At last Anthony began to look very hard at Jenkins, who avoided his gaze by pretending to look about the room for someone who was not there. Jim had his eye on Charkas. A great deal depended now on the effect that what had gone before had had on Charkas.
“Perhaps you’d like to re-examine General Jenkins yourself sir?” he asked Anthony.
Anthony took the cue, and grilled the brigadier on each point of his evidence, reducing him at last to a state of boiling anger bordering on insubordination.
“If I’m charged with lying on oath I’d like to know it,” he snapped.
“Stand down, sir,” ordered Anthony.
“Ibrahim Charkas,” ordered Jim.
He met Charkas’ eye and glanced meaningly at Jenkins, but there was no need. The Arab had seen which way the cat was jumping, and decided there was more profit for himself in contributing to Jenkins’ downfall than in trying to support him.
He could not tell the truth, of course; that would have been too much to expect of him. But he blurted out the whole story of the plot to ruin the Zionists, and accused Jenkins of having not only suggested it but of having paid for it as well. And instead of admitting the theft of the TNT memorandum, he accused Jenkins of having given it to him.
* * * * *
That was enough for that morning. It was only a preliminary hearing, not a court martial.
Anthony decided to postpone the hearing of the case against Charkas and the other thieves. He dismissed charges against Catesby, entering against them the two words “honorably discharged” for future reference. The two soldiers who had stood guard over Catesby were then formally transferred to “Jinks,” who marched off to his own tent a prisoner.
Anthony had turned to Aaronsohn to tell him that pending the trial of the thieves there would be no restraint on his movements or implication against him, when there was a disturbance at the door. A sentry came to explain.
“Admit him,” said Anthony, and in marched Narayan Singh, with his uniform in shreds and the marks of a strenuous fight all over him.
He was bleeding slightly in one or two places, and one eye was nearly closed.
“Well?” demanded Anthony. “What does this mean?”
“The iblis, sahib.”
“What of him?”
“I took four men and stalked him all through the night. He was dancing again. We came up with him and he ran. We followed. He ran very fast, skipping like a he-goat, but the moon favored us and we kept him in view.
“He came to bay at last in a nullah, and we called on him to surrender. He did not answer, but started to make magic to frighten us, waving with his arms thus—and thus. I gave the order to make him prisoner. So we left our rifles in charge of one man, and four of us rushed in to seize him.”
“And didn’t find it so easy, eh?”
“Nay, sahib, far from easy. He fought as I have never known a man to fight. He was stronger than a leopard. He struck with hands and feet—bit with his teeth—and all but tore the four of us limb from limb. And the man who held the rifles could not shoot because of the darkness and the risk of killing one of us. At last he had three of us senseless, but I broke loose from his hold and limped back for my rifle.”
“Senseless, eh? Where are they now?”
“In hospital, general sahib. They were able to crawl home.”
“You haven’t told us where the iblis is,” said Jim.
“Safe in jehannum, sahib.”
“Dead, d’you mean?” asked Anthony. “How?”
“He died a natural death, general sahib.”
“What—fell dead, d’you mean? Apoplexy—over-exertion or something?”
“Nay, sahib; my bayonet took him under the ribs and so upwards. He was a good fighter. The account is square between us.”
“Where’s the body? Did you leave it there?”
“Nay, general sahib. It says on the paper I should bring the prisoner in. We dragged it all the way between us, taking turns. The dakitar sahib says it weighs two hundred pounds.”
“Dismissed, then. Go and get your wounds dressed,” ordered Anthony.
THE END
The Seventeen Thieves of El-kalil
CHAPTER I. “Get the vote an’ everything.”
CHAPTER II. “These are two good boys.”
CHAPTER III. “But we be honest men!”
CHAPTER IV. “I feel like Pontius Pilate!”
CHAPTER V. “The mummery they call the fire-gift.”
CHAPTER VI. “Fortune favors the man who favors fortune.”
CHAPTER VII. “Your friends, Jimgrim, don’t forget it!”
CHAPTER VIII. “Carry on, boys!”
CHAPTER IX. “I am Rabbi, not governor!”
CHAPTER X. “We must score the last trick with the deuce of spades!”
CHAPTER XI. “Allahu akbar! La illahah il-allah!”
CHAPTER XII. “Let’s have supper now and drink to them seventeen thieves!”
CHAPTER I.
“Get the vote an’ everything.”
Steam never killed Romance. It stalks abroad under the self-same stars that winked at Sinbad and Aladdin, and the only thing that makes men blind to it is the stupid craze for sitting in judgment on other people instead of having a good time with them.
“He who hates a thief is a thief at heart,” runs the eastern proverb that nevertheless includes in its broad wisdom no brief at all for dishonesty.
If you hated thieves in El-Kalil you would be busy and, like the toad under the harrow, inclined to wonder where the gaps are; you can see the graves of the men who have tried it, in any direction, from any hill-top; and Romance, which knows nothing of any moral issue, comes at last with the liquid moonlight