Affair in Araby - Talbot Mundy
So we had a clear start and led them a dance in and out among boulders
and the branches of a watercourse, Jeremy galloping ahead to spy a
course out. Whenever they came in view we acted a little piece for
them, making Rene wave the white cloth while I protected him and held
off Mabel and Grim, who went through the motions of trying to brain me
with pistol butts.
Two or three times they opened fire, more by way of forcing a surrender,
I think, than with any intention of hitting us; they wanted to take
Feisul alive. It was like a game of fox and geese, and with Jeremy
scouting ahead we could have kept them dodging us for hours if we hadn't
run out of gas.
Then we abandoned the car and took refuge in a cave that stank as if it
had been a tomb for generations. The French drew up their cars fifty
yards away with machine-guns covering the cave mouth; and after we were
sure they weren't going to squirt a stream of lead at us, I went out
with the tablecloth to negotiate terms.
I didn't want to go, but Grim seemed to think they'd understand my
French.
Of course, there wasn't anything really to argue about, but I played for
time, because every minute was of value to the real Feisul, speeding on
his way to British territory. The French officer who did the talking
for his side--a little squat, pale, pug-faced fellow, who gave the
impression of having risen from the ranks without learning polite
manners on the way, agreed to accept our surrender and spare our lives
for the time being; and by that time the smell in the cave had nearly
overcome our party, so they all marched out.
And Lord! The French captain was spiteful when he discovered that
Jeremy wasn't Feisul after all. He swore like a wet cat, accused Mabel
of being a spy, took away our basket of provisions, and I think would
have shot Jeremy out of hand if Jeremy hadn't started clowning and made
the other Frenchmen laugh.
Laughter and murder no more mix than oil and water. He did what he
called a harem dance for them, misusing his stomach outrageously, and
the incongruity of that by a descendant of the Prophet took all the
sting out of the situation. But they burned our abandoned car in sheer
ill temper before crowding us into their own. And they shot the good
horse.
The joy-ride that followed was rather like the kind they give pigs on
the way to the sausage shop--hurried and not intended to be mirthful.
"What's the use of losing tempers?" I asked Captain Jacques Daudet, who
had captured us.
He sat on my knees, with his pistol pressed against my chest. "Why not
regard the whole thing as a joke? You've done your best and nobody can
blame you. Besides, what can possibly happen? What do you suppose
they'll do to us?"
He shrugged his shoulders and his little cold blue eyes met mine.
"You will all be shot, of course," he answered. "After that..."
He shrugged his shoulders again. But he cast no gloom; for Jeremy kept
the lot of us, French too, excepting Daudet, in roars of laughter for
ten miles until we reached temporary headquarters, where a born
gentleman in a peaked red cap with gold on it sat on a camp-stool
directing things.
He recognized Grim at the first glance and knew him for an American in
British service. He looked Grim in the eye and smiled. We told our
story in turns, interrupting one another and being interrupted by Rene.
The officer turned on the banker savagely, ordered him sent to the rear,
and smiled at Grim again.
Then he picked up the banker's belongings, including the two packages,
and tossed them after him with an air of utter contempt.
Whereat he smiled at all of us.
"And you are quite sure that the Emir Feisul has escaped?" he asked.
"Well, there are those whom the news will annoy, which is too bad, but
can't be helped. For myself, I cannot say that I shall shed tears.
Madame..." He looked straight at Mabel. "Major..." He met Grim's eyes
and smiled. "Messieurs ..." It was my turn, and Narayan Singh's; his
steady stare was good and made you feel like shaking hands with him.
"Monsieur Scapin (Clown)..." That was meant for Jeremy, and they both
laughed. "You have been adroit, but do you think I could depend on your
discretion?"
We did our best to look discreet.
"You see, Madame et Messieurs, this is not warfare. We desire to
accomplish a definite object with as little unpleasantness as possible.
I shall regret the necessity of sending you to Beirut, but that is for
your safety. An additional and very sound precaution which you
yourselves might take would be to preserve complete silence regarding
the events of the last two days. Subject to that condition, you will be
given facilities for leaving Beirut by sea in any direction you may
wish. Do we understand one another? Good! Now, let me see whether I
have your names correctly."
He carefully wrote them down all wrong, described us as noncombatants,
who should be allowed to leave the country, warned Jeremy that in a
king's clothes he looked too "intriguing," provided plain clothes for
him, returned our belongings (except the basket of provisions, which he
kept) and sent us off in an ambulance on the first leg of the journey to
Beirut, whence we got away in a coastwise steamer within the week. "Not
all the French are swabs!" said Jeremy grievously as we took our leave
of him.
Grim agreed.
"Not all of 'em. Let's see--there was the Marne, the Aisne, the Somme,
Verdun..."
The End