“I wonder where they keep the Evian.”
They went into the bar. Alcohol everywhere, but no water. In a corner of the kitchen they found a dozen or so bottles bearing the labels of various mineral waters—Evian, St. Galmier, Vichy, Malvern—all empty. It was Mr. Youkoumian’s practice to replenish them, when required, from the foetid well at the back of the house.
“I must get something to drink or I shall die. I’m going out.”
“Mildred.”
“I don’t care, I am.”
She strode through the twilit vestibule into the street. The officer in charge of the machine gun section waved her back. She walked on, making pacific gestures. He spoke to her rapidly and loudly, first in Sakuyu, then in Arabic. Dame Mildred replied in English and French.
“Taisez-vous, officier. Je dcsire de I’eau. Ou peut on trouver ca, s’il vous plait.”
The soldier showed her the hotel, then the machine gun.
“British subject. Me. British subject. No savvy? Oh, don’t any of you speak a word of English?”
The soldiers grinned and nodded, pointing her back to the hotel.
“It’s no good. They won’t let us out. We must wait.”
“Mildred, I’m going to drink wine.”
“Well, let’s take it up to the roof—it seems the only safe place,’
Armed with a bottle of Mr. Youkoumian’s Koniak they strode back up the ladder, “Oh, dear, it’s very strong.”
“I think it may help my headache.”
The afternoon wore on. The burning sun dipped towards the edge of the mountains. The ladies sipped raw brandy on the iron roof.
At length there was a fresh movement in the street. An officer on mule back galloped up, shouting an order to the picket. They dismantled their machine gun, hoisted it onto their shoulders, fell in, and marched away towards the palace. Other patrols tramped past the hotel. From their eminence they could see bodies of troops converging from all sides on the palace square.
“They’re calling in the guard. It must be all right now. But I feel too sleepy to move.”
Presently, as the soldier withdrew, little bodies of civilians emerged from hiding. A marauding band of Christians swung confidently into view.
“I believe they’re coming here.”
Splintering of glass and drunken, boastful laughter came from the bar below. Another party broke in the shutters of the drapers opposite and decked themselves with lengths of bright stuff. But oblivious of the excursions below them, worn out by the heat and anxiety of the day, and slightly drugged by Mr. Youkoumian’s spirits, the two ladies slept.
It was after seven when they awoke. Sun had set and there was a sharp chill in the air. Miss Tin shivered and sneezed.
“My head’s splitting. I’m very hungry again,” she said, “and thirstier than ever.”
The windows were all dark. Blackness encircled them save for a line of light which streamed across the street from the door of the bar and a dull red glow along the roof tops of the South quarter, in which the Indian and Armenian merchants had their warehouses.
“That can’t be sunset at this time. Sarah, I believe the town is on fire.”
“What are we to do? We can’t stay here all night.”
A sound of tipsy singing rose from below and a small knot of Azanians came into sight, swaying together with arms across each other’s shoulders; two or three of them carried torches and lanterns. A party sallied out from the bar below; there was a confused scuffling. One of the lamps was dropped in a burst of yellow flame. The tussle broke up, leaving a little pool of burning oil in the centre of the road.
“We can’t possibly go down.”
Two hours dragged by; the red glow behind the roof tops died, revived, and died again; once there was a short outbreak of firing some distance away. The beleaguered ladies sat and shuddered in the darkness. Then the lights of a car appeared and stopped outside the hotel. A few topers emerged from the bar and clustered round it. There were some words spoken in Sakuyu and then a clear English drawl rose to them.
“Well, the old girls don’t seem to be here. These chaps say they haven’t seen any one.”
And another answered: “I daresay they’ve been raped.”
“I hope so. Let’s try the Mission.”
“Stop,” shrieked Dame Mildred. “Hi! Stop.”
The motor car door clicked to; the engine started up.
“Stop,” cried Miss Tin. “We’re up here.” Then, in a moment of inspiration, untaught in the Girl Guides, Dame Mildred threw down the half-empty bottle of brandy. William’s head popped out of the car window and shouted a few words of easily acquired abuse in Sakuyu; then a pillow followed the bottle onto the roadway.
“I believe there’s some one up there. Be an angel and go and see, Percy. I’ll stick in here if there’s going to be any bottle throwing.”
The second secretary advanced with caution and had reached only the foot of the stairs when the two ladies
