For the past fortnight Hill and I had known that a number of new prisoners were coming to Yozgad—44 officers and 25 men. These were the “Kastamouni Incorrigibles.” After the escape by Keeling, Tipton, Sweet, and Bishop from Kastamouni in 1917, their comrades of Kastamouni Camp had been badly “strafed.” The whole camp was moved to Changri, where it was housed in the vilest conditions imaginable.^[34] In despair a number of officers gave the Turks their parole not to escape, in order to get reasonable quarters. The Turks accepted the parole and sent these to Gedos. Then Johnny Turk began to wonder why the rest would not give parole, and very naturally concluded they must be intending to escape. The safest place in Turkey for restless gentlemen of this description was Yozgad, in the heart of Anatolia. So to Yozgad they were sent.

But at Yozgad the accommodation for prisoners was very limited. To make room for all 44 incorrigibles the Turkish War Office decided to send 20 of the Yozgad officers to Afion Kara Hissar. As soon as this order arrived, MoÏse came across and told us about it. The Commandant wanted the Spook to tell him which of the officers at present in Yozgad he should send away. Here was a great opportunity. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for us to send any twenty men we chose to select. We were much tempted to despatch to Afion the score whom we considered to be most vehemently opposed to all plans of escape. But we held our hand. We advised MoÏse that we thought it wiser not to trouble the Spook with details, as the treasure business was sufficient worry at present. The Spook had several times told us to do as much as possible for ourselves.

Accordingly the camp was informed of the order in the usual way, but when we heard the result we were rather sorry we had not exercised our option. MoÏse told us that the Commandant, in answer to enquiries, had said that Yozgad camp was in every way preferable to Afion. (As a matter of fact it was not.) In Yozgad, he said, food was cheaper, the climate better and the housing much superior. Result: those officers who had at first been tempted by the idea of a change refused to budge. Indeed, practically nobody wanted to go, for what with the Hunt Club and the Ski dinner speech, and one thing and another, Yozgad prospects looked decidedly rosy for the summer. So, to a diapason of grousing by the victims, the fiat went forth that the twenty junior officers should pack up, and our Senior Officer did Hill and myself the honour of telling Kiazim Bey that, as we were not only junior but also “the black sheep” of the camp, it would be distinctly advisable to include us in the twenty. (That “black sheep” phrase hurt a little—we had never done anybody any harm—but it amused the Turks.) Kiazim, who wanted his treasure, refused to move us. Amid much grumbling, the twenty made their preparations for departure.

On the 26th March, at 6 p.m. MoÏse brought the matter up in his “report.” “I have some news for you, Sir,” he said to the board. “We have got the order for twenty officers to leave for Afion. Their names have been put down. You see we are trying to blow our own noses.” (MoÏse had got it into his head that this was an English idiom meaning to be self-reliant.) “But perhaps you can give us some good suggestions as you usually do. I told Colonel Maule we could not move the mediums when he asked about them.”

“Quite right,” said the Spook, “that is all as I arranged it. But I want one small addition. I want Maule to be told that the Superior would like to be rid of these two officers, and that he would send them away if he could, but he must await orders from Constantinople, to whom a report of the trial has been sent.” (The report was dictated by the Spook and sent to the Turkish War Office on the 18th March.^[35]) “This will explain why the Superior does not seize the opportunity to get rid of them. It will also explain matters if Constantinople wires to send these two away, as it may do. Do not be alarmed at that possibility. It will be all my doing, and I know what I am doing.”

The object of this was to keep open the possibility of our travelling with the Afion party for part of the way. We hoped that by the time they were ready to start, Kiazim would have been persuaded by us that the treasure could best be found by sending us to the Mediterranean coast. From Yozgad to Angora was 120 miles, and transport was scarce. So we intended to avail ourselves of the government carts provided for the Afion party if Kiazim agreed to move us.

The Turks were now like children in the Hampton Court maze when a fog has come down. They were properly lost in our labyrinth, and appealed to the Spook to tell them what was happening. That capable and inventive gentleman rose to the occasion, and gave them a resumÉ of the position. The best chance of finding the treasure quickly, the Spook said, had been when OOO had offered to point it out if we could prove our friendship to him. The Pimple had spoiled that chance by his ignorance of Armenian. Indeed, he had done worse than spoil it—he had thrown OOO into active opposition, and though OOO himself was not much to be feared, being a comparatively young and inexperienced spirit, a company had now been formed to help him, which contained some of the best known organizers in the spirit-world. (Amongst them was Napoleon Buonaparte.)

