r:ARY * 
 
 university of 
 California 
 san diego 

 

 
 GREENMANTLE
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 Romances 
 
 John Burnet of Barns 
 
 A Lost Lady of Old Years 
 
 The Haxf-Hearted 
 
 Prester John 
 
 Salute to Adventurers 
 
 The Thirty-nine Steps 
 
 The Power House 
 
 Short Stories 
 
 Grey Weather 
 
 The Watcher by the Threshold 
 
 The Moon Endureth 
 
 Essavs 
 
 Scholar-Gipsies 
 
 Some Eighteenth-Century Byways 
 
 Politics and Travel 
 
 The African Colony 
 
 A Lodge in the Wilderness 
 
 The Taxation of Foreign Income 
 
 History and Biography 
 
 A History of Brasenose College 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh 
 
 The Marquis of Montrose 
 
 Andrew Jameson : Lord Ardwall 
 
 A History of the War {in course of publication)
 
 GREENMANTLE 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN BUCHAN 
 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON 
 
 LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO 
 
 MCMXVI
 
 Printed in Great Britain by Hasell, Watson & Viney, Ld., 
 London and Aylesbury.
 
 To 
 CAROLINE GROSVENOR 
 
 During the past year, in the intervals of an active life, I 
 have amused myself with constructing this talc. It has been 
 scribbled in every kind of odd place and moment — in England 
 and abroad, during long journeys, in half-hours between 
 graver tasks ; and it bears, I fear, the mark of its gipsy 
 begetting. But it has amused me to write, and I shall be well 
 repaid if it amuses you — and a few others — to read. 
 
 Let no man or woman call its events improbable. The war 
 has driven that word from our vocabulary, and melodrama has 
 become the prosiest realism. Things unimagincd before 
 happen daily to our friends by sea and land. The one chance 
 in a thousand is habitually taken, and as often as not succeeds. 
 Coincidence, like some new Briareus, stretches a hundred long 
 arms hourly across the earth. Some day, when the full history 
 is written — sober history with ample documents — the poor 
 romancer will give up business and fall to reading Miss 
 Austen in a hermitage. 
 
 The characters of the tale, if you think hard, you will recall. 
 Sandy you know well. That great spirit was last heard of 
 at Basra, where he occupies the post that once was Harry 
 Bullivant's. Richard Hannay is where he longed to be, 
 commanding his battalion on the ugliest bit of front in the 
 West. Mr. John S. Blenkiron, full of honour and wholly 
 cured of dyspepsia, has returned to the Slates, after vainly 
 endeavouring to take Peter with him. As for Peter, he has 
 attained the height of his ambition. He has shaved his beard 
 and joined the Flying Corps. 
 
 J. B.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Mission is Proposed .... 1 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The Gathering of the Missionaries . . 12 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Peter Pienaar ...... 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Adventures of Two Dutchmen on the Loose 43 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Further Adventures of the Same . . 58 
 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Indiscretions of the Same . . 73 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Christmastide ...... 90 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 The Essen Barges . . , . . . 105 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 The Return of the Straggler . . . 117 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 The Garden-House of Suliman the Red . 131 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The Companions of the Rosy Hours , . 142
 
 CONTENTS ix 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Four Missionaries see Light in their Mis- 
 
 . 156 
 
 SION 
 
 • • 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 I Move in Good Society .... 168 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 The Lady of the Mantilla . . .182 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 An Embarrassed Toilet .... 195 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The Battered Caravanserai . . .211 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 Trouble by the Waters of Babylon . . 224
 
 x CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Sparrows on the Housetops 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 Greenmantle . 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Peter Pienaar goes to the Wars 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 The Little Hill 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 The Guns of the North .
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 
 
 I had just finished breakfast and was filling my pipe 
 when I got Bullivant's telegram. It was at Furling, 
 the big country house in Hampshire where I had 
 come to convalesce after Loos, and Sandy, who was 
 in the same case, was hunting for the marmalade. I 
 flung him the flimsy with the blue strip pasted down 
 on it, and he whistled. 
 
 " Hullo, Dick, you've got the battalion. Or maybe 
 it's a staff billet. You'll be a blighted brass-hat, 
 coming it heavy over the hard-working regimental 
 officer. And to think of the language you've wasted 
 on brass-hats in your time ! " 
 
 I sat and thought for a bit, for that name " Bulli- 
 vant " carried me back eighteen months to the hot 
 summer before the war. I had not seen the man 
 since, though I had read about him in the papers. 
 For more than a year I had been a busy battalion 
 officer, with no other thought than to hammer a lot 
 of raw stuff into good soldiers. I had succeeded 
 pretty well, and there was no prouder man on earth 
 than Richard Hannay when he took his Lennox 
 Highlanders over the parapets on that glorious and 
 bloody 25th day of September. Loos was no picnic, 
 and we had had some ugly bits of scrapping before 
 that, but the worst bit of the campaign I had seen 
 was a tea-party to the show 1 I had been in with 
 Bullivant before the war started. 
 
 1 Major Hannay 's narrative of this affair has been published under 
 the title of The Thirty-Nine Steps. 
 
 1
 
 2 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 
 
 The sight of his name on a telegram form seemed 
 to change all my outlook on life. I had been hoping 
 for the command of the battalion, and looking for- 
 ward to being in at the finish with Brother Boche. 
 But this message jerked my thoughts on to a new road. 
 There might be other things in the war than straight- 
 forward righting. Why on earth should the Foreign 
 Office want to see an obscure Major of the New 
 Army, and want to see him in double-quick time ? 
 
 " I'm going up to town by the ten train," I an- 
 nounced ; " I'll be back in time for dinner." 
 
 " Try my tailor," said Sandy. " He's got a very 
 nice taste in red tabs. You can use my name." 
 
 An idea struck me. " You're pretty well all right 
 now. If I wire for you, will you pack your own kit 
 and mine and join me ? " 
 
 " Right-o ! I'll accept a job on your staff if they 
 give you a corps. If so be as you come down to-night, 
 be a good chap and bring a barrel of oysters from 
 Sweeting's." 
 
 I travelled up to London in a regular November 
 drizzle, which cleared up about Wimbledon to watery 
 sunshine. I never could stand London during the 
 war. It seemed to have lost its bearings and broken 
 out into all manner of badges and uniforms which 
 did not fit in with my notion of it. One felt the 
 war more in its streets than in the field, or rather one 
 felt the confusion of war without feeling the purpose. 
 I dare say it was all right; but since August 1914 
 I never spent a day in town without coming home 
 depressed to my boots. 
 
 I took a taxi and drove straight to the Foreign 
 Office. Sir Walter did not keep me waiting long. 
 But when his secretary took me to his room I would 
 not have recognised the man I had known eighteen 
 months before. 
 
 His big frame seemed to have dropped flesh and 
 there was a stoop in the square shoulders. His face
 
 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 3 
 
 had lost its rosiness and was red in patches, like that of 
 a man who gets too little fresh air. His hair was much 
 greyer and very thin about the temples, and there 
 were lines of overwork below the eyes. But the eyes 
 were the same as before, keen and kindly and shrewd, 
 and there was no change in the firm set of the jaw. 
 " We must on no account be disturbed for the next 
 hour," he told his secretary. When the young man 
 had gone he went across to both doors and turned 
 the keys in them. 
 
 " Well, Major Hannay," he said, flinging himself 
 into a chair beside the fire. " How do you like 
 soldiering ? " 
 
 " Right enough," I said, " though this isn't just 
 the kind of war I would have picked myself. It's a 
 comfortless, bloody business. But we've got the 
 measure of the old Boche now, and it's dogged as 
 does it. I count on getting back to the Front in a 
 week or two." 
 
 " Will you get the battalion ? " he asked. He 
 seemed to have followed my doings pretty closely. 
 
 " I believe I've a good chance. I'm not in this 
 show for honour and glory, though. I want to do 
 the best I can, but I wish to Heaven it was over. All 
 I think of is coming out of it with a whole skin." 
 
 He laughed. " You do yourself an injustice. 
 What about the forward observation post at the 
 Lone Tree ? You forgot about the whole skin then." 
 I felt myself getting red. " That was all rot," I 
 said, " and I can't think who told you about it. I 
 hated the job, but I had to do it to prevent my subal- 
 terns going to glory. They were a lot of fire-eating 
 young lunatics. If I had sent one of them he'd have 
 gone on his knees to Providence and asked for trouble." 
 Sir Walter was still grinning. 
 
 " I'm not questioning your caution. You have the 
 rudiments of it, or our friends of the Black Stone 
 would have gathered you in at our last merry meeting.
 
 4 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 
 
 I would question it as little as your courage. What 
 exercises my mind is whether it is best employed in the 
 trenches." 
 
 " Is the War Office dissatisfied with me ? " I asked 
 sharply. 
 
 " They are profoundly satisfied. They propose to 
 give you command of your battalion. Presently, if 
 you escape a stray bullet, you will no doubt be a 
 Brigadier. It is a wonderful war for youth and 
 brains. But ... I take it you are in this business to 
 serve your country, Hannay ? " 
 
 " I reckon I am," I said. " I am certainly not in 
 it for my health." 
 
 He looked at my leg, where the doctors had dug 
 out the shrapnel fragments, and smiled quizzically. 
 " Pretty fit again ? " he asked. 
 
 " Tough as a sjambok. I thrive on the racket and 
 eat and sleep like a schoolboy." 
 
 He got up and stood with his back to the fire, his 
 eyes staring abstractedly out of the window at the 
 wintry park. 
 
 "It is a great game, and you are the man for it, 
 no doubt. But there are others who can play it, for 
 soldiering to-day asks for the average rather than the 
 exception in human nature. It is like a big machine 
 where the parts are standardised. You are fighting, 
 not because you are short of a job, but because you 
 want to help England. How if you could help her 
 better than by commanding a battalion — or a brigade 
 — or, if it comes to that, a division ? How if there is 
 a thing which you alone can do ? Not some embusque 
 business in an office, but a thing compared to which 
 your fight at Loos was a Sunday-school picnic. You 
 are not afraid of danger ? Well, in this job you would 
 not be fighting with an army around you, but alone. 
 You are fond of tackling difficulties ? Well, I can 
 give you a task which will try all your powers. Have 
 you anything to say ? "
 
 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 5 
 
 My heart was beginning to thump uncomfortably. 
 Sir Walter was not the man to pitch a case too- 
 high. 
 
 " I am a soldier," I said, " and under orders." 
 
 " True ; but what I am about to propose does not 
 come by any conceivable stretch within the scope of 
 a soldier's duties. I shall perfectly understand if you 
 decline. You will be acting as I should act myself — 
 as any sane man would. I would not press you for 
 worlds. If you wish it, I will not even make the 
 proposal, but let you go here and now, and wish you 
 good luck with } r our battalion. I do not wish to 
 perplex a good soldier with impossible decisions." 
 
 This piqued me and put me on my mettle. 
 
 " I am not going to run away before the guns fire. 
 Let me hear what you propose." 
 
 Sir Walter crossed to a cabinet, unlocked it with a 
 key from his chain, and took a piece of paper from a 
 drawer. It looked like an ordinary half-sheet of 
 note-paper. 
 
 " I take it," he said, " that your travels have not 
 extended to the East." 
 
 " No," I said, " barring a shooting trip in East 
 Africa." 
 
 " Have you by any chance been following the 
 present campaign there ? " 
 
 " I've read the newspapers pretty regularly since 
 I went to hospital. I've got some pals in the Meso- 
 potamia show, and of course I'm keen to know what 
 is going to happen at Gallipoli and Salonika. I 
 gather that Egypt is pretty safe." 
 
 " If you will give me your attention for ten minutes 
 I will supplement your newspaper reading." 
 
 Sir W 7 alter lay back in an arm-chair and spoke to 
 the ceiling. It was the best story, the clearest and 
 the fullest, I had ever got of any bit of the war. He 
 told me just how and why and when Turkey had left 
 the rails. I heard about her grievances over our
 
 6 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 
 
 seizure of her ironclads, of the mischief the coming of 
 the Goeben had wrought, of Enver and his precious 
 Committee and the way they had got a cinch on the 
 old Turk. When he had spoken for a bit, he began 
 to question me. 
 
 " You are an intelligent fellow, and you will ask 
 how a Polish adventurer, meaning Enver, and a 
 collection of Jews and gipsies should have got 
 control of a proud race. The ordinary man will tell 
 you that it was German organisation backed up with 
 German money and German arms. You will inquire 
 again how, since Turkey is primarily a religious 
 power, Islam has played so small a part in it all. 
 The Sheikh-ul-Islam is neglected, and though the 
 Kaiser proclaims a Holy War and calls himself Hadji 
 Mohammed Guilliamo, and says the Hohenzollerns are 
 descended from the Prophet, that seems to have fallen 
 pretty flat. The ordinary man again will answer 
 that Islam in Turkey is becoming a back number, and 
 that Krupp guns are the new gods. Yet — I don't 
 know. I do not quite believe in Islam becoming a 
 back number." 
 
 " Look at it in another way," he went on. " If it 
 were Enver and Germany alone dragging Turkey into 
 a European war for purposes that no Turk cared a 
 rush about, we might expect to find the regular army 
 obedient, and Constantinople. But in the provinces, 
 where Islam is strong, there would be trouble. Many 
 of us counted on that. But we have been disap- 
 pointed. The Syrian army is as fanatical as the 
 hordes of the Mahdi. The Senussi have taken a hand 
 in the game. The Persian Moslems are threatening 
 trouble. There is a dry wind blowing through the 
 East, and the parched grasses wait the spark. And 
 the wind is blowing towards the Indian border. 
 Whence comes that wind, think you ? " 
 
 Sir Walter had lowered his voice and was speaking 
 very slow and distinct. I could hear the rain dripping
 
 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 7 
 
 from the eaves of the window, and far off the hoot of 
 taxis in Whitehall. 
 
 " Have you an explanation, Hannay ? " he asked 
 again. 
 
 " It looks as if Islam had a bigger hand in the thing 
 than we thought," I said. " I fancy religion is the 
 only thing to knit up such a scattered empire." 
 
 " You are right," he said. " You must be right. 
 We have laughed at the Holy War, the Jehad that 
 old Von der Goltz prophesied. But I believe that 
 stupid old man with the big spectacles was right. 
 There is a Jehad preparing. The question is, How ? " 
 
 " I'm hanged if I know," I said ; " but I'll bet it 
 won't be done by a pack of stout German officers in 
 pickelhaubes. I fancy you can't manufacture Holy 
 Wars out of Krupp guns alone and a few staff officers 
 and a battle-cruiser with her boilers burst." 
 
 " Agreed. They are not fools, however much we 
 try to persuade ourselves of the contrary. But 
 supposing they had got some tremendous sacred 
 sanction — some holy thing, some book or gospel or 
 some new prophet from the desert, something which 
 would cast over the whole ugly mechanism of German 
 war the glamour of the old torrential raids which 
 crumpled the Byzantine Empire and shook the walls 
 of Vienna ? Islam is a fighting creed, and the mullah 
 still stands in the pulpit with the Koran in one hand 
 and a drawn sword in the other. Supposing there is 
 some Ark of the Covenant which will madden the 
 remotest Moslem peasant with dreams of Paradise ? 
 What then, my friend ? " 
 
 ' Then there will be hell let loose in those parts 
 pretty soon." 
 
 ' Hell which may spread. Beyond Persia, re- 
 member, lies India." 
 
 " You keep to suppositions. How much do you 
 know ? " I asked. 
 
 " Very little, except the fact. But the fact is
 
 8 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 
 
 beyond dispute. I have reports from agents every- 
 where — pedlars in South Russia, Afghan horse- 
 dealers, Turcoman merchants, pilgrims on the road 
 to Mecca, sheikhs in North Africa, sailors on the 
 Black Sea coasters, sheep-skinned Mongols, Hindu 
 fakirs, Greek traders in the Gulf, as well as respectable 
 Consuls who use cyphers. They tell the same story. 
 The East is waiting for a revelation. It has been 
 promised one. Some star — man, prophecy, or trinket 
 — is coming out of the West. The Germans know, 
 and that is the card with which they are going to 
 astonish the world." 
 
 " And the mission you spoke of for me is to go and 
 find out ? " 
 
 He nodded gravely. " That is the crazy and 
 impossible mission." 
 
 " Tell me one thing, Sir Walter," I said. " I know 
 it is the fashion in this country if a man has special 
 knowledge to set him to some job exactly the opposite. 
 I know all about Damaraland, but instead of being 
 put on Botha's staff, as I applied to be, I was kept in 
 Hampshire mud till the campaign in German South 
 West Africa was over. I know a man who could pass as 
 an Arab, but do you think they would send him to the 
 East ? They left him in my battalion — a lucky thing 
 for me, for he saved my life at Loos. I know the 
 fashion, but isn't this just carrying it a bit too far ? 
 There must be thousands of men who have spent 
 years in the East and talk any language. They're the 
 fellows for this job. I never saw a Turk in my life 
 except a chap who did wrestling turns in a show at 
 Kimberley. You've picked about the most useless 
 man on earth." 
 
 " You've been a mining-engineer, Hannay," Sir 
 Walter said. " If you wanted a man to prospect for 
 gold in Barotseland you would of course like to get 
 one who knew the country and the people and the 
 language. But the first thing you would require in
 
 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 9 
 
 him would be that he had a nose for finding gold 
 and knew his business. That is the position now. 
 I believe that you have a nose for finding out what 
 our enemies try to hide. I know that you are brave 
 and cool and resourceful. That is why I tell you 
 the story. Besides . . ." 
 
 He unrolled a big map of Europe on the wall. 
 
 " I can't tell you where you'll get on the track of 
 the secret, but I can put a limit to the quest. You 
 won't find it east of the Bosporus — not yet. It is 
 still in Europe. It may be in Constantinople, or in 
 Thrace. It may be farther west. But it is moving 
 eastwards. If you are in time you may cut into its 
 march to Constantinople. That much I can tell you. 
 The secret is known in Germany, too, to those whom 
 it concerns. It is in Europe that the seeker must 
 search — at present." 
 
 " Tell me more," I said. " You can give me no 
 details and no instructions. Obviousty you can give 
 me no help if I come to grief." 
 
 He nodded. " You would be beyond the pale." 
 
 " You give me a free hand." 
 
 " Absolutely. You can have what money you 
 like, and you can get what help you like. You can 
 follow any plan you fancy, and go anywhere you 
 think fruitful. We can give no directions." 
 
 " One last question. You say it is important. 
 Tell me just how important." 
 
 "It is life and death," he said solemnly. " I can 
 put it no higher and no lower. Once we know what 
 is the menace we can meet it. As long as we are in 
 the dark it works unchecked and we may be too 
 late. The war must be won or lost in Europe. Yes ; 
 but if the East blazes up, our effort will be distracted 
 from Europe and the great coup may fail The 
 stakes are no less than victory and defeat, Hannay." 
 
 I got out of my chair and walked to the window. 
 It was a difficult moment in my life. I was happy
 
 10 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 
 
 in my soldiering ; above all, happy in the company of 
 my brother officers. I was asked to go off into the 
 enemy's lands on a quest for which I believed I was 
 manifestly unfitted — a business of lonely days and 
 nights, of nerve-racking strain, of deadly peril shroud- 
 ing me like a garment. Looking out on the bleak 
 weather I shivered. It was too grim a business, too 
 inhuman for flesh and blood. But Sir Walter had 
 called it a matter of life and death, and I had told 
 him that I was out to serve my country. He could 
 not give me orders, but was I not under orders — higher 
 orders than my Brigadier's ? I thought myself in- 
 competent, but cleverer men than me thought me 
 competent, or at least competent enough for a 
 sporting chance. I knew in my soul that if I declined 
 I should never be quite at peace in the world again. 
 And yet Sir Walter had called the scheme madness, 
 and said that he himself would never have accepted. 
 
 How does one make a great decision ? I swear 
 that when I turned round to speak I meant to refuse. 
 But my answer was Yes, and I had crossed the 
 rubicon. My voice sounded cracked and far away. 
 
 Sir Walter shook hands with me and his eyes 
 blinked a little. 
 
 " I may be sending you to your death, Hannay. — 
 Good God, what a damned task-mistress duty is ! — 
 If so, I shall be haunted with regrets, but you will 
 never repent. Have no fear of that. You have 
 chosen the roughest road, but it goes straight to the 
 hill-tops." 
 
 He handed me the half-sheet of note-paper. On it 
 were written three words — " Kasredin," " cancer," 
 and " v. I." 
 
 " That is the only clue we possess," he said. " I 
 cannot construe it, but I can tell you the story. We 
 have had our agents working in Persia and Mesopo- 
 tamia for years — mostly young officers of the Indian 
 Army. They carry their lives in their hand, and
 
 A MISSION IS PROPOSED 11 
 
 now and then one disappears, and the sewers of Bag- 
 dad might tell a tale. But they find out many 
 things, and they count the game worth the candle. 
 They have told us of the star rising in the West, but 
 they could give us no details. All but one — the best 
 of them. He had been working between Mosul and 
 the Persian frontier as a muleteer, and had been 
 south into the Bakhtiari hills. He found out some- 
 thing, but his enemies knew that he knew and he was 
 pursued. Three months ago, just before Kut, he 
 staggered into Delamain's camp with ten bullet holes 
 in him and a knife slash on his forehead. He 
 mumbled his name, but beyond that and the fact 
 that there was a Something coming from the west 
 he told them nothing. He died in ten minutes. 
 They found this paper on him, and since he cried out 
 the word " Kasredin " in his last moments, it must 
 have had something to do with his quest. It is for 
 you to find out if it has any meaning." 
 
 I folded it up and placed it in my pocket-book. 
 
 " What a great fellow ! What was his name ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 Sir Walter did not answer at once. He was look- 
 ing out of the window. " His name," he said at last, 
 " was Harry Bullivant. He was my son. God rest 
 his brave soul ! "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 I wrote out a wire to Sandy, asking him to come up 
 by the two-fifteen train and meet me at my fiat. 
 
 " I have chosen my colleague," I said. 
 
 " Billy Arbuthnot's boy ? His father was at 
 Harrow with me. I know the fellow — Harry used to 
 bring him down to fish — tallish, with a lean, high- 
 boned face and a pair of brown eyes like a pretty 
 girl's. I know his record too. There's a good deal 
 about him in this office. He rode through Yemen, 
 which no white man ever did before. The Arabs let 
 him pass, for they thought him stark mad and argued 
 that the hand of Allah was heavy enough on him 
 without their efforts. He's blood-brother to every 
 kind of Albanian bandit. Also he used to take a 
 hand in Turkish politics, and got a huge reputation. 
 Some Englishman was once complaining to old 
 Mahmoud Shevkat about the scarcity of statesmen 
 in Western Europe, and Mahmoud broke in with, 
 ' Have you not the Honourable Arbuthnot ? ' You 
 say he's in your battalion. I was wondering what 
 had become of him, for we tried to get hold of him 
 here, but he had left no address. Ludovick Arbuth- 
 not — yes, that's the man. Buried deep in the com- 
 missioned ranks of the New Army ? Well, we'll get 
 him out pretty quick ! " 
 
 " I knew he had knocked about the East, but I 
 didn't know he was that kind of swell. Sandy's not 
 the chap to buck about himself." 
 
 12
 
 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 13 
 
 " He wouldn't," said Sir Walter. " He had always 
 a more than Oriental reticence. I've got another col- 
 league for you, if you like him." 
 
 He looked at his watch. " You can get to the 
 Savoy Grill Room in five minutes in a taxi-cab. Go 
 in from the Strand, turn to your left, and you will 
 see in the alcove on the right-hand side a table with 
 one large American gentleman sitting at it. They 
 know him there, so he will have the table to himself. 
 I want you to go and sit down beside him. Say you 
 come from me. His name is Mr. John Scantlebury 
 Blenkiron, now a citizen of Boston, Mass., but 
 born and raised in Indiana. Put this envelope in 
 your pocket, but don't read its contents till you have 
 talked to him. I want you to form your own opinion 
 about Mr. Blenkiron." 
 
 I went out of the Foreign Office in as muddled a 
 frame of mind as any diplomatist who ever left its 
 portals. I was most desperately depressed. To 
 begin with, I was in a complete funk. I had always 
 thought I was about as brave as the average man, 
 but there's courage and courage, and mine was cer- 
 tainly not the impassive kind. Stick me down in 
 a trench and I could stand being shot at as well as 
 most people, and my blood could get hot if it were 
 given a chance. But I think I had too much im- 
 agination. I couldn't shake off the beastly forecasts 
 that kept crowding my mind. 
 
 In about a fortnight, I calculated, I would be dead. 
 Shot as a spy — a rotten sort of ending ! At the 
 moment I was quite safe, looking for a taxi in the 
 middle of Whitehall, but the sweat broke on my 
 forehead. I felt as I had felt in my adventure before 
 the war. But this was far worse, for it was more 
 cold-blooded and premeditated, and I didn't seem to 
 have even a sporting chance. I watched the figures 
 in khaki passing on the pavement, and thought what 
 a nice safe prospect they had compared to mine.
 
 14 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 Yes, even if next week they were in the Hohenzollern, 
 or the Hairpin trench at the Quarries, or that ugly 
 angle at Hooge. I wondered why I had not been 
 happier that morning before I got that infernal wire. 
 Suddenly all the trivialities of English life seemed 
 to me inexpressibly dear and terribly far away. I 
 was very angry with Bullivant, till I remembered 
 how fair he had been. My fate was my own choos- 
 ing. 
 
 When I was hunting the Black Stone the interest 
 of the problem had helped to keep me going. But 
 now I could see no problem. My mind had nothing 
 to work on but three words of gibberish on a sheet 
 of paper and a mystery of which Sir Walter had been 
 convinced, but to which he couldn't give a name. 
 It was like a story I had read of St. Theresa setting 
 off at the age of ten with her small brother to con- 
 vert the Moors. I sat huddled in the taxi with my 
 chin on my breast, wishing that I had lost a leg at 
 Loos and been comfortably tucked away for the rest 
 of the war. 
 
 Sure enough I found my man in the Grill Room. 
 There he was, feeding solemnly, with a napkin tucked 
 under his chin. He was a big fellow with a fat, 
 sallow, clean-shaven face. I disregarded the hover- 
 ing waiter and pulled up a chair beside the American 
 at the little table. He turned on me a pair of full 
 sleepy eyes, like a ruminating ox. 
 
 " Mr. Blenkiron ? " I asked. 
 
 " You have my name, sir," he said. " Mr. John 
 Scantlebury Blenkiron. I would wish you good 
 morning if I saw anything good in this darned British 
 weather." 
 
 " I come from Sir Walter Bullivant," I said, speak- 
 ing low. 
 
 " So ? " said he. " Sir Walter is a very good 
 friend of mine. Pleased to meet you, Mr. — or I 
 guess it's Colonel "
 
 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 15 
 
 " Hannay," I said ; " Major Hannay." I was won- 
 dering what this sleepy Yankee could do to help me. 
 
 " Allow me to offer you luncheon, Major. Here, 
 waiter, bring the carte. I regret that I cannot join 
 you in sampling the efforts of the management of 
 this ho-tel. I suffer, sir, from dyspepsia — duo-denal 
 dyspepsia. It gets me two hours after a meal and 
 gives me hell just below the breast-bone. So I am 
 obliged to adopt a diet. My nourishment is fish, sir, 
 and boiled milk and a little dry toast. It's a melan- 
 choly descent from the days when I could do justice 
 to a lunch at Sherry's and sup off oyster-crabs and 
 devilled bones." He sighed from the depths of his 
 capacious frame. 
 
 I ordered an omelette and a chop, and took another 
 look at him. The large eyes seemed to be gazing 
 steadily at me without seeing me. They were as 
 vacant as an abstracted child's ; but I had an un- 
 comfortable feeling that they saw more than mine. 
 
 " You have seen fighting, Major ? The Battle of 
 Loos ? Well, I guess that must have been some 
 battle. We in America respect the fighting of the 
 British soldier, but we don't quite catch on to the 
 de-vices of the British Generals. We opine that 
 there is more bellicosity than science among your 
 highbrows. That is so ? My father fought at 
 Chattanooga, but these eyes have seen nothing gorier 
 than a Presidential election. Say, is there any way 
 I could be let into a scene of real bloodshed ? " 
 
 His serious tone made me laugh. " There are 
 plenty of your countrymen in the present show," I 
 said. " The French Foreign Legion is full of young 
 Americans, and so is our Army Service Corps. Half 
 the chauffeurs you strike in France seem to come 
 from the States." 
 
 He sighed. " I did think of some belligerent stunt 
 a year back. But I reflected that the good God 
 had not given John S. Blenkiron the kind of martial
 
 16 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 figure that would do credit to the tented field. Also 
 I recollected that we Americans were nootrals — bene- 
 volent nootrals — and that it did not become me to 
 be butting into the struggles of the effete monarchies 
 of Europe. So I stopped at home. It was a big 
 renunciation, Major, for I was lying sick during the 
 Philippines business, and I have never seen the law- 
 less passions of men let loose on a battlefield. And, 
 as a stoodent of humanity, I hankered for the ex- 
 perience." 
 
 " What have you been doing ? " I asked. The 
 calm gentleman had begun to interest me. 
 
 " Waal," he said, " I just waited. The Lord has 
 blessed me with money to burn, so I didn't need to 
 go scrambling like a wild cat for war contracts. But 
 I reckoned I would get let into the game somehow, 
 and I was. Being a nootral, I was in an advan- 
 tageous position to take a hand. I had a pretty hectic 
 time for a while, and then I reckoned I would leave 
 God's country and see what was doing in Europe. 
 I have counted myself out of the bloodshed business, 
 but, as your poet sings, peace has its victories not 
 less renowned than war, and I reckon that means 
 that a nootral can have a share in a scrap as well 
 as a belligerent." 
 
 " That's the best kind of neutrality I've ever heard 
 of," I said. 
 
 " It's the right kind," he replied solemnly. " Say, 
 Major, what are your lot fighting for ? For your own 
 skins and your Empire and the peace of Europe. 
 Waal, those ideals don't concern us one cent. We're 
 not Europeans, and there aren't any German trenches 
 on Long Island yet. You've made the ring in Europe, 
 and if we came butting in it wouldn't be the rules of 
 the game. You wouldn't welcome us, and I guess 
 you'd be right. We're that delicate-minded we can't 
 interfere, and that was what my friend, President 
 Wilson, meant when he opined that America was too
 
 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 17 
 
 proud to fight. So we're nootrals. But likewise 
 we're benevolent nootrals. As I follow events, there's 
 a skunk been let loose in the world, and the odour of 
 it is going to make life none too sweet till it is cleared 
 away. It wasn't us that stirred up that skunk, but 
 we've got to take a hand in disinfecting the planet. 
 See ? We can't fight, but, by God ! some of us are 
 going to sweat blood to sweep the mess up, Officially 
 we do nothing except give off Notes like a leaky boiler 
 gives off steam. But as individooal citizens we're 
 in it up to the neck. So, in the spirit of Jefferson 
 Davis and Woodrow Wilson, I'm going to be the 
 nootralist kind of nootral till Kaiser will be sorry 
 he didn't declare war on America at the beginning." 
 
 I was completely recovering my temper. This 
 fellow was a perfect jewel, and his spirit put purpose 
 into me. 
 
 " I guess you British were the same kind of nootral 
 when your Admiral warned off the German fleet from 
 interfering with Dewey in Manila Bay in '98." Mr. 
 Blenkiron drank up the last drop of his boiled milk, 
 and lit a thin black cigar. 
 
 I leaned forward. " Have you talked to Sir 
 Walter ? " I asked. 
 
 " I have talked to him, and he has given me to 
 understand that there's a deal ahead which you're 
 going to boss. There are no flies on that big man, 
 and if he says it's good business then you can count 
 
 me in." 
 
 " You know that it's uncommonly dangerous ? " 
 " I judged so. But it don't do to begin counting 
 risks. I believe in an all-wise and beneficent Provi- 
 dence, but you have got to trust Him and give Him a 
 chance. What's life anyhow ? For me, it's living 
 on a strict diet and having frequent pains in my 
 stomach. It isn't such an almighty lot to give up, 
 provided you get a good price in the deal. Besides, 
 how big is the risk ? About one o'clock in the morn-
 
 18 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 ing, when you can't sleep, it will be the size of Mount 
 Everest, but if you run out to meet it, it will be a 
 hillock you can jump over. The grizzly looks very 
 fierce when you're taking your ticket for the Rockies 
 and wondering if you'll come back, but he's just an 
 ordinary bear when you've got the sight of your rifle 
 on him. I won't think about risks till I'm up to my 
 neck in them and don't see the road out." 
 
 I scribbled my address on a piece of paper and 
 handed it to the stout philosopher. " Come to dinner 
 to-night at eight," I said. 
 
 " I thank you, Major. A little fish, please, plain- 
 boiled, and some hot milk. You will forgive me if I 
 borrow your couch after the meal and spend the 
 evening on my back. That is the advice of my noo 
 doctor." 
 
 I got a taxi and drove to my club. On the way I 
 opened the envelope Sir Walter had given me. It 
 contained a number of jottings, the dossier of Mr, 
 Blenkiron. He had done wonders for the Allies in 
 the States. He had nosed out the Dumba plot, and 
 had been instrumental in getting the portfolio of Dr. 
 Albert. Von Papen's spies had tried to murder him, 
 after he had defeated an attempt to blow up one of 
 the big gun factories. Sir Walter had written at the 
 end : " The best man we ever had. Better than 
 Scudder. He would go through hell with a box of 
 bismuth tablets and a pack of Patience cards." 
 
 I went into the little back smoking-room, borrowed 
 an atlas from the library, poked up the fire, and sat 
 down to think. Mr. Blenkiron had given me the 
 fillip I needed. My mind was beginning to work now, 
 and was running wide over the whole business. Not 
 that I hoped to find anything by my cogitations. It 
 wasn't thinking in an arm-chair that would solve the 
 mystery. But I was getting a sort of grip on a plan 
 of operations. And to my relief I had stopped 
 thinking about the risks. Blenkiron had shamed me
 
 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 19 
 
 out of that. If a sedentary dyspeptic could show that 
 kind of nerve, I wasn't going to be behind him. 
 
 I went back to my flat about five o'clock. My man 
 Paddock had gone to the wars long ago, so I had 
 shifted to one of the new blocks in Park Lane where 
 they provide food and service. I kept the place on 
 to have a home to go to when I got leave. It's a 
 miserable business holidaying in an hotel. 
 
 Sandy was devouring tea-cakes with the serious 
 resolution of a convalescent. 
 
 " Well, Dick, what's the news ? Is it a brass hat 
 or the boot ? " 
 
 " Neither," I said. " But you and I are going to 
 disappear from His Majesty's forces. Seconded for 
 special service." 
 
 " my sainted aunt ! " said Sandy. " What is it ? 
 For Heaven's sake put me out of pain. Have we to 
 tout deputations of suspicious neutrals over munition 
 works or take the shivering journalist in a motor-car 
 where he can imagine he sees a Boche ? ' 
 
 " The news will keep. But I can tell you this 
 much. It's about as safe and easy as to go through 
 the German lines with a walking-stick." 
 
 " Come, that's not so dusty," said Sandy, and began 
 cheerfully on the muffins. 
 
 I must spare a moment to introduce Sandy to the 
 reader, for he cannot be allowed to slip into this tale 
 by a side-door. If you will consult the Peerage you 
 will find that to Edward Cospatrick, fifteenth Baron 
 Clanroyden, there was born in the year 1882, as his 
 second son, Ludovick Gustavus Arbuthnot, commonly 
 called the Honourable, etc. The said son was educated 
 at Eton and New College, Oxford, was a captain in 
 the Tweeddale Yeomanry, and served for some years 
 as honorary attache at various embassies. The 
 Peerage will stop short at this point, but that is by 
 no means the end of the story. For the rest you must 
 consult very different authorities. Lean brown men
 
 20 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 from the ends of the earth may be seen on the London 
 pavements now and then in creased clothes, walking 
 with the light outland step, slinking into clubs as if 
 they could not remember whether or not they belonged 
 to them. From them you may get news of Sandy. 
 Better still, you will hear of him at little forgotten 
 fishing ports where the Albanian mountains dip to 
 the Adriatic. If you struck a Mecca pilgrimage the 
 odds are you would meet a dozen of Sandy's friends 
 in it. In shepherds' huts in the Caucasus you will 
 find bits of his cast-off clothing, for he has a knack 
 of shedding garments as he goes. In the caravan- 
 serais of Bokhara and Samarkand he is known, and 
 there are shikaris in the Pamirs who still speak of him 
 round their fires. If you were going to visit Petrograd 
 or Rome or Cairo it would be no use asking him for 
 introductions ; if he gave them, they would lead you 
 into strange haunts. But if Fate compelled you to 
 go to Llasa or Yarkand or Seistan he could map out 
 your road for you and pass the word to potent friends. 
 We call ourselves insular, but the truth is that we are 
 the only race on earth that can produce men capable 
 of getting inside the skin of remote peoples. Perhaps 
 the Scots are better than the English, but we're all 
 a thousand per cent, better than anybody else. 
 Sandy was the wandering Scot carried to the pitch 
 of genius. In old days he would have led a crusade 
 or discovered a new road to the Indies. To-day he 
 merely roamed as the spirit moved him, till the war 
 swept him up and dumped him down in my battalion. 
 I got out Sir Walter's half-sheet of note-paper. It 
 was not the original — naturally he wanted to keep 
 that — but it was a careful tracing. I took it that 
 Harry Bullivant had not written down the words as 
 a memo, for his own use. People who follow his 
 career have good memories. He must have written 
 them in order that, if he perished and his body was 
 found, his friends might get a clue. Wherefore, I
 
 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 21 
 
 argued, the words must be intelligible to somebody 
 or other of our persuasion, and likewise they must be 
 pretty well gibberish to any Turk or German that 
 found them. 
 
 The first, " Kasredin" I could make nothing of. 
 
 I asked Sandy. 
 
 " You mean Nasr-ed-din," he said, still munching 
 crumpets. 
 
 " What's that ? " I asked sharply. 
 
 " He's the General believed to be commanding 
 against us in Mesopotamia. I remember him years 
 ago in Aleppo. He talked bad French and drank 
 the sweetest of sweet champagne." 
 
 I looked closely at the paper. The " K" was 
 unmistakable. 
 
 " Kasredin is nothing. It means in Arabic the 
 House of Faith, and might cover anything from Hagia 
 Sofia to a suburban villa. What's your next puzzle, 
 Dick ? Have you entered for a prize competition in 
 a weekly paper ? " 
 
 " Cancer," I read out. 
 
 "It is the Latin for a crab. Likewise it is the 
 name of a painful disease. It is also a sign of the 
 Zodiac." 
 
 " v. I," I read. 
 
 " There you have me. It sounds like the number 
 of a motor-car. The police would find out for you. 
 I call this rather a difficult competition. What's the 
 prize ? " 
 
 I passed him the paper. " Who wrote it ? It 
 looks as if he had been in a hurry." 
 
 " Harry Bullivant," I said. 
 
 Sandy's face grew solemn. " Old Harry. He was 
 at my tutor's. The best fellow God ever made. I 
 saw his name in the casualty list before Kut . . . Harry 
 didn't do things without a purpose. What's the 
 story of this paper ? " 
 
 " Wait till after dinner," I said. " I'm going to
 
 22 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 change and have a bath. There's an American 
 coming to dine, and he's part of the business." 
 
 Mr. Blenkiron arrived punctual to the minute in a 
 fur coat like a Russian prince's. Now that I saw him 
 on his feet I could judge him better. He had a fat 
 face, but was not too plump in figure, and very 
 muscular wrists showed below his shirt-cuffs. I 
 fancied that, if the occasion called, he might be a 
 good man with his hands. 
 
 Sandy and I ate a hearty meal, but the American 
 picked at his boiled fish and sipped his milk a drop 
 at a time. When the servant had cleared away, he 
 was as good as his word and laid himself out on my 
 sofa. I offered him a good cigar, but he preferred one 
 of his own lean black abominations. Sandy stretched 
 his length in an easy chair and lit his pipe. " Now 
 for your story, Dick," he said. 
 
 I began, as Sir Walter had begun with me, by 
 telling them about the puzzle in the Near East. I 
 pitched a pretty good yarn, for I had been thinking a 
 lot about it, and the mystery of the business had 
 caught my fancy. Sandy got very keen. 
 
 " It is possible enough. Indeed, I've been expect- 
 ing it, though I'm hanged if I can imagine what card 
 the Germans have got up their sleeve. It might be 
 any one of twenty things. Thirty years ago there 
 was a bogus prophecy that played the devil in Yemen. 
 Or it might be a flag such as Ali Wad Helu had, or a 
 jewel like Solomon's necklace in Abyssinia. You 
 never know what will start off a Jehad ! But I rather 
 think it's a man." 
 
 " Where could he get his purchase ? " I asked. 
 
 " It's hard to say. If it were merely wild tribesmen 
 like the Bedawin he might have got a reputation as 
 a saint and miracle-worker. Or he might be a fellow 
 that preached a pure religion, like the chap that 
 founded the Senussi. But I'm inclined to think he 
 must be something extra special if he can put a spell
 
 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 23 
 
 on the whole Moslem world. The Turk and the 
 Persian wouldn't follow the ordinary new theology 
 game. He must be of the Blood. Your Mahdis and 
 Mullahs and Imams were nobodies, but they had only 
 a local prestige. To capture all Islam — and I gather 
 that is what we fear — the man must be of the Koreish, 
 the tribe of the Prophet himself." 
 
 " But how could any impostor prove that ? for I 
 suppose he's an impostor." 
 
 " He would have to combine a lot of claims. His 
 descent must be pretty good to begin with, and there 
 are families, remember, that claim the Koreish blood. 
 Then he'd have to be rather a wonder on his own 
 account — saintly, eloquent, and that sort of thing. 
 And I expect he'd have to show a sign, though what 
 that could be I haven't a notion." 
 
 " You know the East about as well as any living 
 man. Do you think that kind of thing is possible ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " Perfectly," said Sandy, with a grave face. 
 
 " Well, there's the ground cleared to begin with. 
 Then there's the evidence of pretty well every secret 
 agent we possess. That all seems to prove the fact. 
 But we have no details and no clues except that bit 
 of paper." I told them the story of it. 
 
 Sandy studied it with wrinkled brows. " It beats 
 me. But it may be the key for all that. A clue may 
 be dumb in London and shout aloud at Bagdad." 
 
 " That's just the point I was coming to. Sir 
 Walter says this thing is about as important for our 
 cause as big guns. He can't give me orders, but he 
 offers the job of going out to find what the mischief 
 is. Once he knows that, he says he can checkmate 
 it. But it's got to be found out soon, for the mine 
 may be sprung at any moment. I've taken on the 
 job. Will you help ? " 
 
 Sandy was studying the ceiling. 
 
 " I should add that it's about as safe as playing
 
 24 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 chuck-farthing at the Loos Cross-roads, the day 
 you and 1 went in. And if we fail nobody can 
 help us." 
 
 " Oh, of course, of course," said Sandy in an ab- 
 stracted voice. 
 
 Mr. Blenkiron, having finished his after-dinner 
 recumbency, had sat up and pulled a small table to- 
 wards him. From his pocket he had taken a pack 
 of Patience cards and had begun to play the game 
 called the Double Napoleon. He seemed to be 
 oblivious of the conversation. 
 
 Suddenly I had a feeling that the whole affair was 
 stark lunacy. Here were we three simpletons sitting 
 in a London flat and projecting a mission into the 
 enemy's citadel without an idea what we were to 
 do or how we were to do it. And one of the three 
 was looking at the ceiling, and whistling softly 
 through his teeth, and another was playing Patience. 
 The farce of the thing struck me so keenly that I 
 laughed. 
 
 Sandy looked at me sharply. 
 
 " You feel like that ? Same with me. It's idiocy, 
 but all war is idiotic, and the most whole-hearted 
 idiot is apt to win. We're to go on this mad trail 
 wherever we think we can hit it. Well, I'm with 
 you. But I don't mind admitting that I'm in a blue 
 funk. I had got myself adjusted to this trench 
 business and was quite happy. And now you have 
 hoicked me out, and my feet are cold." 
 
 " I don't believe you know what fear is," I said. 
 
 " There you're wrong, Dick," he said earnestly. 
 " Every man who isn't a maniac knows fear. I have 
 done some daft things, but I never started on them 
 without wishing they were over. Once I'm in the 
 show I get easier, and by the time I'm coming out 
 I'm sorry to leave it. But at the start my feet are 
 icy." 
 
 " Then I take it you're coming ? "
 
 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 25 
 
 " Rather," he said. " You didn't imagine I would 
 go back on you ? " 
 
 " And you, sir ? " I addressed Blenkiron. 
 
 His game of Patience seemed to be coming out. 
 He was completing eight little heaps of cards with a 
 contented grunt. As I spoke, he raised his sleepy 
 eyes and nodded. 
 
 " Why, yes," he said. " You gentlemen mustn't 
 think that I haven't been following your most en- 
 grossing conversation. I guess I haven't missed a 
 syllable. I find that a game of Patience stimulates 
 the digestion after meals and conduces to quiet re- 
 flection. John S. Blenkiron is with you all the time." 
 
 He shuffled the cards and dealt for a new game. 
 
 I don't think I ever expected a refusal, but this 
 ready assent cheered me wonderfully. I couldn't 
 have faced the thing alone. 
 
 " Well, that's settled. Now for ways and means. 
 We three have got to put ourselves in the way of 
 finding out Germany's secret, and we have to go 
 where it is known. Somehow or other we have to 
 reach Constantinople, and to beat the biggest area 
 of country we must go by different roads. Sandy, 
 my lad, you've got to get into Turkey. You're the 
 only one of us that knows that engaging people. 
 You can't get in by Europe very easily, so you must 
 try Asia. What about the coast of Asia Minor ? " 
 
 " It could be done," he said. " You'd better leave 
 that entirely to me. I'll find out the best way. I 
 suppose the Foreign Office will help me to get to the 
 jumping-off place ? " 
 
 " Remember," I said, " it's no good getting too 
 far east. The secret, so far as concerns us, is still 
 west of Constantinople." 
 
 " I see that. I'll blow in on the Bosporus by a 
 short tack." 
 
 " For you, Mr. Blenkiron, I would suggest a straight 
 journey. You're an American, and can travel through
 
 26 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 Germany direct. But I wonder how far your 
 activities in New York will allow you to pass as a 
 neutral ? " 
 
 " I have considered that, sir," he said. " I have 
 given some thought to the pecooliar psychology of 
 the great German nation. As I read them they're 
 as cunning as cats, and if you play the feline game 
 they will outwit you every time. Yes, sir, they are 
 no slouches at sleuth-work. If I were to buy a pair 
 of false whiskers and dye my hair and dress like a 
 Baptist parson and go into Germany on the peace 
 racket, I guess they'd be on my trail like a knife, 
 and I should be shot as a spy inside of a week or 
 doing solitary in the Moabit prison. But they lack 
 the larger vision. They can be bluffed, sir. With 
 your approval I shall visit the Fatherland as John S. 
 Blenkiron, once a thorn in the side of their brightest 
 boys on the other side. But it will be a different 
 John S. I reckon he will have experienced a change 
 of heart. He will have come to appreciate the great, 
 pure, noble soul of Germany, and he will be sorrow- 
 ing for his past like a converted gun-man at a camp 
 meeting. He will be a victim of the meanness and 
 perfidy of the British Government. I am going to 
 have a first-class row with your Foreign Office about 
 my passport, and I am going to speak harsh words 
 about them up and down this metropolis. I am 
 going to be shadowed by your sleuths at my port of 
 embarkation, and I guess I shall run up hard against 
 the British Le-gations in Scandinavia. By that 
 time our Teutonic friends will have begun to wonder 
 what has happened to John S., and to think that 
 maybe they have been mistaken in that child. So, 
 when I get to Germany they will be waiting for me 
 with an open mind. Then I judge my conduct will 
 surprise and encourage them. I will confide to them 
 valuable secret information about British prepara- 
 tions, and I will show up the British lion as the
 
 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 27 
 
 meanest kind of cur. You may trust me to make a 
 good impression. After that I'll move eastwards, to 
 see the de-molition of the British Empire in those 
 parts. By the way, where is the rendezvous ? " 
 
 " This is the 17th day of November. If we can't 
 find out what we want in two months we may chuck 
 the job. On the 17th of January we should for- 
 gather in Constantinople. Whoever gets there first 
 waits for the others. If by that date we're not all 
 present, it will be considered that the missing man 
 has got into trouble and must be given up. If ever 
 we get there we'll be coming from different points 
 and in different characters, so we want a rendezvous 
 where all kinds of odd folk assemble. Sandy, you 
 know Constantinople. You fix the meeting-place." 
 
 " I've already thought of that," he said, and going 
 to the writing-table he drew a little plan on a sheet 
 of paper. " That lane runs down from the Kurdish 
 Bazaar in Galata to the ferry of Ratchik. Half-way 
 down on the left-hand side is a cafe kept by a Greek 
 called Kuprasso. Behind the cafe is a garden, sur- 
 rounded by high walls which were parts of the old 
 Byzantine Theatre. At the end of the garden is a 
 shanty called the Garden-house of Suliman the Red. 
 It has been in its time a dancing-hall and a gambling 
 hell and God knows what else. It's not a place for 
 respectable people, but the ends of the earth con- 
 verge there and no questions are asked. That's the 
 best spot I can think of for a meeting-place." 
 
 The kettle was simmering by the fire, the night 
 was raw, and it seemed the hour for whisky-punch. 
 I made a brew for Sandy and myself and boiled 
 some milk for Blenkiron. 
 
 " What about language ? " I asked. " You're all 
 right, Sandy ? " 
 
 ' I know German fairly well ; and I can pass any- 
 where as a Turk. The first will do for eavesdropping 
 and the second for ordinary business."
 
 28 GATHERING OF THE MISSIONARIES 
 
 " And you ? " I asked Blenkiron. 
 
 " I was left out at Pentecost," he said. " I regret 
 to confess I have no gift of tongues. But the part 
 I have chosen for myself don't require the polyglot. 
 Never forget I'm plain John S. Blenkiron, a citizen 
 of the great American Republic." pi 
 
 " You haven't told us your own line, Dick," 
 Sandy said. 
 
 " I am going to the Bosporus through Germany, 
 and, not being a neutral, it won't be a very cushioned 
 journey." 
 
 Sandy looked grave. 
 
 " That sounds pretty desperate. Is your German 
 good enough ? " 
 
 " Pretty fair ; quite good enough to pass as a 
 native. But officially I shall not understand one 
 word. I shall be a Boer from Western Cape Colony : 
 one of Maritz's old lot who after a bit of trouble has 
 got through Angola and reached Europe. I shall 
 talk Dutch and nothing else. And, my hat ! I shall 
 be pretty bitter about the British. There's a power- 
 ful lot of good swear-words in the Taal. I shall 
 know all about Africa, and be panting to get another 
 whack at the verdommt rooinek. With luck they may 
 send me to the Uganda show or to Egypt, and I 
 shall take care to go by Constantinople. If I'm to 
 deal with Mohammedan natives they're bound to 
 show me what hand they hold. At least, that's the 
 way I look at it." 
 
 We filled our glasses — two of punch and one of 
 milk — and drank to our next merry meeting. Then 
 Sandy began to laugh, and I joined in. The sense 
 of hopeless folly again descended on me. The best 
 plans we could make were like a few buckets of water 
 to ease the drought of the Sahara or the old lady 
 who would have stopped the Atlantic with a broom. 
 I thought with sympathy of little Saint Theresa.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 PETER PIENAAR 
 
 Our various departures were unassuming, all but 
 the American's. Sandy spent a busy fortnight in his 
 subterranean fashion, now in the British Museum, 
 now running about the country to see old exploring 
 companions, now at the War Office, now at the 
 Foreign Office, but mostly in my flat, sunk in an 
 arm-chair and meditating. He left finally on 
 December 1 as a King's Messenger for Cairo. 
 Once there I knew the King's Messenger would dis- 
 appear, and some queer Oriental ruffian take his 
 place. It would have been impertinence in me to 
 inquire into his plans. He was the real professional, 
 and I was only the dabbler. 
 
 Blenkiron was a different matter. Sir Walter told 
 me to look out for squalls, and the twinkle in his eye 
 gave me a notion of what was coming. The first 
 thing the sportsman did was to write a letter to the 
 papers signed with his name. There had been a 
 debate in the House of Commons on foreign policy, 
 and the speech of some idiot there gave him his cue. 
 He declared that he had been heart and soul with 
 the British at the start, but that he was reluctantly 
 compelled to change his views. He said our blockade 
 of Germany had broken all the laws of God and 
 humanity, and he reckoned that Britain was now the 
 worst exponent of Prussianism going. That letter 
 made a fine racket, and the paper that printed it 
 had a row with the Censor. 
 
 29
 
 30 PETER PIENAAR 
 
 But that was only the beginning of Mr. Blenkiron's 
 campaign. He got mixed up with some mountebanks 
 called the League of Democrats against Aggression, 
 gentlemen who thought that Germany was all right 
 if we would only keep from hurting her feelings. He 
 addressed a meeting under their auspices, which was 
 broken up by the crowd, but not before John S. had 
 got off his chest a lot of amazing stuff. I wasn't 
 there, but a man who was told me that he never 
 heard such clotted nonsense. He said that Germany 
 was right in wanting the freedom of the seas, and that 
 America would back her up, and that the British 
 Navy was a bigger menace to the peace of the world 
 than the Kaiser's army. He admitted that he had 
 once thought differently, but he was an honest man 
 and not afraid to face facts. The oration closed 
 suddenly, when he got a brussels-sprout in the eye, 
 at which my friend said he swore in a very unpacifist 
 style. 
 
 After that he wrote other letters to the press, say- 
 ing that there was no more liberty of speech in 
 England, and a lot of scallywags backed him up. 
 Some Americans wanted to tar and feather him, and 
 he got kicked out of the Savoy. There was an agita- 
 tion to get him deported, and questions were asked 
 in Parliament, and the Under-Secretary for Foreign 
 Affairs said his department had the matter in hand. 
 I was beginning to think that Blenkiron was carry- 
 ing his tomfoolery too far, so I went to see Sir Walter, 
 but he told me to keep my mind easy. 
 
 " Our friend's motto is ' Thorough,' " he said, " and 
 he knows very well what he is about. We have 
 officially requested him to leave, and he sails from 
 Newcastle on Monday. He will be shadowed wherever 
 he goes, and we hope to provoke more outbreaks. 
 He is a very capable fellow." 
 
 The last I saw of him was on the Saturday after- 
 noon when I met him in St. James's Street and offered
 
 PETER PIENAAR 31 
 
 to shake hands. He told me that my uniform was 
 a pollution, and made a speech to a small crowd about 
 it. They hissed him and he had to get into a taxi. 
 As he departed there was just the suspicion of a wink 
 in his left eye. On Monday I read that he had gone 
 off, and the papers observed that our shores were well 
 quit of him. 
 
 I sailed on December 3 from Liverpool in a boat 
 bound for the Argentine that was due to put in at 
 Lisbon. I had of course to get a Foreign Office 
 passport to leave England, but after that my con- 
 nection with the Government ceased. All the details 
 of my journey were carefully thought out. Lisbon 
 would be a good jumping-oif place, for it was the 
 rendezvous of scallywags from most parts of Africa. 
 My kit was an old Gladstone bag, and my clothes 
 were the relics of my South African wardrobe. I let 
 my beard grow for some days before I sailed, and, 
 since it grows fast, I went on board with the kind of 
 hairy chin you will see on the young Boer. My name 
 was now Brandt, Cornelis Brandt — at least so my 
 passport said, and passports never lie. 
 
 There were just two other passengers on that beastly 
 boat, and they never appeared till we were out of the 
 Bay. I was pretty bad myself, but managed to move 
 about all the time, for the frowst in my cabin would 
 have sickened a hippo. The old tub took two days 
 and a night to waddle from Ushant to Finisterre. 
 Then the weather changed and we came out of snow- 
 squalls into something very like summer. The hills 
 of Portugal were all blue and yellow like the Kalahari, 
 and before we made the Tagus I was beginning to 
 forget I had ever left Rhodesia. There was a Dutch- 
 man among the sailors with whom I used to patter 
 the taal, and but for " Good morning " and " Good 
 evening " in broken English to the captain, that was 
 about all the talking I did on the cruise. 
 
 We dropped anchor off the quays of Lisbon on a
 
 32 PETER P1ENAAR 
 
 shiny blue morning, pretty near warm enough to wear 
 flannels. I had now got to be very wary. I did not 
 leave the ship with the shore-going boat, but made a 
 leisurely breakfast. Then I strolled on deck, and 
 there, just easting anchor in the middle of the stream, 
 was another ship with the blue and white funnel I 
 knew so well. I calculated that a month before she 
 had been smelling the mangrove swamps of Angola. 
 Nothing could better answer my purpose. I proposed 
 to board her, pretending I was looking for a friend, 
 and come on shore from her, so that any one in Lisbon 
 who chose to be curious would think I had landed 
 straight from Portuguese Africa. 
 
 I hailed one of the adjacent ruffians, and got into 
 his row-boat, with my kit. We reached the vessel — 
 they called her the Henry the Navigator- — just as the 
 first shore-boat was leaving. The crowd in it were 
 all Portuguese, which suited my book. 
 
 But when I went up the ladder the first man I met 
 was old Peter Pienaar. 
 
 Here was a piece of sheer monumental luck. Peter 
 had opened his eyes and his mouth, and had got as 
 far as " Allemachtig," when I shut him up. 
 
 " Brandt," I said, " Cornells Brandt. That's my 
 name now, and don't you forget it. Who is the 
 captain here ? Is it still old Sloggett ? " 
 
 " Ja," said Peter, pulling himself together. " He 
 was speaking about you yesterday." 
 
 This was better and better. I sent Peter below 
 to get hold of Sloggett, and presently I had a few 
 words with that gentleman in his cabin with the door 
 shut. 
 
 " You've got to enter my name on the ship's books. 
 I came aboard at Mossamedes. And my name's 
 Cornells Brandt." 
 
 At first Sloggett was for objecting. He said it was 
 a felony. I told him that I dared say it was, but 
 he had got to do it, for reasons which I couldn't give,
 
 PETER PIENAAR 33 
 
 but which were highly creditable to all parties. In 
 the end he agreed and I saw it done. I had a pull 
 on old Sloggett, for I had known him ever since he 
 owned a dissolute tug-boat at Delagoa Bay. 
 
 Then Peter and I went ashore and swaggered into 
 Lisbon as if we owned De Beers. We put up at the 
 big hotel opposite the railway station, and looked 
 and behaved like a pair of low-bred South Africans 
 home for a spree. It was a fine bright day, so I hired 
 a motor-car and said I would drive it myself. We 
 asked the name of some beauty-spot to visit, and were 
 told Cintra and shown the road to it. I wanted a 
 quiet place to talk, for I had a good deal to say to 
 Peter Pienaar. 
 
 I christened that car the Lusitanian Terror, and it 
 was a marvel that we did not smash ourselves up. 
 There was something immortally wrong with its 
 steering-gear. Half a dozen times we slewed across 
 the road, inviting destruction. But we got there in 
 the end, and had luncheon in an hotel opposite the 
 Moorish palace. There we left the car and wandered 
 up the slopes of a hill, where, sitting among scrub 
 very like the veld, I told Peter the situation of affairs. 
 
 But first a word must be said about Peter. He was 
 the man that taught me all I ever knew of veld-craft, 
 and a good deal about human nature besides. He 
 was out of the Old Colony — Burgersdorp, I think — but 
 he had come to the Transvaal when the Lydenburg 
 goldfields started. He was prospector, transport- 
 rider, and hunter in turns, but principally hunter. 
 In those early days he was none too good a citizen. 
 He was in Swaziland with Bob Macnab, and you 
 know what that means. Then he took to working 
 off bogus gold propositions on Kimberley and Jo- 
 hannesburg magnates, and what he didn't know about 
 salting a mine wasn't knowledge. After that he was 
 in the Kalahari, where he and Scotty Smith were 
 familiar names. An era of comparative respectability 
 3
 
 34 PETER PIENAAR 
 
 dawned for him with the Matabele War, when he did 
 uncommon good scouting and transport work. Cecil 
 Rhodes wanted to establish him on a stock farm 
 down Salisbury way, but Peter was an independent 
 devil and would call no man master. He took to 
 big-game hunting, which was what God intended him 
 for, for he could track a tsessebe in thick bush, and 
 was far the finest shot I have seen in my life. He 
 took parties to the Pungwe flats, and Barotseland, 
 and up to Tanganyika. Then he made a speciality 
 of the Ngami region, where I once hunted with him, 
 and he was with me when I went prospecting in 
 Damaraland. 
 
 When the Boer War started, Peter, like many of the 
 very great hunters, took the British side and did 
 most of our intelligence work in the North Transvaal. 
 Beyers would have hanged him if he could have 
 caught him, and there was no love lost between Peter 
 and his own people for many a day. When it was 
 all over and things had calmed down a bit, he settled 
 in Bulawayo and used to go with me when I went on 
 trek. At the time when I left Africa two years before, 
 I had lost sight of him for months, and heard that he 
 was somewhere on the Congo poaching elephants. 
 He had always a great idea of making things hum 
 so loud in Angola that the Union Government would 
 have to step in and annex it. After Rhodes Peter 
 had the biggest notions south of the Line. 
 
 He was a man of about five foot ten, very thin and 
 active, and as strong as a buffalo. He had pale blue 
 eyes, a face as gentle as a girl's, and a soft sleepy voice. 
 From his present appearance it looked as if he had 
 been living hard lately. His clothes were of the cut 
 you might expect to get at Lobito Bay, he was as lean 
 as a rake, deeply browned with the sun, and there was 
 a lot of grey in his beard. He was fifty-six years old, 
 and used to be taken for forty. Now he looked about 
 his age.
 
 PETER PIENAAR 35 
 
 I first asked him what he had been up to since the 
 war began. He spat, in the Kaffir way he had, and 
 said he had been having hell's time. 
 
 " I got hung up on the Kafue," he said. " When I 
 heard from old Letsitela that the white men were 
 fighting I had a bright idea that I might get into 
 German South West from the north. You see I knew 
 that Botha couldn't long keep out of the war. Well, 
 I got into German territory all right, and then a 
 skellum of an officer came along, and commandeered 
 all my mules, and wanted to commandeer me with 
 them for his fool army. He was a very ugly man 
 with a yellow face." Peter filled a deep pipe from a 
 kudu-skin pouch. 
 
 " Were you commandeered ? " I asked. 
 
 " No. I shot him — not so as to kill, but to wound 
 badly. It was all right, for he fired first on me. 
 Got me too in the left shoulder. But that was the 
 beginning of bad trouble. I trekked east pretty fast, 
 and got over the border among the Ovamba. I have 
 made many journeys, but that was the worst. Four 
 days I went without water, and six without food. 
 Then by bad luck I fell in with 'Nkitla — you re- 
 member, the half-caste chief. He said I owed him 
 money for cattle which I bought when I came there 
 with Carowab. It was a lie, but he held to it, and 
 would give me no transport. So I crossed the Kala- 
 hari on my feet. Ugh, it was as slow as a vrouw 
 coming from nachtmaal. It took weeks and weeks, 
 and when I came to Lechwe's kraal, I heard that 
 the fighting was over and that Botha had con- 
 quered the Germans. That, too, was a lie, but it 
 deceived me, and I went north into Rhodesia, where 
 I learned the truth. But by then I judged the war 
 had gone too far for me to get any profit out of it, 
 so I went into Angola to look for German refugees. 
 By that time I was hating Germans worse than 
 hell.'?
 
 36 PETER PIENAAR 
 
 " But what did you propose to do with them ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " I had a notion they would make trouble with the 
 Government in those parts. I don't specially love 
 the Portugoose, but I'm for him against the Germans 
 every day. Well, there was trouble, and I had a 
 merry time for a month or two. But by and by it 
 petered out, and I thought I had better clear for 
 Europe, for South Africa was settling down just as 
 the big show was getting really interesting. So here 
 I am, Cornells, my old friend. If I shave my beard, 
 will they let me join the Flying Corps ? " 
 
 I looked at Peter sitting there smoking, as im- 
 perturbable as if he had been growing mealies in Natal 
 all his life and had run home for a month's holiday 
 with his people in Peckham. 
 
