THE ASIUT AFFAIR

Nothing could be less appropriate to the Spirit of the Nile than our spirit in setting out. We had turned our backs upon medieval Cairo, and our faces toward Ethiopia. Our minds should have teemed with thoughts of early gods, and the mysteries of their great temples. But not at all. Medieval or prehistoric, it was all one to us in our secret hearts, which throbbed with passionate excitement over our own small affairs of to-day, and to-morrow. Little cared we, as our white boat bore us southward, on the bosom of the sacred river—little cared we for the love-story of the Great Enchantress—pupil of Magician Thoth, —fair Isis, in whose honour that boat was named. Her tragic journey along this river, whose stream she could augment by one sacred tear, should have been followed by our fancy. We should have seen with our minds' eyes the lovely lady asking news of the painted boat which carried the dead body of her murdered husband Osiris, asking always vainly, until she thought of questioning the little children. But instead we thought of our own love-stories and amusements. We played bridge, and danced the Tango on deck; we drummed on the piano, or warbled the latest musical comedy airs. Above all, we flirted, or gossiped about those who flirted, if for any reason we were off the active list of flirters ourselves.

To be sure, we had brought learned books, and took pains to leave them in our chairs, open at marked passages of deep interest to students. We even scribbled heterogeneous notes, if for a moment there were nothing more amusing to do; and bits of paper scampered wildly about the deck informing those who retrieved them that "Nub" was ancient Egyptian for "gold," that Osiris created men and women from the tears he wept over his own body, cut in pieces by Set; that the ivy was his favourite plant; or that "scarabeus" was the Greek word for a blue-green beetle, which created itself from itself, becoming the symbol of eternal life. All this, however, was affectation. Each hoped others might think that he or she was not an ordinary tourist: each wished to pose as a devotee of some phase of history concerning gods, temples, or portrait statues, anything not difficult to "study up." But life was too strong for us. The colour and glamour of the Nile got into our blood. Hathor, goddess of Love, bewitched us into doing queer things which we should not have dreamed of doing if we hadn't drunk "Nile champagne." Yet after all, what did it matter? We were absorbing what our hearts, if not our minds, called out for: the enchantment of Egypt.

More or less conscientiously I performed the duties Sir Marcus Lark had bribed me to perform. I gave neat little lectures, and tried to remind people, whether they liked it or not, that almost every moment the boat was taking us past places of astonishing interest.

The so-called tombs of "Beni Hasan," the Enchantress Isis stopped for us to see, in order that we might admire wall-paintings in rock chambers, and gabble about Queen Hatasu or King Seti and his mother Pakhet, the "Beautiful Lady of the Speos." But it was difficult to rouse emotion concerning things which we glided by without visiting.

Ruined temples were everywhere, "thick as flies," as I heard Harry Snell say to Enid Biddell; but why bother about them, when finer ones were waiting further down on the menu-card of the Nile-feast? Especially when there was a pretty girl to walk the deck with, meanwhile? As for Tell el-Marna, the Heretic King's great city, the general vote went against a visit to the ruins. Antoun Effendi praised it as one of the most interesting places near the Nile, because with the exception of Queen Hatasu and Rameses the Great, Amen-hetep IV was the most human personality in Egyptian history. But only Monny, who was making a hero of Aknator, really wished to delay at the Disc Worshipper's Utopia. It must have seemed strange to the Gilded Rose not to have her will prevail; but there was a "clique" on board who appeared to find pleasure in thwarting Monny. Her sacrifice to the Harlows was misunderstood. She had made it, said those who did not like her, in order to gain credit for unselfishness, or to have an excuse for displaying herself en route to the public bath, in a dream of a dressing-gown, and a vision of a cap, carrying a poem of a sponge bag. Rachel Guest was still mysteriously more popular than Monny, and was said to have had two proposals on the first day. She didn't want to get off the boat to see irrelevant painted pavements, in the harem of Aknaton's royal palace, and her laziness won, when the vote was taken. But what did anything matter, if the glamour of the Nile was in our blood?

Not one of us but thrilled to the droning cry of the shadoof men on the brown banks, as the dripping water jars went up and up, tier after tier above the river level. Not one but felt a strange allurement in the passing scene; the dark mystery of palm groves, whose slender stems were prison bars against the shining sky; the copper glow of the mud-bricks in piled-up villages; the colour of the flowing water, where secret gleams as from flooded gold mines seemed to glint through masses of dead violets, that floated with the tide. No eye so dull that it could not see how the shadows on land and water were painted at evening with a blue glaze, like the bloom on old scarabs and mummy beads, and broken bits of pottery that art cannot copy now.

