The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile "Sapper". Sapper
I wasn't there to gratify Toby's curiosity, and I put him off with some non-committal reply.
"'She's a widow,' he went on. 'A distinctly good-looking filly: a high stepper and a rapid mover. But excessively discreet, Jim—very excessively discreet.'
"'You don't appear mad about the lady,' I remarked.
"He shrugged his shoulders. 'I am not one of the privileged many. But from what I can see and from what I've been told she has altogether too shrewd an eye for the main chance to be particularly attractive. Her present quarry I believe is that ass Hounslow. Some minor official out from England,' he went on in answer to my look of inquiry. Conducting some statistical investigation. And I am told that the air of Cairo and the lady's charms have seriously interfered with the great man's work.'
"I left him soon after, and as you can imagine I was thinking pretty hard. For Toby Bretherton's description of the lady hardly fitted in with the one given me by the man called Brown. In fact I didn't quite see her rushing with outflung arms to the back of beyond up the White Nile. And when I finally met the lady the following afternoon I saw her doing it still less. I was still disguised as an Arab, and I took stock of her without much difficulty. She was surrounded by a bunch of men, and they were watching some flying out at Heliopolis. And Mr. Hounslow, as he then was, was watching her."
* * * * *
"There was a fancy-dress ball that night at the Semiramis, and to that ball I repaired. I was determined to lay up for her, and I did— though it took some time. As Toby had said, she was excessively discreet, and the subalterns cajoled her to go with them to dark corners of the grounds in vain. But at last Mr. Hounslow, not being a subaltern, but a very much bigger fish, persuaded her to brave the rigours of the night air with him. She yielded with becoming reluctance, and allowed herself to be led to a discreet carla jugga in the grounds.
"And there I regret to say that the statistical expert's feelings so overcame him that he kissed her. And Mrs. Dallas murmured George— dear.' He kissed her again, and shortly afterwards Mrs. Dallas agreed to become Mrs. Hounslow. And then because Mr. Hounslow was a Public Man and had duty dances with the wives of other Public Men he left her. She would not come in for a while, she said: she would sit and dream. Even as the man called Brown was sitting and dreaming many moons away up the White Nile.
"It was the chance I had been waiting for, and I stepped into the carla jugga. She gave a little cry, as I bowed deeply before her.
"'Who are you? What do you want?'
"'My name is Ibrahim, lady,' I said, 'and I bring you a message. It is from an Englishman, and it is as follows: "Jack is waiting. It is quite safe."'
"I thought she was going to faint. In the semi-darkness I could see that every vestige of colour had left her face, and her breath was coming in great gasps.
"'But it isn't true,' she muttered after a time. 'It can't be true, I tell you. Jack is dead: I know he's dead.'
"'He is waiting for you,' I went on impassively. 'And he told me to impress on you that there was no danger.'
"'Where is he?' she cried. 'Tell me where he is.'
"And now she was clutching my arm feverishly.
"'Many days' march away up the White Nile,' I answered gravely. 'You will go to him?'
"'But don't you see it's impossible,' she almost screamed.
"And then what little pity I had for her went. As long as she had believed her husband was dead—and to do the woman justice I have no doubt that she really had believed it—I had nothing to say on the matter. The mere fact that I fully shared Toby Bretherton's opinion of her was beside the point: we don't all think alike. But now the thing was on a different footing altogether.
"'Why is it impossible,' I demanded, 'for a woman to go to her lord and husband?'
"She literally sprang at me.
"'You're not to say that,' she hissed. 'You're not to mention that word.'
"'It is the truth,' I answered, and she began pacing up and down like a caged tigress.
"'How am I to get to him?' she cried, snatching at the straw.
"But I wasn't going to let her off that way.
"'I will take you to him,' I answered.
"There came the sound of approaching footsteps, and she seized my arm.
"'Where can I see you again?' she whispered. 'I must have time to think.'
"I arranged a meeting place out beyond Mena House for the following day, and then I disappeared to make room for dear George."
Jim smiled a little grimly.
"I don't profess to know what she said to him, or how she accounted for her sudden determination to go up the White Nile. As I said before, she was a rotten woman, and she was an unscrupulous woman—but she certainly was not a fool. And whatever may have been the secret which had caused the man called Brown to bury himself—at the time, of course, I didn't know it—his charming lady-wife was not unacquainted with the law on bigamy. She had to go, and she knew it: and she had to go without arousing dear George's suspicions. She certainly succeeded: the poor boob was eating out of her hand when I met them near the Sphinx the next day."
* * * * *
"It appeared that Toby Bretherton had been consulted as to my reliability, and I smiled inwardly as I wondered what he had thought about the matter. But true to the instincts of all those who play the game, he had not given me away. And to Mr. George Hounslow and his fiancÚe I was still Ibrahim—a thoroughly reliable Arab.
"The next day we started by train for Khartoum. There I got the necessary boys, and a fortnight later we came to the place where the man called Brown was awaiting his wife. Throughout the whole journey she had hardly spoken to me, save to ask how much farther it was. To her I was just an Arab guide, and when we arrived that was all I was to the man. I don't think he even recognised me: he had eyes for no one but his wife. She—this wonderful woman—had not failed him: his dreams had come true. And with his arms outstretched he went to her, heedless of everyone else.
"'Oh! my dear,' I heard him say, 'I can hardly believe that it's true.'"
Jim paused.
"Ever seen a dog jump up suddenly to welcome his master, and get a biff over the head for his pains? Ever seen a child run up to kiss someone and get rebuffed? Of course you have. And you've seen the light—the love-light die out of their eyes? Just so did the light die out of the eyes of the man who called himself Brown. You'd have thought that she might have acted a bit—Lord knows, she was a good, enough actress when it suited her book. You'd have thought that she might have had the common decency to pretend she was glad to see the poor devil, even though her plans had been knocked on the head. But I suppose it wasn't worth her while to act in front of a bunch of Arabs: she reserved her histrionic abilities for dear George and the callow subalterns of Cairo.
"'What on earth have you done this for?' she snapped a him. 'They told me you were dead a year ago.'
"There was no mistaking her tone of voice, and the man called Brown looked as if someone had hit him hard between the eyes.
"'But, my dear,' he stammered, and then suddenly he began to cough. A dreadful, tearing cough, which shook him from head to foot; a cough which stained his handkerchief with scarlet. And into the eyes of the woman there came a look of shrinking fear, to be replaced almost at once by something very different. Her husband, doubled up in his paroxysm, saw nothing, and a bunch of mere natives didn't count. Hope, triumph, the way out, replaced fear in her eyes: she knew the poor brute who had been waiting for her for four years was dying. Her path was clear—or would be very soon.
"'Jack—you're ill,' she said solicitously as the attack spent itself, and he looked pathetically grateful for the change of tone. He snatched at it—the one crumb of comfort he'd had, and putting his hand through her arm he led her towards his bungalow. He didn't see the hand away from his clenched rigidly: he didn't sense the strained