listen.”
“There is going to be—hee-hee!—an explosion!”
“Where? When? Of what?”
“In Jerusalem, within a day or two, and of what? Why, of high explosive, what else?”
“Much good an explosion in this city will do Mustapha Kemal!” Grim grumbled. “You may kill a few beggars and break some windows. The British will double the guards afterward at all the city gates, and that will be the end of it; except that some of you, who perhaps may escape being thrown into jail, will apply to Mustapha Kemal for high commissions in his army on the strength of it! Great doings! Mustapha Kemal will have no bastinadoed.”
“Hee-hee! You are going to be surprised. What would you say to an explosion, for instance, that destroyed the Dome of the Rock?”
“That might accomplish results.”
“Hee-hee! You admit it! An explosion to be blamed on the Zionists, who must afterward be protected by the British from the mob! Would that not set India on fire?”
“It might help. But who is to do it?”
“You see the doer before you! I will do it.”
“If I thought such a thing was really going to take place—”
“You would think that news worth carrying, eh? You would hurry to Damascus, wouldn’t you? And let me assure you, my dear captain, speed is essential. There are reasons why the explosion has not yet occurred—reasons of detail and difficulties to be overcome. But now there is little further prospect of delay. Everything is nearly ready. The explosive is not yet in place, but is at hand. The authorities suspect nothing. There remains only a little excavation work, and then—hee-hee!—nothing to do but choose the hour when hundreds are in the mosque. Houp-la! Up she goes. Does not the idea appeal to you?”
“Sensational—very,” Grim admitted.
“Ah! But the utmost must be made of the sensation. Men must be ready in Damascus to stir public feeling on the strength of it. Word must go to Mustapha Kemal to strike hard while the iron is hot. There must be reprisals everywhere. Blood must flow.
“The Europeans, French as well as British, must be goaded into making rash mistakes that will further inflame the populace. It must be shouted from the house-tops that the Jews have blown up a Moslem sacred place, and that the British are protecting them. There must be a true jihad[23] proclaimed against all non-Moslems almost simultaneously everywhere. Do you understand now how swiftly you must travel to Damascus?”
Grim nodded. “Yet these foreigners are cunning,” he said doubtfully. “Are you sure your plan is not suspected?”
“Quite sure. There was one man—a cursed interfering jackanapes of an American, whom they all call Jimgrim, of whom I was afraid. He is clever. He goes snooping here and there, and knows how to disguise himself. But he fell downstairs this morning and broke his thigh in two places. If anything could make me religious, that would! If I were not a nationalist, I would say ’Glory to God, and blessed be His Prophet, who has smitten him whom we feared!"’
“That broken leg might be a trick to put you off your guard,” Grim suggested pleasantly.
“No. I made secret enquiries. He is in great pain. He may lose the leg. The doctor who has charge of the case is a Major Templeton, an irritable person and, like most of the English, too big a fool to deceive anybody. No, luckily for Mister Jimgrim it is not a trick. Otherwise he would have shared the fate today of Bedreddin Shah the constable. The trap was all ready for him. With the inquisitive and really clever out of the way there is nothing to be feared. Now—pardon me, Captain Ali Mirza, but that letter you received just now; would you like to show it to me?”
“Why?” Grim demanded, frowning, and bridling all over.
“Hee-hee! For the sake of reciprocity. I have told you my secret. If it were not that I am more than usually circumspect, and accustomed to protect myself, one might say that my life is now in your hands, captain. Besides—hee-hee!—I might add that Jerusalem is my particular domain. I would have no difficulty in seeing that letter in any case. But there should be no need for —hee-hee!—shall we call them measures?—between friends.”
“I see you are a man of resource,” said Grim.
“Of great resource, with picked lieutenants. May I see the letter now?”
Grim produced it. Noureddin Ali took it between spidery fingers and examined it like a schoolmaster conning a boy’s composition. But the expression of his face changed as he took in the contents, holding the paper so that alligator-eyes could read it, too.
“Who wrote this?” he asked.
“Can’t you read the signature? Enver Eyub.”
“Who is he?”
“One of Mustapha Kemal’s staff.”
“So. ’In pursuing your mission you will also take steps to ascertain whether or not Noureddin Ali Bey is a person worthy of confidence.’ Aha! That is excellent! So Mustapha Kemal Pasha has heard of me?”
Grim nodded.
“And the rest of your mission?”
“Is confidential.”
“And are you satisfied that I am to be trusted?”
“I think you mean business.”
“Then you should tell me what is the nature of your secret mission to Jerusalem. Possibly I can give you needed information. If you have obtained information of value, you should confide in me. I can be most useful when I know most.”
Grim frowned. He began to look uneasy. And the more he did that, the more delight Noureddin Ali seemed to take in questioning him, but be pleaded his own case, too.
“The trouble with the Nationalist movement,” he insisted, “is lack of unity. There is no mutual confidence—consequently no combination. There are too many intellects working at cross purposes. You should tell me what is being done, so that I may fit in my plans accordingly. When the Dome of the Rock has been blown up there will be ample opportunity for putting into execution a combined plan. You must confide in me.”
“Suppose I get rid of that messenger and the boy first,” Grim suggested.
Grim felt in his pocket and produced a purse full of bank notes. But they were all big ones.
“Never mind, I have change,” said Noureddin Ali. “How much will you give him?”
“No,” said Grim. “The boy can take him to the hotel. Let him wait for me there. He has no further business here. He should return to Damascus. He had better travel with me in the car tomorrow morning. Take him to the hotel, and wait for me there, you,” he added in Arabic to Suliman.
Yussuf came and opened the door. Suliman took my hand and led me out. The door slammed shut behind me, and a great Sikh, leaning on his rifle at a corner thirty feet away, came to life just sufficiently to follow me up-street with curious brown eyes.
“That is Narayan
