indeed. You have been most generous. I was wondering tonight whether I might not ask—”
“D’you happen to have that hundred by you?”
“I have a hundred piasters—”
“I mean the original bank-note that I gave you.”
“No, sir. Why?”
“I suspect it’s a bad one. I’d like to give you another for it.”
“Tee-hee-hee! You need not worry, general. It has been passed on long ago. Whoever has it now may do the worrying. Hee-hee! But I would like some more money for expenses.”
“Damn it! D’you take me for a millionaire?”
“No, sir. Indeed I know better. But these agitators all need wages, and if we are to work up a proper feeling against the Zionists there must be plenty of paid men at work.”
“Haven’t you Arabs any guts, that you can’t raise a campaign fund among you?”
“Ah-h-h! We are mostly poor, and those who are not are inclined to keep out of trouble. My own little business in the suk (bazaar) is not profitable nowadays, because the soldiers buy all they require in the canteen at prices I cannot meet. Now if I had a few hundred piasters tonight—”
“Sorry, Charkas; I’ve no cash by me.”
“But a check, general? A check made out to bearer—”
“What do you take me for? How many times must I repeat that my name doesn’t appear in connection with this business? Besides, I’m getting sick of it. It’s time to bring things to a head. Major Grim has been sent down from Jerusalem to inquire into the thieving, and he’s one of those persistent men who generally get what they’re after. The way to make the most of that is to let him discover the loot as soon as possible in the hands of Zionists, and then advertise it here, in Egypt, and in England.”
“Tee-hee-hee! Exquisite! As I said, a fair proportion of the loot is already—”
“I don’t want to know where it is. Don’t tell me. News reached me by mail this morning that the feeling at the Foreign Office is turning strongly against the Zionists at present. The fools have been demanding too much, with the result that pro-Arab sentiment is gaining ground. Much the same story comes from Egypt. Anything just now that puts the Zionists in a more unfavorable light would be opportune. You may depend on it, Major Grim will run that loot to ground in short order, so you’d better cover up your own tracks.”
“Oh, my tracks are very well covered.”
There was a suggestion of insolence underlying the certainty in the Arab’s voice that made Jenkins turn suddenly and face him.
“How d’ye mean?”
“You are powerful. I look to you for protection in case of necessity. Otherwise—”
“Look here! Are you fooling yourself by any chance? Do you suppose I’d budge one inch to protect you? You people have no sense of proportion. To help the Arab cause—sub rosa as I said—is one thing; to ruin my whole career by becoming involved in your intrigues is another, and doesn’t appeal to me at all. I’d let you hang rather than lift a finger.”
He glared at Charkas with dark eyes that had cowed many a subordinate and rescued him in many an awkward moment. He had made a deliberate study of that frown and the attitude that went with it, growing expert in their use but rather overestimating their value on the strength of occasional successes.
The Arab flinched like an animal under the lash. Jenkins turned his back on him. It was more from habit than intention that he strode behind the desk and faced the looking-glass.
Ibrahim Charkas was less cowed that he chose to seem, being one of those men who can keep their wits alert under a protecting mask of physical fear. The moment Jenkins’ back was turned he leaned toward the desk and began searching the papers that lay scattered all over it in the confusion made by Jenkins himself half an hour previously. His fingers were as swift and supple as a card-shaper’s, and his eyes, glancing every second at Jenkins’ back, as wary as a rat’s.
In less than thirty seconds he had spotted a railway notice of consignments due to arrive. Watching his chance, he flipped it toward the corner of the desk. A second more and he had it in his pocket. Then Jenkins turned on him.
“Give that back!”
“Give what back?”
“Don’t try to argue. I watched you in the glass. Give it here. It’s in that pocket. Out with it!”
With his head sunk between his shoulders, feet apart, ready to jump for his life, and his eyes looking like black shoe-buttons, the Arab laid the paper on the desk. Jenkins glanced at it.
“So-ho! So that’s the way of it! Done it before half a dozen times no doubt! That’s how they knew about the TNT, eh? You stole the memorandum off my desk. I remember now, you were in here that morning. What else have you taken?”
“Nothing else, sir.”
“I mean on other occasions.”
“Nothing. I am no thief. I did not take any memorandum. As for this, it was unintentional—mere nervousness—I did it without thinking—I—”
“Oh, piffle! Sit where you are. Now—look up at me. You’ve been in here to my knowledge twice since the morning that TNT memorandum came.
“On the second occasion you followed up a letter you had written me. You said you had information too important to be put in writing. But you put a lot in that letter, didn’t you? It was pretty compromising, wasn’t it? And the additional information turned out to be so insignificant that I wondered why you bothered to come.
“I know now. I was looking for that letter tonight, and it’s missing. It lay in this top drawer. You stole it back—now didn’t you?”
Jenkins fairly yelled the last words at him and Charkas nearly shrank out of his skin.
“I did not! On my honor, I swear I did not!”
Jenkins reached for a whalebone riding-whip that hung from a nail on the wall.
“Admit it, you—, or I’ll thrash the life out of you.”
To Jenkins’ surprise, instead of capitulating and confessing the Arab grew suddenly calm.
“Why should I confess to what I did not do?” he answered. “It is you who should be ashamed not I. If you have lost that letter you have betrayed me faithlessly, because anyone who finds it can make use of it to ruin me. If that is so, I hope it will ruin you too.
“It was addressed to you. Your name was on it. If I am arrested I shall denounce you. You would better let me get away from here. Give me some money and I will go to Egypt.”
Jenkins laughed. But he returned the whip to its nail on the wall, recovering his temper with an effort.
“I know what happened to the letter,” he said. “I tore it