 " You're coming with me, my lad," I said. " We're 
 going into Germany." 
 
 Peter showed no surprise. " Keep in mind that 
 I don't like the Germans," was all he said. " I'm 
 a quiet Christian man, but I've the devil of a 
 temper." 
 
 Then I told him the story of our mission. 
 
 " You and I have got to be Maritz's men. We went 
 into Angola, and now we're trekking for the Father- 
 land to get a bit of our own back from the infernal 
 English. Neither of us knows any German — pub- 
 licly. We'd better plan out the fighting we were 
 in — Kakamas will do for one, and Schuit Drift. You 
 were a Ngamiland hunter before the war. They 
 won't have your dossier, so you can tell any lie you 
 like. I'd better be an educated Afrikander, one of 
 Beyers's bright lads, and a pal of old Hertzog. We 
 can let our imagination loose about that part, 
 but we must stick to the same yarn about the 
 fighting." 
 
 " Ja, Cornells," said Peter. (He had called me 
 Cornells ever since I had told him my new name. He
 
 PETER PIENAAR 37 
 
 was a wonderful chap for catching on to any game.) 
 " But after we get into Germany, what then ? There 
 can't be much difficulty about the beginning. But 
 once we're among the beer-swillers I don't quite see 
 our line. We're to find out about something that's 
 going on in Turkey ? When I was a boy the predikant 
 used to preach about Turkey. I wish I was better 
 educated and remembered whereabouts in the map 
 it was." 
 
 " You leave that to me," I said ; " I'll explain it all 
 to you before we get there. We haven't got much of 
 a spoor, but we'll cast about, and with luck will pick it 
 up. I've seen you do it often enough when we 
 hunted kudu on the Kafue." 
 
 Peter nodded. " Do we sit still in a German 
 town ? " he asked anxiously. " I shouldn't like that, 
 Cornells." 
 
 " We move gently eastward to Constantinople,'-' I 
 said. 
 
 Peter grinned. " We should cover a lot of new 
 country. You can reckon on me, friend Cornells, 
 I've always had a hankering to see Europe." 
 
 He rose to his feet and stretched his long arms. 
 
 " We'd better begin at once. God, I wonder what's 
 happened to old Solly Maritz, with his bottle face ? 
 Yon was a fine battle at the drift when I was sitting 
 up to my neck in the Orange praying that Brits' lads 
 would take my head for a stone." 
 
 Peter was as thorough a mountebank, when he got 
 started, as Blenkiron himself. All the way back to 
 Lisbon he yarned about Maritz and his adventures 
 in German South West till I half believed they were 
 true. He made a very good story of our doings, and 
 by his constant harping on it I pretty soon got it 
 into my memory. That was always Peter's way. 
 He said if you were going to play a part, you must 
 think yourself into it, convince yourself that you were 
 it, till you really were it and didn't act but behaved
 
 38 PETER PIENAAR 
 
 naturally. The two men who had started that 
 morning from the hotel door had been bogus enough, 
 but the two that returned were genuine desperadoes, 
 itching to get a shot at England. 
 
 We spent that evening piling up evidence in our 
 favour. Some kind of republic had been started in 
 Portugal, and ordinarily the cafes would have been 
 full of politicians, but the war had quieted all these 
 local squabbles, and the talk was of nothing but what 
 was doing in France and Russia. The place we went 
 to was a big, well-lighted show on a main street, and 
 there were a lot of sharp-eyed fellows wandering 
 about that I guessed were spies and police agents. 
 I knew that Britain was the one country that doesn't 
 bother about this kind of game, and that it would be 
 safe enough to let ourselves go. 
 
 I talked Portuguese fairly well, and Peter spoke 
 it like a Lourenco Marques bar-keeper, with a lot of 
 Shangaan words to fill up. He started on curacoa, 
 which I reckoned was a new drink to him, and pre- 
 sently his tongue ran freely. Several neighbours 
 pricked up their ears, and soon we had a small crowd 
 round our table. 
 
 We talked to each other of Maritz and our doings. 
 It didn't seem to be a popular subject in that cafe. 
 One big blue-black fellow said that Maritz was a 
 dirty swine who would soon be hanged. Peter 
 quickly caught his knife-wrist with one hand and his 
 throat with the other, and demanded an apology. 
 He got it. The Lisbon boulevardiers have not lost 
 any lions. 
 
 After that there was a bit of a squash in our corner. 
 Those near us were very quiet and polite, but the 
 outer fringe made remarks. When Peter said that 
 if Portugal, which he admitted he loved, was going 
 to stick to England she was backing the wrong 
 horse, there was a murmur of disapproval. One 
 decent-looking old fellow, who had the air of a ship's
 
 PETER PIENAAR 39 
 
 captain, flushed all over his honest face, and stood 
 up looking straight at Peter. I saw that we had 
 struck an Englishman, and mentioned it to Peter in 
 Dutch. 
 
 Peter played his part perfectly. He suddenly 
 shut up, and, with furtive looks around him, began to 
 jabber to me in a low voice. He was the very pic- 
 ture of the stage conspirator. 
 
 The old fellow stood staring at us. "I don't very 
 well understand this damned lingo," he said ; " but 
 if so be you dirty Dutchmen are sayin' anything 
 against England, I'll ask you to repeat it. And if 
 so be as you repeats it I'll take either of you on and 
 knock the face off him." 
 
 He was a chap after my own heart, but I had to 
 keep the game up. I said in Dutch to Peter that 
 we mustn't get brawling in a public house. " Re- 
 member the big thing," I said darkly. Peter nodded, 
 and the old fellow, after staring at us for a bit, spat 
 scornfully, and walked out. 
 
 " The time is coming when the Englander will 
 sing small," I observed to the crowd. We stood 
 drinks to one or two, and then swaggered into the 
 street. At the door a hand touched my arm, and, 
 looking down, I saw a little scrap of a man in a fur 
 coat. 
 
 " Will the gentlemen walk a step with me and 
 drink a glass of beer ? " he said in very stiff 
 Dutch. 
 
 " Who the devil are you ? " I asked. 
 
 " Gott strafe England!" was his answer, and, turn- 
 ing back the lapel of his coat, he showed some kind 
 of ribbon in his buttonhole. 
 
 " Amen," said Peter. " Lead on, friend. We 
 don't mind if we do." 
 
 He led us to a back street and then up two pairs 
 of stairs to a very snug little flat. The place was 
 filled with fine red lacquer, and I guessed that art-
 
 40 PETER PIENAAR 
 
 dealing was his nominal business. Portugal, since the 
 republic broke up the convents and sold up the big 
 royalist grandees, was full of bargains in the lacquer 
 and curio line. 
 
 He rilled us two long tankards of very good Munich 
 beer. 
 
 " Prosit,'''' he said, raising his glass. " You are 
 from South Africa. What make you in Europe ? " 
 
 We both looked sullen and secretive. 
 
 " That's our own business," I answered. " You 
 don't expect to buy our confidence with a glass of 
 beer." 
 
 " So ? " he said. " Then I will put it differently. 
 From your speech in the cafe I judge you do not love 
 the English." 
 
 Peter said something about stamping on their 
 grandmothers, a Kaffir phrase which sounded grue- 
 some in Dutch. 
 
 The man laughed. " That is all I want to know. 
 You are on the German side ? " 
 
 " That remains to be seen," I said. " If they 
 treat me fair I'll fight for them, or for anybody else 
 that makes war on England. England has stolen 
 my country and corrupted my people and made me 
 an exile. We Afrikanders do not forget. We may 
 be slow but we win in the end. We two are men 
 worth a great price. Germany fights England in 
 East Africa. We know the natives as no English- 
 men can ever know them. They are too soft and 
 easy and the Kaffirs laugh at them. But we can 
 handle the blacks so that they will fight like devils 
 for fear of us. What is the reward, little man, for 
 our services ? I will tell you. There will be no 
 reward. We ask none. We fight for hate of Eng- 
 land." 
 
 Peter grunted a deep approval. 
 
 " That is good talk," said our entertainer, and his 
 close-set eyes flashed. " There is room in Germany
 
 PETER PIENAAR 41 
 
 for such men as you. Where are you going now, I 
 beg to know." 
 
 " To Holland," I said. " Then maybe we will go 
 to Germany. We are tired with travel and may 
 rest a bit. This war will last long and our chance 
 will come." 
 
 " But you may miss your market," he said signifi- 
 cantly. " A ship sails to-morrow for Rotterdam. If 
 you take my advice, you will go with her." 
 
 This was what I wanted, for if we stayed in Lisbon 
 some real soldier of Maritz might drop in any day 
 and blow the gaff. 
 
 " I recommend you to sail in the Machado" he 
 repeated. " There is work for you in Germany — oh 
 yes, much work ; but if you delay the chance may 
 pass. I will arrange your journey. It is my busi- 
 ness to help the allies of my fatherland." 
 
 He wrote down our names and an epitome of our 
 doings contributed by Peter, who required two mugs 
 of beer to help him through. He was a Bavarian, it 
 seemed, and we drank to the health of Prince Rup- 
 precht, the same blighter I was trying to do in at 
 Loos. That was an irony which Peter unfortunately 
 could not appreciate. If he could he would have 
 enjoyed it. 
 
 The little chap saw us back to our hotel, and was 
 with us next morning after breakfast, bringing the 
 steamer tickets. We got on board about two in the 
 afternoon, but on my advice he did not see us off. 
 I told him that, being British subjects and rebels 
 at that, we did not want to run any risks on board, 
 assuming a British cruiser caught us up and searched 
 us. But Peter took twenty pounds off him for 
 travelling expenses, it being his rule never to miss 
 an opportunity of spoiling the Egyptians. 
 
 As we were dropping down the Tagus we passed 
 the old Henry the Navigator. 
 
 " I met Sloggett in the street this morning," said
 
 42 PETER PIENAAR 
 
 Peter, " and he told me a little German man had 
 been off in a boat at daybreak looking up the pas- 
 senger list. Yon was a right notion of yours, Cor- 
 nelis. I am glad we are going among Germans. 
 They are careful people whom it is a pleasure to 
 meet." 

 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ADVENTURES OF TWO DUTCHMEN ON THE LOOSE 
 
 The Germans, as Peter said, are a careful people. 
 A man met us on the quay at Rotterdam. I was a 
 bit afraid that something might have turned up in 
 Lisbon to discredit us, and that our little friend 
 might have warned his pals by telegram. But 
 apparently all was serene. 
 
 Peter and I had made our plans pretty carefully 
 on the voyage. We had talked nothing but Dutch, 
 and had kept up between ourselves the role of 
 Maritz's men, which Peter said was the only way to 
 play a part well. Upon my soul, before we got to 
 Holland I was not very clear in my own mind what 
 my past had been. Indeed the danger was that the 
 other side of my mind, which should be busy with 
 the great problem, would get atrophied, and that I 
 should soon be mentally on a par with the ordinary 
 backveld desperado. We had agreed that it would 
 be best to get into Germany at once, and when the 
 agent on the quay told us of a train at midday we 
 decided to take it. 
 
 I had another fit of cold feet before we got over 
 the frontier. At the station there was a King's 
 messenger whom I had seen in France, and a war 
 correspondent who had been trotting round our part 
 of the front before Loos. I heard a woman speak- 
 ing pretty clean-cut English, which amid the hoarse 
 Dutch jabber sounded like a lark among crows. 
 There were copies of the English papers for sale, 
 
 43
 
 44 ADVENTURES OF TWO 
 
 and English cheap editions. I felt pretty bad about 
 the whole business, and wondered if I should ever 
 see these homely sights again. 
 
 But the mood passed when the train started. It 
 was a clear blowing day, and as we crawled through 
 the flat pastures of Holland my time was taken up 
 answering Peter's questions. He had never been in 
 Europe before, and formed a high opinion of the 
 farming. He said he reckoned that such land would 
 carry four sheep a morgen. We were thick in talk 
 when we reached the frontier station and jolted over 
 a canal bridge into Germany. 
 
 I had expected a big barricade with barbed wire 
 and entrenchments. But there was nothing to see 
 on the German side but half a dozen sentries in the 
 field-grey I had hunted at Loos. An under-officer, 
 with the black-and-gold button of the Landsturm, 
 hoicked us out of the train, and we were all shep- 
 herded in a big bare waiting-room, where a large stove 
 burned. They took us two at a time into an inner 
 room for examination. I had explained to Peter all 
 about this formality, but I was glad we went in 
 together, for they made us strip to the skin, and I 
 had to curse him pretty seriously *to make him keep 
 quiet. The men who did the job were fairly civil, 
 but they were mighty thorough. They took down 
 a list of all we had in our pockets and bags, and all 
 the details from the passports the Rotterdam agent 
 had given us. 
 
 We were dressing when a man in a lieutenant's 
 uniform came in with a paper in his hand. He was a 
 fresh-faced lad of about twenty, with short-sighted 
 spectacled eyes. 
 
 " Herr Brandt," he called out. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " And this is Herr Pienaar ? " he asked in Dutch. 
 
 He saluted. " Gentlemen, I apologise. I am late 
 because of the slowness of the Herr Commandant's
 
 DUTCHMEN ON THE LOOSE 45 
 
 motor-car. Had I been in time you would not have 
 been required to go through this ceremony. We have 
 been advised of your coming, and I am instructed to 
 attend you on your journey. The train for Berlin 
 leaves in half an hour. Pray do me the honour to 
 join me in a bock." 
 
 With a feeling of distinction we stalked out of the 
 ordinary ruck of passengers and followed the lieu- 
 tenant to the station restaurant. He plunged at 
 once into conversation, talking the Dutch of Holland, 
 which Peter, who had forgotten his schooldays, found 
 a bit hard to follow. He was unfit for active service, 
 because of his eyes and a weak heart, but he was a 
 desperate fire-eater in that stuffy restaurant. By 
 his way of it Germany could gobble up the French 
 and the Russians whenever she cared, but she was 
 aiming at getting all the Middle East in her hands 
 first, so that she could come out conqueror with the 
 practical control of half the world. 
 
 " Your friends the English," he said grinning, 
 " will come last. When we have starved them 
 and destroyed their commerce with our under-sea 
 boats we will show them what our navy can do. 
 For a year they have been wasting their time in 
 brag and politics, and we have been building great 
 
 ships — oh, so many ! My cousin at Kiel " and 
 
 he looked over his shoulder. 
 
 But we never heard about that cousin at Kiel. 
 A short sunburnt man came in and our friend sprang 
 up and saluted, clicking his heels like a pair of 
 tongs. 
 
 " These are the South African Dutch, Herr Cap- 
 tain," he said. 
 
 The new-comer looked us over with bright intelli- 
 gent eyes, and started questioning Peter in the taal. 
 It was well that we had taken some pains with our 
 story, for this man had been years in German South 
 West, and knew every mile of the borders. Zorn
 
 46 ADVENTURES OF TWO 
 
 was his name, and both Peter and I thought we 
 remembered hearing him spoken of. 
 
 I am thankful to say that we both showed up 
 pretty well. Peter told his story to perfection, not 
 pitching it too high, and asking me now and then for 
 a name or to verify some detail. Captain Zorn 
 looked satisfied. 
 
 " You seem the right kind of fellows," he said. 
 " But remember " — and he bent his brows on us — 
 " we do not understand slimness in this land. If you 
 are honest you will be rewarded, but if you dare to 
 play a double game you will be shot like dogs. Your 
 race has produced over many traitors for my taste." 
 
 " I ask no reward," I said gruffly. " We are not 
 Germans or Germany's slaves. But so long as she 
 fights against England we will fight for her." 
 
 " Bold words," he said ; " but you must bow your 
 stiff necks to discipline first. Discipline has been the 
 weak point of you Boers, and you have suffered for 
 it. You are no more a nation. In Germany we put 
 discipline first and last, and therefore we will con- 
 quer the world. Off with you now. Your train 
 starts in three minutes. We will see what von Stumm 
 will make of you." 
 
 That fellow gave me the best " feel " of any Ger- 
 man I had yet met. He was a white man and I 
 could have worked with him. I liked his stiff chin 
 and steady blue eyes. 
 
 My chief recollection of our journey to Berlin was 
 its commonplaceness. The spectacled lieutenant fell 
 asleep, and for the most part we had the carriage to 
 ourselves. Now and again a soldier on leave would 
 drop in, most of them tired men with heavy eyes. 
 No wonder, poor devils, for they were coming back 
 from the Yser or the Ypres salient. I would have 
 liked to talk to them, but officially of course I knew 
 no German, and the conversation I overheard did not 
 signify much. It was mostly about regimental de-
 
 DUTCHMEN ON THE LOOSE 47 
 
 tails, though one chap, who was in better spirits 
 than the rest, observed that this was the last Christ- 
 mas of misery, and that next year he would be 
 holidaying at home with full pockets. The others 
 assented, but without much conviction. 
 
 The winter day was short, and most of the journey 
 was made in the dark. I could see from the window 
 the lights of little villages, and now and then the 
 blaze of ironworks and forges. We stopped at a 
 town for dinner, where the platform was crowded 
 with drafts waiting to go westward. We saw no 
 signs of any scarcity of food, such as the English 
 newspapers wrote about. We had an excellent dinner 
 at the station restaurant, which, with a bottle of 
 white wine, cost just three shillings apiece. The 
 bread, to be sure, was poor, but I can put up with the 
 absence of bread if I get a juicy fillet of beef and as 
 good vegetables as you will see in the Savoy. 
 
 I was a little afraid of our giving ourselves away in 
 our sleep, but I need have had no fear, for our escort 
 slumbered like a hog with his mouth wide open. As 
 we roared through the darkness I kept pinching 
 myself to make me feel that I was in the enemy's 
 land on a wild mission. The rain came on, and we 
 passed through dripping towns, with the lights 
 shining from the wet streets. As we went eastward 
 the lighting seemed to grow more generous. After 
 the murk of London it was queer to slip through 
 garish stations with a hundred arc lights glowing, 
 and to see long lines of lamps running to the horizon. 
 Peter dropped off early, but I kept awake till mid- 
 night, trying to focus thoughts that persistently 
 strayed. Then I too dozed, and did not awake till 
 about five in the morning, when we ran into a great 
 busy terminus as bright as midday. It was the 
 easiest and most unsuspicious journey I ever made. 
 
 The lieutenant stretched himself and smoothed his 
 rumpled uniform. We carried our scanty luggage to
 
 48 ADVENTURES OF TWO 
 
 a droschke, for there seemed to be no porters. Our 
 escort gave the address of some hotel and we rumbled 
 out into brightly lit empty streets. 
 
 " A mighty dorp," said Peter. " Of a truth the 
 Germans are a great people." 
 
 The lieutenant nodded good-humouredly. 
 
 " The greatest people on earth," he said, " as their 
 enemies will soon bear witness." 
 
 I would have given a lot for a bath, but I felt that 
 it would be outside my part, and Peter was not of 
 the washing persuasion. But we had a very good 
 breakfast of coffee and eggs, and then the lieutenant 
 started on the telephone. He began by being 
 dictatorial, then he seemed to be switched on to 
 higher authorities, for he grew more polite, and at 
 the end he fairly crawled. He made some arrange- 
 ments, for he informed us that in the afternoon we 
 would see some fellow whose title he could not 
 translate into Dutch. I judged he was a great swell, 
 for his voice became reverential at the mention of him. 
 
 He took us for a walk that morning after Peter and 
 I had attended to our toilets. We were an odd pair of 
 scallywags to look at, but as South African as a 
 wait-a-bit bush. Both of us had ready-made tweed 
 suits, grey flannel shirts with flannel collars, and felt 
 hats with broader brims than they like in Europe. 
 I had strong nailed brown boots, Peter a pair of those 
 mustard-coloured abominations which the Portuguese 
 affect and which made him hobble like a Chinese lady. 
 He had a scarlet satin tie which you could hear a mile 
 off. My beard had grown to quite a respectable 
 length, and I trimmed it like General Smuts'. Peter's 
 was the kind of loose flapping thing the taakhaar 
 loves, which has scarcely ever been shaved, and is 
 combed once in a blue moon. I must say we made a 
 pretty solid pair. Any South African would have 
 set us down as a Boer from the back-veld who had 
 bought a suit of clothes in the nearest store, and his
 
 DUTCHMEN ON THE LOOSE 49 
 
 cousin from some one-horse dorp who had been to 
 school and thought himself the devil of a fellow. We 
 fairly reeked of the sub-continent, as the papers 
 call it. 
 
 It was a fine morning after the rain, and we wan- 
 dered about in the streets for a couple of hours. They 
 were busy enough, and the shops looked rich and 
 bright with their Christmas goods, and one big store 
 where I went to buy a pocket-knife was packed with 
 customers. One didn't see very many young men, 
 and most of the women wore mourning. Uniforms 
 were everywhere, but their wearers generally looked 
 like dug-outs or office fellows. We had a glimpse of 
 the squat building which housed the General Staff 
 and took off our hats to it. Then we stared at the 
 Marinamt, and I wondered what plots were hatching 
 there behind old Tirpitz's whiskers. The capital gave 
 one an impression of ugly cleanness and a sort of 
 dreary effectiveness. And yet I found it depressing — 
 more depressing than London. I don't know how 
 to put it, but the whole big concern seemed to have 
 no soul in it, to be like a big factory instead of a city. 
 You won't make a factory look like a house, though 
 you decorate its front and plant rose-bushes all 
 round it. The place depressed and yet cheered me. 
 It somehow made the German people seem smaller. 
 
 At three o'clock the lieutenant took us to a plain 
 white building in a side street with sentries at the 
 door. A young Staff officer met us and made us 
 wait for five minutes in an ante-room. Then we were 
 ushered into a big room with a polished floor on which 
 Peter nearly sat down. There was a log fire burning, 
 and seated at a table was a little man in spectacles 
 with his hair brushed back from his brow like a popular 
 violinist. He was the boss, for the lieutenant saluted 
 him and announced our names. Then he disappeared, 
 and the man at the table motioned us to sit down in 
 two chairs before him.
 
 50 ADVENTURES OF TWO 
 
 " Herr Brandt and Herr Pienaar ? " he asked, 
 looking over his glasses. 
 
 But it was the other man that caught my eye. He 
 stood with his back to the fire leaning his elbows on 
 the mantelpiece. He was a perfect mountain of a 
 fellow, six and a half feet if he was an inch, with 
 shoulders on him like a shorthorn bull. He was in 
 uniform, and the black-and-white ribbon of the Iron 
 Cross showed at a buttonhole. His tunic was all 
 wrinkled and strained as if it could scarcely contain 
 his huge chest, and mighty hands were clasped over 
 his stomach. That man must have had the length 
 of reach of a gorilla. He had a great, lazy, smiling 
 face, with a square cleft chin which stuck out beyond 
 the rest. His brow retreated and the stubbly back 
 of his head ran forward to meet it, while his neck 
 below bulged out over his collar. His head was 
 exactly the shape of a pear with the sharp end top- 
 most. 
 
 He stared at me with his small bright eyes and I 
 stared back. I had struck something I had been 
 looking for for a long time, and till that moment I 
 wasn't sure that it existed. Here was the German of 
 earicature, the real German, the fellow we were up 
 against. He was as hideous as a hippopotamus, but 
 effective. Every bristle on his odd head was effective. 
 
 The man at the table was speaking. I took him 
 to be a civilian official of sorts, pretty high up from 
 his surroundings, perhaps an Under-Secretary. His 
 Dutch was slow and careful, but good — too good for 
 Peter. He had a paper before him and was asking us 
 questions from it. They did not amount to much, 
 being pretty well a repetition of those Zorn had 
 asked us at the frontier. I answered fluently, for I 
 had all our lies by heart. 
 
 Then the man on the hearthrug broke in. " I'll 
 talk to them, Excellency," he said in German. " You 
 are too academic for these outland swine."
 
 DUTCHMEN ON THE LOOSE 51 
 
 He began in the taal, with the thick guttural accent 
 that you get in German South West. " You have 
 heard of me," he said. " I am the Colonel von Stumm 
 who fought the Hereros." 
 
 Peter pricked up his ears. " J a, Baas, you cut off 
 the chief Baviaan's head and sent it in pickle about 
 the country. I have seen it." 
 
 The big man laughed. " You see I am not for- 
 gotten," he said to his friend, and then to us : " So 
 I treat my enemies, and so will Germany treat hers. 
 You, too, if you fail me by a fraction of an inch." 
 And he laughed loud again. 
 
 There was something horrible in that boisterousness. 
 Peter was watching him from below his eyelids, as I 
 have seen him watch a lion about to charge. 
 
 He flung himself on a chair, put his elbows on the 
 table, and thrust his face forward. 
 
 " You have come from a damned muddled show. 
 If I had Maritz in my power I would have him flogged 
 at a wagon's end. Fools and pig-dogs, they had the 
 game in their hands and they flung it away. We 
 could have raised a fire that would have burned the 
 English into the sea, and for lack of fuel they let it 
 die down. Then they try to fan it when the ashes 
 are cold." 
 
 He rolled a paper pellet and flicked it into the 
 air. " That is what I think of your idiot general," 
 he said, " and of all you Dutch. As slow as a fat 
 vrouw and as greedy as an aasvogel." 
 
 We looked very glum and sullen. 
 
 "A pair of dumb dogs," he cried. "A thousand 
 Brandenburgers would have won in a fortnight. 
 Seitz hadn't much to boast of, mostly clerks and 
 farmers and half-castes, and no soldier worth the 
 name to lead them, but it took Botha and Smuts and 
 a dozen generals to hunt him down. But Maritz ! " 
 His scorn came like a gust of wind. 
 
 " Maritz did all the fighting there was," said Peter
 
 52 ADVENTURES OF TWO 
 
 sulkily. " At any rate he wasn't afraid of the sight 
 of khaki like your lot." 
 
 " Maybe he wasn't," said the giant in a cooing 
 voice ; " maybe he had his reasons for that. You 
 Dutchmen have always a feather-bed to fall on. 
 You can always turn traitor. Maritz now calls 
 himself Robinson, and has a pension from his friend 
 Botha." 
 
 " That," said Peter, " is a very damned lie." 
 " I asked for information," said Stumm with a 
 sudden politeness. " But that is all past and done 
 with. Maritz matters no more than your old Cronjes 
 and Krugers. The show is over, and you are looking 
 for safety. For a new master perhaps ? But, man, 
 what can you bring ? What can you offer ? You 
 and your Dutch are lying in the dust with the yoke 
 on your necks. The Pretoria lawyers have talked 
 you round. You see that map," and he pointed to 
 a big one on the wall. " South Africa is coloured 
 green. Not red for the English, or yellow for the 
 Germans. Some day it will be yellow, but for a 
 little it will be green — the colour of neutrals, of 
 nothings, of boys and young ladies and chicken- 
 hearts." 
 
 I kept wondering what he was playing at. 
 Then he fixed his eyes on Peter. " What do you 
 come here for ? The game's up in your own country. 
 What can you offer us Germans ? If we gave you 
 ten million marks and sent you back you could do 
 nothing. Stir up a village row, perhaps, and shoot a 
 policeman. South Africa is counted out in this war. 
 Botha is a cleverish man and has beaten you calves'- 
 heads of rebels. Can you deny it ? " 
 
 Peter couldn't. He was terribly honest in some 
 ings, and these were for certain his opinions. 
 " No," he said, " that is true, Baas." 
 " Then what in God's name can you do ? " shouted 
 Stumm.
 
 DUTCHMEN ON THE LOOSE 53 
 
 Peter mumbled some foolishness about nobbling 
 Angola for Germany and starting a revolution among 
 the natives. Stumm flung up his arms and cursed, 
 and the Under-Secretary laughed. 
 
 It was high time for me to chip in. I was beginning 
 to see the kind of fellow this Stumm was, and as he 
 talked I thought of my mission, which had got over- 
 laid by my Boer past. It looked as if he might be 
 useful. 
 
 " Let me speak," I said. " My friend is a great 
 hunter, but he fights better than he talks. He is no 
 politician. You speak truth. South Africa is a 
 closed door for the present, and the key to it is 
 elsewhere. Here in Europe, and in the East, and in 
 other parts of Africa. We have come to help you to 
 find the key." 
 
 Stumm was listening. " Go on, my little Boer. 
 It will be a new thing to hear a taakhaar on world- 
 politics." 
 
 " You are fighting," I said, " in East Africa ; and 
 soon you may fight in Egypt. All the east coast 
 north of the Zambesi will be your battle-ground. The 
 English run about the world with little expeditions. 
 I do not know where the places are, though I read of 
 them in the papers. But I know my Africa. You 
 want to beat them here in Europe and on the seas. 
 Therefore, like wise generals, you try to divide them 
 and have them scattered throughout the globe while 
 you stick at home. That is your plan ? ' 
 
 " A second Falkenhayn," said Stumm, laughing. 
 
 " Well, England will not let East Africa go. She 
 fears for Egypt and she fears too for India. If you 
 press her there she will send armies and more armies 
 till she is so weak in Europe that a child can crush 
 her. That is England's way. She cares more for 
 her Empire than for what may happen to her allies. 
 So I say press and still press there, destroy the railway 
 to the Lakes, burn her capital, pen up every English-
 
 54 ADVENTURES OF TWO 
 
 man in Mombasa island. At this moment it is -worth 
 for you a thousand Damaralands." 
 
 The man was really interested and the Under- 
 Secretary too pricked up his ears. 
 
 " We can keep our territory," said the former ; 
 " but as for pressing, how the devil are we to press ? 
 The accursed English hold the sea. We cannot ship 
 men or guns there. South are the Portuguese and 
 west the Belgians. You cannot move a mass without 
 a lever." 
 
 " The lever is there, ready for you," I said. 
 
 " Then for God's sake show it me," he cried. 
 
 I looked at the door to see that it was shut, as if 
 what I had to say was very secret. 
 
 " You need men, and the men are waiting. They 
 are black, but they are the stuff of warriors. All 
 round your borders you have the remains of great 
 fighting tribes, the Angoni, the Masai, the Man- 
 yumwezi, and above all the Somalis of the north, and 
 the dwellers on the Upper Nile. The British recruit 
 their black regiments there, and so do you. But 
 to get recruits is not enough. You must set whole 
 nations moving, as the Zulu under Tchaka flowed 
 over South Africa." 
 
 " It cannot be done," said the Under-Secretary. 
 
 " It can be done," I said quietly. " We two are 
 here to do it." 
 
 This kind of talk was jolly difficult for me, chiefly 
 because of Stumm's asides in German to the official. 
 I had above all things to get the credit of knowing 
 no German, and, if you understand a language well, 
 it is not very easy when you are interrupted not to 
 show that you know it, either by a direct answer, or 
 by referring to the interruption in what you say 
 next. I had to be always on my guard, and yet 
 it was up to me to be very persuasive and convince 
 these fellows that I would be useful. Somehow or 
 other I had to get into their confidence.
 
 DUTCHMEN ON THE LOOSE 55 
 
 " I have been for years up and down in Africa — 
 Uganda and the Congo and the Upper Nile. I know 
 the ways of the Kaffir as no Englishman does. We 
 Afrikanders see into the black man's heart, and 
 though he may hate us he does our will. You 
 Germans are like the English ; you are too big 
 folk to understand plain men. ' Civilise,' you cry. 
 ' Educate,' say the English. The black man 
 obeys and puts away his gods, but he worships 
 them all the time in his soul. We must get his 
 gods on our side, and then he will move mountains. 
 — We must do as John Laputa did with Sheba's 
 necklace." 
 
 " That's all in the air," said Stumm, but he did 
 not laugh. 
 
 " It is sober common sense," I said. " But you 
 must begin at the right end. First find the race that 
 fears its priests. It is waiting for you — the Mussul- 
 mans of Somaliland and the Abyssinian border and 
 the Blue and White Nile. They would be like dried 
 grasses to catch fire if you used the flint and steel 
 of their religion. Look what the English suffered 
 from a crazy Mullah who ruled only a dozen villages. 
 Once get the flames going and they will lick up the 
 pagans of the west and south. That is the way of 
 Africa. How many thousands, think you, were in 
 the Mahdi's army who never heard of the Prophet 
 till they saw the black flags of the Emirs going into 
 battle ? " 
 
 Stumm was smiling. He turned his face to the 
 official and spoke with his hand over his mouth, but 
 I caught his words. They were : " This is the man for 
 Hilda." The other pursed his lips and looked a 
 little scared. 
 
 Stumm rang a bell and the lieutenant came in and 
 clicked his heels. He nodded towards Peter. " Take 
 this man away with you. We have done with him. 
 The other fellow will follow presently."
 
 5Q ADVENTURES OF TWO 
 
 Peter went out with a puzzled face and Stumm 
 turned to me. 
 
 " You are a dreamer, Brandt," he said. " But I 
 do not reject you on that account. Dreams some- 
 times come true, when an army follows the visionary. 
 But who is going to kindle the flame ? " 
 
 " You," I said. 
 
 " What the devil do you mean ? " he asked. 
 
 " That is your part. You are the cleverest people 
 in the world. You have already half the Mussulman 
 lands in your power. It is for you to show us how 
 to kindle a holy war, for clearly you have the secret 
 of it. Never fear but we will carry out your 
 order." 
 
 " We have no secret," he said shortly, and glanced 
 at the official, who stared out of the window. 
 
 I dropped my jaw and looked the picture of dis- 
 appointment. " I do not believe you," I said slowly. 
 " You play a game with me. I have not come six 
 thousand miles to be made a fool of." 
 
 " Discipline, by God," Stumm cried. " This is 
 none of your ragged commandos." In two strides 
 he was above me and had lifted me out of my seat. 
 His great hands clutched my shoulders, and his 
 thumbs gouged my armpits. I felt as if I were in 
 the grip of a big ape. Then very slowly he shook 
 me so that my teeth seemed loosened and my head 
 swam. He let me go and I dropped limply back in 
 the chair. 
 
 " Now, go ! Futsack! And remember that I am 
 your master. I, Ulric von Stumm, who owns you 
 as a Kaffir owns his mongrel. Germany may have 
 some use for you, my friend, when you fear me as 
 you never feared your God." 
 
 As I walked dizzily away the big man was smiling 
 in his horrible way, and that little official was blink- 
 ing and smiling too. I had struck a dashed queer 
 country, so queer that I had had n© time to remem-
 
 DUTCHMEN ON THE LOOSE 57 
 
 ber that for the first time in my life I had been bullied 
 without hitting back. When I realised it I nearly 
 choked with anger. But I thanked Heaven I had 
 shown no temper, for I remembered my mission 
 Luck seemed to have brought me into useful com- 
 pany.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 
 
 Next morning there was a touch of frost and a nip 
 in the air which stirred my blood and put me in 
 buoyant spirits. I forgot my precarious position 
 and the long road I had still to travel. I came 
 down to breakfast in great form, to find Peter's even 
 temper badly ruffled. He had remembered Stumm 
 in the night and disliked the memory ; this he mut- 
 tered to me as we rubbed shoulders at the dining- 
 room door. Peter and I got no opportunity for 
 private talk. The lieutenant was with us all the 
 time, and at night we were locked in our rooms. 
 Peter discovered this through trying to get out to 
 find matches, for he had the bad habit of smoking 
 in bed. 
 
 Our guide started on the telephone, and announced 
 that we were to be taken to see a prisoners' camp. 
 In the afternoon I was to go somewhere with Stumm, 
 but the morning was for sightseeing. ' You will 
 see," he told us, " how merciful is a great people. 
 You will also see some of the hated English in our 
 power. That will delight you. They are the fore- 
 runners of all their nation." 
 
 We drove in a taxi through the suburbs and then 
 over a stretch of flat market-garden-like country to 
 a low rise of wooded hills. After an hour's ride we 
 entered the gate of what looked like a big reforma- 
 tory or hospital. I believe it had been a home for 
 destitute children. There were sentries at the gate 
 
 58
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 59 
 
 and massive concentric circles of barbed wire through 
 which we passed under an arch that was let down 
 like a portcullis at nightfall. The lieutenant showed 
 his permit, and we ran the car into a brick-paved 
 yard and marched through a lot more sentries to 
 the office of the commandant. 
 
 He was away from home, and we were welcomed 
 by his deputy, a pale young man with a head nearly 
 bald. There were introductions in German which 
 our guide translated into Dutch, and a lot of elegant 
 speeches about how Germany was foremost in 
 humanity as well as martial valour. Then they 
 stood us sandwiches and beer, and we formed a pro- 
 cession for a tour of inspection. There were two 
 doctors, both mild-looking men in spectacles, and a 
 couple of warders — under-ofhcers of the good old 
 burly, bullying sort I knew well. That was the cement 
 which kept the German Army together. Her men 
 were nothing to boast of on the average ; no more 
 were the officers, even in crack corps like the Guards 
 and the Brandenburgers ; but they seemed to have 
 an inexhaustible supply of hard, competent N.C.O.'s. 
 
 We marched round the wash-houses, the recreation- 
 ground, the kitchens, the hospital — with nobody in 
 it save one chap with the " flu." It didn't seem to 
 be badly done. This place was entirely for officers, 
 and I expect it was a show place where American 
 visitors were taken. If half the stories one heard 
 were true there were some pretty ghastly prisons 
 away in South and East Germany. 
 
 I didn't half like the business. To be a prisoner 
 has always seemed to me about the worst thing that 
 could happen to a man. The sight of German 
 prisoners used to give me a bad feeling inside, 
 whereas I looked at dead Boches with nothing but 
 satisfaction. Besides, there was the off-chance that 
 I might be recognised. So I kept very much in the 
 shadow whenever we passed anybody in the corridors.
 
 60 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 
 
 The few we met passed us incuriously. They 
 saluted the deputy-commandant, but scarcely wasted 
 a glance on us. No doubt they thought we were 
 inquisitive Germans come to gloat over them. They 
 looked fairly fit, but a little puffy about the eyes, like 
 men who get too little exercise. They seemed thin, 
 too. I expect the food, for all the commandant's 
 talk, was nothing to boast of. In one room people 
 were writing letters. It was a big place with only a 
 tiny stove to warm it, and the windows were shut so 
 that the atmosphere was a cold frowst. In another 
 room a fellow was lecturing on something to a dozen 
 hearers and drawing figures on a blackboard. Some 
 were in ordinary khaki, others in any old thing they 
 could pick up, and most wore greatcoats. Your 
 blood gets thin when you have nothing to do but 
 hope against hope and think of your pals and the 
 old days. 
 
 I was moving along, listening with half an ear to 
 the lieutenant's prattle and the loud explanations of 
 the deputy-commandant, when I pitchforked into 
 what might have been the end of my business. We 
 were going through a sort of convalescent room, 
 where people were sitting who had been in hospital. 
 It was a big place, a little warmer than the rest of 
 the building, but still abominably fuggy. There 
 were about half a dozen men in the room, reading 
 and playing games. They looked at us with lack- 
 lustre eyes for a moment, and then returned to their 
 occupations. Being convalescents I suppose they 
 were not expected to get up and salute. 
 
 All but one, who was playing Patience at a little 
 table by which we passed. I was feeling very bad 
 about the thing, for I hated to see these good fellows 
 locked away in this infernal German hole when they 
 might have been giving the Boche his deserts at the 
 front. The commandant went first with Peter, who 
 had developed a great interest in prisons. Then
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 61 
 
 came our lieutenant with one of the doctors ; then 
 a couple of warders ; and then the second doctor 
 and myself. I was absent-minded at the moment 
 and was last in the queue. 
 
 The Patience-player suddenly looked up and I saw 
 his face. I'm hanged if it wasn't Dolly Riddell, 
 who was our brigade machine-gun officer at Loos. 
 I had heard that the Germans had got him when 
 they blew up a mine at the Quarries. 
 
 I had to act pretty quick, for his mouth was agape, 
 and I saw he was going to speak. The doctor was 
 a yard ahead of me. 
 
 I stumbled and spilt his cards on the floor. Then 
 I kneeled to pick them up and gripped his knee. 
 His head bent to help me and I spoke low in his ear. 
 " I'm Hannay all right. For God's sake don't wink 
 an eye. I'm here on a secret job." 
 
 The doctor had turned to see what was the matter. 
 I got a few more words in. " Cheer up, old man. 
 We're winning hands down." 
 
 Then I began to talk excited Dutch and finished 
 the collection of the cards. Dolly was playing his 
 part well, smiling as if he were amused by the antics 
 of a monkey. The others were coming back, the 
 deputy-commandant with an angry light in his dull 
 eye. " Speaking to the prisoners is forbidden," he 
 snouted. 
 
 I looked blankly at him till the lieutenant trans- 
 lated. 
 
 " What kind of fellow is he ? " said Dolly in Eng- 
 lish to the doctor. " He spoils my game and then 
 jabbers High-Dutch at me." 
 
 Officially I knew English, and that speech of Dolly's 
 gave me my cue. I pretended to be very angry with 
 the very damned Englishman, and went out of the 
 room close by the deputy-commandant, grumbling 
 like a sick jackal. After that I had to act a bit. 
 The last place we visited was the close-confinement
 
 62 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 
 
 part where prisoners were kept as a punishment for 
 some breach of the rules. They looked cheerless 
 enough, but I pretended to gloat over the sight, and 
 said so to the lieutenant, who passed it on to the 
 others. I have rarely in my life felt such a cad. 
 
 On the way home the lieutenant discoursed a lot 
 about prisoners and detention-camps, for at one 
 time he had been on duty at Ruhleben. Peter, who 
 had been in quod more than once in his life, was 
 deeply interested and kept on questioning him. 
 Among other things he told us was that they often 
 put bogus prisoners among the rest, who acted as 
 spies. If any plot to escape was hatched these fellows 
 got into it and encouraged it. They never interfered 
 till the attempt was actually made and then they 
 had them on toast. There was nothing the Boche 
 liked so much as an excuse for sending a poor devil 
 to " solitary." 
 
 That afternoon Peter and I separated. He was 
 left behind with the lieutenant and I was sent off to 
 the station with my bag in the company of a Land- 
 sturm sergeant. Peter was very cross, and I didn't 
 care for the look of things ; but I brightened up 
 when I heard I was going somewhere with Stumm. 
 If he wanted to see me again he must think me of 
 some use, and if he was going to use me he was 
 bound to let me into his game. I liked Stumm 
 about as much as a dog likes a scorpion, but I han- 
 kered for his society. 
 
 At the station platform, where the ornament of 
 the Landsturm saved me all trouble about tickets, 
 I could not see my companion. I stood waiting, 
 while a great crowd, mostly of soldiers, swayed past 
 me and filled all the front carriages. An officer 
 spoke to me gruffly and told me to stand aside 
 behind a wooden rail. I obeyed, and suddenly found 
 Stumm's eyes looking down at me.
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 63 
 
 " You know German ? " he asked sharply. 
 
 " A dozen words," I said carelessly. " I've been 
 to Windhuk and learned enough to ask for my dinner. 
 Peter — my friend — speaks it a bit." 
 
 " So," said Stumm. " Well, get into the carriage. 
 Not that one ! There, thickhead ! " 
 
 I did as I was bid, he followed, and the door was 
 locked behind us. The precaution was needless, for 
 the sight of Stumm's profile at the platform end 
 would have kept out the most brazen. I wondered 
 if I had woke up his suspicions. I must be on my 
 guard to show no signs of intelligence if he suddenly 
 tried me in German, and that wouldn't be easy, for 
 I knew it as well as I knew Dutch. 
 
 We moved into the country, but the windows were 
 blurred with frost, and I saw nothing of the landscape. 
 Stumm was busy with papers and let me alone. I 
 read on a notice that one was forbidden to smoke, 
 so to show my ignorance of German I pulled out my 
 pipe. Stumm raised his head, saw what I was doing, 
 and gruffly bade me put it away, as if he were an old 
 lady that disliked the smell of tobacco. 
 
 In half an hour I got very bored, for I had nothing 
 to read and my pipe was verboten. People passed now 
 and then in the corridors, but no one offered to enter. 
 No doubt they saw the big figure in uniform and 
 thought he was the deuce of a Staff swell who wanted 
 solitude. I thought of stretching my legs in the 
 corridor, and was just getting up to do it when 
 somebody slid the door back and a big figure blocked 
 the light. 
 
 He was wearing a heavy ulster and a green felt hat. 
 He saluted Stumm, who looked up angrily, and smiled 
 pleasantly on us both. 
 
 " Say, gentlemen," he said, " have you room in 
 here for a little one ? I guess I'm about smoked out 
 of my car by your brave soldiers. I've gotten a 
 delicate stomach. ..."
 
 64 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 
 
 Stumm had risen with a brow of wrath, and looked 
 as if he were going to pitch the intruder off the train. 
 Then he seemed to halt and collect himself, and the 
 other's face broke into a friendly grin. 
 
 " Why, it's Colonel Stumm," he cried. (He pro- 
 nounced it like the first syllable in " stomach ".) 
 " Very pleased to meet you again, Colonel. I had 
 the honour of making your acquaintance at our 
 Embassy. I reckon Ambassador Gerard didn't 
 cotton to our conversation that night." And the 
 new-comer plumped himself down in the corner 
 opposite me. 
 
 I had been pretty certain I would run across 
 Blenkiron somewhere in Germany, but I didn't think 
 it would be so soon. There he sat staring at me with 
 his full unseeing eyes, rolling out platitudes to Stumm* 
 who was nearly bursting in his effort to keep civil. 
 I looked moody and suspicious, which I took to be the 
 right line. 
 
 " Things are getting a bit dead at Salonika," said 
 Mr. Blenkiron by way of a conversational opening. 
 
 Stumm pointed to a notice which warned officers to 
 refrain from discussing military operations with mixed 
 company in a railway carriage. 
 
 " Sorry," said Blenkiron, " I can't read that tomb- 
 stone language of yours. But I reckon that that 
 notice to trespassers, whatever it signifies, don't apply 
 to you and me. I take it this gentleman is in your 
 party." 
 
 I sat and scowled, fixing the American with sus- 
 picious eyes. 
 
 " He is a Dutchman," said Stumm ; " South African 
 Dutch, and he is not happy, for he doesn't like to hear 
 English spoken." 
 
 " We'll shake on that," said Blenkiron cordially. 
 " But who said I spoke English ? It's good American. 
 Cheer up, friend, for it isn't the call that makes the 
 big wapiti, as they say out west in my country. I
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 65 
 
 hate John Bull worse than a poison rattle. The 
 Colonel can tell you that." 
 
 I dare say he could, but at that moment we slowed 
 down at a station and Stumni got up to leave. 
 " Good-day to you, Herr Blenkiron," he cried over 
 his shoulder. " If you consider your comfort, don't 
 talk English to strange travellers. They don't dis- 
 tinguish between the different brands." 
 
 I followed him in a hurry, but was recalled by 
 Blenkiron's voice. 
 
 " Say, friend," he shouted, " you've left your grip," 
 and he handed me my bag from the luggage rack. 
 But he showed no sign of recognition, and the last I 
 saw of him was sitting sunk in a corner with his head 
 on his chest as if he were going to sleep. He was a 
 man who kept up his parts well. 
 
 There was a motor-car waiting — one of the grey 
 military kind — and we started at a terrific pace over 
 bad forest roads. Stumm had put away his papers 
 in a portfolio, and flung me a few sentences on the 
 journey. 
 
 " I haven't made up my mind about you, Brandt," 
 he announced. " You may be a fool or a knave or a 
 good man. If you are a knave, we will shoot you." 
 
 " And if I am a fool ? " I asked. 
 
 " Send you to the Yser or the Dvina. You will be 
 respectable cannon-fodder." 
 
 " You cannot do that unless I consent," I said. 
 
 " Can't we ? ' he said, smiling wickedly. " Re- 
 member you are a citizen of nowhere. Technically 
 you are a rebel, and the British, if you go to them, will 
 hang you, supposing they have any sense. You are 
 in our power, my friend, to do precisely what we like 
 with you." 
 
 He was silent for a second, and then he said medita- 
 tively : 
 
 " But I don't think you are a fool. You may be 
 
 5
 
 66 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 
 
 a scoundrel. Some kinds of scoundrel are useful 
 enough. Other kinds are strung up with a rope. Of 
 that we shall know more soon." 
 
 " And if I am a good man ? " 
 
 " You will be given a chance to serve Germany, the 
 proudest privilege a mortal can have." The strange 
 man said this with a ringing sincerity in his voice 
 that impressed me. 
 
 The car swung out from the trees into a park lined 
 with saplings, and in the twilight I saw before me a 
 biggish house like an overgrown Swiss chalet. There 
 was a kind of archway, with a sham portcullis, and a 
 terrace with battlements which looked as if they were 
 made of stucco. We drew up at a Gothic front door, 
 where a thin middle-aged man in a shooting jacket 
 was waiting. 
 
 As we moved into the lighted hall I got a good look 
 at our host. He was very lean and brown, with the 
 stoop in the shoulder that one gets from being 
 constantly on horseback. He had untidy grizzled 
 hair and a ragged beard, and a pair of pleasant, short- 
 sighted brown eyes. 
 
 " Welcome, my Colonel," he said. " Is this the 
 friend you spoke of ? " 
 
 " This is the Dutchman," said Stumm. " His name 
 is Brandt. Brandt, you see before you Herr Gaudian." 
 
 I knew the name of course ; there weren't many in 
 my profession that didn't. He was one of the biggest 
 railway engineers in the world, the man who had built 
 the Bagdad and Syrian railways, and the new lines 
 in German East. I suppose he was about the greatest 
 living authority on tropical construction. He knew 
 the East and he knew Africa ; clearly I had been 
 brought down for him to put me through my paces. 
 
 A blonde maidservant took me to my room, which 
 had a bare polished floor, a stove, and windows that, 
 unlike most of the German kind I had sampled, seemed 
 made to open. When I had washed I descended to
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 67 
 
 the hall, which was hung round with trophies of travel, 
 like Dervish jibbahs and Masai shields and one or two 
 good buffalo heads. Presently a bell was rung. 
 Stumm appeared with his host, and we went in to 
 supper. 
 
 I was jolly hungry and would have made a good 
 meal if I hadn't constantly had to keep jogging my 
 wits. The other two talked in German, and when 
 a question was put to me Stumm translated. The 
 first thing I had to do was to pretend I didn't know 
 German and look listlessly round the room while they 
 were talking. The second was to miss not a word, 
 for there lay my chance. The third was to be ready 
 to answer questions at any moment, and to show 
 in the answering that I had not followed the previous 
 conversation. Likewise I must not prove myself 
 a fool in these answers, for I had to convince them 
 that I was useful. It took some doing, and I felt like 
 a witness in the box under a stiff cross-examination, 
 or a man trying to play three games of chess at 
 once. 
 
 I heard Stumm telling Gaudian the gist of my plan. 
 The engineer shook his head. 
 
 " Too late," he said. " It should have been done 
 at the beginning. We neglected Africa. You know 
 the reason why." 
 
 Stumm laughed. " The von Einem ! Perhaps, 
 but her charm works well enough." - 
 
 Gaudian glanced towards me while I was busy with 
 an orange salad. " I have much to tell you of that. 
 But it can wait. Your friend is right in one thing. 
 Uganda is a vital spot for the English, and a blow 
 there will make their whole fabric shiver. But how 
 can we strike ? They have still the coast, and our 
 supplies grow daily smaller." 
 
 " We can send no reinforcements, but have we 
 used all the local resources ? That is what I cannot 
 satisfy myself about. Zimmerman says we have, but
 
 68 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 
 
 Tressler thinks differently, and now we have this 
 fellow coming out of the void with a story which 
 confirms my doubt. He seems to know his job. 
 You try him." 
 
 Thereupon Gaudian set about questioning me, and 
 his questions were very thorough. I knew just 
 enough and no more to get through, but I think I came 
 out with credit. You see I have a capacious memory, 
 and in my time I had met scores of hunters and 
 pioneers and listened to their yarns, so I could pretend 
 to knowledge of a place even when I hadn't been there. 
 Besides, I had once been on the point of undertaking 
 a job up Tanganyika way, and I had got up that 
 country-side pretty accurately. 
 
 " You say that with our help you can make trouble 
 for the British on the three borders ? " Gaudian asked 
 at length. 
 
 " I can spread the fire if some one else will kindle 
 it," I said. 
 
 " But there are thousands of tribes with no affini- 
 ties." 
 
 " They are all African. You can bear me out. All 
 African peoples are alike in one thing — they can go 
 mad, and the madness of one infects the others. The 
 English know this well enough." 
 
 " Where would you start the fire ? " he asked. 
 
 " Where the fuel is dry est. Up in the North 
 among the Mussulman peoples. But there you must 
 help me. I know nothing about Islam, and I gather 
 that you do." 
 
 " Why ? " he asked. 
 
 " Because of what you have done already," I 
 answered. 
 
 Stumm had translated all this time, and had given 
 the sense of my words very fairly. But with my last 
 answer he took liberties. What he gave was : 
 " Because the Dutchman thinks that we have some 
 big card in dealing with the Moslem world." Then,
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 69 
 
 lowering his voice and raising his eyebrows, he said 
 some word like " Uhnmantl." 
 
 The other looked with a quick glance of appre- 
 hension at me. " We had better continue our talk 
 in private, Herr Colonel," he said. " If Herr Brandt 
 will forgive us, we will leave him for a little to enter- 
 tain himself." He pushed the cigar-box towards me 
 and the two got up and left the room. 
 
 I pulled my chair up to the stove, and would have 
 liked to drop off to sleep. The tension of the talk at 
 supper had made me very tired. I was accepted by 
 these men for exactly what I professed to be. Stumm 
 might suspect me of being a rascal, but it was a Dutch 
 rascal. But all the same I was skating on thin ice. 
 I could not sink myself utterly in the part, for if I 
 did I would get no good out of being there. I had 
 to keep my wits going all the time, and join the 
 appearance and manners of a back-veld Boer with 
 the mentality of a British intelligence-officer. Any 
 moment the two parts might clash and I would be 
 faced with the most alert and deadly suspicion. 
 
 There would be no mercy from Stumm. That 
 large man was beginning to fascinate me, even though 
 I hated him. Gaudian was clearly a good fellow, a 
 white man and a gentleman. I could have worked 
 with him, for he belonged to mv own totem. But 
 the other was an incarnation of all that makes Ger- 
 many detested, and yet he wasn't altogether the 
 ordinary German, and I couldn't help admiring him 
 I noticed he neither smoked nor drank. His grossness 
 was apparently not in the way of fleshly appetites. 
 Cruelty, from all I had heard of him in German South 
 West, was his hobby ; but there were other things 
 in him, some of them good, and he had that kind of 
 crazy patriotism which becomes a religion. I won- 
 dered why he had not some high command in the 
 field, for he had had the name of a good soldier. But 
 probably he was a big man in his own line, whatever
 
 70 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 
 
 it was, for the Under-Secretary fellow had talked 
 small in his presence, and so great a man as Gaudian 
 clearly respected him. There must be no lack of 
 brains inside that funny pyramidal head. 
 
 As I sat beside the stove I was casting back to 
 think if I had got the slightest clue to my real job. 
 There seemed to be nothing so far. Stumm had 
 talked of a von Einem woman who was interested in 
 his department, perhaps the same woman as the 
 Hilda he had mentioned the day before to the Under- 
 Secretary. There was not much in that. She was 
 probably some minister's or ambassador's wife who 
 had a finger in high politics. If I could have caught 
 the word Stumm had whispered to Gaudian which 
 made him start and look askance at me ! But I had 
 only heard a gurgle of something like " Uhnmantl," 
 which wasn't any German word that I knew. 
 
 The heat put me into a half-doze and I began 
 dreamily to wonder what other people were doing. 
 Where had Blenkiron been posting to in that train, 
 and what was he up to at this moment ? He had 
 been hobnobbing with ambassadors and swells — I 
 wondered if he had found out anything. What was 
 Peter doing ? I fervently hoped he was behaving 
 himself, for I doubted if Peter had really tumbled to 
 the delicacy of our job. Where was Sandy, too ? 
 As like as not bucketing in the hold of some Greek 
 coaster in the ^Egean. Then I thought of my 
 battalion somewhere on the line between Hulluch 
 and La Bassee, hammering at the Boche, while I 
 was five hundred miles or so inside the Boche 
 frontier. 
 
 It was a comic reflection, so comic that it woke 
 me up. After trying in vain to find a way of stok- 
 ing that stove, for it was a cold night, I got up and 
 walked about the room. There were portraits of 
 two decent old fellows, probably Gaudian's parents. 
 There were enlarged photographs, too, of engineer-
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 71 
 
 ing works, and a good picture of Bismarck. And 
 close to the stove there was a case of maps mounted 
 on rollers. 
 
 I pulled out one at random. It was a geological 
 map of Germany, and with some trouble I found out 
 where I was. I was an enormous distance from my 
 goal, and moreover I was clean off the road to the 
 East. To go there I must first go to Bavaria and 
 then into Austria. I noticed the Danube flowing 
 eastwards and remembered that that was one way 
 to Constantinople. 
 
 Then I tried another map. This one covered a 
 big area, all Europe from the Rhine and as far east 
 as Persia. I guessed that it was meant to show the 
 Bagdad railway and the through routes from Ger- 
 many to Mesopotamia. There were markings on it ; 
 and, as I looked closer, I saw that there were dates 
 scribbled in blue pencil, as if to denote the stages 
 of a journey. The dates began in Europe, and 
 continued right on into Asia Minor and then south 
 to Syria. 
 
 For a moment my heart jumped, for I thought I 
 had fallen by accident on the clue I wanted. But 
 I never got that map examined. I heard footsteps 
 in the corridor, and very gently I let the map roll 
 up and turned away. When the door opened I was 
 bending over the stove trying to get a light for my 
 pipe. 
 
 It was Gaudian, to bid me join him and Stumm 
 in his study. 
 
 On our way there he put a kindly hand on my 
 shoulder. I think he thought I was bullied by 
 Stumm and wanted to tell me that he was my friend, 
 and he had no other language than a pat on the 
 back. 
 
 The soldier was in his old position with his elbows 
 on the mantelpiece and his formidable great jaw 
 stuck out.
 
 72 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SAME 
 
 " Listen to me," he said. " Herr Gaudian and I 
 are inclined to make use of 3^ou. You may be a 
 charlatan, in which case you will be in the devil of 
 a mess and have yourself to thank for it. If you 
 are a rogue you will have little scope for roguery. 
 We will see to that. If you are a fool, you will your- 
 self suffer for it. But if you are a good man, you 
 will have a fair chance, and if you succeed we will 
 not forget it. To-morrow I go home and you will 
 come with me and get your orders." 
 
 I made shift to stand at attention and salute. 
 
 Gaudian spoke in a pleasant voice, as if he wanted 
 to atone for Stumm's imperiousness. " We are men 
 who love our Fatherland, Herr Brandt," he said. 
 " You are not of that Fatherland, but at least you 
 hate its enemies. Therefore we are allies, and trust 
 each other like allies. Our victory is ordained by 
 God, and we are none of us more than His instru- 
 ments." 
 
 Stumm translated in a sentence, and his voice was 
 quite solemn. He held up his right hand and so 
 did Gaudian, like a man taking an oath or a parson 
 blessing his congregation. 
 
 Then I realised something of the might of Germany. 
 She produced good and bad, cads and gentlemen, 
 but she could put a bit of the fanatic into them all.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 I was standing stark naked next morning in that 
 icy bedroom, trying to bathe in about a quart of 
 water, when Stumm entered. He strode up to me 
 and stared me in the face. I was half a head shorter 
 than him to begin with, and a man does not feel his 
 stoutest when he has no clothes, so he had the pull 
 on me every way. 
 
 " I have reason to believe that you are a liar," 
 he growled. 
 
 I pulled the bed-cover round me, for I was shiver- 
 ing with cold, and the German idea of a towel is a 
 pocket-handkerchief. I own I was in a pretty blue 
 funk. 
 
 " A liar ! " he repeated. " You and that swine 
 Pienaar." 
 
 With my best effort at surliness I asked what we 
 had done. 
 
 " You lied, because you said you knew no German. 
 Apparently your friend knows enough to talk treason 
 and blasphemy." 
 
 This gave me back some heart. 
 
 " I told you I knew a dozen words. But I told 
 you Peter could talk it a bit. I told you that yester- 
 day at the station." Fervently I blessed my luck 
 for that casual remark. 
 
 He evidently remembered, for his tone became a 
 trifle more civil. 
 
 " You are a precious pair. If one of you is a 
 scoundrel, why not the other ? " 
 
 73
 
 74 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 " I take no responsibility for Peter," I said. I 
 felt I was a cad in saying it, but that was the bargain 
 we had made at the start. " I have known him for 
 years as a great hunter and a brave man. I know 
 he fought well against the English. But more I 
 cannot tell you. You have to judge him for yourself. 
 What has he done ? " 
 
 I was told, for Stumm had got it that morning 
 on the telephone. While telling it he was kind 
 enough to allow me to put on my trousers. 
 
 It was just the sort of thing I might have foreseen. 
 Peter, left alone, had become first bored and then 
 reckless. He had persuaded the lieutenant to take 
 him out to supper at a big Berlin restaurant. There, 
 inspired by the lights and music — novel things for a 
 backveld hunter — and no doubt bored stiff by his 
 company, he had proceeded to get drunk. That 
 had happened in my experience with Peter about 
 once in every three years, and it always happened for 
 the same reason. Peter, bored and solitary in a town, 
 went on the spree. He had a head like a rock, but 
 he got to the required condition by wild mixing. 
 He was quite a gentleman in his cups, and not in the 
 least violent, but he was apt to be very free with 
 his tongue. And that was what occurred at the 
 Franciscana. 
 
 He had begun by insulting the Emperor, it seemed. 
 He drank his health, but said he reminded him of a 
 wart-hog, and thereby scarified the lieutenant's 
 soul. Then an officer — some tremendous swell — 
 at an adjoining table had objected to his talking so 
 loud, and Peter had replied insolently in respectable 
 German. After that things became mixed. There 
 was some kind of a fight, during which Peter calumni- 
 ated the German army and all its female ancestry. 
 How he wasn't shot or run through I can't imagine, 
 except that the lieutenant loudly proclaimed that 
 he was a crazy Boer. Anyhow the upshot was that
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 75 
 
 Peter was marched off to gaol, and I was left in a 
 pretty pickle. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," I said firmly. I 
 had most of my clothes on now and felt more cour- 
 ageous. "It is all a plot to get him into disgrace 
 and draft him off to the front." 
 
 Stumm did not storm as I expected, but smiled. 
 
 "That was always his destiny," he said, "ever 
 since I saw him. He was no use to us except as a 
 man with a rifle. Cannon-fodder, nothing else. Do 
 you imagine, you fool, that this great Empire in the 
 thick of a world-war is going to trouble its head to 
 lay snares for an ignorant taakhaar ? " 
 
 " I wash my hands of him," I said. " If what 
 you say of his folly is true I have no part in it. But 
 he was my companion and I wish him well. What 
 do you propose to do with him ? " 
 
 " We will keep him under our eye," he said, with 
 a wicked twist of the mouth. " I have a notion that 
 there is more at the back of this than appears. We 
 will investigate the antecedents of Herr Pienaar. 
 And you, too, my friend. On you also we have our 
 eye." 
 
 I did the best thing I could have done, for what 
 with anxiety and disgust I lost my temper. 
 
 " Look here, sir," 1 cried, " I've had about enough 
 of this. I came to Germany abominating the Eng- 
 lish and burning to strike a blow for you. But 
 you haven't given me much cause to love you. For 
 the last two days I've had nothing from you but 
 suspicion and insult. The only decent man I've met 
 is Herr Gaudian. It's because I believe that there 
 are many in Germany like him that I'm prepared 
 to go on with this business and do the best 1 can. 
 But, by God, I wouldn't raise my little finger for 
 your sake." 
 
 He looked at me very steadily for a minute. 
 " That sounds like honesty," he said at last in a
 
 76 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 civil voice. " You had better come down and get 
 your coffee." 
 
