CHAPTER XIV
WHEREIN A BISHARIN CAMEL BECOMES USEFUL
To the Arab every white man is a Frank. The European invader was given that name during the First Crusade, and the Paynim does not change appreciably with the centuries. But he has learnt to differentiate between certain varieties of Frank, and Abdur Kad'r murmured maledictions on the Italian species as he watched the mirage slowly fading into nothingness. Though no one had told him the ultimate objective of the caravan, he felt that the presence of Italian soldiers at the nearest stopping-place put a bar to further progress. The mere fact that the kafila came from French territory was unanswerable. There were difficulties enough already, difficulties which must be discussed that evening, but this obstacle was wholly unforeseen.
Under his bent brows the gaunt sheikh had noted Mr. Fenshawe's manner when he turned excitedly to demand an explanation from von Kerber. The Effendi's change of tone told its own tale. Abdur Kad'r, true believer and desert-born, remarked to a brother Arab that Allah was Allah and Mahomet was undoubtedly the Prophet, but that of all the misbegotten produce of swine now cumbering the earth the Italians ranked easily first—or words to that effect. Then he relieved his feelings by objurgating the panic-stricken Somalis, whose superstitious minds interpreted the appearance of the air-borne host as a sure indication of war. He was in the midst of an eloquent outburst when his employer summoned him.
"How far is it to the next oasis?" came the dreaded query.
Abdur Kad'r, shrewd judge of men, knew that he must be explicit.
"Sixty kilometers, honored one," he replied.
"What! Nearly forty English miles?"
"It may be so, Effendi. In our reckoning it is twenty kos and one kos is three kilometers."
"But these Italians—in the mirage—they must be camped near water?"
"There is none nearer than the Well of Suleiman, Effendi."
"Is it possible that a mirage would reveal so clearly a scene taking place at such a distance?"
"Strange things happen in the desert, Effendi. I have seen a village in the sky which my camels were four hours in reaching, and I have been told of sights even more wonderful."
"You are sure about the sixty kilometers?"
"Quite sure, O worthy of honor."
Mr. Fenshawe was skeptical. Mirage-phenomena were familiar to him, but never had they dealt with natural objects beyond a range of a few miles. For the most part, the mirage of the desert is a baseless illusion, depending on the bending of light-rays by air strata of differing densities. The rarer "looming," witnessed occasionally in more northerly latitudes, shows scenes actually in existence, and the best authenticated instance of a long-range view is that testified to by the inhabitants of Hastings, who during three hours on July 26, 1798, saw the whole coastline of France, from Calais to Dieppe, with a distinctness that was then regarded as miraculous.
But, whether Abdur Kad'r's figures were correct or not, there was no gainsaying the evidence of the mirage itself. The collapse of the undertaking was imminent, and the millionaire's tone was exceedingly curt when he called von Kerber to conference.
"There are certain matters which must be cleared up, now that nature has assumed the role of guide," he said dryly. "I have been well aware during the past few days that you were not able to fix on the exact place described in the papyrus. I could pardon that. We are in a country where landmarks are bewilderingly alike, and therefore apt to cause confusion. But how comes it that our rivals can go straight to the place we are in search of, while we wander blindly in the desert? You assured me that yours was the only copy of the papyrus extant with the sole exception of the photographic reproductions supplied to me. Is that true? And, if it is true, who gave these others the information that has brought about our failure?"
Mr. Fenshawe's pride was wounded. All the wrath of the disappointed connoisseur welled forth in his contemptuous words. Their very calmness and precision showed the depth of his anger, and von Kerber, like Abdur Kad'r, felt that the time for specious pretext had gone. So he answered, with equal exactness of phrase:
"I gave you that assurance months ago in Scotland, and repeated it in London, but I have not said it since we met on board the yacht, for the very good reason that the papyrus was stolen from me at Marseilles."
"Stolen!"
"Yes, I was waylaid and robbed while driving from the station to the harbor."
"Purposely, do you mean? Was the papyrus the object of the attack?"
"Yes."
"Then this man, Alfieri, knew of it?"
"I have never concealed that from you."
"It is hard to say what you have or have not concealed, Baron von Kerber. My confidence in you is shaken. How am I to know that this latest version of Alfieri's amazing interference in your affairs is the true one?"
No man is so sensitive of his honor as he who is conscious of by-gone lapses. Von Kerber started as though the other had stabbed him.
