and suspected you of other thefts. That’s an old trick, you know, to startle a man into confessing something he did do by accusing him of doing something you know he didn’t. You stood the test, Charkas.
“You’d better go now, though—it’s inviting suspicion to be found talking with you in here so late at night. Don’t forget—Major Grim is already on the job; so cover up your tracks, and be ready to accuse the Zionists. Good night.”
“You gave me a severe shock to my nervous system, but—good night, sir.”
Jenkins whistled the sentry and gave him orders to escort the Arab to the gate. Then he blew out the lamp, locked the door, and went to his own tent, where he sat for a few minutes humming to himself.
“So he stole that TNT memorandum, did he? I wonder if he took that letter too, or whether I destroyed it by accident. Um-m-m! So he thinks he can ruin me, does he? He’s a mean little rat, and he might make trouble.
“Pity I accused Catesby, but that can’t be helped now. I shall have to get Charkas on some other count—he’s best out of the way. Um-m-m! Hullo, what’s that!”
A rifle shot spat out through the darkness near at hand, and was followed by a deal of shouting.
“Thieves again!” yelled a subaltern’s voice, and there was a rush of officers from the mess marquee to lend a hand in the hunt.
Jenkins buttoned up his tunic, buckled on his belt, and hurried after them to add to his laurels by being officious even if he reached the scene too late.
Those night raids take place swiftly, and when discovered the thieves don’t wait to be surrounded. He arrived in time to receive the report from three subalterns, all speaking together breathlessly.
“Two of our Sikhs wounded, sir, but one of them swears he got home with his bayonet first. There’s blood on the bayonet to prove it. The thieves got away with their dead man, and three rifles and some other stuff that they’d snaffled before they were seen. That’s all, sir.”
“Quite enough, too,” snapped Jenkins. “It’s a disgraceful business. I shall have an inquiry at once, and fix the blame. Perfectly disgraceful!”
He himself passed on the report to General Anthony, who came hurrying up a moment later, followed by his aide.
“I’ve been giving these rifle raids a lot of thought and close attention,” he added in conclusion. “It’s my belief that when the facts are out you’ll find Zionists are at the bottom of it all.”
Anthony looked hard at him in the light of a sentry’s lantern.
“Anyone who could prove that would be entitled to great credit,” he said slowly. “Have you seen that the wounded Sikhs have attention? No, never mind; I’ll go myself.”
CHAPTER VII
“I can deal with twenty-five as easily as one!”
It was Jim’s intention, once he had found the leper’s rendezvous and got rid of the rather embarrassing company of Mahommed ben Hamza, to return for Catesby and Narayan Singh, or perhaps to send Suliman for them if the boy could be induced to go alone.
But there was something about the dark, open mouth of that tomb that fixed his attention for the moment. It did not differ particularly from a thousand others dotted here and there within a radius of a few miles; there was a sort of porch, perhaps a dozen feet deep, roughly hewn out of the hillside without any significant figures; and down in a corner of that was a dark hole of not more than half a man’s height, leading no doubt into a natural cave beyond.
But while he looked, wondering what attracted him, a distinct sound emerged from the hole. Noises in the night, propelled from a cave by the echoing walls, are not easy to recognize; but if it sounded like anything familiar it was a human hiccough.
Any of a number of creatures might have made the noise; owls, jackals, hyenas, badgers, rats—for those old tombs, once robbers have plundered them, make the handiest imaginable dens for wild beasts, provided their opening stands above the waterline, as this one did.
They business of being a hunter, whether of animals or men, produced two salient characteristics; a tendency to form opinion in advance as to what the hunted will most likely do, and an equally alert ability to throw preformed opinion to the winds at the first hint.
Jim had made up his mind that the leper would hardly risk waiting at the rendezvous, and for several reasons. In the first place the cave was almost certainly a trap, with only one opening. Whoever waited inside it could form no notion of what was passing outside, and would be at the mercy of superior numbers; men who had risked their lives to steal rifles might likely balk at surrendering the booty to one lone individual within the narrow compass of a grave.
To be morally afraid of a dervish dancing like a devil on a hill was one thing; to fear him at all when face to face within four walls would be another. A man with the knowledge of Arab human nature that the leper had displayed would appreciate that certainty.
On the other hand, to wait at a little distance, watch for returning plunderers, perhaps even warn them sternly from an overlooking point of vantage, and come down to collect the booty after they had placed it in the cave and after making sure that the coast was clear, would be safe, circumspect and sane—cynical, in fact, in keeping with the cynicism that made use of the leprosy and religious emotion for unlawful ends.
Jim’s first idea consequently was to wait at a point of vantage, too, and descend on the leper in turn and catch him red-handed whenever he should descend to possess the loot.
But there is no accounting for the recklessness of criminals, or the arrogance of men who think that fear gives them a hold over their accomplices. Cunning though he is, and careful though he is in a thousand ways, the charlatan who practices on superstition is once in a while more incautious than a sheep-fed wolf; like the wolf he takes outrageous chances after use has made the game seem simple.
Jim sat down in front of the tomb and listened, while Suliman clung to him in the hysteria of small-boy terror of bogies. For a long time the only movement was Suliman’s trembling, and the only sound the footfall of some small night animal borne on an almost imperceptible breeze. But then the cough, or sneeze, or belch, or whatever it was, was repeated and Suliman hid his face in Jim’s abyi (long-sleeved Arab cloak), shuddering as if he hoped to crawl out of his skin.
“Now,” said Jim, “we decide whether or not you wear girl’s clothes for a year. I’m going in there. Are you coming too?”
* * * * *
It was an awful test of courage for a child of eight, with a shameful alternative. But Jim, whose own youth had been one long adventure with hardship and disadvantage, in which the only penalty he had learned to loathe was self- contempt, was not friend of compromise. Shameful alternatives were things he faced and turned his back on in New England at such an early age that decision had become a habit; and what a man has done repeatedly himself he finds it hard to believe another cannot do. Suliman knew perfectly well from grim experience that Jim would be as good as his word.
“I am a man, not a woman. I will not wear girl’s garments. Must I go in first?”