In her way, even Miss Hassett-Bean felt the charm of the Nile, and its shores of brown and emerald and peacock-purple. "I don't call it scenery," she explained. "Except when the light is different, or there's some green stuff for cattle growing on the banks, everything's the same yellow-brown; and nothing happens but palms and mud villages, and shadoofs, and a few Arabs, or camels, or those ugly water buffaloes they say the devil made, to show what he could do. But the funny thing is, you can't bear to shut your eyes for a single minute for fear of missing a tree, or a mound, or one of those tall-masted gyassas loaded with white and pink pottery: they all seem so ridiculously important, somehow! Then, there's that bothersome north wind following you, and trying to freeze your spine, unless you pounce on the best seat where it can't reach. If you put on your fur coat you're too hot; if you don't you're too cold. At night your bed creaks, and so does everybody else's. You hear a creaking all down the line when people turn over, which gets on your nerves: but you soon forget; and the whole experience is so perfectly wonderful that I'd like to spend the rest of my natural life going up and down on a Nile boat!"

Through the opalescent dream of these first days and nights, shot the fiery thought of our mission in Asiut. I had been surprised at first that Anthony, who knew so well the dangers and mysteries of the East, encouraged Miss Gilder to meddle in so delicate an affair; and there had never been any explanations between us. But I told myself that his motive was sympathy with Monny's desire to help: or else he had been tempted to associate himself with her in an adventure where again, as once or twice before, he had been able to win her gratitude. Perhaps both motives combined.

As for Mrs. East, she frankly sulked. Intuition told me that she had never dared speak to "Antoun Effendi" about the proposal in hieroglyphics (so difficult for me to explain) which she attributed to him. Never had she dared say: "You have written me a love letter. Why don't you follow it up, and give me a chance to answer it, one way or the other?" But it was puzzling her, disappointing her, if not breaking her heart, that he avoided rather than sought her, on this glorified houseboat where "the Egyptian Prince" was more or less a hero with romantic women. While we four planned, in thrilling whispers, how to rescue the "Ship's Mystery," and Rachel Guest walked the deck with Bill Bailey or Harry Snell, Cleopatra was reduced to writing picture post-cards. I thought, if Sir Marcus had but the inspiration to reappear at some stopping place farther on, she might be ready to forgive him the false lotus flowers: and perhaps he would come, for the Lark type is as difficult to snub as Cleopatra's Needle. I was half inclined to send him a telegram, on some excuse or other.

We came to Asiut in the morning, and it was to be a long stop, for there was much to see, and every one was excited at the thought of our first Nile town, a town already of Upper Egypt, which made it seem that we had come a tremendous way from Cairo. For us, Egypt existed no longer as a country, but as a golden brown, purple-green river-bed and a flowing stream of history on which we floated; so it was fun for those having no special mission, to feel that once again bazaars and more or less sophisticated "Sights" awaited their pleasure. I had given my after-dinner lecture the night before, trying to behave as if I were not boiling with emotion, and had told those who deigned to listen that Asiut, "City of the Wolves," was the capital of a province. I had babbled, too, about the tombs which self-respecting tourists must see, even if they hurry over the inspection of carvings, cartouches, and representations of very small queens smelling very large lotuses (most Egyptian queens apparently spent much of their time, lightly clothed, and smelling lotuses, a ladylike pursuit for those about to have their portraits taken); in order to find time for the mummied cats, the bazaars, the silver scarves, the red and black pottery, and the images of wolves, crocodiles, and camels cheap enough to be freely bought for poor relations at home. "Antoun" and I hinted at business which must prevent our joining the sightseers, who would be chaperoned by the dragoman. Luckily, they got the idea into their heads that our affairs were connected with Sir Marcus, and the "trip." We were pitied, rather than blamed, but our real difficulty was with Mrs. East, as Monny did not wish Cleopatra to be let into the secret. If she knew, she would want to be in the adventure, and in Monny's opinion, Aunt Clara was a dear, but unfitted for adventures.

