Chapter Four.
“Ways that are Dark and Tricks that are Vain.”
While the Forsyth family was passing through its time of trial there had been other chops and changes going on in the lives of those with whom their fortunes were more or less connected. Mr Richard Burke had still further declined in health, and could not be expected to last long; but what was unexpected by those who knew them both was that he outlived his legal adviser, Mr Burrows, who was attacked with pleurisy, which carried him off soon after he had made Mr Richard Burke’s last will.
His son came into his place, but he was a mild and not very intelligent young man, not long out of his articles, and very dependent upon Daireh, who knew all the details of his father’s clients’ business, and was so deferential and obsequious, that he made him think very often that he had originated the course of conduct which the wily Egyptian had suggested. As for the other partner, Fagan, he confined himself entirely, as he always had done, to the criminal and political part of the business.
Daireh was a bachelor, living in lodgings, and might have saved money to a reasonable extent in a modest way. But he was anything but modest in his desire for wealth, and the law would have given a very ugly name to some of the transactions by which he sought to acquire it if they had but come to light.
One February afternoon he left the office rather earlier than usual, and after a hurried dinner repaired to his lodgings, where he mixed himself a strong glass of whisky. Then he took a flask of glass and leather with a metal cup fitting to the bottom, and, unlocking a bureau, took out of a drawer a small phial.
He listened; went to the door—opened it, and looked out on the staircase; shut it again, locked it, and returned to the bureau. His hand shook so that he took another pull at his grog, and then uncorking the phial he poured the contents into the flask, filled it up with whisky, screwed the top on, and put it into his pocket.
Then he went out once more, and bent his steps to a railway station, where he took a ticket to a small country place about an hour’s ride from Dublin. It was growing dark when he arrived, but there was a moon, and the sky was fairly clear from clouds.
He walked for a mile along the road, and then turned off by a path which crossed a moor, and pursued this until he came within sight of a small disused quarry, from which all the valuable stone had been long ago carried.
As Daireh approached the place he clapped his hands three times, and a man came out of the shadow into the moonlight.
“Stebbings, is that you?” said Daireh.
“Yes, it is,” replied the other, sulkily. “No thanks to you for having to skulk like a fox. As I told you in my letter, the police are after me, and if I cannot get out of the country I’m done.”
“What made you come to Ireland, then? It would have been just as easy to have shipped abroad.”
“Because I wanted to see you, for I couldn’t trust you to send me a farthing.”
“How was it? You must have managed very badly.”
“The numbers of those bonds were known, though you were so sure they could not be, and they are advertised, and traced to having passed through my hands. That is certain to bring it out that I passed the forged cheque, too. Bad management yourself! However, there’s no good in blaming one another. Have you got the two hundred?”
“It is a large sum; but still, if it will get you out of your scrape, I will make the sacrifice. Only—”
“Get me out of my scrape! If I am taken, my fine fellow, you will be taken too.”
“Why, what good would it do you to pull me in with you?” asked Daireh.
“You know precious well. If all the facts came out I should get about two years, and you fourteen at least. You actually took the bonds; you forged the cheque. I was only your tool, employed to cash the things.”
“And am I to have you sucking me like a leech all my life?” cried Daireh in a shrill voice, stamping his foot.
“That is as it may be; you must take your chance of that. Perhaps you had sooner I gave myself up and told the whole story. I am not sure that it would not be the best thing for me to do.”
“That is nonsense. Here is the money. You know how to get to South America, you said.”
“Ay, I know. If the police have not tracked me here; and I think I have given them the slip,” said Stebbings, counting the notes before putting them away. “Now the sooner you are off the better.”
“It is a chilly night,” said Daireh, producing his flask, “and I am going to have a sup of whisky. Will you have a drop?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” replied Stebbings.
And the Egyptian filled the metal cup and handed it to him.
“Here’s better luck,” he said, taking a mouthful.
Then suddenly he spat it out again.
“No, hang me, if I will trust you!” he cried. “And there is a queer taste about it, too!”
“What nonsense!” said Daireh, forcing a laugh. “It is good whisky, very good; I had a glass just before I left. Well, good-night, for all your bad suspicions.”
And Daireh walked quickly away in the direction of the road which led to the station. When he was well hidden from the quarry he poured away the rest of what was in the flask.
“If he had but swallowed it,” he muttered fiercely between his teeth, “I should have been two hundred pounds richer, and safe!”
When he went to the office in the morning, one of the under clerks told him that Mr Burke was dead, and Mr Burrows was wanted to go over as soon as he could.
“All right,” said Daireh, “I will tell him when he comes. Where are those papers about the Ballyhoonish Estates? In his private room, I think.”
He passed in, and without hesitation took out a pass key which unlocked a drawer where all the keys of the deed boxes were. Selecting that belonging to the Burke box, he opened it; took out the will, put it in his pocket; locked, and replaced the box; put the keys back in the drawer, and locked that, and walked out with the documents he had spoken of under his arm. It had not taken him more than three minutes to do the whole thing.
His plan was this. He had now both wills in his possession. He did not exactly know where Stephen Philipson was to be found, but he was sure to turn up now, and he would make terms with him for destroying the second will and producing the first, which was in his favour. But he would not destroy the second will, but keep it to extort more money out of him with it. Also, if Philipson were to die—and his habits were such that he was not likely to be long lived—he would find out Mary Forsyth or Reginald Kavanagh, the persons interested, and see what they would give for the document, the loss of which had disinherited them.
When Mr Burrows came in and received the news of Mr Burke’s death, his first idea was to open the deed box bearing his name, to see if there was a will there. Finding none, he called Daireh, and asked him if he knew of any such document. Yes, Daireh said, he did; he had witnessed one not so many months ago. He fancied Mr Burke had taken it away with him, but he was not sure. It might be well to look in the deed box. Mr Burrows had already done that? Ah, then, no doubt Mr Burke had taken it. Had made another since, very likely; he believed Mr Burke was constantly altering his mind about the disposal of his property. But no doubt Mr Burrows would find a will among the papers at the house.
But Mr Burrows didn’t, and Daireh, as he went home that evening, bought a large piece of oil silk, in which he afterwards wrapped each of the two wills separately. Then he spent a considerable portion of the evening in making two large pockets inside a new waistcoat, one on each side, between the lining and the cloth, and each of these was to contain a will.
Stephen Philipson heard of his step-father’s death, and soon appeared at the office to know if the old man had really been as good, or bad, as his word, and cut him off with a mere allowance. He asked to see Daireh, with whom he had had a good many transactions.
“That was a real will, was it?” he asked.
“Real enough. I witnessed it.”
“But it cannot be found, I hear.”
“Oh, it will turn up at the funeral, never fear.”
“I wish it might not.”
“Why?”
“Because then, by the old will, I should come in for the lot.”
“But if the old will is not forthcoming, or the new one, or any other, the property devolves to the heir-at-law, Ralph Burke, and you will not even get your allowance.”
Philipson, whose nervous system was considerably shattered, was so affected by this consideration, that Daireh thought it better to revive him with a dram of hope.
“If I can see you privately, without fear of interruption, I may be able to give you a useful hint,” he said. “The funeral takes place on Saturday, and if nothing is heard of a will then I will meet you next day. Where are you staying?”
Philipson gave his present address and left, thinking to himself as he walked up the street—
“I wonder what bit of roguery that scoundrel is up to now? If he has got anything good for me I shall have to pay rarely for it. Well, I am in too bad a way to care much for that; but he shall not bring me within the reach of the law. I have no fancy for going to jail, where there’s no liquor to be got—not likely. None of that, Mr Nigger. If he will take the risk I will pay the piper, and that is a fair enough division, I think. But I wonder what his little game is!”
