Chapter XXV: “the Voice of England in the East.”

Leaving Cecil and Um Yusuf in their captivity at Sardiyeh, the harem procession made its way down the winding mountain-paths, a curious assemblage of closely swathed white figures mounted on mules and donkeys, and headed by the waving curtains of Jamileh Khanum’s litter. On either side rode the black agas, armed with whips with which to drive off any inquisitive wayfarer; and before and behind came the guard of soldiers whom the Pasha had left under the charge of his master of the horse for the purpose of protecting his wife. At the end of the train of women and agas rode Azim Bey and his attendants, obliged to follow even the negresses who acted as cooks and scullerymaids, a humiliation which sorely tasked the boy’s proud spirit. But this was not the worst. He felt convinced, from the meaning looks and whispered words which passed among the women, that the Khanum Effendi was considered to have gained not only a moral but a material victory in that she had succeeded in getting rid of Cecil. That some evil was intended against him, to which his governess’s presence was considered a bar, he was sure, and he felt more lonely and helpless than he had ever done in his life. And indeed Jamileh Khanum was jubilant as she reclined on her gold-embroidered cushions. She had accomplished the task in which she had so often failed, and separated Cecil from her pupil with comparatively little difficulty.

“You must get rid of Mdlle. Antaza if you wish to reach Azim Bey,” had been one of M. Karalampi’s messages to her through Mdlle. Katrina. “Separately we can deal with them easily, but together they are too strong for us.”

This had been the secret of the attempts made to sap the loyalty of the servants, and induce them to bring a false accusation against Cecil--this also of the hints and threatenings of murder which had alarmed Um Yusuf; but it was M. Karalampi, assisted unintentionally by Azim Bey himself, who had devised the plan by which the news of Charlie’s murder had after all produced the desired effect. So far everything had gone smoothly. Immediately after telling his story to Cecil, Hanna had been seized and conveyed to a distance, and was now in safe custody, for it was no part of the scheme that he should be allowed to reach Baghdad and acquaint the Balio Bey with what had happened. And now, as she counted the hours until the place named by the Pasha as the rendezvous should be reached, Jamileh Khanum felt calm and triumphant. Her part in the conspiracy had been faithfully performed; it only rested with M. Karalampi to do his share. Everything was ready; Mdlle. Katrina had only to see her nephew and give him the message that Azim Bey was now unprotected by the presence of his governess, and might safely be attacked. All details were left to him; the only thing that Jamileh Khanum cared for was to get her stepson out of the way.

But at the rendezvous disappointment was awaiting her. Neither M. Karalampi nor his ill-conditioned servant was to be seen, and it was some time before Mdlle. Katrina succeeded in discovering that they were not with the Pasha at all. Instead of being in attendance on his Excellency, M. Karalampi had been left behind in the disturbed district, nominally as secretary to the Mutesalim, who had been wounded during the Pasha’s military operations, but in reality as a spy upon him, to the great disgust of both. The Mutesalim naturally resented the indignity of being saddled with a guardian who must be “squared” by receiving a considerable share of every piece of plunder unless his charge’s doings were to be reported to the Pasha, and a good deal blackened in the process, but his emotions were mild compared with those of M. Karalampi. His anger arose from the fact that by this action the Pasha had unconsciously neutralised all his plans. Of what use was it to have devised these complicated manœuvres for getting Cecil out of the way, if he could not proceed with the designs he had formed against her pupil? Worse than this, he felt a presentiment that in her wrath and disappointment Jamileh Khanum would try to do the work herself, in some clumsy inartistic way that would lead to the ruin of the whole scheme, and he was right.

Now that the harem procession had rejoined that of his Excellency, no further stay was made in the mountains, and the whole cavalcade proceeded on its way towards Baghdad. At one of the towns through which it passed a fair was being held, and the Pasha consented that half a day should be spent in this place, at the earnest request of the master of the horse, who saw a chance of replenishing the Palace stables at moderate cost. The decision was not quite so satisfactory to the merchants and country-people who had brought horses to sell at the fair, for they foresaw an unequal contest, in which their wares would be taken from them at such prices as seemed good to the master of the horse, with all the power of the Pasha behind him. With many laments, therefore, they settled in their own minds the bribe which must be offered to the official in order to secure his meeting their views in each case, and bemoaned their hard lot in coming to the fair just as his Excellency was passing through the town. But to Jamileh Khanum the fair presented itself as offering a providential solution of a difficulty. Taking counsel with no one, she intrusted her chief aga with a confidential commission to buy for her the handsomest and wickedest Kurdish pony he could find, and to have it fitted with saddle and bridle of the finest materials and workmanship regardless of expense. Her order was carried out to the letter. The aga secured a pony which bore the worst of reputations from all its owners, for it had already changed hands repeatedly, and would have been got rid of as useless had it not been for its beauty. Its chief merit with reference to the particular end in view was the general testimony that these peculiarities of character did not become evident until the intending rider was in the saddle, and the chief aga rubbed his hands with delight as he superintended the decking of the animal with the most gorgeous trappings he could procure.

