Chapter XI

John Hazel got up from the granite seat, saluted Miss Forbis, and moved with long strides across the lawn, to meet the visitor....

With strained interest Katharine watched the meeting. The Egyptian Flying Officer, a dark-skinned, bright-eyed, wiry man, whose short and slight, but muscular and active figure was set off by his well-cut uniform of khaki cotton-drill,--said something in a rapid undertone as he met Hazel. Hazel replied. Their colloquy lasted barely a minute, but to Katharine, vibrating with the sense of great issues, it seemed as though the few words spoken by the Egyptian had settled the question at stake.

Then both men crossed the greensward together, the top of the Pasha's sun-helmet barely on a level with Hazel's middle arm. Hazel presented Major Essenian Pasha. The Egyptian bowed like a Frenchman, from the hips, and was profoundly honoured to meet Miss Forbis, of whom he had heard so much from Lady Donnithorpe. And Katharine, responding with her high-bred grace and composure to his frothy compliments, found herself at once repelled and attracted by something in this man.

Small, alert, dark-hued as bronze, with the long, narrow eyes, the wide brows and curving profile of the statues of the Egyptian god Horus, Essenian Pasha might have been barely past thirty, and certainly conveyed the idea of mental vigour, abounding health and restless vitality.

"I had the pleasure some years back," he said to Katharine, "of meeting in Cairo an English officer who may be your relation! Captain Mark Forbis, of a regiment belonging to the Brigade of Guards.... He was for a short period, A.D.C. to the Commander-in-Chief at Ismailia. Captain Forbis was exceedingly handsome. May I say, although he was a blond man, and blue-eyed, that I detect a remarkable resemblance to him in you...."

Katharine answered as the speaker waited, with his gleaming eyes upon her:

"My brother Mark held a Captaincy in a well-known Guards Regiment, the 'Cut Red Feathers.' He was killed at Mons in August, 1914." She added, of purpose, "My younger brother Julian is a Catholic monk of the Order of S. Gerard. He served as a Chaplain with our troops at Suvla and Gallipoli...."

The Pasha's beryl eyes suddenly lightened. He said in his most suave and dulcet tones, his slender fingers smoothing his clipped black moustache:

"Your brother has then undergone some terrible experiences. May I venture to ask if he was present at the assault on Scimitar Hill?"

"He was with his brigade when the 29th Division fought their way up through the scrub-fire." Too late she caught a warning glance from John Hazel's sombre eyes.

"He was not wounded? ..."

"I--hope not! I--I believe not...."

"It must have been a great joy to welcome him back again!"

"It would be, if--"

"If I had!" the sentence would have ended.... But she broke off, her cheeks and the rims of her delicate ears and her fair temples crimson. Yet, after all, why should she prevaricate? What matter if the man did know, thought candid Katharine? Was he not going to help Julian--at least, according to John Hazel? Why, then, had John enjoined reserve and secrecy? ...

Her quick flush faded, but it had not escaped the observation of Essenian. The Horus smile on his dark, smooth lips was subtler and more insinuating, and the gleam between the lids of his long-lashed eyes more languid than before, as he said:

"I understand. Though the Allied Forces have been withdrawn--and the Campaign of the Dardanelles is relegated to the pigeon-hole where Whitehall keeps its failures--your brother has not been lucky enough yet to obtain leave? ..."

He seemed to be probing, with his bland, persistent questions and veiled looks of sympathy, in Katharine's aching heart. She gave a little, irresistible shudder. He saw it, and continued in his smooth, caressing voice:

"Or possibly the duties of a priest detain Mr. Forbis elsewhere? We Easterns have a proverb--it may be new to you:" The insinuating tones were even more gentle and velvety:

"_For a plain man to become a priest is robbery of one woman. For one handsome man who becomes a priest a hundred women are robbed!_"

The tone, rather than the words, conveyed something indescribably offensive. John Hazel started, palpably, and his scowl was thunderous. Wrath surged in Katharine's blood and she tingled to the finger-tips with a momentary, almost ungovernable desire to strike this man's smooth face. Scandalised at herself, furious with him, she commanded herself sufficiently to say in cool unruffled tones, rising from her seat:

"Charmed to have met you, Major Essenian Pasha.... Mr. Hazel, ever so many thanks for showing us your beautiful house. Now I must go and say good-bye to your aunt, and collect my friend, Lady Wastwood, for we are due at the Hospital. No!--please don't come with me--though you might 'phone for the car! ..."

