“He reached it just ahead of me. The messenger brought the note; he signed for it, read it, and handed it to me.”
Jim laughed.
“You mean he turned away and you stole it off his desk—now don’t you?”
Charkas denied that hotly—swore by the God of his fathers and by Mohammed and all the saints in paradise that Jenkins had given him the paper. But that was too obviously stupidly untrue. A blundering, fatuous schemer Jenkins might be, but not such a simpleton as that. There was proof on that slip of paper in Jim’s pocket that Jenkins had known a lot about the thieving—probably proof enough to ruin him; but Jim’s task was to let the brigadier ruin himself. In all likelihood Anthony would refuse to listen if he should come with the blackest proof imaginable.
“Look here,” he said, “you’re all in—d’you realize it? You’ve only got one chance—king’s evidence. Come across with a clean story and I’ll do my best for you.”
The rat instinct for sudden flight crossed the Arab’s mind again. He rolled his eyes toward the door secretively, but Jim saw that and put his foot back on the man’s lap.
“Stay put!” he laughed, shoving him once or twice hard in the stomach. “Come on, spill the story. Who’s the iblis?”
Charkas looked relieved. He even chuckled.
“He is an Egyptian. I do not know his name, but he is a great charlatan, who left Egypt because of the police. Now he is very much disturbed—tee-hee-hee! He is expert at encouraging thieves. He gives them magic against bullets—tee-hee-hee!—and he demands two-thirds of all the plunder in return.
“But he cannot dispose of his share of the plunder without assistance; and he does not know where the men who come for it have hidden it. Tee-hee! He is very much exercised.”
“I happen to know where they have hidden it,” said Jim.
Charkas snickered scornfully.
“I don’t believe you. How could you know?”
“I was with the iblis most of last night, and I went with the men who came at dawn to hide the stuff away. The iblis is waiting for me now to come back and tell him where they hid it.”
Charkas threw his hands up in despair.
“You must be a bigger devil than the iblis himself!”
“Maybe. We’ll discuss that later if you like. The point is, are you going to come across, or would you rather I’d arrest you now and take you straight to Jenkins?”
“What do you want of me?”
“The names of all your men. Here’s a pencil. Here’s paper. Write them down.”
Charkas hesitated for a moment, then tried to wet the pencil on his dry lips and obeyed him.
“I will make a full confession because you have promised I shall escape imprisonment by doing so.”
Jim laughed again.
“I dare say your sentence will be cut in half,” he answered. “That’s the best you can hope for. You can withdraw all you’ve said if you like, plead not guilty and take the consequences.”
“No, no, no! I will confess and plead guilty.”
It was at this point that Suliman called out through the doorway and Jim went out to speak with him, first pocketing the Arab’s dagger and revolver, but forgetting the knife he had kicked into a corner. Charkas had not forgotten it, but when Jim returned to the inner office he was back in the chair again.
“Here is the list of names,” he said, offering the sheet of paper.
Jim started to read it. All the light there was came through the office door and a dusty glass window set in the partition. He turned to let the light fall on the paper, and suddenly sprang backward.
The knife missed his stomach by a fraction of an inch. The blow was so savage that Charkas could not check it; his fist swung three-quarters of a circle and drove the knife nearly to the hilt into the wall behind.
“Nice sort of scorpion, aren’t you! Leave the knife sticking there. Now sit back and tell me your story all over from the beginning.”
This time Charkas was really convinced of helplessness, and beyond that he lied about everybody else and tried to present himself as a more or less innocent weakling involved in crime unwillingly by Jenkins, told a moderately truthful tale.
By the time he had finished the brigadier himself came clattering down- street on horseback, jubilant at the news of Ticknor’s discovery. Ten minutes of so later a platoon of British Tommies marched up, sweating freely, and took charge of the Zionist store-shed. Jenkins rode away again, red-faced with triumph, and Ticknor followed him on foot.
It was not ten minutes after that when Catesby came hurrying in search of Jim. He had shed his disguise and was back in uniform; and he had overtaken Suliman, who was returning tired and breathless for his five piasters from Ticknor. Suliman pointed out the shop door and followed Ticknor back again up- street.
“What’s new?” asked Jim.
“Bad news for you. The iblis pretty nearly brained Narayan Singh with a piece of coping-stone, and scooted God knows where. I had to take Narayan Singh back to camp to have his head dressed, and the doctor ordered him to bed. What are you looking happy about?”
“The prospect of breakfast and sleep. Did you see Jinks?”
“Yes, looking as pompously pleased as a ripe tomato. The brute didn’t acknowledge my salute.”
“Never mind. Jinks is his sure-enough name, old man. You’ll be out from under arrest almost before you know it. Too bad about the iblis, but we’ll get him yet. Meanwhile, there’s this critter.
“Now you understand, Charkas, this officer is going to stay here and watch you until the provost-marshal’s men come, and you’ll go with them under arrest. Take my advice and say nothing. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t answer questions.
“Let General Jenkins say what he pleases and do what he pleases. Hold your tongue until you see me again. So long, Catesby.”
He left the shop and strolled up-street toward the camp as leisurely as if the heritage of all Allah were sleeping in his veins. Presently Suliman tagged along after him, grinning with contentment for a five-piaster note.
CHAPTER XII
“Good sunny night to you! Sweet dreams!”
Having faced the iblis in the dark and slept at frequent intervals afterward, Suliman considered the lid on gambling lifted and set forth to stake the five piasters against the capital of certain small boys of the lines, in a mysterious card game that did not call for a complete pack, and of which only he knew the rules.
Jim got into uniform, found the provost-marshal and then went straight to Jenkins’ office. The brigadier was radiant and red-faced in the center of flattering juniors, pouting his lips as he made little of the morning’s work.
“Very simple. Obvious to anyone with eyes in his head. I gave Ticknor his instructions, and there you are. Oh, hullo, Grim: Wiped your eyes for you. Didn’t need you after all. I told you we’d find Zionists at the bottom of this. What have you been doing?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. I arrested Ibrahim Charkas, though, this morning. Left him in charge of Captain Catesby until the provost’s men could come and get him.”
Jenkins changed colors, flushing redder than ever, so that his ears and the back of his neck