“The Khanum Effendi will be well pleased,” he muttered to himself, feeling already in his hand the bakhshish which his mistress placed there a short time afterwards, when she had inspected the pony and heard its record. The next step was to send it round to Azim Bey’s quarters as a present from his stepmother, and had he been in reality the guileless child that Jamileh Khanum trusted he might show himself, his career would probably have ended as abruptly as she wished. But he was to the full as wily and as suspicious as herself, and the mere circumstance of her sending him a present was sufficient to put him on his guard. He sent his thanks to the donor in the most orthodox way, walked round the pony in delight, examining its beauties, and called little Ishak, the slipper-bearer.

“Mount the pony for me, O Ishak,” he said, “and ride him round the courtyard, that I may see his paces.”

“Upon my head be it, O my lord,” responded Ishak, and did his best to obey. But no sooner was he mounted than the animal gave a complicated bound, something between a standing leap, a wriggle, and a buck-jump, and Ishak came to the ground with a crash.

“God is great!” burst from Masûd. “What wisdom is this of my lord’s?”

“Take him up, and send for the _hakim bashi_,” said Azim Bey, “and take care that the pony is kept for the Pasha to see.”

Severe concussion of the brain was the result of the experiment on poor little Ishak’s part, but the _hakim bashi_ pointed out that to any one but a negro the blow would have meant almost certain death, a fact which spoke volumes to the Pasha. His Excellency accepted the warning thus conveyed, for he had felt anxious about his son’s safety ever since he had heard of Cecil’s illness. Had the report of the case reached him on the authority of Jamileh Khanum alone, he would not have believed it; but when, at her earnest request, he had sent his own physician to see Mdlle. Antaza, and he confirmed her account, he could not well refuse the governess a few weeks of rest, even at the cost of danger to Azim Bey. Now he resolved to keep the boy with him constantly until Cecil’s return, and never to allow him out of his sight.

Under these circumstances Azim Bey made sure that he should be able to secure Cecil’s recall at once; but in this he was reckoning without his host, as he found when he tried to approach the subject with his father. He supposed that he had only to tell the Pasha that the Khanum Effendi was keeping mademoiselle a prisoner at Sardiyeh for her to be released immediately; but to his amazement and mortification he was merely told that it was not so at all--that mademoiselle was taking a little rest by the doctor’s orders, and could not return to Baghdad for the present. To be treated like a child in this way was sufficiently annoying, but it was worse to feel conscious the whole time that if he only dared to say what he knew, matters would be set right. But this was impossible. He was afraid to tell his father of Charlie’s return and death, lest he should get into trouble for his share in the latter; and he had also a very real fear that M. Karalampi might revenge himself upon him afterwards, now that he was so completely in his power. His entreaties that Cecil might be allowed to rejoin him were thus made in vain, for the Pasha, ignorant of any reason for her prostrate state, could only attribute it, as the _hakim bashi_ had done, to an overworked brain and incipient madness. Complete rest for a short time was the only thing that could be tried; and the Pasha intended, though he did not tell his son this, to send the physician again to Sardiyeh in the course of a few weeks, that he might examine the patient anew, and judge if there were any hope of her recovery. This being the case, the boy’s constant references to his governess became rather wearisome to the Pasha, and after several valiant attempts to press the subject on his father’s attention, Azim Bey found himself peremptorily silenced, and forbidden to allude to it again. When they reached Baghdad he was watched over much too closely to allow of his speaking either to Sir Dugald or Lady Haigh, and thus his second avenue of escape was closed. The _hakim bashi_ was sent to the Residency to tell the Balio Bey that Mdlle. Antaza had been ill, and was spending some time longer in the mountains for rest and change, and it did not occur to any one that there was anything strange underlying this apparently straightforward message.

Any anxiety which was felt at the Residency at this time was entirely on Charlie’s account. Lady Haigh had not heard from him for months, and no letters from him to Cecil had passed through Sir Dugald’s hands. It was supposed, however, that she had written to tell him of the plan of spending the summer in the hills, and that he had found some new channel of communication with her by way of Mosul or Erzeroum, while he was probably so busy at home in having his house done up that he had no time to write to other people. In this happy confidence Lady Haigh remained until she received a letter from Mrs Howard White, who with her husband had spent a few days at the Residency on her homeward journey from Hillah, and was now in England. Lady Haigh took up the letter and opened it with somewhat languid interest, anticipating nothing more than a graceful acknowledgment of her kind hospitality, and some information as to the light in which Professor Howard White’s discoveries were regarded by the learned world. But after a very brief message of thanks, the writer dashed at once into another subject.

