CLEOPATRA'S PEARL

Wairarapa Times-Age, 12 April 1938, Page 12

CLEOPATRA'S PEARL

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

BY

STUART MARTIN.

Author of “Seven Men’s Sins,” “The Green Ghost,’ etc.

SYNOPSIS On a holiday cruise from England, MURIEL STACEY, daughter of a dealer in gems, is bound for Egypt. Accompanying her is JOHN ROBSON, her father’s most trusted assistant, who keeps Muriel such close company that ship’s gossip says he is very much in love with her. Also in the ship is FRED BURTON, son of a shipowner, learning his trade in the Purser’s department. Much attracted by Muriel, his curiosity is aroused by the fact that she and Robson ar constantly studying old Egyptian books. Burton also notices two rather queer passengers, MASON and FARVERY, who seem to be keeping an eye on Muriel and Robson, z When Cairo is reached, Burton goes ashore in mufti to an hotel, into which, later, come Mason and Farvery. From their conversation Burton gathers that they are planning to “get” Robson and Cleopatra’s pearl. A place on the. road to the Pyramids is mentioned. Knowing that Muriel and Robson intended to visit the Pyramids, Burton goes along the road, following Mason and Farvery. In a house he discovers Robson seriously wounded. He learns that Muriel has been taken off by two men in a car. While he is in the house tending Robson and an Egyptian gem dealer, Burton’s taxi driver is trussed up and the taxi disabled. With difficulty, Burton is able to telephone the police and to find, in a neighbouring house, an Egyptian with a horse and buggy who will drive him. ■ It transpires, however, that Burton has walked into a trap. It was anticipated that he would hire the buggy and the driver has been bribed. The result is that he finds himself trussed in an old tomb, listening to the taunts of Mason and Farvery. From an inner chamber they produce another prisoner—Muriel Stacey. (Now read on). CHAPITER lll.—Continued “Don’t blame me,’ came the reply from the man who was supposed not to speak English. “He barged in and took the telephone. How did I know he hadn’t a gun ready to use if I objected?” “Ah, we’ll see about that. Two of you go through this pal of mine and see if he has a gun.” David was one of the men who “went through” Burton, slapping him here and there, examining his pockets. He had no gun. The result seemed to satisfy Mason. “Well, it ain’t so bad as it might have been. I dassay the driver of the taxi did his bit fine. Now, he’s a useful man. Worth his salt, he is. Look here, Mister Assistant Purser Burton, we’ll drop the introduction and come to business. We’ve go you here in our trap, and it’s up to you and the gal if you walk out again. Wot you say?”

“I say that if you have baited a trap and I walked into it, that’s your affair. I’ll get out all right.” “We’ll see. Nice bait I set. Had the taxi all ready waiting for you when you came out of Mucho’s. Think I didn’t see you trying to hide your face, behind the newspaper in the lounge up there? Av/, I saw you the second I came into the place.” He was enjoying himself, was Mason, puffiing at his cigar and exhibiting his cunning. Farvery was standing moodily, his cigarette drooping from his lips, but silent. “All set and ready to spring, the trap was,” rattled on Mason, “and you walked right in to get the bit of cheese. I asked you to come in, old pal. You’re wondering why I asked you in. That’s easy. You’re for the Bedouins here.” Burton did not understand that and his face showed that he didn’t understand. Mason was wonderfully frank. “It’s Cleopatra’s pearl we’re after, Farvery and me. Came from London for it. Knew that Robson was here to buy it from old Mustapha, the Turk. Worth a bit, that pearl is. You know that?” Burton did not answer.