But Daireh never made that Sunday call on Philipson. For on Saturday evening he heard a cry in the streets—“Important Arrest! Great Bond Robbery! Scandalous Disclosures!”
He invested a penny in the evening paper, and carried it up to his room.
His fears were verified. It was Stebbings who had been arrested. He had thought much about what he would do in such a case, and kept his wits about him. Of course, the “Scandalous Disclosures” heading was premature—inserted, indeed, to give a fillip to the sale of the paper. But the disclosures would certainly come very soon, and there was no time to be lost.
He destroyed a good many letters and papers; stowed all his money, and documents which meant money, about his person; packed a small valise which he could carry in his hand, and started for the station. He crossed the Channel that night, and got to Liverpool early on the following morning. He knew—so carefully had he laid his plans—that there was a trading vessel, with accommodation for two or three passengers, which was advertised to start from the port of Liverpool for Trieste that afternoon, and he would be unusually unlucky if he could not get a passage in her. He found, indeed, no difficulty about that, and might go on board at once if he liked.
Before he did so, however, he had a good meal on shore, and wrote a letter to Mr Burrows regretting that he was forced to absent himself, without leave, from the office. And then, his imagination warming as he sat pen in hand, he told how his poor father, a stranger, speaking little English, had arrived in London, and been there seized with a serious illness; that he had not received the news till the night before, and had started at once to see that his aged parent received proper attention.
When the letter was finished, he went to the railway station and found a guard, whom he asked whether he was going to London that night. The guard said he was.
“Then I wish you would do me a favour,” said Daireh. “A lady—a friend of mine—wants to send a valentine to a man in Ireland, and is anxious to mystify him. She has got me to direct it, and would like it to have the London post-mark. Will you drop it in for her?”
He tendered the letter and a shilling, which the guard took with a grin and an “All right, sir,” and the foxy Egyptian walked back to the quay, having done his best to put the police on a wrong scent when the revelations of Stebbings should set them trying to track him. At the same time he felt that he was taking needless trouble, making assurance doubly sure; for, once at home in Alexandria, for which place he was bound, he would be safe enough. Or, if there were any fear, he had only to go up the Nile to Berber, where he had relatives, and what detective dare follow him there, or dare touch him even if he did?
A more anxious consideration was—how to make any profit out of the wills which he had stolen. To treat for their restitution, or even for that of the last and true one, would be a very ticklish operation indeed. I think it is really the worst part about rogues that they are so utterly selfish, and regardless of the misery they inflict upon other people, even when they cannot benefit themselves by it. If Daireh had had an ounce of good nature in his composition, he would have torn up the old will and sent back the new one, now there was so poor a chance of his making money out of his scheme.
But that idea never even occurred to him. I am glad to say, however, that he had a bad voyage, and suffered much from sea-sickness.
Chapter Five.
In Passing.
The fierce sun was declining towards the west, and it was becoming possible to breathe and move about with a little more comfort on board the somewhat cumbrous vessel, fitted with huge lateen sails, which went swinging down the Nile between the lofty black rocks near Samneh. I say fitted with the sails, not borne along by them, for the stream just there took all the carrying power upon itself, rushing along its narrowed channel like a mill race.
High above rose a hill, on the top of which was a temple, entire, with a balcony round it, heedless of the lapse of ages. There is some little difference between the ancient and modern ideas of substantial building.
They had no ninety-nine year leases in the time of the Pharaohs; if there were such things at all, nine thousand would probably be nearer the mark.
Harry Forsyth sat on the deck admiring the different points as they went by, and delighting in the glorious pace at which they were going; a great contrast to their sluggish progress earlier in the day, when the river was broad, placid, and leisurely, and there was hardly a breath of wind stirring to urge them on.
He had been entrusted with a trading expedition as far as Dongola, carrying merchandise and exchanging it for gum, and ostrich and marabout feathers. He had been allowed a little venture on his own account, and had embarked it all in the latter article of commerce—marabout feathers—and had been rather lucky in his bargain. On returning to Cairo he expected to go back to England, and that made him none the less glad to be spinning along so quickly.
“I wish we could go like this all the way, Hassib,” he said to the Nubian sitting by him; “we should soon get home then, eh?”
“We shall go faster than this when we come to the cataract,” said Hassib, with a grin; for there was a joke here. Harry on the way up had not shown any liking for the cataracts. In fact, had preferred, under pretence of shooting doves, to walk round while the operation of towing the vessel up took place.
He and Hassib conversed in a queer lingo, for Harry was trying his hardest to learn Arabic, but had to eke it out at present with a good many English and French words. Hassib had a smattering of both those languages, and after a little practice they got on glibly enough.
But I am sure you will pardon my translating the palaver between this supercargo and the reis or captain of the boat. The reis was the proper companion for Harry, being a respectable fellow, and wearing some clothes. Harry himself was dressed in a linen suit of European cut, with a tarboosh or red cap on his head, with a turban twisted round it. Not elegant, but sovereign against sunstroke they told him.
“I wish I could get a crocodile,” he said. “Every day we get lower down the river there is less chance.”
“Plenty of them yet. There is an island near where we stop to-night where there are always many crocodiles.”
“And do you think that I shall get one?”
Hassib thought a bit over this, and then replied gravely—
“If it is the will of Allah that you should get a crocodile, you will get a crocodile. If it is not the will of Allah that you should get a crocodile, you will not get a crocodile.”
There was no gainsaying this. Mohammedan races are fond of propounding truisms with an air of having evolved a new idea out of their unassisted brains, and that is why people often think them so very wise.
“You see,” said Harry, after bowing his head in assent to the last proposition, “I promised my mother a crocodile, and it seems so absurd to go up the Nile and not be able to get one. Then they are all white, and I expected them to be black.”
“White men call the devil and crocodiles black; black men call them white,” replied Hassib, who was a wag. “You now see which is right.”
“Good again; that is one for me!” laughed Harry. “But I should really like to get one if I could.”
“And the English think the crocodile such a pretty ornament!” said Hassib. “It is a strange taste.”
And then Harry thought for the first time where on earth would they put the crocodile if they got it. But that was a future consideration.
“Shall we shoot the cataract to-night?” he asked, presently.
“No,” said Hassib, “there will not be light enough. We shall anchor for the night soon, and start at daybreak.”
The river soon grew broader and calmer, and in half an hour they came to the place where they were to remain, and cast anchor.
Harry went ashore with his rifle, in hopes of a shot at the amphibious creatures, and his fishing tackle to keep him in patience while he was waiting for it. Hassib accompanied him to point out the place he had mentioned where the monsters were wont to lie.
For some time he got neither a shot nor a bite; but presently there came a tremendous tug at his line. The fish tugged, and Harry tugged, and the line being strong enough to hold a whale nearly, it seemed to be a question whether Harry pulled the fish out, or the fish pulled Harry in. In fact it was a regular tug of war.
Harry was the victor, and his opponent came to bank with a bound and flop.
“By jove! I have got a crocodile after all!” cried Harry, jumping back, as a hideous thing four feet long, and having the same number of legs, and a tail, seemed making towards him. The reis, laughing in a manner most contrary to our notions of the staid impassive Arab, began hammering the creature with a stick, until it lay quiet enough.
“What is it?” asked the captor, approaching cautiously.
“A big lizard,” replied Hassib, “so your learned white men say; ‘alligator lizard’ I heard one call it. But it is really a thing that comes out of an addled crocodile’s egg.”
