CHAPTER XX
The Desert Wireless Station
"DONKEY, sah? Good donkey, sah? Me good dragoman. Talk Englis' likeEnglisman, sah. Me good----"
"Oh, chuck it, do!" exclaimed Osborne. "No can do; savee?"
It was on the outskirts of Alexandria. Osborne and Webb, already"bored stiff" with the doubtful charms of the sun-baked Egyptianseaport, were longing to be afloat once more. Up to the present theirwishes in that direction had not been gratified. In common with therest of the surviving officers and crew of the lost _PortchesterCastle_, they were resting, first at Port Said and then atAlexandria, pending Admiralty instructions and appointment to anothership.
Early on this particular afternoon the two chums had gone for a walkbeyond the limits of the town. It was a glorious chance to tramp on abroiling hot day, in a place where almost everyone rides, and thenonly when it is necessary to be out and about. It was the time ofsiesta, or midday rest, but the superabundant energies of the twoyoung officers were not to be denied. Both carried revolvers--aprecaution rendered necessary by the existing conditions of theEgyptian frontiers.
Barely had they drawn clear of the squalid native quarter when theywere assailed by the demonstrative attention of a swarm of 'Gippydonkey-boys, whose natural cupidity overcame their curiosity at thesight of two Englishmen braving the scorching heat of the sun.
By dint of very forcible language, backed by a pretence of forciblemethods, Osborne had succeeded in freeing himself and his companionfrom the undesired attentions of the mob, with one exception. Thelatter, a tall, sparely built fellah, hung on like a leech.
"Tomb of Ctesos, sah," he vociferated. "Not far. Far to walk, but notfar for donkey, sah. Twen'-fivee piastres" (up went the fingers ofhis right hand five times to emphasize the point) "all de way. Dirtycheap, sah."
Osborne hesitated and was lost.
"Tomb of Ctesos?" he repeated. "H'm, I've heard of it. Sort of ruinedpyramid, I believe, Tom. Well, it's something definite to do. Howabout it?"
"I'm on," replied Webb. "Figuratively, of course. When it comes tothe back of a donkey it may be a different matter."
"The brutes look quiet enough," resumed Osborne, eyeing the threesorry-looking donkeys, who were continually flicking their ears in avain attempt to rid themselves of the tormenting attentions of aswarm of flies. "All right," he added, addressing the donkey-boy."Twenty-five piastres, mind!"
The 'Gippy extended a grimy, sunburned hand. "On de nail," heexclaimed, making use of one of many English idioms that he hadpicked up in the course of his dealings with tourists in pre-wardays, and with British and Australian troops since the outbreak ofhostilities.
The officers smiled. The words, coming from the lips of adark-skinned Egyptian, tickled them. The fellow's eyes looked sopathetic and trustful that Osborne obligingly paid for the hire ofthe animals.
Evidently the guide was not going to exert himself by walking.Throwing himself upon the back of the third donkey he urged thebrutes into a steady trot, yelling the while in a jargon of Englishand Arabic, and belabouring the animals with a stick.
"Avast there!" said Osborne authoritatively. "Stop it! Not so much ofthe stick business. They'll go just as well without."
The "boy"--he was a man of between twenty-five and thirty--obeyed,but only for a time. Ere long he began to thrash the animals again.
"For the second time, stop it!" thundered the Lieutenant.
The donkey-driver muttered something under his breath. A momentaryscowl flashed across his olivine features. If looks could kill,Osborne would have been stretched lifeless in the desert.
On and on the donkeys went, sometimes trotting, at others ploddingstolidly through the sand; for already the cotton-fields had beenleft behind, and nothing but the desert could now be seen, bounded onthe right hand by the intricate swamps of Lake Mareotis. Before theyhad gone five miles, both the officers discovered, to their greatdiscomfort, that their mounts possessed very aggressive backbones,the pain from the sharp edges of which the meagre native saddle didlittle to mitigate.
"How much farther?" enquired Webb.
"Not far," was the 'Gippy's non-committal reply.
"Hanged if I don't think the rascal is taking us past the place,"declared Osborne, indicating a solidly constructed building on theleft, at a distance of about three-quarters of a mile.
The donkey-boy saw the gesture.
"No, sah, no," he expostulated earnestly. "Him no good. Nothing dere;empty. Tomb of Ctesos, sah, him be right dere."
"Dash the tomb of Ctesos!" declared Osborne. "It's not good enough.Look here, Ali Babi; we've chucked the idea. We'll have a look atthis place instead. We may find shelter from the sun, and get back inthe cool of the evening."
The suggestion did not at all meet with the native's approval.Obviously he had strong reasons against falling in with the proposal.
"Evidently our dusky dragoman considers this to be a breach ofcontract," observed Webb.
"Can't imagine why," rejoined Osborne. "If what he says is correctwith reference to the direction of this precious tomb, we're savinghis animals a considerable distance. He who pays the piper calls thetune, you know; so let's be firm."
