The Lighthearted Quest (29 page)

“Then why—?”

“Oh, the travel allowance. I'm out here about something else, and I have to earn my keep. But I'm a
good
secretary—when I'm there!” said Julia blithely. “I can't be there all the time—I warned poor old Mme La Besse of that. And in fact I hate missing this grave-robbing—I'm dying to see all that gold jewellery!
Do
find some!”

“I'll do my best,” said Carnforth, laughing his pleasant laugh again. By now they had reached a point in the ascent where the wind-borne sand ceased, and was replaced by stony reddish earth set with stunted shrubby plants; here the rocks were further apart, and the Professor paused before a low mound rising from the soil.

“This could be a grave,” he said. “Where are those Arab creatures with the spades?”

The creatures were far below, pulling up Mme La Besse; so the Professor marked his mound with a minute cairn of small chips of rocks, and proceeded upwards—they found several more promising spots, which he similarly marked. On the top they sat down for a breather, rejoicing in the sun and the keen salty Atlantic air; Julia took her field-glasses out of their holder and established the fact that the
Finetta
was still lying in the lagoon, and her Arab crew still cooking on deck. When the old Belgian and her escort arrived digging began.

The next few days saw feverish activity on the headland. Carnforth insisted firmly that at least six of the Berbers from the site should come up every day as soon as he arrived, to dig under his directions, bringing their midday meal with them to avoid loss of time—thus he was able to work on more
than one mound at once. There are several peculiar features about Phoenician graves, in Morocco anyhow. One is that ninety per cent of them have already been opened and rifled—this was the case with the first three or four which the Professor tackled. Another is the troublesome circumstance that once you have started opening a grave you must go on till you have finished—either by establishing that it is empty, or by removing the contents; otherwise the ingenious Berbers from the surrounding villages will swarm up at night, complete your operations, and carry off anything of value. The only way to avoid this is to mount guard over an unfinished excavation during the hours of darkness.

The first grave of all was a beauty and fascinated Julia; it was entered through an elegant little doorway with stone columns and lintel, from which a short flight of steps led down into a chamber walled and roofed with beautifully cut slabs of stone. As the Berbers' spades removed the last of the soil which masked the entrance Carnforth gestured them aside, and did the final clearing himself carefully, with some help from Julia and her trowel. When the doorway was clear it could be seen that earth had fallen down the steps and into the interior; this Carnforth allowed the Berbers to remove under his supervision—he was considerably impressed by the fact that they had brought up rush baskets in which to carry it out.

“Ah, ils ne sont pas mal débrouillards, ces types-là,”
Mme La Besse commented acidly—“It is not the first time that they uncover a grave!”

Within, by the light of the Professor's torch, they saw along the sides of the tomb narrow stone-cut niches in which the coffins of dead Phoenicians had once been reverently placed, now empty. It was all rather touching, Julia thought—these non-Christian people caring so deeply about an appropriate and beautiful resting-place for their dead.

But however elegant, however touching this particular
tomb was, it was now empty. The Professor made notes and measurements—twelve foot long, six foot wide, seven foot from the floor to the peak of the gabled stone ceiling—but that was all it held for him, and he went on to others of his little cairn-marked spots. Julia, though excited by the first tomb, in her bird-witted way soon lost interest, and during the succeeding days pottered idly about the ridge which formed the headland, watching storks and herons in the marshy land below through her glasses, watching the culinary operations of the
Finetta''s
crew on her rather dirty deck. But in the course of her casual wanderings she came on several more of those unmistakable stone-lintelled entrances to empty tombs; with her cigarette-lighter she examined them—empty, vacant, but perfectly cleaned out. She reported these to Carnforth, and he went with her to look at them—yes, well, there you were, he said; the place was stiff with them, but all rifled and from his point of view useless.

On the evening before she left for Casablanca Julia went down to the bar, hoping for a last word with Purcell, but early as it was the place was not empty; a tall man in tinted glasses sat on one of the high bar stools, reading
Le Mensonge de Tanger.
Julia, annoyed, barely glanced at this intruder as she turned towards her table; the tall man however had lowered his paper and got quickly down off his stool crying—• “My dear Julia! What in the world
are you
doing here?”—and kissed her warmly.