Harry looked up quickly, but the reis was perfectly grave. And on such occasions he always pretended to believe, whether he did or no. Hassib was quite confident of the correctness of his information, and how could it be disproved, or, for that matter, why should it be?
The sun was now very low on the horizon, and would soon take its sand-bath. Hassib laid his hand on Forsyth’s arm and ducked behind a mound on the edge of the bank. Harry did the same.
“One, two, five, seven,” counted Hassib. Harry peeped, and saw that mystic number of grey crocodiles lying on the island where he had been looking for them.
The nearest was about two hundred yards off. By stalking him along the bank, as he was not quite opposite, he got perhaps thirty yards nearer. As has been said, he was a really first-rate rifle-shot, and the prospects of that crocodile could not be considered rosy.
Scales are hard, but so are conical bullets. Harry took a steady aim at what he had been taught to consider the most vulnerable part get-at-able, and pulled. Crack! Smack! He heard the ball tell as plainly as if it were on an iron target. But the absurd crocodile acted as all the others he had shot at had done: he rolled over into the water and disappeared, and the other six kept him company.
“He is killed! Oh, he is killed!” cried the reis, much excited. “He will float soon, you will see. When they are shot dead their bodies soon float.”
Whether this creature was an exception, or was not shot dead, or was carried down to the cataract before he got to the floating stage, and so came up where no one wanted him, cannot be said. But they saw him no more, and he was numbered among the partridges who have gone away to die, and the rabbits that were hit so hard, but crept away into holes!
Going back to where the boat lay they found another lying near her, which had been dragged up the last bit of the cataract and brought up so far since their arrival, while the crew had gone ashore and lit a fire, round which they were gathered.
Forsyth and Hassib went up to them for news, but there was not much. Alexandria was being rebuilt after the bombardment; Arabi’s insurrection was quite over, and Mohammed Tewfik Pasha firmly established. The English soldiers were leaving, and the country would soon be quit of them entirely.
“Not it,” said one of the new-comers, who seemed to be a passenger. Certainly not a sailor, for his hands were delicate, and he lacked manliness when compared with the others of the party. “The English will not be so easy to get rid of, make sure of that.”
And one of the others said to Hassib, alluding to the speaker—
“You knew his father; this is Daireh.”
“And I knew him as a boy,” said Hassib.
“It is years since I left,” said Daireh.
Here Reouf the pilot joined the group, and he, too, was a friend of the family, and was made known.
Harry Forsyth, seeing that old acquaintances had met after an absence, kept in the background, and lit his pipe. He listened indeed, but simply to try what words of Arabic, in which the conversation was being held, he could pick up, not from any interest or curiosity which he felt in the subject of their talk.
“Quite a boy when you went to England,” said Reouf; “and yet I think I can recognise you. Do you remember you went in my diabeheeh from Berber home to Alexandria?”
“Have you been to Berber lately? Are my people there well?”
“I was there less than a year ago, and all was well with them. You are journeying there now?” said Reouf.
“I am,” replied Daireh. “I returned from the land of exile to visit my home, hoping to share my hard-earned gains with my own people, when what did I find? Ruins in the place of my home, my family dispersed, my father slain by the English.”
“Not so,” said Hassib. “I heard of the misfortune; but it was by the hand of Arabi’s soldiers that he fell; not that of the English. Arabi’s soldiers, or plunderers who called themselves such. The English sailors caught them red-handed, and hung them up for it then and there.”
“May their graves be defiled, whoever they were,” said Daireh. “I have no friends now except at Berber.”
Harry made out a good deal of this, and his heart bled for the Egyptian, coming back as he thought to a home, to find nothing but desolation, and to be driven out again from his native land. For there is nothing in common between the Egyptian and the Nubian but religion. The former race affects to despise the latter, and the latter really despises the former. And with reason.
So when he rose to go back to his diabeheeh (Nile boat), he bade him good-night in English, and expressed regret for the grievous disappointment and sorrow he had experienced. And Daireh said of course it was a great affliction, but he hoped to make a new home in the Soudan. And so they parted, courteously enough.
The diabeheeh Daireh was travelling by had sustained some injury from a sharp rock during the process of being hauled up the cataract, and the crew were going to remain where they were for the purpose of repairs. So when a sudden red flush burst on the eastern horizon, and spread and deepened till it seemed as if a large city was on fire, and Hassib, recognising this as the dawn, began kicking his lazy sailors into wakefulness, the down-stream boat was the only one which made preparations for a start.
By the time the anchor was up and the sails hoisted, however, there was some movement on board the other diabeheeh, and parting greetings were exchanged. Harry Forsyth, seeing the man who had excited his compassion the night before on deck, waved his hand to him and shouted good-bye! And the other returned the salutation. And the local pilot for the second cataract took the helm, and the vessel entered the boiling waters, and was whirled in apparent helplessness, though really guided with great skill amidst innumerable rocks, any one of which would have crushed her like an egg-shell.
And Harry, in the excitement and anxiety of the passage, forgot all about the casual traveller from whom he had just parted. Little did he dream that that man carried in his breast the document upon which his fortune depended, and the obtaining of which would establish his mother and sister in comfort, besides changing all the future prospects of his old friend Kavanagh. And Daireh, had he but known that the Englishman he had just parted from was Harry Forsyth, what a lucky opportunity he would have esteemed it for making a bargain, and securing at least some profit out of what threatened to be the barren crime he had committed.
For though it was not to be expected that the poor clerk and agent should have command of sufficient funds to pay even the more moderate ransom which he was now prepared to accept, he had formed all his plans for eventually securing it. Something of course would have to be trusted to the pledged word of the man with whom he treated, but though he had no scruples about breaking his word, or his oath, indeed, for that matter, himself, he knew well that other people had, and had before traded, not without success, on what he considered a foolish weakness.
But the chance was gone both for the robber and the robbed. They had met, and not known it, and now their paths diverged more widely every minute.
Is there any truth in the notion of people having presentiments? Whether or no, certainly Forsyth had none, for he was only too eager to get back to Cairo. And the boat went well, though not fast enough for his impatience, making a quick trip of it.
His employers were well satisfied with the result of their venture, and Harry himself made as much as he expected out of his marabout feathers.
Shortly afterwards, as had been arranged, he sailed for England, and had a warm greeting from his mother and Trix, though he did not bring the promised crocodile.
And then he learned that his uncle, Richard Burke, was dead, and that his will had mysteriously disappeared, as well as the confidential clerk of the Dublin solicitors who had charge of it, who was therefore supposed to have taken it.
“We would not write to you about it,” said Mrs Forsyth, “because you were on your way home, and the will might have been found in the interim. But it hasn’t.”
Chapter Six.
In Farnham Park.
Church parade was over, and quiet reigned in the camp of the Fourth Battalion Blankshire Regiment, which was undergoing its annual training at Aldershot.
A young man in civilian clothes sat at breakfast in the officers’ mess-tent. He was a visitor and guest, who had no obligation to early rising, so he lay snug till the band, marching the Church of Englanders off at nine o’clock, roused him and then performed a leisurely toilet.
And now he, the subaltern of the day, and the officer who was to take the Roman Catholics, had the tent to themselves. The former was some distance off, the latter sat next to him.
“I came only just in time for mess yesterday, so we had no opportunity for a private chat,” said the one in plain clothes. “But I have a lot to say to you.”
“Well, look here,” replied the other, “my parade is at eleven; the dress bugle has just gone for it. I shall be back by half-past twelve. Then we will have lunch and go for a walk, you, I, and Strachan, if you like.”
