Donovan Pasha, and Some People of Egypt Part 9

As he went to his cabin he murmured to himself "There's the devil to pay: now I wonder who pays?" Because he was planning things of moment, he took a native drum down to Fielding's cabin, and made Fielding play it, native fas.h.i.+on, as he thrummed his own banjo and sang the airy ballad, "The Dragoons of Enniskillen." Yet d.i.c.ky was thinking hard all the time.

Now there was in Beni Ha.s.san a ghdzeeyeh, a dancing-woman of the Ghawazee tribe, of whom, in the phrase of the moralists, the less said the better. What her name was does not matter. She was well-to-do. She had a husband who played the kemengeh for her dancing. She had as good a house as the Omdah, and she had two female slaves.

d.i.c.ky Donovan was of that rare type of man who has the keenest desire to know all things, good or evil, though he was fastidious when it came to doing them. He had a gift of keeping his own commandments. If he had been a six-footer and riding eighteen stone--if he hadn't been, as Fielding often said, so "d.a.m.ned finicky," he might easily have come a cropper. For, being absolutely without fear, he did what he listed and went where he listed. An insatiable curiosity was his strongest point, save one. If he had had a headache--though he never had--he would at once have made an inquiry into the various kinds of headache possible to mortal man, with pungent deductions from his demonstrations. So it was that when he first saw a dancing-girl in the streets of Cairo he could not rest until by circuitous routes he had traced the history of dancing-girls back through the ages, through Greece and the ruby East, even to the days when the beautiful bad ones were invited to the feasts of the mighty, to charm the eyes of King Seti or Queen Hatsu.

He was an authority on the tribe of the Ghawazee, proving, to their satisfaction and his own, their descent from the household of Haroon al Ras.h.i.+d. He was, therefore, welcome among them. But he had found also, as many another wise man has found in "furrin parts," that your greatest safety lies in bringing tobacco to the men and leaving the women alone.

For, in those distant lands, a man may sell you his nuptial bed, but he will pin the price of it to your back one day with the point of a lance or the wedge of a hatchet.

Herebefore will be found the reason why d.i.c.ky Donovan--twenty-five and no moustache, pink-cheeked and rosy-hearted, and "no white spots on his liver"--went straight, that particular night, to the house of the chief dancing-girl of Beni Ha.s.san for help in his trouble. From her he had learned to dance the dance of the Ghawazee. He had learned it so that, with his insatiable curiosity, his archaeological instinct, he should be able to compare it with the Nautch dance of India, the Hula-Hula of the Sandwich Islanders, the Siva of the Samoans.

A half-hour from the time he set his foot in Beni Ha.s.san two dancing-girls issued from the house of the ghdzeeyeh, dressed in s.h.i.+ntiydn and muslin tarah, anklets and bracelets, with gold coins about the forehead--and one was d.i.c.ky Donovan. He had done the rare thing: he had trusted absolutely that cla.s.s of woman who is called a "rag" in that far country, and a "drab" in ours. But he was a judge of human nature, and judges of human nature know you are pretty safe to trust a woman who never trusts, no matter how bad she is, if she has no influence over you. He used to say that the better you are and the worse she is, the more you can trust her. Other men may talk, but d.i.c.ky Donovan knows.

What d.i.c.ky's aunt, the Dowager Lady Carmichael, would have said to have seen d.i.c.ky flaunting it in the clothes of a dancing-girl through the streets of vile Beni Ha.s.san, must not be considered. None would have believed that his pink-and-white face and slim hands and staringly white ankles could have been made to look so boldly handsome, so impeachable.

But henna in itself seems to have certain qualities of viciousness in its brownish-red stain, and d.i.c.ky looked sufficiently abandoned. The risk was great, however, for his Arabic was too good and he had to depend upon the ghdzeeyeh's adroitness, on the peculiar advantage of being under the protection of the mistress of the house as large as the Omdah's.

From one cafe to another they went. Here a snakecharmer gathered a meagre crowd about him; there an 'A'l'meh, or singing-girl, lilted a ribald song; elsewhere has.h.i.+sh-smokers stretched out gaunt, loathsome fingers towards them; and a Sha'er recited the romance of Aboo Zeyd.