There remained, the Spook continued, three other plans for finding the treasure. Of these the first was to find out everything from Yozgad through the holders of the three clues—KKK, YYY and AAA. This again the Pimple had nearly—though not quite—spoiled by inadvertently strengthening the opposition. Fortunately KKK and YYY were dead, and as they were keenly interested in helping to tear aside the partition between this world and the next, our Spook had been able to persuade them to assist in the search, and they were prepared, as scientific investigators, to try and show themselves and make themselves heard to the mediums. Success with them would depend on whether or not the starvation diet had rendered the mediums sufficiently clairvoyant and clairaudient. There remained the holder of the third clue—AAA. AAA being still alive—we learned that he was a business man in Constantinople, whose work frequently took him to Adalia, Tarsus, Alexandretta, and Damascus—was likely to be our chief difficulty, because his mind must be read by telepathy and he was so far away that his thought-waves would be weak, so the opposition might succeed in blocking them. Still, we would try, and must hope for success.

But, the Spook warned us, the trance-talk had pointed to the fact that this plan would not succeed in its entirety, and that the treasure would be found by one of two other plans which were being held in reserve. Both these plans involved moving the mediums nearer to AAA—nearer, that is to say, to Constantinople, Adalia, Tarsus, Alexandretta or Damascus, according as AAA might be in one or the other.

“The details of these two plans,” said the Spook, “I do not want to tell at present, because OOO has now got control over a medium in Yozgad^[36]; and as you humans cannot control your thoughts it is unwise to tell you, lest that medium and OOO succeed in reading the plan that is in your minds. They could then interfere with it.”

To our delight, the Turks took the news that we might have to leave Yozgad with the utmost nonchalance. They realized that the Spook was doing his utmost to find the treasure without moving us, and in their hearts they were pretty confident he would succeed. Therefore they regarded the move as unlikely—and forgot all about it for the time being, by reason of the other things we provided to occupy their attention. For, having mentioned the move, we at once turned their attention away from it by bringing forward KKK.

KKK proved to be a most friendly spirit. Speaking through our own Spook he offered to conduct us next day to the spot where his clue was buried. But he laid down certain conditions:

“The clue,” the Spook warned us, “was very clever. The casual person on opening it would think he had found nothing and throw it down where he found it. If the finder happened to look further, he would find something to cause him surprise and a puzzle to make him talk. When 000 buried the treasure he hoped if this happened the talk would reach the ears of his heir. Therefore, do not be disappointed when at first you find nothing but an emblem of death. Go on looking carefully. The clue itself will puzzle you, but what one man can invent another man can understand.”

That night Hill gave me a final exhibition of his extraordinary palming, and I went to bed with renewed confidence in his skill. Tomorrow would settle our hash one way or another—we would get that photograph or be found out and take the consequences, whatever they might be.

To our disgust the 27th March turned out a dull, misty day, with some rain, quite hopeless for photography. The Spook informed the Pimple that KKK would find it difficult to appear in mist, as he was pretty misty himself to human eyes, even under the best conditions, and advised postponement. The Pimple cordially agreed that it would be practically impossible to see a spook on such a day.

Next day, the 28th March, was overcast and stormy, with rain and a high wind which would prevent Hill from managing his cloak properly, and we again postponed by mutual consent.

At 9 a.m. on 29th March, MoÏse came to us in some excitement. There was trouble afoot. The Commandant and the Cook—the Major of Turkish Artillery and his orderly—had “quarrelled”! The Commandant had ordered the Cook to go to Angora (120 miles away) “to fetch some stores.” At first he had ordered him to go today, and then postponed until tomorrow: the Cook had seen through the motive of this order. He knew that Kiazim wanted to prevent him from attending the digging up of the first clue, in order to make him forfeit his share in the treasure. So the Cook had flatly refused to go—had mutinied! If Kiazim dared to punish him, he would “blow the gaff” about the treasure-hunt.

