It Happened in Egypt

by C. N. Williamson; A. M. Williamson

"It's a good deal for a beastly baboon like him."

"Remember, he has been doing services lately for which he probably got high pay."

"All right, whatever you say, goes," I agreed.

"I trust to your honours, my genlemens," remarked the beastly baboon in question, in a manner so apropos that I guessed him not entirely ignorant of German, after all.

"Thanks for the compliment," I responded gratefully.

"We shall have to talk here. There's no time to find a more convenient place," said Fenton, returning to Arabic as a medium of communication. "Fire away, Bedr. But don't start your story in the middle. Begin where you took service with these Irish-American gentlemen."

"Was the genlemens Irish? I never know that," purred the guileless Bedr; but Fenton brought him to his bearings. All questions were to be from us to him. So Bedr "fired away": and there, within a stone's throw of the train getting up steam for Khartum, we listened to a strange tale—as strange, and as great an anachronism as that dark crocodile-shape we had seen—except in the Nile country, where live crocodiles and many other dark things can easily happen any day.

Blount's name, according to Bedr, was not Blount, but something else, well-known in America. It was a name already associated with that of O'Brien, which inclined us to hope for some grains of truth in the chaff of lies we expected. Bedr said that in New York, years ago, he had known the man "Blount." He was related to the American family who took Bedr from Cairo. Later, when the Armenians had returned to Egypt, "Blount" had come with him, for a "rest cure." He had engaged Bedr as dragoman, and on leaving had asked for Bedr's card. That was years ago, and nothing had been heard from him since: but before the Laconia was due to arrive, Bedr had received a telegram from Blount instructing him to meet the ship, and wire to Paris whether Miss Gilder of New York and a "Mrs. Jones" were on board, with a party. "Blount" knew that Bedr had seen Miss Gilder as a child, and might now be able to recognize her. On the day in New York when a block in traffic had given a glimpse of the little girl in a motor-car with her father, Bedr and "Blount" had been together.

As soon as possible after Bedr's reply, "Blount" and another man, who called himself Hanna, had arrived in Cairo. Bedr knew that they had a fixed theory in regard to the young lady who passed as Miss Gilder. Who they supposed her to be, he could not tell; but once he had "happened" to be near, when they were not aware of his presence, and had heard one of them mention a woman's name, which sounded like "Esny." They accepted his word that he had been able to identify the so-called Miss Guest as Rosamond Gilder, and in her they appeared to take no further interest. Their attention was concentrated on Mrs. Jones and on the lady who, according to their belief, was but posing as Miss Gilder. Apparently they imagined her to be quite another person, one whom they had taken a great deal of trouble to reach. Also they had an idea that Mrs. Jones possessed something of which they were anxious to get hold. It was a thing which ought to be theirs, and they had been after it for years; but she had contrived to hide herself and it, until lately.

Why he had been told to guide the two younger ladies to the House of the Crocodile, Bedr pretended not to know. Perhaps—only perhaps —Blount and his companion, Hanna, wished to kidnap the one we called Miss Gilder, and they called "Esney." But good, kind Bedr had never dreamed that they meant any real harm. There had been a plan of some sort for that night. Blount and Hanna were to arrive at the House of the Crocodile for a close look at the young ladies, when the latter had gone to sleep under the influence of the hasheesh they intended to smoke. But the two gentlemen had not kept the appointment. At first, Bedr had not understood why, and had not known what to do. Afterward, of course, when he had heard of the row in the street, which had caused the closing of the house for many tedious hours, he had guessed. And later when he learned that poor Mr. Blount lay wounded in a hospital, it had all become clear. Mr. Hanna, who seemed to work under Mr. Blount's orders, had not been able to act alone.