"Mine is at the door.... I should be honoured and charmed if Miss Forbis and her friend would use it!" came in the soft ingratiating tones of Essenian....

John Hazel, already striding towards the house, halted and wheeled, looking at Katharine. Something in the expression of his black eyes conveyed the warning: It would be wiser not to snub this man! And, with revolt and distaste thrilling in her blood, Miss Forbis forced herself to smile and be gracious, and accept the officious offer of the Pasha's automobile.

"One moment, my King of Damascus, while I instruct my chauffeur where to take the ladies, and call for me later.... 'The Palace, Montana,' is it not?" Essenian said to John Hazel, glancing at a platinum watch in a band of grey gazelle-leather, strapped on his slender dusky wrist.

If a second rapid exchange of glances between Katharine and Hazel did not escape his observation, he gave no sign. He smiled, and went back across the lawn to the house, a small, slender figure, moving with short rapid steps, almost mincingly, and--for the Pasha's presence oppressed her physically--Katharine could breathe freely again....

"Miss Forbis!" John Hazel spoke quickly and in an undertone: "It's for your own sake I presumed to dictate to you just now in the matter of accepting the Pasha's civility. You see, when you let out your brother was a priest, you put Major Essenian wise to the prisoner's identity. Can't very well snub a man when he's going to risk his life for you! And the thing's fairly settled. We leave Ismailia Air Station for Shechem at the latest," he glanced at his wrist-watch, "by three to-morrow morning!"

"To-morrow morning! ..." She caught her breath, and he could see her heart's tumultuous throbbing under the thin white silk of her dainty blouse.

"Oh dear John Hazel!" she said with passionate fervour, her wide eyes, their irises mere tawny circles round the dilated pupils,--fixed upon his swarthy, excited face.... "May God protect and keep you!--and help you to save him!--my dear old Julian--my poor boy! ... Tell me how long I have to wait before I may hope to hear from you! How and when shall I hear? ..."

"If things go wrong I can't answer for your hearing...." John grinned with the grin of Private Abrahams.... "Unless they let me come back from the Other Side to report! But if things go right,--and we get your brother out of that"--he did not finish the sentence, "I pledge you my word you shall hear from me within twenty-four hours of the snatch!"

"Thank you. And--Mr. Hazel," she was holding out two letters, one inscribed only with a name, the other addressed twice over--once in a large, ornate, feminine hand, to "Lieut. Col. Edward Yaill, Kerr's Arbour, Cauldstanes, Tweedshire, N.B." and again in old Whishaw's staggering round-hand to "Care of Miss Forbis, No. --th Unit V.A.D. Royal Red Cross Society, Care of the Commandant Convalescent Hospital, Montana, Alexandria, Egypt."

"Were these a charge for me?" he asked.

"Yes. I am going to ask you to take them with you, in case you should again meet Colonel Yaill. One is my answer to the letter you brought. There is a line in it for Julian.... You see," she turned the envelope, "I have sealed it with my onyx ring. That is Julian's really--and a day may come when I shall be able to hand it over to him! The other came yesterday with my mail from Home.... I do not know, but I imagine--it is from the lady who--is Colonel Yaill's wife...."

"Righto! I'll take 'em both along. If I can't get 'em where they ought to go, you shall have 'em back anyway."

"Thanks!" She drew a breath of sheer relief as he took the letters from her. Ah! my sweet-hearted Katharine. How womanfully you had striven with the urgent desire to tear that buff-coloured envelope, leprous with stamps of different hues and scored with many postmarks, into a thousand infinitesimal pieces; and how thoroughly, as things turned out,--you would have been punished if you had....

"Does it strike you as it does me," John glanced at the concave impression of her ring, "that just about here is where--" He stooped his tall head nearer and dropped his voice to a tone even lower, "that just here's where the signet both of us wear may be useful! Don't take any screed you get from me as Gospel truth--because it happens to be signed 'John Hazel'! Even suppose you got a line from me, saying, '_Come at once!_'--don't come unless the paper bears an impression of this...." He thrust forward the big left hand that wore the onyx head of Hercules. "Stuck underneath the signature, in sealing-wax, or clay, or mud--or bread, even.... And test it by the ring you wear, before you accept it.... And seal your communications to me in the same old way. Do you tumble? I mean--do you say 'Done!'"

"Done! ..."

"And--you trust me? ..."

"I trust you absolutely! Even though you sent for me, not saying why I was needed, the signet-seal would be enough--I'd say 'Julian,' and come! ..."

