Affair in Araby, Talbot Mundy [namjoon book recommendations .TXT] 📗

our word to the French that he should have complete protection and immunity. It seemed a good thing to us to have such an influential banker here; he has international connections. As recently as yesterday, twenty minutes before that ultimatum came, he was in this room assuring me that he would be able to solve the credit difficulty within a day or two."

"Would you like to send for him now?" suggested Grim.

"I doubt if he would come."

"Well, have him fetched!"

Feisul shook his head.

"If other people break their promises, that is no reason why we should break ours. If we can defeat the French and force them to make other terms, then we will expel him from Syria. I leave at midnight, Jimgrim."

"To defeat the French? You go to your Waterloo! You're in check with only one move possible, and I'm here to make you realize it. You're a man after my own heart, Feisul, but you and your Arabs are children at dealing with these foreign exploiters!

"They can beat you at every game but honesty. And listen: If you did defeat the French—if you drove them into the sea tomorrow, they'd get away with all the money in Beirut and you'd still be at the mercy of foreign capitalists! Instead of an independent Arab kingdom here you'd have a mixture of peoples and religions all plotting against one another and you, with capitulations and foreign consuls getting in the way, and bond-holding bankers sitting on top of it all like the Old Man of the Sea in the story of Sindbad the Sailor!

"Leave that to the French! Let them have all Syria to stew in! Go to England where your friends are. Let the politicians alone. Meet real folk and talk with them. Tell them the truth; for they don't know it! Talk with the men and women who haven't got political jobs to lose—with the fellows who did the fighting—with the men and women who have votes. They'll believe you. They've given up believing politicians, and they're learning how to twist the politicians' tails. You'll find yourself in Baghdad within a year or two, with all Mesopotamia to make a garden of and none but Arabs to deal with. That's your field!"

Feisul smiled with the air of a man who recognizes but is unconvinced.

"There are always things that might have been," he answered. "As it is,
I cannot desert the army."

"We'll save what we can of the army," Grim answered. "Your Syrians will save their own skins; it's only the Arabs we've got to look out for—a line of retreat for the Arab regiments, and another for you. It's not too late, and you know I'm right! Come on; let's get busy and do it!"

Feisul's smile was all affection and approval, but he shook his head.

"If what you say is true, I should only have the same problem in
Mesopotamia—foreign financiers," he answered.

"That's exactly where you're wrong!" Grim retorted triumphantly.

He stood up, and pointed at Jeremy.

"Here's a man who owns a gold-mine. It lies between Mesopotamia and your father's kingdom of the Hedjaz, and its exact whereabouts is a secret. He's here tonight to make you a present of the mine! And here's another man,"—he pointed at me—"a mining expert, who'll tell you what the thing's worth. It's yours, if you'll agree to abandon Syria and lay a course for Baghdad!"

CHAPTER XIV

"You'll be a virgin Victim!"

Feisul was interested; he couldn't help being. And he was utterly convinced of Grim's sincerity. But he wasn't moved from his purpose, and not even Jeremy's account of the gold-mine, or my professional opinion of its value, had the least effect toward cancelling the plans he had in mind. He was deeply affected by the offer, but that was all.

"Good heavens, man!" Grim exploded suddenly. "Surely you won't throw the whole world into war again! You know what it will mean if the French kill or imprison you. There isn't a Moslem of all the millions in Asia who won't swear vengeance against the West—you know that! A direct descendant of Mohammed, and the first outstanding, conquering Moslem since Saladin—"

"The Allies should have thought of that before they broke promises," said Feisul.

"Never mind them. Damn them!" answered Grim. "It's up to you! The future of civilization is in your lap this minute! Can't you see that if you lose you'll be a martyr, and Islam will rise to avenge you?"

"Inshallah," said Feisul, nodding.

"But that if you let pride go by the board, and seem to run away, there'll be a breathing spell? Asia would wonder for a few months, and do nothing, until it began to dawn on them that you had acted wisely and had a better plan in view."

"I am not proud, except of my nation," Feisul answered. "I would not let pride interfere with policy. But it is too late to talk of this."

"Which is better?" Grin demanded. "A martyr, the very mention of whose name means war, or a living power for peace under a temporary cloud?"

"I am afraid I am a poor host. Forgive me," Feisul answered. "Dinner has been waiting all this while, and you have a lady with you. This is disgraceful."

He rose and led the way into another room, closing the discussion. We ate an ordinary meal in an ordinary dining room, Feisul presiding and talking trivialities with Mabel and Hadad. There was an occasional boisterous interlude by Jeremy, but even he with his tales of unknown Arabia couldn't lift the load of depression. Grim and I sat silent through the meal. I experienced the sensation that you get when an expedition proves a failure and you've got to go home again with nothing done—all dreary emptiness; but Grim was hatching something, as you could tell by the far-away expression and the glowering light in his eyes. He looked about ready for murder.