“I should like it very much, though how you can expect me to eat lunch after such a breakfast as this at such a late hour, I cannot imagine.”
“Oh, the air here is wonderful for the appetite. Not like London and Egypt, which seem to be your haunts.”
“And the unaccountable disappearance of this will of uncle Richard’s, Kavanagh, has it put you in a very big hole?”
“Not just yet. The dear old man felt himself failing, and thought he might forget me as weeks went on. So, instead of sending a quarterly cheque, he paid my allowance for the whole year into the agent’s hands. So kind and thoughtful of him, was it not? But for the future, of course, it will be rather awkward for me if the will does not turn up. I go in directly after the training for the Competitive Examination, and so does Strachan. We have both passed the Preliminary, and shall have served our two trainings. Well, if I pass, it will be hard enough to live on my pay, but I must get into the Indian or Gold Coast Services, and try it that way. If I don’t succeed, why then I have no idea what to do next. At least, I have an idea, but there is no need to think it out till the necessity comes.”
“What do you think of your chance?”
“Well, my coach thinks it doubtful. He has known fellows get their commissions who were worse up than I am, and he has known fellows fail who were better up than I am. It depends on the lot of competitors, and also on their quality, and a little bit on luck. There is a good bit of luck in having the questions you have crammed set, you know.”
“I can imagine there must be. And how about Strachan?”
“Well, if he has not got a good bit in hand, I am not in it, that’s all. He could give me a hundred marks and a beating. However, I fancy that he must be safe. But there is the Fall-in; I must be off.”
As Kavanagh left the tent Strachan came into it.
“Well, old fellow, and how did you sleep?” he asked.
“Not badly,” said Forsyth. “I fancy? Should have been still at it but for that big drum of yours.”
“Hush! It is lucky the Colonel is not here. Never speak of the big drum in that irreverent tone to him, I pray. It would well-nigh give him a fit. The big drum is his fetish, though he nearly smashed it himself last year.”
“How was that?”
“We were out on the Queen’s Birthday, and had to fire a feu de joie. Rattle up the front rank, rattle down the rear rank, three times, you know. The horses hate it, and the chief had a young one who did not like ordinary firing very well, though he had got him in hand for that. But the roll was too much for the gee’s nerves; he went wild with terror, bolted slap through the band, and finally reared up till he rolled over. It looked as if the Colonel was under him, and those who went to help thought him smashed. But he got up, and said, with a face of intense anxiety—
“‘Is the big drum safe?’ But, I say, how jolly it is to meet you again, old fellow. Don’t you remember that last evening at Harton, we said we were sure to meet, we three; and here we are, you see. But, I say, this is a bad story for Kavanagh about this will being missing, is it not? Bad for you, too, though. Your mother was in it, was she not?”
“Yes; but as the testator’s sister she will come in for something, probably, anyhow. True, it is mostly land, and I believe an uncle abroad will inherit that. But I don’t know the legal rights of the matter yet quite. Anyhow, she has something of her own, and I have learned how to get work and earn my bread by it. So all round it is worse for Kavanagh. What is his chance of passing?”
“Not very good, I fear,” said Strachan. “I don’t feel safe, and I have read more than he has. And he is such a good fellow! He was awfully sorry about Mr Burke’s death, but made no trouble whatever of the missing will. That is, of course, he thought the prospect of being penniless a great bore, but he never got into low spirits, or worried others about it. And with his tastes and ideas, too!”
“Yes,” said Harry; “fellows at Harton used to think him a tremendous swell. And those who did not know him were apt to take a prejudice against him. ‘Lady Kavanagh’ some called him, you remember. But we must have a long talk, we three, for my time is short; I must go back to-morrow. Kavanagh proposed a walk after lunch.”
“Certainly, if you like. We generally walk over to Farnham on a fine Sunday afternoon: where the bishop’s palace is.”
“I know. I have often heard of Farnham, and should like to see it,” said Harry. And others coming in, the conversation became general.
Then lunch time arrived, and was on the table very punctually, though Harry did not want anything. But with the majority, who had breakfasted before eight, it was different. Kavanagh came in ready dressed for the walk, and expressed impatience at Strachan being still in uniform.
“I have got to pay my company,” explained Strachan; “but I shall do it directly the dinners are over, and then it won’t take me five minutes to change.” And he was as good as his word, for by a quarter to two he was ready to start.
It was a fine afternoon and a pretty walk; round the end of the Long Valley by Cocked Hat Wood, skirting the steeple-chase course; through shady lanes to the wild furze-clad common land; up the sides of the hill range, where the old Roman encampments can still be clearly traced.
“This one looks precious modern,” said Harry, doubtfully.
“Oh, the engineers may have been digging about a bit. And this certainly is a modern shelter trench. There are battles fought here, you know, whenever the generals are too lazy to go as far as the Fox Hills,” said Strachan, irreverently.
“But look at the view. Over there to the left, where you see the queer-shaped black wood, is Sir Walter Scott’s novel—what’s his name: the first one and the least interesting; at least, I could never get through it.”
“Waverley,” said Kavanagh. “Don’t expose your ignorance and want of taste, Strachan. You could not see the abbey if we went there, Forsyth, or else I should have proposed it. But the grass is not cut yet, and till it is no one may go to the ruins. That is Farnham Park below us. Yonder is the Hog’s Back.”
A pretty road led them down to the park paling, which they skirted till they came to a ladder stile, which they crossed into the park, close to the solid old-world walls and towers of the bishop’s castle.
“What splendid trees!” cried Harry, as the three old friends settled themselves comfortably under one of them. “I don’t know when I have seen such beeches.”
“Very condescending of you to admire anything in England, such a traveller as you have been,” said Strachan. “And you have been to Egypt? I envy you; I have always longed to see Egypt.”
“There are more unlikely things than that when you are in the Line. Things are not settled there yet.”
“Why, Arabi’s insurrection is completely quelled, and he is a prisoner. And the Government will have nothing to do with the Soudan business, they say.”
“Who is they? One set of theys say so, and another set of theys say we can’t help having to do with it, let the Quakers say what they will. For my part, I hope all will be quiet,” said Forsyth.
“Quiet!” cried Strachan. “Why, if there is no war there will be fewer vacancies, and I am less likely to get my commission in the Line!”
“Modest youth! So you want some tens of thousands of fellow-creatures to be slaughtered, palms and fruit-trees to be destroyed, and a whole country made desolate and miserable for years, and millions upon millions of pounds drained from the British tax-payer, in order that you may get your commission with a little less trouble! You remind me of the reasonable prayer in the poem—
“‘Oh, gods! Annihilate both Time and Space
To make two lovers happy.’”
“Oh, bother! I don’t look so deep into things as that,” said Strachan; “I can’t declare a war, and I would not take the responsibility if I could; but if it comes and does me good, I can’t help liking it. It is like winning a wager—I am sorry the other chap should lose, but I am consoled by the reflection that I win.”
