The Secret War

15

Abu Ben Ibrim entertains

In the narrow hallway beyond the bar Lovelace pulled up the others and spoke in a low voice. 'Now Zarrif’s friend, the Baron, knows where we are, it's too big a risk to stay here any longer. We'd best collect our things, pay the bill, and get out while the goings good; otherwise we may be dead before the morning,'

'But where are we going to sleep?' asked Christopher.

`Lord knows! If we can't get rooms anywhere else we'll have to shake down in the plane again. I'm sorry, Valerie, but, honestly, after what happened in Alex, we should be mad to take any chances.'

She squeezed his arm. 'Don't worry about me; I'd rather spend the night in an open field than have any more marksmen taking pot shots at Christopher through a window. I’ll slip up and get my oddments packed. It won't take me five minutes. I'll pack for both of you, too.'

Leaving the two men to wrangle with the Levantine hotel proprietor and compensate him for their sudden departure, she ran swiftly upstairs. She had only just finished ramming the few belongings with which they travelled into their respective bags when Christopher joined her.

Two minutes later they were scrambling into one of the smart modern taxis that are Jibuti's pride, which Lovelace had secured in the meantime. He told the man to drive to Menelik Square, the centre of the town, and jumped in after them.

`Where do we go from there? We must find somewhere to park our bags before we visit old Ben Ibrim.'

He spoke more to himself than to the others, but Christopher answered: `Why not the police station? It's open all night and our things will be safe there. I expect we can find a friendly policeman who'll keep an eye on them if we make it worth his while.'

`Good for you,' Lovelace agreed, and gave fresh instructions to the driver.

The town had now stirred to movement, and the main boulevard swarmed with a motley throng. Turbaned, befezzed, topee'd, felt hatted representatives of fifty different nations jostled each other on the sidewalks. Taxis bearing Europeans, half breeds, and Japanese honked their way through the mob; skinny natives, clad only in coarse white cotton nightgowns, led strings of camels and heavily laden donkeys were being pushed, cursed and bludgeoned upon their slow footed ways by small, foul mouthed black boys.

At the police station a French sergeant with a little waxed moustache and a strong provincial accent, who breathed dense clouds of garlic at them, proved amenable to their request. When Christopher began to rustle a useful looking note between his fingers the man became as suave as a born hotel keeper, and one might have assumed that his principal function was the reception and care of strangers' luggage. At any hour they returned they would find it waiting, he said; more, for such distinguished visitors something must be done about accommodation for the night. True, the hotels were full, but the honour of France was impeached. He lived with his aunt, a widowed lady. She had one spare room and, as he was on duty all night, his own would be vacant. If Messieurs could make do in a double bed the affair would arrange itself. He would telephone instantly.

The proposal suited them far better than the sergeant knew. The fact that they had temporarily escaped the attentions of the doubtless spurious Baron did not exclude the possibility that every hotel in Jibuti would be scoured for them that night; but the chances were all against their being traced to the abode of the policeman's aunt, and, if they were, Zarrif’s associates would doubtless think twice before risking an attempt upon them if it was believed that they were more or less under police protection.

The offer was accepted. The sergeant would send one of his native police with them when they returned to collect their luggage so that they should have no difficulty in finding his aunt's house. In the meantime he would take steps at once to inform his aunt of their coming.

`That fellow's missed his vocation,' Christopher said when they got outside.

`He'll find it yet,' Lovelace laughed. `Most French Colonial officials live only for the day when they can return to France. You can always find a dozen of them sitting outside the principal cafe in any provincial town. When this chap's saved a bit he'll retire and, like as not, run a pub of his own. But I think it unwise, Christopher to bribe quite so heavily. I know it's not necessary for you to save your pennies, but those big notes that you keep handing out might make some people too inquisitive about us.'

Lovelace gave the taxi man Abu Ben Ibrim’s name, and he drove them to the old part of the town where he drew up before a barred gateway in a high, windowless wall. They got out and paid him off.

`I suppose it's all right to take Valerie into a place like this,' Christopher inquired a little doubtfully as he surveyed the ancient fortress like building which rose high above the others in the mean twisting street. `I take it the old rogue's a Mohammedan and their views differ from ours a good bit on the question of women.'