But d.i.c.ky noticed that none of the sheikhs, none of the great men of the village, were at these cafes; only the very young, the useless, the licentious, or the decrepit. But by flickering fires under the palm-trees were groups of men talking and gesticulating; and now and then an Arab galloped through the street, the point of his long lance s.h.i.+ning. d.i.c.ky felt a secret, like a troubled wind, stirring through the place, a movement not explainable by his own inner tremulousness.

At last they went to the largest cafe beside the Mosque of Hoseyn. He saw the Sheikh-el-beled sitting on his bench, and, grouped round him, smoking, several sheikhs and the young men of the village. Here he and the ghdzeeyeh danced. Few noticed them; for which d.i.c.ky was thankful; and he risked discovery by coming nearer the circle. He could, however, catch little that they said, for they spoke in low tones, the Sheikh-el-beled talking seldom, but listening closely.

The crowd around the cafe grew. Occasionally an Arab would throw back his head and cry: "Allahu Akbar!" Another drew a sword and waved it in the air. Some one in front of him whispered one startling word to a camel-driver.

d.i.c.ky had got his cue. To him that whisper was as loud and clear as the "La ilaha illa-llah!" called from the top of a mosque. He understood Ibrahim the Orderly now; he guessed all--rebellion, anarchy, ma.s.sacre.

A hundred thoughts ran through his head: what was Ibrahim's particular part in the swaggering scheme was the first and the last of them.

Ibrahim answered for himself, for at that moment he entered the burning circle. A movement of applause ran round, then there was sudden silence.

The dancing-girls were bid to stop their dancing, were told to be gone.

The ghazeeyeh spat at them in an a.s.sumed anger, and said that none but swine of Beni Ha.s.san would send a woman away hungry. And because the dancing-girl has power in the land, the Sheikh-el-beled waved his hand towards the cafe, hastily calling the name of a favourite dish. Eyes turned unconcernedly towards the brown clattering ankles of the two as they entered the cafe and seated themselves immediately behind where the Sheikh-el-beled squatted. Presently d.i.c.ky listened to as sombre a tale as ever was told in the darkest night. The voice of the tale-teller was that of Ibrahim, and the story was this: that the citadel at Cairo was to be seized, that the streets of Alexandria were to be swept free of Europeans, that every English official between Cairo and Kordofan was to be slain. Mahommed Ibrahim, the spy, who knew English as well as Donovan Pasha knew Arabic, was this very night to kill Fielding Bey with his own hand!

This night was always a.s.sociated in d.i.c.ky's mind with the memory of stewed camel's-meat. At Ibrahim's words he turned his head from the rank steam, and fingered his pistol in the loose folds of his Arab trousers.

The dancing-girl saw the gesture and laid a hand upon his arm.

"Thou art one against a thousand," she whispered; "wait till thou art one against one."

He dipped his nose in the camel-stew, for some one poked a head in at the door--every sense in him was alert, every instinct alive.

"To-night," said Mahommed Ibrahim, in the hoa.r.s.e gutturals of the Bishareen, "it is ordered that Fielding Bey shall die--and by my hand, mine own, by the mercy of G.o.d! And after Fielding Bey the clean-faced ape that cast the evil eye upon me yesterday, and bade me die. 'An old man had three sons,' said he, the infidel dog, 'one was a thief, another a rogue, and the third a soldier--and the soldier died first.' 'A camel of Bagdad,' he called me. Into the belly of a dead camel shall he go, be sewn up like a cat's liver in a pudding, and cast into the Nile before G.o.d gives tomorrow a sun."

d.i.c.ky pushed away the camel-stew. "It is time to go," he said.

The ghdzeeyeh rose with a laugh, caught d.i.c.ky by the hand, sprang out among the Arabs, and leapt over the head of the village barber, calling them all "useless, sodden greybeards, with no more blood than a Nile shad, poorer than monkeys, beggars of Beni Ha.s.san!" Taking from her pocket a handful of quarter-piastres, she turned on her heels and tossed them among the Arabs with a contemptuous laugh. Then she and d.i.c.ky disappeared into the night.

II

When d.i.c.ky left her house, clothed in his own garments once more, but the stains of henna still on his face and hands and ankles, he pressed into the ghazeeyeh's hand ten gold-pieces. She let them fall to the ground.

"Love is love, effendi," she said. "Money do they give me for what is no love. She who gives freely for love takes naught in return but love, by the will of G.o.d!" And she laid a hand upon his arm.

"There is work to do!" said d.i.c.ky; and his hand dropped to where his pistol lay--but not to threaten her. He was thinking of others.

