The Talbot Mundy Megapack. Talbot Mundy

know it. Catesby sent me word by messenger last night from Ludd, after you put him under arrest.”

      “Damn the man! Well, that’s what’s happened. Catesby’s fault. They’ll blame me. The truck containing the stuff was run into a siding three days ago. Through young Catesby’s negligence it was left there without a guard. Catesby will be broke for that as sure as my name is Jenkins. But, by the knell of hell’s bells, Grim, more than Catesby will lose their jobs unless we find the stuff! Two tons. Half enough to blow up Palestine!”

      “Too bad about Catesby,” said Grim.

      “Never mind Catesby. Damn him! Consider my predicament! How can I go to the Administrator with a lame-duck story about missing TNT and nothing done about it?”

      “Nothing done? You’ve passed the buck, haven’t you? Catesby is under arrest, you say.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I know Catesby,” Grim retorted quietly. “He made that fine stand at Beersheba—when the Arabs rushed the camp, and you weren’t looking. He took the blame for your carelessness, and never squealed. You took the credit for his presence of mind, and have treated him like a dog ever since. You expect me to try to save your bacon and forget Catesby’s?”

“Nonsense, Grim! You’re talking without your book. Here’s what happened: the stuff arrived at Ludd in a truck attached to the end of a mixed train. The R.T.O.12 sent me a memorandum and stalled the truck on a siding. I gave the memorandum to Catesby.”

      “He tells me in the note I received last night that you did nothing of the kind.”

      “Then he’s a liar. He forgot all about it and did nothing. When the Air Force sent to get the stuff the truck was empty.”

      “And you want me to find it, I suppose?”

      “Yes. The quicker the better!”

      “And be a party to breaking Catesby? I like my job, but not that much!”

      “You refuse then to hunt for the TNT?”

      “I take my orders straight from the Administrator. He ex­pects me in half an hour. You want me to smooth the way for you with Sir Louis. I’m much more interested in Catesby, who would face a firing party sooner than soak another fellow for his own fault. Catesby assures me in writing that the first he ever heard of that TNT was when you ordered him arrested after discovery of the loss. His word goes, as far as I’m concerned. If you want me to help you, find another goat than Catesby. That’s my answer.”

      There followed quite a long pause. Perhaps Brigadier-General Jenkins was wondering what chance he would stand in a show-down. Whoever had heard the mess and canteen gossip knew that Jenkins’ career had been one long string of miracles by which he had attained promotion without in any way deserving it, and a parallel series of even greater ones by which he had saved himself from ruin by contriving to blame someone else.

      “You want me to white-wash Catesby?” he said at last. “If you pounce quickly on the TNT, no one need know it was lost.”

      “If you court-martial Catesby, the public shall know who lost it, and who didn’t, even if it costs me my commission!”

      “Blast you! Insubordination!”

      “Is your car outside?” Grim answered. “Why don’t you drive me up to the Administrator and charge me with it?”

      “Don’t be an idiot! I came to you to avoid a scandal. If this news gets out there’ll be a panic. Things are touchy enough as it is.”

      “Yes.”

      “Well—if I drop the charge against Catesby—?”

      “Then I shall not have to fight for him.”

      “I’ll see what I can do.”

      “Be definite!”

      “Damn and blast you! All right, I’ll clear Catesby.”

      In that ominous minute, like the devil in an old-time drama, Suliman knocked at the door leading from the outer hall. Grim opened it, and I heard the boy’s voice piping up in Arabic. The Administrator was in his car outside, waiting to know whether Major Grim was indoors.

      “Where’s your car?” I heard Grim ask.

      “I sent the man to get a tire changed,” Jenkins answered.

      “Then Sir Louis needn’t know you’re here. Do you want to see him?”

      “Of course not.”

      “You can get behind that screen if you like.”

      I thought Jenkins would explode when he found me sitting there. He was a big, florid-faced man with a black moustache waxed into points, and a neck the color of rare roast beef—a man not given to self-restraint in any shape or form. But he had to make a quick decision. Sir Louis’ footsteps were approaching. He glared at me, made a sign to me to sit still, twisted his moustache savagely, and listened, breathing through his mouth to avoid the tell-tale whistle of his hairy nostrils. I heard Grim start toward the hall, but Sir Louis turned him back and came straight in.

      “It occurred to me I’d save you the time of coming up to see me this morning, Grim, and look in on you instead before I start my rounds. Any new developments?”

      “Not yet, sir. I’ll need forty-eight hours. If we move too fast they may touch the stuff off before we get the whole gang in the net.”

      “You’re sure you’d rather not have the police?”

      “Quite. They mean well, but they’re clumsy.”

“Um-m-m! All the same, the thing’s ticklish. There are rumours about all ready. The Grand Mufti13 came to me before breakfast with a wild tale. I’ve promised him some Sikhs for special sentry duty. He’d hardly gone before some Zionists came with a story that the Arabs are planning to blow up their hospital; I gave them ten men and an officer.”

      “Is the city quiet?” Grim asked him.

      “Fair to middling. The Jews refused to take their shutters down this morning. I had to issue an order about it. I hear now that they’re doing business about as usual, but I’ve ordered the number of men on duty within the city walls to be doubled. At the first sign of disturbance I shall have the gates closed. Are you quite sure you’re in touch?”

      “Quite. sure, sir. I’m positive of what I told you last night. Will you be seeing Colonel Goodenough?”

      “Yes, in ten minutes.”

      “Please ask him to hold his Sikhs at my disposal for the next two days. You might add, sir, that if he cares to see sport he could do worse than lend his own services.”

      “I’ll do that. You can count on Goodenough. That’s a soldier devoid of nonsense. Anything else?”

      “That’s all.”

      “Keep me informed. Remember, Grim, I’m responsible for all you do. I’ve endorsed you in blank, as it were. Don’t overlook that point.”

      “I won’t, sir.”

      Sir Louis walked out. Almost before his spurs ceased jingling in the tiled hall, Brigadier-General Jenkins strode out in a towering rage from behind the screen.

      “’Pon my soul, a spy’s trick!” he exploded. “Had an eavesdropper, did you? Listening from behind a screen while you tricked me into a promise on Catesby’s account!”

      “Sure,” Grim answered, folding the screen back, and letting his face wrinkle in smiles all the way up to the roots of his hair. Very comical he looked, for his eyebrows were only partly sprouted again. “Had two of you to listen in on the Administrator!”