CLEOPATRA'S PEARL

Wairarapa Times-Age, 16 April 1938, Page 10

CLEOPATRA'S PEARL

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

BY

STUART MARTIN.

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

CHAPTER IV—Continued He caught Muriel by the arm and marched her over to the tent, where the Arab woman stood watching the scene, and handed her over. Then he gave a sign and the camp began to break up. Burton felt his heart sink. He had played his trick to draw attention off Muriel. The trick had been exposed; the cuff-link had been dug up out of the sand sooner than he had hoped. Anyway, he had gained several hours by it, and his eyes scanned the horizon to see if there was any sign of pursuit. There was not a moving thing from any point, nothing but the dreary wastes and the stillness of the burning hot afternoon. The guard who stood beside him while the camels were being got ready for the trek murmured slily. “We go together on a camel. Is your freedom worth much?” “Can you give me my freedom?” “Speak low. Speak your mind. I am your guard. I am with you until we halt during the night.” “I have money.” “How much?” “Several English pounds and some silver.” “What do you want me to do?” Burton saw that the onus of the escape was to be put on his shoulders. He thought rapidly. “How far is the nearest place where there are men of my race?” “The city you have left. But as we go deeper into the desert there is a camp.” “What kind of camp?” “A place where white men are digging in the sands for lost cities.” “I know what you mean. An archaeologists’ camp. Where is that?” “Near the valley.” “I don’t know any valley of which you speak. Could you get word sent to these Englishmen?” “Later. Perhaps when I am relieved of guarding you. It means travelling during the night, but I know the way. These men are engineers, you call them.” Burton did not know whether the man meant that an irrigation camp was somewhere, or just a camp of research workers. But he knew that if word was sent, help would come, and anyway, the trail would be clear for the police. “How is it that all you men speak my tongue and pretend not to?” he asked. “The open ear hears much. The closed mouth tells little.” “I see. And you promise to go off to this camp and tell all you. know.” “If I am rewarded.” “Wait till we are on the camel. Am I to be on a camel now?” “By the Prophet, yes. The Tauregs brought beasts to make the journey quicker. They have gone to make ready.” “Make what ready?” “Who knows? If Allah wills anything, who are we to guess the future?” The caravan was almost ready now. The sun was setting low in the sky. Muriel had been mounted on her camel again and this time she was covered with a long veil that trailed down to her heels. But she kept her head turned towards Burton. Burton was directed towards a beast in front of her, and as he passed along the line he looked up. “Don’t worry,” he said. “If you are in need, call loudly.” “It is you I am worrying about,” she answered. “We are being separated.” “I will always come to you.” There was no time to say more. The Arabs were waiting for him to mount with his guard, who sat behind Burton in the saddle. Mason’s whips cracked and the start was made. It soon developed into a trot, every camel following its leader with that swift, uneasy movement that makes the unused rider grab for a safe hold. They went in a straight line now. Away in the distance, like dots in the clear atmosphere, they saw the four Tauregs. That was the mark by which the foremost camel steered. Burton waited for the guard to open the conversation again. He had not long to wait, but the conversation was carried out laboriously owing to the movements of their mount. “You said you had money," came the voice from behind. “Here it is.” An oily hand closed over Burton's and took the note, then the silver, without a sound. “It is little enough to risk my life.” “It is all I have. You will get more reward when you carry out the job." “Who will give it me?” “The police. I will tell them to give it you.” “Humph!” “Is it not better to get a reward than to be caught as a robber and sent to prison?” “True. But you have a nice watch on your wrist.” “Here it is.” The watch changed hands. “You have a nice coat.” “I am keeping my coat.” “You have a good sun hat.” “I need it.” Silence for a space; then the guard's voice came again. “It is little enough for the risk. We have a proverb that says for money

one may buy a camel, but for promises no camel runs.” “And we have a proverb that says that work paid for before being done means giving to the ungrateful. “As Allah wills. Say no more. I will consider the time and the chance late. Speak no more lest we are overheard.” ,

They ploughed onward in the strange silence that falls on Bedouin when they are moving in the evening. The sun sank below the horizon the stars came out. The cavalcade stopped for prayers, but there was no loitering. Prayers were said and then on again, into the growing darkness the terrible loneliness of Egyptian night. It became cold and every figure covered himself in garments as they moved through the keen air. Several hours passed. At last the word was given to halt. The Arab slipped from the camel behind Burton and disappeared in the darkness.