"Then that's arranged! ..." He saw in the sudden change of her face that something menaced. Even before he turned his head the smooth voice of Essenian said, a long way below the level of his own great shoulder:

"I have given the necessary instructions to my chauffeur. He will take the ladies out to the Hospital, Montana, and come back to pick us up, at the 'Aviators' Club.' For, remember, you are engaged to dine with me there, my King of Damascus, and sleep at my house at Ismailia to-night.... I have obtained you the necessary leave from your C.M.O. at the General Hospital." He turned to Katharine, and the beryl eyes and the dazzling teeth gleamed together in the bronze face as he resumed: "Dear lady, do you wonder why I bestow that title on our friend? ... Because it belongs to him. He descends--although he may not know it--in an unbroken line from Hazaël, King of Damascus--the son and successor of the Scriptural Ben-Hadad--against whom Shalmaneser II. of Assyria waged war, in the year 842, before your Christian Era. In one of the cabinets in that room"--he pointed to the windows looking on the loggia--"is a clay tablet inscribed in Semitic--Assyrian-Cuneiform,--an heirloom preserved in your family," he looked at John, "for many centuries."

"How tremendously interesting!" Katharine commented, doing her best to be pleasant with this man, for whom she had conceived, what she was wont to term, one of her loathings: "My brother Julian used at one time--I suppose he has forgotten it all now!--to dabble a good deal in Semitic--tell me if I pronounce the rest of it badly!--Assyrian-Cuneiform. He was secretary and amanuensis to the Father General of his Order, Abbot Lansquier, of whom perhaps you may have heard."

"He is a great man. I have heard of him," said the Egyptian, quickly. "He would be interested in this tablet. It is," he went on addressing John, "a letter from Achab, King of Israel, in answer to some communication from Hazaël.... Your late grandfather and I were much interested in deciphering it at one time. We translated it into Hebrew, French, and English--and though I might miss out a word occasionally, I could repeat the substance of the letter by heart."

And he began to repeat in his smooth voice:

"_Now let us measure our strength together against this scornful King of Assyria, fat with the conquest of Tabul, and Milid, where are the silver, salt and alabaster mines. I, the King of Israel, with two thousand chariots and ten thousand soldiers, and thou the King of Damascus with seven hundred horsemen and twenty thousand unmounted men. And thou and I will be brothers, and thy son shall take to him my daughter; and the dowry I will give him with the Princess shall be twenty talents of gold, twenty-three thousand talents of silver, five thousand talents of copper, with coloured raiment from Egypt, mantles adorned with embroidery, a jewelled diadem, an ivory couch, a parasol of ivory studded with jewels, all which shall be delivered thee in Damascus, in the chambers of thy palace there. This is the word of Achab, King of Israel, to Hazaël the King of Damascus._"

As the Egyptian repeated the final words, looking at John Hazel, Katharine, whose eyes had followed Essenian's, recognised with a thrill of alarm, the now familiar transformation of the swarthy face with the great hooked nose, into a mask of stone. The light died out of the man's black eyes. He seemed to be mentally searching. She knew that he groped for the end of the spider-thread that linked for him the Present and the Past.

Essenian, in the same instant, saw the change and stopped in sheer amazement. He was about to speak, when the monotonous voice came from the mouth of the mask:

"_So it was, and there was a compact, and peace between Hazaël and Achab; and Istâr the Princess of the House of Israel, was wedded to the son of King Hazaël. And Achab and Hazaël went forth together to meet the King of Assyria; and he fought with them and defeated them, and destroyed with weapons sixteen thousand soldiers, and took eleven hundred chariots, and four hundred and thirty horses, and all the treasures of their camps. And he drove King Hazaël from the Fortress of Mount Saniru, and laid waste towns and villages, and hemmed him in Damascus, even the city of his glory. Its gardens of trees he cut down. And he slew the King with a stone from a war-engine, even in the Court of his Palace; and his son reigned instead of him, and paid tribute to the King of Assyria. But the Queen said, 'Must I bear a son to the son of him who has been worsted in battle?' And she ceased not--day nor night to taunt--him, like Lilith--who--_"

The voice faltered, broke, and stopped short. And Katharine, noting Essenian's rapid breathing, guessed, despite his well-maintained composure, that curiosity and interest raged in him.

"Is there no more, my King?" he almost whispered. "Think again.... There must be more to tell!"