"That is an unworthy imputation," he cried. "Mr. Royson can tell you that the papyrus was stolen. He rescued me from my assailants, yes? Mrs. Haxton is aware of it, and, unless I am mistaken, Miss Fenshawe also is no stranger to the news, seeing that our second mate is so greatly in her confidence."
The older man, still watching the last wraiths of the mirage, seemed to be deaf to the Austrian's biting allusion to Irene.
"I did not look for such a web of deceit," he murmured. "The papyrus was genuine, and I sought no other proof of honesty. You say Mrs. Haxton and my granddaughter are in this pact of silence. Let us have their testimony."
Irene, as might be expected, indignantly disclaimed any sympathy with von Kerber's methods.
"I heard, by chance, of the part Mr. Royson took in the affair at Marseilles," she said. "My maid told me. It was the gossip of the ship. Yet, when I questioned Mr. Royson himself, he refused to discuss the matter, owing to some pledge of secrecy drawn from him by Baron von Kerber. You forget, grandad, how often you have told me that I did not understand this undertaking sufficiently to justify my hostility to it. I have never believed in it, not for one moment. If you wish to know what happened at Marseilles, why not ask Mr. Royson himself?"
"Yes," said Mr. Fenshawe quietly, "that will be well. Send for him,
Irene."
It was noteworthy that he addressed no question to Mrs. Haxton. That lady, nervous and ill-at-ease, could not guess how far the rupture between von Kerber and his patron had gone. She felt intuitively that the Austrian was puzzled, perhaps alarmed, by the presence of an official expedition in the very territory he had hoped to explore without hindrance—yet his manner hinted at something in reserve. Though he quivered under Irene's outspoken incredulity, his aspect was that of a man whose schemes have been foiled by sheer ill-luck. A rogue unmasked will grovel: von Kerber was defiant. For the moment, Mrs. Haxton was struck dumb with foreboding. Mr. Fenshawe's dejected air showed that a deadly blow had been dealt to the project to which she had devoted all her resources since the beginning of the march. She, too, had begun to doubt. Here, in the desert, the buried treasure was an intangible thing. In England, the promises of the Greek's dying message were satisfying by their very vagueness. In Africa, face to face with the tremendous solitude, they became unbelievable, a dim fable akin to the legends of vanished islands and those mysterious races to be found only in unknown lands, which have tickled the imaginations of mankind, ever since the dawn of human intelligence. So, a live millionaire being a more definite asset than the hoard of a forgotten city, she had coolly informed von Kerber that if he wished to improve his fortunes, he would do well to pay attention to Miss Fenshawe, and leave her free to win a wealthy husband. It was a villainous pact, but it might have succeeded, at any rate in Mrs. Haxton's case, for no woman could be more gracious and deferentially flattering than she when she chose to exert herself. And now, reality seemed to yield to unreality. The substantial fabric of close friendship between Fenshawe and herself had crumbled before the fiery breath of the wilderness. What a turn of fortune's wheel! Here were all her plans shattered in an instant, and the man on whom depended the future changed into a hostile judge.
Royson found a queer conclave awaiting him. Irene, distressed by the injustice of her grandfather's suspicion that she was sharing in a conspiracy of silence, had retired to a corner of the tent, and wore an air of indifference which she certainly did not feel. Mrs. Haxton, pallid, striving desperately to regain her self-possession, draped herself artistically in a comfortable camp chair. Von Kerber, scowling and depressed, stood near the entrance, and Mr. Fenshawe was seated in the center of the tent. The red light of the declining sun was full on his face, and Dick fancied that he had aged suddenly. Nor was this to be wondered at. No enthusiast, not even a wealthy one, likes to have his hopes of realizing a great achievement dashed to the ground, nor is it altogether gratifying that a woman who has won one's high esteem should be associated with a piece of contemptible trickery.
Mr. Fenshawe's first question told Dick that a serious dispute was toward.
"It has been stated," said Mr. Fenshawe, looking at him in a curiously critical way, "that a valuable document was stolen from Baron von Kerber at Marseilles—what do you know about it?"
Dick, hourly expecting a strenuous turn to the placid marching and camping of the past few weeks, was not taken unaware. He had mapped out a clear line, and meant to follow it.
"I regret to say that I cannot answer you, Mr. Fenshawe," said he, meeting the older man's searching glance unflinchingly.
