The Secret War

24

The mills of God grind slowly...'

Lovelace and Christopher saw that they would have no difficulty in getting into the first courtyard of Ras Desoum's so called `castle'. They had escaped all but the casual glances from the numerous servants as they left by the back entrance of the hotel, found Heidenstam's man waiting round the corner with their hired car, drove out in it and parked it ready for immediate flight under cover of some low trees. Now, with a miscellaneous assortment of goods dangling from their arms and shoulders, they walked towards the entrance of the Ras's residence.

A stream of natives was constantly passing in and out, the big doors in the low wall stood wide open, and no guards or porters were present to challenge newcomers. The two pseudo Arabs trudged through the gates, bowed under their burdens, and glanced cautiously round.

The scene was not unlike that in a mean quarter of Baghdad or Damascus, Lovelace thought, except that it lacked colour. These people seemed cursed with a dreary spirit in addition to their poverty and hardly a slash of red, blue or green broke the monotony of black, white and grey. The court proved far larger than it had appeared from outside as the many buildings in it tended to obscure the full view. In one corner there was a big corral for cattle; further along one into which several hundred mangy looking sheep were tightly packed. Humans swarmed everywhere, men, women and children; all but the latter robed in clothes to their necks. They wandered slowly and apparently

aimlessly about; stood in groups heatedly disputing or sat on their haunches gazing listlessly before them. There were mules, donkeys, goats, chickens and half starved dogs all over the place, the beasts of burden tied up casually to anything that came handy, the rest scavenging among the offal that stank to heaven.

Christopher noticed two negroes chained to each other. The squatted side by side and were chatting quite happily together. Lovelace caught the direction of his glance and muttered, `a debtor and his creditor; they'll be chained like that until the debtor pays. These people are Gallahs, Guragis and Beni Shankalis mostly freed slaves, I expect. Come on, let's try our luck at getting into the second court.'

They made their way slowly through the maze of squalid hutments until they reached another gate. It was open but a fierce looking Gallah warrior leaned indolently against the heavy, wooden door post. As they approached he barred their passage by lowering his long spear.

Lovelace spoke to him in Arabic but the man obviously did not understand so they began to display their goods and act a pantomime of selling with a handful of small money. Still the fellow shook his head with a sullen frown. Lovelace slipped a few gersh into his hand, about a shilling, upon which he bared his white, even teeth in a fearsome smile and allowed them to pass.

The second court seemed to be allotted to Ras Desoum's household troops and their families. They were better clad, more prosperous looking, and many of the men carried rifles slung over their shoulders.

Here, Lovelace made a pretence of trying to sell some of his goods, brass bangles and anklets from Birmingham, tawdry trinkets from Hamburg, and oriental knives made in Sheffield. Over a quarter of an hour was wasted haggling with one man who coveted a murderous looking dagger, but he could not pay the price Lovelace demanded and to give it away too cheaply would have immediately drawn unwelcome attention to the two traders.

About fifty horses were stabled in the second court. but any number of domestic animals ran riot, and filth was everywhere. Behind a row of shacks a rough circle of men had been formed and, in the centre, two enormous blacks were wrestling stark naked on the ground among the refuse and manure. In a corner near by an old man sat facing a ring of about forty children. He wore a ragged sort of turban and his face was engrained with dirt. Each time he pronounced certain words with a sonorous roll the children chanted them, in a high treble after him. 'He's a priest,' breathed Lovelace. 'Teaching them bits out of the Kebra Nagast their version of the Old Testament. Learning that stuff' off by heart is about all the schooling most people get in Abyssinia. Very different from what we saw yesterday isn’t it? Come or, let's try and wangle our way into the Holy of Holies.'

The gate of the inner courtyard was more carefully guarded. Two soldiers stood by it leaning on their rifles and a third, an officer apparently, since he wore a dirty white duck suit, a blue bus conductor's hat and a Sam Browne belt to which was attached a revolve holster, lounged near them.

