The Sword of Fate (27 page)

“Please convey my thanks to Herr Hess for his wise generosity,” said the Mufti, standing up. “The money will be well spent. Have no fear of that. Now, gentlemen, it does not seem that we can proceed further tonight with any profit, and it grows late, so I suggest that we should resume our business tomorrow.”

In a sudden panic I realised that I might lose the whole lot of them. There was no charge that I could bring and substantiate against Mondragora. Unless either von Hentzen or the Mufti were staying with him, by the time I had telephoned the police and they had reached the scene the only people they had the power to arrest might have left the building.

Realising that I now had not a second to lose, I came swiftly to my feet and turned abruptly towards the window. My anxiety to get away quickly was my undoing. In turning, my hand brushed against a glass powder-bowl that was standing near the edge of a small table beside which I had been kneeling. For one frantic second my fingers slithered on its surface in a wild endeavour to grab and save it; but in the darkness it slipped from from my grasp and landed with a loud crash on the floor.

Von Hentzen must have been standing just on the other side of the door. I had not even taken another step forward before it was thrown violently open and light streamed in.

The sudden blaze of light placed me at a fatal disadvantage. I had only been able to put one of my eyes to the keyhole now and then, as it was more important to listen than look, and most of the time I had had my ear glued to it. After the pitchy darkness the light almost blinded me. I instinctively blinked my eyes as von Hentzen came charging into the room.

The Baron was a big, broad-shouldered, bull-necked man but he was extraordinarily agile for his bulk. I had barely time to thrust my hand in my pocket and not enough to drag out my
gun before he came at me like a charging rhino. My feet flew from under me and I crashed backwards into the bath.

As I fell my head hit the tiled wall a most frightful crack, and the blow completed what the sudden glare had started. My wits were so paralysed that it didn’t even occur to me to bring my knee up into von Hentzen’s groin as he threw himself on top of me. I tried to thrust him off instead of taking some really effective action, like jabbing him in the eye with my thumb. Before I had even had the chance to put up an effective resistance I found that I had been rendered powerless.

During the brief struggle I had glimpsed the other three over von Hentzen’s shoulder. They had pushed excitedly into the room, and it was Mondragora who eventually relieved me of my gun while von Hentzen, having wrenched me up out of the bath, held me in a gorilla’s grip with my arms twisted behind my back.

By the time I could think clearly again I had been thrust into the sitting-room, and while von Hentzen continued to hold me the other three crowded round me, each angrily demanding in a different language who I was and what I had been doing there. Suddenly Mondragora stopped speaking and poked his head forward to peer at me curiously. After a moment he waved the others into silence and exclaimed:

“I know this man! At one time he was a British diplomat and his name was Fernhurst, but he’s changed it since to Day. Look at him, Feldmar! Am I not right?”

The Baron was still behind me, but to see my face he had only to look in the mirror over the mantelpiece. As he did so our eyes met. His were hard and blue: they suddenly grew round and he cried:

“
Gott in Himmel!
You’re right! This is the young fool that O’Kieff led up the garden path so skilfully in Brussels.” He jerked me round and gave me a great push which caused me to flop backwards into an arm-chair.

“Who is he, who is he?” asked Masry Pasha fussily. “What do you say about his being a British diplomat? Surely not! They are so stupid that they do not even allow their Intelligence people to use their Legations. You are either wrong about his being a British diplomat or else he is not a spy. He cannot be both.”

“He is not a diplomat any longer,” said Mondragora with a cynical little laugh. “I don’t think he’s a spy either, in the proper sense of the term. It’s much more likely that, having heard I had this flat, he came here with the intention of endeavouring
to carry out a little personal vendetta against the Baron and myself. He has already been responsible for the death of one of our colleagues.”

“Two,” I said, with a sudden flare of spirit.

The tall, lean Portuguese shook his head. “No, no! You certainly killed poor Zakri, but O’Kieff got away. After you had stolen his aeroplane it was a thousand to one against his living, but he did. He staggered fifty miles across that desert, and on the third day an aeroplane which chanced to be doing some surveying work from Siwa spotted him. It’s a pity that he’s not here tonight as he has been hoping for a long time that he might run across you again.”