“Exactly,” said Harry; “and I strongly expect that I should lose by any disturbance in the Soudan, and that Kavanagh would too. It is a long story; but you are such an old friend that it won’t bore you, Strachan, though it does not concern you personally. You both know all about the will and its mysterious disappearance, so I need not recapitulate that. Well, I have been to Ireland and seen the lawyers—Burrows and Fagan. I could not make much of Burrows, who is a duffer; but Fagan has his wits about. He had never had to do with that branch of the business, but now the credit of the firm was at stake he busied himself in making searching and pertinent inquiry. A sharpish boy-clerk was certain that the will was left at the office, and kept in the Burke deed box in the late Mr Burrows’ time; and, when closely pressed and questioned, the present Burrows recalled having seen it there since he came into the partnership. Then the question arose—Who could profit by its disappearance? The answer was, if a former will were in existence, Philipson—my uncle’s son-in-law, who was his original heir—would. But the old will is not forthcoming either, and Philipson is done both ways, for he neither gets the property left him by the first will, nor the allowance secured to him by the second. Indeed, he is barely existing on small sums advanced him by a speculative solicitor on the chance of one of the wills turning up. I saw a lot of Philipson: such a jolly nose—like a big red truffle. He said he was certain the late head clerk—a chap of Egyptian or Arab extraction, named Daireh—had got the will, or wills, having abstracted them after my uncle’s death, because he had hinted at being able to tell him how to find them, and had appointed the Sunday to meet him, but had failed to keep tryst, and had disappeared. All this had to be wormed out of Philipson, who spoke very reluctantly at first. And I suspect he is as big a rascal as the other, and was in a plot with him to destroy will Number 2, and prove will Number 1, only the other would not trust him, but wanted money down. The reason he did not keep his appointment is evident, for the police wanted him for forgery about a fortnight later, and of course he had found out that he was discovered, and made tracks at once without waiting to come to terms with Philipson. The police have tried to track him everywhere without hitting on a ghost of a clue beyond London, from which place a letter was sent to his employers. But I know the direction in which to look for him.”
“You do?” cried Kavanagh, much interested.
“Yes. The ugly beggar was vain, and liked being photographed, so there were lots of his likenesses extant. I was certain I knew the face from the first, and I soon was able to associate it with that of a fellow I passed on the Nile just above the Second Cataract. He was going up, and I was coming down, and I did not see very much of him; but I would swear to his ugly face anywhere.”
“And you heard where he was going?” asked Strachan.
“Yes, to Berber. And I know natives who know him, so I have a good chance of tracking him; and if he don’t produce the will he shall eat stick.”
“Let him eat a little stick, as you poetically call it, even if he does produce the will. I think a hundred on his feet, or any suitable portion of his person, might have a good moral influence upon him,” said Kavanagh. “Oh, to have the handling of the bamboo!”
“We have got to catch the beggar first,” said Harry.
“And are you going after him really?” said Kavanagh.
“Or are you only chaffing? It seems a wild goose chase.”
“Yes, I am going,” said Harry; “and I think better of our chances than you seem to do. In the first place, I have picked up a smattering of Arabic, and that is a help; and then I have friends who can give me recommendations to the Egyptian authorities in any town which is held for the Khedive on the Upper Nile, and I am pretty confident I can make them help me.”
“But suppose this fellow has not got the will, or has destroyed it, or has hidden it somewhere, and won’t tell?”
“That would be hard lines for you, Kavanagh, and I hope better things. But even in that case it would not follow that my journey would be useless to myself. I have got a crazy uncle, a brother of uncle Richard, who is heir-at-law if a will is not forthcoming. He has turned Mohammedan, and lives like an Arab, and I believe has considerable authority amongst them. He was in England the last Christmas we were at Harton, and I saw him in the holidays, and he gave me directions how to find him if ever I wanted, for he took a fancy to me, and wanted me to go and live as he does. With all his eccentricity, he has a strong love for his sister—that is my mother, you know—and if he could be told that his brother was dead, and that he had made a will in his sister’s favour which had been stolen, by which means he had become heir to the Irish property, I am convinced he would try to do something to set matters straight. Anyhow, it is worth trying.”
“Rather!” said Kavanagh. “And if the country is in insurrection, and barred against Egyptians and European travellers, your relative’s pass may enable you to get at Master Cream—Butter—what’s his name?”
“Daireh.”
“Ah, yes; I knew it had something to do with a dairy—to get at him, after all.”
“By Jove, what an enterprising chap you are, Forsyth!” cried Strachan. “You deserve to succeed, I am sure.”
“He does; and I heartily hope he will, for if he does not find the will, I shall have to forego all the comforts of life, at least, all I know of, for I daresay I shall find others. Now periwinkles may be a comfort, but what I shudder at is the idea of dirty linen. Not to have a clean shirt every day! It is quite too awful to think of. I am sure I wish you speedy and complete success, and that you may eat salt with the Arabs, and put some on Daireh’s tail. That is how the Nubians catch their prisoners, Strachan.”
“And when do you start?” asked Strachan, a great deal too much interested to listen to Kavanagh’s nonsense.
“On Wednesday,” replied Harry, “that is why I cannot stop to-morrow to benefit by your hospitality. I must go in the morning pretty early.”
“I’m off to Berber early in the morning,
I’m off to Berber, a little while to stay,”
chanted the incorrigible Kavanagh, getting on to his feet. “Catchee Dairy, or no catchee Dairy, Forsyth has got to see the old town of Farnham, and walk home by road, and get there comfortably for dinner. So come on. I am sure Forsyth must want to rest his tongue a bit and give his eyes a turn.”
They left the park, and went down into the town by the steps beneath the palace; and so through the broad street with the restored houses, the bank and others, the inhabitants of which ought to wear coifs and pinners, knickerbockers and doublets, and where tall black hats should be unknown; then into the main street, past the Workhouse, which has a letter-box soliciting books and newspapers for the amusement of the paupers, and so back to camp.
Each of the three recalled that Sunday walk often and often in after years, with a pleasure which those who have formed school friendships, and met those they had “conned” with after several, yet not too many, years’ absence, will understand. They talked no more of Forsyth’s adventurous journey, or the imminent examination lowering over Strachan and Kavanagh. No, the future was banished from their thoughts, which were full of the past. Their talk, indeed, on the way home, would have been a terrible infliction upon an outsider, had one been of the company.
“I say, do you remember Baum major?”
“Rather.”
“Don’t you remember when he thought he was sent up for good, and he wasn’t, and his face when he found out that old Williams had smelt his jacket of tobacco smoke?”
“I remember!”
And then a roar of laughter, the joke being only known to the three, but needing no further elucidation for them. For every period of every public school has its jokes, which are no jokes to any human being unconnected with that time and place, but to those who are so connected are a subject of life-long enjoyment.
When they got back to camp each felt that one of the happiest days of his life was drawing to a close. At mess that evening the Adjutant announced that the Commander-in-Chief was coming down next morning, and there would be a Field Day on the Fox Hills. They were to be brigaded at half-past five, so the “Fall-in” would be at five.
“We are sure to be back about one,” said Strachan to Harry later in the evening. “You can wait till then, and have lunch.”
“No, thank you,” said Harry; “I have a lot to do before I start, and cannot spare another day. Besides, it would not be fair to my mother. I should have gone off early in the morning anyhow; not so early, indeed, as you march, but by nine; so it makes no difference in my plans, you see.”
“Well, we shall breakfast at four; there is no need for you to disturb yourself then. Get up at your own time, and order what you like, you know.”
“Thanks, you may trust me,” said Harry. “But I shall see you off.” Those overnight resolutions do not always find fulfilment in the morning. But when the companies were told off and equalised, and only waiting for the Adjutant to call out the markers and form the parade, Harry Forsyth emerged from the spare tent kept for guests, and went to the reverse flank to give his two old chums a final hand-grip. Then the Colonel appeared and mounted his horse, and they had to fall in. And the band struck up, and the battalion trickled away, till the rear company was clear of the ground, and Harry found himself alone.
“Poor old Kavanagh!” he murmured. “Strachan does not matter half so much. If he gets spun he has two more chances; and if he fails to get into the Line, then his friends have money and interest to start him in something else. But Kavanagh can’t stop on in the Militia, or pay a tutor another six months, and it is neck or nothing with him. If I find the will it will put him square; but what is he to do till then?”
