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Don’t you hate a story with a moral in it? I do. This is an immoral story. And, remember, I said in the beginning that it had no end, but was no more than an episode in the career of Ali Higg. I would have liked to tell it from his viewpoint setting down what he thought of this unexpected stick thrown in his wheel, omitting most of the bad language for the censor’s sake.
His first thought was that Jael had returned from the raid with a hundred and forty men. You could tell that by the light in his eyes, even before he spoke.
“Allah reward you; you come in time! Have Ayisha and that Yussuf thrown over the cliff. Praised be Allah, I shall be obeyed at last!”
It was his worst shock yet when even Jael did not start at once to carry out his order. Instead, she sat down on the rug, so that she and Ali Higg and Grim formed a triangle.
“O Lion of Petra,” she said—for it would not have been manners to call him by his right name in front of strangers—“what was written has come to pass, and my foreboding was a true one. If we had let the tribes at El-Maan be, and if you had kept those forty men instead of sending them to raid the Beni Aroun, this could not have happened. Now twenty men have cornered us, while Ibrahim ben Ah eats up provisions to no purpose, sitting idly in the desert.”
“Then the El-Maan men were not scattered to the winds?” groaned Ali Higg. “O Allah, may shame devour you as it tortures me! Those dogs will have looted a train and will say that Ali Higg no longer dares interfere! The sun rises, but it sets at evening, since Allah wills; but is my day so short?”
“By no means,” answered Grim. “The El-Maan men saw me and believed I was the Lion of Petra. I forbade the looting of the train, and Your Honor’s wife Ayisha went to El-Maan to enforce obedience by her presence.
“Later they saw me start for Petra when the train had passed; and now they will learn that Ibrahim ben Ah with seven score men is bivouacking in the desert. The world is round, O Ali Higg, so that where in one place it seems dark in another they say the sun is rising.”
“In Allah’s name, who art thou?” asked the Lion.
“James Schuyler Grim. Men call me Jimgrim.”
“Allah! Wallahi haida fasl!* Not he who fought under Lawrence against the Turks? Wallah! I fought on the other side, but we all feared Lawrence and admired him so that not a man would try to capture him, although Djemal Pasha put a great price on his head. And you were known far and wide as his man! There was a price on your head too—dead or alive —five thousand pounds Turkish—well I remember it. By the beard of the Prophet, you might have come here as a friend, O Jimgrim!”
Grim laughed.
“I come here as a friend in any case,” he answered. “Khajjaltni bima’rufak!* You brought back a woman to poison me!”
And this is where the immorality comes in. I told a lie, and don’t regret it. Nor did Grim regret it; and he backed me up. And Narayan Singh supported both of us.
The lie was my own idea entirely, invented on the spur of the moment; and afterward, when old Ali Baba named me The “Father of Lies” on the strength of it I felt extremely proud, as he intended that I should do. The lie worked.
I said:
“O Ali Higg, men said of you that you are a fierce man, swift in wrath and slow to take advice. And others said that you are sick with burning boils; yet who shall go into the Lion’s den and heal him? And Ayisha said to me:
“‘Thou art a hakim, yet he will never listen to thee. But he is my lord, and shall I see him linger in agony? Give me a potion that will weaken him. Then in his weakness he will call for help, and thou shalt heal the boils. And afterward that which is written shall come to pass. If in great wrath because I mixed the potion in his drink he shall have me slain, nevertheless the Lion will be whole again; and who am I compared to him?’ So said the lady Ayisha.”
I know Grim would have given a hundred dollars for leave to laugh then right out in meeting; but he kept a straight face, and he had so contrived to make Jael Higg afraid of him that though she looked scandalized she held her tongue. And Narayan Singh, as I said, supported me.
“These words are true, O Lion of Petra,” he boomed out. “I heard the lady Ayisha speak, and it was I who put the little vial in her hands. By the beard of the Prophet I swear the words are true.”
But as he is a Sikh, and therefore believes that the prophet of El-Islam was a liar and impostor, with a beard as fit to be dishonored as his fiery creed, perhaps his perjury was scarcely technical. Anyhow, I am not the recording angel. And Grim said, being a more cautious liar than the rest of us:
“Therefore, O Lion of Petra, mercy is due to the lady Ayisha, seeing that the end in view was good, although the means were questionable.”
But Jael Higg looked daggers at her lord. She had made up her mind to reduce that establishment by one at least; and Ali Higg, looking in her eyes, read what all polygamous husbands have had to face ever since the day when Abraham was forced to drive out Hagar into the wilderness. So he pronounced one of those Solomon-like judgments that are the secret of a man’s rule over men in that land, granting to each contender the whole of what he asked, yet having his own way in the bargain.
“I find she is not worthy of death,” he said, “since she played a trick that brought me comfort. Yet I will not endure a woman’s tricks, nor condone the offense. I divorce her. Before witnesses I say she is divorced.”
It’s a simple affair in that land, isn’t it?
But there were matters not so simple to attend to, and Grim saw fit to waste no further time.
“I said I come as a friend,” he resumed.
“I heard it!” the Lion answered dryly.
“Without boasting, I have saved you from destruction, while delivering your purchases from El-Kalil. And I have done your name no harm, but good on the country-side.”
“Allah! How have you saved me from destruction?”
“By preventing that unwise raid on El-Maan.”
“Wallahi! Do you think my men could not have accomplished it?”
“Maybe. Do you think the British would be fools enough to let that go unpunished? The El-Maan people would surely have appealed to them. Aeroplanes would have been sent to bomb you out of Petra. Can you fight aeroplanes?”
“The British do not pretend to rule on this side of the Jordan,” the Lion retorted.
“No. Do you want them to pretend to?”
“Allah forbid!”
“Then take a friend’s advice, O Ali Higg, and keep the peace here rather than make war.”
“That is good advice; but will the British make a treaty with me?”
“No,” Grim answered, smiling. “By that they would recognize you