We planned that Brigit and Monny should call upon the wife of Rechid Bey, whose house would be easy to find. If they were admitted, they would try to bring her out, as if for a drive, for it seemed a case of now or never if she were to escape. In case she were able to come, they would take her straight to the American Consulate, which I was to visit meanwhile, in order to explain matters. But if the rescuers were refused admission, the Consul must be entreated to give active help. I, as a "diplomat," was considered a suitable person to deal with this side of the affair; and Antoun Effendi was to keep unobtrusive guard within sight of Rechid's house until Brigit and Monny, with or without a companion, should come forth safely. As I said, however, the difficulty was Mrs. East. She would expect her niece if not Brigit to go about with her, and would not be easily persuaded to join any other party. As for Rachel, we need not think of her, as she had been annexed by the Biddells, who would otherwise have lost Harry Snell. But Cleopatra! What to do with Cleopatra? It was Anthony who had an inspiration.

There lived near Asiut, it seemed, an Italian who bred Sicilian lap-dogs, said to be like those which had been favourite pets in the day of Cleopatra the Great. Indeed, Antony was supposed to have given one to the Queen. Now, Fenton asked permission to present a Sicilian lap-dog to Mrs. East, a dog so small, so polite, that he could be taken anywhere. Anthony could not go himself to select the gift, but would find an interpreter as a guide to the kennel and bring her back to the exploring party. Cleopatra, delighted with her hero's thoughtfulness, caught at the idea: and when the Set went tearing furiously away in arabeahs or on donkeys, Mrs. East followed sedately in a carriage with the elderly Greek interpreter, and Miss Hassett-Bean, who also fancied the idea of a Sicilian lap-dog, to replace the lamented Marmoset.

Everything glittered at Asiut. The sun glittered on the water; palm trees in gardens glittered as the wind waved their big green fans; the white or pink facades of large, square houses glittered, those fine houses along the Nile, in one of which Rechid Bey was known to live. But brighter than all glittered the silver scarfs which Arabs begged us to buy. Hanging over arms raised to show them off, the shining folds glittered like cascades of running water in moonlight. "Very cheap! very beautiful!" cried the merchants. "Ladies, see here! Your gen'lemen, they buy for you!"

In spite of "Antoun's" dignified refusals, putting the men off till our return, they ran after us, waving scarfs and shawls and robes, white as scintillating hoarfrost, pink as palest roses, purple as sunset clouds, green and golden as Nile water, or sequined black as a night of stars. Their vendors feared that if we did not buy of them, others might beguile us, and saw danger ahead in a distant group of rivals crowding round some tourists from another boat. This group we had to pass, and as we did so, who should break out from the glittering ring but Bedr.

He came toward us, humble and cringing, giving the beautiful Arab salute. "Dear gen'lemen and ladies!" he exclaimed. "I am very happy to see you again. Won't you shake hands, to forgive, because I meaned no harm, and did no wrong thing but obey the sweet ladies' wish when they would go to that House of the Crocodile. I too much punished when I been sent away."

"That's past now, and forgotten," said Monny, shrinking slightly from the outstretched hand. "Perhaps it wasn't your fault, that trouble we got into, but we didn't need you afterward, anyhow, and probably the people you are with now are nicer to you than we were."

"Oh, no peoples could be nicer, though they are very nice, my two gen'lemens you seed with me in the desert. They travel with me yet. We go everywhere by trains, because it takes not so much time as the boats. And Miss Guest, that nice good young lady, is she well?"

"Yes, she is very well," replied Miss Gilder, beginning to be restless, her beauty-loving eyes avoiding Bedr's face, as had been her habit when the man was in our employ. She did not like to hurt his feelings (Monny can't bear to hurt the feelings of any one below herself in wealth or station, though apparently she doesn't consider that one is bound to be kind-hearted with the rich); but I could see that she wanted to escape. Never had she liked Bedr. He had been Rachel's man from the first. "Miss Guest has gone to see the tombs," Monny explained.

"You not go there, and to the bazaars? I take my gen'lemen in a few minutes."

"We shall go by and by; just now we've other things to do," said the girl evasively, rather too evasively, perhaps. But in the hope of killing two birds with one stone (luring the man to betray his secret if he had one, and then shunting him), I broke in.

"How have you been getting on," I inquired, looking into the squint eyes, "since that night I saw you at Medinet-el-Fayoum?"

But the eyes opened wide, with a stare of innocence.