"Why not?"
"Because I gave an undertaking to that effect to Baron von Kerber."
"But I am your employer, not he."
"No, sir. That is not my view of the contract I signed."
"Have you a copy of that contract'?"
"Yes."
"Will you show it to me?"
"That is unnecessary," broke in von Kerber, with a savage impatience of the quasi-judicial inquiry which Mr. Fenshawe was evidently bent on conducting. "I give Mr. Royson full permission to answer any question you may put to him."
"You do, eh? You give permission? Do you pay his salary?" demanded the millionaire indignantly.
"Yes, on your behalf. Surely the arrangement between us cannot be disputed. I was to make all arrangements, yes?"
"As my paid agent, you should add."
Mrs. Haxton suddenly sat forward in her chair.
"We had a tacit agreement for an equal division of the spoil," she interposed, with an acidity that Mr. Fenshawe probably found in marked contrast with her usual honeyed speech.
"That agreement would have been kept by me," said Fenshawe. "You may not be aware that Baron von Kerber pleaded poverty, and I promised to remunerate him for his services, whether we won or lost. I have no doubt he has my letter, duly stamped at Somerset House, carefully packed away with Mr. Royson's agreement."
The retort was in the nature of the tac-au-tac riposte beloved of the skilled swordsman. It was succeeded by a tense silence. Mrs. Haxton glared at the Baron. The ghost of a smile flickered on Irene's lips as she glanced at Dick. Von Kerber swished one of his boots viciously with a riding-whip. He found he must say something.
"Why are we creating difficulties where none exist?" he snarled. "If the agreement stands in the way, I absolve Mr. Royson from any promise he has made. I wanted to guard against treachery, not to tie him down to serve me exclusively."
"You asked for obedience and a still tongue, Baron. I have given you both," said Dick.
"There is your employer, and mine—speak."
Von Kerber could not be other than dramatic. He pointed to Mr. Fenshawe with a fine gesture.
"I have not much to say, unless in the form of opinions. You certainly were attacked at Marseilles, and you yourself charged one of your assailants with stealing the papyrus. Beyond that, I know little of your business, though, from letters and cablegrams which reached me at various places, it seems to have been quite extensively known in London."
"Who was your informant?" asked Fenshawe.
"A solicitor named Forbes. He is not personally acquainted with Baron von Kerber, but this man Alfieri, of whom we have heard so much, employed private detectives. They, in the course of events, discovered my identity, and met Mr. Forbes. It is only fair to Baron von Kerber to say that I have never heard his version of the charge brought against him by Alfieri."
"I have," said the millionaire, grimly.
There was no mistaking the inference to be drawn from his words. Von Kerber was wholly discredited. It was exceedingly probable that the first march of the return journey to Pajura would be ordered forthwith. Indeed, Fenshawe rose to his feet, meaning to bid Abdur Kad'r prepare to strike camp after the evening meal, when Mrs. Haxton, divining his intent, cried shrilly:
"May I ask what new circumstance has brought about this remarkable change in your plans, Mr. Fenshawe? It is true that we have been favored by an extraordinary vision of an Italian expedition at no great distance from our own, but what proof have we that it is successful, or even engaged on an errand similar to ours?"
"The mere fact that extensive research is being carried on is sufficiently convincing. Italian soldiers and Arabs do not form huge earthworks in the desert for amusement," said Fenshawe.
"They may be trying a last desperate chance," she retorted.
"You forget that they have the same information as ourselves. There is no trouble in deciphering demotic Greek and the hieroglyph minerals are quite simple. Once the papyrus left Baron von Kerber's possession, our exclusive right to it vanished, and you can hardly expect me to engage in an armed attack on the military forces of a friendly nation."
"So far as the papyrus goes, it is utterly useless to any one," broke in von Kerber suddenly.
Mr. Fenshawe was stirred out of his studied calm by the seeming absurdity of the interruption.
"Useless!" he exclaimed, and his brow seamed with anger, "that is a strange word to apply to the only evidence of your story that you have ever produced."
"I always feared Alfieri," said the other, throwing his hands out as if he were pushing away a threatening phantom. "He was spiteful, and jealous, and he knew enough to drive him mad with desire. But I would allow no one to interfere with me, yes? When I was sure of my ground, when I had secured translations of each piece of the papyrus, I altered it."
"Altered it!"
