Array Sapper - The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile Sapper

"What's your object in doing this?" said Jim slowly, after a long pause.

"Amusement principally—amusement and revenge. How dared you, you miserable Englishman, profane our temple, and put the authorities on our track?"

With his teeth bared like a wolf's, the Egyptian rose and approached the grille. He stood there snarling, and Jim yawned.

"You murdered a man," went on the Prince, and his voice was shaking with rage, "a man who had forgotten more of the mysteries of life than you and all your miserable countrymen put together will ever know. And the penalty for that is death, as I told you."

"So it was you who wrote those notes, was it?" said Jim in a bored voice. "You wretched little nigger."

In a frenzy of rage at the insult the Egyptian shook both his fists.

"Yes, it was I," he screamed. "And it was I who went round to your club this evening, and it was I who heard you order the car to go to Hampstead; and it is I who have bluffed you all through. It was considerate of you, Maitland, to tell the taxi-driver that. There are numbers of excellent places on the tube line out there where both your bodies can be found—electrocuted. And as I've told you before,"—he turned to me—"I will look after Molly."

With a great effort he recovered himself and sat down again to his interrupted meal. And once more silence reigned. Motionless as a statue, Jim still stood there, and his eyes never left the Prince's face.

I sat there watching him helplessly. In my own mind I knew that this was not bluff; in my own mind I knew that in all his life of adventure Jim had never stood in such deadly peril as he did at that moment. And the thing was so diabolically ingenious. Sooner or later he must move and then with every step he ran the risk of sudden death. But the hand that held and lit his cigarette was steady as a rock.

He smoked it through calmly and quietly, while the Egyptian watched him as a cat watches a mouse. It couldn't go on; we all knew that. It had to finish, and as Jim flung the end away the Prince rose and approached the grille. On his face was a horrible look of anticipation; his sinewy hands were clenched tight.

"Well, old Dick," said Jim steadily, "this appears to be the end of a sporting course. I refuse to stand here any more for the amusement of that foul nigger. So I propose to sit down. And in case I sit the wrong way— so long."

He turned and lounged towards the big chair. Then he sat down and polished his eye-glass, while the Egyptian clutched the grille and gloated. I could have told then if I hadn't known it before that it was no bluff—that he was waiting in an ecstasy of anticipation for Jim to die. Anyway, it would be sudden, but when—when?

"A poor chair this, nigger," said Jim mildly—and then it happened. Jim gave one dreadful convulsive leap and slithered to the floor, where he lay rigid and stiff. For a moment I was stunned; for a moment I forgot that it was my fate, too. I could only grasp that Jim was dead. Murdered by a madman—for there was madness in the eyes of Prince Selim, as I cursed him for a murderer.

"Your turn next," he snarled, "but first we will remove the body."

He pressed over a switch on the wall, and a great blue spark stabbed the air. Then he went to the central gate and pulled it back.

"Not much sport that time," he remarked. "Too quick. But, anyway, my dear Leyton, you will now know one place to avoid."

"Which is more than you do," came a terrible voice, and the Prince screamed. For Jim's hands were round his throat, and Jim's merciless eyes were boring into his brain.

"You're not the only person who can bluff, nigger."

The grip tightened, and the Egyptian struggled madly to free himself, until quite suddenly he grew limp, and Jim flung him into the chair, where he lay sprawling. Then, picking up his revolver, Jim came towards me.

"Touch and go that time, Dick," and there was a strained look in his eyes as he set me free.

"I thought you were done in, old man," I said hoarsely. "At first I put him down as bluffing, but afterwards I knew he wasn't. And when you doubled up like that—" I broke off as Jim crossed to the switch.

"I knew he wasn't bluffing," he answered. "I saw that in his eyes. Now we'll see how he likes it."

There came another vivid spark, and with a loud clang the gate closed in the grille, while the Egyptian still sprawled unconscious in the chair.

"So I took the only possible way as it seemed to me. If it failed—I died, and by the mercy of Allah it didn't! Oh! my God! look!"

His hand gripped my arm, and I swung round just in time to see it. I suppose he'd slipped in the chair or something, but Prince Selim's back was arched inwards in a semi-circle, and for a moment he seemed to stand on his head. Then he crashed forward on to the floor and lay still.

"No," repeated Jim, and his hand shook a little, "it wasn't bluff."

* * * * *

I don't profess to account for it. Whether he was indeed mad, or whether he was merely the victim of some terrible form of mental abnormality, will never be known. Amazing stories of unbelievable debauches were hinted at by his servant during the inquest—debauches always carried out in this room.

Tales showing his appalling cruelty and his fiendish pleasure in witnessing pain in others were listened to by an astounded and open-mouthed jury. But one thing they did not hear—and that was of the presence of two white men in the house on the night preceding the finding of the Prince's dead body. The Arab who had brought in the champagne was not quite a fool, and a verdict of accidental death saved complications.

Table of Content

AND so I come to the finish. As I have said, Jim's half- section was made up, and he wasn't our best man after all, for we had a double wedding. As is only meet and proper, it caused the cessation of his wanderings and turned him into an orderly member of society. How long it will last is another thing altogether. Sometimes now there comes a gleam into his eyes not induced, I regret to say, by the intense excitement of English country life. And sometimes now, when Molly and I go to stay with them, the two men of the party are routed out by their indignant wives at two in the morning.

The whisky is low in the decanter; the atmosphere gives every excuse for paroxysms of feminine coughing as the door opens. And then the two men rise sheepishly from their chairs and basely pretend that they had no idea it was so late. It doesn't deceive their wives for an instant, but they are merciful and kindly souls who have even been known to brave the atmosphere and come and sit on the arms of their respective husbands' chairs.

For he found her—did Jim. He found his girl—the girl he had last seen in the hotel at Tampico. The Fate that juggles the pieces gave the wheel another twist—a kindly twist, and the harbour for which old Jim in his heart of hearts had been steering through long years hove in sight. And now there was Molly, bless her! at the helm.

Great happiness is apt to make one a bit selfish, I think, and somehow or other Jim and his, quest had slipped a little into the background of my mind. As he had said to me with a shrug of his shoulders and an apparent indifference which failed to deceive, what chance was there of finding her— that girl who was never absent for long from his mind? And even if he did find her—what then? She hated and despised him. And I had agreed: the odds against finding her were long. Also I had forgotten, for such is the way of a man in love himself.

And then suddenly one afternoon it happened. At first I could hardly believe my eyes: I said to myself that it was merely an astonishing likeness. But after a moment or two I knew that it was no mistake: the girl talking to Molly was Jim's girl.