Dennis Wheatley - The Secret War

The gate of the inner courtyard was more carefully guarded. Two soldiers stood by it leaning on their rifles and a third, an officer apparently, since he wore a dirty white duck suit, a blue bus conductor's hat and a Sam Browne belt to which was attached a revolve holster, lounged near them.

Lovelace bowed himself almost to the ground and Christopher followed his example. As the officer walked over to them Lovelace addressed him in Arabic, illustrious and Valorous Master, we have goods to sell, Permit us, I beg, to enter; that we may show them to

the Noble Lords whose sweetness makes this court place of perfumes.'

The answer came in halting Arabic. 'Show me what you have.'

With a deep obeisance Lovelace spread his wares out upon the ground and, for the next five minutes, Christopher marvelled as he stood behind him. Every trace of the quiet, reserved Englishman had disappeared; instead, a born Oriental rattled on unceasingly in flowery Arabic and gesticulated graphically with both hands.

The Abyssinian displayed no emotion until Lovelace produced a miniature automatic, held it pointing at his own heart, and pressed the trigger; an Egyptian cigarette shot out of the barrel. He caught it deftly, placed it between his lips and, pressing a button, lit it from an automatic lighter concealed in the butt of the toy pistol.

The black man's eyes glinted with desire. `How much?' he asked.

`Twenty thalers,' said Lovelace.

The officer shook his head, but his fascinated gaze was still on the miraculous toy.

Lovelace held it out to him by the barrel. 'It is yours, Master, if I may show my wares to the Illustrious Ferentshis who are within.'

`How do you know that there are foreigners here?' the black asked suspiciously.

`Rumour has a long tongue, oh begetter of many hundred handsome children,' Lovelace countered. `All the world knows the exalted Ras extends his regal hospitality to these bringers of Evil,' he spat suddenly, and added, `but their thalers are as numerous as the fleas upon a donkey and I am poor.'

After a quick glance round the inner court the man in the soiled dungarees snatched at the pistol and motioned them inside. As ever, in the East, cupidity had unlocked the door. They snatched up their goods before he could change his mind and genuflected past him.

The third enclosure was almost as large as the others, but its buildings were more massive and it was a little cleaner. In the centre rose a single storied, stone block, evidently Ras Desoum's own dwelling. At one end of it the observation tower dominated the whole human ant heap from its top platform at the modest height of thirty feet. A separate building was, perhaps, a banqueting hall, and another the stables that held the Ras’s chargers. Against the walls were the same wattle and daub shanties as in the outer courts, except in one place, where a long, low, modern bungalow was raised on concrete platform a few feet above the ground, On its, step four Europeans were sitting, and, even in the distance, Lovelace recognised them as some of Zarrif’s gunmen.

'Now we're inside I want to talk to you,' Christopher whispered.

`Shut up,' snapped Lovelace, 'That chap at the gate's still watching us. It's devilish risky, but we're sunk now unless we do our stuff.' With a slow but firm step he led the way over to the bungalow.

As they advanced they saw that a machine gun on a tripod had been placed at one corner of the veranda. The weapon commanded all the open ground of the inner court, yet none of the gunmen was within twenty yards of it.

'This is where Zirrif hangs out all right,' Lovelace whispered; `but you see he takes his precautions, even here.'

`If we could grab that gun and reverse it we’d! have the whole party cold,' Christopher muttered in sudden excitement.

`Good God, no!' Lovelace muttered back. 'There’re five hundred men with rifles in this place. They'd pot us when we tried to climb out over the wall as easy as sitting rabbits. We've got to wait till after dark. Steady now! Try and think yourself into the skin of a native, We've passed muster as Arabs with the Abyssinians, but some of these chaps have seen me before, face to face, and if they once smell a rat they'll bump us off without even waiting to ask Zirrif.` With a forced, ingratiating grin he produced his

goods and called out to the bodyguard in exceedingly bad French:

'Hi! Masters! Souvenir of Abyssinia yes! Very fine, very cheap. Necklace for pretty girl. All are pearl come from Persian Gulf, Ivory elephant bring plenty luck. Come, Masters, look!'

One man murmured to another: 'Here's a chance to buy a few things. I'm going to spend a bit as we're leaving tomorrow.' The man spoke in Spanish, but Lovelace knew enough of that language to catch the drift of what he said, and doubled his enticements.

The second man shook his head. 'Save your money, friend. Who can say when we'll be able to earn any more now ?'

In spite of the pessimist, Lovelace succeeded in unloading thirty five thalers' worth of goods on to two of the thugs after the usual haggling that was expected of him in his part.

He was just collecting his things again when his heart almost missed a beat. Cassalis came out of one of the doors of the building and fixed him with a suspicious stare.

Christopher, recognising the secretary from Lovelace s, description, felt his hair prickle on his scalp. If the Frenchman noticed that the features of the Arab trader were exactly the same as those of a gentleman who had eaten quite a number of meals with him under the name of Jeremiah Green, the next few seconds would see certain bloodshed. He fumbled under his burnous for his pistol, while Lovelace, with the audacity born of desperation, proceeded to badger Cassalis to examine his stock.

Cassalis seemed worried and distrait. After a quick, glance at the goods he ordered them off, and began to talk excitedly to the others about arrangements for their departure from Abyssinia the following day.

The pseudo Arabs beat a hasty retreat. Lovelace let out a quick sigh of relief and nudged Christopher's arm. 'Now we've got to hide before somebody spots us and, turns us out. Look! Over there, between those two huts, by that big pile of straw,'

`I’ve got to talk to you,' muttered Christopher urgently.

`You can talk all you want to in a minute.' Lovelace's lazy glance was fixed on the apathetic soldiers who guarded the entrance to the court.

A high note on a horn sounded from out near the roadway and some native drums began to beat. What's that?' Christopher asked jerkily.

`Curfew. They'll be closing the gates for the night in a few moments now. Hadn't you noticed the sun is just about to set?'

It was true. The strong shadows had been lengthening even when they were talking with the officer at the inner gate. Twenty minutes had elapsed since then, and now all the gimcrack buildings were bathed in the pinkish glow of twilight.

As they reached the big pile of loose straw and wriggled down into it, Christopher's voice was more urgent than ever: `Listen!' he pleaded. `You've got me in here which I could never have done for myself. I know the lie of the land and where Zirrif is. I'm well, terribly grateful. Now, you must get out before it's too late.'

`Get out why?' asked Lovelace in surprise.

`That's why'' Christopher produced a paper from inside his robe and passed it over. `That's the letter from Valerie to you. She pushed it under your bedroom door late last night. I happened to see her and I was half crazy with jealousy. I fished it out with a thin piece of stick then read it. Cad's trick, I suppose, but at least it's given me the truth about the situation.'

By the last light of the dying sun, while the native drums were still rolling, Lovelace read the pencilled scrawl.