one of us might disappear tonight!”
“Good God!”
“It’s a fact. Not until I have got in touch with the British authorities (who so far don’t know I’m here) can I show myself in Cairo! After that, we’ll both have official protection.
Abdul Ahmad is an old worker of mine. He’s sworn to secrecy. So is the Seyyid Mohammed.”
He dropped the pouch back in his pocket and lighted his pipe. Brian stared.
“This is a deeper mystery than ever, Sir Denis! You were on your way back from the Far East, I guess ——”
Nayland Smith shook his head. “East Berlin.”
“Berlin! Then whatever brought you to Cairo?”
“I wasn’t alone, Merrick. The man I had rescued from behind the Iron Curtain was with me! My mission was financed by Washington. United States agents had reported that Dr. Otto Hessian, the world-famous physicist, was held a prisoner, working under compulsion on an invention calculated to end nuclear warfare.”
“Didn’t England want him?”
“His results will be shared by both governments. We got into France. I planned to cross by sea from Havre to New York. In fact we were on our way to the
Nayland Smith’s pipe went out. He stopped to re-light it.
“Yes?” Brian spoke excitedly.
“There was only one passenger in the car... . But it was
Chapter
6
Enthralled by all he had heard, and awed by the mighty responsibility which he had been chosen to share with Sir Denis, Brian was about to speak when Nayland Smith raised his hand.
He seemed to be watching the closed door. Brian watched it too. But he saw, and heard, nothing.
“What?”
“Wait a moment. I may be wrong, but——”
Nayland Smith moved quietly across the room until he could press his ear to a panel of the door. Then, very gently, he opened it—looked out. He closed it again silently and came back.
“Too late. There was certainly someone there. Let’s hope they don’t know I’m in here! I must be brief. But I want to bring you up to date. . . . We doubled back to Paris and flew here to Cairo. Dr. Hessian needed rest, facilities, and safety, to complete his plans for a laboratory demonstration. I knew he could find all this with the Seyyid Mohammed. Also, I was rather shaken, and as you see”—he touched his nose—”had had a spot of trouble in Berlin!”
The phone bell rang.
“Be careful!” Nayland Smith warned as Brian took the call.
It was Zoe.
“Oh, Brian dear, I can only speak for a moment. But I do not have to leave Cairo for another week! Are you glad?”
“Very glad indeed.”
“I will call you in the morning.”
The sound of a kiss. Zoe hung up. Brian turned, and met a quizzical stare from Nayland Smith.
“Evidently a lady,” he snapped in his dry fashion.
Brian grinned rather guiltily. “As a matter of fact, Sir Denis, it was someone you know. Zoe Montero.”
Nayland Smith smiled. It wasn’t quite the boyish smile which Brian seemed to remember, but he had to allow for the fact that Sir Denis had obviously been through hell, although he treated his troubles lightly.
“Little Zoe? Her uncle and I became close friends some years ago when I was in Luxor. She’s a sweet little girl, and I know she’s safe with you. And now I must be off.” He stooped, picked up his coat and hat and put them on. “Never go out alone, Merrick. And lock your door at night.”
“I must come down with you, Sir Denis!”
“Not on your life! You’re the last man in Cairo I want to be seen with! Look—walk along to the lift, and when you get there, just open the door opposite—the one with a red light above it—and make sure there’s nobody on the stair it leads to. If all’s clear, pretend to press the bell for the lift, and don’t attempt to contact me. Enjoy Zoe’s company! She doesn’t know you’re working with me?”
“I never told her so.”
“Never do!” Good night!”
* * *
But when Nayland Smith had gone in his mysterious way, Brian sat down to try to get these new developments into focus.
One thing was crystal clear. He had let himself in for a devil of a job! He was up to his ears in an international intrigue which obviously involved the safety of the United States—perhaps of the whole Western world. He thrilled to the prospect, but asked himself, in cold blood, if he felt competent to go through with it. Something more than mere physical courage was called for.
Did he possess those extra qualities? And was he justified in taking it for granted that he did when nothing in his life to date had given him an opportunity to find out?
He believed he had a fairly good brain, but he wasn’t vain enough to pretend that it was a first-class brain. Yet, according to Nayland Smith he was soon to find himself in the ring against an opponent who had the brain of a criminal genius! In such a contest, of what use could he be to Sir Denis?
Evidently Peter Wellingham had decided that he was the very man Sir Denis was looking for, so that, although he didn’t recognize the fact, he must possess some qualification which was necessary.
What could it be?
So far he had been asked to do nothing. He wondered how long that state of affairs would have lasted if he hadn’t blundered upon Sir Denis’s hiding-place.
And now it appeared he had
Yet Nayland Smith had warned him that his every move was covered!
Brian took another drink.
He decided that if he were to prove a success as a secret agent he must learn to control his hasty judgements. Men engaged in such perilous work were sure to move in an aura of mystery, for mystery, danger surrounded them. He, himself, had become aware of this fact. Making bad beginnings by distrusting Peter Wellingham, he had transferred his doubts to Lola (who had nothing to do with the matter); then to Ahmad, and finally to little Zoe!
Thinking of Zoe reminded him of the fact that he owed her a new frock. He would take her out shopping in the morning. Then they would lunch at Mena House and visit the Great Pyramid, an old ambition of Brian’s.
He hoped she would call him when she got back, and be in time for a drink and a smoke before parting for the night. Brian had made few acquaintances since his arrival in Cairo, and none, except Zoe, whom he cared to cultivate. He settled down to write a report to his father of his first meeting here with Sir Denis Nayland Smith and his impressions of that remarkable man. . . .
* * *
Midnight drew near before the long letter was finished, and Brian felt very sleepy. Zoe hadn’t called, and he settled for a final drink and bed. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Perhaps (as he thought afterwards) it was an aftermath of his concentration on the character and strange life of Sir Denis which had gone into the writing of the letter, but he had a singular and very disturbing dream. . . .
He found himself in a state of unaccountable and helpless panic, incapable of movement or speech. It was a condition he had never experienced in reality, and for that reason was all the more horrible. . . . Nayland Smith was
