The Talbot Mundy Megapack. Talbot Mundy

run that loot to ground in short order, so you’d better cover up your own tracks.”

      “Oh, my tracks are very well covered.”

      There was a suggestion of insolence underlying the certainty in the Arab’s voice that made Jenkins turn suddenly and face him.

      “How d’ye mean?”

      “You are powerful. I look to you for protection in case of necessity. Otherwise—”

      “Look here! Are you fooling yourself by any chance? Do you suppose I’d budge one inch to protect you? You people have no sense of proportion. To help the Arab cause—sub rosa as I said—is one thing; to ruin my whole career by becoming involved in your intrigues is another, and doesn’t appeal to me at all. I’d let you hang rather than lift a finger.”

      He glared at Charkas with dark eyes that had cowed many a subordinate and rescued him in many an awkward moment. He had made a deliberate study of that frown and the attitude that went with it, growing expert in their use but rather overestimating their value on the strength of occasional successes.

      The Arab flinched like an animal under the lash. Jenkins turned his back on him. It was more from habit than intention that he strode behind the desk and faced the looking-glass.

      Ibrahim Charkas was less cowed that he chose to seem, being one of those men who can keep their wits alert under a protecting mask of physical fear. The moment Jenkins’ back was turned he leaned toward the desk and began searching the papers that lay scattered all over it in the confusion made by Jenkins himself half an hour previously. His fingers were as swift and supple as a card-shaper’s, and his eyes, glancing every second at Jenkins’ back, as wary as a rat’s.

      In less than thirty seconds he had spotted a railway notice of consignments due to arrive. Watching his chance, he flipped it toward the corner of the desk. A second more and he had it in his pocket. Then Jenkins turned on him.

      “Give that back!”

      “Give what back?”

      “Don’t try to argue. I watched you in the glass. Give it here. It’s in that pocket. Out with it!”

      With his head sunk between his shoulders, feet apart, ready to jump for his life, and his eyes looking like black shoe-buttons, the Arab laid the paper on the desk. Jenkins glanced at it.

      “So-ho! So that’s the way of it! Done it before half a dozen times no doubt! That’s how they knew about the TNT, eh? You stole the memorandum off my desk. I remember now, you were in here that morning. What else have you taken?”

      “Nothing else, sir.”

      “I mean on other occasions.”

      “Nothing. I am no thief. I did not take any memorandum. As for this, it was unintentional—mere nervousness—I did it without thinking—I—”

      “Oh, piffle! Sit where you are. Now—look up at me. You’ve been in here to my knowledge twice since the morning that TNT memorandum came.

      “On the second occasion you followed up a letter you had written me. You said you had information too important to be put in writing. But you put a lot in that letter, didn’t you? It was pretty compromising, wasn’t it? And the additional information turned out to be so insignificant that I wondered why you bothered to come.

      “I know now. I was looking for that letter tonight, and it’s missing. It lay in this top drawer. You stole it back—now didn’t you?”

      Jenkins fairly yelled the last words at him and Charkas nearly shrank out of his skin.

      “I did not! On my honor, I swear I did not!”

      Jenkins reached for a whalebone riding-whip that hung from a nail on the wall.

      “Admit it, you—, or I’ll thrash the life out of you.”

      To Jenkins’ surprise, instead of capitulating and confessing the Arab grew suddenly calm.

      “Why should I confess to what I did not do?” he answered. “It is you who should be ashamed not I. If you have lost that letter you have betrayed me faithlessly, because anyone who finds it can make use of it to ruin me. If that is so, I hope it will ruin you too.

      “It was addressed to you. Your name was on it. If I am arrested I shall denounce you. You would better let me get away from here. Give me some money and I will go to Egypt.”

      Jenkins laughed. But he returned the whip to its nail on the wall, recovering his temper with an effort.

      “I know what happened to the letter,” he said. “I tore it up the other day. I was testing you. Seeing you take that paper just now in your—ah—fit of nervousness, I naturally jumped to conclusions and suspected you of other thefts. That’s an old trick, you know, to startle an man into confessing something he did do by accusing him of doing something you know he didn’t. You stood the test, Charkas.

      “You’d better go now, though—it’s inviting suspicion to be found talking with you in here so late at night. Don’t forget—Major Grim is already on the job; so cover up your tracks, and be ready to accuse the Zionists. Good night.”

      “You gave me a severe shock to my nervous system, but—good night, sir.”

      Jenkins whistled the sentry and gave him orders to escort the Arab to the gate. Then he blew out the lamp, locked the door, and went to his own tent, where he sat for a few minutes humming to himself.

      “So he stole that TNT memorandum, did he? I wonder if he took that letter too, or whether I destroyed it by accident. Um-m-m! So he thinks he can ruin me, does he? He’s a mean little rat, and he might make trouble.

      “Pity I accused Catesby, but that can’t be helped now. I shall have to get Charkas on some other count—he’s best out of the way. Um-m-m! Hullo, what’s that!”

      A rifle shot spat out through the darkness near at hand, and was followed by a deal of shouting.

      “Thieves again!” yelled a subaltern’s voice, and there was a rush of officers from the mess marquee to lend a hand in the hunt.

      Jenkins buttoned up his tunic, buckled on his belt, and hurried after them to add to his laurels by being officious even if he reached the scene too late.

      Those night raids take place swiftly, and when discovered the thieves don’t wait to be surrounded. He arrived in time to receive the report from three subalterns, all speaking together breathlessly.

      “Two of our Sikhs wounded, sir, but one of them swears he got home with his bayonet first. There’s blood on the bayonet to prove it. The thieves got away with their dead man, and three rifles and some other stuff that they’d snaffled before they were seen. That’s all, sir.”

      “Quite enough, too,” snapped Jenkins. “It’s a disgraceful business. I shall have an inquiry at once, and fix the blame. Perfectly disgraceful!”

      He himself passed on the report to General Anthony, who came hurrying up a moment later, followed by his aide.

      “I’ve been giving these rifle raids a lot of thought and close attention,” he added in conclusion. “It’s my belief that when the facts are out you’ll find Zionists are at the bottom of it all.”

      Anthony looked hard at him in the light of a sentry’s lantern.

      “Anyone who could prove that would be entitled to great credit,” he said slowly. “Have you seen that the wounded Sikhs have attention? No, never mind; I’ll go myself.”

      CHAPTER VII

      “I can deal with twenty-five as easily as one!”

      It was Jim’s intention, once he had found the leper’s rendezvous and got rid of the rather embarrassing company of Mahommed ben Hamza, to return for Catesby and Narayan Singh, or perhaps to send Suliman for them if the boy could be induced to go alone.

      But there was something