`It's rather unusual,' Lovelace admitted. They would never bring a woman if they came to call on us, of course, and I shouldn't have dreamed of bringing Valerie if we were just ordinary tourists in Jibuti and this was a social visit. The trouble is that ever since that attack on you in Alex. I've felt the three of us should stick together as far as we possibly can. He may think it a little strange that Valerie should be with us, but he'll probably take it as a great compliment and mark of friendliness. I don't think there's the least likelihood of her being subjected to any unpleasantness, and, in any case, all three of us are armed.'

`I wouldn't miss seeing the inside of this place for worlds,' Valerie declared.

Lovelace's plan was a simple one. When they saw Ben Ibrim he meant to pretend that they were friends of Zarrif’s and hoped to find him in Jibuti. It would be sheer bluff. Zirrif might be in Cairo or Khartoum for all they knew, but if Ben Ibrim were hand in glove with him, as was reported to be the case, they might be fortunate enough to trick the Arab into giving them some useful information.

`We're a bit late for our appointment owing to having to collect our baggage and our chat with the sergeant,' Lovelace remarked, 'but fortunately time is the last thing that matters in the East. The old boy will probably keep us waiting, anyhow.' He knocked loudly upon the great double gates with his clenched fist, and a strapping Negro opened a small door set in them.

Lovelace spoke to him in French and they were led through to an open courtyard where an Arab, whose teeth displayed more gold fillings than ivory, received them. His master, he said, welcomed their coming and would be happy to see them in one moment. In the meantime would they be seated?

A few moments later the Arab returned. As they had honoured his master's house, he said, by bringing a pearl of beauty, who was doubtless the wife of one of them, would not the lady deign to follow him to the women's apartments where his master's wives would derive great pleasure from entertaining her?

They want you to go to the harem. The women there are all agog to see a white girl, I expect.' Lovelace said rapidly to Valerie in English. `There's nothing Behind the invitation it's only a courtesy but I'd rather you remained with us.'

He turned back to the Arab. `The lady thanks your master and His Excellency's wives, but as she has never travelled in the East before, she begs permission to meet so powerful a sheik. Later, she would be honoured to wait upon his ladies.'

With a flashing smile from the gold filled teeth and a low obeisance the servant withdrew.

Lovelace translated what he had said to Valerie, and added, `When the interview is over I shall start scratching my left ear. That's the signal for you to feign illness; but don't faint, otherwise they'll want to carry; you into the women's quarters. If you're just ill it'll provide an excuse for us to get you away quickly without your having to go there.'

`But I want to, Valerie protested. `It'd be terribly interesting to see what those legendary houris, who're paid to be kept in rich Orientals' harems, are really like.'

He shook his head. `In the ordinary way it's be perfectly safe for you to do so, but for all we know Ben Ibrim has been warned to keep a look out for us. If he has you'd find yourself a prisoner there, and that'd be far from funny. This is a ticklish business, and I don't want you out of my sight, even for a moment.'

The `one moment' the Arab servant had first mentioned expanded itself into an hour and a quarter, but they were not impatient. After the burning streets, and `he noisome perfumes which pervaded the hotel bar, the courtyard was a paradise.

A fountain played in it, moistening the overheated air as it splashed into a white tiled basin. Only a man of immense wealth, as Lovelace remarked, could possible have afforded such a luxury in Jibuti. Palm trees planted in vast tubs stood at the four corners of the courtyard, and a black boy worked like an automaton at a punkah which wafted the refreshing air towards them. Above, as from the bottom of a great square well, they saw the myriad stars twinkling in a black velvet sky; alive, near and brilliant, in a way which is unbelievable to those who have seen them only from a northern latitude. The peace and beauty of the place revived Christopher and Valerie from their fatigue as nothing else could have done.

At last the man with the gold filled teeth appeared again. He led them through an ancient, brass studded door to an inner courtyard, bowed gravely, and left them.

The inner court was smaller, but even more magnificent. Four fountains played in its corners; their basins and the twisted pillars of the surrounding arcades were made of marble; ancient lamps of beaten silver, burning perfumed oil, swung on chains between the arches. Its sole occupant was a man of vast proportions. Bearded, hook nosed, eagle eyed, his massive limbs concealed by a loose silken robe, he sat cross legged upon a great pile of carpets.

As they went forward Abu Ben Ibrim greeted them in Arabic. Lovelace responded in the same tongue, so the conversation that followed was entirely lost on Valerie and Christopher.

With a wave of his big hand, half covered with heavy rings, the Arab motioned his guests to take places on the cushions which made a semicircle in front of his divan. Clapping his hands loudly together, he summoned servants who brought in refreshments for them: fresh fruit, candied sweetmeats, sherbets and coffee.

