Caught by the Turks Part 16

As it was a very hot afternoon, I took off my coat and my false moustache, before plunging into the details of our departure. It was evident that the Lazz was in a hurry to be off. His cargo was complete, he said. He had only to take in petrol for his motor before leaving on the following day. There remained the question of money, and after much argument we settled to pay him five hundred pounds on arrival at the port of Poti in the Caucasus, and one hundred pounds advance for fuel immediately. He was to provide the disguises necessary for us to pa.s.s the customs at the Bosphorus. We were each of us to don a black dress and a black veil and to sit in a row in his cabin, refusing to move or speak if interrogated. Muslim ladies, he a.s.sured us, had frequently refused to undergo any scrutiny whatever at the customs, and provided they were vouched for by some responsible person on board, the gallant excis.e.m.e.n were ready to let them pa.s.s. As his very own wives, said the Lazz, no harm could possibly come to us, provided of course we remained sitting, and silent, throughout the inspection.

This seemed a very satisfactory scheme, for obviously whatever risks we ran, our friend the Lazz would run them too.

By evening our pact was complete. We handed over a hundred pounds, and the Lazz promised faithfully that he would have the boat ready and our disguises prepared by nightfall on the following day, when we would sail for Russia.

Hardly had the money changed hands before I noticed a suspicious-looking individual in the street below. Presently he was joined by another detective, whom I recognised.

Things looked ugly.

We took the Lazz cautiously to the window.

"Do you know anything about those men?" we asked.

He turned deathly pale, but swore he had never seen them before. I do not think he had. His fear was genuine.

"Let me get out! Let me get out!" he said, making a bolt for the door.

And he went. There was no use in trying to stop him.

One of my friends and I now went downstairs, while the third member of our party stayed behind to hide a few odds and ends of gear, in case the house was searched.

We waited downstairs, making light of our fears, and fighting a premonition of disaster.

Presently there was a loud tapping on the door. Even if it were the police, I thought, our disguises would carry us through. Then I noticed that my friend was in s.h.i.+rt-sleeves. I put on my spectacles and tried to stick on my moustache again, but the gum from it had gone.

The rapping at the door became louder and louder, and presently it was opened by a fl.u.s.tered female.

In trooped six detectives, including the man I had recognised, who was apparently their leader.

"There are some British officers hiding here," he said fiercely to the woman; "show me where they are."

While this scene was pa.s.sing in the entrance-hall, we were behind the door of the pantry.

A detective came in and caught my friend. Meanwhile two others were pommelling the unfortunate woman to make her say where we were. She kept pleading that she knew nothing about any British officers.

Another instant, and I should have been found. So I came out from behind the pantry door, and crossed the entrance hall.

In the doorway stood a burly policeman, who said "_Yok, yok_," when I attempted to pa.s.s him.

Had I had the requisite nerve I believe I could have bluffed this man.

Some phrase with _schweinhund_ in it would probably have got me past.

But I hesitated, and was lost.

My hand flew to my breast pocket, where the forged pa.s.sport lay, and my false moustache.

"Seize that man and search him," said the head detective, looking over the banisters. Then he went upstairs, dragging the woman with him.

My arms were instantly caught from behind, while a seedy-looking youth, who was probably a pick-pocket in his spare time, ran his fingers over my clothes. My wad of money, watch, compa.s.s, pa.s.sport, moustache, everything was put into a small canvas bag, and I was then taken to the opposite corner of the room to that in which my friend sat, and told not to move under pain of death. A levelled revolver emphasised the injunction.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Author as a Hungarian Mechanic]

Presently there were cries of women heard from the attic, then there was a loud crash, and I knew that the third member of our party had fallen through the trapdoor leading to the roof.

That was the last of my freedom for the time. Thus suddenly my five weeks' scheming was ended.

Each of us was taken charge of by two policemen, who linked their arms in ours. Presently the order to march was given, and a dismal procession, consisting of two weeping women, a seedy-smart individual in a bowler hat, two youths in slippers and s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, and a Greek waiter, could be seen wending their way to the Central Gaol of Stamboul.

CHAPTER XI

THE BLACK HOLE OF CONSTANTINOPLE

Before leaving, we had protested strongly against the treatment of the women in the house.

"But they are Turkish subjects," said the detectives.

"Anyway, they are women," we protested.

But this had little effect. Theodore and his unfortunate family were marched off behind us to the Central Gaol. I think, however, that our protest was not quite in vain, for it gave the women courage. When I last saw them, before being taken to the Chief of Police, they had dried their tears. Eventually they were released, but not, alas! until they had endured much suffering.

The Chief of Police congratulated us on being safe once more in Turkish hands.

"Yes, we are comfortably back in prison," I said with a faint smile, "and therefore there is surely no harm in giving us back the personal trifles that the detectives took from us."

"I cannot give you your papers," he said. "There is a forged pa.s.sport here, amongst other things."

"Very well, do as you like about that," I said, shrugging my shoulders, "but surely my empty pocket-book and my watch might be returned."

To this he agreed, whereupon he handed me--

(_a_) My pocket-book, containing five pounds hidden in the lining.

(_b_) My watch, and a compa.s.s, which he mistook for another timepiece.

(_c_) My false moustache, which had been captured on my person.

I was in an agony of anxiety about this moustache. Had the police inquired at the only two hairdressers' where such things were made, they would have found that Miss Whitaker had ordered it for me only ten days before. But now it was safely in my possession again. I had the only connecting link of evidence that might incriminate Miss Whitaker in my trouser pocket, and was tearing it to shreds as I talked to the Chief of Police.

The interview pa.s.sed on a note of felicitation, until the very end.

After praising the smart way his men had surrounded the house, and receiving his congratulations on our escapes, just as if the whole thing was a game, we said that there was one criticism we had to make on police methods, and that was their treatment of women.

"They are Turkish subjects," snapped the Chief of Police, suddenly showing his teeth.

"They are women," we retorted, "and they are innocent. If they are maltreated----"