Ruminating in this way, Harry returned to his tent and lay down again for a couple of hours. Then he tubbed and dressed, and had a comfortable breakfast all by himself; for he was too experienced a traveller by this to let melancholy partings spoil his appetite.
He was in town by eleven, getting what was wanted to complete his modest outfit, and at the Sheen cottage with his mother and sister in time for their early dinner.
They were a thoroughly happy trio, for whatever interested one of them became at once equally interesting to the others, and so Harry could have his talk out about the friends he had just parted from without fear of boring any one.
It was a great sorrow to Mrs Forsyth that her son should be going back to Egypt so soon. She had hoped that the anxiety she had suffered during his former absence was at an end, at least, for some considerable time.
“If his constitution were but settled,” she said, “I should not so much mind; but he is not quite nineteen yet.”
And Beatrice tried to be cheerful, and make light of it, but she was sorely disappointed also.
Chapter Seven.
A Very Long Paper-Chase.
It was not without very careful consideration that Harry Forsyth had determined to sacrifice his immediate salary, if not his prospects of success in the commercial line for ever, in order to track Daireh, and obtain the abstracted will.
On learning the whole story on his return to England, he had indeed at once thought that that was the best thing to be done, but had not been hasty in settling to do it.
His first act was to go to Dublin; his next to tell the whole story to Mr Williams, the head of the house which employed him in London, and he somewhat reluctantly fell in with his views, his hesitation arising principally from Harry’s youth.
“You are very young,” he said, “but you have proved that you have a head on your shoulders; and if your mother and sister have enough to support them, and you possess funds for the journey, I cannot dissuade you from the attempt. If you fail, come back to us, and we will see if we cannot give you employment again. And even if you succeed you had better not lead an idle life, and need not sever all connection with us. At any rate, I will do what I can by letters of introduction to aid you.”
Harry thanked Mr Williams heartily, and that gentleman was better than his word, for, besides the letters, he gave him charge of some goods which had to be sent out to Cairo, by which he not only got a free passage, but salary up to the date of his arrival out.
Under the circumstances, and considering the object of his present visit to Egypt, Harry had no hesitation in selling the amethysts given to him by his uncle Ralph, or the Sheikh Burrachee. For he fully intended to seek him, if he could not find Daireh, a matter which he felt to be extremely problematical. Without the sale of these jewels he could not attempt the rescue of the will at all. He was surprised at their value, for he got more for them than he expected, and it seemed a great risk to have left them in the secret drawer of his desk all this time. You may be sure he did not forget the signet-ring and the thin silver case, these being taken with him as before.
The trip to Cairo was uneventful, and he passed the time in improving his Arabic, by the aid of a grammar, dictionary, and Koran. As soon as he had delivered his cargo, and called upon the member of the firm who resided out there, who was as kind and cordial as Mr Williams, he started up the Nile.
The traveller who does that, proposing to do more than visit a pyramid or two, requires a good deal of patience; and so would a reader if the ordinary routine of travel were to be recorded. Suffice it then to say that Harry voyaged up the Nile to Korosko, and there joined a caravan across the desert to Abu Hamed, from which place he got passage again on board a diabeheeh, which carried him to Berber.
With what excitement he beheld the white houses, the minarets, the palm-trees, grow nearer and nearer! Within those walls, as he hoped, Daireh was living. If so, and he could find him, and get the will, the object of his journey would be accomplished.
For he had laid his plans. Armed with a letter he had got for the Governor, he would find no difficulty in having his man seized unexpectedly before he would have time to make away with the document, and there was little doubt means would be found to make him give it up.
Confidence, which had fluctuated, revived at the sight of the place, and when at length he was landed, Harry walked through the bazaars, expecting every man he met to be the one he was in search of. After many disappointments he recognised himself for an idiot, and calmed down.
How should he set to work in a methodical manner?—that was the point. The letter to the Pasha denounced Daireh as a criminal, and therefore if he employed his officers to make search for him the fact might get about, and Daireh, hearing of it, might hide, escape, or at any rate get rid of all incriminatory documents. It was more prudent, perhaps, to pretend to have business with him, and make inquiry in the bazaars.
The one advantage of the tedium of his journey was that Harry had acquired much more fluency by constant practice in speaking the language. The dress he had selected was not one to attract attention; he had modelled it on that of a Greek merchant who was continually trading with the interior. He wore full pantaloons, a loose sort of jacket, with a shawl bound round the waist, and his head was protected by a tarboosh, with a turban wrapped round it.
But though his clothes did not look European, the pistol stuck in his shawl belt was of the best, strongest, and most hard-hitting type. Old-fashioned, indeed, so far that it was not breech-loading; for he had considered that if he lost his cartridges, or spent them, his weapon would become a useless lump of iron, whereas percussion caps, powder, and lead, are procurable almost everywhere.
He went to the stall of a man who sold filigree work, and at his invitation squatted down and had a pipe and a cup of coffee, while he asked the price of several things. That was very well, but when he began to inquire about the object of his search, the shopkeeper lost all interest in the conversation.
He tried a money-changer with better success; he knew Daireh, but had not seen him for months. More he could not say. After many more failures Harry turned into a coffee-house, to sit down and rest, and have a glass of sherbet and enjoy a smoke.
While resting in the comparative cool portico where he was served, a barber came and offered his services, and Harry, suddenly remembering how the barber in the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainments” always knew everybody, thought he would try his luck with him.
“I have come all the way from Cairo,” he said, in reply to a bit of characteristic curiosity, “and my business is with one Daireh, who should reside here; for the last time our house transacted business with him he was here.”
“He was here but six moons back. And he came from the land of the English to his cousin, who lived here. If you have dealings with Daireh, I know your business,”—and here the barber looked inexpressibly cunning—“Gordon Pasha spoilt that trade; but since he has gone there is good profit to be made. And what are the pagans fit for but slaves, sons of pigs that they are? But they tell me there will be fine times when the Mahdi rules. Not that I know, but while I shave heads the tongues wag and I listen. It is nothing to me. Mahdi or Khedive, what do I care! All want to be shaved.”
“To be sure,” said Harry; “the wise man has the same opinion as his customer. And where has the family moved to?”
“They moved to Khartoum when trade grew better, and you will find them there if Allah wills.”
How long he would have gone on talking it is impossible to conjecture, had it not been that a customer entered his stall, which was on the opposite side of the street, and he shuffled off to attend to him, for which Harry, who had got all the information he required, was by no means sorry.
His one great desire now was to get away. To be so close, to find the form of the hare almost warm, and yet to be just too late, was very trying to his patience. It was all very well to say to himself that he had only two hundred miles farther to go; and after travelling more than a thousand from Cairo, let alone the journey out from England, what were two hundred miles? But the answer he made himself was that two hundred miles was a great distance, and there was the sixth cataract. He had forced himself to be cool—mentally, of course, bodily coolness was quite out of the question—all the way along, with looking upon Berber as the end of his voyage. And here he had to go on another two hundred miles, and up another tedious cataract. It was very disheartening.
However, there was no help for it; so he went at once down to the quay, and began inquiries about boats going up. Luck here turned in his favour, for there was one starting next day, and he engaged a passage by it. And what was still more fortunate, the next day was Friday, and so there was not any likelihood of the delay which is so charming to the Nubian sailor mind. For Friday is their lucky day, and they would not miss the chance of commencing any undertaking upon it on any account. Now we account Friday an unlucky day (or used to do so). So either we or the Soudanese must be utterly wrong—radically wrong. Which is it, I wonder?