 I was safe for the moment but in very low spirits. 
 What on earth would happen to poor old Peter ? 
 I could do nothing even if I wanted, and, besides, 
 my first duty was to my mission. I had made this 
 very clear to him at Lisbon and he had agreed, but 
 all the same it was a beastly reflection. Here w r as 
 that ancient worthy left to the tender mercies of the 
 people he most detested on earth. My only comfort 
 was that they couldn't do very much with him. If 
 they sent him to the front, which was the worst 
 they could do, he would escape, for I would have 
 backed him to get through any mortal lines. It 
 wasn't much fun for me either. Only when I was 
 to be deprived of it did I realise how much his com- 
 pany had meant to me. I was absolutely alone now, 
 and I didn't like it. I seemed to have about as 
 much chance of joining Blenkiron and Sandy as of 
 flying to the moon. 
 
 After breakfast I was told to get ready. When I 
 asked where I was going Stumm advised me to mind 
 my own business, but I remembered that last night 
 he had talked of taking me home with him and 
 giving me my orders. I wondered where his home 
 was. 
 
 Gaudian patted me on the back when we started 
 and wrung my hand. He was a capital good fellow, 
 and it made me feel sick to think that I was hum- 
 bugging him. We got into the same big grey car, 
 with Stumm's servant sitting beside the chauffeur. 
 It was a morning of hard frost, the bare fields were 
 white with rime, and the fir-trees powdered like a 
 wedding-cake. We took a different road from the 
 night before, and after a run of half a dozen miles 
 came to a little town with a big railway station. It 
 was a junction on some main line, and after five 
 minutes' waiting we found our train.
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 77 
 
 Once again we were alone in the carriage. Stumm 
 must have had some colossal graft, for the train was 
 crowded. 
 
 I had another three hours of complete boredom. 
 I dared not smoke, and could do nothing but stare 
 out of the window. We soon got into hilly country, 
 where a good deal of snow was lying. It was the 
 23rd day of December, and even in war time one 
 had a sort of feel of Christmas. You could see girls 
 carrying evergreens, and when we stopped at a 
 station the soldiers on leave had all the air of holiday 
 making. The middle of Germany was a cheerier 
 place than Berlin or the western parts. I liked the 
 look of the old peasants, and the women in their 
 neat Sunday best, but I noticed, too, how pinched 
 they were. Here in the country, where no neutral 
 tourists came, there was not the same stage-manage- 
 ment as in the capital. 
 
 Stumm made an attempt to talk to me on the 
 journey. I could see his aim. Before this he had 
 cross-examined me, but now he wanted to draw me 
 into ordinary conversation. He had no notion how 
 to do it. He was either peremptory and provocative, 
 like a drill-sergeant, or so obviously diplomatic that 
 any fool would have been put on his guard. That 
 is the weakness of the German. He has no gift for 
 laying himself alongside different types of men. 
 He is such a hard-shell being that he cannot put out 
 feelers to his kind. He may have plenty of brains, 
 as Stumm had, but he has the poorest notion of 
 psychology of any of God's creatures. In Germany 
 only the Jew can get outside himself, and that is 
 why, if you look into the matter, you will find that 
 the Jew is at the back of most German enterprises. 
 
 After midday we stopped at a station for luncheon. 
 We had a very good meal in the restaurant, and 
 when we were finishing two officers entered. Stumm 
 got up and saluted and went aside to talk to them.
 
 78 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 Then he came back and made me follow him to a 
 waiting-room, where he told me to stay till he 
 fetched me. I noticed that he called a porter and 
 had the door locked when he went out. 
 
 It was a chilly place with no fire, and I kicked my 
 heels there for twenty minutes. I was living by the 
 hour now, and did not trouble to worry about this 
 strange behaviour. There was a volume of time- 
 tables on a shelf, and I turned the pages idly till I 
 struck a big railway map. Then it occurred to me 
 to find out where we were going. I had heard Stumm 
 take my ticket for a place called Schwandorf, and 
 after a lot of searching I found it. It was away south 
 in Bavaria, and so far as I could make out less than 
 fifty miles from the Danube. That cheered me 
 enormously. If Stumm lived there he would most 
 likely start me off on my travels by the railway which 
 I saw running to Vienna and then on to the East. It 
 looked as if I might get to Constantinople after all. 
 But I feared it would be a useless achievement, for 
 what could I do when I got there ? I was being 
 hustled out of Germany without picking up the 
 slenderest clue. 
 
 The door opened and Stumm entered. He seemed 
 to have got bigger in the interval and to carry his 
 head higher. There was a proud light, too, in his eye. 
 
 " Brandt," he said, " you are about to receive the 
 greatest privilege that ever fell to one of your race. 
 His Imperial Majesty is passing through here, and 
 has halted for a few minutes. He has done me the 
 honour to receive me, and when he heard my story he 
 expressed a wish to see you. You will follow me to 
 his presence. Do not be afraid. The All-Highest 
 is merciful and gracious. Answer his questions like 
 
 a man." 
 
 I followed him with a quickened pulse. Here was 
 a bit of luck I had never dreamed of. At the far side 
 of the station a train had drawn up, a train consisting
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 79 
 
 of three big coaches, chocolate-coloured and picked 
 out with gold. On the platform beside it stood a 
 small group of officers, tall men in long grey-blue 
 cloaks. They seemed to be mostly elderly, and one 
 or two of the faces I thought I remembered from 
 photographs in the picture papers. 
 
 As we approached they drew apart, and left us face 
 to face with one man. He was a little below middle 
 heio-ht, and all muffled in a thick coat with a fur 
 collar. He wore a silver helmet with an eagle atop of 
 it, and kept his left hand resting on his sword. Below 
 the helmet was a face the colour of grey paper, from 
 which shone curious sombre restless eyes with dark 
 pouches beneath them. There was no fear of my 
 mistaking him. These were the features which, since 
 Napoleon, have been best known to the world. 
 
 I stood as stiff as a ramrod and saluted. I was 
 perfectly cool and most desperately interested. For 
 such a moment I would have gone through fire and 
 water. 
 
 " Majesty, this is the Dutchman I spoke of," I 
 heard Stumm say. 
 
 " What language does he speak ? " the Emperor 
 asked. 
 
 " Dutch," was the reply ; " but being a South 
 African he also talks English." 
 
 A spasm of pain seemed to flit over the face before 
 me. Then he addressed me in English. 
 
 " You have come from a land which will yet be 
 our ally to offer your sword to our service ? I accept 
 the gift and hail it as a good omen. I would have 
 given your race its freedom, but there were fools and 
 traitors among you who misjudged me. But that 
 freedom I shall yet give you in spite of yourselves. 
 Are there many like you in your country ? " 
 
 " There are thousands, sire," I said, lying cheerfully. 
 " I am one of many who think that my race's life lies 
 in your victory. And I think that that victory must
 
 80 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 be won not in Europe alone. In South Africa for the 
 moment there is no chance, so we look to other parts 
 of the continent. You will win in Europe. You 
 have won in the East, and it now remains to strike 
 the English where they cannot fend the blow. If 
 we take Uganda, Egypt will fall. By your per- 
 mission I go there to make trouble for your enemies." 
 
 A nicker of a smile passed over the worn face. It 
 was the face of one who slept little and whose thoughts 
 rode him like a nightmare. 
 
 " That is well," he said. " Some Englishman once 
 said that he would call in the New World to redress 
 the balance of the Old. We Germans will summon 
 the whole earth to suppress the infamies of England. 
 Serve us well, and you will not be forgotten." 
 
 Then he suddenly asked : " Did you fight in the 
 last South African War ? " 
 
 " Yes, sire," I said. " I was in the commando of 
 that Smuts who has now been bought by England." 
 
 " What were your countrymen's losses ? " he asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 I did not know, but I hazarded a guess. " In the 
 field some twenty thousand. But many more by 
 sickness and in the accursed prison-camps of the 
 English." 
 
 Again a spasm of pain crossed his face. 
 
 " Twenty thousand," he repeated huskily. " A 
 mere handful. To-day we lose as many in a skirmish 
 in the Polish marshes." 
 
 Then he broke out fiercely. 
 
 " I did not seek the war. ... It was forced on me. . . . 
 I laboured for peace. . . . The blood of millions is on 
 the heads of England and Russia, but England most 
 of all. God will yet avenge it. He that takes the 
 sword will perish by the sword. Mine was forced 
 from the scabbard in self-defence, and I am guiltless. 
 Do they know that among your people ? " 
 
 " All the world knows it, sire," I said.
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 81 
 
 He gave his hand to Stumm and turned away. The 
 last I saw of him was a figure moving like a sleep- 
 walker, with no spring in his step, amid his tall suite. 
 I felt that I was looking on at a far bigger tragedy 
 than any I had seen in action. Here was one that 
 had loosed Hell, and the furies of Hell had got hold 
 of him. He was no common man, for in his presence 
 I felt an attraction which was not merely the mastery 
 of one used to command. That would not have im- 
 pressed me, for I had never owned a master. But 
 here was a human being who, unlike Stumm and his 
 kind, had the power of laying himself alongside other 
 men. That was the irony of it. Stumm would not 
 have cared a tinker's curse for all the massacres in 
 history. But this man, the chief of a nation of 
 Stumms, paid the price in war for the gifts that had 
 made him successful in peace. He had imagination 
 and nerves, and the one was white hot and the others 
 were quivering. I would not have been in his shoes 
 for the throne of the Universe. . . . 
 
 All afternoon we sped southward, mostly in a 
 country of hills and wooded valleys. Stumm, for 
 him, was very pleasant. His Imperial master must 
 have been gracious to him, and he passed a bit of it 
 on to me. But he was anxious to see that I had got 
 the right impression. 
 
 " The All-Highest is merciful, as I told you," he said. 
 
 I agreed with him. 
 
 " Mercy is the prerogative of kings," he said 
 sententiously, " but for us lesser folks it is a trimming 
 we can well do without." 
 
 I nodded my approval. 
 
 " I am not merciful," he went on, as if I needed 
 telling that. " If any man stands in my way I 
 trample the life out of him. That is the German 
 fashion. That is what has made us great. We do 
 not make war with lavender gloves and fine phrases, 
 6
 
 82 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 but with hard steel and hard brains. We Germans 
 will cure the green-sickness of the world. The nations 
 rise against us. Pouf ! They are soft flesh, and 
 flesh cannot resist iron. The shining ploughshare 
 will cut its way through acres of mud." 
 
 I hastened to add that these were also my opinions. 
 
 " What the hell do your opinions matter ? You 
 are a thick-headed boor of the veld. . . . Not but 
 what," he added, " there is metal in you slow Dutch- 
 men once we Germans have had the forging of it ! ' 
 
 The winter evening closed in, and I saw that we 
 had come out of the hills and were in a flat country. 
 Sometimes a big sweep of river showed, and, looking 
 out at one station, I saw a funny church with a thing 
 like an onion on the top of its spire. It might almost 
 have been a mosque, judging from the pictures I 
 remembered of mosques. I wished to heaven I had 
 given geography more attention in my time. 
 
 Presently we stopped, and Stumm led the way out. 
 The train must have been specially halted for him, 
 for it was a one-horse little place whose name I could 
 not make out. The station-master was waiting, 
 bowing and saluting, and outside was a motor-car 
 with big head-lights. Next minute we were sliding 
 through dark woods where the snow lay far deeper 
 than in the north. There was a mild frost in the air, 
 and the tyres slipped and skidded at the corners. 
 
 We hadn't far to go. We climbed a little hill and 
 on the top of it stopped at the door of a big black 
 castle. It looked enormous in the winter night, with 
 not a light showing anywhere on its front. The door 
 was opened by an old fellow who took a long time 
 about it and got well cursed for his slowness. Inside 
 the place was very noble and ancient. Stumm 
 switched on the electric light, and there was a great 
 hall with black tarnished portraits of men and women 
 in old-fashioned clothes, and mighty horns of deer on 
 the walls.
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 83 
 
 There seemed to be no superfluity of servants. The 
 old fellow said that food was ready, and without more 
 ado we went into the dining-room — another vast 
 chamber with rough stone walls above the panelling — 
 and found some cold meats on a table beside a big 
 fire. The servant presently brought in a ham 
 omelette, and on that and the cold stuff we dined. I 
 remember there was nothing to drink but water. It 
 puzzled me how Stumm kept his great body going on 
 the very moderate amount of food he ate. He was 
 the type you expect to swill beer by the bucket and 
 put away a pie at a sitting. 
 
 When we had finished, he rang for the old man and 
 told him that we should be in the study for the rest 
 of the evening. " You can lock up and go to bed 
 when you like," he said, " but see you have coffee 
 ready at seven sharp in the morning." 
 
 Ever since I entered that house I had the uncom- 
 fortable feeling of being in a prison. Here was I 
 alone in this great place with a fellow who could, and 
 would, wring my neck if he wanted. Berlin and all 
 the rest of it had seemed comparatively open country ; 
 I had felt that I could move freely and at the worst 
 make a bolt for it. But here I was trapped, and I 
 had to tell myself every minute that I was there as 
 a friend and colleague. The fact is, I was afraid of 
 Stumm, and I don't mind admitting it. He was a 
 new thing in my experience and I didn't like it. If 
 only he had drunk and guzzled a bit I should have 
 been happier. 
 
 We went up a staircase to a room at the end of a 
 long corridor. Stumm locked the door behind him 
 and laid the key on a table. That room took my 
 breath away, it was so unexpected. In place of the 
 grim bareness of downstairs here was a place all 
 luxury and colour and light. It was very large, but 
 low in the ceiling, and the walls were full of little 
 recesses with statues in them. A thick grey carpet
 
 84 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 of velvet pile covered the floor, and the chairs were low 
 and soft and upholstered like a lady's boudoir. A 
 pleasant fire burned on the hearth and there was a 
 flavour of scent in the air, something like incense or 
 burnt sandalwood. A French clock on the mantel- 
 piece told me that it was ten minutes past eight. 
 Everywhere on little tables and in cabinets was a 
 profusion of nicknacks, and there was some beautiful 
 embroidery framed on screens. At first sight you 
 would have said it was a woman's drawing-room. 
 
 But it wasn't. I soon saw the difference. There 
 had never been a woman's hand in that place. It 
 was the room of a man who had a passion for frippery, 
 who had a perverted taste for soft delicate things. 
 It was the complement to his bluff brutality. I began 
 to see the queer other side to my host, that evil side 
 which gossip had spoken of as not unknown in the 
 German army. The room seemed a horribly un- 
 wholesome place, and I was more than ever afraid of 
 Stumm. 
 
 The hearthrug was a wonderful old Persian thing, 
 all faint greens and pinks. As he stood on it he 
 looked uncommonly like a bull in a china-shop. He 
 seemed to bask in the comfort of it, and sniffed like 
 a satisfied animal. Then he sat down at an escritoire, 
 unlocked a drawer and took out some papers. 
 
 " We will now settle your business, friend Brandt," 
 he said. " You will go to Egypt and there take your 
 orders from one whose name and address are in this 
 envelope. This card," and he lifted a square piece of 
 grey pasteboard with a big stamp at the corner and 
 some code words stencilled on it, ' will be your 
 passport. You will show it to the man you seek. 
 Keep it jealously, and never use it save under orders 
 or in the last necessity. It is your badge as an 
 accredited agent of the German Crown." 
 
 I took the card and the envelope and put them in 
 my pocket-book.
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 85 
 
 <.. 
 
 Where do I go after Egypt ? " I asked. 
 That remains to be seen. Probably you will go 
 up the Blue Nile. Riza, the man you will meet, will 
 direct you. Egypt is a nest of our agents who work 
 peacefully under the nose of the English Secret 
 Service." 
 
 " I am willing," I said. " But how do I reach 
 Egypt ? " 
 
 " You will travel by Holland and London. Here is 
 your route," and he took a paper from his pocket, 
 " Your passports are ready and will be given you at 
 the frontier." 
 
 This was a pretty kettle of fish. I was to be 
 packed off to Cairo by sea, which would take weeks, 
 and God knows how I would get from Egypt to 
 Constantinople. I saw all my plans falling in pieces 
 about my ears, and just when I thought they were 
 shaping nicely. 
 
 Stumm must have interpreted the look on my face 
 as fear. 
 
 " You have no cause to be afraid," he said. " We 
 have passed the word to the English police to look 
 out for a suspicious South African named Brandt, 
 one of Maritz's rebels. It is not difficult to have 
 that kind of hint conveyed to the proper quarter. 
 But the description will not be yours. Your name 
 will be Van der Linden, a respectable Java merchant 
 going home to his plantations after a visit to his 
 native shores. You had better get your dossier by 
 heart, but I guarantee you will be asked no questions. 
 We manage these things well in Germany." 
 
 I kept my eyes on the fire, while I did some savage 
 thinking. I knew they would not let me out of 
 their sight till they saw me in Holland, and, once 
 there, there would be no possibility of getting back. 
 When I left this house I would have no chance of 
 giving them the slip. And yet I was well on my 
 way to the East, the Danube could not be fifty miles
 
 86 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 off, and that way ran the road to Constantinople. 
 It was a fairly desperate position. If I tried to get 
 away Stumm would prevent me, and the odds were 
 that I would go to join Peter in some infernal prison- 
 camp. 
 
 Those moments were some of the worst I ever 
 spent. I was absolutely and utterly baffled, like a 
 rat in a trap. There seemed nothing for it but to 
 go back to London and tell Sir Walter the game was 
 up. And that was about as bitter as death. 
 
 He saw my face and laughed. 
 
 " Does your heart fail you, my little Dutchman ? 
 You funk the English ? I will tell you one thing 
 for your comfort. There is nothing in the world to 
 be feared except me. Fail, and you have cause to 
 shiver. Play me false and you had far better never 
 have been born." 
 
 His ugly sneering face was close above mine. 
 Then he put out his hands and gripped my shoulders 
 as he had done the first afternoon. 
 
 I forget if I mentioned that part of the damage 
 I got at Loos was a shrapnel bullet low down at 
 the back of my neck. The wound had healed well 
 enough, but I had pains there on a cold day. His 
 fingers found the place and it hurt like hell. 
 
 There is a very narrow line between despair and 
 black rage. I had about given up the game, but 
 the sudden ache of my shoulder gave me purpose 
 again. He must have seen the rage in my eyes, for 
 his own became cruel. 
 
 " The weasel would like to bite," he cried, " But 
 the poor weasel has found its master. Stand still, 
 vermin. Smile, look pleasant, or I will make pulp 
 of you. Do you dare to frown at me ? " 
 
 I shut my teeth and said never a word. I was 
 choking in my throat and could not have uttered a 
 syllable if I had tried. 
 
 Then he let me go, grinning like an ape.
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 87 
 
 I stepped back a pace and gave him my left be- 
 tween the eyes. 
 
 For a second he did not realise what had hap- 
 pened, for I don't suppose any one had dared to lift 
 a hand to him since he was a child. He blinked at 
 me mildly. Then his face grew red as fire. 
 
 " God in Heaven," he said quietly. " I am going 
 to kill you," and he flung himself on me like a moun- 
 tain. 
 
 I was expecting him and dodged the attack. I 
 was quite calm now, but pretty hopeless. The man 
 had a gorilla's reach and could give me at least a 
 couple of stone. He wasn't soft either, but looked 
 as hard as granite. I was only just from hospital 
 and absurdly out of training. He would certainly 
 kill me if he could, and I saw nothing to prevent 
 him. 
 
 My only chance was to keep him from getting to 
 grips, for he could have squeezed in my ribs in two 
 seconds. I fancied I was lighter on my legs than 
 him, and I had a good eye. Black Monty at Kim- 
 berley had taught me to fight a bit, but there is no 
 art on earth which can prevent a big man in a narrow 
 space from sooner or later cornering a lesser one. 
 That was the danger. 
 
 Backwards and forwards we padded on the soft 
 carpet. He had no notion of guarding himself, and 
 I got in a good few blows. Then I saw a queer thing. 
 Every time I hit him he blinked and seemed to 
 pause. I guessed the reason for that. He had gone 
 through life keeping the crown of the causeway, and 
 nobody had ever stood up to him. He wasn't a 
 coward by a long chalk, but he was a bully, and had 
 never been struck in his life. He was getting struck 
 now in real earnest, and he didn't like it. He had 
 lost his bearings and was growing as mad as a hatter. 
 
 I kept half an eye on the clock. I was hopeful 
 now, and was looking for the right kind of chance.
 
 88 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 
 
 The risk was that I might tire sooner than him and 
 be at his mercy. 
 
 Then I learned a truth I have never forgotten. 
 If you are fighting a man who means to kill you, 
 he will be apt to down you unless you mean to kill 
 him too. Stumm did not know any rules to this 
 game, and I forgot to allow for that. Suddenly, 
 when I was watching his eyes, he launched a mighty 
 kick at my stomach. If he had got me, this yarn 
 would have had an abrupt ending. But by the 
 mercy of God I was moving sideways when he let 
 out, and his heavy boot just grazed my left thigh. 
 
 It was the place where most of the shrapnel had 
 lodged, and for a second I was sick with pain and 
 stumbled. Then I was on my feet again but with a 
 new feeling in my blood. I had to smash Stumm 
 or never sleep in my bed again. 
 
 I got a wonderful power from this new cold rage 
 of mine. I felt I couldn't tire, and I danced round 
 and dotted his face till it was streaming with blood. 
 His bulky padded chest was no good to me, so I 
 couldn't try for the mark. 
 
 He began to snort now and his breath came heavily. 
 " You infernal cad," I said in good round English, 
 " I'm going to knock the stuffing out of you," but 
 he didn't know what I was saying. 
 
 Then at last he gave me my chance. He half 
 tripped over a little table and his face stuck forward. 
 I got him on the point of the chin, and put every 
 ounce of weight I possessed behind the blow. He 
 crumpled up in a heap and rolled over, upsetting a 
 lamp and knocking a big China jar in two. His 
 head, I remember, lay under the escritoire from 
 which he had taken my passport. 
 
 I picked up the key and unlocked the door. In 
 one of the gilded mirrors I smoothed my hair and 
 tidied up my clothes. My anger had completely 
 gone and I had no particular ill-will left against
 
 THE INDISCRETIONS OF THE SAME 89 
 
 Stumm. He was a man of remarkable qualities, 
 which would have brought him to the highest dis- 
 tinction in the Stone Age. But for all that he and 
 his kind were back numbers. 
 
 I stepped out of the room, locked the door behind 
 me, and started out on the second stage of my 
 travels.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE 
 
 Everything depended on whether the servant was 
 in the hall. I had put Stumm to sleep for a bit, but 
 I couldn't flatter myself he would long be quiet, 
 and when he came to he would kick the locked door 
 to matchwood. I must get out of the house without 
 a minute's delay, and if the door was shut and the 
 old man gone to bed I was done. 
 
 I met him at the foot of the stairs, carrying a 
 
 candle. 
 
 " Your master wants me to send off an important 
 telegram. Where is the nearest office ? There's 
 one in the village, isn't there ? " I spoke in my best 
 German, the first time I had used the tongue since 
 I crossed the frontier. 
 
 " The village is five minutes off at the foot of the 
 avenue," he said. " Will you be long, sir ? " 
 
 " I'll be back in a quarter of an hour," I said. 
 " Don't lock up till I get in." 
 
 I put on my ulster and walked out into a clear 
 starry night. My bag I left lying on a settle in the 
 hall. There was nothing in it to compromise me, 
 but I wished I could have got a toothbrush and some 
 tobacco out of it. 
 
 So began one of the craziest escapades you can 
 well imagine. I couldn't stop to think of the future 
 yet, but must take one step at a time. I ran 
 down the avenue, my feet crackling on the hard 
 snow, planning hard my programme for the next 
 hour. 
 
 90
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE 91 
 
 I found the village — half a dozen houses with one 
 biggish place that looked like an inn. The moon 
 was rising, and as I approached I saw that it was 
 some kind of a store. A funny little two-seated 
 car was purring before the door, and I guessed this 
 was also the telegraph office. 
 
 I marched in and told my story to a stout woman 
 with spectacles on her nose who was talking to a 
 young man. 
 
 " It is too late," she shook her head. " The Herr 
 Burgrave knows that well. There is no connection 
 from here after eight o'clock. If the matter is urgent 
 you must go to Schwandorf." 
 
 " How far is that ? " I asked, looking for some 
 excuse to get decently out of the shop. 
 
 " Seven miles," she said, " but here is Franz and 
 the post-wagon. Franz, you will be glad to give 
 the gentleman a seat beside you." 
 
 The sheepish-looking youth muttered something 
 which I took to be assent, and finished off a glass 
 of beer. From his eyes and manner he looked as if 
 he were half drunk. 
 
 I thanked the woman, and went out to the car, 
 for I was in a fever to take advantage of this 
 unexpected bit of luck. I could hear the post- 
 mistress enjoining Franz not to keep the gentleman 
 waiting, and presently he came out and flopped 
 into the driver's seat. We started in a series of 
 voluptuous curves, till his eyes got accustomed to 
 the darkness. 
 
 At first we made good going along the straight, 
 broad highway lined with woods on one side and on 
 the other snowy fields melting into haze. Then he 
 began to talk, and, as he talked, he slowed down. 
 This by no means suited my book, and I seriously 
 wondered whether I should pitch him out and take 
 charge of the thing. He was obviously a weakling, 
 left^behind in the conscription, and I could have
 
 92 CHRISTMASTIDE 
 
 done it with one hand. But by a fortunate chance 
 I left him alone. 
 
 " That is a fine hat of yours, mein Herr," he said. 
 He took off his own blue peaked cap, the uniform, 
 I suppose, of the driver of the post-wagon, and laid 
 it on his knee. The night air ruffled a shock of tow- 
 coloured hair. 
 
 Then he calmly took my hat and clapped it on his 
 head. 
 
 " With this thing I should be a gentleman," he 
 said. 
 
 I said nothing, but put on his cap and waited. 
 
 " That is a noble overcoat, mein Herr," he went 
 on. " It goes well with the hat. It is the kind of 
 garment I have always desired to own. In two days 
 it will be the holy Christmas, when gifts are given. 
 Would that the good God sent me such a coat as 
 yours ! " 
 
 " You can try it on to see how it looks," I said 
 good-humouredly. 
 
 He stopped the car with a jerk, and pulled off his 
 blue coat. The exchange was soon effected. He 
 was about my height, and my ulster fitted not so 
 badly. I put on his overcoat, which had a big collar 
 that buttoned round the neck. 
 
 The idiot preened himself like a girl. Drink and 
 vanity had primed him for any folly. He drove so 
 carelessly for a bit that he nearly put us into a ditch. 
 We passed several cottages and at the last he slowed 
 down. 
 
 " A friend of mine lives here," he announced. 
 " Gertrud would like to see me in the fine clothes 
 which the most amiable Herr has given me. Wait 
 for me, I will not be long." And he scrambled out 
 of the car and lurched into the little garden. 
 
 I took his place and moved very slowly forward. 
 I heard the door open and the sound of laughing 
 and loud voices. Then it shut, and looking back
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE 93 
 
 I saw that my idiot had been absorbed into the 
 dwelling of his Gertrud. I waited no longer, but 
 sent the car forward at its best speed. 
 
 Five minutes later the infernal thing began to give 
 trouble — a nut loose in the antiquated steering-gear. 
 I unhooked a lamp, examined it, and put the mis- 
 chief right, but I was a quarter of an hour doing it. 
 The highway ran now in a thick forest and I noticed 
 branches going off every now and then to the right. 
 I was just thinking of turning up one of them, for 
 I had no anxiety to visit Schwandorf, when I heard 
 behind me the sound of a great car driven furiously. 
 
 I drew in to the right side — thank goodness I re- 
 membered the rule of the road — and proceeded decor- 
 ously, wondering what was going to happen. I 
 could hear the brakes being clapped on and the car 
 slowing down. Suddenly a big grey bonnet slipped 
 past me and as I turned my head I heard a familiar 
 voice. 
 
 It was Stumm, looking like something that has been 
 run over. He had his jaw in a sling, so that I won- 
 dered if I had broken it, and his eyes were beautifully 
 bunged up. It was that that saved me, that and his 
 raging temper. The collar of the postman's coat was 
 round my chin, hiding my beard, and I had his cap 
 pulled well down on my brow. I remembered what 
 Blenkiron had said — that the only way to deal with 
 the Germans was naked bluff. Mine was naked 
 enough, for it was all that was left to me. 
 
 " Where is the man you brought from Anders- 
 bach ? " he roared, as well as his jaw would allow 
 him. 
 
 I pretended to be mortally scared, and spoke in the 
 best imitation I could manage of the postman's high 
 cracked voice. 
 
 " He got out a mile back, Herr Burgrave," I 
 quavered. " He was a rude fellow who wanted to go 
 to Schwandorf, and then changed his mind."
 
 94 CHRISTMASTIDE 
 
 " Where, you fool ? Say exactly where he got 
 down or I will wring your neck." 
 
 " In the wood this side of Gertrud's cottage ... on 
 the left hand. ... I left him running among the trees." 
 I put all the terror I knew into my pipe, and it wasn't 
 all acting. 
 
 " He means the Heinrichs' cottage, Herr Colonel," 
 said the chauffeur. " This man is courting the 
 daughter." 
 
 Stumm gave an order and the great car backed, 
 and, as I looked round, I saw it turning. Then as it 
 gathered speed it shot forward, and presently was lost 
 in the shadows. I had got over the first hurdle. 
 
 But there was no time to be lost. Stumm would 
 meet the postman and would be tearing after me any 
 minute. I took the first turning, and bucketed along 
 a narrow woodland road. The hard ground would 
 show very few tracks, I thought, and I hoped the 
 pursuit would think I had gone on to Schwandorf. 
 But it wouldn't do to risk it, and I was determined 
 very soon to get the car off the road, leave it, and 
 take to the forest. I took out my watch and calcu- 
 lated I could give myself ten minutes. 
 
 I was very nearly caught. Presently I came on a 
 bit of rough heath, with a slope away from the road 
 and here and there a patch of black which I took to be 
 a sandpit. Opposite one of these I slewed the car to 
 the edge, got out, started it again and saw it pitch 
 head-foremost into the darkness. There was a splash 
 of water and then silence. Craning over I could see 
 nothing but murk, and the marks at the lip where the 
 wheels had passed. They would find my tracks in 
 daylight but scarcely at this time of night. 
 
 Then I ran across the road to the forest. I was 
 only just in time, for the echoes of the splash had 
 hardly died away when I heard the sound of another 
 car. I lay flat in a hollow below a tangle of snow- 
 laden brambles and looked between the pine-trees
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE 95 
 
 at the moonlit road. It was Stumm's car again and 
 to my consternation it stopped just a little short of the 
 sandpit. 
 
 I saw an electric torch flashed, and Stumm himself 
 got out and examined the tracks on the highway. 
 Thank God, they would be still there for him to find, 
 but had he tried half a dozen yards on he would have 
 seen them turn towards the sandpit. If that had 
 happened he would have beaten the adjacent woods 
 and most certainly found me. There was a third 
 man in the car, with my hat and coat on him. That 
 poor devil of a postman had paid dear for his vanity. 
 
 They took a long time before they started again, 
 and I was jolly well relieved when they went scouring 
 down the road. I ran deeper into the woods till I 
 found a track which— as I judged from the sky which 
 I saw in a clearing — took me nearly due west. 
 That wasn't the direction I wanted, so I bore off at 
 right angles, and presently struck another road which 
 I crossed in a hurry. After that I got entangled in 
 some confounded kind of enclosure and had to climb 
 paling after paling of rough stakes plaited with osiers. 
 Then came a rise in the ground and I was on a low 
 hill of pines which seemed to last for miles. All the 
 time I was going at a good pace, and before I stopped 
 to rest I calculated I had put six miles between me 
 and the sandpit. 
 
 My mind was getting a little more active now ; for 
 the first part of the journey I had simply staggered 
 from impulse to impulse. These impulses had been 
 uncommon lucky, but I couldn't go on like that for 
 ever. Ek sal 'n plan maak, says the old Boer when 
 he gets into trouble, and it was up to me now to make 
 a plan. 
 
 As soon as I began to think I saw the desperate 
 business I was in for. Here was I, with nothing 
 except what I stood up in — including a coat and cap 
 that weren't mine — alone in mid-winter in the heart
 
 96 CHRISTMASTIDE 
 
 of South Germany. There was a man behind me 
 looking for my blood, and soon there would be a hue- 
 and-cry for me up and down the land. I had heard 
 that the German police were pretty efficient, and I 
 couldn't see that I stood the slimmest chance. If 
 they caught me they would shoot me beyond doubt. 
 I asked myself on what charge, and answered, " For 
 knocking about a German officer." They couldn't 
 have me up for espionage, for as far as I knew they 
 had no evidence. I was simply a Dutchman that 
 had got riled and had run amok. But if they cut 
 down a cobbler for laughing at a second lieutenant — 
 which is what happened at Zabern — I calculated that 
 hanging would be too good for a man that had broken 
 a colonel's jaw. 
 
 To make things worse my job was not to escape — 
 though that would have been hard enough — but to 
 get to Constantinople, more than a thousand miles off, 
 and I reckoned I couldn't get there as a tramp. I 
 had to be sent there, and now I had flung away my 
 chance. If I had been a Catholic I would have said 
 a prayer to St. Theresa, for she would have understood 
 my troubles. 
 
 My mother used to say that when you felt down on 
 your luck it was a good cure to count your mercies. 
 So I set about counting mine. The first was that I 
 was well started on my journey, for I couldn't be 
 above two score miles from the Danube. The second 
 was that I had Stumm's pass. I didn't see how I 
 could use it, but there it was. Lastly I had plenty 
 of money — fifty-three English sovereigns and the 
 equivalent of three pounds in German paper which I 
 had changed at the hotel. Also I had squared 
 accounts with old Stumm. That was the biggest 
 mercy of all. 
 
 I thought I'd better get some sleep, so I found a 
 dryish hole below an oak root and squeezed myself 
 into it. The snow lay deep in these woods and I was
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE 97 
 
 sopping wet up to the knees. All the same I managed 
 to sleep for some hours, and got up and shook myself 
 just as the winter's dawn was breaking through the 
 tree tops. Breakfast was the next thing, and I must 
 find some sort of dwelling. 
 
 Almost at once I struck a road, a big highway 
 running north and south. I trotted along in the 
 bitter morning to get my circulation started, and 
 presently I began to feel a little better. In a little I 
 saw a church spire, which meant a village. Stumm 
 wouldn't be likely to have got on my tracks yet, I 
 calculated, but there was always the chance that he 
 had warned all the villages round by telephone and 
 that they might be on the look-out for me. But that 
 risk had to be taken, for I must have food. 
 
 It was the day before Christmas, I remembered, 
 and people would be holidaying. The village was 
 quite a big place, but at this hour — just after eight 
 o'clock — there was nobody in the street except a 
 wandering dog. I chose the most unassuming shop 
 I could find, where a little boy was taking down the 
 shutters — one of those general stores where they sell 
 everything. The boy fetched a very old woman, 
 who hobbled in from the back, fitting on her 
 spectacles. 
 
 " Griiss Gott," she said in a friendly voice, and I 
 took off my cap. I saw from my reflection in a 
 saucepan that I looked moderately respectable in 
 spite of my night in the woods. 
 
 I told her a story of how I was walking from 
 Schwandorf to see my mother at an imaginary place 
 called Judenfeld, banking on the ignorance of villagers 
 about any place five miles from their homes. I said 
 my luggage had gone astray, and I hadn't time to 
 wait for it, since my leave was short. The old lady 
 was sympathetic and unsuspecting. She sold me a 
 pound of chocolate, a box of biscuits, the better part 
 of a ham, two tins of sardines and a rucksack to carry 
 
 7
 
 98 CHRISTMASTIDE 
 
 them. I also bought some soap, a comb and a cheap 
 razor, and a small Tourists' Guide, published by a 
 Leipzig firm. As I was leaving I saw what seemed 
 like garments hanging up in the back shop, and 
 turned to have a look at them. They were the kind 
 of thing that Germans wear on their summer walking- 
 tours — long shooting capes made of a green stuff they 
 call loden. I bought one, and a green felt hat and 
 an alpenstock to keep it company. Then wishing the 
 old woman and her belongings a merry Christmas, I 
 departed and took the shortest cut out of the village. 
 There were one or two people about now, but they 
 did not seem to notice me. 
 
 I went into the woods again and walked for two 
 miles till I halted for breakfast. I was not feeling 
 quite so fit now, and I did not make much of my 
 provisions, beyond eating a biscuit and some choco- 
 late. I felt very thirsty and longed for hot tea. In 
 an icy pool I washed and with infinite agony shaved 
 my beard. That razor was the worst of its species, 
 and my eyes were running all the time with the pain 
 of the operation. Then I took off the postman's 
 coat and cap, and buried them below some bushes. 
 I was now a clean-shaven German pedestrian with 
 a green cape and hat, and an absurd walking-stick 
 with an iron-shod end — the sort of person who roams 
 in thousands over the Fatherland in summer, but is a 
 rarish bird in mid-winter. 
 
 The Tourists' Guide was a fortunate purchase, for 
 it contained a big map of Bavaria which gave me my 
 bearings. I was certainly not forty miles from the 
 Danube — more like thirty. The road through the 
 village I had left would have taken me to it. I had 
 only to walk due south and I would reach it before 
 night. So far as I could make out there were long 
 tongues of forest running down to the river, and I 
 resolved to keep to the woodlands. At the worst I 
 would meet a forester or two, and I had a good enough
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE 99 
 
 story for them. On the highroad there might be 
 awkward questions. 
 
 When I started out again I felt very stiff and the 
 cold seemed to be growing intense. This puzzled me, 
 for I had not minded it much up to now, and, being 
 warm-blooded by nature, it never used to worry me. 
 A sharp winter night on the high-veld was a long 
 sight chillier than anything I had struck so far in 
 Europe. But now my teeth were chattering and the 
 marrow seemed to be freezing in my bones. 
 
 The day had started bright and clear, but a wrack 
 of grey clouds soon covered the sky, and a wind from 
 the east began to whistle. As I stumbled along through 
 the snowy undergrowth I kept longing for bright 
 warm places. I thought of those long days on the 
 veld when the earth was like a great yellow bowl, 
 with white roads running to the horizon and a tiny 
 white farm basking in the heart of it, with its blue 
 dam and patches of bright green lucerne. I thought 
 of those baking days on the east coast when the sea 
 was like mother-of-pearl and the sky one burning 
 turquoise. But most of all I thought of warm scented 
 noons on trek, when one dozed in the shadow of the 
 wagon and sniffed the wood-smoke from the fire 
 where the boys were cooking dinner. 
 
 From these pleasant pictures I returned to the 
 beastly present — the thick snowy woods, the lowering 
 sky, wet clothes, a hunted present, and a dismal 
 future. I felt miserably depressed, and I couldn't 
 think of any mercies to count. It struck me that I 
 might be falling sick. 
 
 About midday I awoke with a start to the belief 
 that I was being pursued. I cannot explain how or 
 why the feeling came, except that it is a kind of 
 instinct that men get who have lived much in wild 
 countries. My senses, which had been numbed, 
 suddenly grew keen, and my brain began to work 
 double quick
 
 100 CHRISTMASTIDE 
 
 I asked myself what I would do if I were Stumm, 
 
 with hatred in my heart, a broken jaw to avenge, and 
 
 pretty well limitless powers. He must have found 
 
 the car in the sandpit and seen my tracks in the 
 
 wood opposite. I didn't know how good he and his 
 
 men might be at following a spoor, but I knew that 
 
 any ordinary Kaffir could have nosed it out easily. 
 
 But he didn't need to do that. This was a civilised 
 
 country full of roads and railways. I must some time 
 
 and somewhere come out of the woods. He could 
 
 have all the roads watched, and the telephone would 
 
 set every one on my track within a radius of fifty 
 
 miles. Besides, he would soon pick up my trail in 
 
 the village I had visited that morning. From the 
 
 map I learned that it was called Greif, and it was 
 
 likely to live up to that name with me. 
 
 Presently I came to a rocky knoll which rose out 
 of the forest. Keeping well in shelter I climbed to 
 the top and cautiously looked around me. Away 
 to the east I saw the vale of a river with broad fields 
 and church-spires. West and south the forest rolled 
 unbroken in a wilderness of snowy tree-tops. There 
 was no sign of life anywhere, not even a bird, but I 
 knew very well that behind me in the woods were 
 men moving swiftly on my track, and that it was 
 pretty well impossible for me to get away. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to go on till I dropped 
 or was taken. I shaped my course south with a 
 shade of west in it, for the map showed me that in 
 that direction I would soonest strike the Danube. 
 What I was going to do when I got there I didn't 
 trouble to think. I had fixed the river as my im- 
 mediate goal and the future must take care of itself. 
 I was now certain that I had fever on me. It 
 was still in my bones, as a legacy from Africa, and 
 had come out once or twice when I was with the 
 battalion in Hampshire. The bouts had been short, 
 for I had known of their coming and dosed myself.
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE 101 
 
 But now I had no quinine, and it looked as if I were 
 in for a heavy go. It made me feel desperately 
 wretched and stupid, and I all but blundered into 
 capture. 
 
 For suddenly I came on a road and was going to 
 cross it blindly, when a man rode slowly past on a 
 bicycle. Luckily I was in the shade of a clump of 
 hollies and he was not looking my way, though he 
 was not three yards off. I crawled forward to 
 reconnoitre. I saw about half a mile of road running 
 straight through the forest and every two hundred 
 yards was a bicyclist. They wore uniform and 
 appeared to be acting as sentries. 
 
 This could only have one meaning. Stumm had 
 picketed all the roads and cut me off in an angle of 
 the woods. There was no chance of getting across 
 unobserved. As I lay there with my heart sinking, 
 I had the horrible feeling that the pursuit might be 
 following me from behind, and that at any moment 
 I would be enclosed between two fires. 
 
 For more than an hour I stayed there with my chin 
 in the snow. I didn't see any way out, and I was 
 feeling so ill that I didn't seem to care. Then my 
 chance came suddenly out of the skies. 
 
 The wind rose, and a great gust of snow blew from 
 the east. In five minutes it was so thick that I 
 couldn't see across the road. At first I thought it 
 a new addition to my troubles, and then very slowly 
 I saw the opportunity. I slipped down the bank and 
 made ready to cross. 
 
 I almost blundered into one of the bicyclists. He 
 cried out and fell off his machine, but I didn't wait 
 to investigate. A sudden access of strength came 
 to me and I darted into the woods on the farther side. 
 I knew I would be soon swallowed from sight in the 
 drift, and I knew that the falling snow would hide my 
 tracks. So I put my best foot forward. 
 
 I must have run miles before the hot fit passed, and
 
 102 CHRISTMASTIDE 
 
 I stopped from sheer bodily weakness. There was 
 no sound except the crush of falling snow, the wind 
 seemed to have gone, and the place was very solemn 
 and quiet. But Heavens ! how the snow fell ! It 
 was partly screened by the branches, but all the same 
 it was piling itself up deep everywhere. My legs 
 seemed made of lead, my head burned, and there 
 were fiery pains over all my body. I stumbled on 
 blindly, without a notion of any direction, determined 
 only to keep going to the last. For I knew that if I 
 once lay down I would never rise again. 
 
 When I was a boy I was fond of fairy tales, and 
 most of the stories I remembered had been about 
 great German forests and snow and charcoal burners 
 and woodmen's huts. Once I had longed to see these 
 things, and now I was fairly in the thick of them. 
 There had been wolves, too, and I wondered idly if I 
 should fall in with a pack. I felt myself getting light- 
 headed. I fell repeatedly and laughed sillily every 
 time. Once I dropped into a hole and lay for some 
 time at the bottom giggling. If any one had found 
 me then he would have taken me for a madman. 
 
 The twilight of the forest grew dimmer, but I 
 scarcely noticed it. Evening was falling, and soon 
 it would be night, a night without morning for me. 
 My body was going on without the direction of my 
 brain, for my mind was filled with craziness. I was 
 like a drunk man who keeps running, for he knows 
 that if he stops he will fall, and I had a sort of bet 
 with myself not to lie down — not at any rate just yet. 
 If I lay down I should feel the pain in my head worse. 
 Once I had ridden for five days down country with 
 fever on me and the flat bush trees had seemed to 
 melt into one big mirage and dance quadrilles before 
 my eyes. But then I had more or less kept my wits. 
 Now I was fairly daft, and every minute growing 
 dafter. 
 
 Then the trees seemed to stop and I was walking
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE 103 
 
 on flat ground. It was a clearing, and before me 
 twinkled a little light. The change restored me to 
 consciousness, and suddenly I felt with horrid in- 
 tensity the fire in my head and bones and the weakness 
 of my limbs. I longed to sleep, and I had a notion 
 that a place to sleep was before me. I moved to- 
 wards the light and presently saw through a screen of 
 snow the outline of a cottage. 
 
 I had no fear, only an intolerable longing to lie 
 down. Very slowly I made my way to the door and 
 knocked. My weakness was so great that I could 
 hardly lift my hand. 
 
 There were voices within, and a corner of the curtain 
 was lifted from the window. Then the door opened 
 and a woman stood before me, a woman with a thin, 
 kindly face. 
 
 " Griiss Gott," she said, while children peeped from 
 behind her skirts. 
 
 " Griiss Gott," I replied. I leaned against the 
 doorpost, and speech forsook me. 
 
 She saw my condition. " Come in, sir," she said. 
 ** You are sick and it is no weather for a sick man." 
 
 I stumbled after her and stood dripping in the 
 centre of the little kitchen, while three wondering 
 children stared at me. It was a poor place, scantily 
 furnished, but a good log-fire burned on the hearth. 
 The shock of warmth gave me one of those minutes 
 of self-possession which come sometimes in the middle 
 of a fever. 
 
 " I am sick, mother, and I have walked far in the 
 storm and lost my way. I am from Africa, where 
 the climate is hot, and your cold brings me fever. 
 It will pass in a day or two if you can give me a bed." 
 
 " You are welcome," she said ; " but first I will 
 make you coffee." 
 
 I took off my dripping cloak, and crouched close to 
 the hearth. She gave me coffee — poor washy stuff, 
 but blessedly hot. Poverty was spelled large in
 
 • 104 CHRISTMASTIDE 
 
 everything I saw. I felt the tides of fever beginning 
 to overflow my brain again, and I made a great 
 attempt to set my affairs straight before I was over- 
 taken. With difficulty I took out Stumm's pass 
 from my pocket-book. 
 
 " That is my warrant," I said. " I am a member 
 of the Imperial Secret Service and for the sake of my 
 work I must move in the dark. If you will permit 
 it, mother, I will sleep till I am better, but no one 
 must know that I am here. If any one comes, you 
 must deny my presence." 
 
 She looked at the big seal as if it were a talisman. 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said, " you will have the bed in 
 the garret and be left in peace till you are well. We 
 have no neighbours near, and the storm will shut the 
 roads. I will be silent, I and the little ones." 
 
 My head was beginning to swim, but I made one 
 more effort. 
 
 " There is food in my rucksack — biscuits and ham 
 and chocolate. Pray take it for your use. And 
 here is some money to buy Christmas fare for the 
 little ones." And I gave her some of the German 
 notes. 
 
 After that my recollection becomes dim. She 
 helped me up a ladder to the garret, undressed me, 
 and gave me a thick coarse nightgown. I seem to 
 remember that she kissed my hand, and that she was 
 crying. " The good Lord has sent you," she said. 
 " Now the little ones will have their prayers answered 
 and the Christkind will not pass by our door."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE ESSEN BARGES 
 
 I lay for four days like a log in that garret bed. The 
 storm died down, the thaw set in, and the snow melted. 
 The children played about the doors and told stories 
 at night round the fire. Stumm's myrmidons no 
 doubt beset every road and troubled the lives of 
 innocent wayfarers. But no one came near the 
 cottage, and the fever worked itself out while I lay 
 in peace. 
 
 It was a bad bout, but on the fifth day it left me, 
 and I lay, as weak as a kitten, staring at the rafters 
 and the little skylight. It was a leaky, draughty old 
 place, but the woman of the cottage had heaped 
 deerskins and blankets on my bed and kept me warm. 
 She came in now and then, and once she brought me 
 a brew of some bitter herbs which greatly refreshed 
 me. A little thin porridge was all the food I could 
 eat, and some chocolate made from the slabs in my 
 rucksack. 
 
 I lay and dozed through the day, hearing the faint 
 chatter of children below, and getting stronger 
 hourly. Malaria passes as quickly as it comes and 
 leaves a man little the worse, though this was one of 
 the sharpest turns I ever had. As I lay I thought, 
 and my thoughts followed curious lines. One queer 
 thing was that Stumm and his doings seemed to 
 have been shot back into a lumber-room of my brain 
 and the door locked. He didn't seem to be a creature 
 of the living present, but a distant memory on which 
 
 105
 
 106 THE ESSEN BARGES 
 
 I could look calmly. I thought a good deal about 
 my battalion and the comedy of my present position. 
 You see I was getting better, for I called it comedy 
 now, not tragedy. 
 
 But chiefly I thought of my mission. All that wild 
 day in the snow it had seemed the merest farce. The 
 three words Harry Bullivant had scribbled had 
 danced through my head in a crazy fandango. They 
 were present to me now, but coolly and sanely in all 
 their meagreness. 
 
 I remember that I took each one separately and 
 chewed on it for hours. Kasredin — there was nothing 
 to be got out of that. Cancer — there were too many 
 meanings, all blind, v. I — that was the worst 
 gibberish of all. 
 
 Before this I had always taken the I as the letter 
 of the alphabet. I had thought the v. must stand 
 for von, and I had considered the German names 
 beginning with I — Ingolstadt, Ingeburg, Ingenohl, 
 and all the rest of them. I had made a list of 
 about seventy at the British Museum before I left 
 London. 
 
 Now I suddenly found myself taking the I as the 
 numeral One. Idly, not thinking what I was doing, 
 I put it into German. 
 
 Then I nearly fell out of the bed. Von Einem — 
 the name I had heard at Gaudian's house, the name 
 Stumm had spoken behind his hand, the name to 
 which Hilda was probably the prefix. It was a 
 tremendous discovery — the first real bit of light I had 
 found. Harry Bullivant knew that some man or 
 woman called Von Einem was at the heart of the 
 mystery. Stumm had spoken of the same personage 
 with respect and in connection with the work I 
 proposed to do in raising the Moslem Africans. If I 
 found Von Einem I would be getting very warm. 
 What was the word that Stumm had whispered to 
 Gaudian and scared that worthy ? It had sounded
 
 THE ESSEN BARGES 107 
 
 like tJhnmantl. If I could only get that clear, I 
 would solve the riddle. 
 
 I think that discovery completed my cure. At any 
 rate on the evening of the fifth day — it was Wednes- 
 day, the 29th of December — I was well enough to get 
 up. When the dark had fallen and it was too late 
 to fear a visitor, I came downstairs and, wrapped in 
 my green cape, took a seat by the fire. 
 
 As we sat there in the firelight, with the three white- 
 headed children staring at me with saucer eyes, and 
 smiling when I looked their way, the woman talked. 
 Her man had gone to the wars on the Eastern front, 
 and the last she had heard from him he was in a 
 Polish bog and longing for his dry native woodlands. 
 The struggle meant little to her. It was an act of 
 God, a thunderbolt out of the sky, which had taken a 
 husband from her, and might soon make her a widow 
 and her children fatherless. She knew nothing of its 
 causes and purposes, and thought of the Russians as 
 a gigantic nation of savages, heathens who had never 
 been converted, and who would eat up German 
 homes if the good Lord and the brave German soldiers 
 did not stop them. I tried hard to find out if she 
 had any notion of affairs in the West, but she hadn't, 
 beyond the fact that there was trouble with the 
 French. I doubt if she knew of England's share in 
 it. She was a decent soul, with no bitterness against 
 anybody, not even the Russians if they would spare 
 her man. 
 
 That night I realised the crazy folly of war. When 
 I saw the splintered shell of Ypres and heard hideous 
 tales of German doings, I used to want to see the 
 whole land of the Boche given up to fire and sword. 
 I thought we could never end the war properly without 
 giving the Huns some of their own medicine. But 
 that woodcutter's cottage cured me of such night- 
 mares. I was for punishing the guilty but letting the 
 innocent go free. It was our business to thank God
 
 108 THE ESSEN BARGES 
 
 and keep our hands clean from the ugly blunders to 
 which Germany's madness had driven her. What 
 good would it do Christian folk to burn poor little 
 huts like this and leave children's bodies by the 
 wayside ? To be able to laugh and to be merciful are 
 the only things that make man better than the beasts. 
 
 The place, as I have said, was desperately poor. 
 The woman's face had the skin stretched tight over 
 the bones and that transparency which means under- 
 feeding ; I fancied she did not have the liberal allow- 
 ance that soldiers' wives get in England. The chil- 
 dren looked better nourished, but it was by their 
 mother's sacrifice. I did my best to cheer them up. 
 I told them long yarns about Africa and lions and 
 tigers, and I got some pieces of wood and whittled 
 them into toys. I am fairly good with a knife, and 
 I carved very presentable likenesses of a monkey, a 
 springbok, and a rhinoceros. The children went to 
 bed hugging the first toys, I expect, they ever pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 It was clear to me that I must leave as soon 
 as possible. I had to get on with my business, and 
 besides, it was not fair to the woman. Any moment 
 I might be found here, and she would get into 
 trouble for harbouring me. I asked her if she knew 
 where the Danube was, and her answer surprised me. 
 6 You will reach it in an hour's walk," she said. 
 "The track through the wood runs straight to the 
 ferry." 
 
 Next morning after breakfast I took my depar- 
 ture. It was drizzling weather, and I was feeling 
 very lean. Before going I presented my hostess 
 and the children with two sovereigns apiece. "It is 
 English gold," I said, " for I have to travel among 
 our enemies and use our enemies' money. But the 
 gold is good, and if you go to any town they will 
 change it for you. But I advise you to put it in 
 your stocking-foot and use it only if all else fails.
 
 THE ESSEN BARGES 109 
 
 You must keep your home going, for some day there 
 will be peace and your man will come back from 
 the wars." 
 
 I kissed the children, shook the woman's hand, 
 and went off down the clearing. They had cried 
 ' Auf wiedersehen," but it wasn't likely I would 
 ever see them again. 
 
 The snow had all gone, except in patches in the 
 deep hollows. The ground was like a full sponge, 
 and a cold rain drifted in my eyes. After half an 
 hour's steady trudge the trees thinned, and pre- 
 sently I came out on a knuckle of open ground 
 cloaked in dwarf junipers. And there before me lay 
 the plain, and a mile off a broad brimming river. 
 
 I sat down and looked dismally at the prospect. 
 The exhilaration of my discovery the day before 
 had gone. I had stumbled on a worthless piece of 
 knowledge, for I could not use it. Hilda von Einem, 
 if such a person existed and possessed the great 
 secret, was probably living in some big house in 
 Berlin, and I was about as likely to get anything out 
 of her as to be asked to dine with the Kaiser. Blen- 
 kiron- might do something, but where on earth was 
 Blenkiron ? I dared say Sir Walter would value the 
 information, but I could not get to Sir Walter. I 
 was to go on to Constantinople, running away from 
 the people who really pulled the ropes. But if I 
 stayed I could do nothing, and I could not stay. I 
 must go on and I didn't see how I could go on. 
 Every course seemed shut to me, and I was in as 
 pretty a tangle as any man ever stumbled into. 
 
 For I was morally certain that Stumm would not 
 let the thing drop. I knew too much, and besides 
 I had outraged his pride. He would beat the coun- 
 tryside till he got me, and he undoubtedly would 
 get me if I waited much longer. But how was I to 
 get over the border ? My passport would be no 
 good, for the number of that pass would long ere
 
 110 THE ESSEN BARGES 
 
 this have been wired to every police-station in Ger- 
 many, and to produce it would be to ask for trouble. 
 Without it I could not cross the borders by any 
 railway. My studies of the Tourists' Guide had 
 suggested that once I was in Austria I might find 
 things slacker and move about easier. I thought of 
 having a try at the Tyrol and I also thought of 
 Bohemia. But these places were a long way off, and 
 there were several thousand chances each day that 
 I would be caught on the road. 
 
 This was Thursday, the 30th of December, the 
 second last day of the year. I was due in Con- 
 stantinople on the 17th of January. Constantinople ! 
 I had thought myself a long way from it in Berlin, 
 but now it seemed as distant as the moon. 
 
 But that big sullen river in front of me led to it. 
 And as I looked my attention was caught by a curious 
 sight. On the far eastern horizon, where the water 
 slipped round a corner of hill, there was a long 
 trail of smoke. The streamers thinned out, and 
 seemed to come from some boat well round the 
 corner, but I could see at least two boats in view. 
 Therefore there must be a long train of barges, with 
 a tug in tow. 
 
 I looked to the west and saw another such pro- 
 cession coming into sight. First went a big river 
 steamer — it can't have been much less than 1,000 
 tons — and after came a string of barges. I counted 
 no less than six besides the tug. They were heavily 
 loaded and their draught must have been consider- 
 able, but there was plenty of depth in the flooded 
 river. 
 
 A moment's reflection told me what I was looking 
 at. Once Sandy, in one of the discussions you have 
 in hospital, had told us just how the Germans muni- 
 tioned their Balkan campaign. They were pretty 
 certain of dishing Serbia at the first go, and it was 
 up to them to get through guns and shells to the
 
 THE ESSEN BARGES 111 
 
 old Turk, who was running pretty short in his first 
 supply. Sandy said that they wanted the railway, 
 but they wanted still more the river, and they could 
 make certain of that in a week. He told us how 
 endless strings of barges, loaded up at the big fac- 
 tories of Westphalia, were moving through the 
 canals from the Rhine or the Elbe to the Danube. 
 Once the first reached Turkey, there would be regular 
 delivery, you see — as quick as the Turks could handle 
 the stuff. And they didn't return empty, Sandy 
 said, but came back full of Turkish cotton and 
 Bulgarian beef and Rumanian corn. I don't know 
 where Sandy got the knowledge, but there was the 
 proof of it before my eyes. 
 
 It was a wonderful sight, and I could have gnashed 
 my teeth to see those loads of munitions going snugly 
 off to the enemy. I calculated they would give 
 our poor chaps hell in Gallipoli. And then, as I 
 looked, an idea came into my head, and with it an 
 eighth part of a hope. 
 
 There was only one way for me to get out of 
 Germany, and that was to leave in such good com- 
 pany that I would be asked no questions. That was 
 plain enough. If I travelled to Turkey, for instance, 
 in the Kaiser's suite, I would be as safe as the mail ; 
 but if I went on my own I was done. I had, so to 
 speak, to get my passport inside Germany, to join 
 some caravan which had free marching powers. 
 And there was the kind of caravan before me — the 
 Essen barges. 
 
 It sounded lunacy, for I guessed that munitions 
 of war would be as jealously guarded as old Hinden- 
 burg's health. All the safer, I replied to myself, 
 once I get there. If you are looking for a deserter 
 you don't seek him at the favourite regimental 
 public-house. If you're after a thief, among the 
 places you'd be apt to leave unsearched would be 
 Scotland Yard.
 
 112 THE ESSEN BARGES 
 
 It was sound reasoning, but how was I to get on 
 board ? Probably the beastly things did not stop 
 once in a hundred miles, and Stumm would get me 
 long before I struck a halting-place. And even if I 
 did get a chance like that, how was I to get permis- 
 sion to travel ? 
 
 One step was clearly indicated — to get down to 
 the river bank at once. So I set off at a sharp walk 
 across squelchy fields, till I struck a road where the 
 ditches had overflowed so as almost to meet in the 
 middle. The place was so bad that I hoped travellers 
 might be few. And as I trudged, my thoughts were 
 busy with my prospects as a stowaway. If I 
 bought food, I might get a chance to lie snug on one 
 of the barges. They would not break bulk till they 
 got to their journey's end. 
 
 Suddenly I noticed that the steamer, which was 
 now abreast me, began to move towards the shore, 
 and as I came over a low rise I saw on my left a 
 straggling village with a church and a small land- 
 ing-stage. The houses stood about a quarter of a 
 mile from the stream, and between them was a 
 straight, poplar-fringed road. 
 
 Soon there could be no doubt about it. The pro- 
 cession was coming to a standstill. The big tug 
 nosed her way in and lay up alongside the pier, 
 where in that season of flood there was enough depth 
 of water. She signalled to the barges and they also 
 started to drop anchors, which showed that there 
 must be at least two men aboard each. Some of 
 them dragged a bit and it was rather a cock-eyed 
 train that lay in mid-stream. The tug got out a 
 gangway, and from where I lay I saw half a dozen 
 men leave it, carrying something on their shoulders. 
 
 It could be only one thing — a dead body. Some 
 one of the crew must have died, and this halt was to 
 bury him. I watched the procession move towards 
 the village and I reckoned they would take some
 
 THE ESSEN BARGES 113 
 
 time there, though they might have wired ahead for 
 a grave to be dug. Anyhow, they would be long 
 enough to give me a chance. 
 
 For I had decided upon the brazen course. Blen- 
 kiron had said you couldn't cheat the Boche, but 
 you could bluff him. I was going to put up the 
 most monstrous bluff. If the whole countryside was 
 hunting for Richard Hannay, Richard Hannay 
 would walk through as a pal of the hunters. For I 
 remembered the pass Stumm had given me. If 
 that was worth a tinker's curse it should be good 
 enough to impress a ship's captain. 
 
 Of course there were a thousand risks. They 
 might have heard of me in the village and told the 
 ship's party the story. For that reason I resolved 
 not to go there but to meet the sailors when they 
 were returning to the boat. Or the captain might 
 have been warned and got the number of my pass, 
 in which case Stumm would have his hands on me 
 pretty soon. Or the captain might be an ignorant 
 fellow who had never seen a Secret Service pass 
 and did not know what it meant, and would refuse 
 me transport by the letter of his instructions. In 
 that case I might wait on another convoy. 
 
 I had shaved and made myself a fairly respectable 
 figure before I left the cottage. It was my cue to 
 wait for the men when they left the church, wait 
 on that quarter-mile of straight highway. I judged 
 the captain must be in the party. The village, I 
 was glad to observe, seemed very empty. I have 
 my own notions about the Bavarians as fighting 
 men, but I am bound to say that, judging by my 
 observations, very few of them stayed at home. 
 
 That funeral took hours. They must have had to 
 dig the grave, for I waited near the road in a clump 
 of cherry-trees, with my feet in two inches of mud 
 and water, till I felt chilled to the bone. I prayed 
 to God it would not bring back my 'fever, for I was 
 
 8
 
 114 THE ESSEN BARGES 
 
 only one day out of bed. I had very little tobacco 
 left in my pouch, but I stood myself one pipe, and I 
 ate one of the three cakes of chocolate I still carried. 
 
 At last, well after midday, I could see the ship's 
 party returning. They marched two by two, and I 
 was thankful to see that they had no villagers with 
 them. I walked to the road, turned up it, and met the 
 vanguard, carrying my head as high as I knew how. 
 
 " Where's your captain ? " I asked, and a man 
 jerked his thumb over his shoulder. The others wore 
 thick jerseys and knitted caps, but there was one 
 man at the rear in uniform. 
 
 He was a short, broad man with a weather-beaten 
 face and an anxious eye. 
 
 " May I have a word with you, Herr Captain ? " 
 I said, with what I hoped was a judicious blend of 
 authority and conciliation. 
 
 He nodded to his companion, who walked on. 
 
 " Yes ? " he asked rather impatiently. 
 
 I proffered him my pass. Thank Heaven he had 
 seen the kind of thing before, for his face at once 
 took on that curious look which one person in 
 authority always wears when he is confronted with 
 another. He studied it closely and then raised his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well, sir ? " he said. " I observe your cre- 
 dentials. What can I do for you ? " 
 
 " I take it you are bound for Constantinople ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " The boats go as far as Rustchuk," he replied. 
 " There the stuff is transferred to the railway." 
 
 " And you reach Rustchuk when ? " 
 
 " In ten days, bar accidents. Let us say twelve 
 to be safe." 
 