“... I feel that I must write to you,” she said, “and only hope that my warning may prove to be unnecessary. It will be news to you to hear that your cousin, Dr Egerton, was in Hillah just before we left it, disguised as an Armenian trader. At his earnest request I arranged a meeting between him and Miss Anstruther in my house, but they had no private conversation, owing to the presence of Miss Anstruther’s pupil. It is my impression that the secret remained undiscovered by Azim Bey, but I cannot be sure of this. Dr Egerton avowed to me the next day his intention of following, unknown to her, the Pasha’s caravan, in which Miss Anstruther was travelling, and I was unable to dissuade him from it. I promised to keep his secret, lest Sir Dugald should interfere with the scheme, but now that so long a time has elapsed without any news of him, I feel it only right to tell you all I know in order that inquiries may be made. I understand that Dr Egerton has not returned home, and that neither his aunt nor Miss Anstruther’s family know anything of his movements....”

Lady Haigh read the letter through with a face of horror, and rushed with it to Sir Dugald’s office.

“Read that, Dugald!” she cried, flinging it down before him, “and then leave those papers and go and see the Pasha at once. You must do it.”

“H’m,” said Sir Dugald, lifting his eyebrows as he took up the letter; “the doctor in trouble again, I suppose? Ah!” as he read it, “this is what Miss Anstruther was afraid of, is it? Poor girl! It might be the best thing for her that he should disappear;” but he rose, nevertheless, and began to put away his papers.

“What a mercy that Cecil is not here!” burst from Lady Haigh. “The anxiety would kill her. I only hope that she will stay quietly in the mountains until we hear something certain. Do go, Dugald.”

Sir Dugald was already starting, and reached the Palace unheralded, regardless of the etiquette for which he was generally so rigorous a stickler. The Pasha received him with some trepidation. As soon as his Excellency was told that the Balio Bey wished to see him, an uneasy conscience led him to recall uncomfortably a few of his recent acts of government, and in particular to wonder whether the length of Jamileh Khanum’s latest dressmaker’s bill, and the means adopted to satisfy the Parisian firm interested, had become public. He was proportionately relieved on finding that Sir Dugald’s visit had nothing to do with any of his own peccadilloes, but concerned only the English doctor, whose existence, as well as his sudden departure from Baghdad, the Pasha had forgotten long ago. Little time was needed to show that his Excellency knew nothing of Dr Egerton’s proceedings or of his fate.

“I must ask your Excellency to let Azim Bey be summoned,” said Sir Dugald, when he had satisfied himself of the Pasha’s innocence. “No stone must be left unturned to solve this mystery.”

Azim Bey was sent for, and presently appeared, attended by Masûd. Glancing from one to the other of the occupants of the room, and noticing that his father looked perturbed and the Balio Bey stern, he felt a sudden conviction that the reward of his youthful misdeeds was at hand.

“Question my son yourself, my dear Balio,” said the Pasha, in his most urbane manner; and the culprit, shaking with misgiving, found himself set down opposite the terrible Balio Bey, who looked at him fixedly for a moment.

“Bey,” he said at last, “where is Dr Egerton?”

Azim Bey’s courage was rapidly oozing away, but he made a brave attempt to turn the question aside in a sportive and natural manner.

“How, then?” he asked. “Do you ask me about Dr Egerton, M. le Balio? Surely it is said that no Englishman can enter the pashalik without your knowing all about him at once?”

“In this case it is more to the point that you knew him to be in the pashalik,” replied Sir Dugald; and Azim Bey, seeing that he had betrayed himself, looked blank. “I know very well,” continued the Balio, taking a bold step in his turn, and fixing his eyes on the boy’s face, “that you saw him in disguise at Hillah and recognised him, and that you then gave instructions respecting him to some of his Excellency’s dependents. What were those orders, and where is Dr Egerton now?”

Quick as lightning the thought darted into Azim Bey’s head that he had been betrayed. Not perceiving that what had been said was the result of a shrewd guess on Sir Dugald’s part, he leaped to the conclusion that Ishak had been questioned and had implicated him in his answers, and it seemed to him immediately that the whole plot must be known.

“He is dead,” he murmured, with hanging head. The effect upon his auditor made Azim Bey perceive too late that he had again incriminated himself unnecessarily.

“Dead!” cried Sir Dugald, in a voice that made the Pasha jump.