The Cook was a man—and won. Kiazim gave way.

I find a note in my diary. It reads: “Considering that, as yet, nothing has been found, things are pretty warm.” The diary goes on:

“30th March.—Another bad day. Hail and sleet. The starvation diet has brought our belts in a couple of inches, and makes us feel very floppy and weak, but otherwise we are all right. Our pulses jump from 56 to 84, with extraordinary variations.”

We decided that next day, be it wet or fine, we must find the first clue. The 31st March promised well. The sun shone brightly and there was little wind. The Pimple was summoned, and the Spook made him repeat his instructions for the search, in order to make sure that he thoroughly understood everything; then orders were issued for the Commandant and the Cook to be ready at noon. While MoÏse was away instructing his two confederates, Hill and I secretly semaphored to Matthews in Posh Castle. We warned him that Kiazim was joining us in a treasure-hunt, and told him to watch South hill, and get a few of our friends to do the same. For the spot where Hill had buried the first clue, two months ago, was carefully chosen so as to be in full view of the camp, and we hoped our friends would be able to recognize the Commandant at the distance. Their recognition would be subsidiary evidence, should the photograph fail.

At noon we met in the graveyard, outside the town. (There is nothing like an appropriate background for a spook-chase.) Hill and I held hands, and after a while went into a trance, and simultaneously saw KKK sitting on a gravestone. We chatted with him, the Turks listening eagerly, and then followed his lead up the hill. The procedure was very similar to the revolver-hunt of six months before. About half-way up the hill, in order to test the Turks, we both “collapsed” together. Our friends obeyed instructions. They turned their backs on us and sat down, carefully refraining from even a glance in our direction. We groaned, and moaned, and made weird noises to see if they would turn round, but they paid no attention. All was well, so we “recovered” and went on. Unfortunately, the weather was again our worst enemy. The promise of the morning had not been fulfilled; the sun was now hidden behind a heavy bank of cloud which grew momentarily darker. A slight drizzle began to fall.

“Can’t snap ’em in this,” Hill whispered; “keep ’em still.”

I squeezed his hand to show I understood. A moment later Hill signalled that we had reached the spot, and “collapsed.” I left him where he fell, staggered six paces to the left as arranged, and called loudly to the Turks that the Spook was demanding the Waa test. They hurried past Hill without a glance at him and took up the positions I assigned, the Commandant on my right, and the Cook and Interpreter on my left. I began building the fire, carrying on an animated conversation with the Spook as I did so, and to my consternation plainly heard the click of Hill’s camera. He had taken the first photo before I was quite ready. Hastily I put a match to the fire, and stood up.

“Watch the fire!” I cried. “For your lives do not move an eyelid. Be still, and watch the fire for a little bird.”

Then I stretched my hands above my head and began the incantation, speaking loudly to drown the noise of the shutter. My arrangement with Hill was that I should go on reciting Welsh poetry until he got on his feet, which would be the signal that the camera was safely back in his pocket. I heard a second click while I was still in the middle of the first verse of “Bugeilio’r Gwenith Gwyn” and then I heard nothing more. I seemed to go on reciting for ages, and wondered what was up, and why the third click was so long in coming. I had finished a favourite Welsh lullaby and was plunging desperately into a Burmese serenade by way of variety when I noticed Hill was on his feet, standing quietly behind the Pimple. He gave an almost imperceptible nod as he caught my eye, and I broke off.

“The bird!” I shouted.

“The bird!” yelled Hill.

We both pointed to a neighbouring stone, and the Turks, who had remained motionless throughout the incantation, were galvanized into life again. Curiously enough, nobody had noticed the bird except Hill and myself! We had both distinctly seen it settle close beside the stone before it disappeared into thin air.

The Cook began to dig where we said the bird had settled. He dug with such vehemence that he broke his spade. Nothing daunted he fell to with the adze, and in due course he brought to light a tin can, about four inches long, carefully soldered at the ends and somewhat rusted.

“Spread the clean white handkerchief.” The Turks fully understood that it was not I who spoke, but the Spook through me.

MoÏse obeyed.

“Now open the receptacle and empty it on to the handkerchief.”