The dreary business commenced again on the morrow. A fair breeze, and sailing; a foul one or a calm, and rowing; running on banks, and pushing off; getting nearly wrecked half a dozen times in the rapids, and escaping. And so they progressed until at length the mighty river divided into two streams, that to the left the Blue Nile, that to the right the White, and the real Nile, and they found at the junction the city of Khartoum, dazzling in the glare of the sunshine, with the governor’s house and the mosque rising above the flat roofs.
Opposite the city, and on the west side of the Nile, there were a number of tents visible, and Harry asked the reis what place that was.
“That is Um Durma, where the camp is,” he replied.
“And what is the camp for? It seems a very large one.”
“Yes, O traveller, it is large! Seven thousand foot soldiers, a thousand of them that fight on horseback; many cannon, many camels to carry powder, shot, provisions, water; thousands of those who fight not themselves, but load and lead the baggage camels, sell things to the soldiers, and live upon the camp. In all a large encampment, and must cost the Khedive much money.”
“Who commands the force, and what is it collected for?” asked Harry.
“Hicks Pasha commands it; he is an Englishman, and his principal officers are also English; the men are Egyptians and Bashi-Bazooks.”
The reis paused. He was a Soudanese; and a smile played over his face as he added, “They are going to do wonderful things; to take El Obeid back again, to destroy the Soudan army, take the Mahdi, and carry him to Cairo in a cage, I believe. Oh! But they are great warriors, and the Mahdi’s days are numbered.”
“Is El Obeid in the Mahdi’s hands, then?” asked Harry; for the last time he had heard news of that part of the country it had been still held by the Egyptians; and Mahomet Achmet, or the Mahdi, as he professed himself to be, had been repulsed with such heavy loss when he attacked it as to oblige him to sheer off, this being his first defeat. But he had returned in the January of that year, and taken the place after a fortnight’s siege.
“Yes,” said the sarcastic reis; “he holds it just for the present, till the warriors of Hicks Pasha find it convenient to walk across and take it from him.”
After the disappointment at Berber, Harry did not feel the same confidence in finding his man that he had previously done. He began to be disheartened, and to think luck was against him; and to settle the matter quickly was a more important matter than ever it had been. If El Obeid was taken by the Mahdi, the insurrection of the Soudanese against the Egyptian yoke must be a very serious thing, and the country would be in a disturbed state for a long time, so that the Nile route would be closed against travellers, and passage across the desert to the sea would be equally difficult. If then he caught his man and recovered the will, he would not be able to get out of the country with it.
He had little doubt that Sheikh Burrachee’s signet-ring and the parchment in the silver case, would, properly used, find him safe conduct to his uncle, if living; but the getting back again he suspected would be much more difficult, for his fanatical relative would probably want to keep him when he had got him.
But as Khartoum was a so much larger and more important town than Berber, so much greater difficulty was there in tracing an individual; and perseveringly and assiduously as Harry pursued his investigations, he could learn nothing. Most of those of whom he made inquiries were probably as ignorant as they professed to be; but there were some who, at the name of Daireh, looked at the inquirer with a quick suspicious glance. One of these replied with a verse out of the Koran, another with a proverb, a third said he never meddled with other people’s affairs, and walked quickly away.
After three days of fruitless inquiry, Harry was obliged to have recourse to the plan which he wished to avoid as long as he could—that of applying to the authorities.
So he inquired for the house of Slatin Bey, to whom he had a letter of introduction, and went to deliver his credentials.
Experience in transacting business on his former journey up the country had taught him how to expedite his reception, and a judicious application of baksheesh caused him to be introduced to the great man without too great delay.
Slatin Bey read the letter, and received him courteously, motioning him to a seat on the divan, and ordering him a chibouque to smoke, and coffee.
Harry knew that the great man must not be bustled, so he sucked at his long pipe with apparent complacency and indifference to all external matters, and said that he was an Englishman, who had come from London to bask in the sunshine of the Bey’s presence.
“England is a great country, and London is a great town—twice as large as Cairo. I am honoured,” said the Bey. “And you need no interpreter? That is pleasant.”
“I speak but badly, but I can understand and reply,” said Harry.
“It is well,” said the Bey; “and if you have a message for the Governor it is best delivered without an interpreter.”
“I have no message; neither, though a merchant, have I come to trade,” said Harry, when after a few observations on fleets, armies, and Mr Gladstone—in which the Bey evidently tried to pump him—he thought he saw an opening. “My business is a private one. A man named Daireh, a native of Alexandria, went to England as a boy, and was brought up to be a lawyer. He has fled with documents, for the want of which I cannot obtain property which is mine by right, and I have traced him to Khartoum; and I request your Highness’s omnipotent aid to find him, and induce him to make restitution of what is valueless to him, but of great importance to me.”
The Bey smoked a little while in silence, and then said—
“If these documents are of no use to him, why has he taken them?”
“He took them to extort money for their recovery,” replied Harry. “But he had committed other crimes which obliged him to fly the country in a hurry, and before he had time to make profit of the papers.”
Another long pause of silent smoking, and the Bey observed—
“It is a difficult matter, and he will be hard to find.”
Harry was prepared for objections, and had learned the best arguments for their removal. He placed a purse containing the sum which his friends in Cairo had estimated sufficient on the divan, and said—
“I know that legal expenses are great in all countries, and it is only just that I should bear the charge.”
The Bey bowed and clapped his hands.
“Send Abdullah here,” he said to the attendant who appeared.
Abdullah came in; an old man, with an ink horn and other writing materials, worn in a case stuck into his girdle instead of weapons, who prostrated himself, and was questioned. He remembered the name of Daireh, and knew there was something wrong about him. But he must consult his books and examine certain sbirri, or policemen.
So Harry had to go away, with the promise that he should have fuller information next day. He did not for a moment expect to be satisfied so quickly as that, nor was he; but still he was infinitely more lucky than most people who have to deal with Turkish or Egyptian authorities, for at a third meeting, and with a little more baksheesh to subordinates, he got at the facts; and very disappointing they were.
When the Egyptian army, now under the command of Hicks Pasha, was being gathered to the camp of Um Durma, where it was at present situated, Daireh had been very energetic in trying for contracts to supply the troops with various requisites, and had ingratiated himself with many of the Egyptian officers, so he came and went freely past the sentries at all hours, always having the password. One of the English officers, however, chanced to see him one day in company which aroused his suspicions, and he had him watched, and shortly afterwards a couple of spies were taken, from the papers found on whom, as well as from the confessions they were induced to make—not, I fear, by arguments which would be approved of in more civilised lands—it became evident that Daireh was in communication with the enemy, and had kept him posted as to the number of the troops, their organisation, and their probable movements. Orders were immediately issued for the arrest of the traitor, who, however, had disappeared, having doubtless taken refuge with the Mahdi.
This news was a terrible blow to Harry. He had tracked the man all these thousands of miles, and here, just as he had his hand upon him, he had slipped away again, and was now farther off than ever.
There seemed to be but one chance left—to employ the signet-ring, to apply to the principal dervish of Khartoum, and seek out his uncle Ralph, the Sheikh Burrachee. He was most likely with the Mahdi, or else with Osman Digna out Red Sea way; and, in the former case, he would help him to recover what he wanted from Daireh, who was pretty certainly with the False Prophet. But it was extremely distasteful to him to have recourse to such an expedient. His uncle was a renegade, and if England espoused the cause of the Khedive, which, after the experience of interference with Arabi’s revolt, it was very likely that she would do, he would be in arms against his country.
