Jimgrim - The Spy Thrillers Series. Talbot Mundy

that I had scattered, but his big ears projected sidewise and suggested that he might have another motive. However, it was a simple matter to evade his curiosity by talking French, and Noureddin All could contain himself no longer.

      “Pardon me, sir? Staff-Captain Ali Mirza?”

      Grim nodded suspiciously.

      “I have heard of you. We have all heard of you. We are proud to see you in Jerusalem. We wish all success to your efforts on behalf of Mustapha Kemal, the great Turkish Nationalist leader. Our prayer is that he may light such a fire in Anatolia as shall spread in one vast conflagration throughout the East!”

      “Who are you?” asked Grim suspiciously. (Evidently the real Ali Mirza had a reputation for gruff manners.)

      “Noureddin Ali Bey. It may be you have heard of me. I am not without friends in Damascus.”

      “Oh, are you Noureddin Ali?” Grim’s attitude thawed appreciably. “We have been looking for more action and less talk from you. I made an excuse to visit Jerusalem and discover how much fire there is under this smoke of boasting.”

      “Fire! Ha-ha! That is the right word! There is a camouflage of talk, but under it—Aha! You shall see!”

      “Or is that more talk?”

      “We are not all talkers. Wait and see!”

      “Oh, more waiting? Has Mustapha Kemal Pasha waited in Anatolia? Has he not set you all an example of deeds without words? Am I to wait here indefinitely in Jerusalem to take him news of deeds that will never happen?”

      “Not indefinitely, my dear captain! And this time there will really be a deed that will please even such a rigorous lover of action as Mustapha Kemal!”

      Grim shrugged his shoulders again.

      “I leave for Damascus at dawn,” he said cynically. “I don’t care to be mocked there for bringing news of promises. We have had too many of those barren mares. I shall say that I have found everything here is sterile—the talk abortive—the men mere windy bellies without hearts in them!”

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

      “I’LL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH IT!”

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      Noureddin Ali was pained and upset. Grim had pricked his conceit—had sent thrust home where he kept his susceptibilities. He blinked, peered this and that way, exchanged glances with the alligator person, and then tucked his legs up under him.

      “In me you see a doer!” he announced. He looked the part. His lean, pointed nose and beady little eyes were of the interfering, meddling type. You could not imagine him, like the yellow-eyed ruminant next to him, sitting and waiting ruthlessly for things to happen. Noureddin Ali looked more likely to go out and be ruthless.

      “So they all say!” Grim retorted.

      “Some one should forewarn them in Damascus what a deed will occur here presently. Above all, word should reach Mustapha Kemal, in Anatolia, as soon as possible, so that he may be ready to act.”

      “All day long,” said Grim, “I have wandered about Jerusalem, listening to this and that rumour of something that may happen. But I have not found one man who can tell me a fact.”

      “That is because you did not meet me. I am—hee-hee! I am the father of facts. You say you leave for Damascus at dawn? You are positive? I could tell you facts that would put a sudden end to my career if they were spread about Jerusalem!”

      “That is the usual boast of men who desire credit in the eyes of the Nationalist Party,” Grim retorted.

      “I see you are skeptical. That is a wise man’s attitude, but I must be cautious, for my life is at stake. Now—how do you propose to leave Jerusalem? There is no train for Damascus at dawn tomorrow.”

      “I am on a diplomatic mission,” answered Grim. “The Administration have placed a car at my disposal to take me as far as the border.”

      “Ah! And tonight? Where will you be tonight?”

      “Why?”

      “Because I propose to make a disclosure. And—ah—hee-hee!—you would like to live, I take it, and not be sent back to Damascus in a coffin? I have—ah—some assistants who—hee-hee!—would watch your movements. If you were to betray me afterwards to the Administration, there would remain at least—the satisfaction— of—you understand me?—the certainty that you would suffer for it!”

      Grim laughed dryly.

      “I shall be at the hotel,” he answered. “In bed. Asleep. The car comes before dawn.”

      “That is sufficient. I shall know how to take essential precautions. Now—you think I am a man of words, not deeds? You were near the Jaffa Gate this morning, for I saw you there. You saw a man killed—a policeman, name Bedreddin. That was an unwise underling, who stumbled by accident on a clue to what I shall tell you presently. He had the impudence to try to blackmail me—me, of all people! You saw him killed. But did you see who killed him? I—I killed him, with this right hand! You do not believe? You think, perhaps, I lack the strength for such a blow? Look here, where the force of it broke my skin on the handle of the knife! Now, am I a man of words, not deeds?”

      “You want me to report to Mustapha Kemal that all the accomplishment in Jerusalem amounts to one policeman killed?”

      “No, no! You mistake my meaning. My point is that having proved to you I am a ruthless man of action, I am entitled to be believed when I tell you what next I intend to do.”

      “Well—I listen.”

      “There is going to be—hee-hee!—an explosion!”

      “Where? When? Of what?”

      “In Jerusalem, within a day or two, and of what? Why, of high explosive, what else?”

      “Much good an explosion in this city will do Mustapha Kemal!” Grim grumbled. “You may kill a few beggars and break some windows. The British will double the guards afterward at all the city gates, and that will be the end of it; except that some of you, who perhaps may escape being thrown into jail, will apply to Mustapha Kemal for high commissions in his army on the strength of it! Great doings! Mustapha Kemal will have no bastinadoed.”

      “Hee-hee! You are going to be surprised. What would you say to an explosion, for instance, that destroyed the Dome of the Rock?”

      “That might accomplish results.”

      “Hee-hee! You admit it! An explosion to be blamed on the Zionists, who must afterward be protected by the British from the mob! Would that not set India on fire?”

      “It might help. But who is to do it?”

      “You see the doer before you! I will do it.”

      “If I thought such a thing was really going to take place—”

      “You would think that news worth carrying, eh? You would hurry to Damascus, wouldn’t you? And let me assure you, my dear captain, speed is essential. There are reasons why the explosion has not yet occurred—reasons of detail and difficulties to be overcome. But now there is little further prospect of delay. Everything is nearly ready. The explosive is not yet in place, but is at hand. The authorities suspect nothing. There remains only a little excavation work, and then—hee-hee!—nothing to do but choose the hour when hundreds are in the mosque. Houp-la! Up she goes. Does not the idea appeal to you?”

      “Sensational—very,” Grim admitted.

      “Ah! But the utmost must be made of the sensation. Men must be ready in Damascus to stir public feeling on the strength of it. Word must go to Mustapha Kemal to strike hard while the iron is hot. There must be reprisals everywhere. Blood must flow.