Lovelace bowed himself almost to the ground and Christopher followed his example. As the officer walked over to them Lovelace addressed him in Arabic, illustrious and Valorous Master, we have goods to sell, Permit us, I beg, to enter; that we may show them to

the Noble Lords whose sweetness makes this court place of perfumes.'

The answer came in halting Arabic. 'Show me what you have.'

With a deep obeisance Lovelace spread his wares out upon the ground and, for the next five minutes, Christopher marvelled as he stood behind him. Every trace of the quiet, reserved Englishman had disappeared; instead, a born Oriental rattled on unceasingly in flowery Arabic and gesticulated graphically with both hands.

The Abyssinian displayed no emotion until Lovelace produced a miniature automatic, held it pointing at his own heart, and pressed the trigger; an Egyptian cigarette shot out of the barrel. He caught it deftly, placed it between his lips and, pressing a button, lit it from an automatic lighter concealed in the butt of the toy pistol.

The black man's eyes glinted with desire. `How much?' he asked.

`Twenty thalers,' said Lovelace.

The officer shook his head, but his fascinated gaze was still on the miraculous toy.

Lovelace held it out to him by the barrel. 'It is yours, Master, if I may show my wares to the Illustrious Ferentshis who are within.'

`How do you know that there are foreigners here?' the black asked suspiciously.

`Rumour has a long tongue, oh begetter of many hundred handsome children,' Lovelace countered. `All the world knows the exalted Ras extends his regal hospitality to these bringers of Evil,' he spat suddenly, and added, `but their thalers are as numerous as the fleas upon a donkey and I am poor.'

After a quick glance round the inner court the man in the soiled dungarees snatched at the pistol and motioned them inside. As ever, in the East, cupidity had unlocked the door. They snatched up their goods before he could change his mind and genuflected past him.

The third enclosure was almost as large as the others, but its buildings were more massive and it was a little cleaner. In the centre rose a single storied, stone block, evidently Ras Desoum's own dwelling. At one end of it the observation tower dominated the whole human ant heap from its top platform at the modest height of thirty feet. A separate building was, perhaps, a banqueting hall, and another the stables that held the Ras’s chargers. Against the walls were the same wattle and daub shanties as in the outer courts, except in one place, where a long, low, modern bungalow was raised on concrete platform a few feet above the ground, On its, step four Europeans were sitting, and, even in the distance, Lovelace recognised them as some of Zarrif’s gunmen.

'Now we're inside I want to talk to you,' Christopher whispered.

`Shut up,' snapped Lovelace, 'That chap at the gate's still watching us. It's devilish risky, but we're sunk now unless we do our stuff.' With a slow but firm step he led the way over to the bungalow.

As they advanced they saw that a machine gun on a tripod had been placed at one corner of the veranda. The weapon commanded all the open ground of the inner court, yet none of the gunmen was within twenty yards of it.

'This is where Zirrif hangs out all right,' Lovelace whispered; `but you see he takes his precautions, even here.'

`If we could grab that gun and reverse it we’d! have the whole party cold,' Christopher muttered in sudden excitement.

`Good God, no!' Lovelace muttered back. 'There’re five hundred men with rifles in this place. They'd pot us when we tried to climb out over the wall as easy as sitting rabbits. We've got to wait till after dark. Steady now! Try and think yourself into the skin of a native, We've passed muster as Arabs with the Abyssinians, but some of these chaps have seen me before, face to face, and if they once smell a rat they'll bump us off without even waiting to ask Zirrif.` With a forced, ingratiating grin he produced his

goods and called out to the bodyguard in exceedingly bad French:

'Hi! Masters! Souvenir of Abyssinia yes! Very fine, very cheap. Necklace for pretty girl. All are pearl come from Persian Gulf, Ivory elephant bring plenty luck. Come, Masters, look!'

One man murmured to another: 'Here's a chance to buy a few things. I'm going to spend a bit as we're leaving tomorrow.' The man spoke in Spanish, but Lovelace knew enough of that language to catch the drift of what he said, and doubled his enticements.