The beasts were being fed, and Burton saw moving shapes passing up and down the line. He heard a roar of laughter burst out. That was Mason’s voice. Then Farvery’s thinner tones joined in the laugh; then Arab voices, all joyous at some incident. A man climbed up behind Burton, a taller guard than the last, with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Presently Mason came near, a group of Arabs following. A man was speaking loudly. Burton recognised the voice of his late guard. “So I said to him,” the voice went on, “I said if you want to escape give me money. And the fool gave me English notes and silver. Here they are. See for yourselves. By the Prophet’s beard these Englishmen are asses.” “That’s a good one,” said Mason. “Listen, me old college pal purser. Listen to this Hassan’s telling us. Hear this, Burton!”

“He strove to bribe me,” went on Hassan steadily. “He implored me to take the money. He offered me his coat and hat, but I had pity and did not take them also. But his watch, he thrust it upon me. Allah is my witness I never asked. Now I will buy a good rifle with the money, and a camel too, perhaps.

“You can buy what you like, Hassan,” said Mason loudy, after another roar of laughter. “Maybjx the new guard will get his hat and coat before morning. I’ll tell the girl about it.” Burton grew hot and cold as his listened. He knew they were expecting him to hurl curses as Hassan. He sat still and rigid. He heard Mason’s whips crack as a signal. Next moment they had started at a run, driving full pelt into the night. CHAPTER V. John Robson lay in hospital in Cairo fretting because the doctor would not allow him to get up. His wound was healing quickly, because it had fortunately proved a flesh one. By one of those bits of luck that happen more often than might be supposed, Mason’s bullet had struck a pocket book in Robson’s coat pocket and had glanced aside.

Bui although the doctors had laid it down that he must be a week in bed before being allowed on his feet, John Robson kept fretting. Still, he was not without news of the activities of the police who had taken up the kidnapping of Muriel. They had done a great deal in the first day or two. They had arrested the driver, “David,” had traced the taximan and had retained him for questioning, and had put their secret police on the scent. The whole city rang with the story of the case, and if there were misstatements and exaggerations published and told in the shops and cafes, the authorities never took the trouble to correct them.

One of the first things that Robson had done was to cable Muriel’s father. Back had come a cable intimating that he had just received a demand for ransom. He gave the name and the address signed. The police looked up cables, applied a strict censorship, and found that the address was a bric-a-brac shop in a bazaar. The owner of the shop knew nothing about it, except that his shop was an accommodation address. But the police waited and a man came for letters and messages. That man was “David,” the farmer. So "David" was carted off to prison and put through an examination.

He broke down under it and gave some valuable information. This was. briefly, to the effect that Mason and Farvery were hand in glove with a gang of Arab robbers who had been carrying on a campaign of thefts for years. Up to the present they had not indulged in kidnapping, but that, he said, was done in this instance because the ear-ring of Cleopatra had not been handed over as they anticipated it would be.

