocktails.

Something had been worrying him of late, and I had a shrewd suspicion what that "something" was. But there is no good asking questions, for a moment will generally arrive when these things come out of themselves. So it was that morning.

"Zephyr!" he broke out at last, staring grimly out to sea. "I don't know what to make of her. It's now six weeks since Cornelia left for the States. I got a postcard saying she had landed at New York, and another that she was back at her home in Virginia. As she got home all right nothing can have happened to her; but since then there hasn't been a word. The poor kid was so unhappy leaving 'Constant,' you know that! And she looked forward to writing all about things as soon as she got back. I know she did. I've written a lot to her, but she hasn't even bothered to answer. So I wrote last night from Paris and told her where she stepped off. Confound the girl!"

So things had fallen out much as I expected. Once back in her own home, among her own people, surrounded by the life to which she had been brought up, the prospect of tying herself for life to a young actor, whose future, after all, was not so far assured, had doubtless taken on a very different light. I was beginning to wonder what would be the best and kindest way of conveying these thoughts to Nigel when suddenly he gripped my wrist with a force that made me jump.

"Coo!" he almost shouted. "What a smasher! Did you see her? It simply isn't true! Or am I foxed!"

He was staring through the window, and following his gaze I caught a glimpse of her perfect little pansy of a face, with enormous violet eyes, tip-tilted nose, the sweetest cherub mouth, and a tiny black hat perched dangerously forward on row upon row of tight-curled auburn ringlets. I had never seen her before. As I turned to address myself to Nigel, the saloon door shut with a bang behind his disappearing back.

Passing my hand wearily across my brow, "What next?" I muttered.

"Eight shillings, sir," the steward said, "for those two brandy cocktails!"

The end

(Serial commencing 20 Mar 1937, Melbourne Argus; and also serialized in 1937 in the  Rockhampton Morning Bulletin and the Maryborough Chronicle

This ebook repared primarily from the Rockhampton Morning Bulletin serial.

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Table of Contents

1: Too Good to be True

2: Gresham

3: We Return to London

4: We Pass Over into France

5: La Chasse à l'izard

6: The Coup de l'Aspe

7: The Chateau

8: Obsession?

9: An Unexpected Traveller

10: Under The Aegis of the Gods

11: On the Trail

13: Macedonian Methods

14: I Fall By The Way

15: The Belashitza Mountains

16: Wheels Within Wheels

17: The Spark

18: Several Irons In The Fire

19: The Battle On La Scie

20: The Cost

21: Two Messages

22: Doubled

23: The Bosphorus

24: A Proposition

25: Two Can Play At That Game

26: Abdullah Departs

27: An Old Friend

Epilogue