 " I want to accompany you," I said. " In my 
 profession, Herr Captain, it is necessary sometimes 
 to make journeys by other than the common route. 
 That is now my desire. I have the right to call
 
 THE ESSEN BARGES 115 
 
 upon some other branch of our country's service to 
 help me. Hence my request." 
 
 Very plainly he did not like it. 
 
 " I must telegraph about it. My instructions are 
 to let no one aboard, not even a man like you. I 
 am sorry, sir, but I must get authority first before 
 I can fall in with your desire. Besides, my boat is 
 ill-found. You had better wait for the next batch and 
 ask Dreyser to take you. I lost Walter to-day. 
 He was ill when he came aboard — a disease of the 
 heart — but he would not be persuaded. And last 
 night he died." 
 
 " Was that him you have been burying ? " I asked. 
 
 " Even so. He was a good man and my wife's 
 cousin, and now I have no engineer. Only a fool of 
 a boy from Hamburg. I have just come from wiring 
 to my owners for a fresh man, but even if he comes 
 by the quickest train he will scarcely overtake us 
 before Vienna or even Buda." 
 
 I saw light at last. 
 
 " We will go together," I said, " and cancel that 
 wire. For behold, Herr Captain, I am an engineer, 
 and will gladly keep an eye on your boilers till we 
 get to Rustchuk." 
 
 He looked at me doubtfully. 
 
 " I am speaking truth," I said. " Before the war 
 I was an engineer in Damaraland. Mining was my 
 branch, but I had a good general training, and I know 
 enough to run a river-boat. Have no fear. I promise 
 you I will earn my passage." 
 
 His face cleared, and he looked what he was, an 
 honest, good-humoured North German seaman. 
 
 " Come then in God's name," he cried, " and we 
 will make a bargain. I will let the telegraph sleep. 
 I require authority from the Government to take a 
 passenger, but I need none to engage a new engineer." 
 
 He sent one of the hands back to the village to 
 cancel his wire. In ten minutes I found myself on
 
 116 THE ESSEN BARGES 
 
 board, and ten minutes later we were out in mid- 
 stream and our tows were lumbering into line. Coffee 
 was being made ready in the cabin, and while I waited 
 for it I picked up the captain's binoculars and scanned 
 the place I had left. 
 
 I saw some curious things. On the first road I had 
 struck on leaving the cottage there were men on 
 bicycles moving rapidly. They seemed to wear 
 uniform. On the next parallel road, the one that ran 
 through the village, I could see others. I noticed, 
 too, that several figures appeared to be beating the 
 intervening fields. 
 
 Stumm's cordon had got busy at last, and I thanked 
 my stars that not one of the villagers had seen me. 
 I had not got away much too soon, for in another 
 half-hour he would have had me.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 
 
 Before I turned in that evening I had done some 
 good hours' work in the engine-room. The boat was 
 oil-fired, and in very fair order, so my duties did not 
 look as if they would be heavy. There was nobody 
 who could be properly called an engineer ; only, 
 besides the furnace-men, a couple of lads from 
 Hamburg who had been a year ago apprentices in a 
 shipbuilding yard. They were civil fellows, both of 
 them consumptive, who did what I told them and 
 said little. By bed-time, if you had seen me in my 
 blue jumpers, a pair of carpet slippers, and a flat cap — 
 all the property of the deceased Walter — you would 
 have sworn I had been bred to the firing of river- 
 boats, whereas I had acquired most of my knowledge 
 on one run down the Zambesi, when the proper 
 engineer got drunk and fell overboard among the 
 crocodiles. 
 
 The captain — they called him Schenk — was out 
 of his bearings in the job. He was a Frisian and a 
 first-class deep-water seaman, but, since he knew 
 the Rhine delta, and because the German mercantile 
 marine was laid on the ice till the end of war, 
 they had turned him on to this show. He was 
 bored by the business, and didn't understand it very 
 well. The river charts puzzled him, and though 
 it was pretty plain going for hundreds of miles, yet 
 he was in a perpetual fidget about the pilotage. 
 You could see that he would have been far more in 
 
 117
 
 118 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 
 
 his element smelling his way through the shoals of 
 the Ems mouth, or beating against a north-easter 
 in the shallow Baltic. He had six barges in tow, but 
 the heavy flood of the Danube made it an easy job 
 except when it came to going slow. There were two 
 men on each barge, who came aboard every morning 
 to draw rations. That was a funny business, for we 
 never lay to if we could help it. There was a dinghy 
 belonging to each barge, and the men used to row to 
 the next and get a lift in that barge's dinghy, and so 
 forth. Six men would appear in the dinghy of the 
 barge nearest us and carry off supplies for the rest. 
 The men were mostly Frisians, slow-spoken, sandy- 
 haired lads, very like the breed you strike on the Essex 
 coast. 
 
 It was the fact that Schenk was really a deep-water 
 sailor, and so a novice to the job, that made me get on 
 with him. He was a good fellow and quite willing 
 to take a hint, so before I had been twenty-four hours 
 on board he was telling me all his difficulties, and I was 
 doing my best to cheer him. And difficulties came 
 thick, because the next night was New Year's Eve. 
 
 I knew that that night was a season of gaiety in 
 Scotland, but Scotland wasn't in it with the Father- 
 land. Even Schenk, though he was in charge of 
 valuable stores and was voyaging against time, was 
 quite clear that the men must have permission for 
 some kind of beano. Just before darkness we came 
 abreast a fair-sized town, whose name I never dis- 
 covered, and decided to lie to for the night. The 
 arrangement was that one man should be left on 
 guard in each barge, and the other get four hours' 
 leave ashore. Then he would return and relieve his 
 friend, who should proceed to do the same thing. I 
 foresaw that there would be some fun when the first 
 batch returned, but I did not dare to protest. I was 
 desperately anxious to get past the Austrian frontier, 
 for I had a half-notion we might be searched there,
 
 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 119 
 
 but Schenk took this Sylvesterabend business so 
 seriously that I would have risked a row if I had 
 tried to argue. 
 
 The upshot was what I expected. We got the first 
 batch aboard about midnight, blind to the world, and 
 the others straggled in at all hours next morning. I 
 stuck to the boat for obvious reasons, but next day- 
 it became too serious, and I had to go ashore with the 
 captain to try and round up the stragglers. We got 
 them all in but two, and I am inclined to think these 
 two had never meant to come back. If I had a soft 
 job like a river-boat I shouldn't be inclined to run 
 away in the middle of Germany with the certainty 
 that my best fate would be to be scooped up for the 
 trenches, but your Frisian has no more imagination 
 than a haddock. The absentees were both watchmen 
 from the barges, and I fancy the monotony of the life 
 had got on their nerves. 
 
 The captain was in a raging temper, for he was 
 short-handed to begin with. He would have started 
 a press-gang, but there was no superfluity of men in 
 that township : nothing but boys and grandfathers. 
 As I was helping to run the trip I was pretty annoyed 
 also, and I sluiced down the drunkards with icy 
 Danube water, using all the worst language I knew in 
 Dutch and German. It was a raw morning, and as 
 we raged through the river-side streets I remember I 
 heard the dry crackle of wild geese going overhead, 
 and wished I could get a shot at them. I told one 
 fellow — he was the most troublesome — that he was a 
 disgrace to a great Empire, and was only fit to fight 
 with the filthy English. 
 
 " God in Heaven ! " said the captain, " we can delay 
 no longer. We must make shift the best we can. I 
 can spare one man from the deck hands, and you must 
 give up one from the engine-room." 
 
 That was arranged, and we were tearing back rather 
 short in the wind when I espied a figure sitting on a
 
 120 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 
 
 bench beside the booking-office on the pier. It was 
 a slim figure, in an old suit of khaki : some cast-off 
 duds which had long lost the semblance of a uniform. 
 It had a gentle face, and was smoking peacefully, 
 looking out upon the river and the boats and us noisy 
 fellows with meek philosophical eyes. If I had seen 
 General French sitting there and looking like nothing 
 on earth I couldn't have been more surprised. 
 
 The man stared at me without recognition. He was 
 waiting for his cue. 
 
 I spoke rapidly in Sesutu, for I was afraid the cap- 
 tain might know Dutch. 
 
 " Where have you come from ? " I asked. 
 " They shut me up in tronk," said Peter, " and I 
 ran away. I am tired, Cornells, and want to con- 
 tinue the journey by boat." 
 
 " Remember you have worked for me in Africa," 
 I said. " You are just home from Damaraland. 
 You are a German who has lived thirty years away 
 from home. You can tend a furnace and have 
 worked in mines." 
 
 Then I spoke to the captain. 
 
 " Here is a fellow who used to be in my employ, 
 Captain Schenk. It's almighty luck we've struck 
 him. He's old, and not very strong in the head, but 
 I'll go bail he's a good worker. He says he'll come 
 with us and I can use him in the engine-room." 
 " Stand up," said the captain. 
 Peter stood up, light and slim and wiry as a leopard. 
 A sailor does not judge men by girth and weight. 
 
 " He'll do," said Schenk, and the next minute he 
 was readjusting his crews and giving the strayed 
 revellers the rough side of his tongue. As it chanced, 
 I couldn't keep Peter with me, but had to send him 
 to one of the barges, and I had time for no more 
 than five words with him, when I told him to hold his 
 tongue and live up to his reputation as a half-wit. 
 That accursed Sylvester ah end had played havoc with
 
 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 121 
 
 the whole outfit, and the captain and I were weary 
 men before we got things straight. 
 
 In one way it turned out well. That afternoon we 
 passed the frontier and I never knew it till I saw a 
 man in a strange uniform come aboard, who copied 
 some figures on a schedule, and brought us a mail. 
 With my dirty face and general air of absorption in 
 duty, I must have been an unsuspicious figure. He 
 took down the names of the men in the barges, and 
 Peter's name was given as it appeared on the ship's 
 roll — Anton Blum. 
 
 " You must feel it strange, Herr Brandt," said the 
 captain, "to be scrutinised by a policeman, you who 
 give orders, I doubt not, to many policemen." 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders. "It is my profession. 
 It is my business to go unrecognised often by my own 
 servants." I could see that I was becoming rather a 
 figure in the captain's eyes. He liked the way I kept 
 the men up to their work, for I hadn't been a nigger- 
 driver for nothing. 
 
 Late on that Sunday night we passed through a 
 great city which the captain told me was Vienna. It 
 seemed to last for miles and miles, and to be as brightly 
 lit as a circus. After that, we were in big plains and 
 the air grew perishing cold. Peter had come aboard 
 once for his rations, but usually he left it to his partner, 
 for he was lying very low. But one morning — I 
 think it was the 5th of January, when we had passed 
 Buda and were moving through great sodden flats 
 just sprinkled with snow — the captain took it into 
 his head to get me to overhaul the barge loads. 
 Armed with a mighty type-written list, I made a 
 tour of the barges, beginning with the hindmost. 
 There was a fine old stock of deadly weapons — mostly 
 machine-guns and some field-pieces, and enough 
 shells to blow up the Gallipoli peninsula. All kinds 
 of shell were there, from the big 14-inch crumps to 
 rifle grenades and trench-mortars. It made me fairly
 
 122 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 
 
 sick to see all these good things preparing for our 
 own fellows, and I wondered whether I would not be 
 doing my best service if I engineered a big explosion. 
 Happily I had the common sense to remember my 
 job and my duty to stick to it. 
 
 Peter was in the middle of the convoy, and I found 
 him pretty unhappy, principally through not being 
 allowed to smoke. His companion was an ox-eyed 
 lad, whom I ordered to the look-out while Peter and I 
 went over the lists. 
 
 " Cornells, my old friend," he said, " there are some 
 pretty toys here. With a spanner and a couple of 
 clear hours I could make these maxims about as 
 deadly as bicycles. What do you say to a try ? ' 
 
 " I've considered that," I said, " but it won't do. 
 We're on a bigger business than wrecking munition 
 convoys. I want to know how you got here." 
 
 He smiled with that extraordinary Sunday-school 
 docility of his. 
 
 " It was very simple, Cornells. I was foolish in the 
 cafe — but they have told you of that. You see I was 
 angry, and did not reflect. They had separated us, 
 and I could see would treat me as dirt. Therefore 
 my bad temper came out, for, as I have told you, I 
 do not like Germans." 
 
 Peter gazed lovingly at the little bleak farms which 
 dotted the Hungarian plain. 
 
 " All night I lay in tronk with no food. In the 
 morning they fed me, and took me hundreds of miles 
 in a train to a place which I think is called Neuburg. 
 It was a great prison, full of English officers. ... I 
 asked myself many times on the journey what was 
 the reason of this treatment, for I could see no sense 
 in it. If they wanted to punish me for insulting 
 them they had the chance to send me off to the 
 trenches. No one could have objected. If they 
 thought me useless they could have turned me back 
 to Holland. I could not have stopped them. But
 
 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 123 
 
 they treated me as if I were a dangerous man, whereas 
 all their conduct hitherto had shown that they thought 
 me a fool. I could not understand it. 
 
 " But I had not been one night in that Neuburg 
 place before I thought of the reason. They wanted 
 to keep me under observation as a check upon you, 
 Cornells. I figured it out this way. They had given 
 you some very important work which required them 
 to let you into some big secret. So far, good. They 
 evidently thought much of you, even yon Stumm man, 
 though he was as rude as a buffalo. But they did 
 not know you fully, and they wanted a check on you. 
 That check they found in Peter Pienaar. Peter was 
 a fool, and if there was anything to blab, sooner or 
 later Peter would blab it. Then they would stretch 
 out a long arm and nip you short, wherever you were. 
 Therefore they must keep old Peter under their eye." 
 
 " That sounds likely enough," I said. 
 
 " It was God's truth," said Peter. " And when 
 it was all clear to me I settled that I must escape. 
 Partly because I am a free man and do not like to 
 be in prison, but mostly because I was not sure of 
 myself. Some day my temper would go again, and 
 I might say foolish things for which Cornells would 
 suffer. So it was very certain that I must escape. 
 
 " Now, Cornells, I noticed pretty soon that there 
 were two kinds among the prisoners. There were 
 the real prisoners, mostly English and French, and 
 there were humbugs. The humbugs were treated 
 apparently like the others, but not really, as I soon 
 perceived. There was one man who passed as an 
 English officer, another as a French Canadian, and the 
 others called themselves Russians. None of the honest 
 men suspected them, but they were there as spies 
 to hatch plots for escape and get the poor devils 
 caught in the act, and to worm out confidences which 
 might be of value. That is the German notion of 
 good business. I am not a British soldier to think
 
 124 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 
 
 all men are gentlemen. I know that amongst men 
 there are desperate skellums, so I soon picked up this 
 game. It made me very angry, but it was a good 
 thing for my plan. I made my resolution to escape 
 the day I arrived at Neuburg, and on Christmas 
 Day I had a plan made." 
 
 " Peter, you're an old marvel. Do you mean to 
 say you were quite certain of getting away whenever 
 you wanted ? " 
 
 " Quite certain, Cornells. You see, I have been 
 wicked in my time and know something about the 
 inside of prisons. You may build them like great 
 castles, or they may be like a backveld tronk, only 
 mud and corrugated iron, but there is always a key 
 and a man who keeps it, and that man can be bested. 
 I knew I could get away, but I did not think it 
 would be so easy. That was due to the bogus 
 prisoners, my friends the spies. 
 
 " I made great pals with them. On Christmas 
 night we were very jolly together. I think I spotted 
 every one of them the first day. I bragged about 
 my past and all I had done, and I told them I was 
 going to escape. They backed me up and promised 
 to help. Next morning I had a plan. In the after- 
 noon, just after dinner, I had to go to the commandant's 
 room. They treated me a little differently from 
 the others, for I was not a prisoner of war, and I 
 went there to be asked questions and to be cursed 
 as a stupid Dutchman. There was no strict guard 
 kept there, for the place was on the second floor, 
 and distant by many yards from any staircase. In 
 the corridor outside the commandant's room there 
 was a window which had no bars, and four feet from 
 the window the limb of a great tree. A man might 
 reach that limb, and if he were active as a monkey 
 might descend to the ground. Beyond that I knew 
 nothing, but I am a good climber, Cornells , 
 
 " I told the others of my plan. They said it was
 
 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 125 
 
 good, but no one offered to come with me. They 
 were very noble ; they declared that the scheme was 
 mine and I should have the fruit of it, for if more 
 than one tried detection was certain. I agreed and 
 thanked them — thanked them with tears in my 
 eyes. Then one of them very secretly produced a 
 map. We planned out my road, for I was going 
 straight to Holland. It was a long road, and I had 
 no money, for they had taken all my sovereigns 
 when I was arrested, but they promised to get a 
 subscription up among themselves to start me. 
 Again I wept tears of gratitude. This was on Sun- 
 day, the day after Christmas. I settled to make 
 the attempt on the Wednesday afternoon. 
 
 " Now, Cornells, when the lieutenant took us to 
 see the British prisoners, you remember, he told us 
 many things about the ways of prisons. He told 
 us how they loved to catch a man in the act of 
 escape, so that they could use him harshly with a 
 clear conscience. I thought of that, and calculated 
 that now my friends would have told everything to 
 the commandant, and that they would be waiting 
 to bottle me on the Wednesday. Till then I 
 reckoned I would be slackly guarded, for they would 
 look on me as safe in the net. . . . 
 
 " So I went out of the window next day. It was 
 the Monday afternoon. ..." 
 
 " That was a bold stroke," I said admiringly. 
 
 " The plan was bold, but it was not skilful," said 
 Peter modestly. " I had no money beyond seven 
 marks, and I had but one stick of chocolate. I had 
 no overcoat, and it was snowing hard. Further, I 
 could not get down the tree, which had a trunk as 
 smooth and branchless as a blue gum. For a little 
 I thought I should be compelled to give in, and I 
 was not happy. 
 
 " But I had leisure, for I did not think I would 
 be missed before nightfall, and given time a man
 
 126 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 
 
 can do most things. By and by I found a branch 
 which led beyond the outer wall of the yard and 
 hung above the river. This I followed, and then 
 dropped from it into the stream. It was a drop of 
 some yards, and the water was very swift, so that 
 I nearly drowned. I would rather swim the Lim- 
 popo, Cornells, among all the crocodiles than that 
 icy river. Yet I managed to reach the shore and 
 get my breath lying in the bushes. . . . 
 
 " After that it was plain going, though I was very 
 cold. I knew that I would be sought on the northern 
 roads, as I had told my friends, for no one would 
 dream of an ignorant Dutchman going south away 
 from his kinsfolk. But I had learned enough from 
 the map to know that our road lay south-east, and I 
 had marked this big river." 
 
 " Did you hope to pick me up ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, Cornells. I thought you would be travelling 
 in first-class carriages while I should be plodding 
 on foot. But I was set on getting to the place you 
 spoke of (how do you call it ? Constant Nople), 
 where our big business lay. I thought I might be 
 in time for that." 
 
 " You're an old Trojan, Peter," I said ; " but go 
 on. How did you get to that landing-stage where I 
 found you ? " 
 
 " It was a hard journey," he said meditatively. 
 " It was not easy to get beyond the barbed-wire 
 entanglements which surrounded Neuburg — yes, even 
 across the river. But in time I reached the woods 
 and was safe, for I did not think any German could 
 equal me in wild country. The best of them, even 
 their foresters, are but babes in veldcraft compared 
 with such as me. . . . My troubles came only from 
 hunger and cold. Then I met a Peruvian smouse, 1 
 and sold him my clothes and bought from him these. 
 I did not want to part with my own, which were 
 1 Peter meant a Polish-Jew pedlar.
 
 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 127 
 
 better, but he gave me ten marks on the deal. After 
 that I went into a village and ate heavily." 
 
 " Were you pursued ? " I asked. 
 
 " I do not think so. They had gone north, as I 
 expected, and were looking for me at the railway 
 stations which my friends had marked for me. I 
 walked happily and put a bold face on it. If I saw 
 a man or woman look at me suspiciously I went up 
 to them at once and talked. I told a sad tale, and 
 all believed it. I was a poor Dutchman travelling 
 home on foot to see a dying mother, and I had been 
 told that by the Danube I should find the main 
 railway to take me to Holland. There were kind 
 people who gave me food, and one woman gave me 
 half a mark, and wished me God speed. . . . Then 
 on the last day of the year I came to the river and 
 found many drunkards." 
 
 " Was that when you resolved to get on one of 
 the river boats ? " 
 
 Ja, Cornells. As soon as I heard of the boats 
 I saw where my chance lay. But you might have 
 knocked me over with a straw when I saw you 
 come on shore. That was good fortune, my friend. 
 ... I have been thinking much about the Germans, 
 and I will tell you the truth. It is only boldness 
 that can baffle them. They are a most diligent 
 people. They will think of all likely difficulties, but 
 not of all possible ones. They have not much im- 
 agination. They are like steam engines which must 
 keep to prepared tracks. There they will hunt any 
 man down, but let him trek for open country and 
 they will be at a loss. Therefore boldness, my 
 friend ; for ever boldness. Remember as a nation 
 they wear spectacles, which means that they are 
 always peering." 
 
 Peter broke off to gloat over the wedges of geese 
 and the strings of wild swans that were always wing- 
 ing across those plains. His tale had bucked me up
 
 128 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 
 
 wonderfully. Our luck had held beyond all belief, 
 and I had a kind of hope in the business now which 
 had been wanting before. That afternoon, too, I 
 got another fillip. 
 
 I came on deck for a breath of air and found it 
 pretty cold after the heat of the engine room. So 
 I called to one of the deck hands to fetch me up my 
 cloak from the cabin — the same I had bought that 
 first morning in the Greif village. 
 
 " Der griine mantel ? " the man shouted up, and I 
 cried, Yes. But the words seemed to echo in my 
 ears, and long after he had given me the garment I 
 stood staring abstractedly over the bulwarks. 
 
 His tone had awakened a chord of memory, or, to 
 be accurate, they had given emphasis to what before 
 had been only blurred and vague. For he had 
 spoken the words which Stumm had uttered behind 
 his hand to Gaudian. I had heard something like 
 " Uhnmantl," and could make nothing of it. Now 
 I was as certain of those words as of my own exis- 
 tence. They had been " Griine mantel." Griine 
 mantel, whatever it might be, was the name which 
 Stumm had not meant me to hear, which was some 
 talisman for the task I had proposed, and which 
 was connected in some way with the mysterious 
 von Einem. 
 
 This discovery put me in high fettle. I told my- 
 self that, considering the difficulties, I had managed 
 to find out a wonderful amount in a very few 
 days. It only shows what a man can do with the 
 slenderest evidence if he keeps chewing and chewing 
 on it. . . . 
 
 Two mornings later we lay alongside the quays 
 at Belgrade, and I took the opportunity of stretching 
 my legs. Peter had come ashore for a smoke, and 
 we wandered among the battered riverside streets, 
 and looked at the broken arches of the great railway 
 bridge which the Germans were working at like
 
 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 129 
 
 beavers. There was a big temporary pontoon affair 
 to take the railway across, but I calculated that the 
 main bridge would be ready inside a month. It was 
 a clear, cold, blue day, and as one looked south one 
 saw ridge after ridge of snowy hills. The upper 
 streets of the city were still fairly whole, and there 
 were shops open where food could be got. I re- 
 member hearing English spoken, and seeing some 
 Red Cross nurses in the custody of Austrian soldiers 
 coming from the railway station. 
 
 It would have done me a lot of good to have 
 had a word with them. I thought of the gallant 
 people whose capital this had been, how three 
 times they had flung the Austrians back over the 
 Danube, and then had only been beaten by the 
 black treachery of their so-called allies. Somehow 
 that morning in Belgrade gave both Peter and me 
 a new purpose in our task. It was our business to 
 put a spoke in the wheel of this monstrous bloody 
 Juggernaut that was crushing out the little heroic 
 nations. 
 
 We were just getting ready to cast off when a dis- 
 tinguished party arrived at the quay. There were 
 all kinds of uniforms — German, Austrian, and Bul- 
 garian, and amid them one stout gentleman in a 
 fur coat and a black felt hat. They watched the 
 barges up-anchor, and before we began to jerk into 
 line I could hear their conversation. The fur coat 
 was talking English. 
 
 " I reckon that's pretty good noos, General," it 
 said ; " if the English have run away from Gally-poly 
 we can use these noo consignments for the bigger 
 game. I guess it won't be long before we see 
 the British lion moving out of Egypt with sore 
 paws." 
 
 They all laughed. " The privilege of that spec- 
 tacle may soon be ours," was the reply. 
 
 I did not pay much attention to the talk ; indeed 
 9
 
 130 THE RETURN OF THE STRAGGLER 
 
 I did not realise till weeks later that that was the 
 first tidings of the great evacuation of Cape Helles. 
 What rejoiced me was the sight of Blenkiron, as 
 bland as a barber among those swells. Here were 
 two of the missionaries within reasonable distance of 
 their goal.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE GARDEN-HOUSE OF SULIMAN THE RED 
 
 We reached Rustchuk on January 10, but by no 
 means landed on that day. Something had gone wrong 
 with the unloading arrangements, or more likely 
 with the railway behind them, and we were kept 
 swinging all day well out in the turbid river. On the 
 top of this Captain Schenk got an ague, and by that 
 evening was a blue and shivering wreck. He had 
 done me well and I reckoned I would stand by him. 
 So I got his ship's papers and the manifests of cargo, 
 and undertook to see to the transhipment. It 
 wasn't the first time I had tackled that kind of 
 business, and I hadn't much to learn about steam 
 cranes. I told him I was going on to Constantinople 
 and would take Peter with me, and he was agree- 
 able. He would have to wait at Rustchuk to get 
 his return cargo, and could easily inspan a fresh 
 engineer. 
 
 I worked about the hardest twenty-four hours of 
 my life getting the stuff ashore. The landing officer 
 was a Bulgarian, quite a competent man if he could 
 have made the railways give him the trucks he 
 needed. There was a collection of hungry German 
 transport officers always putting in their oars, and 
 being infernally insolent to everybody. I took the 
 high and mighty line with them ; and, as I had the 
 Bulgarian commandant on my side, after about two 
 hours' blasphemy got them quieted. 
 
 But the big trouble came the next morning when 
 I had got nearly all the stuff aboard the trucks. 
 
 131
 
 132 THE GARDEN-HOUSE OF 
 
 A young officer in what I took to be a Turkish 
 uniform rode up with an aide-de-camp. I noticed 
 the German guards saluting him, so I judged he was 
 rather a swell. He came up to me and asked me 
 very civilly in German for the way-bills. I gave him 
 them and he looked carefully through them, marking 
 certain items with a blue pencil. Then he coolly 
 handed them to his aide-de-camp and spoke to him 
 in Turkish. 
 
 " Look here, I want these back," I said. " I can't 
 do without them, and we've no time to waste." 
 
 " Presently," he said, smiling, and went off. 
 
 I said nothing, reflecting that the stuff was for 
 the Turks and they naturally had to have some say 
 in its handling. The loading was practically finished 
 when my gentleman returned. He handed me a 
 neatly typed new set of way-bills. One glance at 
 them showed that some of the big items had been 
 left out. 
 
 " Here, this won't do," I cried. " Give me back 
 the right set. This thing's no good to me." 
 
 For answer he winked gently, smiled like a dusky 
 seraph, and held out his hand. In it I saw a roll of 
 money. 
 
 " For yourself," he said. " It is the usual custom." 
 
 It was the first time any one had ever tried to 
 bribe me, and it made me boil up like a geyser. I 
 saw his game clearly enough. Turkey would pay 
 for the lot to Germany : probably had already paid 
 the bill ; but she would pay double for the things 
 not on the way-bills, and pay to this fellow and his 
 friends. This struck me as rather steep even for 
 Oriental methods of doing business. 
 
 " Now look here, sir," I said, " I don't stir from 
 this place till I get the correct way-bills. If you 
 won't give me them, I will have every item out of 
 the trucks and make a new list. But a correct list 
 I have, or the stuff stays here till Doomsday."
 
 SULIMAN THE RED 133 
 
 He was a slim, foppish fellow, and he looked more 
 puzzled than angry. 
 
 " I offer you enough," he said, again stretching 
 out his hand. 
 
 At that I fairly roared. " If you try to bribe me, 
 you infernal little haberdasher, I'll have you off that 
 horse and chuck you in the river." 
 
 He no longer misunderstood me. He began to 
 curse and threaten, but I cut him short. 
 
 " Come along to the commandant, my boy," I 
 said, and I marched away, tearing up his typewritten 
 sheets as I went and strewing them behind me like 
 a paper chase. 
 
 We had a fine old racket in the commandant's 
 office. I said it was my business, as representing the 
 German Government, to see the stuff delivered to 
 the consignee at Constantinople ship-shape and 
 Bristol-fashion. I told him it wasn't my habit to 
 proceed with cooked documents. He couldn't but 
 agree with me, but there was that wrathful Oriental 
 with his face as fixed as a Buddha. 
 
 " I am sorry, Rasta Bey," he said ; " but this man 
 is in the right." 
 
 " I have authority from the Committee to receive 
 the stores," he said sullenly. 
 
 " Those are not my instructions," was the answer. 
 " They are consigned to the Artillery commandant 
 at Chataldja, General von Oesterzee." 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders. " Very well. I 
 will have a word to say to General von Oesterzee, 
 and many to this fellow who flouts the Committee." 
 And he strode away like an impudent boy. 
 
 The harassed commandant grinned. " You've 
 offended his lordship, and he is a bad enemy. All 
 those damned Comitadjis are. You would be well 
 advised not to go on to Constantinople." 
 
 " And have that blighter in the red hat loot the 
 trucks on the road. No, thank you. I am going to
 
 134 THE GARDEN-HOUSE OF 
 
 see them safe at Chataldja, or whatever they call the 
 artillery depot." 
 
 I said a good deal more, but that is an abbreviated 
 translation of my remarks. My word for " blighter " 
 was trottel, but I used some other expressions which 
 would have ravished my Young Turk friend to 
 hear. Looking back, it seems pretty ridiculous to 
 have made all this fuss about guns which were going 
 to be used against my own people. But I didn't see 
 that at the time. My professional pride was up in 
 arms, and I couldn't bear to have a hand in a crooked 
 deal. 
 
 " Well, I advise you to go armed," said the com- 
 mandant " You will have a guard for the trucks, 
 of course, and I will pick you good men. They may 
 hold you up all the same. I can't help you once 
 you are past the frontier, but I'll send a wire to 
 Oesterzee and he'll make trouble if anything goes 
 wrong. I still think you would have been wiser to 
 humour Rasta Bey." 
 
 As I was leaving he gave me a telegram. " Here's 
 a wire for your Captain Schenk." I slipped the 
 envelope in my pocket and went out. 
 
 Schenk was pretty sick, so I left a note for him. 
 At one o'clock I got the train started, with a couple 
 of German landwehr in each truck and Peter and I 
 in a horse-box. Presently I remembered Schenk's 
 telegram, which still reposed in my pocket. I took 
 it out and opened it, meaning to wire it from the 
 first station we stopped at. But I changed my mind 
 when I read it. It was from some official at Regens- 
 burg, asking him to put under arrest and send back 
 by the first boat a man called Brandt, who was 
 believed to have come aboard at Absthafen on the 
 30th of December. 
 
 I whistled and showed it to Peter. The sooner we 
 were at Constantinople the better, and I prayed we 
 would get there before the fellow who sent this wire
 
 SULIMAN THE RED 135 
 
 repeated it and got the commandant to send on 
 the message and have us held up at Chataldja. 
 For my back had got fairly stiffened about these 
 munitions, and I was going to take any risk to see 
 them safely delivered to their proper owner. Peter 
 couldn't understand me at all. He still hankered 
 after a grand destruction of the lot somewhere 
 down the railway. But then, this wasn't the 
 line of Peter's profession, and his pride was not at 
 stake. 
 
 We had a mortally slow journey. It was bad 
 enough in Bulgaria, but when we crossed the frontier 
 at a place called Mustafa Pasha we struck the real 
 supineness of the East. Happily I found a German 
 officer there who had some notion of hustling, and, 
 after all, it was his interest to get the stuff moved. 
 It was the morning of the 16th, after Peter and I 
 had been living like pigs on black bread and con- 
 demned tinned stuff, that we came in sight of a 
 blue sea on our right hand and knew we couldn't 
 be very far from the end. 
 
 It was jolly near the end in another sense. We 
 stopped at a station and were stretching our legs 
 on the platform when I saw a familiar figure ap- 
 proaching. It was Rasta, with half a dozen Turkish 
 gendarmes. 
 
 I called to Peter, and we clambered into the truck 
 next our horse-box. I had been half expecting 
 some move like this and had made a plan. 
 
 The Turk swaggered up and addressed us. " You 
 can get back to Rustchuk," he said. " I take over 
 from you here. Hand me the papers." 
 
 " Is this Chataldja ? " I asked innocently. 
 
 " It is the end of your affair," he said haughtily. 
 " Quick, or it will be the worse for you." 
 
 " Now, look here, my son," I said ; " you're a kid 
 and know nothing. I hand over to General von 
 Oesterzee and to no one else."
 
 136 THE GARDEN-HOUSE OF 
 
 " You are in Turkey," he cried, " and will obey 
 the Turkish Government." 
 
 " I'll obey the Government right enough," I said ; 
 " but if you're the Government I could make a 
 better one with a bib and a rattle." 
 
 He said something to his men, who unslung their 
 rifles. 
 
 " Please don't begin shooting," I said. " There are 
 twelve armed guards in this train who will take 
 their orders from me. Besides, I and my friend can 
 shoot a bit." 
 
 " Fool ! " he cried, getting very angry. " I can 
 order up a regiment in five minutes." 
 
 " Maybe you can," I said ; " but observe the 
 situation. I am sitting on enough toluol to blow 
 up this countryside. If you dare to come aboard I 
 will shoot you. If you call in your regiment I will 
 tell you what I'll do. I'll fire this stuff, and I reckon 
 they'll be picking up the bits of you and your regi- 
 ment off the Gallipoli Peninsula." 
 
 He had put up a bluff — a poor one — and I had 
 called it. He saw I meant what I said, and became 
 silken. 
 
 " Good-bye, sir," he said. " You have had a fair 
 chance and rejected it. We shall meet again soon, 
 and you will be sorry for your insolence." 
 
 He strutted away, and it was all I could do to 
 keep from running after him. I wanted to lay him 
 over my knee and spank him. 
 
 We got safely to Chataldja, and were received by 
 von Oesterzee like long-lost brothers. He was the 
 regular gunner-officer, not thinking about anything 
 except his guns and shells. I had to wait about 
 three hours while he was checking the stuff with the 
 invoices, and then he gave me a receipt which I still 
 possess. I told him about Rasta, and he agreed 
 that I had done right. It didn't make him as mad
 
 SULIMAN THE RED 137 
 
 as I expected, because, you see, he got his stuff safe 
 in any case. It was only that the wretched Turks 
 had to pay twice for a lot of it. 
 
 He gave Peter and me luncheon, and was altogether 
 very civil and inclined to talk about the war. I 
 would have liked to hear what he had to say, for it 
 would have been something to get the inside view 
 of Germany's Eastern campaign, but I did not dare 
 to wait. Any moment there might arrive an in- 
 criminating wire from Rustchuk. Finally he lent 
 us a car to take us the few miles to the city. 
 
 So it came about that at five minutes past three 
 on the 16th day of January, with only the clothes we 
 stood up in, Peter and I entered Constantinople. 
 
 I was in considerable spirits, for I had got the 
 final lap successfully over, and I was looking forward 
 madly to meeting my friends ; but, all the same, the 
 first sight was a mighty disappointment. I don't 
 quite know what I had expected — a sort of fairyland 
 Eastern city, all white marble and blue water, and 
 stately Turks in surplices, and veiled houris, and 
 roses and nightingales, and some sort of string band 
 discoursing sweet music. I had forgotten that winter 
 is pretty much the same everywhere. It was a 
 drizzling day, with a south-east wind blowing, and 
 the streets were long troughs of mud. The first part 
 I struck looked like a dingy colonial suburb — wooden 
 houses and corrugated iron roofs, and endless dirty, 
 sallow children. There was a cemetery I remember, 
 with Turks' caps stuck at the head of each grave. 
 Then we got into narrow steep streets which de- 
 scended to a kind of big canal. I saw what I took 
 to be mosques and minarets, and they were about as 
 impressive as factory chimneys. By and by we 
 crossed a bridge, and paid a penny for the privilege. 
 If I had known it was the famous Golden Horn I 
 would have looked at it with more interest, but I 
 saw nothing save a lot of moth-eaten barges and
 
 138 THE GARDEN-HOUSE OF 
 
 some queer little boats like gondolas. Then we 
 came into busier streets, where ramshackle cabs 
 drawn by lean horses spluttered through the mud. 
 I saw one old fellow who looked like my notion of a 
 Turk, but most of the population had the appear- 
 ance of London old-clothes men. All but the 
 soldiers, Turk and German, who seemed well-set-up 
 fellows. 
 
 Peter had paddled along at my side like a faithful 
 dog, not saying a word, but clearly not approving 
 of this wet and dirty metropolis. 
 
 " Do you know that we are being followed, Cor- 
 nells ? " he said suddenly, " ever since we came 
 into this evil-smelling dorp." 
 
 Peter was infallible in a thing like that. The 
 news scared me badly, for I feared that the telegram 
 had come to Chataldja. Then I thought it couldn't 
 be that, for if von Oesterzee had wanted me he 
 wouldn't have taken the trouble to stalk me. It 
 was more likely my friend Rasta. 
 
 I found the ferry of Ratchik by asking a soldier, 
 and a German sailor there told me where the Kurdish 
 Bazaar was. He pointed up a steep street which 
 ran past a high block of warehouses with every 
 window broken. Sandy had said the left-hand side 
 coming down, so it must be the right-hand side 
 going up. We plunged into it, and it was the filthiest 
 place of all. The wind whistled up it and stirred 
 the garbage. It seemed densely inhabited, for at 
 all the doors there were groups of people squatting, 
 with their heads covered, though scarcely a window 
 showed in the blank walls. 
 
 The street corkscrewed endlessly. Sometimes it 
 seemed to stop ; then it found a hole in the opposing 
 masonry and edged its way in. Often it was almost 
 pitch dark ; then would come a greyish twilight 
 where it opened out to the width of a decent lane. 
 To find a house in that murk was no easy job, and
 
 SULIMAN THE RED 139 
 
 by the time we had gone a quarter of a mile I began 
 to fear we had missed it. It was no good asking 
 any of the crowd we met. They didn't look as if 
 they understood any civilised tongue. 
 
 At last we stumbled on it — a tumble-down coffee 
 house, with A. Kuprasso above the door in queer 
 amateur lettering. There was a lamp burning in- 
 side, and two or three men smoking at small wooden 
 tables. 
 
 We ordered coffee, thick black stuff like treacle, 
 which Peter anathematised. A negro brought it, 
 and I told him in German I wanted to speak to 
 Mr. Kuprasso. He paid no attention, so I shouted 
 louder at him, and the noise brought a man out of 
 the back parts. 
 
 He was a fat, oldish fellow with a long nose, very 
 like the Greek traders you see on the Zanzibar coast. 
 I beckoned to him and he waddled forward, smiling 
 oilily. Then I asked him what he would take, 
 and he replied, in very halting German, that he would 
 have a sirop. 
 
 " You are Mr. Kuprasso," I said. " I wanted to 
 show this place to my friend. He has heard of your 
 garden-house and the fun there." 
 
 " The Signor is mistaken. I have no garden- 
 house." 
 
 " Rot," I said ; " I've been here before, my boy. 
 I recall your shanty at the back and many merry 
 nights there. What was it you called it ? Oh, I 
 remember — the Garden-House of Suliman the Red." 
 
 He put his finger to his lip and looked incredibly 
 sly. " The Signor remembers that. But that was 
 in the old happy days before war came. The place 
 is long since shut. The people here are too poor 
 to dance and sing." 
 
 " All the same I would like to have another look 
 at it," I said, and I slipped an English sovereign into 
 his hand.
 
 140 THE GARDEN-HOUSE OF 
 
 He glanced at it in surprise and his manner 
 changed. " The Signor is a Prince, and I will do his 
 will." He clapped his hands and the negro ap- 
 peared, and at his nod took his place behind a little 
 side-counter. 
 
 " Follow me," he said, and led us through a long, 
 noisome passage, which was pitch dark and very 
 unevenly paved. Then he unlocked a door and 
 with a swirl the wind caught it and blew it back 
 on us. 
 
 We were looking into a mean little yard, with on 
 one side a high curving wall, evidently of great 
 age, with bushes growing in the cracks of it. Some 
 scraggy myrtles stood in broken pots, and nettles 
 flourished in a corner. At one end was a wooden 
 building like a dissenting chapel, but painted a 
 dingy scarlet. Its windows and skylights were black 
 with dirt, and its door, tied up with rope, flapped in 
 the wind. 
 
 " Behold the Pavilion," Kuj^rasso said proudly. 
 
 " That is the old place," I observed with feeling. 
 " What times I've seen there ! Tell me, Mr. Ku- 
 prasso, do you ever open it now ? " 
 
 He put his thick lips to my ear. 
 
 " If the Signor will be silent I will tell him. It is 
 sometimes open — not often. Men must amuse them- 
 selves even in war. Some of the German officers 
 come here for their pleasure, and but last week we 
 had the ballet of Mademoiselle Cici. The police 
 approve — but not often, for this is no time for too 
 much gaiety. I will tell you a secret. To-morrow 
 afternoon there will be dancing — wonderful dancing ! 
 Only a few of my patrons know. Who, think you, 
 will be there ? " 
 
 He bent his head closer and said in a whisper — 
 
 " The Compagnie des Heures Roses." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," I said with a proper tone of respect, 
 though I hadn't a notion what he meant.
 
 SULIMAN THE RED 141 
 
 " Will the Signor wish to come ? " 
 
 " Sure," I said. " Both of us. We're all for the 
 rosy hours." 
 
 " Then the fourth hour after midday. Walk 
 straight through the cafe and one will be there to 
 unlock the door. You are new-comers here ? Take 
 the advice of Angelo Kuprasso and avoid the streets 
 after nightfall. Stamboul is no safe place nowadays 
 for quiet men." 
 
 I asked him to name an hotel, and he rattled off a 
 list from which I chose one that sounded modest and 
 in keeping with our get-up. It was not far off, only 
 a hundred yards to the right at the top of the hill. 
 
 When we left his door the night had begun to 
 drop. We hadn't gone twenty yards before Peter 
 drew very near to me and kept turning his head 
 like a hunted stag. 
 
 " We are being followed close, Cornelis," he said 
 calmly. 
 
 Another ten yards and we were at a cross-road, 
 where a little place faced a biggish mosque. I could 
 see in the waning light a crowd of people who seemed 
 to be moving towards us. I heard a high-pitched 
 voice cry out a jabber of excited words, and it 
 seemed to me that I had heard the voice before.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 
 
 We battled to a corner, where a jut of building stood 
 out into the street. It was our only chance to pro- 
 tect our backs, to stand up with the rib of stone 
 between us. It was only the work of seconds. One 
 instant we were groping our solitary way in the 
 darkness, the next we were pinned against a wall 
 with a throaty mob surging round us. 
 
 It took me a moment or two to realise that we 
 were attacked. Every man has one special funk in 
 the back of his head, and mine was to be the quarry 
 of an angry crowd. I hated the thought of it — the 
 mess, the blind struggle, the sense of unleashed 
 passions different from those of any single black- 
 guard. It was a dark world to me, and I don't like 
 darkness. But in my nightmares I had never 
 imagined anything just like this. The narrow, fetid 
 street, with the icy winds fanning the filth, the un- 
 known tongue, the hoarse savage murmur, and my 
 utter ignorance as to what it might all be about, 
 made me cold in the pit of my stomach. 
 
 " We've got it in the neck this time, old man," 
 I said to Peter, who had out the pistol the comman- 
 dant at Rustchuk had given him. These pistols 
 were our only weapons. The crowd saw them and 
 hung back, but if they chose to rush us it wasn't 
 much of a barrier two pistols would make. 
 
 Rasta's voice had stopped. He had done his 
 work, and had retired to the background. There 
 
 U2
 
 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 143 
 
 were shouts from the crowd — " Alleman " and a word 
 " Khafiyeh " constantly repeated. I didn't know what 
 it meant at the time, but now I know that they 
 were after us because we were Boches and spies. 
 There was no love lost between the Constantinople 
 scum and their new masters. It seemed an ironical 
 end for Peter and me to be done in because we were 
 Boches. And done in we should be. I had heard 
 of the East as a good place for people to disappear 
 in ; there were no inquisitive newspapers or in- 
 corruptible police. 
 
 I wished to Heaven I had a word of Turkish. 
 But I made my voice heard for a second in a pause 
 of the din, and shouted that we were German sailors 
 who had brought down big guns for Turkey, and 
 were going home next day. I asked them what the 
 devil they thought we had done ? I don't know 
 if any fellow there understood German ; anyhow, it 
 only brought a pandemonium of cries in which that 
 ominous word Khafiyeh was predominant. 
 
 Then Peter fired over their heads. He had to, for 
 a chap was pawing at his throat. The answer was. 
 a clatter of bullets on the wall above us. It looked 
 as if they meant to take us alive, and that I was 
 very clear should not happen. Better a bloody end 
 in a street scrap than the tender mercies of that 
 bandbox bravo. 
 
 I don't quite know what happened next. A press, 
 drove down at me and I fired. Some one squealed, 
 and I looked the next moment to be strangled. 
 And then suddenly the scrimmage ceased, and there 
 was a wavering splash of light in that pit of darkness. 
 
 I never went through many worse minutes than 
 these. When I had been hunted in the past weeks 
 there had been mystery enough, but no immediate 
 peril to face. When I had been up against a real, 
 urgent, physical risk, like Loos, the danger at any 
 rate had been clear. One knew what one was in for
 
 144 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 
 
 But here was a threat I couldn't put a name to, and 
 it wasn't in the future, but pressing hard at our 
 throats. 
 
 And yet I couldn't feel it was quite real. The 
 patter of the pistol bullets against the wall, like so 
 many crackers, the faces felt rather than seen in the 
 dark, the clamour which to me was pure gibberish, 
 had all the madness of a nightmare. Only Peter, 
 cursing steadily in Dutch by my side, was real. 
 And then the light came, and made the scene more 
 eerie ! 
 
 It came from one or two torches carried by wild 
 fellows with long staves who drove their way into 
 the heart of the mob. The flickering glare ran up 
 the steep walls and made monstrous shadows. The 
 wind swung the flame into long streamers, dying 
 away in a fan of sparks. 
 
 And now a new word was heard in the crowd. 
 It was Chinganeh, shouted not in anger but in fear. 
 
 At first I could not see the new-comers. They 
 were hidden in the deep darkness under their canopy 
 of light, for they were holding their torches high at 
 the full stretch of their arms. They were shouting, 
 too, wild shrill cries ending sometimes in a gush of 
 rapid speech. Their words did not seem to be 
 directed against us, but against the crowd. A 
 sudden hope came to me that for some unknown 
 reason they were on our side. 
 
 The press was no longer heavy against us. It 
 was thinning rapidly and I could hear the scuffle 
 as men made off down the side streets. My first 
 notion was that these were the Turkish police. But 
 I changed my mind when the leader came out into 
 a patch of light. He carried no torch, but a long 
 stave with which he belaboured the heads of those 
 who were too tightly packed to flee. 
 
 It was the most eldritch apparition you can con- 
 ceive. A tall man dressed in skins, with bare legs
 
 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 145 
 
 and sandal-shod feet. A wisp of scarlet cloth clung 
 to his shoulders, and, drawn over his head down 
 close to his eyes, was a skull-cap of some kind of 
 pelt with the tail waving behind it. He capered like 
 a wild animal, keeping up a strange high monotone 
 that fairly gave me the creeps. 
 
 I was suddenly aware that the crowd had gone. 
 Before us was only this figure and his half-dozen 
 companions, some carrying torches and all wearing 
 clothes of skin. But only the one who seemed to 
 be their leader wore the skull-cap ; the rest had 
 bare heads and long tangled hair. 
 
 The fellow was shouting gibberish at me. His 
 eyes were glassy, like a man who smokes hemp, and 
 his legs were never still a second. You would think 
 such a figure no better than a mountebank, and yet 
 there was nothing comic in it. Fearful and sinister 
 and uncanny it was ; and I wanted to do anything 
 but laugh. 
 
 As he shouted he kept pointing with his stave up 
 the street which climbed the hillside. 
 
 " He means us to move," said Peter. " For God's 
 sake let's get away from this witch-doctor." 
 
 I couldn't make sense of it, but one thing was clear. 
 These maniacs had delivered us for the moment 
 from Rasta and his friends. 
 
 Then I did a dashed silly thing. I pulled out a 
 sovereign and offered it to the leader. I had some 
 kind of notion of showing gratitude, and as I had no 
 words I had to show it by deed. 
 
 He brought his stick down on my wrist and sent 
 the coin spinning in the gutter. His eyes blazed, 
 and he made his weapon sing round my head. He 
 cursed me — oh, I could tell cursing well enough, 
 though I didn't follow a word ; and he cried to his 
 followers and they cursed me too. I had offered him 
 a mortal insult and stirred up a worse hornet's nest 
 than Rasta's push. 
 
 10
 
 146 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 
 
 Peter and I, with a common impulse, took to our 
 heels. We were not looking for any trouble with 
 demoniacs. Up the steep narrow lane we ran with 
 that bedlamite crowd at our heels. The torches 
 seemed to have gone out, for the place was black as 
 pitch, and we tumbled over heaps of offal and 
 splashed through running drains. The men were 
 close behind us, and more than once I felt a stick 
 on my shoulder. But fear lent us wings, and sud- 
 denly before us was a blaze of light and we saw the 
 debouchment of our street in a main thoroughfare. 
 The others saw it too, for they slackened off. Just 
 before we reached the light we stopped and looked 
 round. There was no sound or sight behind us in 
 the dark lane which dipped to the harbour. 
 
 " This is a queer country, Cornells," said Peter, 
 feeling his limbs for bruises. " Too many things 
 happen in too short a time. I am breathless." 
 
 The big street we had struck seemed to run along 
 the crest of the hill. There were lamps in it, and 
 crawling cabs, and quite civilised-looking shops. We 
 soon found the hotel to which Kuprasso had directed 
 us, a big place in a courtyard with a very tumble- 
 down-looking portico, and green sun shutters which 
 rattled drearily in the winter's wind. It proved, as 
 I had feared, to be packed to the door, mostly with 
 German officers. With some trouble I got an inter- 
 view with the proprietor, the usual Greek, and told 
 him that we had been sent there by Mr. Kuprasso. 
 That didn't affect him in the least, and we would 
 have been shot into the street if I hadn't remem- 
 bered about Stumm's pass. 
 
 So I explained that we had come from Germany 
 with munitions and only wanted rooms for one 
 night. I showed him the pass and blustered a good 
 deal, till he became civil and said he would do the 
 best he could for us. 
 
 That best was pretty poor. Peter and I were
 
 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 147 
 
 doubled up in a small room which contained two 
 camp beds and little else, and had broken windows 
 through which the wind whistled. We had a wretched 
 dinner of stringy mutton boiled with vegetables, 
 and a white cheese strong enough to raise the dead. 
 But I got a bottle of whisky, for which I paid a 
 sovereign, and we managed to light the stove in our 
 room, fasten the shutters, and warm our hearts with 
 a brew of toddy. After that we went to bed and 
 slept like logs for twelve hours. On the road from 
 Rustchuk we had had uneasy slumbers. 
 
 I woke next morning and, looking out from the 
 broken window, saw that it was snowing. With a 
 lot of trouble I got hold of a servant and made him 
 bring us some of the treacly Turkish coffee. We 
 were both in pretty low spirits. " Europe is a poor 
 cold place," said Peter, " not worth fighting for. 
 There is only one white man's land, and that is South 
 Africa." At the time I heartily agreed with him. 
 
 I remember that, sitting on the edge of my bed, 
 I took stock of our position. It was not very cheer- 
 ing. We seemed to have been amassing enemies at 
 a furious pace. First of all, there was Rasta, whom 
 I had insulted and who wouldn't forget it in a hurry. 
 He had his crowd of Turkish riff-raff and was bound 
 to get us sooner or later. Then there was the maniac 
 in the skin hat. He didn't like Rasta, and I made 
 a guess that he and his weird friends were of some 
 party hostile to the Young Turks. But, on the 
 other hand, he didn't like us, and there would be bad 
 trouble the next time we met him. Finally, there 
 was Stumm and the German Government. It could 
 only be a matter of hours at the best before he got 
 the Rustchuk authorities on our trail. It would be 
 easy to trace us from Chataldja, and once they had 
 us we were absolutely done. There was a big black 
 dossier against us, which by no conceivable piece of 
 luck could be upset.
 
 148 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 
 
 It was very clear to me that, unless we could find 
 sanctuary and shed all our various pursuers during 
 this day, we should be done in for good and all. 
 But where on earth were we to find sanctuary ? 
 We had neither of us a word of the language, and 
 there was no way I could see of taking on new char- 
 acters. For that we wanted friends and help, and 
 I could think of none anywhere. Somewhere, to be 
 sure, there was Blenkiron, but how could we get in 
 touch with him ? As for Sandy, I had pretty well 
 given him up. I always thought his enterprise the 
 craziest of the lot and bound to fail. He was pro- 
 bably somewhere in Asia Minor, and a month or 
 two later would get to Constantinople and hear in 
 some pot-house the yarn of the two wretched Dutch- 
 men who had disappeared so soon from men's sight. 
 
 That rendezvous at Kuprasso's was no good. It 
 would have been all right if we had got here unsus- 
 pected, and could have gone on quietly frequenting 
 the place till Blenkiron picked us up. But to do 
 that we wanted leisure and secrecy, and here we 
 were with a pack of hounds at our heels. The place 
 was horribly dangerous already. If we showed 
 ourselves there we should be gathered in by Rasta, 
 or by the German military police, or by the madman 
 in the skin cap. It was a stark impossibility to hang 
 about on the off-chance of meeting Blenkiron. 
 
 I reflected with some bitterness that this was the 
 17th day of January, the day of our assignation. I 
 had had high hopes all the way down the Danube of 
 meeting with Blenkiron — for I knew he would be in 
 time — of giving him the information I had had the 
 good fortune to collect, of piecing it together with 
 what he had found out, and of getting the whole 
 story which Sir Walter hungered for. After that, I 
 thought it wouldn't be hard to get away by Rumania, 
 and to get home through Russia. I had hoped to 
 be back with my battalion in February, having
 
 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 149 
 
 done as good a bit of work as anybody in the war. 
 As it was, it looked as if my information would die 
 with me, unless I could find Blenkiron before the 
 evening. 
 
 I talked the thing over with Peter, and he agreed 
 that we were fairly up against it. We decided to go 
 to Kuprasso's that afternoon, and to trust to luck 
 for the rest. It wouldn't do to wander about the 
 streets, so we sat tight in our room all morning, and 
 swopped old hunting yarns to keep our minds from 
 the beastly present. We got some food at midday 
 — cold mutton and the same cheese, and finished 
 our whisky. Then I paid the bill, for I didn't dare 
 to stay there another night. About half-past three 
 we went into the street, without the foggiest notion 
 where we would find our next quarters. 
 
 It was snowing heavily, which was a piece of luck 
 for us. Poor old Peter had no greatcoat, so we 
 went into a Jew's shop and bought a ready-made 
 abomination, which looked as if it might have been 
 meant for a dissenting parson. It was no good saving 
 my money when the future was so black. The snow 
 made the streets deserted, and we turned down the 
 long lane which led to Ratchik ferry and found it 
 perfectly quiet. I do not think we met a soul till 
 we got to Kuprasso's shop. 
 
 We walked straight through the cafe, which was 
 empty, and down the dark passage, till we were 
 stopped by the garden door. I knocked and it 
 swung open. There was the bleak yard, now puddled 
 with snow, and a blaze of light from the pavilion at 
 the other end. There was a scraping of fiddles, too, 
 and the sound of human talk. We paid the negro 
 at the door, and passed from the bitter afternoon 
 into a garish saloon. 
 
 There were forty or fifty people there, drinking 
 coffee and sirops and filling the air with the fumes 
 of latakia. Most of them were Turks in European
 
 150 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 
 
 clothes and the fez, but there were some German 
 officers and what looked like German civilians — Army 
 Service Corps clerks, probably, and mechanics from 
 the Arsenal. A woman in cheap finery was tinkling 
 at the piano, and there were several shrill females 
 with the officers. Peter and I sat down modestly 
 in the nearest corner, where old Kuprasso saw us and 
 sent us coffee. A girl who looked like a Jewess 
 came over to us and talked French, but I shook my 
 head and she went off again. 
 
 Presently a girl came on the stage and danced, a 
 silly affair, all a clashing of tambourines and wriggling. 
 I have seen native women do the same thing better 
 in a Mozambique kraal. Another sang a German 
 song, a simple, sentimental thing about golden hair 
 and rainbows, and the Germans present applauded. 
 The place was so tinselly and common that, coming 
 to it from weeks of rough travelling, it made me im- 
 patient. I forgot that, while for the others it might 
 be a vulgar little dancing-hall, for us it was as 
 perilous as a brigands' den. 
 
 Peter did not share my mood. He was quite in- 
 terested in it, as he was interested in everything 
 new. He had a genius for living in the moment. 
 
 I remember there was a drop-scene on which was 
 daubed a blue lake with very green hills in the dis- 
 tance. As the tobacco smoke grew thicker and the 
 fiddles went on squealing, this tawdry picture began 
 to mesmerise me. I seemed to be looking out of a 
 window at a lovely summer landscape where there 
 were no wars or dangers. I seemed to feel the warm 
 sun and to smell the fragrance of blossom from the 
 islands. And then I became aware that a queer 
 scent had stolen into the atmosphere 
 
 There were braziers burning at both ends to warm 
 the room, and the thin smoke from these smelt like 
 incense. Somebody had been putting a powder in 
 the flames, for suddenly the place became very quiet.
 
 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS lol 
 
 The fiddles still sounded, but far away like an echo. 
 The lights went down, all but a circle on the stage, 
 and into that circle stepped my enemy of the skin cap. 
 
 He had three others with him. I heard a whisper 
 behind me, and the words were those which Kuprasso 
 had used the day before. These bedlamites were 
 called the Companions of the Rosy Hours, and 
 Kuprasso had promised great dancing. 
 
 I hoped to goodness they would not see us, for 
 they had fairly given me the horrors. Peter felt 
 the same, and we both made ourselves very small in 
 that dark corner. But the newcomers had no eyes 
 for us. 
 
 In a twinkling the pavilion changed from a common 
 saloon, which might have been in Chicago or Paris, 
 to a place of mystery — yes, and of beauty. It 
 became the garden-house of Suliman the Red, who- 
 ever that sportsman may have been. Sandy had 
 said that the ends of the earth converged there, and 
 he had been right. I lost all consciousness of 
 my neighbours — stout German, frock-coated Turk, 
 frowsy Jewess — and saw only strange figures leaping 
 in a circle of light, figures that came out of the deepest 
 darkness to make big magic. 
 
 The leader flung some stuff into the brazier and 
 a great fan of blue light flared up. He was weaving 
 circles, and he was singing something shrill and high, 
 whilst his companions made a chorus with their deep 
 monotone. I can't tell you what the dance was. 
 I had seen the Russian ballet just before the war, 
 and one of the men in it reminded me of this man. 
 But the dancing was the least part of it. It was 
 neither sound nor movement nor scent that wrought 
 the spell, but something far more potent. In an 
 instant I found myself reft away from the present 
 with its dull dangers, and looking at a world all 
 young and fresh and beautiful. The gaudy drop- 
 scene had vanished. It was a window I was looking
 
 152 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 
 
 from, and I was gazing at the finest landscape on 
 earth, lit by the pure clean light of morning. 
 
 It seemed to be part of the veld, but like no veld 
 I had ever seen. It was wider and wilder and more 
 gracious. Indeed, I was looking at my first youth. I 
 was feeling the kind of immortal light -heartedness 
 which only a boy knows in the dawning of his days. 
 I had no longer any fear of these magic-makers. 
 They were kindly wizards, who had brought me into 
 fairyland. 
 
 Then slowly from the silence there distilled drops 
 of music. They came like water falling a long way 
 into a cup, each the essential quality of pure sound. 
 We, with our elaborate harmonies, have forgotten the 
 charm of single notes. The African natives know 
 it, and I remember a learned man once telling me 
 that the Greeks had the same art. Those silver 
 bells broke out of infinite space, so exquisite and 
 perfect that no mortal words could have been fitted 
 to them. That was the music, I expect, that the 
 morning stars made when they sang together. 
 
 Slowly, very slowly, it changed. The glow passed 
 from blue to purple, and then to an angry red. Bit 
 by bit the notes spun together till they had made 
 a harmony — a fierce, restless harmony. And I was 
 conscious again of the skin-clad dancers beckoning 
 out of their circle. 
 
 There was no mistake about the meaning now. 
 All the daintiness and youth had fled, and passion 
 was beating in the air — terrible, savage passion, which 
 belonged neither to day nor night, life nor death, 
 but to the half-world between them. I suddenly 
 felt the dancers as monstrous, inhuman, devilish. 
 The thick scents that floated from the brazier seemed 
 to have a tang of new-shed blood. Cries broke from 
 the hearers — cries of anger and lust and terror. I 
 heard a woman sob, and Peter, who is as tough as 
 any mortal, took tight hold of my arm.
 
 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 153 
 
 I now realised that these Companions of the Rosy 
 Hours were the only thing in the world to fear. 
 Rasta and Stumm seemed feeble simpletons by con- 
 trast. The window I had been looking out of was 
 changed to a prison wall — I could see the mortar 
 between the massive blocks. In a second these 
 devils would be smelling out their enemies like some 
 foul witch-doctors. I felt the burning eyes of their 
 leader looking for me in the gloom. Peter was 
 praying audibly beside me, and I could have choked 
 him. His infernal chatter would reveal us, for it 
 seemed to me that there was no one in the place 
 except us and the magic-workers. 
 
 Then suddenly the spell was broken. The door 
 was flung open and a great gust of icy wind swirled 
 through the hall, driving clouds of ashes from the 
 braziers. I heard loud voices without, and a hubbub 
 began inside. For a moment it was quite dark, 
 and then some one lit one of the flare lamps by the 
 stage. It revealed nothing but the common squalor 
 of a low saloon — white faces, sleepy eyes, and frowsy 
 heads. The drop-scene was there in all its tawdri- 
 ness. 
 
 The Companions of the Rosy Hours had gone 
 But at the door stood men in uniform. I heard a 
 German a long way off murmur, " Enver's body- 
 guards," and I heard him distinctly ; for, though I 
 could not see clearly, my hearing was desperately 
 acute. That is often the way when you suddenly 
 come out of a swoon. 
 
 The place emptied like magic. Turk and German 
 tumbled over each other, while Kuprasso wailed and 
 wept. No one seemed to stop them, and then I saw 
 the reason. Those Guards had come for us. This 
 must be Stumm at last. The authorities had tracked 
 us down, and it was all up with Peter and me. 
 
 A sudden revulsion leaves a man with low vitality.
 
 154 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 
 
 I didn't seem to care greatly. We were done, and 
 there was an end of it. It was Kismet, the act of 
 God, and there was nothing for it but to submit. I 
 hadn't a flicker of a thought of escape or resistance. 
 The game was utterly and absolutely over. 
 
 A man who seemed to be a sergeant pointed to us 
 and said something to Kuprasso, who nodded. We 
 got heavily to our feet and stumbled towards them. 
 With one on each side of us we crossed the yard, 
 walked through the dark passage and the empty 
 shop, and out into the snowy street. There was a 
 closed carriage waiting which they motioned us to get 
 into. It looked exactly like the Black Maria. 
 
 Both of us sat still, like truant schoolboys, with 
 our hands on our knees. I didn't know where I was 
 going and I didn't care. We seemed to be rumbling 
 up the hill, and then I caught the glare of lighted 
 streets. 
 
 " This is the end of it, Peter," I said. 
 
 " J a, Cornells, " he replied, and that was all our 
 talk. 
 