The second man shook his head. 'Save your money, friend. Who can say when we'll be able to earn any more now ?'

In spite of the pessimist, Lovelace succeeded in unloading thirty five thalers' worth of goods on to two of the thugs after the usual haggling that was expected of him in his part.

He was just collecting his things again when his heart almost missed a beat. Cassalis came out of one of the doors of the building and fixed him with a suspicious stare.

Christopher, recognising the secretary from Lovelace s, description, felt his hair prickle on his scalp. If the Frenchman noticed that the features of the Arab trader were exactly the same as those of a gentleman who had eaten quite a number of meals with him under the name of Jeremiah Green, the next few seconds would see certain bloodshed. He fumbled under his burnous for his pistol, while Lovelace, with the audacity born of desperation, proceeded to badger Cassalis to examine his stock.

Cassalis seemed worried and distrait. After a quick, glance at the goods he ordered them off, and began to talk excitedly to the others about arrangements for their departure from Abyssinia the following day.

The pseudo Arabs beat a hasty retreat. Lovelace let out a quick sigh of relief and nudged Christopher's arm. 'Now we've got to hide before somebody spots us and, turns us out. Look! Over there, between those two huts, by that big pile of straw,'

`I’ve got to talk to you,' muttered Christopher urgently.

`You can talk all you want to in a minute.' Lovelace's lazy glance was fixed on the apathetic soldiers who guarded the entrance to the court.

A high note on a horn sounded from out near the roadway and some native drums began to beat. What's that?' Christopher asked jerkily.

`Curfew. They'll be closing the gates for the night in a few moments now. Hadn't you noticed the sun is just about to set?'

It was true. The strong shadows had been lengthening even when they were talking with the officer at the inner gate. Twenty minutes had elapsed since then, and now all the gimcrack buildings were bathed in the pinkish glow of twilight.

As they reached the big pile of loose straw and wriggled down into it, Christopher's voice was more urgent than ever: `Listen!' he pleaded. `You've got me in here which I could never have done for myself. I know the lie of the land and where Zirrif is. I'm well, terribly grateful. Now, you must get out before it's too late.'

`Get out why?' asked Lovelace in surprise.

`That's why'' Christopher produced a paper from inside his robe and passed it over. `That's the letter from Valerie to you. She pushed it under your bedroom door late last night. I happened to see her and I was half crazy with jealousy. I fished it out with a thin piece of stick then read it. Cad's trick, I suppose, but at least it's given me the truth about the situation.'

By the last light of the dying sun, while the native drums were still rolling, Lovelace read the pencilled scrawl.

My dearest one,

I have your note. If anything could help me to face the future it is that you understand. Christopher is so weak, so helpless; so very much alone. He put me through hell this evening, but I’m so fond of him that I stood for it and I shall never give him further cause to doubt my faithfulness to him.

He has promised to forget how he found us and is still determinedd to go through with his mission, I've no right to ask you anything, but if you can bear to remain with us please carry on tomorrow as nothing had happened.

Afterwards, we must never meet again, I couldn't bear it. But, in case anything goes wrong, I want you! to know that I have loved you from the very first moment we met years back in England and that I shall never love anyone else with real love as long as I live.

Valerie

Lovelace sat silent with the letter in his hand, his thoughts racing and chaotic. So she did love him after all, Those precious kisses the night before had not been born of impulse or a sentimental weakness welling up from schoolgirl memories, as he had imagined on receiving no sign of any kind in reply to his note. She loved him. Had loved him for years in secret and here he was trapped in an undertaking, he always hated and in which all the chances were he would lose his life. If only he had known a few hours earlier; but if he had. could he .. .

Christopher seized his arm and shook it; breaking in on his thoughts. `Quick man you must get out. In minutes it'll be too late.'

, It is too late.'

'Nonsense! They haven't closed the gate yet.'

`I mean it's too late for me to back out of this thing

'It's not. For God's sake! Don't you see that once I'd read her letter I never intended to ask more of you than your help to get in here. You must go back so you can look after Valerie.'