"_And the Queen, Istâr, said: 'Woe is me! For the star of this house is declining, and the days of its glory are done! I cannot go back to my father, for Achab has turned himself to idols. But if this that I bear in my womb be a son, he shall worship the God of Israel in His Temple at Jerusalem.... For there is none other than Him!_'" The dragging voice stopped.

"And then ... what more? There must be more!" urged the Egyptian, avidly.

"I--I--cannot! ..."

John Hazel stared glassily at Essenian, and as Essenian looked back at him with long gleaming eyes of beryl, he lifted a hand to his forehead as though bewildered, and a dew of fine globules of perspiration broke out and glittered upon his temples, and cheeks, and jaws.... And, then, stirred to solicitude, warned by some inward voice to interpose, Katharine stretched forth her own hand and touched John Hazel lightly on the hand he lifted, saying in her clear, full, womanly tones:

"Mr. Hazel!"

"You ... you wanted me?"

He asked the question dully, but in his natural, ordinary voice. His black eyes lost their glassy stare as they encountered Katharine's.... And holding them with her own bright, steady gaze, she spoke to him again.

"It is getting late. Will you please find your aunt and the Commandant and tell Lady Wastwood that a car is waiting; and that we have only sufficient time to get back to the Hospital by seven!"

"Certainly. In half a jiff! ..."

He shook himself, and moved off with his lengthy strides in the direction of the shrubbery. And the beryl eyes of Essenian were on Katharine, scintillating evilly, and the smooth lips were stretched in that inscrutable, hateful smile....

"A very remarkable type of man--our good friend Hazel!" Essenian said, still smiling; and Katharine returned in cool, unruffled tones:

"Remarkable, and interesting."

"You find that? ..." What hinted meaning lurked behind that smooth interrogation? "Physically and _psychologically_, I myself find him quite uniquely interesting. His is a curiously dual personality; does it not strike you as being so? What wonderful powers of clairvoyance are his! What a link between the Seen and the Unseen, such powers might forge, for one who could employ them well! A Seeker after Wisdom, such as I am myself...." He drew out a fine white linen handkerchief exhaling some delicate essence, and passed it over his face, and dried the palms of his dark hands. The hands shook; their owner was the prey of some overmastering agitation as he went on: "But why should I speak ambiguously to one who understands? I saw him pass into the trance, from which you roused him by the exercise of your will.... You who can control--naturally you desire to keep to yourself, such a gift as Mr. Hazel's--a source of knowledge beyond all estimate...."

He went on, with increasing earnestness and persistence, as, conscious of increasing dislike and resentment, Katharine looked at him without making any reply:

"Miss Forbis, you may not know that I am rich.... Whether you are so yourself or not, ladies appreciate exquisite jewels, and I own many that are unusually fine.... Gratify me in connection with my desire to see your friend in a similar condition to--that I just now had the privilege of witnessing! Permit me to question him--and name your price! ... Do not be offended, I entreat!" the Egyptian pursued, warned by the flush on Katharine's cheek, and the frown that gathered on her forehead--"There may be something in which I can serve you.... If so, command me.... I ask no more! ..."

He changed his tone as John Hazel returned, accompanying Lady Wastwood and Mrs. Hazaël.

"I mentioned to you a little previously that--several years ago,--your late brother, Captain Forbis, honoured my poor house at Ismailia by being my guest. May I hope that you will similarly honour me? The gardens are really worth seeing.... Though the house, naturally, does not boast the interest attaching to this...."

"You are most kind, Essenian Pasha," Katharine returned, somewhat hesitatingly, conscious on the one hand of the insolence of the native who had presumed to offer her a bribe, painfully sensible, on the other, of the fact that Julian's freedom possibly depended on the co-operation of this unspeakably objectionable man. "But the time at my own disposal being so exceedingly limited, it would be impossible to give you a date."

"My profound regrets!" He bowed from the hips with his acquired French elegance. "Though I hope that a day will come yet when you will consent to honour me! Most of the beautiful English ladies who have visited our country have praised the house and garden.... Must the dwelling be darkened, and the trees about it wither, because denied the presence of the most beautiful of all! ..."

The flourishing Eastern hyperbole was delivered with Essenian's velvety softness, and accompanied by a display of glittering eyes and teeth. And Katharine, stifling her acute dislike as might best be managed, thanked the Egyptian in some formal phrase of polite regret and gratitude--cut short as John Hazel returned accompanying Trixie and Mrs. Hazaël, by the less formal utterances of leave-taking.... Mrs. Hazaël, in taking Katharine's offered hand, made the slight curtsey appropriate to Royalty. And Katharine, as she bent to kiss the little lady's cheek, was conscious that Essenian's strange eyes leapt out of their drowsy languor into glittering curiosity.

