Emperor. Give me the money, Majesty, and the boat shall be here before midnight. And in the morn ing Seyid’s troops will march into the town and find it empty.”
AH looked hopefully across the table, but before he had finished speaking he realised that Seth’s mood of uncertainty was past.
“Seyid’s troops will not inarch into the town. You forget that I have the Tank. Ali, you are talking treasonable nonsense. Tomorrow I shall be here to receive my victorious general.”
“Tomorrow will show, Majesty.”
“Tomorrow will show.”
“Listen,” said Ali, “my friend is very loyal to your majesty and a most devoted man. Perhaps if I were to use my influence he might reduce his price.”
“I shall be here in the morning to receive my army.”
“Suppose he would accept eighteen hundred rupees?”
“I have spoken.”
Without further discussion Ali picked up his typewriter and left the room. As he opened the door his ears caught the inevitable shuffle of bare feet, as a spy slipped away down the dark passage. It was a sound to which they had grown accustomed during the past months.
In his own quarters Ali poured out a glass of whiskey and lit a cheroot. Then he drew out a fibre trunk from beneath the bed and began a methodical arrangement of his possessions preparatory to pack ing them. Presently there was a knock at the door and Major Joab came in.
“Good evening, secretary.”
“Good evening, major. The Armenian is dead?”
“He is dead. Heaven, how he squealed. You have whiskey there.”
“Will you help yourself?”
“Thank you, secretary… you seem to be pre paring for a journey.”
“It is well to be prepared—to have one’s things in good order.”
“I think there is an army in the hills.”
“It is what they are saying.”
“I think it is the army of Seyid.”
“That, too, is being said.”
“As you say, secretary, it is well to be prepared.”
“Will you take a cheroot, major? I expect that there are many people in Matodi who would be glad to leave. The army will be here tomorrow.”
“It is not far away. And yet there is no way of leaving the town. The boats are all gone. The railway is broken. The road leads straight to the encampment.”
Ali folded a white drill suit and bent over the trunk, carefully arranging the sleeves. He did not look up as he said: “I heard of a man who had a boat. It was spoken of in the bazaar. I forget by whom. An ignorant fellow no doubt. But this man, whoever it was, spoke of a boat concealed outside the harbour. He was going to the mainland to-night. There was room for two others, so they said. Do you think a man would find passengers to the mainland at five hundred rupees each. That is what he asked.”
“It is a great price for a journey to the mainland.”
“It is not much for a man’s life. Do you think such a man, supposing there is any truth in the tale, would find passengers?”
“Perhaps. Who can tell? A man of affairs who can take his wisdom with him—a foreigner with no stock but a typewriter and his clothes. I do not think a soldier would go.”
“A soldier might pay three hundred?”
“It is not likely. What life would there be for him in a foreign country? And among his own peo-ple he would be dishonoured.’
“But he would not hinder others from going. A man who would pay five hundred rupees for his passage money, would not grudge another hundred to the guard who allowed him to pass?”
“Who can say? Some soldiers might hold that a small price for their honour.”
“But two hundred.”
“I think soldiers are for the most part poor men. It is seldom they earn two hundred rupees…. Well, I must bid you good-night, secretary. I must return to my men.”
” How late do you stay on guard, major?”
“Till after midnight. Perhaps I shall see you again.”
“Who can say?… Oh, major, you have forgotten your papers.”
“So I have. Thank you, secretary. And good night.”
The major counted the little pile of notes which Ali had placed on the dressing table. Two hundred exactly. He buttoned them into his tunic pocket and returned to the guard house.
Here, in the inner room, sat Mr. Youkoumian talking to the captain. Half an hour before the little Armenian had