Lovelace shook his head. `I can't. I could never look her in the face again if I left you on your own here now.'

The rolling of the drums ceased. The horn sounded again. In the deepening shadows a score of men slowly thrust to the heavy wooden gates of the inner court.

For a long time Lovelace and Christopher crouched under their thin covering of straw in silence; each sunk in his own thoughts. The brief twilight gave place to darkness, but fires were lit on the bare ground and flaming torches placed in sconces round the walls. From the outer courts there came the murmur of discordant singing, the clopping of hoofs as the horses stamped restlessly, the wailing of a child, and all the other occasional noises which make up the night sounds of an Eastern village.

`How long must we wait?' asked Christopher at last? `Until they sleep. Our only hope lies in complete surprise. To do the job and be away over the wall before they realise what's happened.'

`We may have to shoot some of the bodyguard.'

`I can't help it.' Lovelace's tone was bitter now. `They're hired mercenaries paid to deal death or risk it in the service of their master. It's the same gang that tried to murder me in Alexandria and who shot down Valerie's plane without the least compunction. There must be no stupid weakness. Once we go in we've got to shoot to kill.'

An hour, two hours, drifted by. Their vigil seemed endless. Christopher was beginning to think the dawn might come before they would be able to carry out their business, but when he got out his watch he was amazed to find it only a little after ten. Lovelace was not surprised; he had a fairly accurate idea of the time from the movement of the bright stars overhead.

The outer courts were quieter now. The great bulk of Ras Desoum's followers were already fast asleep, but near his house, the bungalow, and the inner gateway, occasional figures still moved and were thrown up for a second in sharp silhouette against the brightness of the fires.

`We'll give them another hour,' Lovelace murmured as Christopher told him the time, `then see if we dare risk it.'

The hour dragged by. At the end of it all movement in the inner court had ceased, most of the torches had burnt out to blackened sticks, and the fires were dying down.

Christopher stirred restlessly in the heap of straw. Suddenly he muttered : `For God's sake let's get on with it.'

`All right.' Lovelace stood up and got out his heavy automatic. `Come on, then. Stick to the shadows as much as you can and, if you hear anyone coming, go dead as a log.'

With cautious steps they moved from their hiding place, edged round the hut, back to the wall again on its far side, and so on; following the outline of the court round two of its sides until they were within twenty yards of the bungalow.

One window, which had been concealed from them before by an intervening angle of the house, was still lighted. The glow from the window faintly illuminated the stoep. The machine gun was still upon it, trained on the open space and gate, yet, to their surprise, not a single gunman was on duty.

`The room with the light will be Zarrif’s,' Lovelace whispered. `No one but that scheming devil would work so late. Queer none of the bodyguard is about. Perhaps he considers Ras Desoum's men and the two outer courtyards sufficient protection. That's not like him, though, because the wall the bungalow backs against has nothing on its other side; only an open field.'

Christopher pressed his arm. `If you can grab that machine gun to cover our retreat, I'll break in and do the job.'

'Let's think of our retreat first. See that low shanty leaning up against this end of the bungalow. Think you could swing yourself up on to its roof?' 'Yes,' Christopher breathed, His pale face was

got and he was trembling with excitement now.

`Right, then,' Lovelace went on quietly. 'From that roof you can easily hoist yourself on to the wall. Don’t, wait for me. I'll take care of myself and I'll probably be out before you are, The second you've killed your man you're to dash out and over, It's no more than a twelve foot drop on the other side, Pick yourself a, and beat it for the car as though all the devils in hell were after you. Sssss what's that?'

At the same second Christopher heard the soft footfalls. Instinctively they both drew back into the deeper shadows. A watchman came into view swinging a 1antern.

Lovelace pressed himself against the side of the hut. It gave behind him. He staggered and nearly fell, put one foot inside the door that had swung open, to save himself, but it met empty space instead of ground, Next second he had pitched backward in the darkness and was falling ! falling ! falling !