Narayan Singh's face all through the meal was a picture—delight and pride at dining with a king, amazement at his karma that had brought a sepoy of the line to hear such confidences first hand, chagrin over Grim's apparent failure and desire to be inconspicuous controlled his expression in turn. Once or twice he tried to make conversation with me, but I was in no mood for it, being a grouchy old bear on occasion without decent manners.

Feisul excused himself the minute the meal was over, saying he had a conference to attend, and we all went back into the sitting-room, where Grim took the chair he occupied before and marshalled us into a row on the seat in front of him. He was back again in form—electric—and self-controlled.

"Have you folk got the hang of this?" he asked. "Do you realize what it means if Feisul goes out and gets scuppered?"

We thought we did, even if we didn't. I don't suppose anyone except the few who, like Grim, have made a life-study of the problem of Islam in all its bearings could quite have grasped it. Mabel had a viewpoint that served Grim's purpose as well as any at the moment.

"That man's too good, and much too good-looking to be wasted!" she said emphatically. "D'you suppose that if Colonel Lawrence were really here—"

"Half a minute," said Grim, "and I'll come to that. How about you,
Hadad? How far would you go to save Feisul from this Waterloo?"

"I would go a long way," he answered cautiously. "What do you intend?"

"To appear near the firing-line, for one thing, with somebody who looks like Colonel Lawrence, and somebody else who looks enough like Feisul in one of Feisul's cars, and give the French a run for it in one direction while Feisul escapes in the other."

"Wallahi! But what if Feisul won't go?"

"He'll get helped! Did you ever hear what they did to Napoleon at
Waterloo? Seized his bridle and galloped away with him."

"You mean I'm to act Lawrence again?" asked Mabel, looking deathly white.

Grim nodded.

"Who's cast for Feisul?" Jeremy inquired.

"You are. You're the only trained stage-actor in the bunch. You're his height—not unlike his figure—"

"I resemble him as much as a kangaroo looks like an ostrich!" laughed
Jeremy. "You're talking wild, Jim. What have you had to drink?"

"How about you, Ramsden? Will you see this through?"

Jeremy shook his head at me. I believe he thought for the moment that Grim had gone mad. He hadn't the experience of Grim that I had, and consequently not the same confidence in Grim's ability to dream, catch the essence of the dream, pin it down and make a fact of it.

"I'll go the limit," said I.

"Well, I'll be damned" laughed Jeremy. "All right; same here. I stake a gold-mine and Rammy raises me. Fetch your crown and sceptre and I'll play king to Jim's ace in a royal straight flush. Mabel's queen. Hadad's a knave. He looks it! Keep smiling, Hadad, old top, and I'll let you forgive me. Rammy's the ten-spot—tentative—tenacious—ten aces up his sleeve—and packs a ten-ton wallop when you get him going. What's Narayan Singh? The deuce?"

"The joker," answered Grim. "Are you in on this?"

"Sahib, there was no need to ask. What your honor finds good enough— your honor's order—"

"Orders have nothing to do with it. We're not in British territory.
This in unofficial. I've no right to give you orders," said Grim.
"You're free to refuse. I'm likely to lose my job over this and so are
you if you take part in it."

Narayan Singh grinned hugely.

"Hah! A sepoy's position is a smaller stake than a major's commission or a gold-mine, but I likewise have a life to lose, and I play too!"

Grim nodded curtly. It was no time for returning compliments.

"How about you, Mabel? We can manage this without you, and you've a husband to think of—"

"If he were here he'd hate it, but he'd give permission."

"All right. Now, Hadad. What about it?"

"Am I to obey you absolutely, not knowing what the—"

Grim interrupted him:

"The proposal's fair. Either you withdraw now and hold your tongue, or come in with us. If you're in I'll tell the details; if not, there's no need."

"Wallahi! What a sword-blade you are, Jimgrim! If I say 'yes,' I risk my future on your backgammon board; if I say 'no,' my life is worth a millieme, for you will tell that Sikh you call the 'joker' to attend to me!"

"Not so," Grim answered. "If you don't like the plan, I'll trust you to fall out and keep the secret."

"Oh, in that case," answered Hadad, hesitating. "Since you put it that way… well, it is lose all or perhaps win something—half-measures are no good—the alternative is ruin of the Arab cause—it is a forlorn hope—well, one throw of the dice, eh?—and all our fortunes on the table!—one little mistake and helas—finish! Never mind. Yes, I will play too. I will play this to the end with you."

"So we're all set," remarked Grim with a sigh of relief. Instantly he threw his shoulders back and began to set his pieces for the game. And you know, there's a world of difference between the captain of a side who doesn't worry until the game begins and Grim's sort, who do their worrying beforehand and then play, and make the whole side play for every ounce that's in them.

"Mabel, you're Lawrence. Keep silent, be shy, avoid encounters—act like a man who's not supposed to be here, but who came to help Feisul contrary to express commands laid on him by the Foreign Office. Get that? Lawrence is a shy man, anyway—hates publicity, rank, anything that calls attention to himself. The more shy you are, the easier you'll get away with it. Feisul must help pretend you're Lawrence. The presence of Lawrence would add to his prestige incalculably, and I think he'll see that, but