“Yes--Oh, M. le Balio, that was not my fault. I hated him, and I wanted the Kurds to take him prisoner, and they murdered him. I did not want him to die--indeed I did not--I did not mean to have him killed.”

“But this is impossible!” cried the Pasha. “What could make you hate this English gentleman, my son?”

“I hated him because mademoiselle was in love with him,” returned the boy without hesitation. His father looked scandalised, and Sir Dugald frowned heavily.

“There is no need whatever to bring Miss Anstruther’s name into the conversation,” he said, adding, as he turned to the Pasha, “I cannot conceive that these are the real facts of the case, your Excellency. It seems to me that Azim Bey must have been used as a tool by some enemy of Dr Egerton’s.”

“But indeed it is not so, M. le Balio,” Azim Bey protested eagerly. “It was I who hated him, and when mad--I mean when _she_ was angry with me about him, I spoke to M. Karalampi, and he made the people of the city hate him, so that he had to leave Baghdad.”

“Ah!” broke from Sir Dugald, while the Pasha was silent through sheer astonishment, the minds of both going back to the mysterious events which had preceded Charlie Egerton’s departure. Sir Dugald recovered himself first.

“And Karalampi has been your agent in these last negotiations also, Bey? I thought so. Your Excellency,” he said to the Pasha, “I must ask you to have M. Karalampi arrested and brought here at once.”

“The order shall be sent immediately,” said the Pasha, and he called Ovannes Effendi from the anteroom. While the necessary directions were being given, Azim Bey crept close to Sir Dugald.

“M. le Balio, you will ask my father to let mademoiselle come back from Sardiyeh now?” he asked, anxiously.

“Certainly not,” replied Sir Dugald, emphatically. “I am most thankful to think that Miss Anstruther is out of the way for the present. I shall not advise her to return until this matter has been inquired into.”

“Oh, monsieur, but----” began Azim Bey; but Sir Dugald cut him short, and took his leave of the Pasha, requesting to be summoned as soon as M. Karalampi arrived. To Lady Haigh he made as light of the matter as he could, protesting that in Azim Bey’s case he believed that the wish for Charlie’s death was father to the thought, but in his own mind he had very little doubt that the news was true. The mutual dislike of M. Karalampi and Charlie had not escaped his notice, and he felt that it was extremely probable that the Greek had taken the opportunity of carrying out his compact with Azim Bey a little too well. While waiting for him to be arrested and brought down to Baghdad, Sir Dugald collected a good deal of information which corroborated the boy’s account of the intrigue by which Charlie had been driven from his post, and he awaited the arrival of the prisoner with the comfortable conviction that there was very nearly evidence enough to hang him already. But the expected summons to the Palace to confront the accused did not come, and Sir Dugald grew impatient. At last he went himself to speak to the Pasha on the subject, but in the anteroom he was seized upon by Azim Bey.

“Oh, M. le Balio, you would not come, and I could not go to see you. He has been here, and my father has let him go again.”

“Who? Karalampi?” cried Sir Dugald. “Tell me what you mean.”

They sat down on the divan, and Azim Bey poured his tale into the Balio’s ear. How M. Karalampi had arrived, all unconscious of the reason for the summons, from his post in the mountains, and had found himself accused of plotting Dr Egerton’s murder. How he had protested his innocence, and had promised to bring proofs of it, if he were allowed to go back to the mountains with an escort and penetrate into the Kurdish fastnesses. How the Pasha had demurred to this, but had yielded on M. Karalampi’s declaring that otherwise he would make a clean breast of everything to the Balio Bey, and involve Jamileh Khanum in his disclosures. This was the only card he had to play, but, thanks to the Pasha’s agonised desire to prevent scandal, it was successful, and he was allowed to depart, under strict supervision. Sir Dugald listened with lowering brow, and when the recital was ended he rose from his seat with a fixed resolve to see the Pasha and thresh the matter out with him, but Azim Bey was still clinging to his arm.

“Oh, M. le Balio, bring mademoiselle back. They are keeping her in prison there at Sardiyeh, and it is only this--the death of Dr Egerton--that has made her ill.”

“What? she knows already? and the poor girl is all alone up there!” cried Sir Dugald, and he strode into the Pasha’s presence with a frown which made his Excellency tremble. His demand that Cecil should be sent for was at once granted, and an escort despatched to bring her from Sardiyeh to Baghdad. But Sir Dugald had been forestalled. The news of what had been happening had reached the harem, and had caused a vast amount of commotion there, together with much coming and going of Mdlle. Katrina, imperfectly disguised in a voluminous sheet, between her mistress and M. Karalampi, during the short time that he spent in the city. The result was that an order had been sent to Sardiyeh, which reached it two days before the Pasha’s.