CHAPTER XX
The Desert Wireless Station
"Donkey, sah? Good donkey, sah? Me good dragoman. Talk Englis' like Englisman, sah. Me good——"
"Oh, chuck it, do!" exclaimed Osborne. "No can do; savee?"
It was on the outskirts of Alexandria. Osborne and Webb, already "bored stiff" with the doubtful charms of the sun-baked Egyptian seaport, were longing to be afloat once more. Up to the present their wishes in that direction had not been gratified. In common with the rest of the surviving officers and crew of the lost Portchester Castle, they were resting, first at Port Said and then at Alexandria, pending Admiralty instructions and appointment to another ship.
Early on this particular afternoon the two chums had gone for a walk beyond the limits of the town. It was a glorious chance to tramp on a broiling hot day, in a place where almost everyone rides, and then only when it is necessary to be out and about. It was the time of siesta, or midday rest, but the superabundant energies of the two young officers were not to be denied. Both carried revolvers—a precaution rendered necessary by the existing conditions of the Egyptian frontiers.
Barely had they drawn clear of the squalid native quarter when they were assailed by the demonstrative attention of a swarm of 'Gippy donkey-boys, whose natural cupidity overcame their curiosity at the sight of two Englishmen braving the scorching heat of the sun.
By dint of very forcible language, backed by a pretence of forcible methods, Osborne had succeeded in freeing himself and his companion from the undesired attentions of the mob, with one exception. The latter, a tall, sparely built fellah, hung on like a leech.
"Tomb of Ctesos, sah," he vociferated. "Not far. Far to walk, but not far for donkey, sah. Twen'-fivee piastres" (up went the fingers of his right hand five times to emphasize the point) "all de way. Dirty cheap, sah."
Osborne hesitated and was lost.
"Tomb of Ctesos?" he repeated. "H'm, I've heard of it. Sort of ruined pyramid, I believe, Tom. Well, it's something definite to do. How about it?"
"I'm on," replied Webb. "Figuratively, of course. When it comes to the back of a donkey it may be a different matter."
"The brutes look quiet enough," resumed Osborne, eyeing the three sorry-looking donkeys, who were continually flicking their ears in a vain attempt to rid themselves of the tormenting attentions of a swarm of flies. "All right," he added, addressing the donkey-boy. "Twenty-five piastres, mind!"
The 'Gippy extended a grimy, sunburned hand. "On de nail," he exclaimed, making use of one of many English idioms that he had picked up in the course of his dealings with tourists in pre-war days, and with British and Australian troops since the outbreak of hostilities.
The officers smiled. The words, coming from the lips of a dark-skinned Egyptian, tickled them. The fellow's eyes looked so pathetic and trustful that Osborne obligingly paid for the hire of the animals.
Evidently the guide was not going to exert himself by walking. Throwing himself upon the back of the third donkey he urged the brutes into a steady trot, yelling the while in a jargon of English and Arabic, and belabouring the animals with a stick.
"Avast there!" said Osborne authoritatively. "Stop it! Not so much of the stick business. They'll go just as well without."
The "boy"—he was a man of between twenty-five and thirty—obeyed, but only for a time. Ere long he began to thrash the animals again.
"For the second time, stop it!" thundered the Lieutenant.
The donkey-driver muttered something under his breath. A momentary scowl flashed across his olivine features. If looks could kill, Osborne would have been stretched lifeless in the desert.
On and on the donkeys went, sometimes trotting, at others plodding stolidly through the sand; for already the cotton-fields had been left behind, and nothing but the desert could now be seen, bounded on the right hand by the intricate swamps of Lake Mareotis. Before they had gone five miles, both the officers discovered, to their great discomfort, that their mounts possessed very aggressive backbones, the pain from the sharp edges of which the meagre native saddle did little to mitigate.
"How much farther?" enquired Webb.
"Not far," was the 'Gippy's non-committal reply.
"Hanged if I don't think the rascal is taking us past the place," declared Osborne, indicating a solidly constructed building on the left, at a distance of about three-quarters of a mile.
The donkey-boy saw the gesture.
"No, sah, no," he expostulated earnestly. "Him no good. Nothing dere; empty. Tomb of Ctesos, sah, him be right dere."
"Dash the tomb of Ctesos!" declared Osborne. "It's not good enough. Look here, Ali Babi; we've chucked the idea. We'll have a look at this place instead. We may find shelter from the sun, and get back in the cool of the evening."
The suggestion did not at all meet with the native's approval. Obviously he had strong reasons against falling in with the proposal.
"Evidently our dusky dragoman considers this to be a breach of contract," observed Webb.
"Can't imagine why," rejoined Osborne. "If what he says is correct with reference to the direction of this precious tomb, we're saving his animals a considerable distance. He who pays the piper calls the tune, you know; so let's be firm."