It was certain that he would not desert the man, Mahomet Achmet, whom his cracked brain accepted as a prophet from Heaven, for any patriotic consideration, for he was a wrong-headed Irishman as well as a fanatic, and a man with a grievance to boot, and would glory in drawing his sword against England. And if he joined him and sought his aid, Harry Forsyth might find himself in the awkward fix of acquiescing, if not taking part, in war against his countrymen, or of losing his head. And he had a sort of foolish weakness for his head, which fitted very comfortably on his shoulders, and did not want transferring to any other pedestal. And then, suppose, after all, the Sheikh Burrachee were serving with Osman Digna on the other side of the Soudan! He would be farther off his object than ever after he joined him.
He revolved all this in his mind as he walked moodily through the bazaar, where the products of all countries were displayed, not excepting the merchandise of Manchester and Birmingham, when he heard voices in loud altercation, and, looking up, he saw a group of men whose gestures showed them to be strangely excited about something.
An Arab, who stalked along, his hand on the hilt of his sword, and scowling on the bystanders, seemed to be the object of this commotion.
“Stop him!” “Seize him!” “The spy!” “The rebel!” were the cries: but the Arab passed on like a lion through a crowd of wolves.
Then an Egyptian soldier, bolder than the rest, seized him by the sword-arm, and in a second half a dozen were upon him. But in the next he had shaken himself free, and his bright blade flashed in the sunlight, and down went the first aggressor on the causeway, which was flooded with a crimson stream.
Pistols were pulled out, carbines unslung, as the motley crowd rushed to the spot. Pop, pop, pop; at least half a dozen shots were fired. One bullet whizzed unpleasantly close to Harry’s nose, another smashed in amongst the bottles of an apothecary’s stall, from which an assortment of odours arose, attar of rose and asafoetida being the most prominent. What billets all the other bullets found I know not, but one severed the Arab’s spine, and avenged the Egyptian.
By the time Harry got up to this latter, he saw that a man in European clothing was by his side, kneeling on one knee, and trying to check the flow of blood which pumped out of a wound in his neck.
“Is there a human being here who is not a jabbering idiot?” he cried in English. “Keep back, you fools, and let the man have a chance to breathe.”
“Can I be of any use?” asked Harry, pushing to him.
“That’s right, come on,” said the surgeon, as he evidently was. “Lay hold of this forceps, and hold tight—that’s it—while I cut down a bit and tie it lower down. No good, I fear; there are too many vessels severed. By George, how sharp those fellows keep their tools!”
He was right; it was no good. In five minutes the Egyptian soldier died under his hands. Upon which he rose up and walked on to where the Arab lay, to see if anything could be done for him; but he had hardly moved since the shot struck him.
“A bad business,” said the doctor to Harry, who had followed him. “We have not got many soldiers in our force brave enough to lay hold of an Arab, and can ill afford to lose one of them in a stupid affair like this.”
“Are they such cowards?” asked Harry. “But I say,” he added, as he looked in the other’s face, “is not your name Howard?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Don’t you remember Forsyth at Harton—your fag?”
“Remember little Forsyth! Of course I do. But you don’t mean to say—by George! Now I look at you I see a sort of a likeness. But I should never have known you.”
“I expect not. When you left I was thirteen, and I have altered a good bit since then. But you were eighteen or thereabouts, and have not changed so much.”
“That’s it; though I have had plenty to change me, too. But how do you come to be here, and in that toggery?”
“Well, it is rather a long story,” said Harry, “and I would sooner tell it sitting down somewhere out of the sun. What are you doing here—in private practice?”
“That is a long story, too,” cried Howard, laughing; “and I would also sooner tell it sitting out of the sun. Come to Yussuff’s, where we can wash this mess from our hands, and get anything we want.”
Yussuff’s was not far. It was a convenient establishment, where you could get a meal, or a bottle of wine, or even beer, if you would pay for it, or simply take a chibouque or narghile, and a cup of coffee or a sherbet.
“Try the lemonade; they make it first-rate here,” said Howard; and Harry took his advice, and swallowed a big glassful of nectar, which no iced champagne he had ever drunk could beat. And then they washed their hands and rested on a comfortable divan while they interchanged confidences.
Howard had been a bit wild, perhaps, before he passed the College of Surgeons, and did not see any opening afterwards; he had no money or professional interest. So he had gone into the Turkish service, and, thinking himself ill-treated, had passed into that of the Khedive, and had lately volunteered to accompany Hicks Pasha’s expedition.
“I have made a regular hash of it, as usual,” he said; “for my great wish is to study gun-shot wounds, and for that purpose I should have taken service with the Mahdi; for almost all our fellows are hurt with spears or swords, while all their wounded are shot. But now tell me what extraordinary chance has brought you out here.”
Harry told his story, leaving out, however, all that part about his uncle, the Tipperary Sheikh, who was now in all probability in the ranks of the enemy Hicks Pasha’s force was about to attack.
When he had done, Howard said—
“I remember that fellow Daireh; he would have had a short shrift if we had caught him! It was unlucky, though, that he was found out before you came; he could not have done us much more harm, and the finding him here would have done you a great deal of good. By George! You are a nasty fellow to have for an enemy, Forsyth! What a sticker you are—a regular sleuth-hound. Fancy following your enemy to the very end of the world! Such a little innocent chap as I remember you, too. I don’t think I bullied you much, did I? By George, I should have thought twice about offending you if I had known what a Red Indian I had to deal with!”
“I did think you rather a beast sometimes,” said Harry, laughing; “and I took it out of the next generation, when I had a fag in my turn. But there is no revenge or vice in my present journey; it is simply to get my money. I had been a good bit of the way already on other people’s business, and that put me up to coming on my own. Do you remember Kavanagh?”
“Very slightly; he was a little fellow—Brown’s fag.”
“He is not a little fellow now!” said Harry, laughing. “I should say he would weigh down the pair of us.”
“And you can talk the lingo!” said Howard, admiringly. “It is very few words that I have been able to pick up. But what are you going to do now?”
“That is just what I was wondering when that row took place, and sent all my ideas and reflections spinning. I must sleep on it.”
“Look here,” said Howard, presently. “The chances are that that fellow Daireh has gone to the Mahdi’s head-quarters, which are at El Obeid. Now we are going to El Obeid; therefore come with us there.”
“A capital idea!” cried Harry, hope dawning once more in his breast. “There will be a chance of catching the fellow, after all, that way. But how can it be managed? Will Hicks Pasha be bothered with me?”
“He does not want any useless mouths, it is true,” said Howard; “but I expect that he will be able to make some use of you. An Englishman who has shown sufficient energy to make his way out to Khartoum, and who can understand and speak Arabic, and that at an age when his sisters and their she friends would call him ‘a nice boy,’ and patronisingly teach him the newest waltz steps, is sure to be available in some capacity, especially for a leader with the resources of our chief. At any rate there is no harm in trying, and if you come with me I will introduce you. You need not tell him your story, you know, unless he asks you for it, because it is rather long, and he is very busy. Later, over a bivouac fire, it may interest and amuse him. Just say who you are, what you can do, and offer your services, and I do not doubt you will find yourself a man in authority over a certain number of Egyptians.”
“What sort of soldiers do these Egyptians make? They did not do much good against us under Arabi.”
“No; and we have a lot who ran away at Tel-el-Kebir here. They are no good. The Egyptian rule has been a curse to the Soudan, and the Egyptian troops are the greatest curs that ever tempted a brave but unarmed people to throw off the yoke. But suppose we go to the camp.”