 By and by — hours later it seemed — we stopped. 
 Some one opened the door and we got out, to find 
 ourselves in a courtyard with a huge dark building 
 around. The prison, I guessed, and I wondered if 
 they would give us blankets, for it was perishing 
 cold. 
 
 We entered a door, and found ourselves in a big 
 stone hall. It was quite warm, which made me 
 more hopeful about our cells. A man in some kind 
 of uniform pointed to the staircase, up which we 
 plodded wearily. My mind was too blank to take 
 clear impressions, or in any way to forecast the 
 future. Another warder met us and took us down 
 a passage till we halted at a door. He stood aside and 
 motioned us to enter. 
 
 I guessed that this was the governor's room, and 
 we should be put through our first examination. My
 
 COMPANIONS OF THE ROSY HOURS 155 
 
 head was too stupid to think, and I made up my 
 mind to keep perfectly mum. Yes, even if they 
 tried thumbscrews. I had no kind of story, but I 
 resolved not to give anything away. As I turned 
 the handle I wondered idly what kind of sallow Turk 
 or bulging-necked German we should find inside. 
 
 It was a pleasant room, with a polished wood floor 
 and a big fire burning on the hearth. Beside the 
 fire a man lay on a couch, with a little table drawn 
 up beside him. On that table was a small glass of 
 milk and a number of Patience cards spread in rows. 
 
 I stared blankly at the spectacle, till I saw a 
 second figure. It was the man in the skin-cap, the 
 leader of the dancing maniacs. Both Peter and I 
 backed sharply at the sight and then stood stock 
 still. 
 
 For the dancer crossed the room in two strides and 
 gripped both of my hands. 
 
 " Dick, old man," he cried, " I'm most awfully 
 glad to see you again ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 FOUR MISSIONARIES SEE LIGHT IN THEIR MISSION 
 
 A spasm of incredulity, a vast relief, and that sharp 
 joy which comes of reaction chased each other across 
 my mind. I had come suddenly out of very black 
 waters into an unbelievable calm. I dropped into 
 the nearest chair and tried to grapple with something 
 far beyond words. 
 
 " Sandy," I said, as soon as I got my breath, 
 " you're an incarnate devil. You've given Peter 
 and me the fright of our lives." 
 
 " It was the only way, Dick. If I hadn't come 
 mewing like a tom-cat at your heels yesterday, Rasta 
 would have had you long before you got to your 
 hotel. You two have given me a pretty anxious 
 time, and it took some doing to get you safe here. 
 However, that is all over now. Make yourselves at 
 home, my children." 
 
 " Over ! " I cried incredulously, for my wits were 
 still wool-gathering. " What place is this ? " 
 
 " You may call it my humble home "—it was Blen- 
 kiron's sleek voice that spoke. " We've been pre- 
 paring for you, Major, but it was only yesterday I 
 heard of your friend." 
 
 I introduced Peter. 
 
 " Mr. Pienaar," said Blenkiron, " pleased to 
 meet you. Well, as I was observing, you're safe 
 enough here, but you've cut it mighty fine. Officially, 
 a Dutchman called Brandt was to be arrested this 
 
 156
 
 FOUR MISSIONARIES SEE LIGHT 157 
 
 afternoon and handed over to the German authorities. 
 When Germany begins to trouble about that Dutch- 
 man she will find difficulty in getting the body ; but 
 such are the languid ways of an Oriental despotism. 
 Meantime the Dutchman will be no more. He will 
 have ceased upon the midnight without pain, as 
 your poet sings." 
 
 " But I don't understand," I stammered. " Who 
 arrested us ? " 
 
 " My men," said Sandy. " We have a bit of a 
 graft here, and it wasn't difficult to manage it. Old 
 Moellendorff will be nosing after the business to- 
 morrow, but he will find the mystery too deep for 
 him. That is the advantage of a Government run 
 by a pack of adventurers. But, by Jove, Dick, we 
 hadn't any time to spare. If Rasta had got you, or 
 the Germans had had the job of lifting you, your 
 goose would have been jolly well cooked. I had 
 some unquiet hours this morning." 
 
 The thing was too deep for me. I looked at Blen- 
 kiron, shuffling his Patience cards with his old sleepy 
 smile, and Sandy, dressed like some bandit in melo- 
 drama, his lean face as brown as a nut, his bare 
 arms all tattooed with crimson rings, and the fox 
 pelt drawn tight over brow and ears. It was still a 
 nightmare world, but the dream was getting plea- 
 santer. Peter said not a word, but I could see his 
 eyes heavy with his own thoughts. 
 
 Blenkiron hove himself from the sofa and waddled 
 to a cupboard. 
 
 " You boys must be hungry," he said. " My duo- 
 denum has been giving me hell as usual, and I don't 
 eat no more than a squirrel. But I laid in some 
 stores, for I guessed you would want to stoke up 
 some after your travels." 
 
 He brought out a couple of Strassburg pies, a 
 cheese, a cold chicken, a loaf, and three bottles of 
 champagne.
 
 158 FOUR MISSIONARIES SEE LIGHT 
 
 " Fizz," said Sandy rapturously " And a dry 
 Heidsieck too ! We're in luck, Dick, old man." 
 
 I never ate a more welcome meal, for we had 
 starved* in that dirty hotel. But I had still the old 
 feeling of the hunted, and before I began I asked 
 about the door. 
 
 " That's all right," said Sandy. " My fellows are 
 on the stair and at the gate. If the Metreb are in 
 possession, you may bet that other people will keep 
 off. Your past is blotted out, clean vanished away, 
 and you begin to-morrow morning with a new sheet. 
 Blenkiron's the man you've got to thank for that. 
 He was pretty certain you'd get here, but he was 
 also certain that you'd arrive in a hurry with a good 
 many inquiries behind you. So he arranged that 
 you should leak away and start fresh." 
 
 ' ; Your name is Richard Hanau," Blenkiron said, 
 " born in Cleveland, Ohio, of German parentage on 
 both sides. One of our brightest mining-engineers, 
 and the apple of Guggenheim's eye. You arrived 
 this afternoon from Constanza, and I met you at the 
 packet. The clothes for the part are in your bed- 
 room next door. But I guess all that can wait, for 
 I'm anxious to get to business. We're not here on a 
 joy-ride, Major, so I reckon we'll leave out the dime- 
 novel adventures. I'm just dying to hear them, 
 but they'll keep. I want to know how our mutual 
 inquiries have prospered." 
 
 He gave Peter and me cigars, and we sat ourselves 
 in arm-chairs in front of the blaze. Sandy squatted 
 cross-legged on the hearthrug and lit a foul old 
 briar pipe, which he extricated from some pouch 
 among his skins. And so began that conversation 
 which had never been out of my thoughts for four 
 hectic weeks. 
 
 " If I presume to begin," said Blenkiron, " it's 
 because I reckon my story is the shortest. I have 
 to confess to you, gentlemen, that I have failed.' 
 
 5»
 
 IN THEIR MISSION 159 
 
 He drew down the corners of his mouth till he 
 looked a cross between a music-hall comedian and a 
 sick child. 
 
 " If you were looking for something in the root 
 of the hedge, you wouldn't want to scour the road 
 in a high-speed automobile. And still less would 
 you want to get a bird's-eye view in an aeroplane. 
 That parable about fits my case. I have been in 
 the clouds and I've been scorching on the pikes, but 
 what I was wanting was in the ditch all the time, 
 and I naturally missed it. ... I had the wrong- 
 stunt, Major. I was too high up and refined. I've 
 been processing through Europe like Barnum's 
 Circus, and living with generals and transj^arencies. 
 Not that I haven't picked up a lot of noos, and got 
 some very interesting sidelights on high politics. 
 But the thing I was after wasn't to be found on my 
 beat, for those that knew it weren't going to tell. In 
 that kind of society they don't get drunk and blab 
 after their tenth cocktail. So I guess I've no con- 
 tribution to make to quieting Sir Walter Bullivant's 
 mind, except that he's dead right. Yes, sir, he has 
 hit the spot and rung the bell. There is a mighty 
 miracle-working proposition being floated in these 
 parts, but the promoters are keeping it to themselves. 
 They aren't taking in more than they can help on 
 the ground-floor." 
 
 Blenkiron stopped to light a fresh cigar. He was 
 leaner than when he left London and there were 
 pouches below his eyes. I fancy his journey had not 
 been as fur-lined as he made out. 
 
 " I've found out one thing, and that is, that the 
 last dream Germany will part with is the control 
 of the Near East. That is what your statesmen 
 don't figure enough on. She'll give up Belgium and 
 Alsace-Lorraine and Poland, but by God ! she'll never 
 give up the road to Mesopotamia till you have her 
 by the throat and make her drop it. Sir Walter is
 
 160 FOUR MISSIONARIES SEE LIGHT 
 
 a pretty bright-eyed citizen, and he sees it right 
 enough. If the worst happens, Kaiser will fling over- 
 board a lot of ballast in Europe, and it will look like 
 a big victory for the Allies, but he won't be beaten 
 if he has the road to the East safe. Germany's like 
 a scorpion : her sting's in her tail, and that tail 
 stretches way down into Asia. 
 
 " I got that clear, and I also made out that it 
 wasn't going to be dead easy for her to keep that 
 tail healthy. Turkey's a bit of an anxiety, as you'll 
 soon discover. But Germany thinks she can manage 
 it, and I won't say she can't. It depends on the 
 hand she holds, and she reckons it a good one. I 
 tried to find out, but they gave me nothing but 
 eyewash. I had to pretend to be satisfied, for the 
 position of John S. wasn't so strong as to allow him 
 to take liberties. If I asked one of the highbrows, 
 he looked wise and spoke of the might of German 
 arms and German organisation and German staff- 
 work. I used to nod my head and get enthusiastic 
 about these stunts, but it was all soft soap. She has 
 a trick in hand — that much I know, but I'm darned 
 if I can put a name to it. I pray to God. you boys 
 have been cleverer." 
 
 His tone was quite melancholy, and I was mean 
 enough to feel rather glad. He had been the pro- 
 fessional with the best chance. It would be a good 
 joke if the amateur succeeded where the expert failed. 
 
 I looked at Sandy-. He filled his pipe again, and 
 pushed back his skin cap from his brows. What 
 with his long dishevelled hair, his high-boned face, 
 and stained eyebrows he had the appearance of some 
 mad mullah. 
 
 " I went straight to Smyrna," he said. " It wasn't 
 difficult, for you see I had laid down a good many 
 lines in former travels. I reached the town as a 
 Greek money-lender from the Fayum, but I had 
 friends there I could count on, and the same evening
 
 IN THEIR MISSION 161 
 
 I was a Turkish gipsy, a member of the most famous 
 fraternity in Western Asia. I had long been a 
 member, and I'm blood-brother of the chief boss, so 
 I stepped into the part ready made. But I found 
 out that the Company of the Rosy Hours was not 
 what I had known it in 1910. Then it had been all 
 for the Young Turks and reform ; now it hankered 
 after the old regime and was the last hope of the 
 Orthodox. It had no use for Enver and his friends, 
 and it did not regard with pleasure the beaux yeux 
 of the Teuton. It stood for Islam and the old ways, 
 and mi^ht be described as a Conservative-Nationalist 
 caucus. But it was uncommon powerful in the 
 provinces, and Enver and Talaat daren't meddle 
 with it. The dangerous thing about it was that it 
 said nothing and apparently did nothing. It just 
 bided its time and took notes. 
 
 " You can imagine that this was the very kind of 
 crowd for my purpose. I knew of old its little ways, 
 for with all its orthodoxy it dabbled a good deal in 
 magic, and owed half its power to its atmosphere 
 of the uncanny. The Companions could dance the 
 heart out of the ordinary Turk. You saw a bit 
 of one of our dances this afternoon, Dick — pretty 
 good, wasn't it ? They could go anywhere, and no 
 questions asked. They knew what the ordinary man 
 was thinking, for they were the best intelligence 
 department in the Ottoman Empire — far better than 
 Enver's Khaftyeh. And they were popular too, for 
 they had never bowed the knee to the Nemseh — the 
 Germans who are squeezing out the life-blood of the 
 Osmanli for their own ends. It would have been as 
 much as the life of the Committee or its German 
 masters was worth to lay a hand on us, for we clung 
 together like leeches and we were not in the habit 
 of sticking at trifles. 
 
 " Well, you may imagine it wasn't difficult for me 
 to move where I wanted. My dress and the pass- 
 
 11
 
 162 FOUR MISSIONARIES SEE LIGHT 
 
 word franked me anywhere. I travelled from Smyrna 
 by the new railway to Pandemia on the Marmora, 
 and got there just before Christmas. That was 
 after Anzac and Suvla had been evacuated, but I 
 could hear the guns going hard at Cape Helles. From 
 Panderma I started to cross to Thrace in a coasting 
 steamer. And there an uncommon funny thing 
 happened — I got torpedoed. 
 
 " It must have been about the last effort of a 
 British submarine in those waters. But she got us 
 all right. She gave us ten minutes to take to the 
 boats, and then sent the blighted old packet and a 
 fine cargo of 6-inch shells to the bottom. There 
 weren't many passengers, so it was easy enough to 
 get ashore in the ship's boats. The submarine sat 
 on the surface watching us, as we wailed and howled 
 in the true Oriental way, and I saw the captain 
 quite close in the conning-tower. Who do you 
 think it was ? Tommy Elliot, who lives on the other 
 side of the hill from me at home. 
 
 " I gave Tommy the surprise of his life. As we 
 bumped past him, I started the ' Flowers of the 
 Forest ' — the old version — on the antique stringed 
 instrument I carried, and I sang the words very 
 plain. Tommy's eyes bulged out of his head, and 
 he shouted at me in English to know who the devil 
 I was. I replied in the broadest Scots, which no 
 man in the submarine or in our boat could have 
 understood a word of. ' Maister Tammy,' I cried, 
 4 what for wad ye skail a dacent tinkler lad intil a 
 cauld sea ? I'll gie ye your kail through the reek 
 for this ploy the next time I forgaither wi' ye on the 
 tap o' Caerdon.' 
 
 " Tommy spotted me in a second. He laughed 
 till he cried, and as we moved off shouted to me in 
 the same language to ' pit a stoot hert tae a stey 
 brae.' I hope to Heaven he had the sense not to 
 tell my father, or the old man will have had a fit.
 
 IN THEIR MISSION 163 
 
 He never much approved of my wanderings, and 
 thought I was safely anchored in the battalion. 
 
 " Well, to make a long story short, I got to Con- 
 stantinople, and pretty soon found touch with Blen- 
 kiron. The rest you know. . . . And now for 
 business. I have been fairly lucky — but no more, 
 for I haven't got to the bottom of the thing nor 
 anything like it. But I've solved the first of 
 Harry Bullivant's riddles. I know the meaning of 
 Kasredin. 
 
 " Sir Walter was right, as Blenkiron has told us. 
 There's a great stirring in Islam, something moving 
 on the face of the waters. They make no secret 
 of it. Those religious revivals come in cycles, and 
 one was due about now. And they are quite clear 
 about the details. A seer has arisen of the blood 
 of the Prophet, who will restore the Khalifate to 
 its old glories and Islam to its old purity. His 
 sayings are everywhere in the Moslem world. All 
 the orthodox believers have them by heart. That 
 is why they are enduring grinding poverty and pre- 
 posterous taxation, and that is why their young 
 men are rolling up to the armies and dying without 
 complaint in Gallipoli and Transcaucasia. They 
 believe they are on the eve of a great deliverance. 
 
 ' Now the first thing I found out was that the 
 Young Turks had nothing to do with this. They are 
 unpopular and unorthodox and no true Turks. 
 But Germany has. How, I don't know, but I could 
 see quite plainly that in some subtle way Germany 
 was regarded as a collaborator in the movement. 
 It is that belief that is keeping the present regime 
 going. The ordinary Turk loathes the Committee, 
 but he has some queer perverted expectation from 
 Germany. It is not a case of Enver and the rest 
 carrying on their shoulders the unpopular Teuton; 
 it is a case of the Teuton carrying the unpopular 
 Committee. And Germany's graft is just this and
 
 164 FOUR MISSIONARIES SEE LIGHT 
 
 nothing more — that she has some hand in the coming 
 of the new deliverer. 
 
 " They talk about the thing quite openly. It is 
 called the Kadba-i-hurriyeh, the Palladium of Liberty. 
 The prophet himself is known as Zimrud — ' the 
 Emerald ' — and his four ministers are called also 
 after jewels — Sapphire, Ruby, Pearl, and Topaz. 
 You will hear their names as often in the talk of the 
 towns and villages as you will hear the names of 
 generals in England. But no one knew where Zimrud 
 was or when he would reveal himself, though every 
 week came his messages to the faithful. All that I 
 could learn was that he and his followers were coming 
 from the West. 
 
 " You will say, what about Kasredin ? That 
 puzzled me dreadfully, for no one used the phrase. 
 The Home of the Spirit ! It is an obvious cliche, 
 just as in England some new sect might call itself 
 the Church of Christ. Only no one seemed to use it. 
 
 " But by and by I discovered that there 
 was an inner and an outer circle in this mystery. 
 Every creed has an esoteric side which is kept 
 from the common herd. I struck this side in Con- 
 stantinople. Now there is a very famous Turkish 
 shaka called Kasredin, one of those old half-comic 
 miracle-plays with an allegorical meaning which 
 they call orta oyun, and which take a week to read. 
 That tale tells of the coming of a prophet, and I 
 found that the select of the faith spoke of the new 
 revelation in terms of it. The curious thing is that 
 in that tale the prophet is aided by one of the few 
 women who play much part in the hagiology of 
 Islam. That is the point of the tale, and it is partly 
 a jest, but mainly a religious mystery. The prophet, 
 too, is not called Emerald." 
 
 " I know, 5 ' I said ; " he is called Greenmantle." 
 
 Sandy scrambled to his feet, letting his pipe drop 
 in the fireplace.
 
 IN THEIR MISSION 165 
 
 " Now how on earth did you find out that ? " he 
 cried. 
 
 Then I told them of Stumm and Gaudian and the 
 whispered words I had not been meant to hear. 
 Blenkiron was giving me the benefit of a steady 
 stare, unusual from one who seemed always to have 
 his eyes abstracted, and Sandy had taken to rang- 
 ing up and down the room. 
 
 " Germany's in the heart of the plan. That is 
 what I always thought. If we're to find the Kaaba- 
 i-hurriyeh it is no good fossicking among the Committee 
 or in the Turkish provinces. The secret's in Ger- 
 many. Dick, you should not have crossed the 
 Danube." 
 
 " That's what I half feared," I said. " But on 
 the other hand it is obvious that the thing must come 
 east, and sooner rather than later. I take it they 
 can't afford to delay too long before they deliver the 
 goods. If we can stick it out here we must hit the 
 trail. . . . I've got another bit of evidence. I have 
 solved Harry Bullivant's third puzzle." 
 
 Sandy's eyes were very bright and I had an audi- 
 ence on wires. 
 
 " Did you say that in the tale of Kasredin a woman 
 is the ally of the prophet ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Sandy ; " what of that ? " 
 
 " Only that the same thing is true of Greenmantle. 
 I can give you her name." 
 
 I fetched a piece of paper and a pencil from Blen- 
 kiron's desk and handed it to Sandy. 
 
 " Write down Harry Bullivant's thud word." 
 
 He promptly wrote down " v. /." 
 
 Then I told them of the other name Stumm and 
 Gaudian had spoken. I told of my discovery as I 
 lay in the woodman's cottage. 
 
 " The ' I ' is not the letter of the alphabet, but 
 the numeral. The name is Von Einem — Hilda von 
 Einem."
 
 166 FOUR MISSIONARIES SEE LIGHT 
 
 " Good old Harry," said Sandy softly. " He was 
 a dashed clever chap. Hilda von Einem ! Who 
 and where is she ? for if we find her we have done 
 the trick." 
 
 Then Blenkiron spoke. " I reckon I can put you 
 wise on that, gentlemen," he said. " I saw her no 
 later than yesterday. She is a lovely lady. She 
 happens also to be the owner of this house." 
 
 Both Sandy and I began to laugh. It was too 
 comic to have stumbled across Europe and lighted 
 on the very headquarters of the puzzle we had set 
 out to unriddle. 
 
 But Blenkiron did not laugh. At the mention of 
 Hilda von Einem he had suddenly become very 
 solemn, and the sight of his face pulled me up short. 
 ' I don't like it, gentlemen," he said. " I would 
 rather you had mentioned any other name on God's 
 earth. I haven't been long in this city, but I have 
 been long enough to size up the various political 
 bosses. They haven't much to them. I reckon 
 they wouldn't stand up against what we could show 
 them in the U-nited States. But I have met the 
 Frau von Einem, and that lady's a very different 
 proposition. The man that will understand her has 
 got to take a biggish size in hats." 
 
 " Who is she ? " I asked. 
 
 " Why, that is just what I can't tell you. She 
 was a great excavator of Babylonish and Hittite 
 ruins, and she married a diplomat who went to glory 
 three years back. It isn't what she has been, but 
 what she is, and that's a mighty clever woman." 
 
 Blenkiron's respect did not depress me. I felt as 
 if at last we had got our job narrowed to a decent 
 compass, for I had hated casting about in the dark. 
 I asked where she lived. 
 
 " That I don't know," said Blenkiron. " You 
 won't find people unduly anxious to gratify your 
 natural curiosity about Frau von Einem."
 
 IN THEIR MISSION 167 
 
 " I can find that out," said Sandy. " That's 
 the advantage of having a push like mine. Mean- 
 time, I've got to clear, for my day's work isn't 
 finished. Dick, you and Peter must go to bed at 
 once." 
 
 " Why ? " I asked in amazement. Sandy spoke 
 like a medical adviser. 
 
 " Because I want your clothes — the things you've 
 got on now. I'll take them off with me and you'll 
 never see them again." 
 
 " You've a queer taste in souvenirs," I said. 
 
 " Say rather the Turkish police. The current in 
 the Bosporus is pretty strong, and these sad relics 
 of two misguided Dutchmen will be washed up 
 to-morrow about Seraglio Point. In this game you 
 must drop the curtain neat and pat at the end of 
 each scene, if you don't want trouble later with the 
 missing heir and the family lawyer."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 
 
 I walked out of that house next morning with 
 Blenkiron's arm in mine, a different being from the 
 friendless creature who had looked vainly the day 
 before for sanctuary. To begin with, I was splen- 
 didly dressed. I had a navy-blue suit with square 
 padded shoulders, a neat black bow-tie, shoes with 
 a hump at the toe, and a brown bowler. Over that 
 I wore a greatcoat lined with wolf fur. I had a 
 smart malacca cane, and one of Blenkiron's cigars in 
 my mouth. Peter had been made to trim his beard, 
 and, dressed in unassuming pepper-and-salt, looked 
 with his docile eyes and quiet voice a very respect- 
 able servant. Old Blenkiron had done the job in 
 style, for, if you'll believe it, he had brought the 
 clothes all the way from London. I realised now 
 why he and Sandy had been fossicking in my ward- 
 robe. Peter's suit had been of Sandy's procuring, 
 and it was not the fit of mine. I had no difficulty 
 about the accent. Any man brought up in the 
 colonies can get his tongue round American, and I 
 nattered myself I made a very fair shape at the 
 lingo of the Middle West. 
 
 The wind had gone to the south and the snow 
 was melting fast. There was a blue sky above Asia, 
 and away to the north masses of white cloud drifting 
 over the Black Sea. What had seemed the day 
 before the dingiest of cities now took on a strange 
 beauty, the beauty of unexpected horizons and 
 
 168
 
 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 1C9 
 
 tongues of grey water winding below cypress-studded 
 shores. A man's temper has a lot to do with his 
 appreciation of scenery. I felt a free man once 
 more, and could use my eyes. 
 
 That street was a jumble of every nationality on 
 earth. There were Turkish regulars in their queer, 
 conical khaki helmets, and wild-looking levies who 
 had no kin with Europe. There were squads of 
 Germans in flat forage-caps, staring vacantly at 
 novel sights, and quick to salute any officer on the 
 side-walk. Turks in closed carriages passed, and 
 Turks on good Arab horses, and Turks who looked 
 as if they had come out of the Ark. But it was the 
 rabble that caught the eye — a very wild, pinched, 
 miserable rabble. I never in my life saw such 
 swarms of beggars, and you walked down that 
 street to the accompaniment of entreaties for alms 
 in all the tongues of the Tower of Babel. Blenkiron 
 and I behaved as if we were interested tourists. We 
 would stop and laugh at one fellow and give a penny 
 to a second, passing comments in high-pitched 
 Western voices. 
 
 We went into a cafe and had a cup of coffee. A 
 beggar came in and asked alms. Hitherto Blen- 
 kiron's purse had been closed, but now he took out 
 some small nickels and planked five down on the 
 table. The man cried down blessings and picked up 
 three. Blenkiron very swiftly swept the other two 
 into his pocket. 
 
 That seemed to me queer, and I remarked that I 
 had never before seen a beggar who gave change. 
 Blenkiron said nothing, and presently we moved on 
 and came to the harbour-side. 
 
 There were a number of small tugs moored along- 
 side, and one or two bigger craft — fruit boats, I 
 judged, which used to ply in the iEgean. They 
 looked pretty well moth-eaten from disuse. We 
 stopped at one of them and watched a fellow in a
 
 170 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 
 
 blue nightcap splicing ropes. He raised his eyes 
 once and looked at us, and then kept on with his 
 business. 
 
 Blenkiron asked him where he came from, but he 
 shook his head, not understanding the tongue. A 
 Turkish policeman came up and stared at us sus- 
 piciously, till Blenkiron opened his coat, as if by 
 accident, and displayed a tiny square of ribbon, at 
 which he saluted. Failing to make conversation 
 with the sailor, Blenkiron flung him three of his 
 black cigars. " I guess you can smoke, friend, if 
 you can't talk," he said. 
 
 The man grinned and caught the three neatly in 
 the air. Then to my amazement he tossed one of 
 them back. 
 
 The donor regarded it quizzically as it lay on the 
 pavement. " That boy's a connoisseur of tobacco," 
 he said. As we moved away I saw the Turkish 
 policeman pick it up and put it inside his cap. 
 
 We returned by the long street on the crest of the 
 hill. There was a man selling oranges on a tray, 
 and Blenkiron stopped to look at them. I noticed 
 that the man shuffled fifteen into a cluster. Blen- 
 kiron felt the oranges, as if to see that they were 
 sound, and pushed two aside. The man instantly 
 restored them to the group, never raising his eyes. 
 
 " This ain't the time of year to buy fruit," said 
 Blenkiron as we passed on. " Those oranges are 
 rotten as medlars." 
 
 We were almost on our own doorstep before I 
 guessed the meaning of the business. 
 
 " Is your morning's work finished ? ' I said. 
 
 " Our morning's walk ? " he asked innocently. 
 
 " I said ' work.' " 
 
 He smiled blandly. " I reckoned you'd tumble 
 to it. Why, yes, except that I've some figuring still 
 to do. Give me half an hour and I'll be at your 
 service, Major."
 
 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 171 
 
 That afternoon, after Peter had cooked a won- 
 derfully good luncheon, I had a heart-to-heart talk 
 with Blenkiron. 
 
 " My business is to get noos," he said ; " and before 
 I start in on a stunt I make considerable preparations. 
 All the time in London when I was yelping at the 
 British Government, I was busy with Sir Walter 
 arranging things ahead. We used to meet in queer 
 places and at all hours of the night. I fixed up a lot 
 of connections in this city before I arrived, and 
 especially a noos service with your Foreign Office 
 by way of Rumania and Russia. In a day or two 
 I guess our friends will know all about our dis- 
 coveries." 
 
 At that I opened my eyes very wide. 
 
 " Why, yes. You Britishers haven't any notion 
 how wide-awake your Intelligence Service is. I 
 reckon it's easy the best of all the belligerents. You 
 never talked about it in peace time, and you shunned 
 the theatrical ways of the Teuton. But you had 
 the wires laid good and sure. I calculate there isn't 
 much that happens in any corner of the earth that 
 you don't know within twenty-four hours. I don't 
 say your highbrows use the noos well. I don't take 
 much stock in your political push. They're a lot 
 of silver-tongues, no doubt, but it ain't oratory that 
 is wanted in this racket. The William Jennings 
 Bryan stunt languishes in war-time. Politics is like a 
 chicken-coop, and those inside get to behave as if their 
 little run were all the world. But if the politicians 
 make mistake? it isn't from lack of good instruction 
 to guide their steps. If I had a big proposition to 
 handle and could have my pick of helpers I'd plump 
 for the Intelligence Department of the British 
 Admiralty. Yes, sir, I take off my hat to your 
 Government sleuths." 
 
 ' Did they provide you with ready-made spies 
 here ? " I asked in astonishment.
 
 172 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 
 
 " Why, no," he said. " But they gave me the 
 key, and I could make my own arrangements. In 
 Germany I buried myself deep in the local atmo- 
 sphere and never peeped out. That was my game, 
 for I was looking for something in Germany itself, 
 and didn't want any foreign cross-bearings. As you 
 know, I failed where you succeeded. But so soon 
 as I crossed the Danube I set about opening up my 
 lines of communication, and I hadn't been two days 
 in this metropolis before I had got my telephone 
 exchange buzzing. Sometime I'll explain the thing 
 to you, for it's a pretty little business. I've got the 
 cutest cypher. . . . No, it ain't my invention. It's 
 your Government's. Any one, babe, imbecile, or 
 dotard, can carry my messages — you saw some of 
 them to-day — but it takes some mind to set the 
 piece, and it takes a lot of figuring at my end to 
 work out the results. Some day you shall hear it 
 all, for I guess it would please you." 
 
 " How do you use it ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well, I get early noos of what is going on in this 
 cabbage-patch. Likewise I get authentic noos of 
 the rest of Europe, and I can send a message to Mr. 
 X. in Petrograd and Mr. Y. in London, or, if I wish, 
 to Mr. Z. in Noo York. What's the matter with 
 that for a post-office? I'm the best informed man 
 in Constantinople, for old General Liman only hears 
 one side, and mostly lies at that, and Enver prefers 
 not to listen at all. Also, I could give them points 
 on what is happening at their verv door, for our 
 friend Sandy is a big boss in the best-run crowd of 
 mountebanks that ever fiddled secrets out of men's 
 hearts. Without their help I wouldn't have cut 
 much ice in this city." 
 
 " I want you to tell me one thing, Blenkiron," I 
 said. " I've been playing a part for the past month, 
 and it wears my nerves to tatters. Is this job 
 very tiring, for if it is, I doubt I may buckle up."
 
 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 173 
 
 He looked thoughtful. " I can't call our business 
 an absolute rest-cure any time. You've got to keep 
 your eyes skinned, and there's always the risk of the 
 little packet of dynamite going off unexpected. But 
 as these things go, I rate this stunt as easy. We've 
 only got to be natural. We wear our natural clothes, 
 and talk English, and sport a Teddy Roosevelt smile, 
 and there isn't any call for theatrical talent. Where 
 I've found the job tight was when I had got to be 
 natural, and my naturalness was the same brand as 
 that of everybody round about, and all the time I 
 had to do unnatural things. It isn't easy to be 
 going down town to business and taking cocktails 
 with Mr. Carl Rosenheim, and next hour being 
 engaged trying to blow Mr. Rosenheim's friends 
 sky high. And it isn't easy to keep up a part which 
 is clean outside your ordinary life. I've never tried 
 that. My line has always been to keep my normal 
 personality. But you have, Major, and I guess you 
 found it wearing." 
 
 " Wearing's a mild word," I said. " But I want 
 to know another thing. It seems to me that the line 
 you've picked is as good as could be. But it's a 
 cast-iron line. It commits us pretty deep and it 
 won't be a simple job to drop it." 
 
 " Wliy, that's just the point I was coming to," 
 he said. " I was going to put you wise about that 
 very thing. When I started out I figured on some 
 situation like this. I argued that unless I had a 
 very clear parLwith a big bluff in it I wouldn't get 
 the confidences which I needed. We've got to be 
 at the heart of the show, taking a real hand and not 
 just looking on. So I settled I would be a big engineer 
 — there was a time when there weren't many bigger 
 in the United States than John S. Blenkiron. I 
 talked large about what might be done in Mesopo- 
 tamia in the way of washing the British down the 
 river. Well, that talk caught on. They knew of
 
 174 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 
 
 my reputation as an hydraulic expert, and they were 
 tickled to death to rope me in. I told them I 
 wanted a helper, and I told them about my friend 
 Richard Hanau, as good a German as ever supped 
 sauerkraut, who was coming through Russia and 
 Rumania as a benevolent neutral ; but when he got 
 to Constantinople would drop his neutrality and double 
 his benevolence. They got reports on you by wire 
 from the States — I arranged that before I left 
 London. So you're going to be welcomed and 
 taken to their bosoms just like John S. was. We've 
 both got jobs we can hold down, and now you're in 
 these pretty clothes you're the dead ringer of the 
 brightest kind of American engineer. . . . But we 
 can't go back on our tracks. If we wanted to leave 
 for Constanza next week they'd be very polite, but 
 they'd never let us. We've got to go on with this 
 adventure and nose our way down into Mesopotamia, 
 hoping that our luck will hold. . . . God knows 
 how we will get out of it; but it's no good going 
 out to meet trouble. As I observed before, I believe 
 in an all-wise and beneficent Providence, but you've 
 got to give Him a chance." 
 
 I am bound to confess the prospect staggered me. 
 We might be let in for fighting — and worse than 
 fighting — against our own side. I wondered if it 
 wouldn't be better to make a bolt for it, and said so. 
 
 He shook his head. " I reckon not. In the first 
 place we haven't finished our inquiries. We've got 
 Greenmantle located right enough, Ijianks to you, 
 but we still know mighty little about that holy 
 man. In the second place it won't be as bad as you 
 think. This show lacks cohesion, sir. It is not going 
 to last for ever. I calculate that before you and I 
 strike the site of the garden that Adam and Eve 
 frequented there will be a queer turn of affairs. 
 Anyhow, it's good enough to gamble on." 
 
 Then he got some sheets of paper and drew me a
 
 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 175 
 
 plan of the dispositions of the Turkish forces. I had 
 no notion he was such a close student of war, for 
 his exposition was as good as a staff lecture. He 
 made out that the situation was none too bright 
 anywhere. The troops released from Gallipoli wanted 
 a lot of refitment, and would be slow in reaching the 
 Transcaucasian frontier, where the Russians were 
 threatening. The Army of Syria was pretty nearly 
 a rabble under the lunatic Djemal. There wasn't the 
 foggiest chance of a serious invasion of Egypt being 
 undertaken. Only in Mesopotamia did things look 
 fairly cheerful, owing to the blunders of British 
 strategy. " And you may take it from me," he said, 
 " that if the old Turk mobilised a total of a million 
 men, he has lost 40 per cent, of them already. And 
 if I'm anything of a prophet he's going pretty soon 
 to lose more." 
 
 He tore up the papers and enlarged on politics. 
 " I reckon I've got the measure of the Young Turks 
 and their precious Committee. Those boys aren't 
 any good. Enver's bright enough, and for sure he's 
 got sand. He'll stick out a fight like a Vermont 
 game-chicken, but he lacks the larger vision, sir. 
 He doesn't understand the intricacies of the job no 
 more than a sucking-child, so the Germans play 
 with him, till his temper goes and he bucks like a 
 mule. Talaat is a sulky dog who wants to batter 
 mankind with a club. Both these boys would have 
 made good cow-punchers in the old days, and they 
 might have got a living out West as the gun-men of 
 a Labour Union. They're about the class of Jesse 
 James or Bill the Kid, excepting that they're college- 
 reared and can patter languages. But they haven't 
 the organising power to manage the Irish vote in a 
 ward election. Their one notion is to get busy with 
 their firearms, and people are getting tired of the 
 Black Hand stunt. Their hold on the country is 
 just the hold that a man with a Browning has over
 
 176 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 
 
 a crowd with walking-sticks. The cooler heads in 
 the Committee are growing shy of them, and an old 
 fox like Djavid is lying low till his time comes. Now 
 it doesn't want arguing that a gang of that kind has 
 got to hang close together or they may hang separ- 
 ately. They've got no grip on the ordinary Turk, 
 barring the fact that they are active and he is 
 sleepy, and that they've got their guns loaded.'? 
 
 " What about the Germans here ? " I asked. 
 
 Blenkiron laughed. " It is no sort of a happy 
 family. But the Young Turks know that without 
 the German boost they'll be strung up like Haman, 
 and the Germans can't afford to neglect any ally. 
 Consider what would happen if Turkey got sick of 
 the game and made a separate peace. The road 
 would be open for Russia to the JEgean. Ferdy of 
 Bulgaria would take his depreciated goods to the 
 other market, and not waste a day thinking about it. 
 You'd have Rumania coming in on the Allies' side. 
 Things would look pretty black for that control of 
 the Near East on which Germany has banked her 
 winnings. Kaiser says that's got to be prevented 
 at all costs, but how is it going to be done ? " 
 
 Blenkiron's face had become very solemn again. 
 " It won't be done unless Germany's got a trump 
 card to play. Her game's mighty near bust, but it's 
 still got a chance. And that chance is a woman 
 and an old man. I reckon our landlady has a bigger 
 brain than Enver and Liman. She's the real boss 
 of the show. When I came here I reported to her, 
 and presently you've got to do the same. I am 
 curious as to how she'll strike you, for I'm free to 
 admit that she impressed me considerable." 
 
 " It looks as if our job were a long way from the 
 end," I said. 
 
 " It's scarcley begun,'? said Blenkiron. 
 
 That talk did a lot to cheer my spirits, for I real-
 
 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 177 
 
 ised that it was the biggest of big game we were 
 hunting this time. I'm an economical soul, and if 
 I'm going to be hanged I want a good stake for my 
 neck. 
 
 Then began some varied experiences. I used to 
 wake up in the morning, wondering where I should 
 be at night, and yet quite pleased at the uncertainty. 
 Greenmantle became a sort of myth with me. Some- 
 how I couldn't fix any idea in my head of what he 
 was like. The nearest I got was a picture of an 
 old man in a turban coming out of a bottle in a 
 cloud of smoke, which I remembered from a child's 
 edition of the Arabian Nights. But if he was dim, 
 the lady was dimmer. Sometimes I thought of her 
 as a fat old German crone, sometimes as a harsh- 
 featured woman like a schoolmistress with thin lips 
 and eyeglasses. But I had to fit the East into the 
 picture, so I made her young and gave her a touch 
 of the languid houri in a veil. I was always wanting 
 to pump Blenkiron on the subject, but he shut up 
 like a rat -trap. He was looking for bad trouble in 
 that direction, and was disinclined to speak about it 
 beforehand. 
 
 We led a peaceful existence. Our servants were 
 two of Sandy's lot, for Blenkiron had very rightly 
 cleared out the Turkish caretakers, and they worked 
 like beavers under Peter's eye, till I reflected I had 
 never been so well looked after in my life. I walked 
 about the city with Blenkiron, keeping my eyes 
 open, and speaking very civil. The third night we 
 were bidden to dinner at Moellendorff's, so we put 
 on our best clothes and set out in an ancient cab. 
 Blenkiron had fetched a dress suit of mine, from 
 which my own tailor's label had been cut and a New 
 York one substituted. 
 
 General Liman and Metternich the Ambassador 
 had gone up the line to Nish to meet the Kaiser, who 
 was touring in those parts, so Moellendorff was the 
 
 12
 
 178 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 
 
 biggest German in the city. He was a thin, foxy- 
 faced fellow, cleverish but monstrously vain, and 
 he was not very popular either with the Germans 
 or the Turks. He was polite to both of us, but 
 I am bound to say that I got a bad fright when I 
 entered the room, for the first man I saw was 
 Gaudian. 
 
 I doubt if he would have recognised me even in 
 the clothes I had worn in Stumm's company, for his 
 eyesight was wretched. As it was, I ran no risk in 
 dress-clothes, with my hair brushed back and a fine 
 American accent. I paid him high compliments as 
 a fellow engineer, and translated part of a very 
 technical conversation between him and Blenkiron. 
 Gaudian was in uniform, and I liked the look of his 
 honest face better than ever. 
 
 But the great event was the sight of Enver. He 
 was a slim fellow of Rasta's build, very foppish and 
 precise in his dress, with a smooth oval face like a 
 girl's, and rather fine straight black eyebrows. He 
 spoke perfect German, and had the best kind of 
 manners, neither pert nor overbearing. He had a 
 pleasant trick, too, of appealing all round the table 
 for confirmation, and so bringing everybody into 
 the talk. Not that he spoke a great deal, but all he 
 said was good sense, and he had a smiling way of 
 saying it. Once or twice he ran counter to Moellen- 
 dorff, and I could see there was no love lost between 
 these two. I didn't think I wanted him as a friend 
 — he was too cold-blooded and artificial ; and I was 
 pretty certain that I didn't want those steady black 
 eyes as an enemy. But it was no good denying his 
 quality. The little fellow was all cold courage, like 
 the fine polished blue steel of a sword. 
 
 I fancy I was rather a success at that dinner. 
 For one thing I could speak German, and so had a 
 pull on Blenkiron. For another I was in a good 
 temper, and really enjoyed putting my back into my
 
 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 179 
 
 part. They talked very high-flown stuff about what 
 they had done and were going to do, and Enver was 
 great on Gallipoli. I remember he said that he 
 could have destroyed the whole British Army if it 
 hadn't been for somebody's cold feet — at which 
 Moellendorff looked daggers. They were so bitter 
 about Britain and all her works that I gathered they 
 were getting pretty panicky, and that made me as 
 jolly as a sandboy. I'm afraid I was not free from 
 bitterness myself on that subject. I said things 
 about my own country that I sometimes wake in 
 the night and sweat to think of. 
 
 Gaudian got on to the use of water power in war, 
 and that gave me a chance. 
 
 " In my country," I said, " when we want to get 
 rid of a mountain we wash it away. There's nothing 
 on earth that will stand against water. Now, 
 speaking with all respect, gentlemen, and as an 
 absolute novice in the military art, I sometimes ask 
 why this God-given weapon isn't more used in the 
 present war. I haven't been to any of the fronts, 
 but I've studied them some from maps and the 
 newspapers. Take your German position in Flan- 
 ders, where you've got the high ground. If I were 
 a British general I reckon I would very soon make 
 it no sort of position." 
 
 Moellendorff asked, " How ? " 
 
 ' Why, I'd wash it away. Wash away the four- 
 teen feet of soil down to the stone. There's a heap of 
 coalpits behind the British front where they could 
 generate power, and I judge there's an ample water 
 supply from rivers and canals. I'd guarantee to 
 wash you away in twenty-four hours — yes, in spite 
 of all your big guns. It beats me why the British 
 haven't got on to this notion. They used to have 
 some bright engineers." 
 
 Enver was on the point like a knife, far quicker 
 than Gaudian. He cross-examined me in a way
 
 180 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 
 
 that showed he knew how to approach a technical 
 subject, though he mightn't have much technical 
 knowledge. He was just giving me a sketch of the 
 flooding in Mesopotamia when an aide-de-camp 
 brought in a chit which fetched him to his feet. 
 
 " I have gossiped long enough," he said. " My 
 kind host, I must leave you. Gentleman all, my 
 apologies and farewells." 
 
 Before he left he asked my name and wrote it 
 down. " This is an unhealthy city for strangers, 
 Mr. Hanau," he said in very good English. "I 
 have some small power of protecting a friend, and 
 what I have is at your disposal." This with the 
 condescension of a king promising his favour to a 
 subject. 
 
 The little fellow amused me tremendously, and 
 rather impressed me too. I said so to Gaudian after 
 he had left, but that decent soul didn't agree. 
 
 " I do not love him," he said. " We are allies — yes ; 
 but friends — no. He is no true son of Islam, which 
 is a noble faith and despises liars and boasters and 
 betrayers of their salt." 
 
 That was the verdict of one honest man on this 
 ruler in Israel. The next night I got another from 
 Blenkiron on a greater than Enver. 
 
 He had been out alone and had come back pretty 
 late, with his face grey and drawn with pain. The 
 food we ate — not at all bad of its kind — and the cold 
 east wind played havoc with his dyspepsia. I can 
 see him yet, boiling milk on a spirit-lamp, while 
 Peter worked at a Primus stove to get him a hot- 
 water bottle. He was using horrid language about 
 his inside. 
 
 " My God, Major, if I were you with a sound 
 stomach I'd fairly conquer the world. As it is, I've 
 got to do my work with half my mind, while the 
 other half is dwelling in my intestines. I'm like the 
 child in the Bible that had a fox gnawing at its vitals.' '
 
 I MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY 181 
 
 He got his milk boiling and began to sip it. 
 
 " I've been to see our pretty landlady," he said. 
 " She sent for me and I hobbled off with a grip 
 full of plans, for she's mighty set on Mesopotamy." 
 
 " Anything about Greenmantle ? " I asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Why, no, but I have reached one conclusion. 
 I opine that the hapless prophet has no sort of time 
 with that lady. I opine that he will soon wish him- 
 self in Paradise. For if Almighty God ever created 
 a female devil it's Madame von Einem." 
 
 He sipped a little more milk with a grave face. 
 
 " That isn't my duo-denal dyspepsia, Major. It's 
 the verdict of a ripe experience, for I have a cool 
 and penetrating judgment, even if I've a deranged 
 stomach. And I give it as my con-sidered con- 
 clusion that that woman's mad and bad — but princi- 
 pally bad."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 
 
 Since that first night I had never clapped eyes on 
 Sandy. He had gone clean out of the world, and 
 Blenkiron and I waited anxiously for a word of 
 news. Our own business was in good trim, for we 
 were presently going east towards Mesopotamia, but 
 unless we learned more about Green mantle our 
 journey would be a grotesque failure. And learn 
 about Greenmantle we could not, for nobody by 
 word or deed suggested his existence, and it was 
 impossible of course for us to ask questions. Our 
 only hope was Sandy, for what we wanted to know 
 was the prophet's whereabouts and his plans. I 
 suggested to Blenkiron that we might do more to 
 cultivate Frau von Einem, but he shut his jaw like 
 a rat-trap. " There's nothing doing for us in that 
 quarter," he said. " That's the most dangerous 
 woman on earth ; and if she got any kind of notion 
 that we were wise about her pet schemes I reckon 
 you and I would very soon be in the Bosporus." 
 
 This was all very well ; but what was going to 
 happen if the two of us were bundled off to Bagdad 
 with instructions to wash away the British ? Our 
 time was getting pretty short, and I doubted if we 
 could spin out more than three days more in Con- 
 stantinople. I felt just as I had felt with Stumm 
 that last night when I was about to be packed off 
 to Cairo and saw no way of avoiding it. Even 
 Blenkiron was getting anxious. He played Patience 
 
 182
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 183 
 
 incessantly, and was disinclined to talk. I tried to 
 find out something from the servants, but they either 
 knew nothing or wouldn't speak — the former, I 
 think. I kept my eyes lifting, too, as I walked 
 about the streets, but there was no sign anywhere 
 of the skin coats or the weird stringed instruments. 
 The whole Company of the Rosy Hours seemed to 
 have melted into the air, and I began to wonder 
 if they had ever existed. 
 
 Anxiety made me restless, and restlessness made 
 me want exercise. It was no good walking about 
 the city. The weather had become foul again, and 
 I was sick of the smells and the squalor and the 
 flea-bitten crowds. So Blenkiron and I got horses, 
 Turkish cavalry mounts with heads like trees, and 
 went out through the suburbs into the open country. 
 
 It was a grey drizzling afternoon, with the begin- 
 nings of a sea fog which hid the Asiatic shores of the 
 straits. It wasn't easy to find open ground for a 
 gallop, for there were endless small patches of culti- 
 vation and the gardens of country houses. We 
 kept on the high land above the sea, and when we 
 reached a bit of downland came on squads of Turkish 
 soldiers digging trenches. Whenever we let the 
 horses go we had to pull up sharp for a digging 
 party or a stretch of barbed wire. Coils of the 
 beastly thing were lying loose everywhere, and Blen- 
 kiron nearly took a nasty toss over one. Then we 
 were always being stopped by sentries and having 
 to show our passes. Still the ride did us good and 
 shook up our livers, and by the time we turned for 
 home I was feeling more like a white man. 
 
 We jogged back in the short winter twilight, past 
 the wooded grounds of white villas, held up every 
 few minutes by transport -waggons and companies 
 of soldiers. The rain had come on in real earnest, 
 and it was two very bedraggled horsemen that 
 crawled along the muddy lanes. As we passed one
 
 184 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 
 
 villa, shut in by a high white wall, a pleasant smell 
 of wood smoke was wafted towards us, which made 
 me sick for the burning veld. My ear, too, caught 
 the twanging of a zither, which somehow reminded 
 me of the 'afternoon in Kuprasso's garden-house. 
 
 I pulled up and proposed to investigate, but Blen- 
 kiron very testily declined. 
 
 " Zithers are as common here as fleas," he said. 
 " You don't want to be fossicking around somebody's 
 stables and find a horse-boy entertaining his friends. 
 They don't like visitors in this country ; and you'll 
 be asking for trouble if you go inside those walls. 
 I guess it's some old Buzzard's harem." Buzzard 
 was his own private peculiar name for the Turk, 
 for he said he had had as a boy a natural history 
 book with a picture of a bird called the turkey- 
 buzzard, and couldn't get out of the habit of apply- 
 ing it to the Ottoman people. 
 
 I wasn't convinced, so I tried to mark down the 
 place. It seemed to be about three miles out from 
 the city, at the end of a steep lane on the inland 
 side of the hill coming from the Bosporus. I fancied 
 somebody of distinction lived there, for a little 
 farther on we met a big empty motor-car snorting its 
 way up, and I had a notion that the car belonged 
 to the walled villa. 
 
 Next day Blenkiron was in grievous trouble with 
 his dyspepsia. About midday he was compelled to 
 lie down, and having nothing better to do I had 
 out the horses again and took Peter with me. It 
 was funny to see Peter in a Turkish army-saddle, 
 riding with the long Boer stirrup and the slouch of 
 the backveld. 
 
 That afternoon was unfortunate from the start. 
 It was not the mist and drizzle of the day before, 
 but a stiff northern gale which blew sheets of rain 
 in our faces and numbed our bridle hands. We took 
 the same road, but pushed west of the trench-digging
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 185 
 
 parties and got to a shallow valley with a white 
 village among cypresses. Beyond that there was a 
 very respectable road which brought us to the top 
 of a crest that in clear weather must have given a 
 fine prospect. Then we turned our horses, and I 
 shaped our course so as to strike the top of the long 
 lane that abutted on the down. I wanted to in- 
 vestigate the white villa. 
 
 But we hadn't gone far on our road back before 
 we got into trouble. It arose out of a sheep-dog, 
 a yellow mongrel brute that came at us like a 
 thunderbolt. It took a special fancy to Peter, and 
 bit savagely at his horse's heels and sent it capering 
 off the road. I should have warned him, but I did 
 not realise what was happening till too late. For 
 Peter, being accustomed to mongrels in Kaffir kraals, 
 took a summary way with the pest. Since it des- 
 pised his whip, he out with his pistol and put a 
 bullet through its head. 
 
 The echoes of the shot had scarcely died away 
 when the row began. A big fellow appeared running 
 towards us, shouting wildly. I guessed he was the 
 dog's owner, and proposed to pay no attention. But 
 his cries summoned two other fellows — soldiers by 
 the look of them — who closed in on us, unslinging 
 their rifles as they ran. My first idea was to show 
 them our heels, but I had no desire to be shot in the 
 back, and they looked like men who wouldn't stop 
 short of shooting. So we slowed down and faced 
 them. 
 
 They made as savage-looking a trio as you would 
 want to avoid. The shepherd looked as if he had 
 been dug up, a dirty ruffian with matted hair and a 
 beard like a bird's nest. The two soldiers stood 
 staring with sullen faces, fingering their guns, while 
 the other chap raved and stormed and kept pointing 
 at Peter, whose mild eyes stared unwinkingly at 
 his assailant.
 
 186 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 
 
 The mischief was that neither of us had a word 
 of Turkish. I tried German, but it had no effect. 
 We sat looking at them, and they stood storming at 
 us, and it was fast getting dark. Once I turned my 
 horse round as if to proceed, and the two soldiers 
 jumped in front of me. 
 
 They jabbered among themselves, and then one 
 said very slowly : " He . . . want . . . pounds," and 
 he held up five fingers. They evidently saw by the 
 cut of our jib that we weren't Germans. 
 
 " I'll be hanged if he gets a penny," I said angrily, 
 and the conversation languished. 
 
 The situation was getting serious, so I spoke a 
 word to Peter. The soldiers had their rifles loose 
 in their hands, and before they could lift them we 
 had the pair covered with our pistols. 
 
 " If you move," I said, " you are dead." They 
 understood that all right and stood stock still, while 
 the shepherd stopped his raving and took to mutter- 
 ing like a gramophone when the record is finished. 
 
 " Drop your guns," I said sharply. " Quick, or 
 we shoot." 
 
 The tone, if not the words, conveyed my meaning. 
 Still staring at us, they let the rifles slide to the 
 ground. The next second we had forced our horses 
 on the top of them, and the three were off like 
 rabbits. I sent a shot over their heads to encourage 
 them. Peter dismounted and tossed the guns into 
 a bit of scrub where they would take some finding. 
 
 This hold-up had wasted time. By now it was 
 getting very dark, and we hadn't ridden a mile before 
 it was black night. It was an annoying predica- 
 ment, for I had completely lost my bearings and at 
 the best I had only a foggy notion of the lie of the 
 land. The best plan seemed to be to try and get to 
 the top of a rise in the hope of seeing the lights of 
 the city, but all the countryside was so pockety 
 that it was hard to strike the right kind of rise.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 187 
 
 We had to trust to Peter's instinct. I asked him 
 where our line lay, and he sat very still for a minute 
 sniffing the air. Then he pointed the direction. It 
 wasn't what I would have taken myself, but on a 
 point like that he was pretty near infallible. 
 
 Presently we came to a long slope which cheered 
 me. But at the top there was no light visible any- 
 where — only a black void like the inside of a shell. 
 As I stared into the gloom it seemed to me that 
 there were patches of deeper darkness that might be 
 woods. 
 
 " There is a house half-left in front of us," said 
 Peter. 
 
 I peered till my eyes ached and saw nothing. 
 
 " Well, for Heaven's sake, guide me to it," I said, 
 and with Peter in front we set off down the hill. 
 
 It was a wild journey, for darkness clung as close 
 to us as a vest. Twice we stepped into patches of 
 bog, and once my horse saved himself by a hair from 
 going head forward into a gravel pit. We got 
 tangled up in strands of wire, and often found our- 
 selves rubbing our noses against tree trunks. Several 
 times I had to get down and make a gap in barricades 
 of loose stones. But after a ridiculous amount of 
 slipping and stumbling we finally struck what 
 seemed the level of a road, and a piece of special 
 darkness in front which turned out to be a high 
 wall. 
 
 I argued that all mortal walls had doors, so we 
 set to groping along it, and presently found a gap. 
 There was an old iron gate on broken hinges, which 
 we easily pushed open, and found ourselves on a 
 back path to some house. It was clearly disused, 
 for masses of rotting leaves covered it, and by the 
 feel of it underfoot it was grass-grown. 
 
 We were dismounted now, leading our horses, and 
 after about fifty yards the path ceased and came 
 out on a well-made carriage drive. So, at least, we
 
 188 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 
 
 guessed, for the place was as black as pitch. Evi- 
 dently the house couldn't be far off, but in which 
 direction I hadn't a notion. 
 
 Now I didn't want to be paying calls on any Turk 
 at that time of day. Our job was to find where the 
 road opened into the lane, for after that our way 
 to Constantinople was clear. One side the lane lay, 
 and the other the house, and it didn't seem wise to 
 take the risk of tramping up with horses to the front 
 door. So I told Peter to wait for me at the end of 
 the back-road, while I would prospect a bit. I 
 turned to the right, my intention being if I saw the 
 light of a house to return, and with Peter take the 
 other direction. 
 
 I walked like a blind man in that nether-pit of 
 darkness. The road seemed well kept, and the soft 
 wet gravel muffled the sounds of my feet. Great 
 trees overhung it, and several times I wandered into 
 dripping bushes. And then I stopped short in my 
 tracks, for I heard the sound of whistling. 
 
 It was quite close, about ten yards away. And 
 the strange thing was that it was a tune I knew, 
 about the last tune you would expect to hear in this 
 part of the world. It was the Scots air : " Ca' 
 the yowes to the knowes," which was a favourite of 
 my father's. 
 
 The whistler must have felt my presence, for the 
 air suddenly stopped in the middle of a bar. An 
 unbounded curiosity seized me to know who the 
 fellow could be. So I started in and finished it 
 myself. 
 
 There was silence for a second, and then the un- 
 known began again and stopped. Once more I 
 chipped in and finished it. 
 
 Then it seemed to me that he was coming nearer. 
 The air in that dank tunnel was very still, and I 
 thought I heard a light foot. I think I took a step 
 backward. Suddenly there was a flash of an electric
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 189 
 
 torch from a yard off, so quick that I could see 
 nothing of the man who held it. 
 
 Then a low voice spoke out of the darkness — a voice 
 I knew well — and, following it, a hand was laid on 
 my arm. " What the devil are you doing here, 
 Dick ? " it said, and there was something like con- 
 sternation in the tone. 
 
 I told him in a hectic sentence, for I was beginning 
 to feel badly rattled myself. 
 
 " You've never been in greater danger in your 
 life," said the voice. " Great God, man, what 
 brought you wandering here to-day of all days ? " 
 
 You can imagine that I was pretty scared, for 
 Sandy was the last man to put a case too high. And 
 the next second I felt worse, for he clutched my arm 
 and dragged me in a bound to the side of the road. 
 I could see nothing, but I felt that his head was 
 screwed round, and mine followed suit. And there, 
 a dozen yards off, were the acetylene lights of a big 
 motor-car. 
 
 It came along very slowly, purring like a great 
 cat, while we pressed into the bushes. The head- 
 lights seemed to spread a fan far to either side, 
 showing the full width of the drive and its borders, 
 and about half the height of the over-arching trees. 
 There was a figure in uniform sitting beside the 
 chauffeur, whom I saw dimly in the reflex glow, but 
 the body of the car was dark. 
 
 It crept towards us, passed, and my mind was 
 just getting easy again when it stopped. A switch 
 was snapped within, and the limousine was brightly 
 lit up. Inside I saw a woman's figure. 
 
 The servant had got out and opened the door and 
 a voice came from within — a clear soft voice speaking 
 in some tongue I did not understand. Sandy had 
 started forward at the sound of it, and I followed 
 him. It would never do for me to be caught skulking 
 in the bushes.
 
 190 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 
 
 I was so dazzled by the suddenness of the glare 
 that at first I blinked and saw nothing. Then my 
 eyes cleared and I found myself looking at the inside 
 of a car upholstered in some soft dove-coloured 
 fabric, and beautifully finished off in ivory and 
 silver. The woman who sat in it had a mantilla of 
 black lace over her head and shoulders, and with one 
 slender jewelled hand she kept its folds over the 
 greater part of her face. I saw only a pair of pale 
 grey-blue eyes — these and the slim fingers. 
 
 I remember that Sandy was standing very upright 
 with his hands on his hips, by no means like a ser- 
 vant in the presence of his mistress. He was a fine 
 figure of a man at all times, but in those wild clothes, 
 with his head thrown back and his dark brows drawn 
 below his skull-cap, he looked like some savage king 
 out of an older world. He was speaking Turkish, 
 and glancing at me now and then as if angry and 
 perplexed. I took the hint that he was not supposed 
 to know any other tongue, and that he was asking 
 who the devil I might be. 
 
 Then they both looked at me, Sandy with the 
 slow unwinking stare of the gipsy, the lady with 
 those curious beautiful pale eyes. They ran over 
 my clothes, my brand-new riding-breeches, my 
 splashed boots, my wide-brimmed hat. I took off 
 the last and made my best bow. 
 
 " Madam," I said, " I have to ask pardon for 
 trespassing in your garden. The fact is, I and my 
 servant — he's down the road with the horses and I 
 guess you noticed him — the two of us went for a 
 ride this afternoon, and got good and well lost. We 
 came in by your back gate, and I was prospecting 
 for your front door to find some one to direct us, 
 when I bumped into this brigand-chief who didn't 
 understand my talk. I'm American, and I'm here 
 on a big Government proposition. I hate to 
 trouble you, but if you'd send a man to show
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 191 
 
 us how to strike the city I'd be very much in your 
 debt." 
 
 Her eyes never left my face. " Will you come into 
 the car ? " she said in English. " At the house I 
 will give you a servant to direct you." 
 
 She drew in the skirts of her fur cloak to make 
 room for me, and in my muddy boots and sopping 
 clothes I took the seat she pointed out. She said a 
 word in Turkish to Sandy, switched off the light, and 
 the car moved on. 
 
 Women had never come much my way, and I knew 
 about as much of their ways as I knew about the 
 Chinese language. All my life I had lived with 
 men only, and rather a rough crowd at that. When 
 I made my pile and came home I looked to see a 
 little society, but I had first the business of the 
 Black Stone on my hands, and then the war, so my 
 education languished. I had never been in a motor- 
 car with a lady before, and I felt like a fish on a dry 
 sandbank. The soft cushions and the subtle scents 
 filled me with acute uneasiness. I wasn't thinking 
 now about Sandy's grave words, or about Blenkiron's 
 warning, or about my job and the part this woman 
 must play in it. I was thinking only that I felt 
 mortally shy. The darkness made it worse. I was 
 sure that my companion was looking at me all the 
 time and laughing at me for a clown. 
 
 The car stopped and a tall servant opened the 
 door. The lady was over the threshold before I was 
 at the step. I followed her heavily, the wet squelch- 
 ing from my field-boots. At that moment I noticed 
 that she was very tall. 
 
 She led me through a long corridor to a room 
 where two pillars held lamps in the shape of torches. 
 The place was dark but for their glow, and it was as 
 warm as a hothouse from invisible stoves. I felt 
 soft carpets underfoot, and on the walls hung some 
 tapestry or rug of an amazingly intricate geometrical
 
 192 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 
 
 pattern, but with every strand as rich as jewels. 
 There, between the pillars, she turned and faced me. 
 Her furs were thrown back, and the black mantilla 
 had slipped down to her shoulders. 
 
 "' I have heard of you," she said. " You are called 
 Richard Hanau, the American. Why have you 
 come to this land ? " 
 
 " To have a share in the campaign," I said. " I'm 
 an engineer, and I thought I could help out with 
 some business like Mesopotamia." 
 
 " You are on Germany's side ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, yes," I replied. " We Americans are 
 supposed to be nootrals, and that means we're free 
 to choose any side we fancy. I'm for the Kaiser." 
 
 Her cool eyes searched me, but not in suspicion. 
 I could see she wasn't troubling with the question 
 whether I was speaking the truth. She was sizing 
 me up as a man. I cannot describe that calm 
 appraising look. There was no sex in it, nothing 
 even of that implicit sympathy with which one 
 human being explores the existence of another. I 
 was a chattel, a thing infinitely removed from in- 
 timacy. Even so I have myself looked at a horse 
 which I thought of buying, scanning his shoulders 
 and hocks and paces. Even so must the old lords 
 of Constantinople have looked at the slaves which 
 the chances of war brought to their markets, assessing 
 their usefulness for some task or other with no 
 thought of a humanity common to purchased and 
 purchaser. And yet — not quite. This woman's eyes 
 were weighing me, not for any special duty, but for 
 my essential qualities. I felt that I was under the 
 scrutiny of one who was a connoisseur in human 
 nature. 
 
 I see I have written that I knew nothing about 
 women. But every man has in his bones a conscious- 
 ness of sex. I was shy and perturbed, but horribly 
 fascinated. This slim woman, poised exquisitely
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 193 
 
 like some statue between the pillared lights, with her 
 fair cloud of hair, her long delicate face, and her 
 pale bright eyes, had the glamour of a wild dream. 
 I hated her instinctively, hated her intensely, but 
 I longed to arouse her interest. To be valued coldly 
 by those eyes was an offence to my manhood, and I 
 felt antagonism rising within me. I am a strong 
 fellow, w T ell set up, and rather above the average 
 height, and my irritation stiffened me from heel to 
 crown. I flung my head back and gave her cool 
 glance for cool glance, pride against pride. 
 
