It Happened in Egypt

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

THE REVELATIONS OF A RETIRED COLONEL

Fenton's orders were, when the Cairo business should be finished, to go slowly up the Nile in native dress, and get at the truth of certain rumours which had disturbed officialdom at Cairo. At Denderah, Luxor, and two or three other places there had been "incidents," small but troublesome. English sightseers had complained of being hustled, and even insulted by the inhabitants of several river towns, and it was important to find out whether the Egyptians or the foreigners had been more to blame; whether there were real symptoms of sedition, as reported, or whether the young men of the suspected places had merely resented with roughness some discourtesy of tactless tourists. Fenton had seized upon the idea that, as Egyptian lecturer and conductor—a sort of super-dragoman—on board Lark's Nile boat, he might find a plausible pretext for his secret errand. "Why do you travel?" would be the question he must expect from suspicious leaders of any plot that might be hatching, if he journeyed from one Nile village to another without the excuse of business. As a glorified conductor of a pleasure-trip for a party of tourists his excuse would be readymade for him; but he had been far from sure that I would fall in with Sir Marcus Lark's plan, despite the bribe. He had wanted me to hear the whole story, the whole project, from Sir Marcus' own lips; and in his uncertainty of the result, he had thought of Miss Gilder as an attractive "victim." There she was, as he had said, presented to him by Providence. If I should pour scorn upon the Lark suggestion, he might find it worth while to guide the Gilded Girl and her friends on their Nile pilgrimage. He left the question for me, and I decided to kill as many birds as possible with one stone. The name of the yacht was in itself an incentive: Candace—Queen of Meröe—our Meröe. She seemed to call, and to promise good luck. We would accept Lark's terms, and enter his service in return for a written agreement to hand over his ill-got digging rights to us, whether or no we turned out to be satisfactory as guides. We could but do our best, and at all events we should earn the reward which we had looked upon as ours already. Anthony would play his double part, serving the interests of government and those of Sir Marcus Lark. As for Monny Gilder, why shouldn't she and her party become Lark's passengers? The only reason against this "inspiration" (as Sir Marcus would have called it), lay in the fact that Monny wished to engage a private dahabeah. When she wished for a thing, it appeared that only a miracle or a cataclysm could induce her to give it up for something else suggested by an outsider. But when I mentioned this peculiarity to Fenton, he was fired to punish the girl by forcing her compliance with our will. She had treated him like a servant. She looked upon a man supposedly of Egyptian blood, even though of princely birth, somewhat as she looked upon an American "nigger." True, Anthony Fenton had in his veins but very few such drops. On his father's side he was all English, and his mother had been more than two thirds Greek and Italian. Nevertheless this spoilt girl had struck a blow at the pride which went ever walking about the world with a chip lightly poised on its shoulder. Anthony had no desire to poach on my preserves. At the same time he yearned to show Miss Gilder that he could be her master, not her servant.

Once Anthony and I had made up our minds, everything else arranged itself with lightning speed. Sir Marcus, rejoicing in his ill-got conquest of us, broke to me the news that I must go by the first ship to the Piraeus, to meet the Candace, and head off the recalcitrant band of passengers. He flattered me by thinking that, if I took the place of Colonel Corkran as conductor, they would abandon their plot to desert the yacht at Alexandria. It was, according to Lark's secret information, only the "smart and would-be smart set" who had combined to spring this mine upon the management. The rest grumbled no more than it was normal for all pleasure-pilgrims to grumble; and as, roughly speaking, the contented travellers were all going on to Palestine after a week's wild sightseeing in Cairo, the colonel might be allowed to continue his voyage without the interruption of a "row."

"I should have had enough common sense at the start," growled Sir Marcus with crude candour, "to engage a lord for the Smart Set, and a parson for the Ernest Inquirers. There's a world of difference catering for a Set, and a Flock. The art is, to know it, and how to do it. Now I've secured you, I'm all right with the S. S. and thanks be, I've a young reformed missionary on board to shepherd the Flock. Now the Reverend Watts will come in handy, herding his sheep through Palestine, while the colonel swaggers and fancies he's bossing the show. It's the Egypt lot I worry about: girls out for dukes, and dukes out for dollars. Not that there's a darned duke on board, but there are some who think they out-duke the dukes, and it's our business to humour 'em. You just duff all you want to, Lord Ernest, they'll swallow anything you do, like honey. Don't bother about a line of conduct: only be genial. Murmur soft nothings to the women; flirt but don't have favourites. Don't be too political with the men: work in plenty of anecdotes about your swell relations."