In those brief, frightful seconds he expected to be smashed to pieces when he reached the bottom of that infernal pit, but he brought up on a soft and yielding substance that gave beneath him.

By the mercy of Heaven the safety catch of his automatic was still down so it had not exploded. For a moment he lay on his back, wondering what in heaven and hell could have happened, then Christopher's voice came in an urgent whisper from above: 'Lovelace, where are you? What the , .

'Quiet!' Lovelace cut him short. 'If you've got your torch handy, close that door and shine it downwards,'

A moment later a beam of light cut into the pitch black darkness, and he saw that he was sitting on a great mound of loose grain. He had fallen backwards into an Abyssinian storage pit and the sheer, dark tunnel of it showed over his head to Christopher's light a dozen feet above.

He could not get up again by the way he had come own. That was certain. Fearful now that he was trapped unless Christopher could find something with which to haul him up, he replaced his pistol underneath his robe and, getting out his own torch, flashed it round to see if the place had any other exit:

To his relief he found that he was at one end of a large cellar. Arms, ammunition, bales of cotton, root crops and all sorts of other things were stored in it besides the pyramid of grain on which he sat. A set of stone stairs at the far end and two ladders leading to trapdoors in other places showed that the cellar had several entrances. He slid down the heap of grain, hurried to the steps at the far end and up them. Pressing gently on the wooden door at their top, he found that it was unlocked and gave on to a dark corridor. Hastening down the steps, he ran back to the grain shaft and peered up to where Christopher was still holding the light.

`There's another way out,' he said in a swift whisper. `We must stick together. As I can't get up to you, you'd better come down to me. See the safety catch on your pistol is set before you jump.'

He stood aside and as Christopher landed with a soft thud, ankle deep in the grain, shot out a hand to steady him.

Flashing their torches before them, they made for the cellar stairs. Lovelace was leading, but it was Christopher who spotted the grim thing that lay just to the right of the lower steps.

`Half a mime,' he exclaimed. `What's this?'

Lovelace paused and lowered the beam of his torch. In his hurry he had not noticed it before, but a body lay there huddled in a limp, unnatural attitude, which suggested that it had been thrown there dead.

`Someone they've bumped off,' he muttered, staring at the vivid splashes of blood which stained the white shama at the level of the dead man's chest, Then, with a sharply indrawn breath, he stooped lower. The still face was dark brown and half hidden by a native headdress; but a deep scar ran from the left corner of the mouth to the chin.

'Good God!' he breathed. `It's the Austrian we met in Jibuti. The chap I saw for the first time outside Zarrif’s house in Athens,'

`Why, yes,' Christopher muttered, `The fellow who calls himself Baron Foldvar. I recognise him now in spite of his disguise. What the deuce can he have been doing here dressed up like that?'

`God knows! He's one of Zarrif’s people. Perhaps they caught him double crossing them, Whoever he was he must have been a decent fellow once, though, so let's straighten him out. He looks too terrible like that,'

The Baron could not have been dead for many hours, as rigor mortis had not set in. His chest was riddled with bullets, so he must have died instantaneously. They arranged his body decently, drew a piece of sacking over his face, and left him. Their nerves keyed up to the highest pitch, they tiptoed up the steps.

The corridor on to which the cellar gave was dark and silent. The torches showed it to be like that in a modern house, and they guessed they were now in Ras Desoum's own residence. The ground floor passage ended in a door fifteen feet away.

'Put out your light,' whispered Lovelace, and, as he switched off his own, they crept down the passage, their guns grasped in their hands.

The door was not locked, and opened to his touch. He saw at once that it gave on to a large room; the starlight was sufficient to outline a, row of windows which showed faintly in contrast to the solid blackness of the opposite wall.

Suddenly a deep growl sounded, Lovelace switched round, Two bright, yellow eyes were gleaming at him in the darkness. It was not a dog and, next second, came the appalling realisation of what those fierce yellow eyes portended.