Accordingly, the two officers turned the donkeys in the direction of the ruined building that Osborne had indicated. With ill-concealed sullenness the Egyptian slowed down, riding at twenty paces in the rear of the chums.
Suddenly he gave vent to a shrill cry. Instantly the animals that Osborne and Webb were bestriding came to a dead standstill; then, keeping their forefeet planted firmly in the ground, they lashed out furiously with their hind legs.
In vain Webb attempted to keep his saddle. Describing an inelegant curve he alighted on his head in the sand. Fortunately the softness of the ground deadened the impact; but, feeling considerably shaken, he regained his feet to find Osborne sitting regarding him ruefully. As for the donkeys, they were skeltering off more quickly than they had done before in the course of that afternoon, while the 'Gippy, still astride his mount, jeered at his employers until he was out of ear-shot.
"The fellow's got his own back," admitted Osborne, laughing at his own discomfiture. "And we paid him beforehand, worse luck! No matter! we'll carry on now we're about it, and inspect this ruined show. If we start at four o'clock we ought to be back before sunset, and it won't be so oppressively hot to pad the hoof."
"We're taking a long time to cover this half-mile," remarked Webb, when after a steady tramp the ruins seemed no nearer. "Suppose it isn't a mirage, what?"
"Hope not," replied Osborne. Then he had to admit that the real distance had been diminished by the vagaries of the atmosphere. Although the tomb, or whatever it might be, was a real object, it had seemed to be less than three-quarters of a mile away when Osborne first noticed it. Actually it was four times that distance.
At last they approached the elusive building. It consisted of a rectangular central edifice with a few smaller buildings attached. The roof was originally a dome, but the greater portion had fallen in. Fronting the main portion was a row of weather-worn pillars of red sandstone, ground smooth by the action of the sand-storms of centuries. In places the portico still remained, but was evidently in a very insecure state.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Webb, who with true scouting instinct had been examining the ground. "Look here; someone has been here recently. We're just converging upon the track of a couple of men and a led camel."
"Yes," agreed Osborne, "and Europeans, too; or at any rate not barefooted felaheen or sandalled Arabs. Well, I suppose they have a perfect right to come here, as much as we have—perhaps more if they have fixed up their abode in this desirable suburban residence."
"There's the camel," said the Sub, indicating the humped animal which, hobbled in characteristic Arab fashion, was standing in the shade of a partly shattered wall. "No signs of the owners. We'll have to be careful, old man. We don't want to intrude upon these fellows if they are engaged in their devotions. If they are Mohammedans they are bound to be pretty sensitive as far as the presence of unbelievers is concerned."
For the last hundred yards the two chums maintained silence. Their footfalls made no sound on the soft sand. At the lofty entrance they paused. The dense shadows, in contrast to the powerful slanting rays of the sun, made it impossible to see what was within the place until their eyes grew accustomed to the violent transition from the glare to a deep gloom.
Suddenly Webb grasped his companion's arm.
"Hist!" he whispered.
His trained ear had caught the faint cackle of a wireless apparatus.
For some moments the chums stood motionless. The sounds came from an apartment either built in the thick walls or else in a raised outbuilding. Presently the message ended, and the two men began to engage in conversation, speaking in Arabic—a language of which both Webb and Osborne knew but a few words, acquired during their brief stay in Port Said and Alexandria.
Both officers drew their revolvers. Clearly this was a time for action. The ruins were not a Government telegraphic post. Since the Western Egyptian Frontier campaign that ended in the defeat of the somewhat formidable Senussi rising, a quantity of wireless gear, known to have been smuggled ashore with other warlike stores for the use of the enemy, had been unaccounted for. So thorough had been the methods adopted by the Turks and their German taskmasters, that even the nomad Arabs of the Tripolitan hinterland had been instructed in the use of the most modern form of telegraphy.
When sufficiently accustomed to the gloom, Osborne advanced cautiously, Webb following at his heels. Guided by the sounds of conversation they crossed the floor, where the dust of years lay ankle-deep, until they came to a flight of stone steps, flanked on either side by gigantic stone images representing two grotesque Egyptian divinities, seated with their hands resting on their knees and their orbless eyes staring blankly. So smooth were the carvings that they might have been chiselled yesterday, instead of several centuries before the Christian era.
Up the flight of stairs the two officers crept. The illicit operators, still engaged in an animated conversation, were unaware of their presence until with a bound Osborne entered a small room on a level with the roof of the portico, and covered them with his revolver.
Even as he did so he recognized one of the men as Georgeos Hymettus, the Greek spy, who in the disguise of Alfonzo y Guzman Perez had furnished the U-boat officers with information concerning the movements of shipping at Gibraltar, and who had so nearly been laid by the heels by Osborne and Webb during their adventurous trip to Algeciras.
"The world is small, my festive Hymettus," observed Osborne suavely. "Now, kindly put your hands up and give no trouble."