Accordingly, the two officers turned the donkeys in the direction ofthe ruined building that Osborne had indicated. With ill-concealedsullenness the Egyptian slowed down, riding at twenty paces in therear of the chums.
Suddenly he gave vent to a shrill cry. Instantly the animals thatOsborne and Webb were bestriding came to a dead standstill; then,keeping their forefeet planted firmly in the ground, they lashed outfuriously with their hind legs.
In vain Webb attempted to keep his saddle. Describing an inelegantcurve he alighted on his head in the sand. Fortunately the softnessof the ground deadened the impact; but, feeling considerably shaken,he regained his feet to find Osborne sitting regarding him ruefully.As for the donkeys, they were skeltering off more quickly than theyhad done before in the course of that afternoon, while the 'Gippy,still astride his mount, jeered at his employers until he was out ofear-shot.
"The fellow's got his own back," admitted Osborne, laughing at hisown discomfiture. "And we paid him beforehand, worse luck! No matter!we'll carry on now we're about it, and inspect this ruined show. Ifwe start at four o'clock we ought to be back before sunset, and itwon't be so oppressively hot to pad the hoof."
"We're taking a long time to cover this half-mile," remarked Webb,when after a steady tramp the ruins seemed no nearer. "Suppose itisn't a mirage, what?"
"Hope not," replied Osborne. Then he had to admit that the realdistance had been diminished by the vagaries of the atmosphere.Although the tomb, or whatever it might be, was a real object, it hadseemed to be less than three-quarters of a mile away when Osbornefirst noticed it. Actually it was four times that distance.
At last they approached the elusive building. It consisted of arectangular central edifice with a few smaller buildings attached.The roof was originally a dome, but the greater portion had fallenin. Fronting the main portion was a row of weather-worn pillars ofred sandstone, ground smooth by the action of the sand-storms ofcenturies. In places the portico still remained, but was evidently ina very insecure state.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Webb, who with true scouting instinct had beenexamining the ground. "Look here; someone has been here recently.We're just converging upon the track of a couple of men and a ledcamel."
"Yes," agreed Osborne, "and Europeans, too; or at any rate notbarefooted felaheen or sandalled Arabs. Well, I suppose they have aperfect right to come here, as much as we have--perhaps more if theyhave fixed up their abode in this desirable suburban residence."
"There's the camel," said the Sub, indicating the humped animalwhich, hobbled in characteristic Arab fashion, was standing in theshade of a partly shattered wall. "No signs of the owners. We'll haveto be careful, old man. We don't want to intrude upon these fellowsif they are engaged in their devotions. If they are Mohammedans theyare bound to be pretty sensitive as far as th
e presence ofunbelievers is concerned."
For the last hundred yards the two chums maintained silence. Theirfootfalls made no sound on the soft sand. At the lofty entrance theypaused. The dense shadows, in contrast to the powerful slanting raysof the sun, made it impossible to see what was within the place untiltheir eyes grew accustomed to the violent transition from the glareto a deep gloom.
Suddenly Webb grasped his companion's arm.
"Hist!" he whispered.
His trained ear had caught the faint cackle of a wireless apparatus.
For some moments the chums stood motionless. The sounds came from anapartment either built in the thick walls or else in a raisedoutbuilding. Presently the message ended, and the two men began toengage in conversation, speaking in Arabic--a language of which bothWebb and Osborne knew but a few words, acquired during their briefstay in Port Said and Alexandria.
Both officers drew their revolvers. Clearly this was a time foraction. The ruins were not a Government telegraphic post. Since theWestern Egyptian Frontier campaign that ended in the defeat of thesomewhat formidable Senussi rising, a quantity of wireless gear,known to have been smuggled ashore with other warlike stores for theuse of the enemy, had been unaccounted for. So thorough had been themethods adopted by the Turks and their German taskmasters, that eventhe nomad Arabs of the Tripolitan hinterland had been instructed inthe use of the most modern form of telegraphy.
When sufficiently accustomed to the gloom, Osborne advancedcautiously, Webb following at his heels. Guided by the sounds ofconversation they crossed the floor, where the dust of years layankle-deep, until they came to a flight of stone steps, flanked oneither side by gigantic stone images representing two grotesqueEgyptian divinities, seated with their hands resting on their kneesand their orbless eyes staring blankly. So smooth were the carvingsthat they might have been chiselled yesterday, instead of severalcenturies before the Christian era.
Up the flight of stairs the two officers crept. The illicitoperators, still engaged in an animated conversation, were unaware oftheir presence until with a bound Osborne entered a small room on alevel with the roof of the portico, and covered them with hisrevolver.
Even as he did so he recognized one of the men as Georgeos Hymettus,the Greek spy, who in the disguise of Alfonzo y Guzman Perez hadfurnished the U-boat officers with information concerning themovements of shipping at Gibraltar, and who had so nearly been laidby the heels by Osborne and Webb during their adventurous trip toAlgeciras.
"The world is small, my festive Hymettus," observed Osborne suavely."Now, kindly put your hands up and give no trouble."