 Once, I remember, a doctor on board ship who 
 dabbled in hypnotism told me that I was the most 
 unsympathetic person he had ever struck. He said 
 I was about as good a mesmeric subject as Table 
 Mountain. Suddenly I began to realise that this 
 woman was trying to cast some spell over me. The 
 eyes grew large and luminous, and I was conscious 
 for just an instant of some will battling to subject 
 mine. I was aware, too, in the same moment of a 
 strange scent which recalled that wild hour in 
 Kuprasso's garden-house. It passed quickly, and for 
 a second her eyes drooped. I seemed to read in 
 them failure, and yet a kind of satisfaction too, as 
 if they had found more in me than they expected. 
 
 " What life have you led ? " the soft voice was 
 saying. 
 
 I was able to answer quite naturally, rather to my 
 surprise. " I have been a mining engineer up and 
 down the world." 
 
 " You have faced danger many times ? " 
 
 " I have faced danger." 
 
 " You have fought with men in battles ? " 
 
 " I have fought in battles." 
 
 Her bosom rose and fell in a kind of sigh. A 
 smile — a very beautiful thing — flitted over her face. 
 She gave me her hand. 
 
 The horses are at the door now," she said, " and 
 
 13 
 
 to*
 
 194 THE LADY OF THE MANTILLA 
 
 your servant is with them. One of my people will 
 guide you to the city." 
 
 She turned away and passed out of the circle of 
 light into the darkness beyond. . . . 
 
 Peter and I jogged home in the rain with one of 
 Sandy's skin-clad Companions loping at our side. 
 We did not speak a word, for my thoughts were run- 
 ning like hounds on the track of the past hours. I 
 had seen the mysterious Hilda von Einem, I had 
 spoken to her, I had held her hand. She had insulted 
 me with the subtlest of insults and yet I was not 
 angry. Suddenly the game I was playing became 
 invested with a tremendous solemnity. My old 
 antagonists, Stumm and Rasta and the whole German 
 Empire, seemed to shrink into the background, 
 leaving only the slim woman with her inscrutable 
 smile and devouring eyes. " Mad and bad," Blen- 
 kiron had called her, " but principally bad." I did 
 not think they were the proper terms, for they 
 belonged to the narrow world of our common experi- 
 ence. This was something beyond and above it, as 
 a cyclone or an earthquake is outside the decent 
 routine of nature. Mad and bad she might be, but 
 she was also great. 
 
 Before we arrived our guide had plucked my knee 
 and spoken some words which he had obviously got 
 by heart. " The Master says," ran the message, 
 " expect him at midnight."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 I was soaked to the bone, and while Peter set off 
 to look for dinner, I went to ray room to change. I 
 had a rub down and then got into pyjamas for some 
 dumb-bell exercises with two chairs, for that long 
 wet ride had stiffened my arm and shoulder muscles. 
 They were a vulgar suit of primitive blue, which 
 Blenkiron had looted from my London wardrobe. 
 As Cornells Brandt I had sported a flannel night- 
 gown. 
 
 My bedroom opened off the sitting-room, and while 
 I was busy with my gymnastics I heard the door 
 open. I thought at first it was Blenkiron, but the 
 briskness of the tread was unlike his measured gait. 
 I had left the light burning there, and the visitor, 
 whoever he was, had made himself at home. I 
 slipped on a green dressing-gown Blenkiron had lent 
 me, and sallied forth to investigate. 
 
 My friend Rasta was standing by the table, on 
 which he had laid an envelope. He looked round at 
 my entrance and saluted. 
 
 " I come from the Minister of War, sir," he said, 
 " and bring your passports for to-morrow. You 
 will travel by . . ." And then his voice tailed 
 away and his black eyes narrowed to slits. He had 
 seen something which switched him off the metals. 
 
 At that moment I saw it too. There was a mirror 
 on the wall behind him, and as I faced him I could 
 not help seeing my reflection. It was the exact 
 
 195
 
 196 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 image of the engineer on the Danube boat — blue 
 jeans, loden cloak, and all. The accursed mischance 
 of my costume had given him the clue to an identity 
 which was otherwise buried deep in the Bosporus. 
 
 I am bound to say for Rasta that he was a man 
 of quick action. In a trice he had whipped round 
 to the other side of the table between me and the 
 door, where he stood regarding me wickedly. 
 
 By this time I was at the table and stretched out 
 a hand for the enevlope. My one hope was non- 
 chalance. 
 
 " Sit down, sir," I said, " and have a drink. It's 
 a filthy night to move about in." 
 
 " Thank you, no, Herr Brandt," he said. " You 
 may burn these passports, for they will not be used." 
 " Whatever's the matter with you ? " I cried. 
 " You've mistaken the house, my lad. I'm called 
 Hanau— Richard Hanau — and my partner's Mr. John 
 S. Blenkiron. He'll be here presently. Never knew 
 any one of the name of Brandt, barring a tobacconist 
 in Denver City." 
 
 " You have never been to Rustchuk ? " he said 
 with a sneer. 
 
 " Not that I know of. But, pardon me, sir, if I 
 ask your name and your business here. I'm darned 
 if I'm accustomed to be called by Dutch names or 
 have my word doubted. In my country we con- 
 sider that impolite as between gentlemen." 
 
 I could, see that my bluff was having its effect. 
 His stare began to waver, and when he next spoke it 
 was in a more civil tone. 
 
 " I will ask pardon if I'm mistaken, sir, but you're 
 the image of a man who a week ago was at Rust- 
 chuk, a man much wanted by the Imperial Govern- 
 ment." 
 
 " A week ago I was tossing in a dirty little hooker 
 coming from Constanza. Unless Rustchuk's in the 
 middle of the Black Sea I've never visited the town-
 
 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 197 
 
 ship. I guess you're barking up the wrong tree. 
 Come to think of it, I was expecting passports. Say, 
 do you come from Enver Damad ? " 
 
 " I have that honour," he said. 
 
 ' Well, Enver is a very good friend of mine. He's 
 the brightest citizen I've struck this side of the 
 Atlantic." 
 
 The man was calming down, and in another minute 
 his suspicions would have gone. But at that moment, 
 by the crookedest kind of luck, Peter entered with 
 a tray of dishes. He did not notice Rasta, and 
 walked straight to the table and plumped down his 
 burden on it. The Turk had stepped aside at his 
 entrance, and I saw by the look in his eyes that 
 his suspicions had become a certainty. For Peter, 
 stripped to shirt and breeches, was the identical 
 shabby little companion of the Rustchuk meeting. 
 
 I had never doubted Rasta's pluck. He jumped 
 for the door and had a pistol out in a trice pointing 
 at my head. 
 
 " Bonne fortune" he cried, " Both the birds at 
 one shot." His hand was on the latch, and his 
 mouth was open to cry. I guessed there was an 
 orderly waiting on the stairs. 
 
 He had what you call the strategic advantage, for 
 he was at the door while I was at the other end of 
 the table and Peter at the side of it at least two 
 yards from him. The road was clear before him, 
 and neither of us was armed. I made a despairing 
 step forward, not knowing what I meant to do, for 
 I saw no light. But Peter was before me. 
 
 He had never let go of the tray, and now, as a 
 boy skims a stone on a pond, he skimmed it with its 
 contents at Rasta's head. The man was opening the 
 door with one hand while he kept me covered with 
 the other, and he got the contrivance fairly in the 
 face. A pistol shot cracked out, and the bullet went 
 through the tray, but the noise was drowned in the
 
 198 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 crash of glasses and crockery. The next second 
 Peter had wrenched the pistol from Rasta's hand 
 and had gripped his throat. 
 
 A dandified Young Turk, brought up in Paris and 
 finished in Berlin, may be as brave as a lion, but he 
 cannot stand in a rough-and-tumble against a back- 
 veld hunter, though more than double his age. 
 There was no need for me to help. Peter had his 
 own way, learned in a wild school, of knocking the 
 sense out of a foe. He gagged him scientifically, 
 and trussed him up with his own belt and two straps 
 from a trunk in my bedroom. 
 
 " This man is too dangerous to let go," he said, 
 as if his procedure were the most ordinary thing in 
 the world. " He will be quiet now till we have time 
 to make a plan." 
 
 At that moment there came a knocking at the 
 door. That is the sort of thing that happens in 
 melodrama, just when the villain has finished off his 
 job neatly. The correct thing to do is to pale to the 
 teeth, and with a rolling, conscience-stricken eye 
 glare round the horizon. But that was not Peter's 
 way. 
 
 " We'd better tidy up if we're to have visitors," 
 he said calmly. 
 
 Now there was one of those big oak German cup- 
 boards against the wall which must have been 
 brought in in sections, for complete it would never 
 have got through the door. It was empty now, but 
 for Blenkiron's hat-box. In it he deposited the 
 unconscious Rasta, and turned the key. " There's 
 enough ventilation through the top," he observed, 
 " to keep the air good." Then he opened the door. 
 
 A magnificent kavass in blue and silver stood 
 outside. He saluted and proffered a card on which 
 was written in pencil, " Hilda von Einem." 
 
 I would have begged for time to change my clothes, 
 but the lady was behind him. I saw the black
 
 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 199 
 
 mantilla and the rich sable furs. Peter vanished 
 through my bedroom and I was left to receive my 
 guest in a room littered with broken glass and a 
 senseless man in the cupboard. 
 
 There are some situations so crazily extravagant 
 that they key up the spirit to meet them. I was 
 almost laughing when that stately lady stepped over 
 my threshold. 
 
 ' Madam," I said, with a bow that shamed my 
 old dressing-gown and strident pyjamas. " You 
 find me at a disadvantage. I came home soaking 
 from my ride, and was in the act of changing. My 
 servant has just upset a tray of crockery, and I fear 
 this room's no fit place for a lady. Allow me three 
 minutes to make myself presentable." 
 
 She inclined her head gravely and took a seat by 
 the fire. I went into my bedroom, and as I expected 
 found Peter lurking by the other door. In a hectic 
 sentence I bade him get Rasta's orderly out of the 
 place on any pretext, and tell him his master would 
 return later. Then I hurried into decent garments 
 and came out to find my visitor in a brown study. 
 
 At the sound of my entrance she started from her 
 dream and stood up on the hearthrug, slipping the 
 long robe of fur from her slim body. 
 
 " We are alone ? " she said. " We will not be 
 disturbed ? " 
 
 Then an inspiration came to me. I remembered 
 that Frau von Einem, according to Blenkiron, did 
 not see eye to eye with the Young Turks ; and I had 
 a queer instinct that Rasta could not be to her 
 liking. So I spoke the truth. 
 
 " I must tell you that there's another guest here 
 to-night. I reckon he's feeling pretty uncomfortable. 
 At present he's trussed up on a shelf in that cup- 
 board." 
 
 She did not trouble to look round. 
 
 " Is he dead ? " she asked calmly
 
 200 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 " By no means," I said, " but he's fixed so he 
 can't speak, and I guess he can't hear much." 
 
 " He was the man who brought you this ? " she 
 asked, pointing to the envelope on the table which 
 bore the big blue stamp of the Ministry of War. 
 
 " The same," I said. " I'm not perfectly sure of 
 his name, but I think they call him Rasta." 
 
 Not a flicker of a smile crossed her face, but I had 
 a feeling that the news pleased her. 
 
 " Did he thwart you ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, yes. He thwarted me some. His head 
 is a bit swelled, and an hour or two on the shelf will 
 do him good." 
 
 " He is a powerful man," she said, " a jackal of 
 Enver's. You have made a dangerous enemy." 
 
 " I don't value him at two cents," said I, though 
 I thought grimly that as far as I could see the value 
 of him was likely to be about the price of my neck. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," she said with serious 
 eyes. " In these days no enemy is dangerous to a 
 bold man. I have come to-night, Mr. Hanau, to 
 talk business with you, as they say in your country. 
 I have heard well of you, and to-day I have seen 
 you. I may have need of you, and you assuredly 
 will have need of me. . . ." 
 
 She broke off, and again her strange potent eyes 
 fell on my face. They were like a burning search- 
 light which showed up every cranny and crack of 
 the soul. I felt it was going to be horribly difficult 
 to act a part under that compelling gaze. She could 
 not mesmerise me, but she could strip me of my 
 fancy dress and set me naked in the masquerade. 
 
 " What came you forth to seek ? " she asked. 
 " You are not like the stout American Blenkiron, a 
 lover of shoddy power and a devotee of a feeble 
 science. There is something more than that in your 
 face. You are on our side, but you are not of the 
 Germans with their hankerings for a rococo Empire.
 
 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 201 
 
 You come from America, the land of pious follies, 
 where men worship gold and words. I ask, what 
 came you forth to seek ? " 
 
 As she spoke I seemed to get a vision of a figure, 
 like one of the old gods looking down on human 
 nature from a great height, a figure disdainful and 
 passionless, but with its own magnificence. It kindled 
 my imagination, and I answered with the stuff I 
 had often cogitated when I had tried to explain to 
 myself just how a case could be made out against 
 the Allied cause. 
 
 " I will tell you, Madam," I said. " I am a man 
 who has followed a science, but I have followed 
 it in wild places, and I have gone through it and 
 come out at the other side. The world, as I 
 see it, had become too easy and cushioned. Men 
 had forgotten their manhood in soft speech, and 
 imagined that the rules of their smug civilisation 
 were the laws of the universe. But that is not the 
 teaching of science, and it is not the teaching of life. 
 We had forgotten the greater virtues, and we were 
 becoming emasculated humbugs whose gods were 
 our own weaknesses. Then came war, and the air 
 was cleared. Germany, in spite of her blunders and 
 her grossness, stood forth as the scourge of cant. 
 She had the courage to cut through the bonds of 
 humbug and to laugh at the fetishes of the herd. 
 Therefore I am on Germany's side. But I came 
 here for another reason. I know nothing of the 
 East, but as I read history it is from the desert that 
 the purification comes. When mankind is smothered 
 with shams and phrases and painted idols a wind 
 blows out of the wilds to cleanse and simplify life. 
 The world needs space and fresh air. The civilisa- 
 tion we have boasted of is a toy-shop and a blind 
 alley, and I hanker for open country." 
 
 This confounded nonsense was well received. Her 
 pale eyes had the cold light of the fanatic. With
 
 202 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 her bright hair and the long exquisite oval of her 
 face she looked like some destroying fury of a Norse 
 legend. At that moment I think I first really feared 
 her ; before I had half hated and half admired. 
 Thank Heaven, in her absorption she did not notice 
 that I had forgotten the speech of Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 " You are of the Household of Faith," she said. 
 " You will presently learn many things, for the 
 Faith marches to victory. Meantime I have one 
 word for you. You and your companion travel 
 eastward." 
 
 " We go to Mesopotamia," I said. " I reckon 
 these are our passports," and I pointed to the enve- 
 lope. 
 
 She picked it up, opened it, and then tore it in 
 pieces and tossed it in the fire. 
 
 " The orders are countermanded," she said. " I 
 have need of you and you go with me. Not to the 
 flats of the Tigris, but to the great hills. To-morrow 
 you will receive new passports." 
 
 She gave me her hand and turned to go. At the 
 threshold she paused, and looked towards the oak 
 cupboard. " To-morrow I will relieve you of your 
 prisoner. He will be safer in my hands." 
 
 She left me in a condition of pretty blank bewilder- 
 ment. We were to be tied to the chariot-wheels of 
 this fury, and started on an enterprise compared to 
 which fighting against our friends at Kut seemed 
 tame and reasonable. On the other hand, I had 
 been spotted by Rasta, and had got the envoy of 
 the most powerful man in Constantinople locked in 
 a cupboard. At all costs we had to keep Rasta safe, 
 but I was very determined that he should not be 
 handed over to the lady. I was going to be no 
 party to cold-blooded murder, which I judged to be 
 her expedient. It was a pretty kettle of fish, but 
 in the meantime I must have food, for I had eaten
 
 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 203 
 
 nothing for nine hours. So I went in search of 
 Peter. 
 
 I had scarcely begun my long deferred meal when 
 Sandy entered. He was before his time, and he 
 looked as solemn as a sick owl. I seized on him as 
 a drowning man clutches a spar. 
 
 He heard my story of Rasta with a lengthening 
 face. 
 
 " That's bad," he said. " You say he spotted 
 you, and your subsequent doings of course would 
 not disillusion him. It's an infernal nuisance, but 
 there's only one way out of it. I must put him in 
 charge of my own people. They will keep him safe 
 and sound till he's wanted. Only he mustn't see 
 me." And he went out in a hurry. 
 
 I fetched Rasta from his prison. He had come 
 to his senses by this time, and lay regarding me with 
 stony, malevolent eyes. 
 
 ' I'm very sorry, sir," I said, " for what has hap- 
 pened. But you left me no alternative. I've got a 
 big job on hand and I can't have it interfered with 
 by you or any one. You're paying the price of a 
 suspicious nature. When you know a little more 
 you'll want to apologise to me. I'm going to see 
 that you are kept quiet and comfortable for a day or 
 two. You've no cause to worry, for you'll suffer no 
 harm. I give you my word of honour as an American 
 citizen." 
 
 Two of Sandy's miscreants came in and bore him 
 off, and presently Sandy himself returned. When 
 I asked where he was being taken, Sandy said he 
 didn't know. " They've got their orders, and they'll 
 carry them out to the letter. There's a big un- 
 known area in Constantinople to hide a man, into 
 which the Khafiyeh never enter." 
 
 Then he flung himself in a chair and lit his old pipe. 
 
 " Dick," he said, " this job is getting very diffi- 
 cult and very dark. But my knowledge has grown
 
 204 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 in the last few days. I've found out the meaning of 
 the second word that Harry Bullivant scribbled." 
 
 "Cancer?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes. It means just what it reads and no more. 
 Greenmantle is dying — has been dying for months. 
 This afternoon they brought a German doctor to see 
 him, and the man gave him a few hours of life. By 
 now he may be dead." 
 
 The news was a staggerer. For a moment I 
 thought it cleared up things. " Then that busts the 
 show," I said. " You can't have a crusade without 
 a prophet." 
 
 " I wish I thought it did. It's the end of one 
 stage, but the start of a new and blacker one. Do 
 you think that woman will be beaten by such a small 
 thing as the death of her prophet ? She'll find a 
 substitute — one of the four Ministers, or some one 
 else. She's a devil incarnate, but she has the soul 
 of a Napoleon. The big danger is only beginning." 
 
 Then he told me the story of his recent doings. 
 He had found out the house of Frau von Einem 
 without much trouble, and had performed with his 
 ragamuffins in the servants' quarters. The prophet 
 had a large retinue, and the fame of the minstrels — 
 for the Companions were known far and wide in the 
 land of Islam — came speedily to the ears of the Holy 
 Ones. Sandy, a leader in this most orthodox coterie, 
 was taken into favour and brought to the notice of 
 the four Ministers. He and his half-dozen retainers 
 became inmates of the villa, and Sandy, from his 
 knowledge of Islamic lore and his ostentatious piety, 
 was admitted to the confidence of the household. 
 Frau von Einem welcomed him as an ally, for the 
 Companions had been the most devoted propagan- 
 dists of the new revelation. 
 
 As he described it, it was a strange business. 
 Greenmantle was dying and often in great pain, but 
 he struggled to meet the demands of his protectress.
 
 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 205 
 
 The four Ministers, as Sandy saw them, were un- 
 worldly ascetics ; the prophet himself was a saint, 
 though a practical saint with some notions of policy ; 
 but the controlling brain and will were those of the 
 lady. Sandy seemed to have won his favour, even 
 his affection. He spoke of him with a kind of 
 desperate pity. 
 
 " I never saw such a man. He is the greatest 
 gentleman you can picture, with a dignity like a 
 high mountain. He is a dreamer and a poet, too — 
 a genius if I can judge these things. I think I can 
 assess him rightly, for I know something of the soul 
 of the East, but it would be too long a story to tell 
 now. The West knows nothing of the true Oriental. 
 It pictures him as lapped in colour and idleness and 
 luxury and gorgeous dreams. But it is all wrong. 
 The Kdj he yearns for is an austere thing. It is the 
 austerity of the East that is its beauty and its terror. 
 ... It always wants the same things at the back of 
 its head. The Turk and the Arab came out of big 
 spaces, and they have the desire of them in their 
 bones. They settle down and stagnate, and by and 
 by they degenerate into that appalling subtlety 
 which is their ruling passion gone crooked. And 
 then comes a new revelation and a great simplifying. 
 They want to live face to face with God without a 
 screen of ritual and images and priestcraft. They 
 want to prune life of its foolish fringes and get back 
 to the noble bareness of the desert. Remember, it is 
 always the empty desert and the empty sky that 
 cast their spell over them — these, and the hot, 
 strong, antiseptic sunlight which burns up all rot 
 and decay. ... It isn't inhuman. It's the humanity 
 of one part of the human race. It isn't ours, it 
 isn't as good as ours, but it's jolly good all the 
 same. There are times when it grips me so hard that 
 I'm inclined to forswear the gods of my fathers ! 
 
 " Well, Greenmantle is the prophet of this great
 
 206 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 simplicity. He speaks straight to the heart of 
 Islam, and it's an honourable message. But for our 
 sins it's been twisted into part of that damned German 
 propaganda. His unworldliness has been used for a 
 cunning political move, and his creed of space and 
 simplicity for the furtherance of the last word in 
 human degeneracy. My God, Dick, it's like seeing 
 St. Francis run by Messalina." 
 
 " The woman has been here to-night," I said. 
 " She asked me what I stood for, and I invented 
 some infernal nonsense which she approved of. But 
 I can see one thing. She and her prophet may run 
 for different stakes, but it's the same course." 
 
 Sandy started. ' She has been here ! " he cried. 
 " Tell me, Dick, what did you think of her ? " 
 
 " I thought she was about two parts mad, but the 
 third part was uncommon like inspiration." 
 
 " That's about right," he said. " I was wrong in 
 comparing her to Messalina. She's something a 
 dashed sight more complicated. She runs the prophet 
 just because she shares his belief. Only what in him 
 is sane and fine, in her is mad and horrible. You 
 see, Germany also wants to simplify life." 
 
 ' I know," I said. " I told her that an hour ago, 
 when I talked more rot to the second that any 
 mortal man ever achieved. It will come between 
 me and my sleep for the rest of my days." 
 
 " Germany's simplicity is that of the neurotic, not 
 the primitive. It is megalomania and egotism and 
 the pride of the man in the Bible that waxed fat 
 and kicked. But the results are the same. She 
 wants to destroy and simplify ; but it isn't the sim- 
 plicity of the ascetic, which is of the spirit, but the 
 simplicity of the madman that grinds down all the 
 contrivances of civilisation to a featureless mono- 
 tony. The prophet wants to save the souls of his 
 people ; Germany wants to rule the inanimate 
 corpse of the world. But you can get the same
 
 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 207 
 
 language to cover both. And so you have the 
 partnership of St. Francis and Messalina. Dick, 
 did you ever hear of a thing called the Superman ? ' 
 
 " There was a time when the papers were full of 
 nothing else," I answered. ' I gather it was invented 
 by a sportsman called Nietzsche." 
 
 " Maybe," said Sandy. " Old Nietzsche has been 
 blamed for a great deal of rubbish he would have 
 died rather than acknowledge. But it's a craze of 
 the new, fatted Germany. It's a fancy type which 
 could never really exist, any more than the Economic 
 Man of the politicians. Mankind has a sense of 
 humour which stops short of the final absurdity. 
 There never has been and there never could be a 
 real Superman. . . . But there might be a Super- 
 woman." 
 
 " You'll get into trouble, my lad, if you talk like 
 that," I said. 
 
 " It's true all the same. Women have got a 
 perilous logic which we never have, and some of the 
 best of them don't see the joke of life like the ordinary 
 man. They can be far greater than men, for they 
 can go straight to the heart of things. There never 
 was a man so near the divine as Joan of Arc. But 
 I think too they can be more entirely damnable 
 than anything that ever was breeched, for they 
 don't stop still now and then and laugh at them- 
 selves. . . . There is no Superman. The poor old 
 donkeys that fancy themselves in the part are either 
 crack-brained professors who couldn't rule a Sunday- 
 school class, or bristling soldiers with pint-pot heads 
 who imagine that the shooting of a Due d'Enghien 
 made a Napoleon. But there is a Super-woman, 
 and her name's Hilda von Einem." 
 
 '* I thought our job was nearly over," I groaned, 
 " and now it looks as if it hadn't well started. Bulli- 
 vant said that all we had to do was to find out the 
 truth."
 
 208 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 " Bullivant didn't know. No man knows except 
 you and me. I tell you, the woman has immense 
 power. The Germans have trusted her with their 
 trump card, and she's going to play it for all she is 
 worth. There's no crime that will stand in her 
 way. She has set the ball rolling, and if need be 
 she'll cut all her prophets' throats and run the 
 show herself. ... I don't know about your job, for 
 honestly I can't quite see what you and Blenkiron 
 are going to do. But I'm very clear about my own 
 duty. She's let me into the business, and I'm going 
 to stick to it in the hope that I'll find a chance of 
 wrecking it. . . . We're moving eastward to-morrow 
 — with a new prophet if the old one is dead." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " I asked. 
 
 " I don't know. But I gather it's a long journey, 
 judging by the preparations. And it must be to a 
 cold country, judging by the clothes provided." 
 
 " Well, wherever it is, we're going with you. 
 You haven't heard our end of the yarn. Blenkiron 
 and I have been moving in the best circles as skilled 
 American engineers who are going to play Old 
 Harry with the British on the Tigris. I'm a pal of 
 Enver's now, and he has offered me his protection. 
 The lamented Rasta brought our passports for the 
 journey to Mesopotamia to-morrow, but an hour ago 
 your lady tore them up and put them in the fire. 
 We are going with her, and she vouchsafed the in- 
 formation that it was towards the great hills." 
 
 Sandy whistled long and low. " I wonder what 
 the deuce she wants with you ? This thing is get- 
 ting dashed complicated, Dick. . . . Where, more 
 by token, is Blenkiron ? He's the fellow to know 
 about high politics." 
 
 The missing Blenkiron, as Sandy spoke, entered 
 the room with his slow, quiet step. I could see by 
 his carriage that for once he had no dyspepsia, and 
 by his eyes that he was excited.
 
 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 209 
 
 " Say, boys," he said, " I've got something 
 pretty considerable in the way of noos. There's been 
 big fighting on the Eastern border, and the Buzzards 
 have taken a bad knock." 
 
 His hands were full of papers, from which he 
 selected a map and spread it on the table. 
 
 " They keep mum about the thing in this capital, 
 but I've been piecing the story together these last 
 days and I think I've got it straight. A fortnight 
 a<ro old man Nicholas descended from his mountains 
 and scuppered his enemies there — at Kuprikeui, 
 where the main road eastwards crosses the Araxes. 
 That was only the beginning of the stunt, for he 
 pressed on on a broad front, and the gentleman 
 called Kiamil, who commands in those parts, was 
 not up to the job of holding him. The Buzzards 
 were shepherded in from north and east and south, 
 and now the Muscovite is sitting down outside the 
 forts of Erzerum. I can tell you they're pretty 
 miserable about the situation in the highest quarters. 
 . . . Enver is sweating blood to get fresh divisions 
 to Erzerum from Gally-poly, but it's a long road and 
 it looks as if they would be too late for the fair. . . . 
 You and I, Major, start for Mesopotamy to-morrow, 
 and that's about the meanest bit of bad luck that 
 ever happened to John S. We're missing the chance 
 of seeing the goriest fight of this campaign." 
 
 I picked up the map and pocketed it. Maps were 
 my business, and I had been looking for one. 
 
 " We're not going to Mesopotamia," I said. " Our 
 orders have been cancelled." 
 
 " But I've just seen Enver, and he said he had 
 sent round our passports." 
 
 " They're in the fire," I said. " The right ones 
 will come along to-morrow morning." 
 
 Sandy broke in, his eyes bright with excitement. 
 
 " The great hills ! . . . We're going to Erzerum. 
 . . . Don't you see that the Germans are playing 
 
 14
 
 210 AN EMBARRASSED TOILET 
 
 their big card ? They're sending Greenmantle to 
 the point of danger in the hope that his coming will 
 rally the Turkish defence. Things are beginning to 
 move, Dick, old man. No more kicking the heels 
 for us. We're going to be in it up to the neck, and 
 Heaven help the best man. ... I must be off now, 
 for I've a lot to do. Au revoir. We meet some 
 time soon in the hills " 
 
 Blenkiron still looked puzzled, till I told him the 
 story of that night's doings. As he listened, all the 
 satisfaction went out of his face, and that funny, 
 childish air of bewilderment crept in. 
 
 " It's not for me to complain, for it's in the straight 
 line of our dooty, but I reckon there's going to be 
 big trouble ahead of this caravan. It's Kismet, 
 and we've got to bow. But I won't pretend that 
 I'm not considerable scared at the prospect." 
 
 " Oh, so am I," I said. " The woman frightens 
 me into fits. We're up against it this time all right. 
 All the same I'm glad we're to be let into the real 
 star metropolitan performance. I didn't relish the 
 idea of touring the provinces." 
 
 " I guess that's correct. But I could wish that 
 the good God would see fit to take that lovely lady 
 to Himself. She's too much for a quiet man at my 
 time of life. When she invites us to go in on the 
 ground-floor I feel like taking the elevator to the 
 roof-garden."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 
 
 Two days later, in the evening, we came to Angora, 
 the first stage in our journey. 
 
 The passports had arrived next morning, as Frau 
 von Einem had promised, and with them a plan of 
 our journey. More, one of the Companions, who 
 spoke a little English, was detailed to accompany 
 us — a wise precaution, for no one of us had a word 
 of Turkish. These were the sum of our instructions. 
 I heard nothing more of Sandy or Greenmantle or 
 the lady. We were meant to travel in our own party. 
 
 We had the railway to Angora, a very comfortable 
 German schlafwagen, tacked to the end of a troop- 
 train. There wasn't much to be seen of the country, 
 for after we left the Bosporus we ran into scuds of 
 snow, and except that we seemed to be climbing on 
 to a big plateau I had no notion of the landscape. 
 It was a marvel that we made such good time, for 
 that line was congested beyond anything I have 
 ever seen. The place was crawling with the Galli- 
 poli troops, and every siding was packed with supply 
 trucks. When we stopped — which we did on an 
 average about once an hour — you could see vast 
 camps on both sides of the line, and often we struck 
 regiments on the march along the railway track. 
 They looked a fine, hardy lot of ruffians, but many 
 were deplorably ragged, and I didn't think much of 
 their boots. I wondered how they would do the 
 five hundred miles of road to Erzerum. 
 
 211
 
 212 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 
 
 Blenkiron played Patience, and Peter and I took 
 a hand at picquet, but mostly we smoked and 
 yarned. Getting away from that infernal city had 
 cheered us up wonderfully. Now we were out on 
 the open road, moving to the sound of the guns. 
 At the worst we should not perish like rats in a 
 sewer. We would be all together, too, and that was 
 a comfort. I think we felt the relief which a man 
 who has been on a lonely outpost feels when he is 
 brought back to his battalion. Besides, the thing 
 had gone clean beyond our power to direct. It was 
 no good planning and scheming, for none of us had 
 a notion what the next step might be. We were 
 fatalists now, believing in Kismet, and that is a 
 comfortable faith. 
 
 All but Blenkiron. The coming of Hilda von 
 Einem into the business had put a very ugly com- 
 plexion on it for him. It was curious to see how 
 she affected the different members of our gang. 
 Peter did not care a rush ; man, woman, and hippo- 
 griff were the same to him ; he met it all as calmly 
 as if he were making plans to round up an old lion 
 in a patch of bush, taking the facts as they came 
 and working at them as if they were a sum in arith- 
 metic. Sandy and I were impressed — it's no good 
 denying it : horribly impressed — but we were too 
 interested to be scared, and we weren't a bit fascinated. 
 We hated her too much for that. But she fairly 
 struck Blenkiron dumb. He said himself it was just 
 like a rattlesnake and a bird. 
 
 I made him talk about her, for if he sat and 
 brooded he would get worse. It was a strange thing 
 that this man, the most imperturbable and I think 
 about the most courageous I have ever met, should 
 be paralysed by a slim woman. There was no doubt 
 about it. The thought of her made the future to 
 him as black as a thunder cloud. It took the power 
 out of his joints, and if she was going to be much
 
 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 213 
 
 around, it looked as if Blenkiron might be counted 
 out. 
 
 I suggested that he was in love with her, but this 
 he vehemently denied. 
 
 " No, sir ; I haven't got no sort of affection for 
 the lady. My trouble is that she puts me out of 
 countenance, and I can't fit her in as an antagonist. 
 I guess we Americans haven't got the right poise 
 for dealing with that kind of female. We've exalted 
 our womenfolk into little tin gods, and at the same 
 time left them out of the real business of life. Conse- 
 quently, when we strike one playing the biggest 
 kind of man's game we can't place her. We aren't 
 used to regarding them as anything except angels 
 and children. I wish I had had you boys' upbring- 
 ing." 
 
 Angora was like my notion of some place such as 
 Amiens in the retreat from Mons. It was one mass 
 of troops and transport — the neck of the bottle, for 
 more arrived every hour, and the only outlet was the 
 single eastern road. The town was pandemonium 
 into which distracted German officers were trying to 
 introduce some order. They didn't worry much 
 about us, for the heart of Anatolia wasn't a likely 
 hunting-ground for suspicious characters. We took 
 our passports to the commandant, who vised them 
 readily, and told us he'd do his best to get us trans- 
 port. We spent the night in a sort of hotel, where 
 all four crowded into one little bedroom, and next 
 morning I had my work cut out getting a motor-car. 
 It took four hours, and the use of every great name 
 in the Turkish Empire, to raise a dingy sort of 
 Studebaker, and another two to get the petrol and 
 spare tyres. As for a chauffeur, love or money 
 couldn't find him, and I was compelled to drive the 
 thing myself. 
 
 We left just after midday and swung out into bare 
 bleak downs patched with scrubby woodlands
 
 214 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 
 
 There was no snow here, but a wind was blowing 
 from the east which searched the marrow. Pre- 
 sently we climbed up into hills, and the road, though 
 not badly engineered to begin with, grew as rough 
 as the channel of a stream. No wonder, for the 
 traffic was like what one saw on that awful stretch 
 between Cassel and Ypres, and there were no gangs 
 of Belgian roadmakers to mend it up. We found 
 troops by the thousands striding along with their 
 impassive Turkish faces, ox convoys, mule convoys, 
 wagons drawn by sturdy little Anatolian horses, 
 and, coming in the contrary direction, many shabby 
 Red Crescent cars and wagons of the wounded. 
 We had to crawl for hours on end, till we got past a 
 block. Just before the darkening we seemed to 
 outstrip the first press, and had a clear run for about 
 ten miles over a low pass in the hills. I began to get 
 anxious about the car, for it was a poor one at the 
 best, and the road was guaranteed sooner or later 
 to knock even a Rolls-Royce into scrap iron. 
 
 All the same it was glorious to be out in the open 
 again. Peter's face wore a new look, and he sniffed 
 the bitter air like a stag. There floated up from 
 little wayside camps the odour of wood-smoke and 
 dung-fires. That, and the curious acrid winter smell 
 of great wind-blown spaces, will always come to my 
 memory as I think of that day. Every hour brought 
 me peace of mind and resolution. I felt as I had felt 
 when the battalion first marched from Aire towards 
 the firing-line, a kind of keying-up and wild expecta- 
 tion. I'm not used to cities, and lounging about 
 Constantinople had slackened my fibre. Now, as 
 the sharp wind buffeted us, I felt braced to any 
 kind of risk. We were on the great road to the 
 east and the border hills, and soon we should stand 
 upon the farthest battle-front of the war. This was 
 no commonplace intelligence job. That was all 
 over, and we were going into the firing-line, going to
 
 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 215 
 
 take part in what might be the downfall of our 
 enemies. I didn't reflect that we were among those 
 enemies, and would probably share their downfall 
 if we were not shot earlier. The truth is, I had got 
 out of the way of regarding the thing as a struggle 
 between armies and nations. I hardly bothered to 
 think where my sympathies lay. First and foremost 
 it was a contest between the four of us and a crazy 
 woman, and this personal antagonism made the 
 strife of armies only a dimly felt background. 
 
 We slept that night like logs on the floor of a dirty 
 khan, and started next morning in a powder of snow. 
 We were getting very high up now, and it was perish- 
 ing cold. The Companion — his name sounded like 
 Hussin — had travelled the road before and told me 
 what the places were, but they conveyed nothing 
 to me. All morning we wriggled through a big lot 
 of troops, a brigade at least, who swung along at a 
 great pace with a fine free stride that I don't think 
 I have ever seen bettered. I must say I took a 
 fancy to the Turkish fighting man : I remembered 
 the testimonial our fellows gave him as a clean 
 fighter, and I felt very bitter that Germany should 
 have lugged him into this dirty business. They 
 halted for a meal, and we stopped too and lunched 
 off some brown bread and dried figs and a flask of 
 very sour wine. I had a few words with one of the 
 officers who spoke a little German. He told me they 
 were marching straight for Russia, since there had 
 been a great Turkish victory in the Caucasus. " We 
 have beaten the French and the British, and now it 
 is Russia's turn,'? he said stolidly, as if repeating a 
 lesson. But he added that he was mortally sick 
 of war. 
 
 In the afternoon we cleared the column and had 
 an open road for some hours. The land now had a 
 tilt eastward, as if we were moving towards the 
 valley of a great river. Soon we began to meet
 
 216 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 
 
 little parties of men coming from the east with a new 
 look in their faces. The first lots of wounded had 
 been the ordinary thing you see on every front, 
 and there had been some pretence at organisation. 
 But these new lots were very weary and broken ; 
 they were often barefoot, and they seemed to have 
 lost their transport and to be starving. You would 
 find a group stretched by the roadside in the last 
 stages of exhaustion. Then would come a party 
 limping along, so tired that they never turned their 
 heads to look at us. Almost all were wounded, some 
 badly, and most were horribly thin. I wondered how 
 my Turkish friend behind would explain the sight 
 to his men, if he believed in a great victory. They 
 had not the air of the backwash of a conquering 
 army. 
 
 Even Blenkiron, who was no soldier, noticed it. 
 ' These boys look mighty bad," he Observed. 
 " We've got to hustle, Major, if we're going to get 
 seats for the last act." 
 
 That was my own feeling. The sight made me 
 mad to get on faster, for I saw that big things were 
 happening in the East. I had reckoned that four 
 days would take us from Angora to Erzerum, but 
 here was the second nearly over and we were not 
 yet a third of the way. I pressed on recklessly, 
 and that hurry was our undoing. 
 
 I have said that the Studebaker was a rotten old 
 car. Its steering-gear was pretty dicky, and the 
 bad surface and continual hairpin bends of the road 
 didn't improve it. Soon we came into snow lying 
 fairly deep, frozen hard and rutted by the big trans- 
 port-wagons. We bumped and bounced horribly, 
 and were shaken about like peas in a bladder. I 
 began to be acutely anxious about the old bone- 
 shaker, the more as we seemed a long way short of 
 the village I had proposed to spend the night in. 
 Twilight was falling and we were still in an unfeatured
 
 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 217 
 
 waste, crossing the shallow glen of a stream. There 
 was a bridge at the bottom of a slope — a bridge of 
 logs and earth which had apparently been freshly 
 strengthened for heavy traffic. As we approached 
 it at a good pace the car ceased to answer to the 
 wheel. 
 
 I struggled desperately to keep it straight, but it 
 swerved to the left and we plunged over a bank into 
 a marshy hollow. There was a sickening bump as 
 we struck the lower ground, and the whole party 
 were shot out into the frozen slush. I don't yet 
 know how I escaped, for the car turned over and by 
 rights I should have had my back broken. But no 
 one was hurt. Peter was laughing, and Blenkiron, 
 after shaking the snow out of his hair, joined him. 
 For myself I was feverishly examining the machine. 
 It was about as ugly as it could be, for the front 
 axle was broken. 
 
 Here was a piece of hopeless bad luck. We were 
 stuck in the middle of Asia Minor with no means 
 of conveyance, for to get a new axle there was as 
 likely as to find snowballs on the Congo. It was 
 all but dark and there was no time to lose. I got 
 out the petrol tins and spare tyres and cached them 
 among some rocks on the hillside. Then we col- 
 lected our scanty baggage from the derelict Stude- 
 baker. Our only hope was Hussin. He had got to 
 find us some lodging for the night, and next day we 
 would have a try for horses or a lift in some passing 
 wagon. I had no hope of another car. Every 
 automobile in Anatolia would now be at a premium. 
 
 It was so disgusting a mishap that we all took it 
 quietly. It was too bad to be helped by hard swear- 
 ing. Hussin and Peter set off on different sides of 
 the road to prospect for a house, and Blenkiron and 
 I sheltered under the nearest rock and smoked 
 savagely. 
 
 K 
 
 :h. 
 
 Hussin was the first to strike oil. He came back
 
 218 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 
 
 in twenty minutes with news of some kind of dwell- 
 ing a couple of miles up the stream. He went off 
 to collect Peter, and, humping our baggage, Blen- 
 kiron and I plodded up the waterside. Darkness had 
 fallen thick by this time, and we took some bad 
 tosses among the bogs. When Hussin and Peter 
 overtook us they found a better road, and pre- 
 sently we saw a light twinkle in the hollow ahead. 
 
 It proved to be a wretched tumble-down farm in a 
 grove of poplars — a foul-smelling, muddy yard, a 
 two-roomed hovel of a house, and a barn which was 
 tolerably dry and which we selected for our sleeping- 
 place. The owner was a broken old fellow whose 
 sons were all at the war, and he received us with the 
 profound calm of one who expects nothing but un- 
 pleasantness from life. 
 
 By this time we had recovered our tempers, and I 
 was trying hard to put my new Kismet philosophy 
 into practice. I reckoned that if risks were fore- 
 ordained, so were difficulties, and both must be 
 taken as part of the day's work. With the remains 
 of our provisions and some curdled milk we satisfied 
 our hunger and curled ourselves up among the 
 pease straw of the barn. Blenkiron announced with 
 a happy sigh that he had now been for two days 
 quit of his dyspepsia. 
 
 That night, I remember, I had a queer dream. I 
 seemed to be in a wild place among mountains, and 
 I was being hunted, though who was after me I 
 couldn't tell. I remember sweating with fright, for 
 I seemed to be quite alone and the terror that was 
 pursuing me was more than human. The place was 
 horribly quiet and still, and there was deep snow 
 lying everywhere, so that each step I took was 
 heavy as lead. A very ordinary sort of nightmare, 
 you will say. Yes, but there was one strange feature 
 in this one. The night was pitch dark, but ahead 
 of me in the throat of the pass there was one patch
 
 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 219 
 
 of light, and it showed a rum little hill with a rocky 
 top : what we call in South Africa a castrol or sauce- 
 pan. I had a notion that if I could get to that 
 castrol I should be safe, and I panted through the 
 drifts towards it with the avenger of blood at my 
 heels. I woke gasping, to find the winter morning 
 struggling through the cracked rafters, and to hear 
 Blenkiron say cheerily that his duodenum had 
 behaved all night like a gentleman. I lay still for a 
 bit trying to fix the dream, but it all dissolved into 
 haze except the picture of the little hill, which was 
 quite clear in every detail. I told myself it was a 
 reminiscence of the veld, some spot down in the 
 Wakkerstroom country, though for the life of me 
 I couldn't place it. 
 
 I pass over the next three days, for they were one 
 uninterrupted series of heart-breaks. Hussin and 
 Peter scoured the country for horses, Blenkiron sat 
 in the barn and played Patience, while I haunted the 
 roadside near the bridge in the hope of picking up 
 some kind of conveyance. My task was perfectly 
 futile. The columns passed, casting wondering eyes 
 on the wrecked car among the frozen rushes, but 
 they could offer no help. My friend the Turkish 
 officer promised to wire to Angora from some place 
 or other for a fresh car, but, remembering the state 
 of affairs at Angora, I had no hope from that quarter. 
 Cars passed, plenty of them, packed with staff-officers, 
 Turkish and German, but they were in far too big a 
 hurry even to stop and speak. The only conclusion 
 I reached from my roadside vigil was that things 
 were getting very warm in the neighbourhood of 
 Erzerum. Everybody on that road seemed to be 
 in mad haste either to get there or to get away. 
 
 Hussin was the best chance, for, as I have said, 
 the Companions had a very special and peculiar 
 graft throughout the Turkish Empire. But the first 
 day he came back empty-handed. All the horses
 
 220 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 
 
 had been commandeered for the war, he said ; and 
 though he was certain that some had been kept 
 back and hidden away, he could not get on their 
 track. The second day he returned with two — miser- 
 able screws and deplorably short in the wind from 
 a diet of beans. There was no decent corn or hay 
 left in that countryside. The third day he picked 
 up a nice little Arab stallion : in poor condition, it is 
 true, but perfectly sound. For these beasts we paid 
 good money, for Blenkiron was well supplied and 
 w r e had no time to spare for the interminable Oriental 
 bargaining. 
 
 Hussin said he had cleaned up the countryside, 
 and I believed him. I dared not delay another day, 
 even though it meant leaving him behind. But he 
 had no notion of doing anything of the kind. He 
 was a good runner, he said, and could keep up with 
 such horses as ours for ever. If this was the manner 
 of our progress, I reckoned we would be weeks in 
 getting to Erzerum. 
 
 We started at dawn on the morning of the fourth 
 day, after the old farmer had blessed us and sold us 
 some stale rye-bread. Blenkiron bestrode the Arab, 
 being the heaviest, and Peter and I had the screws. 
 My worst forebodings were soon realised, and Hussin, 
 loping along at my side, had an easy job to keep up 
 with us. We were about as slow as an ox-wagon. 
 The brutes were unshod, and with the rough roads I 
 saw that their feet would very soon go to pieces. 
 We jogged along like a tinker's caravan, about five 
 miles to the hour, as feckless a party as ever dis- 
 graced a highroad. 
 
 The weather was now a cold drizzle, which in- 
 creased my depression. Cars passed us and dis- 
 appeared in the mist, going at thirty miles an hour 
 to mock our slowness. None of us spoke, for the 
 futility of the business clogged our spirits. I bit 
 hard on my lip to curb my restlessness, and I think
 
 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 221 
 
 I would have sold my soul there and then for any- 
 thing that could move fast. I don't know any sorer 
 trial than to be mad for speed and have to crawl at 
 a snail's pace. I was getting ripe for any kind of 
 desperate venture. 
 
 About midday we descended on a wide plain full 
 of the marks of rich cultivation. Villages became 
 frequent, and the land was studded with olive groves 
 and scarred with water furrows. From what I 
 remembered of the map I judged that we were coming 
 to that champaign country near Siwas, which is 
 the granary of Turkey, and the home of the true 
 Osmanli stock. 
 
 Then at a turning of the road we came to the 
 caravanserai. 
 
 It was a dingy, battered place, with the pink plaster 
 falling in patches from its walls. There was a 
 courtyard abutting on the road, and a flat-topped 
 house with a big hole in its side. It was a long way 
 from any battle-ground, and I guessed that some 
 explosion had wrought the damage. Behind it, a 
 few hundred yards off, a detachment of cavalry were 
 encamped beside a stream, with their horses tied up 
 in long lines of pickets. 
 
 And by the roadside, quite alone and deserted, 
 stood a large new motor-car. 
 
 In all the road before and behind there was no 
 man to be seen except the troops by the stream. 
 The owners, whoever they were, must be inside the 
 caravanserai. 
 
 I have said I was in the mood for some desperate 
 deed, and lo and behold Providence had given me 
 the chance ! I coveted that car as I have never 
 coveted anything on earth. At the moment all my 
 plans had narrowed down to a feverish passion to 
 get to the battle-field. We had to find Greenmantle 
 at Erzerum, and once there we should have Hilda 
 von Einem's protection. It was a time of war, and
 
 222 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 
 
 a front of brass was the surest safety. But, indeed, 
 I could not figure out any plan worth speaking of. 
 I saw only one thing — a fast car which might be 
 ours. 
 
 I said a word to the others, and we dismounted 
 and tethered our horses at the near end of the court- 
 yard. I heard the low hum of voices from the 
 cavalrymen by the stream, but they were three 
 hundred yards off and could not see us. Peter was 
 sent forward to scout in the courtyard. In the 
 building itself there was but one window looking 
 on the road, and that was in the upper floor. Mean- 
 time I crawled along beside the wall to where the 
 car stood, and had a look at it. It was a splendid 
 six-cylinder affair, brand-new, with the tyres little 
 worn. There were seven tins of petrol stacked 
 behind, as well as spare tyres, and, looking in, I saw 
 map-cases and field-glasses strewn on the seats as 
 if the owners had only got out for a minute to stretch 
 their legs. 
 
 Peter came back and reported that the courtyard 
 was empty. " There are men in the upper room," 
 he said ; " more than one, for I heard their voices. 
 They are moving about restlessly, and may soon be 
 coming out." 
 
 I reckoned that there was no time to be lost, so I 
 told the others to slip down the road fifty yards 
 beyond the caravanserai and be ready to climb in 
 as I passed. I had to start the infernal thing, and 
 there might be shooting. 
 
 I waited by the car till I saw them reach the right 
 distance. I could hear voices from the second floor 
 of the house and footsteps moving up and down. 
 I was in a fever of anxiety, for any moment a man 
 might come to the window. Then I flung myself 
 on the starting handle and worked like a demon. 
 
 The cold made the job difficult, and my heart was 
 in my mouth, for the noise in that quiet place must
 
 THE BATTERED CARAVANSERAI 223 
 
 have woke the dead. Then, by the mercy of Heaven, 
 the engines started, and I sprang to the driving 
 seat, released the clutch, and opened the throttle. 
 The great car shot forward, and I seemed to hear 
 behind me shrill voices. A pistol bullet bored 
 through my hat, and another buried itself in a 
 cushion beside me. 
 
 In a second I was clear of the place and the rest 
 of the party were embarking. Blenkiron got on the 
 step and rolled himself like a sack of coals into the 
 tonneau. Peter nipped up beside me, and Hussin 
 scrambled in from the back over the folds of the hood. 
 We had our baggage in our pockets and had nothing 
 to carry. 
 
 Bullets dropped round us, but did no harm. Then 
 I heard a report at my ear, and out of a corner of 
 my eye saw Peter lower his pistol. Presently we 
 were out of range, and, looking back, I saw three men 
 gesticulating in the middle of the road. 
 
 " May the devil fly away with this pistol," said 
 Peter ruefully. " I never could make good shoot- 
 ing with a little gun. Had I had my rifle ..." 
 
 ' What did you shoot for ? " I asked in amaze- 
 ment. ' We've got the fellows' car, and we don't 
 want to do them any harm." 
 
 ' It would have saved trouble had I had my rifle," 
 said Peter, quietly. " The little man you call 
 Rasta was there, and he knew you. I heard him cry 
 your name. He is an angry little man, and I observe 
 that on this road there is a telegraph."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 TROUBLE BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON 
 
 From that moment I date the beginning of my mad- 
 ness. Suddenly I forgot all eares and difficulties 
 of the present and future and became foolishly 
 light-hearted. We were rushing towards the great 
 battle where men were busy at my proper trade. I 
 realised how much I had loathed the lonely days in 
 Germany, and still more the dawdling week in Con- 
 stantinople. Now I was clear of it all, and bound 
 for the clash of armies. It didn't trouble me that 
 we were on the wrong side of the battle line. I had 
 a sort of instinct that the darker and wilder things 
 grew the better chance for us. 
 
 " Seems to me," said Blenkiron, bending over me, 
 " that this joy-ride is going to come to an untimely 
 end pretty soon. Peter's right. That young man 
 will set the telegraph going, and we'll be held up at 
 the next township." 
 
 " He's got to get to a telegraph office first," I 
 answered. '' That's where we have the pull on him. 
 He's welcome to the screws we left behind, and if 
 he finds an operator before the evening I'm the 
 worst kind of Dutchman. I'm going to break all 
 the rules and bucket this car for what's she worth. 
 Don't you see that the nearer we get to Erzerum the 
 safer we are ? " 
 
 " I don't follow," he said slowly. " At Erzerum 
 I reckon they'll be waiting for us with the handcuffs. 
 Why in thunder couldn't those hairy ragamuffins 
 
 224
 
 TROUBLE BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON 225 
 
 keep the little cuss safe ? Your record's a bit too 
 precipitous, Major, for the most innocent-minded 
 military boss." 
 
 " Do you remember what you said about the 
 Germans being open to bluff ? Well, I'm going to 
 put up the steepest sort of bluff. Of course they'll 
 stop us. Rasta will do his damnedest. But re- 
 member that he and his friends are not very popular 
 with the Germans, and Madame von Einem is. 
 We're her proteges, and the bigger the German swell 
 I get before the safer I'll feel. We've got our pass- 
 ports and our orders, and he'll be a bold man that 
 will stop us once we get into the German zone. 
 Therefore I'm going to hurry as fast as God will 
 let me." 
 
 It was a ride that deserved to have an epic written 
 about it. The car was good, and I handled her well, 
 though I say it who shouldn't. The road in that 
 big central plain was fair, and often I knocked fifty 
 miles an hour out of her. We passed troops by a 
 circuit over the veld, where we took some awful 
 risks, and once we skidded by some transport with 
 our off wheels almost over the lip of a ravine. We 
 went through the narrow streets of Siwas like a fire- 
 engine, while I shouted out in German that we 
 carried despatches for head-quarters. We shot out of 
 drizzling rain into brief spells of winter sunshine, 
 and then into a snow blizzard which all but whipped 
 the skin from our faces. And always before us the 
 long road unrolled, with somewhere at the end of it 
 two armies clinched in a death-grapple. 
 
 That night we looked for no lodging. W T e ate a 
 sort of meal in the car with the hood up, and felt 
 our way on in the darkness, for the headlights were in 
 perfect order. Then we turned off the road for 
 four hours' sleep, and I had a go at the map. Before 
 dawn we started again, and came over a pass into 
 the vale of a big river. The winter dawn showed 
 
 15
 
 226 TROUBLE BY THE 
 
 its gleaming stretches, ice-bound among the sprinkled 
 meadows. I called to Blenkiron : 
 
 " I believe that river is the Euphrates," I said. 
 
 " So," he said, acutely interested. ' Then that's 
 the waters of Babylon. Great snakes, that I should 
 have lived to see the fields where King Nebuchad- 
 nezzar grazed ! Do you know the name of that big 
 hill, Major ? " 
 
 " Ararat, as like as not," I cried, and he believed 
 me. 
 
 We were among the hills now, great, rocky, black 
 slopes, and, seen through side glens, a hinterland of 
 snowy peaks. I remember I kept looking for the 
 castrol I had seen in my dream. The thing had 
 never left off haunting me, and I was pretty clear 
 now that it did not belong to my South African 
 memories. I am not a superstitious man, but the 
 way that little kranz clung to my mind made me 
 think it was a warning sent by Providence. I was 
 pretty certain that when I clapped eyes on it I 
 would be in for bad trouble. 
 
 All morning we travelled up that broad vale, and 
 just before noon it spread out wider, the road dipped 
 to the water's edge, and I saw before me the white 
 roofs of a town. The snow was deep now, and lay 
 down to the riverside, but the sky had cleared, and 
 against a space of blue heaven some peaks to the 
 south rose glittering like jewels. The arches of a 
 bridge, spanning two forks of the stream, showed in 
 front, and as I slowed down at the bend a sentry's 
 challenge rang out from a block-house. We had 
 reached the fortress of Erzingjan, the head-quarters 
 of a Turkish corps and the gate of Armenia. 
 
 I showed the man our passports, but he did not 
 salute and let us move on. He called another fellow 
 from the guard-house, who motioned us to keep pace 
 with him as he stumped down a side lane. At the 
 other end was a big barracks with sentries outside.
 
 WATERS OF BABYLON 227 
 
 The man spoke to us in Turkish, which Hussin inter- 
 preted. There was somebody in that barracks who 
 wanted badly to see us. 
 
 ' By the waters of Babylon we sat down and 
 wept," quoted Blenkiron softly. " I fear, Major, 
 we'll soon be remembering Zion." 
 
 I tried to persuade myself that this was merely 
 the red tape of a frontier fortress, but I had an 
 instinct that difficulties were in store for us. If 
 Rasta had started wiring I was prepared to put up 
 the brazenest bluff, for we were still eighty miles 
 from Erzerum, and at all costs we were going to be 
 landed there before night. 
 
 A fussy staff-officer met us at the door. At the 
 sight of us he cried to a friend to come and look. 
 
 ' Here are the birds safe. A fat man and two 
 lean ones and a savage who looks like a Kurd. Call 
 the guard and march them off. There's no doubt 
 about their identity." 
 
 ' Pardon me, sir," I said, " but we have no time 
 to spare and we'd like to be in Erzerum before the 
 dark. I would beg you to get through any formalities 
 as soon as possible. This man," and I pointed to 
 the sentry, " has our passports." 
 
 ' Compose yourself," he said impudently ; " you're 
 not going on just yet, and when you do it won't be 
 in a stolen car." He took the passports and fingered 
 them casually. Then something he saw there made 
 him cock his eyebrows. 
 
 ' Where did you steal these ? " he asked, but 
 with less assurance in his tone. 
 
 I spoke very gently. " You seem to be the 
 victim of a mistake, sir. These are our papers. We 
 are under orders to report ourselves at Erzerum 
 without an hour's delay. Whoever hinders us will 
 have to answer to General von Liman. We will 
 be obliged if you will conduct us at once to the 
 Governor."
 
 228 TROUBLE BY THE 
 
 " You can't see General Posselt," he said ; " this is 
 my business. I have a wire from Siwas that four 
 men stole a car belonging to one of Enver Damad's 
 staff. It describes you all, and says that two of 
 you are notorious spies wanted by the Imperial 
 Government. What have you to say to that ? " 
 
 " Only that it is rubbish. My good sir, you have 
 seen our passes. Our errand is not to be cried on 
 the housetops, but five minutes with General Posselt 
 will make things clear. You will be exceedingly 
 sorry for it if you delay us another minute." 
 
 He was impressed in spite of himself, and after 
 pulling his moustache turned on his heel and left us. 
 Presently he came back and said very gruffly that 
 the Governor would see us. We followed him along 
 a corridor into a big room looking out on the river, 
 where an oldish fellow sat in an arm-chair by a stove, 
 writing letters with a fountain pen. 
 
 This was Posselt, who had been Governor of 
 Erzerum till he fell sick and Ahmed Fevzi took his 
 place. He had a peevish mouth and big blue pouches 
 below his eyes. He was supposed to be a good 
 engineer and to have made Erzerum impregnable, 
 but the look in his face gave me the impression that 
 his reputation at the moment was a bit unstable. 
 
 The staff-officer spoke to him in an undertone. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," he said testily. " Are these 
 the men ? They look a pretty lot of scoundrels. 
 What's that you say ? They deny it. But they've 
 got the car. They can't deny that. Here, you," 
 and he fixed on Blenkiron, " who the devil are 
 you ? " 
 
 Blenkiron smiled sleepily at him, not under- 
 standing one word, and I took up the parable. 
 
 " Our passports, sir, give our credentials," I said. 
 
 He glanced through them, and his face lengthened. 
 
 " They're right enough. But what about this 
 story of stealing a car ? "
 
 WATERS OF BABYLON 229 
 
 " It is quite true," I said, " but I would prefer 
 to use a pleasanter word. You will see from our 
 papers that every authority on the road is directed 
 to give us the best transport. Our own car broke 
 down, and after a long delay we got some wretched 
 horses. It is vitally important that we should be 
 in Erzerum without delay, so I took the liberty of 
 appropriating an empty car we found outside an 
 inn. I am sorry for the discomfort of the owners, 
 but our business was too grave to wait." 
 
 " But the telegram says you are notorious spies ! " 
 
 I smiled. " Who sent the telegram ? " 
 
 " I see no reason why I shouldn't give you his 
 name. It was Rasta Bey. You've picked an awk- 
 ward fellow to make an enemy of." 
 
 I did not smile but laughed. " Rasta ! " I cried. 
 " He's one of Enver's satellites. That explains 
 many things. I should like a word with you alone, 
 sir." 
 
 He nodded to the staff-officer, and when he had 
 gone I put on my most Bible face and looked as 
 important as a provincial mayor at a royal visit. 
 
 ' I can speak freely," I said, " for I am speaking 
 to a soldier of Germany. There is no love lost 
 between Enver and those I serve. I need not tell 
 you that. This Rasta thought he had found a 
 chance of delaying us, so he invents this trash about 
 spies. Those Comitadjis have spies on the brain. . . . 
 Especially he hates Frau von Einem." 
 
 He jumped at the name. 
 
 " You have orders from her ? " he asked, in a 
 respectful tone. 
 
 w Why, yes," I answered, " and those orders will 
 not wait." 
 
 He got up and walked to a table, whence he turned 
 a puzzled face on me. " I'm torn in two between 
 the Turks and my own countrymen. If I please 
 one I offend the other, and the result is a damnable
 
 230 TROUBLE BY THE 
 
 confusion. You can go on to Erzerum, but I shall 
 send a man with you to see that you report to head- 
 quarters there. I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm 
 obliged to take no chances in this business. Rasta's 
 got a grievance against you, but you can easily hide 
 behind the lady's skirts. She passed through this 
 town two days ago." 
 
 Ten minutes later we were coasting through the 
 slush of the narrow streets with a stolid German 
 lieutenant sitting beside me. 
 
 The afternoon was one of those rare days when 
 in the pauses of snow you have a spell of weather as 
 mild as May. I remembered several like it during 
 our winter's training in Hampshire. The road was 
 a fine one, well engineered, and well kept too, con- 
 sidering the amount of traffic. We were little 
 delayed, for it was sufficiently broad to let us pass 
 troops and transport without slackening pace. The 
 fellow at my side was good-humoured enough, but 
 his presence naturally put the lid on our conversa- 
 tion. I didn't want to talk, however. I was trying 
 to piece together a plan, and making very little of 
 it, for I had nothing to go upon. We must find 
 Hilda von Einem and Sandy, and between us we 
 must wreck the Greenmantle business. That done, 
 it didn't matter so much what happened to us. As I 
 reasoned it out, the Turks must be in a bad way, 
 and, unless they got a fillip from Greenmantle, would 
 crumple up before the Russians. In the rout I 
 hoped we might get a chance to change our sides. 
 But it was no good looking so far forward ; the first 
 thing was to get to Sandy. 
 
 Now I was still in the mood of reckless bravado 
 which I had got from bagging the car. I did not 
 realise how thin our story was, and how easily Rasta 
 might have a big graft at head-quarters. If I had, 
 I would have shot out the German lieutenant long 
 before we got to Erzerum, and found some way of
 
 WATERS OF BABYLON 231 
 
 getting mixed up in the ruck of the population. 
 Hussin could have helped me to that. I was getting 
 so confident since our interview with Possclt that I 
 thought I could bluff the whole outfit. 
 
 But my main business that afternoon was pure 
 nonsense. I was trying to find my little hill. At 
 every turn of the road I expected to see the castrol 
 before us. You must know that ever since I could 
 stand I have been crazy about high mountains. My 
 father took me to Basutoland when I was a boy, and 
 I reckon I have scrambled over almost every bit 
 of upland south of the Zambesi, from the Hottentots 
 Holland to the Zoutpansberg, and from the ugly 
 yellow kopjes of Damaraland to the noble cliffs of 
 Mont aux Sources. One of the things I had looked 
 forward to in coming home was the chance of climb- 
 ing the Alps. But now I was among peaks that I 
 fancied were bigger than the Alps, and I could hardly 
 keep my eyes on the road. I was pretty certain that 
 my castrol was among them, for that dream had 
 taken an almighty hold on my mind. Funnily 
 enough, I was ceasing to think it a place of evil 
 omen, for one soon forgets the atmosphere of night- 
 mare. But I was convinced that it was a thing I 
 was destined to see, and to see pretty soon. 
 