As MoÏse was forcing off the lid of the tin with his knife, Hill and I drank in the scene. The Commandant’s dark eyes were ablaze in a face as pale as death. The Cook, all wet with the sweat of his digging, bending forward with a hand on either knee, looked like savage greed personified. The Pimple could hardly master the excited trembling of his hands. His knife slipped and he cut himself.

“Ha!” said the Spook, “that is good! Blood is drawn, and now no more need be shed.”

The lid came off, and the Pimple shook out into the handkerchief—a little heap of ashes.

“The emblem of death, as promised,” said the Spook, “Is the tin empty?”

The Pimple looked inside, thrust in his fingers and felt carefully round.

“There is nothing,” he said.

“Then if that is all,” said the Spook, “you may throw it away.”

MoÏse threw the tin down the hillside. All the light died out of Kiazim’s eyes, the unhappy Cook opened his mouth to say something, but remembered the orders for silence in time, and stood with his mouth agape. MoÏse was on the verge of tears.

“Ha! ha! ha!” said the Spook. “I said a casual person would throw it away! Cook! Are you more careful than MoÏse?”

“Evvet!” (Yes) said the Cook, shutting his mouth like a rat-trap. Once more he was all eagerness.

“Then examine it, Cook!”

The Cook ran down the hill, picked up the tin, and after a short examination discovered that it contained a false bottom. But he was still under the ban of silence. The pantomime he went through in trying to convey his discovery to the others was almost too much for our solemnity. He poked a dirty finger alternately into the Commandant’s side and into the tin, dancing round him the while so that poor Kiazim, who did not understand what he had found, must have thought the fellow stark, staring mad. The Pimple pranced about beside the Cook, trying vainly to see into the tin. He told us afterwards that he thought the Spook had “materialized” a clue at the last moment and put it into the tin. Hill and I would have given a month’s pay for freedom to laugh. He signalled to me to cut the performance short, lest he should give way.

“Take your scissors,” cried the Spook, “and open it.”

The Pimple hewed at the tin with his very blunt scissors. In his excitement he cut himself again—to the delight of the Spook—but finally got the false bottom opened. It concealed a Turkish gold lira, wrapped in paper, and the inner layer of paper bore a circle of beautifully written Armenian characters arranged clockwise.

“Now you may talk,” said the Spook.

And talk those Turks did—all together and across each other. For five minutes they made as much noise as a rookery in nesting-time. The Commandant shook hands with each of us several times over. The Pimple was ecstatic. The Cook gave me the fright of my life by trying to kiss me, which made Hill choke suddenly and turn his back. A little way down the hill a group of Yozgad inhabitants were watching in open-mouthed astonishment. The Spook came to the rescue and ordered us all home.

On the way back the Cook, who was a native of Yozgad, informed us that we were undoubtedly on the track of the right treasure, and OOO must be the man we thought, because the spot on which the first clue was found was on the land of the deceased Armenian whose wealth we were seeking. Here was another coincidence!

The Spook’s last instructions before he bade us good-bye were for the safety of the mediums. He warned us that OOO would probably make an attempt on our lives that evening. No one, not even the Commandant himself, was to be allowed to enter between dark and dawn, lest OOO should “control” the visitor into murdering us. We were to be left absolutely alone, so that our Spook might watch over us without any distraction.

Kiazim Bey rose to the occasion. He doubled the sentries round our house. He even prohibited the nightly visit of the Onbashi for roll-call.

Thus we secured a quiet evening, safe from interruption. Had Kiazim been able to see into our house about 10 p.m. he might have wondered what was afoot. Hill was locked up inside a cupboard in a well-darkened room. I was in the room we usually occupied, pacing up and down in an agony of impatience and doubt, and ready to intercept any unlikely visitor. Much depended on the next few minutes.

At length Hill came out. He carried in his hand a roll of newly-developed V.P. Kodak films, and without saying anything held it up between me and the light. I saw three excellent pictures of the treasure-hunt.

“They are a bit over-exposed,” Hill grumbled—he is never wholly satisfied with his own performances—“I gave them too long.”

Maybe! But it says something for the nerve of the man that he had held the camera without a quiver for three time exposures under those conditions. I could see nothing wrong with the negatives. They were everything I desired, and Bimbashi Kiazim Bey, Commandant of Yozgad, was clearly recognizable in each.

At last we had our proof.