“Right me old pal, and where do you come in? Easy again. The Bedouin we work with like a share. You are the share. Ransom for you. The girl goes whenever she gives up the pearl. That’s plain as plain can be. You fa-

rver will stump you. The girl will stump up. Back home you both go. See?” “Mi- Burton,” cried the girl quickly, “was Mr Robson dead? Do you know?” “He was badly wounded when I entered the Villa Mobray, Miss Stacey. I left the old Turk to look after him while I came after you.” “Thank goodness he is not dead. This man shot him in cold blood.” She pointed her finger towards Mason, who slapped his thigh with a laugh. “And quietly,” he added to her accusation. “You must admit that, Muriel. It was quiet. My gun has a silencer. And now for the palaver.” He took the small weapon from his side pocket and balanced it on his hand. “Now we know each other,” he said, “it’s time for business. Robson hadn’t the pearl, although he said he had. This girl has it. The point is, is she going to hand it over?” “Never!” the girl cried angrily. “It‘s somewhere about you, Muriel,” grinned Mason. “We’ll get native women to search you, unless you tell us it is somewhere elsle. It ain’t in youi’ handbag. We’ve bin through that. And you didn’t get rid of.it in the car. What about it?” “Never!” “In that case,” he said; and nodded to one of the Bedouin, who rose and disappeared behind the curtain. Barely a minute passed when the Arab appeared. A native women was with him. Without further ado they seized the girl and dragged her through the opening behind the curtain. Burton could not stand that. He leaped towards the girl, but he never reached her. The Arabs had been watching him. He collided with a body that brought him to the stones. But the body came down with him. He was grabbed and snatched at from every side. But the body came down with him. He was grabbed and snatched at from every side. But Fred Burton was not unused to a rough house. The man he wanted to reach, next to the one who had seized Muriel, was Mason. He beat and punched off his Arab foes and reached Mason. Crack! Twat Burton's fist on the squint-eyed man’s jaw. The cigar flew off at a tangent and Mason measured his length on the ground. Burton heard the whack his head received smiting the stones.

Farvery next. But Farvery was not there. He had dodged behind the Arabs. Pandemonium reigned in that chamber for fully a minute and a minute is a long time in a battle of that kind.

It couldn’t last long, however, for there were too many foes. Burton was smothered in flowing burnouses and fluttering robes. When he gripped a man the robe fell away, he found faces where he least expected to find them, he felt hands where he did not reckon they existed. A pair of this thin, sinewy hands fastened on his throat and pressed until the chamber swam and everything grew dark and misty. He felt the strength going out of him. He grew limp suddenly. He was tied up and flung against the wall, where he lay gasping for breath. Up his right arm there was a throbbing pain from wrist to shoulder. That was welcome, that pain. It was caused by the blow that had laid Mason out. “I suppose,” he thought, “they’ll kill me now, I wonder what the Chief is thinking about me for missing my ship?” Nobody seemed to worry much about him, however, not even the Arabs who bore the marks of his attack. He reflected that he had observed that trait in Arabs before; they were fierce enough in a fight, but harboured no resentment when it was over. It was their life to fight and either win or lose, and live for the next. Farvery was on his knees at the other side of the chamber working on Mason. It toook plenty of splashings with water and shaking before Mason opened his eyes. Even when he was put into a sitting position he seemed unable to collect his wits. The blow he had received and the bang of his head against the stones had shaken him to the foundation.

Amid the babble of mutterings and the shuffling of feet Farvery emerged as his nature dictated. He took command. and his orders were the orders of a man who had one idea only, and that idea was to get out of the reach of the police. “David.” he said, loud enough for all to hear, “you go back to your farm. If the police come, you know what to say. You have your orders.” The lean farmer nodded and slipped out of the room. Farvery next turned to the Arabs and engaged them in a whispered conversation that Burton could not hear. He was not very interested, anyway. He was very sleepy and very tired, and his bruises began to make themselves felt. He tried to keep awake, however, so that he might observe things, but the atmosphere of the chamber was stuffy, and he could not keep his mind on anything for any length of time. He