"You see me there, milord? I thought your party had not come when we went away. My gen'lemen not like that camping place, and we stay there not even one night. You must make mistake, and think some other man me. Sure!"

We could not help laughing at the "Sure!" It was spoken in so truly an American way that it was funny on those lips. Afterward, however, it struck me in remembering the scene, that the man's accent in speaking English was even more distinctly American than it had been. This was odd, if he had been associating with Germans; but natural if his new clients were Americans.

Another question was on my tongue, but before I had time to speak, Monny cried out: "Oh, there's Wretched Bey, in a carriage, all alone with some luggage! I hope he's going away!"

Naturally we turned, but I saw Biddy raise her eyebrows warningly. The girl looked puzzled, as if, for an instant, she did not see what she had done that was wrong. But I guess that Biddy's distrust of Bedr as a possible spy was still alive in her breast. She did not know of my suspicions concerning the "camp thief," for the affair at Medinet, thanks to a white fib or two, had never assumed serious proportions in her mind. It did not need that, however, to make her feel that Bedr's ears were not fit receptacles for secrets.

Monny had not been mistaken. It was Rechid Bey, leaning comfortably back in an old-fashioned but not badly appointed open carriage, drawn by two very decent horses, and driven by a smart, red-sashed, white-robed negro. We saw him in profile as he passed along the road at some distance, but he was reading a paper with an expression so placid that I felt sure he had not seen us. On the seat beside him was a suitcase with the air of having been made in France; and circumstantial evidence said that Monny's wish was to be granted.

I glanced hastily at Bedr, to observe, if I could, whether the girl's impulsive exclamation had aroused undue interest; for it was not unlikely that he had seen Rechid Bey and Mabel landing at Alexandria the night of his first meeting with us. But the ugly face showed nothing.

"If you have things you want to do, my ladies," he said, "please excuse that I have keeped you. I go to my gen'lemen or they give the men with the silver shawls too much money."

The "gen'lemen" in question were more interested in observing our movements than in completing any bargain with the street vendors; nevertheless Bedr hastened back as if in great fear that they might be cheated. An arabeah waited for them; and having bought a scarf or two, they drove off before we had parted to go our several ways. An arabeah was in attendance upon us, also, and we put Brigit and Monny into it alone, for Rechid Bey's house, the driver informed us, was not far off.

"Good luck!" I said encouragingly, and Brigit smiled gayly at me; but Monny was looking at Fenton. She was telling him something with her eyes; and, with a significant little gesture, she touched the small leather handbag she carried.

"One would think she was a suffragette with a bomb," I remarked to Anthony, trying to speak easily, as though I were not at all anxious, when the carriage had turned its back on us.

"Instead of which," said Anthony, gazing at the dark head and the fair head, as earnestly as if he never expected to see them again, "instead of which, she's merely a brave girl with a pistol that she knows how to use. Or, anyhow, she says she does."

"Great heavens! Has she got one in that bag?" I gasped.

"She has. My Browning."

"Jove! You gave it to her?"

"I did. Last night."

My heart began suddenly to feel like a cannon ball, in my breast. I felt that I had not understood the situation, and that now I did not understand Anthony—though that was far from being a new sensation.

"I thought that you thought there was no danger?" I bleated. "You know Egypt and I don't. I didn't want them to go in for this thing, but when you said it would be all right, I yielded. I wish to heaven I hadn't!"

"Do you think if you hadn't given in, Miss Gilder would have given up?"

"You and I together could have kept them both out of the business."

"Only by sheer force. You see, Miss Gilder was interested in this girl and fond of her before she met you. So was Mrs. East. As Rechid tricked the pretty little governess by making her believe she would be his first and only wife, they don't look upon her as married to him: And I think they're right. Don't you glory in them both for knowing there's a risk, yet taking it so gayly for that foolish child's sake?"

"I glory in them, but I wouldn't have let them go if—"

"You've changed your mind, just because I gave Miss Gilder my Browning? Honestly, Duffer, I don't think there's actual danger. But, anyhow, don't you see, they had to go, and they had to go alone. They would have hated us and themselves and each other if they hadn't answered the girl's appeal. And we couldn't do the thing, unfortunately, as it deals with the harem. If it can be done at all, it's woman's business. These two are the right ones, as they felt bound to do it, and you and I can but see them through, from the outside."