Where was the headquarters of this Arab gang? Even “David" did not know. From what was extracted from him it was obvious that the whole business was worked in sections, and no sections had much knowledge of the next one. Those engaged received their pay, did their job, and were not

allowed to know more. The farm was searched, but without any other result than the finding of some goods of a previous theft in the city. So the taximan and “David” remained in the cells while the police strove to probe the mystery that was tantalisingly difficult. On the fourth day a police agent called at the hospital with' news, for John Robson insisted on getting every scrap of news available, and the doctors admitted that if anything was kept from him he was less likely to make a good recovery. Ths news was certainly an advance on what had been discovered. A native detective had been to the lesser pyramid and had been inside the secret hide-out. He had hurried back. The place had been searched by a posse, and although no new clue of the kidnappers’ movements beyond that spot had been obtained, a special officer had been detailed to find the trail. John Robson was not satisfied. He knew that the. authorities had special men who were capable of disguising themselves as Arabs and mingling with the bazaar crowds and even making journeys into the desert, but he himself knew Egypt and something of the conditions in the interior. He had been over most of the tombs at one time or another. He had a smattering of some of the dialects, and he felt he was as capable of going into the interior’ as any policeman. When the officer had gone, Robson lay back on his pillow thinking. His mission to buy the wonderful pearl lay in ashes about him. Muriel, who had been given into his charge, was gone. It was true that with her was this young assistant purser from the liner, but Muriel was the big question. If anything happened to the girl he could never look her father in the face again. The doctors came that evening and found John Robson sitting up in bed awaiting them. “I want you to listen to me,” he said firmly. “My wound is healing quickly. I am getting up.” “But you can’t —” “Can’t I?" He slid his legs over the bed and stood up. True, he felt a bit dizzy, but that was only because he had been in bed for several days. He kept standing. “I want you to do something,” he said. “My wound is not likely to give me any trouble if I don't exert myself. Isn’t that so?” “Provided you are going to take things calmly.” “You can strap it up, can’t you? If I get out into the fresh air and promise to attend to it myself ” ‘There is a risk, Mr Robson.” I'll take the risk. I’m getting out of here tonight.” He got out, too, with his wound bandaged up and his shoulder strapped and instructions to have the bandages changed regularly. The first thing he did was to take a taxi to the hotel where his baggage and that of Muriel had been taken. He changed, slowly and with care, and drove straight to the police headquarters, and obtained an interview with the chief, who was surprised to see him.

“I am going after the girl,” he an. nounced.

“Why not leave the manner in our hands, Mr Robson? We have a special man going into the desert. He has, indeed gone. We have that underground hide-out in our hands. He have all the ends of the case sorted out from Mustapha, the gem dealer, that farmer, the taximan —”

“But you haven’t got Muriel Stacey, and it is hex’ I want.”

“That's true, but we have been in communication by cable with her father. We have received an urgent msesage today from him. He is willing to let the Cleopatra pearl go. We have notified our special man to that effect. He will get into touch with these men, Mason and Farvery, and tell them, and the girl will be brought back.”

“If you knew Muriel Stacey,” said Robson grimly, “you wouldn’t be so sure. If she has made up her mind to retain that pearl it will take a lot to make hex- give it up.” "Do you realise, Mr Robson, the dangex’ that girl is in? She may endure horrors you can hardly imagine. She may disappear completely. Have yoxi ever, heard of the Tauregs?” Robson shuddered.

“I have met several of them,” he answered. “I know what you refer to. If they get hold of hex- it won't matter’ much about the pearl. Not even these two kidnappers could get hex’ out of theix’ clutches. That's why I have made up my mind."

“How do you propose to go?" asked the othex’ wearily, seeing it was hopeless to dissuade him. “I shall become an Arab. I can speak like one. I know something of the desert. I want a servant with me, one of your men, one who is a tracker. “You mean yoxi will disguise yourself?"

“Not so fax’ as colour is concerned. Merely in clothes. It would be impossible to keep up a disguise of colour. I should have to pretend I was all sorts of things—prayers, food and so on. No. I shall be a white man in Arab costume." “You are a sick man, Mr Robson. The journey will be hard.” “I’ll be a sicker man if I remain here and do nothing. What would you do in my place?” “I don’t blame you. You’ll have the best native detective I've got available. His real name is Ben Mulla Gullam Ali Mustokque—we call him Ben.” (To be continued).