“Gracious, Angus, I never recognised you in those ghastly glasses,” Julia said, returning the Duke of Ross-shire's kiss with temperate affection. “And why are you here? Oh, I know—you're on the
Frivolity.
All the same, what
are
you in fact doing?”

“My dear Julia, what we all have to do—trying to
live,
in spite of the Chancellor of the Exchequer! Look—what will you drink? Oh, what fun this is!”

“Scotch
with you, dear Angus, I think,” said Julia—“but
not on one of those pylons. This is my table.” She sat at it, and the Duke brought his drink over. Purcell observed this encounter with considerable interest.

“Well, tell me”—Julia said, when his Grace had raised his glass to her with the regrettable expression “Cheers!” “Go on.”

“My dear Julia, I simply can't afford to buy bread and cheese, let alone drink, if I stay more than two months of the year in the U.K.! I have it all worked out; I spend three weeks in London with Mollie in the season;
three
daughters, dear child!—and what their schools cost! Then three weeks in August at Inverglass for the grouse, when I entertain a few of my friends, and a fortnight for the stalking—in
total
and most blessed solitude—at Gartavaigh. And that's the lot.”

“It's rather horrid,” Julia mused. “Is old Mackenzie still buttling and running everything at the Castle?”

“Oh, yes, bless his faithful heart; and he's marvellous with the tourists—did you know that we're open now six days a week in the summer? That's what supports Mollie and educates the girls.”

“Where on earth do the tourists eat?” Julia asked, remembering the cooking at Inverglass's only hotel, a small one.

“Cafeteria in one of the wings!—and a huge car park for the charas out where the old rose-garden used to be. All that pays hand-over-fist,” said the Duke cheerfully.

“Well, I expect it's all right, and you have to; but I still think it's rather beastly,” said Julia. “What
would your
mother have said? However, let that pass. Why do you live on a yacht? Do you smuggle?”

“Good Heavens no!” Angus Ross-shire stared at her in horror. “What an idea! We live on a yacht, dear girl, because the sea is now the only untaxed and untaxable form of ‘normal residence'. Neither the avaricious French nor the contemptuous Spaniards nor the affable Portuguese nor the venal Africans can mulct you of income-tax if you only haunt their
shores. So that is where, and how, I live. And mostly in agreeable climates.” He paused, with a gusty sigh. “Sometimes I have a great nostalgia for my own
disagreeable
climate,” he said. “But however—tell me about
you.
What are you doing out here?”

“Odd pieces for my papers. That gives me an extra allowance, of course; and as well I'm working for an archaeologist, as secretary.”

“Good God! What like?”

“A beard.”

“My
dear
Julia! Since when have you taken to beards? Tell me all about him.”

“It isn't a him, it's a her,” said Julia with a giggle. “And about seventy.”

“Good Heavens! Oh, well, we must try to brighten your life, which does sound very drab, poor Julia, and so unlike you. No boy-friend anywhere about?”

“No, worse luck.”

“Extraordinary! I thought Tangier was full of men—they must all have cataract,” said the Duke meditatively. “Well, come to supper on board tomorrow. I'll fetch you in our
gig
.”

“Angus, I can't. Oh
bother!
—what fun that would have been.”

“Why can't you?”

“I'm going to Casablanca tomorrow.”

“But Julia, so are
we
—next week. Wait and come with us; cruise down and save the fare! You see how my mind runs on money.”

“Oh, Angus dear, what a shame! How I wish I could.”

“Well once again, why not? We shall be there in a week. What is the hurry?”

Julia hesitated—not over her decision, but as to what to say.

“Everything is fixed up,” she said at length. “And I'm going on to Marrakesh.”