It was a lion! In this country almost given over to wild beasts, the Abyssinian nobles kept lions as a protection in their houses. The Emperor himself had had a couple which used to lie across the doorway of his workroom until the British Minister complained and they were removed in consequence.

There was no time to think. Christopher flashed the torch he still held in his left hand as the great beast gave a full throated roar, As it sprang they pressed the triggers of their pistols and poured half the contents of their weapons into its face and body.

The brute crashed to the floor within a couple of feet of them, writhed, turned on its back, stabbed the air wildly with its unsheathed claws, and thrashed its tail in its death agony; but those crashing shots in the silence of the night had roused every man, woman and child in Ras Desoum's house and courtyards.

Shouts of alarm and the patter of naked, running feet sounded almost before the acrid smoke had ceased to drift from the pistol barrels.

`Quick!' yelled Christopher. "Zirrif! I've got to get him!' He dashed for the door which gave on to the court.

With desperate fingers he wrenched back the bolts, while Lovelace lit him with his torch. They both tumbled outside.

'The gun' shouted Lovelace, 'Make for the machinegun

Side by side they sprinted across the open towards the bungalow, In one bound they were upon the stoep. Lovelace flung himself flat and grabbed the tripod as though it was a Rugby football. Christopher burst in through the door of the bungalow nearest the lighted window. The crack of a pistol sounded from the room then another. One of the bullets shattered the window. There was a scream as it hit someone in the court. Flashes began to stab the darkness by the gate, and the bullets of the native guard smacked into the brickwork above Lovelace's head. Next moment he had his thumbs on the buttons of the machine gun, and its staccato clatter made the night hideous.

The horn that had been blown for the closing of the gates at sunset sounded again. Shouting and clamour came from the outer courts. Ras Desoum's retainers thought that Zarrif’s white gunmen were attacking their overlord. The gates were flung open and they came streaming in.

Lovelace knew his position was untenable. Behind him more shooting and sounds of commotion came from the bungalow; any second Zarrif’s men might dash out and take him in the rear. He ceased fire, grabbed the heavy gun, and staggered with it to a new position twenty yards away where he could cover either the gate or the bungalow. As he set it down a stab of pain shot through him like the searing of a white hot iron; a bullet had hit him in the shoulder.

Suddenly Christopher appeared in one of the doorways of the bungalow. A gunman came out of another at the same instant. He was pulling on his coat, but, taking Christopher for an attacking native, he fired at him from the hip. Christopher jumped just before the flash, half turned, shot the fellow down, and raced over to Lovelace.

`Zirrif wasn't in either of those rooms,' he panted, his heart beating as though it would burst from the triple strain of excitement, exertion, and altitude.

`Perhaps he's in the house,' Lovelace gasped. He fired another burst in the direction of the gate, knowing that if they could not keep the natives back they would be overwhelmed and torn to pieces.

Shrieks of agony told him his shots had found their marks, but hundreds of warriors from the outer courts were now forcing the front ranks of the mob forward.

Bullets sang over the spot where Christopher and Lovelace lay crouched, but the main fire of the Abyssinians was directed at the bungalow.

Zarrif’s men, believing that the Abyssinians intended a midnight massacre, were barricading themselves in. One of them was yelling commands in Spanish, The lights which had been lit at the first alarm were put out again and a second machine gun was brought into action from one of the windows.

Christopher grabbed Lovelace by the arm 'The house! the house! I've got to get Zirrif.'

`All right! One moment!' Lovelace fired a final burst from his machine gun which exhausted the belt of ammunition. He was cursing the evil luck which had caused them to misjudge Zarrif’s whereabouts as he slipped a fresh clip of bullets into his automatic. If they had been right Christopher would have done his work by now and they might have stood some chance of escaping over the wall unobserved in the confusion.

`Come on ! come on!' Christopher urged, springing to his feet,

`Crawl, man, for Gods sake. Lovelace shouted, but his warning came too late. Christopher grabbed at his arm and then sank down on his knees.