For some moments the formalities were duly observed by a grave exchange of meaningless compliments, after which the huge Arab began to thaw. He was a jovial fellow with an enormous appetite for laughter; as easily amused as a child and delighting in a bawdy jest as the natural medium for humour in his race. Knowing that Valerie could not understand a word he said, he did not scruple to give full licence to his taste.

Lovelace, who had often dealt with Arabs, knew the type and played up to him accordingly, being well aware that half an hour or more might elapse before they could get down to business. Little by little he turned the conversation towards the local situation, inferred that he knew Ben Ibrim to be a slave trader and illicit armament dealer; was in the latter racket himself, in fact, and inquired courteously how the Arab's affairs prospered.

Ben Ibrim spread out his strong, jewel laden hands, shrugged his great shoulders, and smiled beatifically. 'Was there ever such a time in the history of mankind?' he asked happily. Allah in his wisdom had sown confusion among the ignorant that the more intelligent of his children might profit by it. Blessing upon His Holy Name. The British and Italian gunboats were so busy watching each other that they had no longer time to practice their surveillance upon the ships of honest traders that crossed the Red Sea each night. Those dogs of Abyssinians had been fooled into freeing their slaves to please the stupid League. The slaves were starving and would sell themselves again for halfpence. What easier than to transport them across the Straight of Bib el Mandeb to Arabia? In French Somaliland one had to use a certain care still, of course, but the authorities were busy with other matters. They were very strict about the illegal import of munitions, but the risks were worth running, were they not, with dynamite worth nearly its weight in gold dust. The big man chuckled throatily in his wiry black beard.

Valerie was sipping her third gilded cup of coffee, and she remarked to Lovelace that never in her life had she tasted better.

He translated what she said, and Ben Ibrim beamed upon her. `That may well be so,' he replied in Arabic. `It comes from the finest plantation in Abyssinia, and it was there that the berry was first cultivated. I will send Madame a bale of beans if she will leave me her address.'

Valerie smiled her thanks as Lovelace translated. He then turned the conversation to Zirrif. He inferred that he knew him well, spoke casually of having stayed at his house in Athens, and went on to say that Melchisedek of Alexandria had told him that he might run into Zirrif in Jibuti. He had hoped to do so. While he talked his lazy glance took in the Arab's reactions to his story with extreme carefulness.

At one point in his fabrication he feared that he had blundered. Ben Ibrim's eyes suddenly flickered; but he was smiling again so cheerfully next second that Lovelace was reassured and felt that he could only have imagined the change of expression.

`My good friend Zirrif is gone from here,' Ben Ibrim said after a moment. `He flew on to Addis Ababa only this morning.'

Lovelace heaved a mental sigh of relief. Zirrif would arrive in Addis Ababa much earlier than they had expected, but there were still fourteen days before the date fixed for the signing of the concession, and, now that they knew where he was, ample time to prepare a coup in the Abyssinian capital.

For another twenty minutes he talked and laughed with Ben Ibrim, but Valerie suddenly noticed that he had begun to scratch his left ear.

She closed her eyes and swayed from side to side a little, putting her right hand up to her throat.

Christopher asked if she were ill, and the two acted a little pantomime together, in which she pretended that she would be quite all right in a moment, while he expressed grave concern.

Ben Ibrim asked Lovelace in what way she was suffering and placed his household at her disposal. Lovelace replied that it was mainly fatigue and the great heat of Jibuti, to which she was not accustomed. If they left at once she would not be in bed much before midnight, and she had had a long and tiring day. He begged therefore, that His Excellency would excuse them and allow her to wait upon his wives the following day.

The Arab stood up and they rose with him as he clapped his hands to summon his servants. 'Women and horses are delicate creatures,' he remarked to Lovelace, 'but Allah has provided both for the joy of man, and timely care of them enables the two species to give us the maximum of pleasure. It is sad that you should have so soon to go. I still have some lovely stories I would have liked to tell you, but tomorrow is yet a day.'

A few moments later, after bowing their thanks to Ben Ibrim for his hospitality, they were escorted to the outer court.

When they reached the street, Lovelace chuckled. `I've got what we wanted,' he told his friends. `Zirrif was here but he left this morning by plane for Addis.'

He would not have been quite so pleased with himself had he known that the moment they were out of the house Abu Ben Ibrim had picked up a telephone which was concealed behind his pile of rugs, and was even then giving an account of their visit, over it, to Paxito Zirrif, who was actually still in Jibuti,