 Darkness fell when we were some miles short of 
 the city, and the last part was difficult driving. 
 On both sides of the road transport and engineer's 
 stores were parked, and some of it strayed into the 
 highway. I noticed lots of small details — machine- 
 gun detachments, signalling parties, squads of 
 stretcher-bearers — which mean the fringe of an army, 
 and as soon as the night began the white fingers of 
 searchlights began to grope in the skies. 
 
 And then, above the hum of the roadside, rose the 
 voice of the great guns. The shells were bursting 
 four or five miles away, and the guns must have 
 been as many more distant. But in that upland
 
 232 TROUBLE BY THE 
 
 pocket of plain in the frosty night they sounded 
 most intimately near. They kept up their solemn 
 litany, with a minute's interval between each — no 
 rafale which rumbles like a drum, but the steady per- 
 sistence of artillery exactly ranged on a target. I 
 judged they must be bombarding the outer forts, 
 and once there came a loud explosion and a red glare 
 as if a magazine had suffered. 
 
 It was a sound I had not heard for five months, and 
 it fairly crazed me. I remembered how I had first 
 heard it on the ridge before Laventie. Then I had 
 been half afraid, half solemnised, but every nerve 
 had been quickened. Then it had been the new 
 thing in my life that held me breathless with 
 anticipation ; now it was the old thing, the thing I 
 had shared with so many good fellows, my proper 
 work, and the only task for a man. At the sound of 
 the guns I felt that I was moving in natural air once 
 more. I felt that I was coming home. 
 
 We were stopped at a long line of ramparts, and a 
 German sergeant stared at us till he saw the lieu- 
 tenant beside me, when he saluted and we passed 
 on. Almost at once we dipped into narrow twisting 
 streets, choked with soldiers, where it was a hard 
 business to steer. There were few lights — only now 
 and then the flare of a torch which showed the grey 
 stone houses, with every window latticed and shut- 
 tered. I had put out my headlights and had only 
 side lamps, so we had to pick our way gingerly through 
 the labyrinth. I hoped we would strike Sandy's 
 quarters soon, for we were all pretty empty, and a 
 frost had set in which made our thick coats seem as 
 thin as paper. 
 
 The lieutenant did the guiding. We had to pre- 
 sent our passports, and I anticipated no more diffi- 
 culty than in landing from the boat at Boulogne. 
 But I wanted to get it over, for my hunger pinched 
 me and it was fearsome cold. Still the guns went
 
 WATERS OF BABYLON 233 
 
 on, like hounds baying before a quarry. The city 
 was out of range, but there were strange lights on 
 the ridge to the east. 
 
 At last we reached our goal and marched through 
 a fine old carved archway into a courtyard, and 
 thence into a draughty hall. 
 
 " You must see the Sektionschef," said our guide. 
 
 I looked round to see if we were all there, and 
 noticed that Hussin had disappeared. It did not 
 matter, for he was not on the passports. 
 
 We followed as we were directed through an open 
 door. There was a man standing with his back 
 towards us looking at a wall map, a very big man 
 with a neck that bulged over his collar. 
 
 I would have known that neck among a million. 
 At the sight of it I made a half-turn to bolt back. 
 It was too late, for the door had closed behind us, 
 and there were two armed sentries beside it. 
 
 The man slewed round and looked into my eyes. 
 I had a despairing hope that I might bluff it out, for 
 I was in different clothes and had shaved my beard. 
 But you cannot spend ten minutes in a death- 
 gripple without your adversary getting to know you. 
 
 He went very pale, then recollected himself and 
 twisted his features into the old grin. 
 
 " So," he said, " the little Dutchmen ! We meet 
 after many days." 
 
 It was no good lying or saying anything. I shut 
 my teeth and waited. 
 
 " And you, Herr Blenkiron ? I never liked the 
 look of you. You babbled too much, like all your 
 damned Americans." 
 
 " I guess your personal dislikes haven't got any- 
 thing to do with the matter," said Blenkiron, 
 calmly. " If you're the boss here, I'll thank you to 
 cast your eye over these passports, for we can't 
 stand waiting for ever." 
 
 This fairly angered him. "I'll teach you manners,"
 
 234 TROUBLE BY THE 
 
 he cried, and took a step forward to reach for 
 Blenkiron's shoulder — the game he had twice played 
 with me. 
 
 Blenkiron never took his hands from his coat 
 pockets. ' Keep your distance," he drawled in a 
 new voice. ' I've got you covered, and I'll make 
 a hole in your bullet head if you lay a hand on me." 
 
 With an effort Stumm recovered himself. He rang 
 a bell and fell to smiling. An orderly appeared to 
 whom he spoke in Turkish, and presently a file of 
 soldiers entered the room. 
 
 " I'm going to have you disarmed, gentlemen," 
 he said. " We can conduct our conversation more 
 pleasantly without pistols." 
 
 It was idle to resist. We surrendered our arms, 
 Peter almost in tears with vexation. Stumm swung 
 his legs over a chair, rested his chin on the back and 
 looked at me. 
 
 1 Your game is up, you know," he said. " These 
 fools of Turkish police said the Dutchmen were 
 dead, but I had the happier inspiration. I believed 
 the good God had spared them for me. When I 
 got Rasta's telegram I was certain, for your doings 
 reminded me of a little trick you once played me on 
 the Schwandorf road. But I didn't think to find 
 this plump old partridge," and he smiled at Blen- 
 kiron. ' Two eminent American engineers and 
 their servant bound for Mesopotamia on business of 
 high Government importance ! It was a good lie ; 
 but if I had been in Constantinople it would have 
 had a short life. Rasta and his friends are no con- 
 cern of mine. You can trick them as you please. 
 But you have attempted to win the confidence of a 
 certain lady, and her interests are mine. Likewise 
 you have offended me, and I do not forgive. By 
 God," he cried, his voice growing shrill with passion, 
 " by the time I have done with you your mothers 
 in their graves will weep that they ever bore you ! "
 
 WATERS OF BABYLON 235 
 
 It was Blenkiron who spoke. His voice was as 
 level as the chairman's of a bogus company, and it 
 fell on that turbid atmosphere like acid on grease. 
 
 " I don't take no stock in high-falutin'. If you're 
 trying to scare me by that dime-novel talk I guess 
 you've hit the wrong man. You're like the sweep 
 that stuck in the chimney, a bit too big for your 
 job. I reckon you've a talent for ro-mance that's 
 just wasted in soldiering. But if you're going to 
 play any ugly games on me I'd like you to know that 
 I'm an American citizen, and pretty well considered in 
 my own country and in yours, and you'll sweat blood 
 for it later. That's a fair warning, Colonel Stumm." 
 
 I don't know what Stumm's plans were, but that 
 speech of Blcnkiron's put into his mind just the 
 needed amount of uncertainty. You see, he had 
 Peter and me right enough, but he hadn't properly 
 connected Blenkiron with us, and was afraid either 
 to hit out at all three, or to let Blenkiron go. It 
 was lucky for us that the American had cut such a 
 dash in the Fatherland. 
 
 " There is no hurry," he said blandly. " We shall 
 have long happy hours together. I'm going to take 
 you all home with me, for I am a hospitable soul. 
 You will be safer with me than in the town gaol, 
 for it's a trifle draughty. It lets things in, and it 
 might let things out." 
 
 Again he gave an order, and we were marched out, 
 each with a soldier at his elbow. The three of us 
 were bundled into the back seat of the car, while 
 two men sat before us with their rifles between 
 their knees, one got up behind on the baggage rack, 
 and one sat beside Stumm's chauffeur. Packed 
 like sardines we moved into the bleak streets, above 
 which the stars twinkled in ribbons of sky. 
 
 Hussin had disappeared from the face of the 
 earth, and quite right too. He was a good fellow, 
 but he had no call to mix himself up in our troubles.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 
 
 " I've often regretted," said Blenkiron, " that 
 miracles have left off happening." 
 
 He got no answer, for I was feeling the walls for 
 something in the nature of a window. 
 
 " For I reckon," he went on, " that it wants a good 
 old-fashioned copper-bottomed miracle to get us 
 out of this fix. It's plumb against all my principles. 
 I've spent my life using the talents God gave me to 
 keep things from getting to the point of rude vio- 
 lence, and so far I've succeeded. But now you come 
 along, Major, and you hustle a respectable middle- 
 aged citizen into an aboriginal mix-up. It's mighty 
 indelicate. I reckon the next move is up to you, 
 for I'm no good at the housebreaking stunt." 
 
 " No more am I," I answered ; " but I'm hanged 
 if I'll chuck up the sponge. Sandy's somewhere 
 outside, and he's got a hefty crowd at his heels." 
 
 I simply could not feel the despair which by every 
 law of common sense was due to the case. The guns 
 had intoxicated me. I could still hear their deep 
 voices, though yards of wood and stone separated 
 us from the upper air. 
 
 What vexed us most was our hunger. Barring a 
 few mouthfuls on the road we had eaten nothing 
 since the morning, and as our diet for the past days 
 had not been generous we had some leeway to make 
 up. Stumm had never looked near us since we were 
 shoved into the car. We had been brought to some 
 
 236
 
 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 237 
 
 kind of house and bundled into a place like a wine- 
 cellar. It was pitch dark, and after feeling round 
 the walls, first on my feet and then on Peter's back, 
 I decided that there were no windows. It must have 
 been lit and ventilated by some lattice in the ceiling. 
 There was not a stick of furniture in the place : 
 nothing but a damp earth floor and bare stone sides. 
 The door was a relic of the Iron Age, and I could 
 hear the paces of a sentry outside it. 
 
 When things get to the pass that nothing you can 
 do can better them, the only thing is to live for the 
 moment. All three of us sought in sleep a refuge 
 from our empty stomachs. The floor was the poorest 
 kind of bed, but we rolled up our coats for pillows 
 and made the best of it. Soon I knew by Peter's 
 regular breathing that he was asleep, and I pre- 
 sently followed him. . . . 
 
 I was awakened by a pressure below my left ear. 
 I thought it was Peter, for it is the old hunter's 
 trick of waking a man so that he makes no noise 
 But another voice spoke. It told me that there was 
 no time to lose and to rise and follow, and the voice 
 was the voice of Hussin. 
 
 Peter was awake, and we stirred Blenkiron out of 
 heavy slumber. We were bidden take off our 
 boots and hang them by their laces round our necks 
 as country boys do when they want to go barefoot. 
 Then we tiptoed to the door, which was ajar. 
 
 Outside was a passage with a flight of steps at 
 one end which led to the open air. On these steps 
 lay a faint shine of starlight, and by its help I saw 
 a man huddled up at the foot of them. It was our 
 sentry, neatly and scientifically gagged and tied up. 
 
 The steps brought us to a little courtyard about 
 which the walls of the houses rose like cliffs. We 
 halted while Hussin listened intently. Apparently 
 the coast was clear and our guide led us to one side, 
 which was clothed by a stout wooden trellis. Once
 
 238 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 
 
 it may have supported fig-trees, but now the plants 
 were dead and only withered tendrils and rotten 
 stumps remained. 
 
 It was child's play for Peter and me to go up that 
 trellis, but it was the deuce and all for Blenkiron. 
 He was in poor condition and puffed like a grampus, 
 and he seemed to have no sort of head for heights. 
 But he was as game as a buffalo, and started in 
 gallantly till his arms gave out and he fairly stuck. 
 So Peter and I went up on each side of him, taking 
 an arm apiece, as I had once seen done to a man 
 with vertigo in the Kloof Chimney on Table Moun- 
 tain. I was mighty thankful when I got him pant- 
 ing on the top and Hussin had shinned up beside us. 
 
 We crawled along a broadish wall, with an inch or 
 two of powdery snow on it, and then up a sloping 
 buttress on to the flat roof of the house. It was a 
 miserable business for Blenkiron, who would cer- 
 tainly have fallen if he could have seen what was 
 below him, and Peter and I had to stand to atten- 
 tion all the time. Then began a more difficult 
 job. Hussin pointed out a ledge which took us 
 past a stack of chimneys to another building slightly 
 lower, this being the route he fancied. At that I 
 sat down resolutely and put on my boots, and the 
 others followed. Frost-bitten feet would be a poor 
 asset in this kind of travelling. 
 
 It was a bad step for Blenkiron, and we only got 
 him past it by Peter and I spread-eagling ourselves 
 against the wall and passing him in front of us with 
 his face towards us. We had no grip, and if he had 
 stumbled we should all three have been in the court- 
 yard. But we got it over, and dropped as softly 
 as possible on to the roof of the next house. Hussin 
 had his finger to his lips, and I soon saw why. For 
 there was a lighted window in the wall we had 
 descended. 
 
 Some imp prompted me to wait behind and ex-
 
 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 239 
 
 plore. The others followed Hussin and were soon 
 at the far end of the roof, where a kind of wooden 
 pavilion broke the line, while I tried to get a look 
 inside. The window was curtained, and had two 
 folding sashes which clasped in the middle. Through 
 a gap in the curtain I saw a little lamp-lit room and 
 a big man sitting at a table littered with papers. 
 
 I watched him, fascinated, as he turned to consult 
 some document and made a marking on the map 
 before him. Then he suddenly rose, stretched him- 
 self, cast a glance at the window, and went out of 
 the room, making a great clatter in descending the 
 wooden staircase. He left the door ajar and the 
 lamp burning. 
 
 I guessed he had gone to have a look at his prisoners, 
 in which case the show was up. But what rilled my 
 mind was an insane desire to get a sight of his map. 
 It was one of those mad impulses which utterly cloud 
 right reason, a thing independent of any plan, a crazy 
 leap in the dark. But it was so strong that I would 
 have pulled that window out by its frame, if need 
 be, to get to that table. 
 
 There was no need, for the flimsy clasp gave at 
 the first pull, and the sashes swung open. I scrambled 
 in, after listening for steps on the stairs. I crumpled 
 up the map and stuck it in my pocket, as well as 
 the paper from which I had seen him copying. Very 
 carefully I removed all marks of my entry, brushed 
 away the snow from the boards, pulled back the 
 curtain, got out and refastened the window. Still 
 there was no sound of his return. Then I started off 
 to catch up the others. 
 
 I found them shivering in the roof pavilion. 
 " We've got to move pretty fast," I said, " for I've 
 just been burgling old Stumm's private cabinet. 
 Hussin, my lad, d'you hear that ? They may be 
 after us any moment, so I pray Heaven we soon 
 strike better going."
 
 240 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 
 
 Hussin understood. He led us at a smart pace 
 from one roof to another, for here they were all of 
 the same height, and only low parapets and screens 
 divided them. We never saw a soul, for a winter's 
 night is not the time you choose to saunter on your 
 housetop. I kept my ears open for trouble behind 
 us, and in about five minutes I heard it. A riot of 
 voices broke out, with one louder than the rest, and, 
 looking back, I saw lanterns waving. Stumm had 
 realised his loss and found the tracks of the thief. 
 
 Hussin gave one glance behind and then hurried 
 us on at a break-neck pace, with old Blenkiron gasp- 
 ing and stumbling. The shouts behind us grew 
 louder, as if some eye quicker than the rest had 
 caught our movement in the starlit darkness. It 
 was very evident that if they kept up the chase we 
 should be caught, for Blenkiron was about as useful 
 on a roof as a hippo. 
 
 Presently we came to a big drop, with a kind of 
 ladder down it, and at the foot a shallow ledge run- 
 ning to the left into a pit of darkness. Hussin 
 gripped my arm and pointed down it. ' Follow it," 
 he whispered, " and you will reach a roof which 
 spans a street. Cross it, and on the other side is a 
 mosque. Turn to the right there and you will find 
 easy going for fifty metres, well screened from the 
 higher roofs. For Allah's sake keep in the shelter 
 of the screen. Somewhere there I will join you." 
 
 He hurried us along the ledge for a bit and then 
 went back, and with snow from the corners covered 
 up our tracks. After that he went straight on him- 
 self, taking strange short steps like a bird. I saw 
 his game. He wanted to lead our pursuers after 
 him, and he had to multiply the tracks, and trust to 
 Stumm' s fellows not spotting that they all were 
 made by one man. 
 
 But I had quite enough to think of in getting 
 Blenkiron along that ledge. He was pretty nearly
 
 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 241 
 
 foundered, he was in a sweat of terror, and as a 
 matter of fact he was taking one of the biggest risks 
 of his life, for we had no rope and his neck depended 
 on himself. I could hear him invoking some un- 
 known deity called Holy Mike. But he ventured 
 gallantly, and we got to the roof which ran across 
 the street. That was easier, though ticklish enough, 
 but it was no joke skirting the cupola of that in- 
 fernal mosque. At last we found the parapet and 
 breathed more freely, for we were now under shelter 
 from the direction of danger. I spared a moment 
 to look round, and thirty yards off, across the street, 
 I saw a weird spectacle. 
 
 The hunt was proceeding along the roofs parallel 
 to the one we were lodged on. I saw the flicker of 
 the lanterns, waved up and down as the bearers 
 slipped in the snow, and I heard their cries like 
 hounds on a trail. Stumm was not among them : 
 he had not the shape for that sort of business. They 
 passed us and continued to our left, now hid by a 
 jutting chimney, now clear to view against the sky 
 line. The roofs they were on were perhaps six feet 
 higher than ours, so even from our shelter we could 
 mark their course. If Hussin were going to be 
 hunted across Erzerum it was a bad look-out for us, 
 for I hadn't the foggiest notion where we were or 
 where we were going to. 
 
 But as we watched we saw something more. The 
 wavering lanterns were now three or four hundred 
 yards away, but on the roofs just opposite us across 
 the street there appeared a man's figure. I thought 
 it was one of the hunters, and we all crouched lower, 
 and then I recognised the lean agility of Hussin. 
 He must have doubled back, keeping in the dusk 
 to the left of the pursuit, and taking big risks in the 
 open places. But there he was now, exactly in 
 front of us, and separated only by the width of the 
 narrow street. 
 
 16
 
 242 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 
 
 He took a step backward, gathered himself for a 
 spring, and leaped clean over the gap. Like a cat 
 he lighted on the parapet above us, and stumbled 
 forward with the impetus right on our heads. 
 
 " We are safe for the moment," he whispered, 
 " but when they miss me they will return. We must 
 make good haste." 
 
 The next half-hour was a maze of twists and turns, 
 slipping down icy roofs and climbing icier chimney- 
 stacks. The stir of the city had gone, and from 
 the black streets below came scarcely a sound. But 
 always the great tattoo of guns beat in the east. 
 Gradually we descended to a lower level, till we 
 emerged on the top of a shed in a courtyard. Hussin 
 gave an odd sort of cry, like a demented owl, and 
 something began to stir below us. 
 
 It was a big covered wagon, full of bundles of 
 forage, and drawn by four mules. As we descended 
 from the shed into the frozen litter of the yard, a 
 man came out of the shade and spoke low to Hussin. 
 Peter and I lifted Blenkiron into the cart, and 
 scrambled in beside him, and I never felt anything 
 more blessed than the warmth and softness of that 
 place after the frosty roofs. I had forgotten all 
 about my hunger, and only yearned for sleep. Pre- 
 sently the wagon moved out of the courtyard into 
 the dark streets. 
 
 Then Blenkiron began to laugh, a deep internal 
 rumble which shook him violently and brought down 
 a heap of forage on his head. I thought it was 
 hysterics, the relief from the tension of the past 
 hour. But it wasn't. His body might be out of 
 training, but there was never anything the matter 
 with his nerves. He was consumed with honest 
 merriment. 
 
 " Say, Major," he gasped, " I don't usually cherish 
 dislikes for my fellow men, but somehow I didn't 
 cotton to Colonel Stumm. But now I almost love
 
 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 243 
 
 him. You hit his jaw very bad in Germany, and 
 now you've annexed his private file, and I guess 
 it's important or he wouldn't have been so mighty 
 set on steeple-chasing over those roofs. I haven't 
 done such a thing since I broke into neighbour 
 Brown's woodshed to steal his tame 'possum, and 
 that's forty years back. It's the first piece of 
 genooine amusement I've struck in this game, and 
 I haven't laughed so much since old Jim Hooker 
 told the tale of ' Cousin Sally Dillard ' when we were 
 hunting ducks in Michigan and his wife's brother had 
 an apoplexy in the night and died of it." 
 
 To the accompaniment of Blenkiron's chuckles I 
 did what Peter had done in the first minute, and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 When I woke it was still dark. The wagon had 
 stopped in a courtyard which seemed to be shaded 
 by great trees. The snow lay deeper here, and by 
 the feel of the air we had left the city and climbed 
 to higher ground. There were big buildings on one 
 side, and on the other what looked like the lift of a 
 hill. No lights were shown, the place was in pro- 
 found gloom, but I felt the presence near me of 
 others besides Hussin and the driver. 
 
 We were hurried, Blenkiron only half awake, into 
 an outbuilding, and then down some steps to a roomy 
 cellar. There Hussin lit a lantern, which showed 
 what had once been a storehouse for fruit. Old 
 husks still strewed the floor and the place smelt of 
 apples. Straw had been piled in corners for beds, 
 and there was a rude table and a divan of boards 
 covered with sheepskins. 
 
 " Where are we ? " I asked Hussin. 
 
 ' In the house of the Master," he said. " You 
 will be safe here, but you must keep still till the 
 Master comes." 
 
 " Is the Frankish lady here ? " I asked. 
 
 Hussin nodded, and from a wallet brought out
 
 244 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 
 
 some food — raisins and cold meat and a loaf of bread. 
 We fell on it like vultures, and as we ate Hussin 
 disappeared. I noticed that he locked the door 
 behind him. 
 
 As soon as the meal was ended the others returned 
 to their interrupted sleep. But I was wakeful now 
 and my mind was sharp-set on many things. I got 
 Blenkiron's electric torch and lay down on the divan 
 to study Stumm's map. 
 
 The first glance showed me that I had lit on a 
 treasure. It was the staff map of the Erzerum de- 
 fences, showing the forts and the field trenches, with 
 little notes scribbled in Stumm's neat small hand- 
 writing. I got out the big map which I had taken 
 from Blenkiron, and made out the general lie of the 
 land. I saw the horseshoe of Deve Boyun to the east 
 which the Russian guns were battering. Stumm's was 
 just like the kind of squared artillery map we used 
 in France, 1 in 10,000, with spidery red lines show- 
 ing the trenches, but with the difference that it was 
 the Turkish trenches that were shown in detail and 
 the Russian only roughly indicated. The thing was 
 really a confidential plan of the whole Erzerum 
 enceinte, and would be worth untold gold to the 
 enemy. No wonder Stumm had been in a wax at 
 its loss. 
 
 The Deve Boyun lines seemed to me monstrously 
 strong, and I remembered the merits of the Turk as a 
 fighter behind strong defences. It looked as if Russia 
 were up against a second Plevna or a new Gallipoli. 
 
 Then I took to studying the flanks. South lay 
 the Palantuken range of mountain, with forts defend- 
 ing the passes, where ran the roads to Mush and Lake 
 Van. That side, too, looked pretty strong. North 
 in the valley of the Euphrates I made out two big 
 forts, Tafta and Kara Gubek, defending the road 
 from Olti. On this part of the map Stumm's notes 
 were plentiful, and I gave them all my attention.
 
 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 245 
 
 I remembered Blenkiron's news about the Russians 
 advancing on a broad front, for it was clear that 
 Stumm was taking pains about the flank of the 
 fortress. 
 
 Kara Gubek was the point of interest. It stood 
 on a rib of land between two peaks, which from the 
 contour lines rose very steep. So long as it was 
 held it was clear that no invader could move down 
 the Euphrates glen. Stumm had appended a note 
 to the peaks — "not fortified" ; and about two miles 
 to the north-east there was a red cross and the 
 name " Prjevalsky." I assumed that to be the 
 farthest point yet reached by the right wing of the 
 Russian attack. 
 
 Then I turned to the paper from which Stumm 
 had copied the jottings on to his map. It was type- 
 written, and consisted of notes on different points. 
 One was headed "Kara Gubek'''' and read : " No time 
 to fortify adjacent peaks. Difficult for enemy to get 
 batteries there, but not impossible. This the real point 
 of danger, for if Prjevalsky wins the peaks Kara Gubek 
 and Tafta must fall, and enemy will be on left rear of 
 Deve Boyun main position.'''' 
 
 I was soldier enough to see the tremendous impor- 
 tance of this note. On Kara Gubek depended the 
 defence of Erzerum, and it was a broken reed if 
 one knew where the weakness lav. Yet, searching 
 the map again, I could not believe that any mortal 
 commander would see any chance in the adjacent 
 peaks, even if he thought them unfortified. That 
 was information confined to the Turkish and Ger- 
 man staff. But if it could be conveyed to the Grand 
 Duke he would have Erzerum in his power in a day. 
 Otherwise he would go on battering at the Deve 
 Boyun ridge for weeks, and long ere he won it the 
 Gallipoli divisions would arrive, he would be out- 
 numbered by two to one, and his chance would have 
 vanished.
 
 246 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 
 
 My discovery set me pacing up and down that 
 cellar in a perfect fever of excitement. I longed for 
 wireless, a carrier pigeon, an aeroplane — anything to 
 bridge over that space of half a dozen miles between 
 me and the Russian lines. It was maddening to 
 have stumbled on vital news and to be wholly unable 
 to use it. How could three fugitives in a cellar, 
 with the whole hornet's nest of Turkey and Germany 
 stirred up against them, hope to send this message 
 of life and death ? 
 
 I went back to the map and examined the nearest 
 Russian positions. They were carefully marked. 
 Prjevalsky in the north, the main force beyond Deve 
 Boyun, and the southern columns up to the passes of 
 the Palantuken but not yet across them. I could 
 not know which was nearest to us till I discovered 
 where we were. And as I thought of this I began 
 to see the rudiments of a desperate plan. It de- 
 pended on Peter, now slumbering like a tired dog 
 on a couch of straw. 
 
 Hussin had locked the door and I must wait for 
 information till he came back. But suddenly I 
 noticed a trap in the roof, which had evidently been 
 used for raising and lowering the cellar's stores. It 
 looked ill-fitting and might be unbarred, so I pulled 
 the table below it, and found that with a little effort 
 I could raise the flap. I knew I was taking immense 
 risks, but I was so keen on my plan that I disregarded 
 them. After some trouble I got the thing prised 
 open, and catching the edges of the hole with my 
 fingers raised my body and got my knees on the 
 edge. 
 
 It was the outbuilding of which our refuge was 
 the cellar, and it was half filled with light. Not a 
 soul was there, and I hunted about till I found what 
 I wanted. This was a ladder leading to a sort of 
 loft, which in turn gave access to the roof. Here I 
 had to be very careful, for I might be overlooked
 
 SPARROWS ON THE HOUSETOPS 247 
 
 from the high buildings. But by good luck there was 
 a trellis for grape vines across the place, which gave 
 a kind of shelter. Lying flat on my face I stared 
 over a great expanse of country. 
 
 Looking north I saw the city in a haze of morning 
 smoke, and, beyond, the plain of the Euphrates and 
 the opening of the glen where the river left the hills. 
 Up there, among the snowy heights, were Tafta and 
 Kara Gubek. To the east was the ridge of Deve 
 Boyun, where the mist was breaking before the 
 winter's sun. On the roads up to it I saw transport 
 moving, I saw the circle of the inner forts, but for a 
 moment the guns were silent. South rose a great 
 wall of white mountain, which I took to be the 
 Palantuken. I could see the roads running to the 
 passes, and the smoke of camps and horse-lines right 
 under the cliffs. 
 
 I had learned what I needed. We were in the out- 
 buildings of a big country house two or three miles 
 south of the city. The nearest point of the Russian 
 front was somewhere in the foothills of the Palantuken. 
 
 As I descended I heard, thin and faint and beau- 
 tiful, like the cry of a wild bird, the muezzin from 
 the minarets of Erzerum. 
 
 When I dropped through the trap the others were 
 awake. Hussin was setting food on the table, and 
 viewing my descent with anxious disapproval. 
 
 " It's all right," I said ; " I won't do it again, 
 for I've found out all I wanted. Peter, old man, the 
 biggest job of your life is before you ! "
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 GREENMANTLE 
 
 Peter scarcely looked up from his breakfast. 
 
 " I'm willing, Dick," he said. " But you mustn't 
 ask me to be friends with Stumm. He makes my 
 stomach cold, that one." 
 
 For the first time he had stopped calling me 
 "Cornelis." The day of make-believe was over for 
 all of us. 
 
 "Not to be friends with him," I said, "but to 
 bust him and all his kind." 
 
 " Then I'm ready," said Peter cheerfully. " What 
 is it ? " 
 
 I spread out the maps on the divan. There was no 
 light in the place but Blenkiron's electric torch, for 
 Hussin had put out the lantern. Peter got his nose 
 into the things at once, for his intelligence work in 
 the Boer War had made him handy with maps. It 
 didn't want much telling from me to explain to him 
 the importance of the one I had looted. 
 
 " That news is worth many million pounds," said 
 he, wrinkling his brows, and scratching delicately 
 the tip of his left ear. It was a way he had when 
 he was startled. 
 
 " How can we get it to our friends ? " 
 
 Peter cogitated. " There is but one way. A 
 man must take it. Once, I remember, when we fought 
 the Matabele it was necessary to find out whether the 
 chief Makapan was living. Some said he had died, 
 
 248
 
 GREENMANTLE 249 
 
 others that he'd gone over the Portuguese border, 
 but I believed he lived. No native could tell us, 
 and since his kraal was well defended no runner 
 could get through. So it was necessary to send a 
 
 man." 
 
 Peter lifted up his head and laughed. " The man 
 found the chief Makapan. He was very much alive, 
 and made good shooting with a shot-gun. But the 
 man brought the chief Makapan out of his kraal 
 and handed him over to the Mounted Police. You 
 remember Captain Arcoll, Dick — Jim Arcoll ? Well, 
 Jim laughed so much that he broke open a wound 
 in his head, and had to have the doctor." 
 
 " You were that man, Peter," I said. 
 
 " J a. I was the man. There are more ways of 
 getting into kraals than there are ways of keeping 
 people out." 
 
 " Will you take this chance ? " 
 
 " For certain, Dick. I am getting stiff with doing 
 nothing, and if I sit in houses much longer I shall 
 grow old. A man bet me five pounds on the ship 
 that I could not get through a trench-line, and if 
 there had been a trench-line handy I would have 
 taken him on. I will be very happy, Dick, but I 
 do not say I will succeed. It is new country to me, 
 and I will be hurried, and hurry makes bad stalking." 
 
 I showed him what I thought the likeliest place — 
 in the spurs of the Palantuken mountains. Peter's 
 way of doing things was all his own. He scraped 
 earth and plaster out of a corner and sat down to 
 make a little model of the landscape on the table, 
 following the contours of the map. He did it extra- 
 ordinarily neatly, for, like all great hunters, he was 
 as deft as a weaver-bird. He puzzled over it for a 
 long time, and conned the map till he must have 
 got it by heart. Then he took his field-glasses — a 
 very good single Zeiss which was part of the spoils 
 from Rasta's motor-car — and announced that he was
 
 250 GREENMANTLE 
 
 going to follow my example and get on to the house- 
 top. Presently his legs disappeared through the trap, 
 and Blenkiron and I were left to our reflections. 
 
 Peter must have found something uncommon 
 interesting, for he stayed on the roof the better part 
 of the day. It was a dull job for us, since there was 
 no light, and Blenkiron had not even the consola- 
 tion of a game of Patience. But for all that he was 
 in good spirits, for he had had no dyspepsia since we 
 left Constantinople, and announced that he believed 
 he was at last getting even with his darned duo- 
 denum. As for me I was pretty restless, for I could 
 not imagine what was detaining Sandy. I was clear 
 that our presence must have been kept secret from 
 Hilda von Einem, for she was a pal of Stumm's, 
 and he must by now have blown the gaff on Peter 
 and me. How long could this secrecy last, I asked 
 myself. We had now no sort of protection in the 
 whole outfit. Rasta and the Turks wanted our 
 blood : so did Stumm and the Germans ; and once 
 the lady found we were deceiving her she would 
 want it most of alL Our only help was Sandy, and 
 he gave no sign of his existence. I began to fear 
 that with him, too, things had miscarried. 
 
 And yet I wasn't really depressed, only impatient. 
 I could never again get back to the beastly stagna- 
 tion of that Constantinople week. The guns kept 
 me cheerful. There was the devil of a bombard- 
 ment all day, and the thought that our Allies were 
 thundering there half a dozen miles off gave me a 
 perfectly groundless hope. If they burst through the 
 defence Hilda von Einem and her prophet and all 
 our enemies would be overwhelmed in the deluge. 
 And that blessed chance depended very much on 
 old Peter, now brooding like a pigeon on the house- 
 tops. 
 
 It was not till the late afternoon that Hussin 
 appeared again. He took no notice of Peter's absence,
 
 GREENMANTLE 251 
 
 but lit a lantern and set it on the table. Then he 
 went to the door and waited. Presently a light 
 step fell on the stairs, and Hussin drew back to let 
 some one enter. He promptly departed and I heard 
 the key turn in the lock behind him. 
 
 Sandy stood there, but a new Sandy who made 
 Blenkiron and me jump to our feet. The pelts and 
 skin-cap had gone, and he wore instead a long linen 
 tunic clasped at the waist by a broad girdle. A 
 strange green turban adorned his head, and as he 
 pushed it back I saw that his hair had been shaved. 
 He looked like some acolyte — a weary acolyte, for 
 there was no spring in his walk or nerve in his car- 
 riage. He dropped numbly on the divan and laid 
 his head in his hands. The lantern showed his hag- 
 gard eyes with dark lines beneath them. 
 
 " Good God, old man, have you been sick ? " I 
 cried. 
 
 " Not sick," he said hoarsely. " My body is right 
 enough, but the last few days I have been living in 
 hell." 
 
 Blenkiron nodded sympathetically. That was how 
 he himself would have described the company of the 
 lady. 
 
 I marched across to him and gripped both his 
 wrists. 
 
 " Look at me," I said, " straight in the eyes." 
 
 His eyes were like a sleep-walker's, unwink- 
 ing, unseeing. " Great heavens, man, you've been 
 drugged ! " I said. 
 
 " Drugged," he cried, with a weary laugh. "Yes, 
 I have been drugged, but not by any physic. No 
 one has been doctoring my food. But you can't go 
 through hell without getting your eyes red-hot." 
 
 I kept my grip on his wrists. " Take your time, 
 old chap, and tell us about it. Blenkiron and I are 
 here, and old Peter's on the roof not far off. We'll 
 look after you.''
 
 252 GREENMANTLE 
 
 " It does me good to hear your voice, Dick," he 
 said. " It reminds me of clean, honest things." 
 
 " They'll come back, never fear. We're at the 
 last lap now. One more spurt and it's over. You've 
 got to tell me what the new snag is. Is it that 
 woman ? " 
 
 He shivered like a frightened colt. " Woman ! " 
 he cried. " Does a woman drag a man through the 
 nether-pit ? She's a she-devil. Oh, it isn't madness 
 that's wrong with her. She's as sane as you and as 
 cool as Blenkiron. Her life is an infernal game of 
 chess, and she plays with souls for pawns. She is 
 evil — evil — evil. ..." And once more he buried his 
 head in his hands. 
 
 It was Blenkiron who brought sense into this 
 hectic atmosphere. His slow, beloved drawl was an 
 antiseptic against nerves. 
 
 " Say, boy," he said, " I feel just like you about 
 the lady. But our job is not to investigate her 
 character. Her Maker will do that good and sure 
 some day. We've got to figure how to circumvent 
 her, and for that you've got to tell us what exactly 's 
 been occurring since we parted company." 
 
 Sandy pulled himself together with a great effort. 
 
 " Greenmantle died that night I saw you. We 
 buried him secretly by her order in the garden of 
 the villa. Then came the trouble about his suc- 
 cessor. . . . The four Ministers would be no party 
 to a swindle. They were honest men, and vowed 
 that their task now was to make a tomb for their 
 master and pray for the rest of their days at his 
 shrine. They were as immovable as a granite hill, 
 and she knew it. . . . Then they too died." 
 " Murdered ? " I gasped. 
 
 " Murdered ... all four in one morning. I do 
 not know how, but I helped to bury them. Oh, she 
 had Germans and Kurds to do her foul work, but 
 their hands were clean compared to hers. Pity me,
 
 GREENMANTLE 253 
 
 Dick, for I have seen honesty and virtue put to the 
 shambles and have abetted the deed when it was done. 
 It will haunt me till my dying day." 
 
 I did not stop to console him, for my mind was 
 on fire with his news. 
 
 " Then the prophet is gone, and the humbug is 
 over," I cried. 
 
 " The prophet still lives. She has found a suc- 
 cessor." 
 
 He stood up in his linen tunic. 
 
 " Why do I wear these clothes ? Because I am 
 Greenmantle. I am the Kaaba-i-hurriyeh for all 
 Islam. In three days' time I will reveal myself to 
 my people and wear on my breast the green ephod 
 of the prophet." 
 
 He broke off with an hysterical laugh. 
 
 " Only you see, I won't. I will cut my throat 
 first." 
 
 " Cheer up ! " said Blenkiron soothingly. " We'll 
 find some prettier way than that." 
 
 " There is no way," he said ; " no way but death. 
 We're done for, all of us. Hussin got you out of 
 Stumm's clutches, but you're in danger every 
 moment. At the best you have three days, and 
 then you, too, will be dead." 
 
 I had no words to reply. This change in the bold 
 and unshakable Sandy took my breath away. 
 
 " She made me her accomplice," he went on. " I 
 should have killed her on the graves of those innocent 
 men. But instead I did all she asked, and joined in 
 her game. . . . She was very candid, you know. . . . 
 She cares no more than Enver for the faith of Islam. 
 She can laugh at it. But she has her own dreams, 
 and they consume her as a saint is consumed by his 
 devotion. She has told me them, and if the day 
 in the garden was hell, the days since have been the 
 innermost fires of Tophet. I think — it is horrible to 
 say it — that she has got some kind of crazy liking
 
 254 GREENMANTLE 
 
 for me. When we have reclaimed the East I am to 
 be by her side when she rides on her milk-white 
 horse into Jerusalem. . . . And there have been 
 moments — only moments, I swear to God — when I 
 have been fired myself by her madness. . . ." 
 
 Sandy's figure seemed to shrink and his voice grew 
 shrill and wild. It was too much for Blenkiron. 
 He indulged in a torrent of blasphemy such as I 
 believe had never before passed his lips. 
 
 "I'm blessed if I'll listen to this God-darned 
 stuff. It isn't delicate. You get busy, Major, and 
 pump some sense into your afflicted friend." 
 
 I was beginning to see what had happened. Sandy 
 was a man of genius — as much as anybody I ever 
 struck — but he had the defects of such high-strung, 
 fanciful souls. He would take more than mortal 
 risks, and you couldn't scare him by any ordinary 
 terror. But let his old conscience get cross-eyed, 
 let him find himself in some situation which in his 
 eyes involved his honour, and he might go stark 
 crazy. The woman, who roused in me and Blen- 
 kiron only hatred, could catch his imagination and 
 stir in him — for the moment only — an unwilling 
 response. And then came bitter and morbid repen- 
 tance, and the last desperation. 
 
 It was no time to mince matters. " Sandy, you 
 old fool," I cried, "be thankful you have friends 
 to keep you from playing the fool. You saved my 
 life at Loos, and I'm jolly well going to get you 
 through this show. I'm bossing the outfit now, and 
 for all your confounded prophetic manners you've got 
 to take your orders from me. You aren't going to 
 reveal yourself to your people, and still less are you 
 going to cut your throat. Greenmantle will avenge 
 the murder of his ministers, and make that bed- 
 lamite woman sorry she was born. We're going to 
 get clear away, and inside of a week we'll be having 
 tea with the Grand Duke Nicholas."
 
 GREENMANTLE 255 
 
 I wasn't bluffing. Puzzled as I was about ways 
 and means I had still the blind belief that we should 
 win out. And as I spoke two legs dangled through 
 the trap and a dusty and blinking Peter descended 
 in our midst. 
 
 I took the maps from him and spread them on the 
 table. 
 
 " First, you must know that we've had an almighty 
 piece of luck. Last night Hussin took us for a walk 
 over the roofs of Erzerum, and by the blessing of 
 Providence I got into Stumm's room and bagged 
 his staff map. . . . Look there . . . d'you see his 
 notes ? That's the danger-point of the whole defence. 
 Once the Russians get that fort, Kara Gubek, they've 
 turned the main position. And it can be got ; 
 Stumm knows it can ; for these two adjacent hills are 
 not held. ... It looks a mad enterprise on paper, 
 but Stumm knows that it is possible enough. The 
 question is : Will the Russians guess that ? I say 
 no, not unless some one tells them. Therefore, by 
 hook or by crook, we've got to get that information 
 through to them." 
 
 Sandy's interest in ordinary things was beginning 
 to flicker up again. He studied the map and began 
 to measure distances. 
 
 " Peter's going to have a try for it. He thinks 
 there's a sporting chance of his getting through the 
 lines. If he does — if he gets this map to the Grand 
 Duke's staff — then Stumm's goose is cooked. In 
 three days the Cossacks will be in the streets of 
 Erzerum." 
 
 " What are the chances ? " Sandy asked. 
 
 I glanced at Peter. " We're hard-bitten fellows 
 and can face the truth. I think the chances against 
 success are about five to one." 
 
 " Two to one," said Peter modestly. " Not worse 
 than that. I don't think you're fair to me, Dick, 
 my old friend."
 
 256 GREENMANTLE 
 
 I looked at' that lean, tight figure and the gentle, 
 resolute face, and I changed my mind. " I'm hanged 
 if I think there are any odds," I said. " With any- 
 body else it would want a miracle, but with Peter I 
 believe the chances are level." 
 
 " Two to one," Peter persisted. " If it was evens 
 I wouldn't be interested." 
 
 " Let me go," Sandy cried. " I talk the lingo, 
 and can pass as a Turk, and I'm a million times 
 likelier to get through. For God's sake, Dick, let 
 me go." 
 
 " Not you. You're wanted here. If you dis- 
 appear the whole show's busted too soon, and the 
 three of us left behind will be strung up before 
 morning. . . . No, my son. You're going to escape, 
 but it will be in company with Blenkiron and me. 
 We've got to blow the whole Greenmantle business 
 so high that the bits of it will never come to earth 
 again. . . . First, tell me how many of your fellows 
 will stick by you ? I mean the Companions." 
 
 " The whole half-dozen. They are very worried 
 already about what has happened. She made me 
 sound them in her presence, and they were quite 
 ready to accept me as Greenmantle's successor. But 
 they have their suspicions about what happened at 
 the villa, and they've no love for the woman. . . . 
 They'd follow me through hell if I bade them, but 
 they would rather it was my own show." 
 
 ""That's all right," I cried. " It is the one thing 
 I've been doubtful about. Now observe this map. 
 Erzerum isn't invested by a long chalk. The Rus- 
 sians are round it in a broad half-moon. That means 
 that all the west, south-west, and north-west is open 
 and undefended by trench-lines. There are flanks 
 far away to the north and south in the hills which 
 can be turned, and once we get round a flank there's 
 nothing between us and our friends. . . . I've 
 figured out our road," and I traced it on the map.
 
 GREENMANTLE 257 
 
 " If we can make that big circuit to the west and get 
 over that pass unobserved we're bound to strike a 
 Russian column the next day. It'll be a rough 
 road, but I fancy we've all ridden as bad in our time. 
 But one thing we must have, and that's horses. Can 
 we and your six ruffians slip off in the darkness on 
 the best beasts in this township ? If you can man- 
 age that, we'll do the trick." 
 
 Sandy sat down and pondered. Thank Heaven, 
 he was thinking now of action and not of his own 
 conscience. 
 
 " It must be done," he said at last, " but it won't 
 be easy. Hussin's a great fellow, but as you know 
 well, Dick, horses right up at the battle-front are not 
 easy to come by. To-morrow I've got some kind 
 of infernal fast to observe, and the next day that 
 woman will be coaching me for my part. We'll have 
 to give Hussin time. ... I wish to Heaven it could 
 be to-night." He was silent again for a bit, and 
 then he said : "I believe the best time would be 
 the third night, the eve of the Revelation. She's 
 bound to leave me alone that night." 
 
 " Right-o," I said. ' It won't be much fun sit- 
 ting waiting in this cold sepulchre; but we must 
 keep our heads and risk nothing by being in a hurry. 
 Besides, if Peter wins through, the Turk will be a 
 busy man by the day after to-morrow." 
 
 The key turned in the door and Hussin stole in 
 like a shade. It was the signal for Sandy to leave. 
 
 " You fellows have given me a new lease of life," 
 he said. " I've got a plan now, and I can set my 
 teeth and stick it out." 
 
 He went up to Peter and gripped his hand. " Good 
 luck. You're the bravest man I've ever met, and 
 I've seen a few." Then he turned abruptly and 
 went out, followed by an exhortation from Blen- 
 kiron to " Get busy about the quadrupeds." 
 
 17
 
 258 GREENMANTLE 
 
 Then we set about equipping Peter for his crusade. 
 It was a simple job, for we were not rich in pro- 
 perties. His get-up, with his thick fur-collared great- 
 coat, was not unlike the ordinary Turkish officer seen 
 in a dim light. But Peter had no intention of pass- 
 ing for a Turk, or indeed of giving anybody the 
 chance of seeing him, and he was more concerned to 
 fit in with the landscape. So he stripped off the 
 greatcoat and pulled a grey sweater of mine over 
 his jacket, and put on his head a woollen helmet of 
 the same colour. He had no need of the map, for 
 he had long since got his route by heart, and what 
 was once fixed in that mind stuck like wax ; but I 
 made him take Stumm's plan and paper, hidden below 
 his shirt. The big difficulty, I saw, would be getting 
 to the Russians without being shot, assuming he 
 passed the Turkish trenches. He could only hope 
 that he would strike some one with a smattering of 
 English or German. Twice he ascended to the roof 
 and came back cheerful, for there was promise of 
 wild weather. 
 
 Hussin brought in our supper, and Peter made up 
 a parcel of food. JBlenkiron and I had both small 
 flasks of brandy and I gave him mine. 
 
 Then he held out his hand quite simply, like a 
 good child who is going off to bed. It was too 
 much for Blenkiron. With large tears rolling down 
 his face he announced that, if we all came through, 
 he was going to fit him into the softest berth that 
 money could buy. I don't think he was under- 
 stood, for old Peter's eyes had now the faraway 
 absorption of the hunter who has found game. He 
 was thinking only of his job. 
 
 Two legs and a pair of very shabby boots vanished 
 through the trap, and suddenly I felt utterly lonely 
 and desperately sad. The guns were beginning to 
 roar again in the east, and in the intervals came the 
 whistle of the rising storm,
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 This chapter is the tale that Peter told me — long 
 after, sitting beside a stove in the hotel at Bergen, 
 where we were waiting for our boat. 
 
 He climbed on the roof and shinned down the 
 broken bricks of the outer walls. The outbuilding 
 we were lodged in abutted on a road, and was out- 
 side the proper enceinte of the house. At ordinary 
 times I have no doubt there were sentries, but Sandy 
 and Hussin had probably managed to clear them 
 off this end for a little. Anyhow he saw nobody as 
 he crossed the road and dived into the snowy fields. 
 
 He knew very well that he must do the job in the 
 twelve hours of darkness ahead of him. The im- 
 mediate front of a battle is a bit too public for any one 
 to lie hidden in by day, especially when two or 
 three feet of snow make everything kenspeckle. Now 
 hurry in a job of this kind was abhorrent to Peter's 
 soul, for, like all Boers, his tastes were for slowness 
 and sureness, though he could hustle fast enough 
 when haste was needed. As he pushed through the 
 winter fields he reckoned up the things in his favour, 
 and found the only one the dirty weather. There 
 was a high, gusty wind, blowing scuds of snow but 
 never coming to any great fall. The frost had 
 gone, and the lying snow was as soft as butter. That 
 was,s all to the good, he thought, for a clear, hard 
 night would have been the devil. 
 
 259
 
 260 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 The first bit was through farmlands, which were 
 seamed with little snow-filled water-furrows. Now 
 and then would come a house and a patch of fruit 
 trees, but there was nobody abroad. The roads 
 were crowded enough, but Peter had no use for 
 roads. I can picture him swinging along with his 
 bent back, stopping every now and then to sniff and 
 listen, alert for the foreknowledge of danger. When 
 he chose he could cover country like an antelope. 
 
 Soon he struck a big road full of transport. It 
 was the road from Erzerum to the Palantuken pass, 
 and he waited his chance and crossed it. After that 
 the ground grew rough with boulders and patches of 
 thorn-trees, splendid cover where he could move 
 fast without worrying. Then he was pulled up 
 suddenly on the bank of a river. The map had 
 warned him of it, but not that it would be so big. 
 
 It was a torrent swollen with melting snow and 
 rains in the hills, and it was running fifty yards 
 wide. Peter thought he could have swum it, but he 
 was very averse to a drenching. " A wet man 
 makes too much noise," he said, and besides, there 
 was the off-chance that the current would be too 
 much for him. So he moved up stream to look for 
 
 a bridge. 
 
 In ten minutes he found one, a new-made thing of 
 trestles, broad enough to take transport wagons. 
 It was guarded, for he heard the tramp of a sentry, 
 and as he pulled himself up the bank he observed 
 a couple of long wooden huts, obviously some kind 
 of billets. These were on the near side of the stream, 
 about a dozen yards from the bridge. A door stood 
 open and a light showed in it, and from within 
 came the sound of voices. . . . Peter had a sense 
 of hearing like a wild animal, and he could detect 
 even from the confused gabble that the voices were 
 German. 
 
 As he lay and listened some one came over the
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 261 
 
 bridge. It was an officer, for the sentry saluted. 
 The man disappeared in one of the huts. Peter had 
 struck the billets and repairing-shop of a squad of 
 German sappers. 
 
 He was just going ruefully to retrace his steps 
 and try to find a good place to swim the stream when 
 it struck him that the officer who had passed him 
 wore clothes very like his own. He, too, had had a 
 grey sweater and a Balaclava helmet, for even a 
 German officer ceases to be dressy on a mid-winter's 
 night in Anatolia. The idea came to Peter to walk 
 boldly across the bridge and trust to the sentry not 
 seeing the difference. 
 
 He slipped round a corner of the hut and marched 
 down the road. The sentry was now at the far end, 
 which was lucky, for if the worst came to the worst 
 he could throttle him. Peter, mimicking the stiff 
 German walk, swung past him, his head down as if 
 to protect him from the wind. 
 
 The man saluted. He did more, for he offered con- 
 versation. The officer must have been a genial soul. 
 ' It's a rough night, Captain," he said in German. 
 " The wagons are late. Pray God, Michael hasn't 
 got a shell in his lot. They've begun putting over 
 some big ones." 
 
 Peter grunted good-night in German and strode 
 on. He was just leaving the road when he heard 
 a great halloo behind him. 
 
 The real officer must have appeared on his heels, 
 and the sentry's doubts had been stirred. A whistle 
 was blown, and, looking back, Peter saw lanterns 
 waving in the gale. They were coming out to look 
 for the duplicate. 
 
 He stood still for a second, and noticed the lights 
 spreading out south of the road. He was just about 
 to dive off it on the north side when he was aware 
 of a difficulty. On that side a steep bank fell to a 
 ditch, and the bank beyond bounded a big flood.
 
 262 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 He could see the dull ruffle of the water under the 
 wind. 
 
 On the road itself he would soon be caught ; south 
 of it the search was beginning ; and the ditch itself 
 was no place to hide, for he saw a lantern moving 
 up it. Peter dropped into it all the same and made 
 a plan. The side below the road was a little under- 
 cut and very steep. He resolved to plaster himself 
 against it, for he would be hidden from the road, 
 and a searcher in the ditch would not be likely to 
 explore the unbroken sides. It was always a maxim 
 of Peter's that the best hiding-place was the worst, 
 the least obvious to the minds of those who were 
 looking for you. 
 
 He waited till the lights both in the road and the 
 ditch came nearer, and then he gripped the edge 
 with his left hand, where some stones gave him 
 purchase, dug the toes of his boots into the wet soil, 
 and stuck like a limpet. It needed some strength 
 to keep the position for long, but the muscles of his 
 arms and legs were like whipcord. 
 
 The searcher in the ditch soon got tired, for the 
 place was very wet, and joined his comrades on 
 the road. They came along, running, flashing the 
 lanterns into the trench, and exploring all the im- 
 mediate countryside. 
 
 Then rose a noise of wheels and horses from the 
 opposite direction. Michael and the delayed wagons 
 were approaching. They dashed up at a great pace, 
 driven wildly, and for one horrid second Peter 
 thought they were going to spill into the ditch at the 
 very spot where he was concealed. The wheels 
 passed so close to the edge that they almost grazed 
 his fingers. Somebody shouted an order and they 
 pulled up a yard or two nearer the bridge. The 
 others came up and there was a consultation. 
 
 Michael swore he had passed no one on the road. 
 
 "That fool Hannus has seen a ghost," said the
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 263 
 
 officer testily. " It's too cold for this child's 
 play." 
 
 Hannus, almost in tears, repeated his tale. ' The 
 man spoke to me in good German," he cried. 
 
 " Ghost or no ghost he is safe enough up the 
 road," said the officer. ' Kind God, that was a 
 big one ! " He stopped and stared at a shell-burst, 
 for the bombardment from the east was growing 
 fiercer. 
 
 They stood discussing the fire for a minute and 
 presently moved off. Peter gave them two minutes' 
 law and then clambered back to the highway and 
 set off along it at a run. The noise of the shelling 
 and the wind, together with the thick darkness, 
 made it safe to hurry. 
 
 He left the road at the first chance and took to 
 the broken country. The ground was now rising 
 towards a spur of the Palantuken, on the far slope of 
 which were the Turkish trenches. The night had 
 begun by being pretty nearly as black as pitch ; 
 even the smoke from the shell explosions, which is 
 often visible in darkness, could not be seen. But 
 as the wind blew the snow-clouds athwart the sky 
 patches of stars came out. Peter had a compass, 
 but he didn't need to use it, for he had a kind of 
 " feel " for landscape, a special sense which is born 
 in savages and can only be acquired after long ex- 
 perience by the white man. I believe he could smell 
 where the north lay. He had settled roughly which 
 part of the line he would try, merely because of its 
 nearness to the enemy. But he might see reason to 
 vary this, and as he moved he began to think that 
 the safest place was where the shelling was hottest. 
 He didn't like the notion, but it sounded sense. 
 
 Suddenly he began to puzzle over queer things 
 in the ground, and, as he had never seen big guns 
 before, it took him a moment to fix them. Presently 
 one went off at his elbow with a roar like the Last
 
 264 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 Day. These were the Austrian howitzers — nothing 
 over 8-inch, I fancy, but to Peter they looked like 
 leviathans. Here, too, he saw for the first time a 
 big and quite recent shell-hole, for the Russian guns 
 were searching out the position. He was so inter- 
 ested in it all that he poked his nose where he 
 shouldn't have been, and dropped plump into the 
 pit behind a gun-emplacement. 
 
 Gunners all the world over are the same — shy 
 people, who hide themselves in holes and hibernate 
 and mortally dislike being detected. 
 
 A gruff voice cried " Wer da? " and a heavy hand 
 seized his neck. 
 
 Peter was ready with his story. He belonged to 
 Michael's wagon-team and had been left behind. 
 He wanted to be told the way to the sappers' camp. 
 He was very apologetic, not to say obsequious. 
 
 " It is one of those Prussian swine from the Marta 
 Bridge," said a gunner. ' Land him a kick to teach 
 him sense. Bear to your right, mannikin, and you 
 will find a road. And have a care when you get there, 
 for the Russkoes are registering on it." 
 
 Peter thanked them and bore off to the right. 
 After that he kept a wary eye on the howitzers, 
 and was thankful when he got out of their area 
 on to the slopes up the hill. Here was the type of 
 country that was familiar to him, and he defied 
 any Turk or Boche to spot him among the scrub 
 and boulders. He was getting on very well, when 
 once more, close to his ear, came a sound like the 
 crack of doom. 
 
 It was the field-guns now, and the sound of a 
 field-gun close at hand is bad for the nerves if you 
 aren't expecting it. Peter thought he had been hit, 
 and lay flat for a little to consider. Then he found 
 the right explanation, and crawled forward very 
 warily. 
 
 Presently he saw his first Russian shell. It dropped
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 265 
 
 half a dozen yards to his right, making a great hole 
 in the snow and sending up a mass of mixed earth, 
 snow, and broken stones. Peter spat out the dirt 
 and felt very solemn. You must remember that 
 never in his life had he seen big shelling, and was 
 now being landed in the thick of a first-class show 
 without any preparation. He said he felt cold in 
 his stomach, and very wishful to run away, if there 
 had been anywhere to run to. But he kept on to 
 the crest of the ridge, over which a big glow was 
 broadening like a sunrise. He tripped once over a 
 wire, which he took for some kind of snare, and after 
 that went very warily. By and by he got his face 
 between two boulders and looked over into the true 
 battle-field. 
 
 He told me it was exactly what the predikant 
 used to say that Hell would be like. About fifty 
 yards down the slope lay the Turkish trenches — they 
 were dark against the snow, and now and then a 
 black figure like a devil showed for an instant and 
 disappeared. The Turks clearly expected an in- 
 fantry attack, for they were sending up calcium 
 rockets and Verey flares. The Russians were batter- 
 ing their line and spraying all the hinterland, not 
 with shrapnel, but with good, solid high-explosives. 
 The place would be as bright as day for a moment, 
 all smothered in a scurry of smoke and snow and 
 debris, and then a black pall would fall on it, when 
 only the thunder of the guns told of the battle. 
 
 Peter felt very sick. He had not believed there 
 could be so much noise in the world, and the drums 
 of his ears were splitting. Now, for a man to whom 
 courage is habitual, the taste of fear — naked, utter 
 fear — is a horrible thing. It seems to wash away all 
 his manhood. Peter lay on the crest, watching the 
 shells burst, and confident that any moment he 
 might be a shattered remnant. He lay and reasoned 
 with himself, calling himself every name he could
 
 266 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 think of, but conscious that nothing would get rid 
 of that lump of ice below his heart. 
 
 Then he could stand it no longer. He got up and 
 ran for his life. 
 
 But he ran forward. 
 
 It was the craziest performance. He went hell- 
 for-leather over a piece of ground which was being 
 watered with H.E., but by the mercy of Heaven 
 nothing hit him. He took some fearsome tosses in 
 shell-holes, but partly erect and partly on all fours 
 he did the fifty yards and tumbled into a Turkish 
 trench right on the top of a dead man. 
 
 The contact with that body brought him to his 
 senses. That men could die at all seemed a com- 
 forting, homely thing after that unnatural pande- 
 monium. The next moment a crump took the parapet 
 of the trench some yards to his left, and he was half 
 buried in an avalanche. 
 
 He crawled out of that, pretty badly cut about 
 the head. He was quite cool now and thinking hard 
 about his next step. There were men all around 
 him, sullen dark faces as he saw them when the 
 flares went up. They were manning the parapets 
 and waiting tensely for something else than the 
 shelling. They paid no attention to him, for I fancy 
 in that trench units were pretty well mixed up, and 
 under a bad bombardment no one bothers about 
 his neighbour. He found himself free to move as 
 he pleased. The ground of the trench was littered 
 with empty cartridge-cases, and there were many 
 dead bodies. 
 
 The last shell, as I have said, had played havoc 
 with the parapet. In the next spell of darkness 
 Peter crawled through the gap and twisted among 
 some snowy hillocks. He was no longer afraid of 
 shells, any more than he was afraid of a veld thunder- 
 storm. But he was wondering very hard how he 
 should ever get to the Russians. The Turks were
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 267 
 
 behind him now, but there was the biggest danger 
 in front. 
 
 Then the artillery ceased. It was so sudden that 
 he thought he had gone deaf, and could hardly realise 
 the blessed relief of it. The wind, too, seemed to 
 have fallen, or perhaps he was sheltered by the lee 
 of the hill. There were a lot of dead here also, and 
 that he couldn't understand, for they were new 
 dead. Had the Turks attacked and been driven 
 back ? When he had gone about thirty yards he 
 stopped to take his bearings. On the right were the 
 ruins of a large building set on fire by the guns. 
 There was a blur of woods and the debris of walls 
 round it. Away to the left another hill ran out 
 farther to the east, and the place he was in seemed 
 to be a kind of cup between the spurs. Just before 
 him was a little ruined building, with the sky seen 
 through its rafters, for the smouldering ruin on the 
 right gave a certain light. He wondered if the 
 Russian firing-line lay there. 
 
 Just then he heard voices — smothered voices — not 
 a yard away and apparently below the ground. He 
 instantly jumped to what this must mean. It was 
 a Turkish trench — a communication trench. Peter 
 didn't know much about modern warfare, but he had 
 read in the papers, or heard from me, enough to make 
 him draw the right moral. The fresh dead pointed 
 to the same conclusion. What he had got through 
 were the Turkish support trenches, not their firing- 
 line. That was still before him. 
 
 He didn't despair, for the rebound from panic had 
 made him extra courageous. He crawled forward, 
 an inch at a time, taking no sort of risk, and pre- 
 sently found himself looking at the parados of a 
 trench. Then he lay quiet to think out the next 
 step. 
 
 The shelling had stopped, and there was that queer 
 kind of peace which falls sometimes on two armies
 
 268 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 not a quarter of a mile distant. Peter said he could 
 hear nothing but the far-off sighing of the wind. 
 There seemed to be no movement of any kind in the 
 trench before him, which ran through the ruined 
 building. The light of the burning was dying, and 
 he could just make out the mound of earth a yard 
 in front. He began to feel hungry, and got out his 
 packet of food and had a swig at the brandy flask. 
 That comforted him, and he felt a master of his fate 
 again. But the next step was not so easy. He 
 must find out what lay behind that mound of earth. 
 
 Suddenly a curious sound fell on his ears. It was 
 so faint that at first he doubted the evidence of his 
 senses. Then as the wind fell it came louder. It 
 was exactly like some hollow piece of metal being 
 struck by a stick, musical and oddly resonant. 
 
 He concluded it was the wind blowing a branch of 
 a tree against an old boiler in the ruin before him. 
 The trouble was that there was scarcely enough 
 wind now for that in this sheltered cup. 
 
 But as he listened he caught the note again. It 
 was a bell, a fallen bell, and the place before him 
 must have been a chapel. He remembered that an 
 Armenian monastery had been marked on the big 
 map, and he guessed it was the burned building on 
 his right. 
 
 The thought of a chapel and a bell gave him the 
 notion of some human agency. And then suddenly 
 the notion was confirmed. The sound was regular 
 and concerted — dot, dash, dot — dash, dot, dot. The 
 branch of a tree and the wind may play strange 
 pranks, but they do not produce the longs and 
 shorts of the Morse Code. 
 
 This was where Peter's intelligence work in the 
 Boer War helped him. He knew the Morse, he could 
 read it, but he could make nothing of the signalling. 
 It was either in some special code or in a strange 
 language.
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 269 
 
 He lay still and did some calm thinking. There 
 was a man in front of him, a Turkish soldier, who 
 was in the enemy's pay. Therefore he could frater- 
 nise with him, for they were on the same side. But 
 how was he to approach him without getting shot 
 in the process ? Again, how could a man send 
 signals to the enemy from a firing-line without being 
 detected ? Peter found an answer in the strange 
 configuration of the ground. He had not heard a 
 sound till he was a few yards from the place, and 
 they would be inaudible to men in the reserve trenches 
 and even in the communication trenches. If some- 
 body moving up the latter caught the noise, it would 
 be easy to explain it naturally. But the wind blow- 
 ing down the cup would carry it far in the enemy's 
 direction. 
 
 There remained the risk of being heard by those 
 parallel with the bell in the firing trenches. Peter 
 concluded that that trench must be very thinly 
 held, probably only by a few observers, and the 
 nearest might be a dozen yards off. He had read 
 about that being the French fashion under a big 
 bombardment. 
 