I’m hit!' he muttered, "Hell, how it hurts bone's smashed, I think, but, but it's only my left arm I'm not done yet,' He began to wriggle forward aura his stomach.

Lovelace's shoulder was paining him badly and he knew that he was losing blood. As he edged his way towards the house a new clamour caught his attention. Something was happening out in the roadway. Shouting, shots, and a fresh pandemonium came from the outer court, adding to the general din. Fighting had broken out there as well, some private feud, perhaps but he had no time to pause and wonder; they had nearly reached the doorway of the house. It was still open and they both stood up to rush it.

Christopher threw a quick glance over his shoulder. The court was lit by the continuous flash of rifles. Bodies lay twisted and hunched in all directions. The machinegun in the bungalow had ceased fire. The Abyssinians were charging across the open, trampling down their wounded comrades as they ran. The gunmen were still using their pistols, determined to sell their lives dearly. The place was a shambles.

As he turned he saw Lovelace stagger, hit again, this time in the thigh; to save him further exposure to the flying bullets he thrust him through the door of the house and flung himself in behind him.

In the flickering light caused by the flashes Lovelace saw that the hall was empty except for the dead lion. A sudden sound in his rear caused him to lurch round. A figure crouched in the angle behind the open door. It was Cassalis.

Half dazed by pain and weak from loss of blood, Lovelace strove to jerk up his automatic, but the Frenchman was already holding a pistol levelled at his face. A thick, black cylinder on the end of the barrel was less than six inches from his mouth. He recognised the weapon instantly as an ether pistol which could discharge poison gas, like those the Millers of God issued to their appointed executioners.

Lovelace knew then that the game was up. There was no time to duck or charge even if he had had the strength to do so. Yet in that split second the words

`VENGEANCE IS MINE SAITH THE LORD flamed

through his tired brain as he realised that he was to die by the very means they had intended for Zirrif.

Suddenly a fist crashed on his wounded shoulder. The pain was agonising, his knees gave way, and he slid to the floor.

The last thing he glimpsed was Christopher's clear cut cameo like features surrounded by a misty halo of the deadly gas. By striking Lovelace down from behind he had been forced to receive the discharge of the pistol full in his own face.

When Lovelace came round he was first conscious of the clean, astringent smell of disinfectant and the crackle of spasmodic rifle fire coming faintly from a distance. The sound brought back the fact that he was wounded; his thigh and shoulder began to throb. He tried to ease his position by turning over, but found himself apparently strapped down; only his left hand was free and the fingers of it met the cool linen of a sheet.

A freckle faced, sandy haired man, clad in a white coat bent over him. `So you've roused at last,' he said with a strong Scotch accent. `It's near to five days you’ve been lying like a corpse.'

`Where am I?' Lovelace managed to murmur.

`In the hospital ward of the British Legation.' The orderly held out a glass. `Drink this now; the doctor said I was to give it to you the moment you came to.'

Lovelace knew there was some question which he wanted desperately to ask, but his mind seemed to have gone completely blank. All he could do was to stammer, 'What what does that shooting mean?'

`The heathen are killing each other and looting their own town. It started the day after they brought you in within an hour of the wee Emperor abandoning the war and them to their own devices. He went off in the train to Jibuti with his family and friends; to travel to Europe, they say, and ask help of the League. But you must'na talk. Drink this now.'

`Wait!' Lovelace turned his face away. He remembered now the thing he had to know, `Miss Lorne An American lady have you heard anything about her

is she is she safe?'

The orderly grinned. `Ai, and she's been here every hour of each day to look at you. She's safe and so are you. Safe as if you were in the ould Castle on the rock of Edinburgh. Haven't I told you, mon, that you're in the British Legation.'

Lovelace drank off the yellow fluid. His body way now one great pain and he felt very, very tired. The effort to think coherently was too much and, after a moment, he gave up the struggle.

When he opened his eyes again it was the following morning and Valerie was beside him. She stooped and kissed him on the mouth.

`Christopher?' he asked in a whisper.