tried to figure things out. His knowledge of Cairo and the queer tales ha had heard in the city came back to him. There were always stories of Arabs, or Bedouin, who had secret hiding places in old tombs, and in the ruins in the desert. Nobody ever denied or proved the truth of these tales. They were just told. And here he was proving that at least one of the ruins was a hidden dwelling. As a matter of fact it needed no great delving or entrenching feats to penetrate most of the pyramids and ancient ruins. Most of them were tombs, with passages running from the outer walls deep into the central chambers where the dead were hidden. One ruin might be the tomb of several ancient people, or the monument of one dynasty or family. There were many chambers in most of the ruins. Through the centuries these had been rifled, the coffins and bodies and mummies desecrated. Excavators had delved for the precious stones and treasures of the past and had left the empty chambers after hastily filling up the entrances. The ruin in which Fred Burton and Muriel Stacey were held was obviously one such forgotten wreck of time. It was possible to turn such a hidden chamber or set of chamber into a rough dwelling provided a little trouble was taken; and in this case more than a little trouble had been taken. The wooden door, for instance, by which Burton had burst into the midst of these men. That was not an old door. The slab at the entrance was doubtless fixed easily enough. It could be raised by levers by several men from the inside. It could be pulled back into position in the same way from the outside. Fred Burton lay and dreamily figured out all this to his own satisfaction. He was aroused to full wakefulness by the appearance of Muriel Stacey and the Arab woman. Farvery, who had been deep in conversation with the Bedouin, uttered a short exclamation when the women thrust their way through the curtain. “Well?” The Arab woman shook her head and made a motion with her hands. She had not found the pearl. “All right, we’ll drop that for the time being. We’ve got to get out of here.” The Bedouins made for the door in single file, and the women marched out in their midst, men in the front and behind them. Only Mason and Burton remained —and Farvery. The latter stood looking from one to the other. He saw Mason’s eyes open and his fat hands rub his face as if to remove a fog that was clotting his brain. “Can you get up?" he asked. “Are you able to walk?” Mason shook his head like a dog that had been in deep water. “Course I can get up. How did I get down? Ah, so he downed me?” It was coming back to him. He struggled to his feet and felt himself all over. “I’ve given the order to move,” said ' Farvery. “We’ve got to move, Mason. The girl hasn’t got the pearl.” “How d’you know she hasn’t got it?” “She has been searched. It isn’t on her.” “It must be on her. Robson hadn’t got it. If it isn’t on her, where is it? It’s bound to be on her, I tell you.” “She has just been searched, and it isn’t on her,” said Farvery doggedly. “I tell you it isn’t.” “Then you’re a liar. I know better’n you, Farvery.” His eyes darted about the floor as if he had missed something. It was his cigar he was looking for. It lay in a corner, flattened by a foot during the, struggle; but Mason picked it up and squezed it back into something like shape, and lit it. “Hadn’t we better hurry?” asked Farvery. “Sure we’ll hurry.” He kicked Burton in the ribs savagely, then bent down drawing at his cigar in short puffs, until the end glowed red. “Just going to mark my pal,” he sneered; and jabbed the burning end of the cigar straight at Burton’s eyes. Burton had been watching. With the quick jerk of a trained boxer he dodged the light cigar. It seared along his cheek, sparks flew in every direction; but Mason dropped it, and withdrew his hand with a howl of pain. Burton’s teeth had fastened on his hand and bitten deep enough for blood to spurt. j

“Wait!” yelled Mason. “I’ll bould his eyes out!” Farvery grabbed him and shook him. “There’s no time for that stuff, Mason. If we don’t move we may be too late. You’ll have plenty of time for that in the Valley.” “You're losing you nerve, Farvery. snapped Mason. “You're been as jumpy as a cat ever since we left the ship. Why shouldn't I bould his out? He bit me.” “I'm older in this game than you, Mason. I know we've got to move. Come on!” He put an arm round Mason and edged him towards the door, and Burton heard them arguing as they stumped along the passage. Were they going to leave him there, tied up and helpless? Soon Farvery came back with two Arabs, who hoisted Burton to his feet and loosened the bonds that tied his legs. One of the Arabs extinguished the lamp while Farvery and the other took Burton between them. As they stumbled along the flat stones of the entrance Farvery bent towards his prisoner. “I saved you that time. Remember it.” (To be continued.)