 The next thing was to find out how to make him- 
 self known to this ally. He decided that the only 
 way was to surprise him. He might get shot, but 
 he trusted to his strength and agility against a man 
 who was almost certainly wearied. When he had got 
 him safe, explanations might follow. 
 
 Peter was now enjoying himself hugely. If only 
 those infernal guns kept silent he would play out the 
 game in the sober, decorous way he loved. So very 
 delicately he began to wriggle forward to where the 
 sound was. 
 
 The night was now as black as ink round him, and 
 very quiet, too, except for soughings of the dying 
 gale. The snow had drifted a little in the lee of the 
 ruined walls, and Peter's progress was naturally very
 
 270 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 slow. He could not afford to dislodge one ounce 
 of snow. Still the tinkling went on, now in greater 
 volume. Peter was in terror lest it should cease 
 before he got his man. 
 
 Presently his hand clutched at empty space. He 
 was on the lip of the front trench. The sound was 
 now a yard to his right, and with infinite care he 
 shifted his position. Now the bell was just below 
 him, and he felt the big rafter of the woodwork from 
 which it had fallen. He felt something else — a 
 stretch of wire fixed in the ground with the far end 
 hanging in the void. That would be the spy's ex- 
 planation if any one heard the sound and came 
 seeking the cause. 
 
 Somewhere in the darkness before and below him 
 was the man, not a yard off. Peter remained very 
 still, studying the situation. He could not see, but 
 he could feel the presence, and he was trying to 
 decide the relative position of man and bell and 
 their exact distance from him. The thing was not 
 so easy as it looked, for if he jumped for where he 
 believed the figure was, he might miss it and get a 
 bullet in the stomach. A man who played so risky 
 a game was probably handy with his firearms. Be- 
 sides, if he should hit the bell, he would make a 
 hideous row and alarm the whole front. 
 
 Fate suddenly gave him the right chance. The 
 unseen figure stood up and moved a step, till his 
 back was against the parados. He actually brushed 
 against Peter's elbow, who held his breath. 
 
 There is a catch that the Kaffirs have which 
 would need several diagrams to explain. It is partly 
 a neck hold, and partly a paralysing backward twist 
 of the right arm, but if it is practised on a man from 
 behind, it locks him as sure as if he were handcuffed. 
 Peter slowly got his body raised and his knees drawn 
 under him, and reached for his prey. 
 
 He got him. A head was pulled backward over
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 271 
 
 the edge of the trench, and he felt in the air the 
 motion of the left arm pawing feebly but unable to 
 reach behind. 
 
 'Be still," whispered Peter in German; "I mean 
 you no harm. We are friends of the same purpose. 
 Do you speak German ? " 
 
 " Nein," said a muffled voice. 
 
 "English?" 
 
 " Yes," said the voice. 
 
 " Thank God," said Peter. " Then we can under- 
 stand each other. I've watched your notion of 
 signalling, and a very good one it is. I've got to get 
 through to the Russian lines somehow before 
 morning, and I want you to help me. I'm English — 
 a kind of English, so we're on the same side. If I 
 let go your neck will you be good and talk reason- 
 ably ? " 
 
 The voice assented. Peter let go, and in the same 
 instant slipped to the side. The man wheeled round 
 and flung out an arm but gripped vacancy. 
 
 '* Steady, friend," said Peter ; " you mustn't play 
 tricks with me or I'll be angry." 
 
 11 Who are you ? Who sent you ? " asked the 
 puzzled voice. 
 
 Peter had a happy thought. " The Companions 
 of the Rosy Hours ? " he said. 
 
 4 Then are we friends indeed," said the voice. 
 " Come out of the darkness, friend, and I will do you 
 no harm. I am a good Turk, and I fought beside 
 the English in Kordofan and learned their tongue. 
 I live only to see the ruin of Enver, who has beggared 
 my family and slain my twin brother. Therefore I 
 serve the Muscov ghiaours." 
 
 ' I don't know what the Musky Jaws are, but if 
 you mean the Russians I'm with you. I've got news 
 for them which will make Enver green. The ques- 
 tion is, how I'm to get to them, and that is where 
 you shall help me, my friend."
 
 272 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " By playing that little tune of yours again. Tell 
 them to expect within the next half-hour a deserter 
 with an important message. Tell them, for God's 
 sake, not to fire at anybody till they've made certain 
 it isn't me." 
 
 The man took the blunt end of his bayonet and 
 squatted beside the bell. The first stroke brought 
 out a clear, searching note which floated down the 
 valley. He struck three notes at slow intervals. 
 For all the world, Peter said, he was like a telegraph 
 operator calling up a station. 
 
 " Send the message in English," said Peter. 
 
 " They may not understand it," said the man. 
 
 " Then send it any way you like. I trust you, for 
 we are brothers." 
 
 After ten minutes the man ceased and listened. 
 From far away came the sound of a trench-gong, 
 the kind of thing they used on the Western Front 
 to give the gas-alarm. 
 
 " They say they will be ready," he said. " I 
 cannot take down messages in the darkness, but 
 they have given me the signal which means ' Con- 
 sent.' " 
 
 " Come, that is pretty good," said Peter. " And 
 now I must be moving. You take a hint from me. 
 When you hear big firing up to the north get ready 
 to beat a quick retreat, for it will be all up with that 
 city of yours. And tell your folk, too, that they're 
 making a bad mistake letting those fool Germans rule 
 their land. Let them hang Enver and his little 
 friends, and we'll all be happy once more." 
 
 " May Satan receive his soul ! ' said the Turk. 
 " There is wire before us, but I will show you a way 
 through. The guns this evening made many rents 
 in it. But haste, for a working party may be here 
 presently to repair it. Remember there is much 
 wire before the other lines."
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 273 
 
 Peter, with certain directions, found it pretty easy 
 to make his way through the entanglement. There 
 was one bit which scraped a hole in his back, but 
 very soon he had come to the last posts and found 
 himself in open country. The place, he said, 
 was a graveyard of the unburied dead that smelt 
 horribly as he crawled among them. He had no 
 inducements to delay, for he thought he could hear 
 behind him the movement of the Turkish working 
 party, and was in terror that a flare might reveal 
 him and a volley accompany his retreat. 
 
 From one shell-hole to another he wormed his 
 way, till he struck an old ruinous communication 
 trench which led in the right direction. The Turks 
 must have been forced back in the past week, and 
 the Russians were now in the evacuated trenches. 
 The thing was half full of water, but it gave Peter a 
 feeling of safety, for it enabled him to get his head 
 below the level of the ground. Then it came to an 
 end and he found before him a forest of wire. 
 
 The Turk in his signal had mentioned half an hour, 
 but Peter thought it was nearer two hours before 
 he got through that noxious entanglement. Shelling 
 had made little difference to it. The uprights were 
 all there, and the barbed strands seemed to touch 
 the ground. Remember, he had no wire-cutter ; 
 nothing but his bare hands. Once again fear got 
 hold of him. He felt caught in a net, with monstrous 
 vultures waiting to pounce on him from above. At 
 any moment a flare might go up and a dozen rifles 
 find their mark. He had altogether forgotten about 
 the message which had been sent, for no message 
 could dissuade the ever-present death he felt around 
 him. It was, he said, like following an old lion into 
 bush when there was but one narrow way in, and 
 no road out. 
 
 The guns began again — the Turkish guns from 
 behind the ridge — and a shell tore up the wire a 
 18
 
 274 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 
 
 short way before him. Under cover of the burst 
 he made good a few yards, leaving large portions of 
 his clothing in the strands. Then quite suddenly, 
 when hope had almost died in his heart, he felt the 
 ground rise steeply. He lay very still, a star-rocket 
 from the Turkish side lit up the place, and there in 
 front was a rampart with the points of bayonets 
 showing beyond it. It was the Russian hour for 
 stand-to. 
 
 He raised his cramped limbs from the ground and 
 shouted, " Friend ! English ! " 
 
 A face looked down at him, and then the darkness 
 again descended. 
 
 " Friend," he said hoarsely. " English." 
 
 He heard speech behind the parapet. An electric 
 torch was flashed on him for a second. A voice 
 spoke, a friendly voice, and the sound of it seemed 
 to be telling him to come over. 
 
 He was now standing up, and as he got his hands 
 on the parapet he seemed to feel bayonets very near 
 him. But the voice that spoke was kindly, so with 
 a heave he scrambled over and flopped into the 
 trench. Once more the electric torch was flashed, 
 and revealed to the eyes of the onlookers an inde- 
 scribably dirty, lean, middle-aged man with a bloody 
 head, and scarcely a rag of shirt on his back. The 
 said man, seeing friendly faces around him, grinned 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " That was a rough trek, friends," he said ; " I want 
 to see your general pretty quick, for I've got a 
 present for him." 
 
 He was taken to an officer in a dug-out, who 
 addressed him in French, which he did not under- 
 stand. But the sight of Stumm's plan worked 
 wonders. After that he was fairly bundled down 
 communication trenches and then over swampy 
 fields to a farm among trees. There he found staff 
 officers, who looked at him and looked at his map,
 
 PETER PIENAAR GOES TO THE WARS 275 
 
 and then put him on a horse and hurried him east- 
 wards. At last he came to a big ruined house, and 
 was taken into a room which seemed to be full of 
 maps and generals. 
 
 The conclusion must be told in Peter's words. 
 
 ' There was a big man sitting at a table drinking 
 coffee, and when I saw him my heart jumped out of 
 my skin. For it was the man I hunted with on the 
 Pungwe in '98 — him whom the Kaffirs called ' Buck's 
 Horn,' because of his long curled moustaches. He 
 was a prince even then, and now he is a very great 
 general. When I saw him, I ran forward and 
 gripped his hand and cried, ' Hoe gat het, Mynheer ? ' 
 and he knew me and shouted in Dutch, ' Damn, if it 
 isn't old Peter Pienaar ! ' Then he gave me coffee 
 and ham and good bread, and he looked at my map. 
 ' What is this ? ' he cried, growing red in the 
 face. 
 
 ' ' It is the staff-map of one Stumm, a German 
 skellum who commands in yon city,' I said. 
 
 ' He looked at it close and read the markings, 
 and then he read the other paper which you gave 
 me, Dick. And then he flung up his arms and 
 laughed. He took a loaf and tossed it into the air 
 so that it fell on the head of another general. He 
 spoke to them in their own tongue, and they too 
 laughed, and one or two ran out as if on some errand. 
 I have never seen such merrymaking. They were 
 clever men, and knew the worth of what you gave me. 
 
 ' Then he got to his feet and hugged me, all dirty 
 as I was, and kissed me on both cheeks. 
 
 ' Before God, Peter,' he said, ' you're the 
 mightiest hunter since Nimrod. You've often found 
 me game, but never game so big as this ! ' "
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 It was a wise man who said that the biggest kind 
 of courage was to be able to sit still. I used to feel 
 that when we were getting shelled in the reserve 
 trenches outside Vermelles. I felt it before we went 
 over the parapets at Loos, but I never felt it so 
 much as on the last two days in that cellar. I had 
 simply to set my teeth and take a pull on myself. 
 Peter had gone on a crazy errand which I scarcely 
 believed could come off. There were no signs of 
 Sandy ; somewhere within a hundred yards he was 
 fighting his own battles, and I was tormented by the 
 thought that he might get jumpy again and wreck 
 everything. A strange Companion brought us food, 
 a man who spoke only Turkish and could tell us no- 
 thing ; Hussin, I judged, was busy about the horses. 
 If I could only have done something to help on 
 matters I could have scotched my anxiety, but 
 there was nothing to be done, nothing but wait and 
 brood. I tell you I began to sympathise with the 
 general behind the lines in a battle, the fellow who 
 makes the plan which others execute. Leading a 
 charge can be nothing like so nerve-shaking a busi- 
 ness as sitting in an easy-chair and waiting on the 
 news of it. 
 
 It was bitter cold, and we spent most of the day 
 wrapped in our greatcoats and buried deep in the 
 straw. Blenkiron was a marvel. There was no light 
 for him to play Patience by, but he never complained. 
 
 276
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 277 
 
 He slept a lot of the time, and when he was awake 
 talked as cheerily as if he were starting out on a 
 holiday. He had one great comfort, his dyspepsia 
 was gone. He sang hymns constantly to the benign 
 Providence that had squared his duo-denum. 
 
 My only occupation was to listen for the guns. 
 The first day after Peter left they were very quiet 
 on the front nearest us, but in the late evening they 
 started a terrific racket. The next day they never 
 stopped from dawn to dusk, so that it reminded me 
 of that tremendous forty-eight hours before Loos. 
 I tried to read into this some proof that Peter had 
 got through, but it would not work. It looked more 
 like the opposite, for this desperate hammering must 
 mean that the frontal assault was still the Russian 
 game. 
 
 Two or three times I climbed on the housetop for 
 fresh air. The day was foggy and damp, and I could 
 see very little of the countryside. Transport was 
 still bumping southward along the road to the 
 Palantuken, and the slow wagon-loads of wounded 
 returning. One thing I noticed, however. There 
 was a perpetual coming and going between the house 
 and the city. Motors and mounted messengers were 
 constantly arriving and departing, and I concluded 
 that Hilda von Einem was getting ready for her 
 part in the defence of Erzerum. 
 
 These ascents were all on the first day after Peter's 
 going. The second day, when I tried the trap, I 
 found it closed and heavily weighted. This must 
 have been done by our friends, and very right too. 
 If the house were becoming a place of public resort, 
 it would never do for me to be journeying roof ward. 
 
 Late on the second night Hussin reappeared. It 
 was after supper, when Blenkiron had gone peace- 
 fully to sleep and I was beginning to count the 
 hours till the morning. I could not close an eye 
 during these days and not much at night.
 
 278 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 Hussin did not light a lantern. I heard his key in 
 the lock, and then his light step close to where we lay. 
 
 " Are you asleep ? " he said, and when I answered 
 he sat down beside me. 
 
 " The horses are found," he said, " and the Master 
 bids me tell you that we start in the morning three 
 hours before dawn." 
 
 It was welcome news. " Tell me what is hap- 
 pening," I begged; "we have been lying in this 
 tomb for three days and heard nothing." 
 
 ' The guns are busy," he said. " The Allemans 
 come to this place every hour, I know not for what. 
 Also there has been a great search for you. The 
 searchers have been here, but they were sent away 
 empty. . . . Sleep, my lord, for there is wild work 
 before us." 
 
 I did not sleep much, for I was strung too high 
 with expectation, and I envied Blenkiron his now 
 eupeptic slumbers. But for an hour or so I dropped 
 off, and my old nightmare came back. Once again 
 I was in the throat of a pass, hotly pursued, strain- 
 ing for some sanctuary which I knew I must 
 reach. But I was no longer alone. Others were 
 with me : how many I could not tell, for when I tried 
 to see their faces they dissolved in mist. Deep snow 
 was underfoot, a grey sky was over us, black peaks 
 were on all sides, but ahead in the mist of the pass 
 was that curious castrol which I had first seen in my 
 dream on the Erzerum road. 
 
 I saw it distinct in every detail. It rose to the 
 left of the road through the pass, above a hollow 
 where great boulders stood out in the snow. Its 
 sides were steep, so that the snow had slipped off in 
 patches, leaving stretches of glistening black shale. 
 The kranz at the top did not rise sheer, but sloped 
 at an angle of forty-five, and on the very summit 
 there seemed a hollow, as if the earth within the 
 rock-rim had been beaten by weather into a cup.
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 279 
 
 That is often the way with a South African castrol, 
 and I knew it was so with this. We were straining 
 for it, but the snow clogged us, and our enemies 
 were very close behind. 
 
 Then I was awakened by a figure at my side. 
 ' Get ready, my lord," it said ; " it is the hour to 
 ride." 
 
 Like sleep-walkers we moved into the sharp air. 
 Hussin led us out of an old postern and then through 
 a place like an orchard to the shelter of some tall 
 evergreen trees. There horses stood, champing 
 quietly from their nose-bags. "Good," I thought; 
 " a feed of oats before a big effort." 
 
 There were nine beasts for nine riders. We 
 mounted without a word and filed through a grove 
 of trees to where a broken paling marked the begin- 
 ning of cultivated land. There for the matter of 
 twenty minutes Hussin chose to guide us through 
 deep, clogging snow. He wanted to avoid any sound 
 till we were well beyond earshot of the house. Then 
 we struck a by-path which presently merged in a 
 hard highway, running, as I judged, south-west by 
 west. There we delayed no longer, but galloped 
 furiously into the dark. 
 
 I had got back all my exhilaration. Indeed I was 
 intoxicated with the movement, and could have 
 laughed out loud and sung. Under the black 
 canopy of the night perils are either forgotten or 
 terribly alive. Mine were forgotten. The darkness 
 I galloped into led me to freedom and friends. 
 Yes, and success, which I had not dared to hope 
 and scarcely even to dream of. 
 
 Hussin rode first, with me at his side. I turned 
 my head and saw Blenkiron behind me, evidently 
 mortally unhappy about the pace we set and the 
 mount he sat. He used to say that horse-exercise 
 was good for his liver, but it was a gentle amble and
 
 280 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 a short gallop that he liked, and not this mad helter- 
 skelter. His thighs were too round to fit a saddle- 
 leather. We passed a fire in a hollow, the bivouac 
 of some Turkish unit, and all the horses shied 
 violently. I knew by Blenkiron's oaths that he 
 had lost his stirrups and was sitting on his horse's 
 neck. 
 
 Beside him rode a tall figure swathed to the eyes 
 in wrappings, and wearing round his neck some kind 
 of shawl whose ends floated behind him. Sandy, of 
 course, had no European ulster, for it was months 
 since he had worn proper clothes. I wanted to 
 speak to him, but somehow I did not dare. His 
 stillness forbade me. He was a wonderful fine 
 horseman, with his firm English hunting seat, and 
 it was as well, for he paid no attention to his beast. 
 His head was still full of unquiet thoughts. 
 
 Then the air around me began to smell acrid and 
 raw, and I saw that a fog was winding up from the 
 hollows. 
 
 ' Here's the devil's own luck," I cried to Hussin. 
 " Can you guide us in a mist ? " 
 
 " I do not know," He shook his head. " I had 
 counted on seeing the shape of the hills." 
 
 " We've a map and a compass, anyhow. But 
 these make slow travelling. Pray God it lifts ! " 
 
 Presently the black vapour changed to grey, and 
 the day broke. It was little comfort. The fog 
 rolled in waves to the horses' ears, and riding at the 
 head of the party I could but dimly see the next 
 rank. 
 
 " It is time to leave the road," said Hussin, u or 
 we may meet inquisitive folk." 
 
 We struck to the left, over ground which was for 
 all the world like a Scotch moor. There were pools 
 of rain on it, and masses of tangled snow-laden 
 junipers, and long reefs of wet slaty stone. It was 
 bad going, and the fog made it hopeless to steer a
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 281 
 
 good course. I had out the map and the compass, 
 and tried to fix our route so as to round the flank 
 of a spur of the mountains which separated us from 
 the valley we were aiming at. 
 
 " There's a stream ahead of us," I said to Hussin. 
 " Is it fordable ? " 
 
 " It is only a trickle," he said, coughing. ' This 
 accursed mist is from Eblis." But I knew long be- 
 fore we reached it that it was no trickle. It was a 
 hill stream coming down in spate, and, as I soon 
 guessed, in a deep ravine. Presently we were at its 
 edge, one long whirl of yeasty falls and brown rapids. 
 We could as soon get horses over it as to the top- 
 most cliffs of the Palantuken. 
 
 Hussin stared at it in consternation. " May Allah 
 forgive my folly, for I should have known. We 
 must return to the highway and find a bridge. My 
 sorrow, that I should have led my lords so ill." 
 
 Back over that moor we went with my spirits 
 badly damped. We had none too long a start, and 
 Hilda von Einem would rouse heaven and earth to 
 catch us up. Hussin was forcing the pace, for his 
 anxiety was as great as mine. 
 
 Before we reached the road the mist blew back 
 and revealed a wedge of country right across to the 
 hills beyond the river. It was a clear view, every 
 object standing out wet and sharp in the light of 
 morning. It showed the bridge with horsemen 
 drawn up across it, and it showed, too, cavalry 
 pickets moving along the road. 
 
 They saw us at the same instant A word was 
 passed down the road, a shrill whistle blew, and the 
 pickets put their horses at the bank and started across 
 the moor. 
 
 " Did I not say this mist was from Eblis ? " growled 
 Hussin, as we swung round and galloped back on 
 our tracks. " These cursed Zaptiehs have seen us, 
 and our road is cut."
 
 282 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 I was for trying the stream at all costs, but Hussin 
 pointed out that it would do us no good. The 
 cavalry beyond the bridge were moving up the other 
 bank. " There is a path through the hills that I 
 know, but it must be travelled on foot. If we can 
 increase our lead and the mist cloaks us, there is yet 
 a chance." 
 
 It was a weary business plodding up to the skirts 
 of the hills. We had the pursuit behind us now, 
 and that put an edge on every difficulty. There 
 were long banks of broken screes, I remember, where 
 the snow slipped in wreaths from under our feet. 
 Great boulders had to be circumvented, and patches 
 of bog, where the streams from the snows first made 
 contact with the plains, mired us to our girths. 
 Happily the mist was down again, but this, though 
 it hindered the chase, lessened the chances of Hussin 
 finding the path. 
 
 He found it nevertheless. There was the gully 
 and the rough mule-track leading upwards. But 
 there also had been a landslip, quite recent from the 
 marks. A large scar of raw earth had broken across 
 the hillside, which with the snow above it looked 
 like a slice cut out of an iced chocolate-cake. 
 
 We stared blankly for a second, till we recognised 
 its hopelessness. 
 
 " I'm for trying the crags," I said. " Where there 
 once was a way another can be found." 
 
 " And be picked off at their leisure by these 
 marksmen," said Hussin grimly. " Look ! ' 
 
 The mist had opened again, and a glance behind 
 showed me the pursuit closing up on us. They were 
 now less than three hundred yards off. We turned 
 our horses and made off eastward along the skirts 
 of the cliffs. 
 
 Then Sandy spoke for the first time. " I don't 
 know how you fellows feel, but I'm not going to be 
 taken. There's nothing much to do except to find
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 283 
 
 a good place and put up a fight. We can sell our 
 lives dearly." 
 
 " That's about all," said Blenkiron cheerfully. 
 He had suffered such tortures on that gallop that he 
 welcomed any kind of stationary fight. 
 
 " Serve out the arms," said Sandy. 
 
 The Companions all carried rifles slung across 
 their shoulders. Hussin, from a deep saddle-bag, 
 brought out rifles and bandoliers for the rest of us. 
 As I laid mine across my saddle-bow I saw it was a 
 German Mauser of the latest pattern. 
 
 " It's hell-for-leather till we find a place for a 
 stand," said Sandy. " The game's against us this 
 time." 
 
 Once more we entered the mist, and presently 
 found better going on a long stretch of even slope. 
 Then came a rise, and on the crest of it I saw the sun. 
 Presently we dipped into bright daylight and looked 
 down on a broad glen, with a road winding up it to 
 a pass in the range. I had expected this. It was one 
 way to the Palantuken pass, some miles south of the 
 house where we had been lodged. 
 
 And then, as I looked southward, I saw what I had 
 been watching for for days. A little hill split the 
 valley, and on its top was a kranz of rocks. It was 
 the castrol of my persistent dream. 
 
 On that I promptly took charge. " There's our 
 fort," I cried. '* If we once get there we can hold 
 it for a week. Sit down and ride for it." 
 
 We bucketed down that hillside like men pos- 
 sessed, even Blenkiron sticking on manfully among 
 the twists and turns and slithers. Presently we 
 were on the road and were racing past marching 
 infantry and gun teams and empty wagons. I 
 noted that most seemed to be moving downward and 
 few going up. Hussin screamed some words in 
 Turkish that secured us a passage, but indeed our 
 crazy speed left them staring. Out of a corner of
 
 284 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 my eye I saw that Sandy had flung off most of his 
 wrappings and seemed to be all a dazzle of rich 
 colour. But I had thought for nothing except the 
 little hill, now almost fronting us across the shallow 
 glen. 
 
 No horses could breast that steep. We urged 
 them into the hollow, and then hastily dismounted, 
 humped the packs, and began to struggle up the 
 side of the castrol. It was strewn with great boulders, 
 which gave a kind of cover that very soon was 
 needed. For, snatching a glance back, I saw that 
 our pursuers were on the road above us and were 
 getting ready to shoot. 
 
 At normal times we would have been easy marks, 
 but, fortunately, wisps and streamers of mist now 
 clung about that hollow. The rest could fend for 
 themselves, so I stuck to Blenkiron and dragged 
 him, wholly breathless, by the least exposed route. 
 Bullets spattered now and then against the rocks, 
 and one sang unpleasantly near my head. In this 
 way we covered three-fourths of the distance, and 
 had only the bare dozen yards where the gradient 
 eased off up to the edge of the kranz. 
 
 Blenkiron got hit in the leg, our only casualty. 
 There was nothing for it but to carry him, so I 
 swung him on my shoulders, and with a bursting- 
 heart did that last lap. It was hottish work, and the 
 bullets were pretty thick about us, but we all got 
 safely to the kranz and a short scramble took us over 
 the edge. I laid Blenkiron inside the castrol and 
 started to prepare our defence. 
 
 We had little time to do it. Out of the thin fog 
 figures were coming, crouching in cover. The place 
 we were in was a natural redoubt, except that there 
 were no loopholes or sandbags. We had to show 
 our heads over the rim to shoot, but the danger was 
 lessened by the superb field of fire given by those 
 last dozen yards of glacis. I posted the men and
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 285 
 
 waited, and Blenkiron, with a white face, insisted on 
 taking his share, announcing that he used to be 
 handy with a gun. 
 
 I gave the order that no man was to shoot till the 
 enemy had come out of the rocks on to the glacis. 
 The thing ran right round the top, and we had to 
 watch all sides to prevent them getting us in flank 
 or rear. Hussin's rifle cracked out presently from 
 the back, so my precautions had not been needless. 
 
 We were all three fair shots, though none of us up 
 to Peter's miraculous standard, and the Companions, 
 too, made good practice. The Mauser was the 
 weapon I knew best, and I didn't miss much. The 
 attackers never had a chance, for their only hope was 
 to rush us by numbers, and, the whole party being 
 not above two dozen, they were far too few. I 
 think we killed three, for their bodies were left 
 lying, and wounded at least six, while the rest fell 
 back towards the road. In a quarter of an hour it 
 was all over. 
 
 " They are dogs of Kurds," I heard Hussin say 
 fiercely. " Only a Kurdish ghiaour would fire on the 
 livery of the Kaaba." 
 
 Then I had a good look at Sandy. He had dis- 
 carded shawls and wrappings, and stood up in 
 the strangest costume man ever wore in battle. 
 Somehow he had procured field-boots and an old 
 pair of riding-breeches. Above these, reaching well 
 below his middle, he had a wonderful silken jibbah 
 or ephod of a bright emerald. I call it silk, but it 
 was like no silk I have ever known, so exquisite in the 
 mesh, with such a sheen and depth in it. Some 
 strange pattern was woven on the breast, which in the 
 dim light I could not trace. I'll warrant no rarer or 
 costlier garment was ever exposed to lead on a bleak 
 winter hill. 
 
 Sandy seemed unconscious of his garb. His eye, 
 listless no more, scanned the hollow. ' That's only
 
 286 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 the overture," he cried. " The opera will soon 
 begin. We must put a breastwork up in these gaps 
 or they'll pick us off from a thousand yards." 
 
 I had meantime roughly dressed Blenkiron's wound 
 with a linen rag which Hussin provided. It was from 
 a ricochet bullet which had chipped into his left shin. 
 Then I took a hand with the others in getting up 
 earthworks to complete the circuit of the defence. 
 It was no easy job, for we wrought only with our 
 knives and had to dig deep down below the snowy 
 gravel. As we worked I took stock of our refuge. 
 
 The castrol was a rough circle about ten yards in 
 diameter, its interior rilled with boulders and loose 
 stones, and its parapet about four feet high. The 
 mist had cleared for a considerable space, and I could 
 see the immediate surroundings. West, beyond the 
 hollow was the road we had come, where now 
 the remnants of the pursuit were clustered. North, 
 the hill fell steeply to the valley bottom, but to the 
 south, after a dip, there was a ridge which shut the 
 view. East lay another fork of the stream, the chief 
 fork I guessed, and it was evidently followed by the 
 main road to the pass, for I saw it crowded with 
 transport. The two roads seemed to converge 
 somewhere farther south out of my sight. 
 
 I guessed we could not be very far from the front, 
 for the noise of guns sounded very near, both the 
 sharp crack of the field-pieces and the deeper boom 
 of the howitzers. More, I could hear the chatter of 
 the machine-guns, a magpie note among the baying 
 of hounds. I even saw the bursting of Russian 
 shells, evidently trying to reach the main road. One 
 big fellow — an 8-inch — landed not ten yards from 
 a convoy to the east of us, and another in the hollow 
 through which we had come. These were clearly 
 ranging shots, and I wondered if the Russians had 
 observation-posts on the heights to mark them. If 
 so, they might soon try a curtain, and we should be
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 287 
 
 very near its edge. It would be an odd irony if we 
 were the target of friendly shells. 
 
 " By the Lord Harry," I heard Sandy say, " if 
 we had a brace of machine-guns we could hold this 
 place against a division." 
 
 " What price shells ? " I asked. " If they get a 
 gun up they can blow us to atoms in ten minutes." 
 
 " Please God the Russians keep them too busy 
 for that," was his answer. 
 
 With anxious eyes I watched our enemies on the 
 road. They seemed to have grown in numbers. 
 They were signalling, too, for a white flag fluttered. 
 Then the mist rolled down on us again, and our 
 prospect was limited to ten yards of vapour. 
 
 " Steady," I cried ; ' they may try to rush us 
 at any moment. Every man keep his eye on the 
 edge of the fog, and shoot at the first sign." 
 
 For nearly half an hour by my watch we waited 
 in that queer white world, our eyes smarting with 
 the strain of peering. The sound of the guns seemed 
 to be hushed, and everything grown deathly quiet. 
 Blenkiron's squeal, as he knocked his wounded leg 
 against a rock, made every man start. 
 
 Then out of the mist there came a voice. 
 
 It was a woman's voice, high, penetrating, and 
 sweet, but it spoke in no tongue I knew. Only Sandy 
 understood. He made a sudden movement as if to 
 defend himself against a blow. 
 
 The speaker came into clear sight on the glacis 
 a yard or two away. Mine was the first face she saw. 
 6 1 come to offer terms," she said in English. 
 " Will you permit me to enter ? " 
 
 I could do nothing except take off my cap and 
 say, " Yes, ma'am." Blenkiron, snuggled up against 
 the parapet, was cursing furiously below his breath. 
 
 She climbed up the kranz and stepped over the 
 edge as lightly as a deer. Her clothes were strange
 
 288 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 — spurred boots and breeches over which fell a short 
 green kirtle. A little cap skewered with a jewelled 
 pin was on her head, and a cape of some coarse 
 country cloth hung from her shoulders. She had 
 rough gauntlets on her hands, and she carried for 
 weapon a riding-whip. The fog-crystals clung to her 
 hair, I remember, and a silvery film of fog lay on her 
 garments. 
 
 I had never before thought of her as beautiful. 
 Strange, uncanny, wonderful, if you like, but the 
 word beauty had too kindly and human a sound for 
 such a face. But as she stood with heightened 
 colour, her eyes like stars, her poise like a wild bird's, 
 I had to confess that she had her own loveliness. 
 She might be a devil, but she was also a queen. I 
 considered that there might be merits in the pros- 
 pect of riding by her side into Jerusalem. 
 
 Sandy stood rigid, his face very grave and set. 
 She held out both hands to him, speaking softly in 
 Turkish. I noticed that the six Companions had 
 disappeared from the castrol and were somewhere 
 out of sight on the farther side. 
 
 I do not know what she said, but from her tone, 
 and above all from her eyes, I judged that she was 
 pleading — pleading for his return, for his partner- 
 ship in her great adventure ; pleading, for all I knew, 
 for his love. 
 
 His expression was like a death-mask, his brows 
 drawn tight in a little frown and his jaw rigid. 
 
 " Madam," he said, " I ask you to tell your busi- 
 ness quick and to tell it in English. My friends must 
 hear it as well as me." 
 
 " Your friends 1 " she cried. " What has a prince 
 to do with these hirelings ? Your slaves, perhaps, 
 but not your friends." 
 
 " My friends," Sandy repeated grimly. " You 
 must know, Madam, that I am a British officer." 
 
 That was beyond doubt a clean, staggering stroke.
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 289 
 
 What she had thought of his origin God knows, but 
 she had never dreamed of this. Her eyes grew larger 
 and more lustrous, her lips parted as if to speak, 
 but her voice failed her. Then by an effort she 
 recovered herself, and out of that strange face went 
 all the glow of youth and ardour. It was again the 
 unholy mask I had first known. 
 
 " And these others ? " she asked in a level 
 voice. 
 
 " One is a brother officer of my regiment. The 
 other is an American friend. But all three of us are 
 on the same errand. We came east to destroy Green- 
 mantle and your devilish ambitions. You have 
 yourself destroyed your prophets, and now it is your 
 turn to fail and disappear. Make no mistake, 
 Madam ; that folly is over. I will tear this sacred 
 garment into a thousand pieces and scatter them on 
 the wind. The people wait to-day for the revela- 
 tion, but none will come. You may kill us if you 
 can, but we have at least crushed a lie and done 
 service to our country." 
 
 I would not have taken my eyes from her face 
 for a king's ransom. I have written that she was a 
 queen, and of that there is no manner of doubt. 
 She had the soul of a conqueror, for not a flicker of 
 weakness or disappointment marred her air. Only 
 pride and the stateliest resolution looked out of her 
 eyes. 
 
 ' I said I came to offer terms. I will still offer 
 them, though they are other than I thought. For 
 the fat American, I will send him home safely to his 
 own country. I do not make war on such as he. 
 He is Germany's foe, not mine. You," she said, 
 turning fiercely on me, " I will hang before dusk." 
 
 Never in my life had I been so pleased. I had 
 got my revenge at last. This woman had singled 
 me out above the others as the object of her wrath, 
 and I almost loved her for it. 
 
 19
 
 290 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 She turned to Sandy, and the fierceness went out 
 of her face. 
 
 " You seek truth," she said. " So also do I, and 
 if we use a lie it is only to break down a greater. 
 You are of my household in spirit, and you alone 
 of all men I have seen are fit to ride with me on 
 my mission. Germany may fail, but I shall not 
 fail. I offer you the greatest career that mortal 
 has known. I offer you a task which will need every 
 atom of brain and sinew and courage. Will you 
 refuse that destiny ? " 
 
 I do not know what effect this vapouring might 
 have had in hot scented rooms, or in the languor 
 of some rich garden ; but up on that cold hill-top 
 it was as unsubstantial as the mist around us. It 
 sounded not even impressive, only crazy. 
 
 " I stay with my friends," said Sandy. 
 
 " Then I will offer more. I will save your friends. 
 They, too, shall share in my triumph." 
 
 This was too much for Blenkiron. He scrambled 
 to his feet to speak the protest that had been wrung 
 from his soul, forgot his game leg, and rolled back on 
 the ground with a groan. 
 
 Then she seemed to make a last appeal. She 
 spoke in Turkish now, and I do not know what she 
 said, but I judged it was the plea of a woman to her 
 lover. Once more she was the proud beauty, but 
 there was a tremor in her pride — I had almost written 
 tenderness. To listen to her was like horrid trea- 
 chery, like eavesdropping on something pitiful. I 
 know my cheeks grew scarlet and Blenkiron turned 
 away his head. 
 
 Sandy's face did not move. He spoke in English. 
 
 " You can offer me nothing that I desire," he said. 
 " I am the servant of my country, and her enemies 
 are mine. I can have neither part nor lot with you. 
 That is my answer, Madam von Einem." 
 
 Then her steely restraint broke. It was like a
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 291 
 
 dam giving before a pent-up mass of icy water. She 
 tore off one of her gauntlets and hurled it in his face. 
 Implacable hate looked out of her eyes. 
 
 " I have done with you," she cried. " You have 
 scorned me, but you have dug your own grave." 
 
 She leaped on the parapet and the next second was 
 on the glacis. Once more the mist had fled, and 
 across the hollow I saw a field-gun in place and men 
 around it who were not Turkish. She waved her 
 hand to them, and hastened down the hillside. 
 
 But at that moment I heard the whistle of a long- 
 range Russian shell. Among the boulders there was 
 the dull shock of an explosion and a mushroom of red 
 earth. It all passed in an instant of time : I saw 
 the gunners on the road point their hands and I 
 heard them cry ; I heard too a kind of sob from 
 Blenkiron — all this before I realised myself what had 
 happened. The next thing I saw was Sandy, already 
 beyond the glacis, leaping with great bounds down 
 the hill. They were shooting at him, but he heeded 
 them not. For the space of a minute he was out 
 of sight, and his whereabouts was shown only by 
 the patter of bullets. 
 
 Then he came back — walking quite slowly up the 
 last slope, and he was carrying something in his 
 arms. The enemy fired no more ; they realised 
 what had happened. 
 
 He laid his burden down gently in a corner of the 
 castrol. The cap had fallen off, and the hair was 
 breaking loose. The face was very white but there 
 was no wound or bruise on it. 
 
 " She was killed at once," I heard him saying. 
 " Her back was broken by a shell-fragment. Dick, 
 we must bury her here. . . . You see, she . . . she 
 liked me. I can make her no return but this." 
 
 We set the Companions to guard, and with in- 
 finite slowness, using our hands and our knives, we 
 made a shallow grave below the eastern parapet,
 
 292 THE LITTLE HILL 
 
 When it was done we covered her face with the linen 
 cloak which Sandy had worn that morning. He 
 lifted the body and laid it reverently in its place. 
 
 " I did not know that anything could be so light," 
 he said. 
 
 It wasn't for me to look on at that kind of scene. 
 I went to the parapet with Blenkiron's field-glasses 
 and had a stare at our friends on the road. There 
 was no Turk there, and I guessed why, for it would 
 not be easy to use the men of Islam against the 
 wearer of the green ephod. The enemy were Ger- 
 man or Austrian, and they had a field-gun. They 
 seemed to have got it laid on our fort ; but they 
 were waiting. As I looked I saw behind them a 
 massive figure I seemed to recognise. Stumm had 
 come to see the destruction of his enemies. 
 
 To the east I saw another gun in the fields just 
 below the main road. They had got us on both 
 sides, and there was no way of escape. Hilda von 
 Einem was to have a noble pyre and goodly company 
 for the dark journey. 
 
 Dusk was falling now, a clear bright dusk where 
 the stars pricked through a sheen of amethyst. The 
 artillery were busy all around the horizon, and to- 
 wards the pass on the other road, where Fort Palan- 
 tuken stood, there was the dust and smoke of a 
 furious bombardment. It seemed to me, too, that 
 the guns on the other fronts had come nearer. Deve 
 Boyun was hidden by a spur of hill, but up in the 
 north white clouds, like the streamers of evening, 
 were hanging over the Euphrates glen. The whole 
 firmament hummed and twanged like a taut string 
 that has been struck. . . . 
 
 As I looked, the gun to the west fired — the gun 
 where Stumm was. The shell dropped ten yards to 
 our right. A second later another fell behind us. 
 
 Blenkiron had dragged himself to the parapet. I
 
 THE LITTLE HILL 293 
 
 don't suppose he had ever been shelled before, but 
 his face showed curiosity rather than fear. 
 
 " Pretty poor shooting, I reckon," he said. 
 
 " On the contrary," I said, " they know their 
 business. They're bracketing. ..." 
 
 The words were not out of my mouth when one 
 fell right among us. It struck the far rim of the 
 castrol, shattering the rock, but bursting mainly 
 outside. We all ducked, and barring some small 
 scratches no one was a penny the worse. I remem- 
 ber that much of the debris fell on Hilda von Einem's 
 grave. 
 
 I pulled Blenkiron over the far parapet, and called 
 on the rest to follow, meaning to take cover on the 
 rough side of the hill. But as we showed ourselves 
 shots rang out from our front, shots fired from a 
 range of a few hundred yards. It was easy to see 
 what had happened. Riflemen had been sent to 
 hold us in rear. They would not assault so long as 
 we remained in the castrol, but they would block any 
 attempt to find safety outside it. Stumm and his 
 gun had us at their mercy. 
 
 We crouched below the parapet again. " We may 
 as well toss for it," I said. " There's only two ways 
 — to stay here and be shelled or try to break through 
 those fellows behind. Either's pretty unhealthy." 
 
 But I knew there was no choice. With Blenkiron 
 crippled we were pinned to the castrol. Our num- 
 bers were up all right.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 
 
 But no more shells fell. 
 
 The night grew dark and showed a field of glitter- 
 ing stars, for the air was sharpening again towards 
 frost. We waited for an hour, crouching just behind 
 the far parapets, but never came that ominous 
 familiar whistle. 
 
 Then Sandy rose and stretched himself. " I'm 
 hungry," he said. " Let's have out the food, Hussin. 
 We've eaten nothing since before daybreak. I 
 wonder what is the meaning of this respite ? " 
 
 I fancied I knew. 
 
 " It's Stumm's way," I said. "He wants to torture 
 us. He'll keep us hours on tenterhooks, while he sits 
 over yonder exulting in what he thinks we're en- 
 during. He has just enough imagination for that. 
 . . . He would rush us if he had the men. As it 
 is, he's going to blow us to pieces, but do it slowly 
 and smack his lips over it." 
 
 Sandy yawned. " We'll disappoint him, for we 
 won't be worried, old man. We three are beyond 
 that kind of fear." 
 
 " Meanwhile we're going to do the best we can," 
 I said. " He's got the exact range for his whizz- 
 bangs. We've got to find a hole somewhere just 
 outside the castrol, and some sort of head-cover. 
 We're bound to get damaged whatever happens, 
 but we'll stick it out to the end. When they think 
 they have finished with us and rush the place, there 
 
 294
 
 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 295 
 
 may be one of us alive to put a bullet through old 
 Stumm. What do you say ? " 
 
 They agreed, and after our meal Sandy and I 
 crawled out to prospect, leaving the others on guard 
 in case there should be an attack. We found a 
 hollow in the glacis a little south of the castrol, and, 
 working very quietly, managed to enlarge it and 
 cut a kind of shallow cave in the hill. It would be 
 no use against a direct hit, but it would give some 
 cover from flying fragments. As I read the situa- 
 tion, Stumm could land as many shells as he pleased 
 in the castrol and wouldn't bother to attend to the 
 flanks. When the bad shelling began there would 
 be shelter for one or two in the cave. 
 
 Our enemies were watchful. The riflemen on the 
 east burnt Verey flares at intervals, and Stumm's 
 lot sent up a great star-rocket. I remember that 
 just before midnight hell broke loose round Fort 
 Palantuken. No more Russian shells came into our 
 hollow, but all the road to the east was under fire, 
 and at the Fort itself there was a shattering explo- 
 sion and a queer scarlet glow which looked as if a 
 magazine had been hit. For about two hours the 
 firing was intense, and then it died down. But it 
 was towards the north that I kept turning my head. 
 There seemed to be something different in the sound 
 there, something sharper in the report of the guns, 
 as if shells were dropping in a narrow valley whose 
 rock walls doubled the echo. Had the Russians by 
 any blessed chance worked round that flank ? 
 
 I got Sandy to listen, but he shook his head. 
 " Those guns are a dozen miles off," he said. " They're 
 no nearer than three days ago. But it looks as if 
 the sportsmen on the south might have a chance. 
 When they break through and stream down the 
 valley, they'll be puzzled to account for what re- 
 mains of us. . . . We're no longer three adventurers 
 in the enemy's country. We're the advance guard of
 
 296 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 
 
 the Allies. Our pals don't know about us, and we're 
 going to be cut off, which has happened to advance 
 guards before now. But all the same, we're in our 
 own battle-line again. Doesn't that cheer you, 
 Dick ? " 
 
 It cheered me wonderfully, for I knew now what 
 had been the weight on my heart ever since I 
 accepted Sir Walter's mission. It was the loneliness 
 of it. I was fighting far away from my friends, far 
 away from the true fronts of battle. It was a side- 
 show which, whatever its importance, had none of 
 the exhilaration of the main effort. But now we 
 had come back to familiar ground. We were like 
 the Highlanders cut off at Cite St. Auguste on the 
 first day of Loos, or those Scots Guards at Festubert 
 of whom I had heard. Only, the others did not 
 know of it, would never hear of it. If Peter suc- 
 ceeded he might tell the tale, but most likely he was 
 lying dead somewhere in the no-man's-land between 
 the lines. We should never be heard of again any 
 more, but our work remained. Sir Walter would 
 know that, and he would tell our few belongings that 
 we had gone out in our country's service. 
 
 We were in the castrol again, sitting under the 
 parapets. The same thought must have been in 
 Sandy's mind, for he suddenly laughed. 
 
 " It's a queer ending, Dick. We simply vanish 
 into the infinite. If the Russians get through they 
 will never recognise what is left of us among so much 
 of the wreckage of battle. The snow will soon cover 
 us, and when the spring comes there will only be a 
 few bleached bones. Upon my soul it is the kind 
 of death I always wanted." And he quoted softly 
 to himself a verse of an old Scots ballad : 
 
 " Mony's the ane for him maks mane, 
 But nane sail ken whar he is gane. 
 Ower his white banes, when they are bare, 
 The wind sail blaw for evermair."
 
 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 297 
 
 ' But our work lives," I cried, with a sudden great 
 gasp of happiness. " It's the job that matters, not 
 the men that do it. And our job's done. We have 
 won, old chap — won hands down — and there is no 
 going back on that. We have won any way ; and if 
 Peter has had a slice of luck, we've scooped the 
 pool. . . . After all, we never expected to come out 
 of this thing with our lives." 
 
 Blenkiron, with his leg stuck out stiffly before 
 him, was humming quietly to himself, as he often did 
 when he felt cheerful. He had only one song, " John 
 Brown's Body " ; usually only a line at a time, but 
 now he got as far as a whole verse : 
 
 " He captured Harper's Ferry, with his nineteen men so true, 
 And he frightened old Virginny till she trembled through and 
 
 through. 
 They hung him for a traitor, themselves the traitor crew, 
 But his soul goes marching along." 
 
 " Feeling good ? " I asked. 
 
 ' Fine. I'm about the luckiest man on God's 
 earth, Major. I've always wanted to get into a big 
 show, but I didn't see how it would come the way 
 of a homely citizen like me, living in a steam-warmed 
 house and going down town to my office every 
 morning. I used to envy my old dad that fought 
 at Chattanooga, and never forgot to tell you about 
 it. But I guess Chattanooga was like a scrap in a 
 Bowery bar compared to this. When I meet the 
 old man in Glory he'll have to listen some to me. ..." 
 
 It was just after Blenkiron spoke that we got a 
 reminder of Stumm's presence. The gun was well 
 laid, for a shell plumped on the near edge of the 
 castrol. It made an end of one of the Companions 
 who was on guard there, badly wounded another, 
 and a fragment gashed my thigh. We took refuge 
 in the shallow cave, but some wild shooting from the
 
 298 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 
 
 east side brought us back to the parapets, for we 
 feared an attack. None came, nor any more shells, 
 and once again the night was quiet. 
 
 I asked Blenkiron if he had any near relatives. 
 
 " Why, no, except a sister's son, a college-boy who 
 has no need of his uncle. It's fortunate that we 
 three have no wives. I haven't any regrets, neither, 
 for I've had a mighty deal out of life. I was think- 
 ing this morning that it was a pity I was going out 
 when I had just got my duo-denum to listen to 
 reason. But I reckon that's another of my mercies. 
 The good God took away the pain in my stomach 
 so that I might go to Him with a clear head and a 
 thankful heart." 
 
 "We're lucky fellows," said Sandy; "we've all 
 had our whack. When I remember the good times 
 I've had I could sing a hymn of praise. We've lived 
 long enough to know ourselves, and to shape our- 
 selves into some kind of decency. But think of those 
 boys who have given their lives freely when they 
 scarcely knew what life meant. They were just at 
 the beginning of the road, and they didn't know 
 what dreary bits lay before them. It was all sun- 
 shiny and bright-coloured, and yet they gave it up 
 without a moment's doubt. And think of the men 
 with wives and children and homes that were the 
 biggest things in life to them. For fellows like us 
 to shirk would be black cowardice. It's small credit 
 for us to stick it out. But when those others shut 
 their teeth and went forward, they were blessed 
 heroes. . . ." 
 
 After that we fell silent. A man's thoughts at a 
 time like that seem to be double-powered, and the 
 memory becomes very sharp and clear. I don't 
 know what was in the others' minds, but I know 
 what filled my own. . . . 
 
 I fancy it isn't the men who get most out of the 
 world and are always buoyant and cheerful that
 
 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 299 
 
 most fear to die. Rather it is the weak-engined 
 souls, who go about with dull eyes, that cling most 
 fiercely to life. They have not the joy of being alive 
 which is a kind of earnest of immortality. ... I 
 know that my thoughts were chiefly about the jolly 
 things that I had seen and done ; not regret, but 
 gratitude. The panorama of blue noons on the 
 veld unrolled itself before me, and hunter's nights 
 in the bush, the taste of food and sleep, the bitter 
 stimulus of dawn, the joy of wild adventure, the 
 voices of old staunch friends. Hitherto the war had 
 seemed to make a break with all that had gone before, 
 but now the war was only part of the picture. I 
 thought of my battalion, and the good fellows there, 
 many of whom had fallen on the Loos parapets. 
 I had never looked to come out of that myself. 
 But I had been spared, and given the chance of a 
 greater business, and I had succeeded. That was 
 the tremendous fact, and my mood was humble 
 gratitude to God and exultant pride. Death was a 
 small price to pay for it. As Blenkiron would have 
 said, I had got good value in the deal. . . . 
 
 The night was getting bitter cold, as happens 
 before dawn. It was frost again, and the sharpness 
 of it woke our hunger. I got out the remnants of the 
 food and wine and we had a last meal. I remember 
 we pledged each other as we drank. 
 
 ' We have eaten our Passover Feast," said Sandy. 
 " When do you look for the end ? " 
 
 " After dawn," I said. " Stumm wants daylight 
 to get the full savour of his revenge." 
 
 Slowly the sky passed from ebony to grey, and 
 black shapes of hill outlined themselves against it. 
 A wind blew down the valley, bringing the acrid 
 smell of burning, but something too of the freshness 
 of morn. It stirred strange thoughts in me, and 
 woke the old morning vigour of the blood which
 
 300 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 
 
 was never to be mine again. For the first time in 
 that long vigil I was torn with a sudden regret. 
 
 " We must get into the cave before it is full light," 
 I said. " We had better draw lots for the two to go." 
 
 The choice fell on one of the Companions and 
 Blenkiron. 
 
 " You can count me out," said the latter. " If 
 it's your wish to find a man to be alive when our 
 friends come up to count their spoil, I guess I'm the 
 worst of the lot. I'd prefer, if you don't mind, to 
 stay here. I've made my peace with my Maker, 
 and I'd like to wait quietly on His call. I'll play a 
 game of Patience to pass the time." 
 
 He would take no denial, so we drew again, and 
 the lot fell to Sandy. 
 
 " If I'm the last to go," he said, " I promise I 
 don't miss. Stumm won't be long in following me." 
 
 He shook hands with his cheery smile, and he 
 and the Companion slipped over the parapet in the 
 final shadows before dawn. 
 
 Blenkiron spread his Patience cards on a flat 
 rock, and dealt out for the Double Napoleon. He 
 was perfectly calm, and hummed to himself his only 
 tune. For myself I was drinking in my last draught 
 of the hill air. My contentment was going. I 
 suddenly felt bitterly loth to die. 
 
 Something of the same kind must have passed 
 through Blenkiron's head. He suddenly looked up 
 and asked, "Sister Anne, Sister Anne, do you see 
 anybody coming ? " 
 
 I stood close to the parapet, watching every detail 
 of the landscape as shown by the revealing day- 
 break. Up on the shoulders of the Palantuken, snow- 
 drifts lipped over the edges of the cliffs. I wondered 
 when they would come down as avalanches. There 
 was a kind of croft on one hillside, and from a hut 
 the smoke of breakfast was beginning to curl.
 
 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 301 
 
 Stumm's gunners were awake and apparently holding 
 council. Far down on the main road a convoy was 
 moving — I heard the creak of the wheels two miles 
 away, for the air was deathly still. 
 
 Then, as if a spring had been loosed, the world 
 suddenly leaped to a hideous life. With a growl 
 the guns opened round all the horizon. They were 
 especially fierce to the south, where a rafale beat as 
 I had never heard it before. The one glance I cast 
 behind me showed the gap in the hills choked with 
 fumes and dust. 
 
 But my eyes were on the north. From Erzerum 
 city tall tongues of flame leaped from a dozen quar- 
 ters. Beyond, toward the opening of the Euphrates 
 glen, there was the sharp crack of field-guns. I 
 strained eyes and ears, mad with impatience, and I 
 read the riddle. 
 
 ' Sandy," I yelled, " Peter has got through. 
 The Russians are round the flank. The town is 
 burning. Glory to God, we've won, we've won ! " 
 
 And as I spoke the earth seemed to split beside 
 me, and I was flung forward on the gravel which 
 covered Hilda von Einem's grave. 
 
 As I picked myself up, and to my amazement found 
 myself uninjured, I saw Blenkiron rubbing the dust 
 out of his eyes and arranging a disordered card. He 
 had stopped humming, and was singing aloud : 
 
 "He captured Harper's Ferry, with his nineteen men so true, 
 And he frightened old Virginny ..." 
 
 ' Say, Major," he cried, " I believe this game of 
 mine is coming out." 
 
 I was now pretty well mad. The thought that 
 old Peter had won, that we had won beyond our 
 wildest dreams, that if we died there were those 
 coming who would exact the uttermost vengeance,
 
 302 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 
 
 rode my brain like a fever. I sprang on the parapet 
 and waved my hand to Stumm, shouting defiance. 
 Rifle shots cracked out from behind, and I leaped 
 back just in time for the next shell. 
 
 The charge must have been short, for it was a bad 
 miss, landing somewhere on the glacis. The next 
 was better and crashed on the near parapet, carving 
 a great hole in the rocky kranz. This time my arm 
 hung limp, broken by a fragment of stone, but I felt 
 no pain. Blenkiron seemed to bear a charmed life, 
 for he was smothered in dust, but unhurt. He blew 
 the dust away from his cards very gingerly and 
 went on playing. 
 
 "Sister Anne," he asked, "do you see anybody 
 coming ? " 
 
 Then came a dud which dropped neatly inside on 
 the soft ground. I was determined to break for the 
 open and chance the rifle fire, for if Stumm went 
 on shooting the castrol was certain death. I caught 
 Blenkiron round the middle, scattering his cards to 
 the winds, and jumped over the parapet. 
 
 " Don't apologise, Sister Anne," said he. " The 
 game was as good as won. But for God's sake drop 
 me, for if you wave me like the banner of freedom 
 I'll get plugged sure and good." 
 
 My one thought was to get cover for the next 
 minutes, for I had an instinct that our vigil was 
 near its end. The defences of Erzerum were crum- 
 bling like sand-castles, and it was a proof of the 
 tenseness of my nerves that I seemed to be deaf to 
 the sound. Stumm had seen us cross the parapet, 
 and he started to sprinkle all the surroundings of 
 the castrol. Blenkiron and I lay like a working-party 
 between the lines caught by machine-guns, taking 
 a pull on ourselves as best we could. Sandy had 
 some kind of cover, but we were on the bare farther 
 slope, and the riflemen on that side might have had 
 us at their mercy.
 
 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 803 
 
 But no shots came from them. As I looked east, 
 the hillside, which a little before had been held by 
 our enemies, was as empty as the desert. And then I 
 saw on the main road a sight which for a second time 
 made me yell like a maniac. Down that glen came 
 a throng of men and galloping limbers — a crazy, 
 jostling crowd, spreading away beyond the road to 
 the steep slopes, and leaving behind it many black 
 dots to darken the snows. The gates of the South 
 had yielded, and our friends were through them. 
 
 At that sight I forgot all about our danger. I 
 didn't give a cent for Stumm's shells. I didn't 
 believe he could hit me. The fate which had merci- 
 fully preserved us for the first taste of victory would 
 see us through to the end. 
 
 I remember bundling Blenkiron along the hill to 
 find Sandy. But our news was anticipated. For 
 down our own side-glen came the same broken tumult 
 of men. More ; for at their backs, far up at the 
 throat of the pass, I saw horsemen — the horsemen of 
 the pursuit. Old Nicholas had flung his cavalry in. 
 
 Sandy was on his feet, with his lips set and his eye 
 abstracted. If his face hadn't been burned black 
 by weather it would have been pale as a dish-clout. 
 A man like him doesn't make up his mind for death 
 and then be given his life again without being 
 wrenched out of his bearings. I thought he didn't 
 understand what had happened, so I beat him on 
 the shoulders. 
 
 " Man, d'you see ? " I cried. " The Cossacks ! 
 The Cossacks ! God ! how they're taking that 
 slope ! They're into them now. By Heaven, we'll 
 ride with them ! We'll get the gun horses ! " 
 
 A little knoll prevented Stumm and his men from 
 seeing what was happening farther up the glen, till 
 the first wave of the rout was on them. He had 
 gone on bombarding the castrol and its environs while 
 the world was cracking over his head. The gun
 
 304 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 
 
 team was in the hollow below the road, and down the 
 hill among the boulders we crawled, Blenkiron as 
 lame as a duck, and me with a limp left arm. 
 
 The poor beasts were straining at their pickets 
 and sniffing the morning wind, which brought 
 down the thick fumes of the great bombardment 
 and the indescribable babbling cries of a beaten 
 army. Before we reached them that maddened 
 horde had swept down on them, men panting and 
 gasping in their flight, many of them bloody from 
 wounds, many tottering in the first stages of col- 
 lapse and death. I saw the horses seized by a dozen 
 hands, and a desperate fight for their possession. 
 But as we halted there our eyes were fixed on the 
 battery on the road above us, for round it was now 
 sweeping the van of the retreat. 
 
 I had never seen a rout before, when strong men 
 come to the end of their tether and only their broken 
 shadows stumble towards the refuge they never find. 
 No more had Stumm, poor devil. I had no ill-will 
 left for him, though coming down that hill I was 
 rather hoping that the two of us might have a final 
 scrap. He was a brute and a bully, but, by God ! he 
 was a man. I heard his great roar when he saw the 
 tumult, and the next I saw was his monstrous figure 
 working at the gun. He swung it south and turned 
 it on the fugitives. 
 
 But he never fired it. The press was on him, and 
 the gun was swept sideways. He stood up, a foot 
 higher than any of them, and he seemed to be trying 
 to check the rush with his pistol. There is power 
 in numbers, even though every unit is broken and 
 fleeing. For a second to that wild crowd Stumm 
 was the enemy, and they had strength enough to 
 crush him. The wave flowed round and then across 
 him. I saw the butt-ends of rifles crash on his head 
 and shoulders, and the next second the stream had 
 passed over his body. . . .
 
 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 305 
 
 That was God's judgment on the man who had 
 set himself above his kind. 
 
 Sandy gripped my shoulder and was shouting in 
 my ear : 
 
 " They're coming, Dick. Look at the grey devils ! 
 . . . Oh, God be thanked, it's our friends ! " 
 
 The next minute we were tumbling down the 
 hillside, Blenkiron hopping on one leg between us. 
 I heard dimly Sandy crying, " Oh, well done our 
 side ! " and Blenkiron declaiming about Harper's 
 Ferry, but I had no voice at all and no wish to shout. 
 I know that tears were in my eyes, and that if I had 
 been left alone I would have sat down and cried with 
 pure thankfulness. For sweeping down the glen 
 came a cloud of grey cavalry on little wiry horses, a 
 cloud which stayed not for the rear of the fugitives, 
 but swept on like a flight of rainbows, with the steel 
 of their lance-heads glittering in the winter sun. 
 They were riding for Erzerum. 
 
 Remember that for three months we had been 
 with the enemy and had never seen the face of an 
 Ally in arms. We had been cut off from the fellow- 
 ship of a great cause, like a fort surrounded by an 
 army. And now we were delivered, and there fell 
 around us the warm joy of comradeship as well as 
 the exultation of victory. 
 
 We flung caution to the winds and went stark mad. 
 Sandy, still in his emerald coat and turban, was scram- 
 bling up the farther slope of the hollow, yelling greet- 
 ings in every language known to man. The leader saw 
 him, with a word checked his men for a moment 
 — it was marvellous to see the horses reined in in 
 such a break-neck ride — and from the squadron half 
 a dozen troopers swung loose and wheeled towards 
 us. Then a man in a grey overcoat and a sheepskin 
 cap was on the ground beside us wringing our 
 hands. 
 
 " You are safe, my old friends " — it was Peter's 
 
 20
 
 306 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 
 
 voice that spoke — " I will take you back to our army, 
 and get you breakfast." 
 
 " No, by the Lord, you won't," cried Sandy. 
 " We've had the rough end of the job and now we'll 
 have the fun. Look after Blenkiron and these 
 fellows of mine. I'm going to ride knee by knee 
 with your sportsmen for the city." 
 
 Peter spoke a word, and two of the Cossacks dis- 
 mounted. The next I knew I was mixed up in the 
 cloud of greycoats, galloping down the road up 
 which the morning before we had strained to the 
 castrol. 
 
 That was the great hour of my life, and to live 
 through it was worth a dozen years of slavery. With 
 a broken left arm I had little hold on my beast, so 
 I trusted my neck to him and let him have his will. 
 Black with dirt and smoke, hatless, with no kind of 
 uniform, I was a wilder figure than any Cossack. 
 I soon was separated from Sandy, who had two hands 
 and a better horse, and seemed resolute to press 
 forward to the very van. That would have been 
 suicide for me, and I had all I could do to keep my 
 place in the bunch I rode with. 
 
 But, great God ! what an hour it was ! There 
 was loose shooting on our flank, but nothing to 
 trouble us, though the gun team of some Austrian 
 howitzer, struggling madly at a bridge, gave us a 
 bit of a tussle. Everything flitted past me like 
 smoke, or like the mad finale of a dream just before 
 waking. I knew the living movement under me, 
 and the companionship of men, but all dimly, for 
 at heart I was alone, grappling with the realisation 
 of a new world. I felt the shadows of the Palantuken 
 glen fading, and the great burst of light as we emerged 
 on the wider valley. Somewhere before us was a 
 pall of smoke seamed with red flames, and beyond the 
 darkness of still higher hills. All that time I was 
 dreaming, crooning daft catches of song to myself,
 
 THE GUNS OF THE NORTH 307 
 
 so happy, so deliriously happy that I dared not try 
 to think. I kept muttering a kind of prayer made 
 up of Bible words to Him who had shown me His 
 goodness in the land of the living. 
 
 But as we drew out from the skirts of the hills and 
 began the long slope to the city, I woke to clear 
 consciousness. I felt the smell of sheepskin and 
 lathered horses, and above all the bitter smell of fire. 
 Down in the trough lay Erzerum, now burning in 
 many places, and from the east, past the silent forts, 
 horsemen were closing in on it. I yelled to my 
 comrades that we were nearest, that we would be 
 first in the city, and they nodded happily and 
 shouted their strange war-cries. As we topped the 
 last ridge I saw below me the van of our charge — a 
 dark mass on the snow — while the broken enemy 
 on both sides were flinging away their arms and 
 scattering in the fields. 
 
 In the very front, now nearing the city ramparts, 
 was one man. He was like the point of the steel 
 spear soon to be driven home. In the clear morning 
 air I could see that he did not wear the uniform 
 of the invaders. He was turbaned and rode like 
 one possessed, and against the snow I caught the 
 dark sheen of emerald. As he rode it seemed that 
 the fleeing Turks were stricken still, and sank by the 
 roadside with eyes strained after his unheeding 
 figure. . . . 
 
 Then I knew that the prophecy had* been true, and 
 that their prophet had not failed them. The long- 
 looked for revelation had come. Greenmantle had 
 appeared at last to an awaiting people. 
 
 THE END 
 
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