“Dear Julia, this is all
quite
absurd—we are going to Marrakesh too! You really must come along and make a party of it. My co-tax dodgers are very nice harmless creatures; and one of them, though of my sex, is of the same age as your Bearded Lady—so he can act as chaperone, surely? Purcell, please be most kind and bring Miss Probyn another whisky—it may assist her thoughts.”

Julia laughed rather helplessly at Angus's nonsense, but held to her point—everything was arranged, and she couldn't change it now. The Duke looked rather hard at her.

“Julia, you have something up your sleeve, I fancy. I wonder what it is? Does your aged employer go with you to Marrakesh?”

“Angus, don't pester me! You know perfectly well that if I could come with you, I would. But I can't and that's that.”

“No boy-friend, and yet she has her secrets! Very well, we will respect them.
Parlez-moi d'autre chose.
How is the very beautiful Edina? She really is such an exquisite creature.”

Behind Julia's back the bar door had opened, letting in a puff of cool air; whoever it was that entered sat down at the table by the door, also behind her—she paid no attention.

“She's up at Glentoran,” she said, in answer to the question.

“Ah, yes. Such a lovely place, in spite of the ghastly house. Didn't old John Monro, the uncle, die the other day?”

“Yes.”

“Then who's running it? Not poor old Ellen M.?”

“No, Edina's doing it—and
hating
it.”

“Why hating it? Oh, yes, she had a
riche
amusing job in London, hadn't she? But where is young Colin? It's his pidgin now, surely.”

“My dear Angus, if only we knew! He was last heard of on a yacht somewhere out here—only he
was
smuggling. But we can't trace him.” Julia was rather pleased with this answer of hers, which she brought out quite pat—but it caused Angus Ross-shire to look thoughtful.

“You don't mean to say he was one of that crowd on the
Finetta?”
he asked. “Not that anyone but Grove was really involved, I gather, but it was a horrid business.”

Julia was startled. “Why do you ask that?” she demanded. As she spoke she glanced across to where Purcell stood behind the bar, and saw his face. It told her, as plainly as any words, that he had heard what her companion said, and that Colin
had
been on the yacht that was now lying in the lagoon behind the headland.

“My dear girl, naturally the whole of
le grand bidet
was ringing with the story, and I thought I remembered the name Monro—but of course I never connected it with Colin. They tried to pull
us
in for it at one point—poor Interpol, they try so hard!—but the Zone Police soon cleared that up.” The Duke gave Julia a shrewd amused look.

“You wouldn't be out here
looking
for Master Colin, by any chance, and doing archaeology with your circus sideshow as a supporting bye-line?” he asked.

Julia could not refrain from glancing at Purcell. He had heard again—a veiled discreet delight showed in his face. Bother Angus—he was too intelligent by far.

“You'll be cutting yourself soon if you aren't careful,” she said coldly—and to her surprise heard a stifled laugh. It was not Angus, who was merely grinning at her smugly; and it was not Purcell, smooth and correct, carrying a drink to the table behind her, though still carefully enjoying himself, evidently. Her companion now leaned across to her, and spoke in a lowered voice.

“Don't look now, but there's a rather sinister type sitting just behind you who seems to be taking a deep interest in us.”

“Was it he who laughed?” Julia asked, in the same tone.

“Yes, damn his impertinence.”

“Then I shall look.” Slowly and deliberately she turned fully round. At the table behind her sat Reeder.

Julia did rather well, Angus Ross-shire thought. She got up very slowly, and held out her hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Reeder. How nice to see you again. Won't you come and join us, properly?” And as he rose, a little shamefacedly, she made the introductions—“Mr. Reeder, the Duke of Ross-shire. Mr. Reeder was First Officer on the boat I came out on, and was very kind to me,” she said equably.

In fact Mr. Reeder also did quite well. He shook hands with the Duke, sat calmly down, and said to Julia very nicely—

“I do apologise for laughing just now. I couldn't help overhearing, but I oughtn't to have laughed.”

Julia swam over that.

“I daresay I was talking rather loud. Tell me, what are you doing here? Is the
Vidago
in?”

“Not she. Poor old
Vidago
—Freeman piled her up, going in to Seville to collect sherry.”