'Dead,' she said, and he saw that her eyes were almost burnt out with crying, so that she could cry no more

`How, how did I escape being butchered after I fainted?' His head was clearer now and the details of that last scene of carnage were coming back to him

She leaned nearer. I couldn't stand it, Anthony 1 couldn't stand it. I stuck it out for six hours and every moment I thought I was going mad; then I caved in and made Henrick Heidenstam take me to the Emperor.

`I told him everything the whole truth about the Millers of God and he understood. He was wonderful, oh, wonderful. He sent troops at once to arrest Zirrif’s gunmen and both of you. They arrived in time to save you, but poor Christopher was dead. He gave his life for Peace.'

`He gave his life to save mine,' Lovelace said softy, `Later I'll tell you about it; but we failed, you know failed to get Zirrif. He'll be well on his way back to Europe with the concession in his pocket by now.'

Valerie shook her head. `No, my darling. If only we'd known it we might have all slept tranquilly in our beds that night. Zirrif was already dead by four o'clock in the afternoon.'

Lovelace closed his eyes. That explained a lot, he was thinking. The gunmen were all sleeping, then, because they had no one left to guard. It accounted, too, for Cassalis having been in such a state of dither at sunset. In a faint voice he asked, 'How how did Zirrif die?'

`Heart, darling. You know how it troubles even us at this height; the strain must have proved too much for him at his age. I was still at the Palace waiting for news of you when Ras Desoum was brought in by the soldiers and told the Emperor. I suppose that's why he decided to leave Addis the following day.'

`Poor little man.' Lovelace's voice came stronger now. `If his deal with Zirrif had gone through he'd have been in funds again.

'Yes; although things were in a far worse state than we knew. His troops were mutinying and his army going to pieces under Marshal Badoglio's ceaseless attacks.'

`Perhaps, but the Italian main line was still nearly two hundred miles away. If the Emperor had been able to collect the funds from Zirrif to satisfy his greedy, thieving Rases the Abyssinians would have hung together and the rains would have given him six months to reorganize. As it is, Badoglio's exploited his victories in the genuine Napoleonic manner and the Emperor's thrown his hand in. So the war's over, eh?'

`Yes, the war's over,' Valerie agreed quickly. `The Italians are marching into the town now, and they'll do more in ten years to make life safe and human and decent for the people of the country than poor, priest ridden Haile Selassie could have done in a century. Giulio Dolomenchi arrived with the advance guard. I saw him this morning. He went straight to the American Legation to inquire after our safety, and then he came on here. He's such a dear. I'm terribly glad he's come through all right.'

Lovelace grinned feebly. `So am I. I'm glad the Italians have won, too. They were bound to in the end, and this sudden finish saves thousands of lives being sacrificed on both sides in another campaign next autumn. Above all, I'm glad that concession never went through. For a moment, anyway, we've no longer cause to fear another war in Europe.'

`Events have proved how right the Millers were.,' Valerie said slowly. Zarrif's death was necessary. But that he should die of heart failure at the eleventh hour, makes you think, doesn't it? Perhaps it was God's business and not ours really.'

For a long time Lovelace was silent. At last he spoke again. `Did it ever occur to you, sweet, to wonder at an organization like the Millers leaving the affair solely in the hands of a boy like Christopher when such tremendous issues depended on its outcome?'

`No,' she said, I never thought of that; but now you raise the point, it does seem rather strange."

'Well, I don't believe they did. Cassalis killed Christopher with one of the Millers' special gas pistols. Where could he have got hold of such a weapon? Christopher and I found the body of a white man who had disguised himself as a native in Ras Desoum's cellar, It was hardly cold and riddled with bullets, We recognised it as that of poor Baron Foldvar who you. met in Jibuti. Perhaps the pistol Cassalis used was taken from the Baron and I did him a great injustice. It may be that the Baron killed Zirrif with it before the gunmen shot him down. We shall never know for certain, now, and it was God's business; but I believe he did send one of His Millers to do His will.'