Incredulity and hope were oddly mixed in the cry which came simultaneously from the lips of two of his hearers. Even Irene and Dick, less wrapped up in the dream of finding the Sabaean hoard, awaited von Kerber's next utterance with bated breath. The man was too unnerved to feel any triumph at the sensation he had created.
"Yes," he said, sinking wearily into a chair, though his voice almost cracked with excitement. "I changed the distances in every instance permitted by the text. As it stands now, the papyrus is utterly worthless. I acted for the best, yes? A secret known to more than one ceases to be a secret. But I am tired of pretense, and you shall have the truth, though it carries with it a confession of ghastly failure. I do not know what good fortune Alfieri has blundered into at Suleiman's Well, and I admit that the place offered my own last chance. Yet, if he has found the treasure, it was not because of the papyrus, but despite it. Here are photographs of every section in their present form," and he produced some prints from a pocket-book.
"You were taught some Greek at school, Mr. Royson? Very well. Look at the passages which are faintly underlined, and you will, see where I have altered whole phrases, converted tens of miles into hundreds, and hundreds of paces into thousands. And that is the document which Alfieri obtained at Marseilles. He would recognize it as the original, though it is now quite misleading. If he is digging at the right place by reason of the directions given there, it is something beyond belief, yes?"
"You speak of Alfieri recognizing the papyrus. Evidently, then, he had seen it earlier. In what manner was he connected with its discovery?"
Mr. Fenshawe's coldly direct question came in sharp contrast with the Austrian's impassioned outburst. Von Kerber did not reply. With his elbows resting on his knees, and supporting his chin between clenched fists, he looked through the open door of the tent with eyes that stared into vacancy. The man was in a frenzy of despair. He saw the chance of his life slipping away from him, but he could urge no plea in his own behalf. It was Mrs. Haxton who answered, and her composure was oddly at variance with von Kerber's distress.
"Alfieri was assistant curator of a museum at Naples when the Italian occupation of Erythrea led to his appointment as government archeologist in this territory," she said. "My husband was in charge of the Red Sea cable at that time, and Signor Giuseppe Alfieri was a friend of ours. An Arab named Abdullah El Jaridiah, grubbing among old tombs for curios, came across a roll of papyri. He sold it to Alfieri for a few francs, and Alfieri gave it to my husband."
She paused; she was not a woman who said too much.
"I take it that Alfieri knew no Greek?" said Mr. Fenshawe, with a touch of irony that was not lost on the lady.
"He certainly failed to appreciate its importance," was the quiet response. "My husband deciphered most of the narrative, but he, in his turn, had no knowledge of hieroglyphics, and, as you are aware, many of the words and figures are contained in ovals, or cartouches, and written in Egyptian characters. He would have learnt their meaning from some other source, but he—died—very suddenly. An accident caused Alfieri to suspect the value of the papyrus, and he asked me to return it. Unfortunately, I led him to believe that I would meet his wish, but Baron von Kerber, who, as you know, was medical officer to a German mission to King Menelek, came to my assistance at the time, and I told him of my husband's views with regard to the portion he had translated. Baron von Kerber read the hieroglyphics, though he had to wait nearly a year before he could obtain expert advice as to the accuracy of his rendering. Meanwhile, Signor Alfieri and I had quarreled. I may as well tell you that he was pestering me to marry him, and I grew to hate the man. Then I returned to England, and a friend suggested that I should endeavor to interest you. Now you have the whole story, so far as I am concerned in it."
"If that is so, it would have been better had you taken me into your confidence at the outset," said Fenshawe.
"Alfieri was using threats. I feared the loss of your co-operation if a melodramatic element were introduced."
"But are not you and Baron von Kerber, and, as it would seem, your Italian admirer also, attributing an absurdly fictitious value to the find? People do not pay high prices for old coins merely because they are historic. I have always regarded this treasure-trove as purely antiquarian in its interest. It may contain some vessels or statuettes worth money; but to what extent? Certainly not such fabulous sums as you appear to imagine."
Mrs. Haxton smiled sourly.
"We are dealing in candor," she cried. "Pray complete your confession,
Baron von Kerber."
The Austrian did not abandon his dejected pose, but he took up the parable readily.