I replied that I could confidently promise geniality, except if seasick: but Sir Marcus implored me at all costs not to be seasick. That was the one thing I must not be. My whole time between the Piraeus and Alexandria, on board the Candace, must be spent ingratiating myself with the sulky passengers, and obliterating from their memories the crimes of Colonel Corkran. In Sir Marcus' opinion my future charges had taken passage on the Candace, and would go up the Nile, not to see sights, but to be seen doing the right things. According to him not two out of twenty cared tuppence for Egypt, but wished to talk about it in sparkling style at home. My friend Captain Fenton and I must make it sparkle. Sir Marcus had resigned himself to the fact that one of his trump cards—Anthony—could not be produced until the arrival in Cairo of the troupe, and that even then, the name of Fenton must not be used as an attraction. Lark felt confident that I was a good enough card to make his hand worth playing, and in spite of the half contemptuous amusement with which I regarded the whole scheme, I couldn't help being "on my mettle." I found myself wanting to succeed, wanting to please the big, common man whom a few hours ago I had been cursing.

I had to start for Greece the night after our decision. Meanwhile, I was anxious to explain the unexplainable to Brigit and Monny, and secure the party for Sir Marcus Lark's alleged dahabeah, which turned out to be one of Cook's old boats bought and newly decorated. Both my tasks would be difficult. I had to hide the secret reason for selling myself to the financier, and at the same time keep the respect of the ladies. As for inducing Miss Gilder to give up her dream of a private dahabeah, I foresaw that it would be like persuading the youngest lioness in the Cairo Zoo to surrender her cherished wooden ball. But I began by giving Monny a present; a fine old turban-box of rare, red tortoise shell inlaid with mother of pearl, which I found at an antiquary's. In the silklined box reposed a green turban; and that green turban told its own story. Miss Gilder flushed with pleasure at sight of it. "I've won my bet!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," said I. "To my astonishment! The man consents. He's a great prize, knows Cairo and upper Egypt like a book. But you'll have to surrender him when you go on the Nile."

In her haste to know why, Monny forgot to ask how I had obtained the green turban; and for this I was glad, because it was only the second best headgear of my smart friend the Hadji. In explaining that the distinguished Egyptian had been engaged by Sir Marcus Lark, I slipped in a word about my own part in the trip, describing it as an ideal rest-cure for a budding diplomat on sick leave. I praised the boat and spoke of the fun on board. I regretted Miss Gilder's preference for a private dahabeah, so obvious, so millionairy! Still, I added, every one to his taste! And anyhow, no doubt all the best cabins on the Enchantress Isis were taken.

That was the entering wedge—the mention of an obstacle to overcome. Miss Gilder looked thoughtful, though she kept silence: and next day, when making my adieux before starting for Alexandria, she flung out a careless question. When would the Enchantress Isis leave Cairo? How many passengers would she carry? Would there be a rush at the Temples, or would there be plenty of time for proper sightseeing? And was I sure that all the nicest cabins were engaged? No, I was not sure. I could inquire. I tried not to look triumphant, but I must have darted out a ray, because Monny withdrew into her shell. She had inquired out of curiosity, she explained. I had told such stories about the Enchantress Isis that she would like to see her. Perhaps Antoun Effendi could get permission for a visit to the boat.

In this state I had to leave affairs, and start for the Piraeus, where I must await the return of the tourists from Athens. I had two days at sea in which to work up an agony of apprehension, and I could have thanked heaven when, arriving on board the big white yacht, I found that I was ahead of the passengers. I was expected, however, and a deck cabin was ready for my occupation. I hoped that I had not turned out my rival from the room, but dared not question the steward. He seemed to know all about me, nevertheless, and said that my name had been "posted up" as conductor of the Nile party. "If I may take the liberty of mentioning it, my lord," he added, "it has made a very good impression." We were to steam for Alexandria the moment the passengers arrived in the special train—having had three days of sightseeing in Athens—and I had just got my possessions stowed away when a wave of chattering voices broke over the ship. My heart gave a jump, as a soldier's must when called to fight on an empty stomach at dawn on a winter's morning. What ought I to do? How was I to make the acquaintance of my future charges? Must it be en masse, or could it be done singly? I had neglected to ask Sir Marcus what would be expected of me, and I was in a worse funk than a new boy on his first day at school. Soon it would be dinner time. I wished that I were ill, but I remembered that the one thing I must not do was to be seasick. Already the ship was beginning to move out of the Greek harbour, or I should have been tempted to get a telegram calling me home. Even the Mountain of the Golden Pyramid seemed not too great a sacrifice to make—but it was too late to make it—and some one was knocking at my door.