P. C. Wren - The Collected Works of P. C. Wren - Complete Beau Geste Series, Novels & Short Stories

"Yes--and warned Levasseur. . . . He's besotted. . . . Says they'd never dare do anything while he and his Zouaves are here! And he's got them scattered in small detachments--and, Raoul, there are two white girls here. . . ."

"Where?" interrupted my friend.

"In the next room," I answered, and hurriedly told him about them.

"God help them," he said. "They'll be alone in an hour. . . ."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. "Are you to come with me?"

"No--the General doesn't want us both killed by this Emir lad, he says. And he thinks you're the man to pull it off, now that poor de Lannec's gone. . . . I confess I begged him to let me go, as it was I who brought him confirmation of the news. . . . He said it was your right to have the chance, Henri, on your seniority as well as your record, apart from the fact that you'd handle the situation better than I. . . . Said it was such almost-certain death too, that he'd prefer to send his own nephew! . . . I nearly wept, old chap, but he was absolutely right. You are the man. . . ."

Noble loyal soul! Steel-true and generous--knowing not the very name of jealousy. He gave me every ounce of help, information and guidance that it lay in his power to do.

"No--I'm not even to come with you, Henri. . . . I shall join the mob here and lead them all over the shop on false scents. Confuse their councils and start rumours that there's a big French army at the gates, and so on. . . . Then I'll get back with the news of what's happened here. . . . There's one thing--it'll strengthen the General's hand and get more troops into Africa, so poor Levasseur and his men won't have . . ."

There came a bang at the door, Raoul crouched in a dark corner and Otis Vanbrugh burst in, followed by Achmet.

"Where's my sister!" he shouted, looking wildly round and seeing two Arabs, as he thought.

"I am Major de Beaujolais, Mr. Vanbrugh," said I. "Your sister and her maid are in the next room--putting on Arab dress. There will be a rising this evening and a massacre. . . . The worst place for you and your sister will be the Governor's house. Will you hide here until it's over--and try to keep alive somehow until the French troops arrive? Levasseur will start telegraphing the moment fighting begins, but it'll be a matter of days before they can get here--even if the wires aren't cut already--and you and the two girls will be the sole living white people in the city. . . . If you don't starve and aren't discovered. . . . Anyhow, your only chance is to hide here with the girls. . . ."

"Hide nothing, sir!" burst out Vanbrugh. "I shall fight alongside my host and his men."

"And your sister?" I asked.

"She'll fight too. Good as a man, with a gun."

"And when the end comes?" I said gently.

"Isn't there a chance?" he asked.

"Not the shadow of a ghost of a chance," I said. "Five little scattered detachments--each against ten thousand! They'll be smothered by sheer numbers. . . . And you haven't seen an African mob out for massacre and loot . . ."

"Let's talk to my sister," he answered, and dashed out of the room.

" Un brave ," said Raoul as we followed.

He was--and yet he was a gentle, refined and scholarly person, an ascetic-looking bookman and ornament of Chancelleries. I had thought of James Lane Allen and "Kentucky Cardinals," for some reason, when I first met him. He had the eyes and forehead of a dreaming philosopher--but he had the mouth and chin of a man . . . .

In the next room were two convincing Arab females each peering at us through the muslin-covered slit in the all-enveloping bourkha that covered her from head to foot.

"Say, Otis, what d'you know about that ," said one of the figures, and spun round on her heel.

"Oh, sir ," said the other, " isn't it a lark! Oh, Sheikhs !"

"Oh, Shucks! you mean," replied Vanbrugh, and hastily laid the situation before his sister.

"And what does Major Ivan say?" inquired she. "I think we'd better go with him. . . . Doesn't he look cunning in his Arab glad rags?"

I think I should have turned pale but for my Arab dye.

"I'm leaving Zaguig at once," I said.

"Not escaping ?" she asked.

"I am leaving Zaguig at once," I repeated.

"Major de Beaujolais has just received dispatches," said Raoul in English, "and has to go."

"How very convenient for the Major!" replied Mary Vanbrugh. . . . "And who's this nobleman, anyway, might one ask?"

"Let me present Captain Raoul d'Auray de Redon," said I, indicating the filthy beggar.

"Well, don't present him too close. . . . Pleased to meet you, Captain. You escaping too?"

"No, Mademoiselle, I am not escaping," said Raoul, and added, "Neither is Major de Beaujolais. He is going on duty, infinitely against his will at such a time. But he's also going to dangers quite as great as those in Zaguig at this moment. . . ."

I could have embraced my friend.

Miss Vanbrugh considered this.

"Then, I think perhaps I'll go with him," she said. "Come on, Maudie. Grab the grip. . . . I suppose you'll stay and fight, Otis? Good-bye, dear old boy, take care of yourself . . ." and she threw her arms round her brother's neck.

" Mon Dieu , what a girl!" Raoul laughed.

"You have heard of the frying-pan and the fire, Miss Vanbrugh?" I began.

"Yes, and of pots and pans and cabbages and kings. I'm quite tired of this gay city, anyway, and I'm coming along to see this Where-is-it place. . . ."

Vanbrugh turned to me.

"For God's sake take her," he said, "and Maudie too."

"Oh, yes , sir," said Maudie, thinking doubtless of Sheikhs.

"Why--surely," chimed in Miss Vanbrugh. "Think of Major Ivan's good name. . . . He must be chaperoned."

"I'm sorry, Vanbrugh," I said. "I can't take your sister . . . I'm going on a Secret Service mission--of the greatest importance and the greatest danger. . . . My instructions are to go as nearly alone as is possible--and I'm only taking three natives and a white subordinate as guide, camel-man and cook and so forth. . . . It's impossible . . ."

(No de Lannec follies for Henri de Beaujolais!)

But he drew me aside and whispered, "Good God, man, I'm her brother! I can't shoot her at the last. You are a stranger. . . . There is a chance for her, surely, with you. . . ."

"Impossible," I replied.

Some one came up the stair and to the door. It was Dufour in Arab dress. He had hurried back and changed, in his quarters.

"We should be out of this in a few minutes, sir, I think," he said. "They are only waiting for the muezzin. Hundreds followed each detachment to the gates. . . ."

"We shall be out of it in a few minutes, Dufour," I answered. "Get on down to Ibrahim Maghruf's. Take Achmet. Don't forget anything--food, water, rifles, ammunition, compasses. See that Achmet takes my uniform. . . . I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Let the gentle Achmet take the grip, then," said Miss Vanbrugh, indicating her portmanteau.

Raoul touched my arm.

"Take the two girls in a bassourab ," he whispered. "It would add to your plausibility, in a way, to have a hareem with you. . . . You might be able to hand them over to a north-bound caravan too, with promise of a tremendous reward if they're taken safe to a French outpost."

"Look here, couldn't Vanbrugh ride north-west with them himself?" I suggested. "He's a plucky chap and . . ."

"And can't speak a word of Arabic. Not a ghost of a chance--the country's swarming, I tell you. They wouldn't get a mile. Too late . . ."

"Wouldn't you . . . ?" I began.

"Stop it, Henri," he answered. "I'm not de Lannec . . . My job's here, and you know it. . . . I may be able to do a lot of good when they get going. Mobs always follow anybody who's got a definite plan and a loud voice and bloody-minded urgings. . . ."