That O’Kieff was still alive when I thought that I had settled his score was certainly a blow, but at the moment I had much more urgent matters to think of. I was wondering what they would do to me. These men were conspirators. The Mufti had a price upon his head for inciting to rebellion. Von Hentzen was in enemy territory. The other two would be arrested if known to be associating with them.

Masry Pasha voiced the thought which I most dreaded, as he said, “If this fellow was in the bathroom all the time he must have heard every word we said.”

I had known from the moment I was cornered that there was little chance of their letting me go free, but I had hoped that they might turn me over to the police, believing me to be a burglar. Their discovery of my identity had put an end to any hope of that, and now Masry Pasha had raised the matter that must be occupying all their minds: the question of their own safety. They would stick at nothing to preserve that. But how could they ensure my not talking? What did they mean to do to me?

I stared round at the ring of hostile faces; von Hentzen must have been quite good-looking when he had been younger in a blond beast kind of way, but he had gone prematurely bald and his high-domed forehead above the heavy brutal jowl did not make a pretty picture; Aziz Masry Pasha was regarding me with cruel dark Oriental eyes that had something snake-like about them; Mondragora’s aristocratic face had the attractiveness of a Latin Mephistopheles, but his thin lips were firmly pressed together and there was not one iota of pity in his steely look; the Grand Mufti stood a little apart behind the others; his face was calm, almost indifferent.

As my glance swept from face to face I
knew
what they would
do to prevent my talking, and the palms of my hands became damp with sudden sickening fear. There was only one thing they
could
do. The Grand Mufti’s quiet voice suddenly cut into the silence with a horrible finality.

“If this man overheard even a part of our conversation it is too great a risk for us to permit him to live.”

Von Hentzen’s brutal mouth curved into a smile. “We have no intention of letting him live, Eminence. It is only a question as to how we can most conveniently liquidate him.”

I swallowed hard. When I had gone into the building I had been quite prepared to murder Mondragora in cold blood. Now I was to be murdered in cold blood myself. The fact that it was a case of biter bit did not make it any easier. I didn’t want to die. I wanted most desperately to live. I simply must not die now that I was to marry Daphnis.

Gripping the chair-arms, I heaved myself to my feet. Before I could lift a finger von Hentzen struck me a thumping blow on the chest which sent me reeling back into the chair again.

The Portuguese spoke conversationally, as though he had not even observed my sudden show of resistance:

“The trouble is to know how to liquidate him without his death proving inconvenient for ourselves. There is no way in which I can dispose of his body here, and there’s just a chance that somebody either saw him enter the building or would ask awkward questions if we took him, downstairs and out of the place between us.”

“Yes, it’s of the first importance that we should not attract unwelcome attention to this flat,” agreed the German. “It might be difficult to find another where all the other flats on the top floor were empty and the risk of anyone locating the high-power radio concealed in the roof so entirely negligible.”

“You could carry him along the balcony to the far end of the block and throw him over,” suggested the Grand Mufti quietly.
No one would know from which floor he had fallen, and if all the tenants disclaimed any knowledge of him it would be assumed that he was a cat-burglar who lost his footing.”

“An admirable idea, Eminence,” purred von Hentzen.

I tried not to show fear as I listened to the plans these charming gentlemen were making for me. The block of flats was one of the highest in Alexandria and from the top floor it must be at least eighty feet to the ground. If I dropped that distance every bone in my body would be smashed as I hit the pavement. In a genuine accident it was just possible that my fall might have been broken by one of the lower balconies, but with these merciless devils, two of whom were professional killers, there was no hope of that. They were far too expert at looking after their own skins to bungle things. It would be death all right, or after the crash I should have so many broken bones in my ruptured body that I should not wish to live, except—yes, except long enough to give the names of the four men who had sent me hurtling to my death. If I jerked my head up and thrust my legs down as they flung me over the balcony so as to strike the pavement feet first, I might possibly survive until someone found me, a bleeding, twisted mess in the gutter.