"To-morrow," she said; "to-morrow for that, effendi," and her beautiful eyes hung upon his.

"There's corn in Egypt, but who knows who'll reap it to-morrow? And I shall be in Cairo to-morrow."

"I also shall be in Cairo to-morrow, O my lord and master!" she answered.

"G.o.d give you safe journey," answered d.i.c.ky, for he knew it was useless to argue with a woman. He was wont to say that you can resolve all women into the same simple elements in the end.

d.i.c.ky gave a long perplexed whistle as he ran softly under the palms towards the Amenhotep, lounging on the mud bank. Then he dismissed the dancing-girl from his mind, for there was other work to do. How he should do it he planned as he opened the door of Fielding's cabin softly and saw him in a deep sleep.

He was about to make haste on deck again, where his own nest was, when, glancing through the window, he saw Mahommed Ibrahim stealing down the bank to the boat's side. He softly drew-to the little curtain of the cabin window, leaving only one small s.p.a.ce through which the moonlight streamed. This ray of light fell just across the door through which Mahommed Ibrahim would enter. The cabin was a large one, the bed was in the middle. At the head was a curtain slung to protect the sleeper from the cold draughts of the night.

d.i.c.ky heard a soft footstep in the companionway, then before the door.

He crept behind the curtain. Mahommed Ibrahim was listening without.

Now the door opened very gently, for this careful Orderly had oiled the hinges that very day. The long flabby face, with the venomous eyes, showed in the streak of moonlight. Mahommed Ibrahim slid inside, took a step forward and drew a long knife from his sleeve. Another move towards the sleeping man, and he was near the bed; another, and he was beside it, stooping over...

Now, a cold pistol suddenly thrust in your face is disconcerting, no matter how well laid your plans. It was useless for the Orderly to raise his hand: a bullet is quicker than the muscles of the arm and the stroke of a knife.

The two stood silent an instant, the sleeping man peaceful between them. d.i.c.ky made a motion of his head towards the door. Mahommed Ibrahim turned. d.i.c.ky did not lower his pistol as the Orderly, obeying, softly went as he had softly come. Out through the doorway, up the stairs, then upon the moonlit deck, the cold muzzle of the pistol at the head of Mahommed Ibrahim.

d.i.c.ky turned now, and faced him, the pistol still pointed.

Then Mahommed Ibrahim spoke. "Malais.h.!.+" he said. That was contempt. It was Mahommedan resignation; it was the inevitable. "Malaish--no matter!"

he said again; and "no matter" was in good English.

d.i.c.ky's back was to the light, the Orderly's face in the full glow of it. d.i.c.ky was standing beside the wire communicating with the engineer's cabin. He reached out his hand and pulled the hook. The bell rang below.

The two above stood silent, motionless, the pistol still levelled.

Holgate, the young Yorks.h.i.+re engineer, pulled himself up to the deck two steps of the ladder at a time. "Yes, sir," he said, coming forward quickly, but stopping short when he saw the levelled pistol. "Drop the knife, Ibrahim," said d.i.c.ky in a low voice. The Orderly dropped the knife.

"Get it, Holgate," said d.i.c.ky; and Holgate stooped and picked it up.

Then he told Holgate the story in a few words. The engineer's fingers tightened on the knife.

"Put it where it will be useful, Holgate," said d.i.c.ky. Holgate dropped it inside his belt.

"Full steam, and turn her nose to Cairo. No time to lose!" He had told Holgate earlier in the evening to keep up steam.

He could see a crowd slowly gathering under the palm-trees between the sh.o.r.e and Beni Ha.s.san. They were waiting for Mahommed Ibrahim's signal.

Holgate was below, the sailors were at the cables. "Let go ropes!" d.i.c.ky called.

A minute later the engine was quietly churning away below; two minutes later the ropes were drawn in; half a minute later still the nose of the Amenhotep moved in the water. She backed from the Nile mud, lunged free.

"An old man had three sons; one was a thief, another a rogue, and the worst of the three was a soldier--and he dies first! What have you got to say before you say your prayers?" said d.i.c.ky to the Orderly.

"Mafis.h.!.+" answered Mahommed Ibrahim, moveless. "Mafish--nothing!" And he said "nothing" in good English.

"Say your prayers then, Mahommed Ibrahim," said d.i.c.ky in that voice like a girl's; and he backed a little till he rested a shoulder against the binnacle.