"There is one slip of papyrus you have never seen, Mr. Fenshawe," he said. "Perhaps you have been surprised that such a careful scribe as Demetriades gave no details of the loot? I kept them back. There were fifty camel-loads of precious vessels and rare stuffs brought from the East. There were one hundred and twenty camel-loads of gold coins, and two camels carried leather wallets filled with pearls and rubies and diamonds."
Irene could not restrain a little gasp of wonderment at von Kerber's amazing catalogue. Her grandfather looked at her.
"You were wiser than I, little girl," he murmured. "You warned me that these people were deceiving me, yet I refused to listen."
"Oh, one has to follow the path that promises success," interrupted von Kerber savagely. "Had I told you these things you would have been the first to inform the Italian government. Why do you prate of deceit? Had we found the treasure, you must have seen everything. I only meant to hold you to your bond and demand my third share. Lieber Gott! if you were not a stiff-necked Englishman you would now, even at the twelfth hour, force these Italian hirelings to disgorge."
"Meaning that you advise a surprise march on Suleiman's Well, and the massacre of every person who resists as?" inquired Mr. Fenshawe, acidly impatient.
"Better that than turn back at the very threshold."
"Excellent! The voyage of the Aphrodite would then achieve an international fame which would survive the ages."
The blank despair in von Kerber's face won Royson's pity. He could not help sympathizing with him. And there was something to be said for his point of view. If Mrs. Haxton had given the true version of the finding of the papyrus, the Austrian's methods were comprehensible. Seldom has poverty been tempted by a vision of such enormous wealth.
"May I make a suggestion, sir?" he asked, seeing that no one was willing to resume a somewhat acrid conversation.
"As to the form of attack?"
Mr. Fenshawe was still amused by the idea of treating the Italians to a coup de main.
"No. We have made a long journey, and it might at least be determined whether or not it was justified. Will you allow me and Abdur Kad'r, and, perhaps, one other Arab less widely known than the sheikh, to try a small experiment. Let us endeavor to enter the Italian camp and find out what is going on? I can pass easily as a member of a shooting party who has lost his way. They will not slay me at sight on that account. At any rate, I am quite prepared to risk it."
"The very thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Haxton, springing out of her chair. "Abdullah is there, and you know him. You must not appear. Let Abdur Kad'r send one of his men into the camp by night. He will bring Abdullah to you at a preconcerted rendezvous, and Abdullah will tell you what Alfieri is doing. Better still, let Abdullah come here. If he knows I sent you he will accompany you without a moment's delay."
"The proper person to go and summon Abdullah is Baron von Kerber," put in Irene tremulously.
"Before I sanction any proceeding of the sort, I wish to ask why
Abdullah is apparently in league with your sworn enemy?" demanded Mr.
Fenshawe.
"The Governor of Massowah told me he was despatching an expedition to the Five Hills," said Mrs. Haxton eagerly. "I was sure it would fail, for reasons which the Baron has explained, but I bade Abdullah join the kafila, seeing that we could not carry out our first plan of landing lower down the coast. Then, if the Italian party received news of our whereabouts, Abdullah would steal away and warn us. The mere fact that he is not here now shows that our presence in this locality is altogether unsuspected." Fenshawe seemed to weigh his words before he answered.
"I prefer that Mr. Royson should go, and not Baron von Kerber," said he. "On the understanding that he interferes with our rivals in no way whatever, I shall be glad of his report. If we have failed, there is no harm in knowing the facts. May I ask, Baron, have you any other surprises to give us in the shape of history, ancient or modern?"
"I have nothing else to say," muttered the other.
"Then, as it is nearly dinner-time, I trust we may forget Saba and its legends until we learn what progress Signor Alfieri has made. You start to-night, Mr. Royson?"
"At the first possible moment, sir."
"No, no. Eat, rest, and travel under the stars. That is the golden rule of a forced march in the desert. We will give you two nights and a day. Then, if you do not return, I shall send an open embassy to inquire for you."
Thus it came about that, soon after night fell, three sulky Bisharin camels were led away from their fellows and compelled to kneel unwillingly to receive their riders. The operation was attended with much squealing and groaning.
"They love not to leave their brethren," said Abdur Kad'r, pausing to take breath for a fresh torrent of abuse. The camels were forcibly persuaded, and Royson climbed into the high-peaked saddle. His last thought, as he quitted the red glare of the camp-fires, was that Irene might have snatched a few minutes from her rest to bid him farewell. But she was nowhere to be seen, so after a final hand-shake with Stump, he rode away into the night.