The Portuguese was speaking again. “To throw him from the far end of the block is an excellent plan, Eminence. The only flaw in it is that, although the drop is considerable, the fall might not kill him. If he could still talk when he was found he might give us away before he died.”

Mentally I groaned. These men were clever as fiends, cunning as serpents. They thought of everything. It was the Grand Mufti who again administered the
coup de grâce
, this time to any hopes that I retained of living even long enough after my fall to have a chance of making certain of my revenge. In his cold disinterested voice he said:

“It is quite simple. One of you must knock his brains out so that, before you throw him over, he is already dead.”

Count Emilo smiled; his fine white teeth gleaming in his sallow face. “Your Eminence is a positive fount of inspiration. The injuries to his head will be assumed to have been caused by his fall, but will certainly ensure his silence.”

“I do not like this,” said Masry Pasha suddenly.

It is said that the drowning man clutches at a straw, and in my desperation a sudden surge of hope rose up in me from the idea that Masry Pasha meant to intervene on my behalf. I looked swiftly at him, striving to discern any indication of softening in
his face; but it was still hard, ill-humoured and angry, as he went on:

“I will have no hand in it. I am a soldier, and it is not fitting that a soldier should kill people in cold blood.”

Von Hentzen swung upon him. “You are old-fashioned, Pasha. I, too, am a soldier, but we Germans have learnt to kill our
Fuehrer’s
enemies in any place we may find them, at any hour and in any way.”

The Egyptian shrugged, and my hopes vanished.

“As you will, then, but do it quickly so that we are soon done with this unpleasant business.”

“We had better take him into the bathroom,” said Mondragora. “I don’t want this room messed up with his blood. The cleanest way would be for you to hold his head over the basin, Feldmar, while I smash it in with the butt of a gun.”

Without a word the German leaned forward to grab me; but I ducked and slid out of the chair under his arm. For a second I was on my feet and clear of them; then the Portuguese thrust out one of his long legs and I stumbled against it. Next moment von Hentzen had sprung upon me from behind and grasped the collar of my coat.

In vain I strove to twist free of his grip. He stood over six feet tall and there was tremendous strength in his bull-like shoulders. While I flailed ineffectively with both fists he thrust me before him at arm’s length towards the bathroom. Mondragora grasped the doorknob and pulled the door open.

As I was forced through it I knew that except for a miracle the last moments of my life had come. These men were utterly ruthless. They had decided only too wisely that I was a menace to their safety, and they would not even consider the matter again before the decision they had taken had been carried out. With his huge strength von Hentzen could force my head down over the porcelain basin which was within two yards of me as easily as I could have held the head of a small child there. Then the Portuguese would smash and smash at the back of my cranium until my body went limp and my life’s blood was pouring through the broken bone and matted hair of my skull down the waste-pipe.

Even as I began instinctively to shout for help I knew that no one outside the flat was near enough to hear me. Von Hentzen had said only a moment before that all the other flats on the top floor were unoccupied. We were a good eighty feet above the street level, and it was now the middle of the night, so few people would be about.

It was then that I played my last card—a trick that a fellow who was said to be an
apache
had once shown me in a low night haunt in Montparnasse, which I had visited with some of my Oxford undergraduate friends during a trip we had made to Paris. Stepping out so that I planted my left foot firmly on the floor, I threw my head forward and at the same instant brought my right heel up behind me in a cow-kick that had every ounce of force I could put into it.

The trick worked: my heel caught von Hentzen between the legs. He let out a roar of pain and I felt his grip on the collar of my coat loosen. Next second I had torn free of him.

To have reached the window I should have had to turn sideways across his front. Before I could have scrambled out over the lavatory seat one of them would have caught me and dragged me back. In front of me, and only three feet away, there was another door. I had no idea where it led, or if it was locked, but my one and only chance lay in making a dash for it.