She had longed to give John Hazel another hearty hand-grip, to have whispered another parting word,--but the Egyptian intervened....

It was Essenian who conducted Miss Forbis to the car, a palatial Daimler of huge size, enamelled black and violent red; overloaded with solid silver and ivory fittings; lined with primrose satin brocade upholstery, and driven by a handsome Italian chauffeur.

"How gorgeous! And in what native taste!" cried Trixie, delightedly as the springy yellow cushions received her. "And does it belong to the Egyptian Flying Officer--the little, purring Pasha with the extraordinary eyes? I shall call him 'The Basilisk' because he reminds me of one!"

They had quitted the dust and racket of the city, and as they passed through the Rosetta Gate, and out upon the Aboukir Road, and were in the quiet suburbs on the east, near the European cemetery, Katharine rose and looked back, and gave a cry of admiration. For Alexandria,--with her domes and minarets and huge square blocks of modern buildings,--bathed in the rose and amber light of an Egyptian sunset--was beautiful with something of the beauty of the Past....

"That is something to have seen," Katharine said with a sigh, as she dropped back on the springy primrose cushions. "Thank you, dear Lady Wastwood, for a wonderful afternoon! You have been happy, haven't you?"

"Quite amused," Lady Wastwood answered. "And if I haven't been quite happy, well, then neither have you!"

She moved nearer to Katharine, and took her hand, and patted it, affection mingling with solicitude in the green eyes that questioned the face of her friend.

"I won't make pretences to you, dear Commandant," Katharine returned after an instant's hesitation. "I have cause to be happy, and cause to be anxious. And the anxiety weighs so heavily that Happiness kicks the beam."

Trixie patted her hand again, and said as the car bowled along the Aboukir Canal Road with its charming country villas shaded by palms and casuarina-groves:

"If I can help in any way, you promise--you will let me? Won't treat me like a stranger--will give me the chance I'd like.... To show you that I don't forget--what I can never speak of, but what I live through in my dreams--nearly every night! Promise! For I am a lonely woman, Kathy dear, though I keep my end up and don't go round howling for sympathy!--and I am truly fond of you."

"I promise, dear friend. And I would tell you now what the trouble is--because I trust you absolutely--where I myself am concerned! But I am not free to give away the confidence of another."

"Meaning the Jew Colossus with the great hooked nose," said Trixie mentally. And Katharine went on:

"You're looking better. You've not had that dream of late. Probably because it has done you good--sleeping in the open."

For Lady Wastwood and Miss Forbis shared one of the roomy sleeping-tents in the grounds of the Palace, distinguished from other similar groups as the "V.A.D's Annexe."

"I shall hate it when the rains come and drive us back indoors," Trixie responded. "And to-night at any rate I shan't dream of shipwreck,--I shall dream of The Basilisk! That man gives me cold shivers all down my spinal column. Why, I couldn't exactly explain. Some people have a horror of cats--the gentlest and most faithful pets to those who love and understand them. Others simply abominate dogs--I'm not keen on them myself! But my feeling for the little Pasha isn't one of those mild antipathies. Shall I tell you what those basilisk eyes of his keep saying to me? No!--it's all right--the chauffeur can't hear! They say: 'My dear lady--I'm a wealthy Gyppo Notability, esteemed an Ace of Aces in the hand of the R.F.C.... I've a chestful of decorations--all earned brilliantly. _But my Mother was a Tigress--and my Father was a Snake!_ ...'"

"_Est ce que les dames feront un petit tour en campagne, ou retourneront elles directement à l' Hôpital?_"

"Will the ladies take a little tour in the country, or return directly to the Hospital?"

The question, asked in French through the speaking-tube fixed above the seat in front of them, made Katharine and the Commandant start. Briefly informed of the ladies' desire, the Italian turned the car upon the sanded road curving past the Khedivial Palace; and after half-a-dozen miles, swept round in a northward curve and presently was climbing a gradient between the orchards of peach and apricot trees, the fig-groves and pine-woods and gardens of beautiful Montana, gleaming like a fairy palace of rosy mother o' pearl in the fires of the sunset; on the square green promontory at whose shoreward base break the pearl and sapphire surges of the Western Sea.