Читать книгу The Iblis at Ludd - Talbot Mundy - Страница 6

Table of Contents

“That was only an American devil. This is a Palestine one. They are much worse.”

THERE is one good thing, at any rate, about being commissioned under army regulations. It is true that you have to concede gentility to seniors sometimes ignorant of the crudest meaning of the word; but on the other hand you yourself remain a presumptive gentleman until the contrary is proven. You are liable to arrest at the whim of arrogance; but you don’t have to find bail, or sit in a cell until your case comes up for hearing.

So Jim found Catesby taking it easy in a deckchair in his tent—a pretty good tent, nicely hung with souvenirs of the East from Cairo to Bokhara, with soda-water siphons in a basket full of wet grass slung from the ridge-pole in the sun to keep them cool, and plenty to read.

“Hullo, Uncle Sam. What are you doing here? Come in. Make yourself at home. I heard you were under arrest in Jeroosh.”

“No. I apologized.”

“Lucky devil. Wish an apology might fumigate my official rep. Afraid I’m damned. How on earth did you manage it? Jinks had been bragging all over the shop that he’d as good as broke you. Mother of me! D’you mean to say you’re at liberty and camping on Jinks’ trail? Oh—what was that word of Roosevelt’s—oh, bully! Jimgrim, if you get Jenkins’ number I’ll pledge myself to black your boots from now to doomsday.”

“My orders are to whitewash him.”

“Oh, damn! That means good-by me. Home for me on a troopship to what used to be Merrie England—broke.”

“Incidentally I’ve orders to clear you.”

“Can’t be done, old man; not if the impeccable Jinks is to save his face. They tell me sub rosa that he’s cooking up half a dozen extra charges to make sure of breaking me.”

“Business is business,” Jim chuckled. “All this firm asks is orders. Goods delivered while you wait.”

“But listen; we haven’t an earthly. Two tons of TNT came in a truck consigned by mistake to this brigade. The R.T.O. (railway man) shot it into a sliding and notified Jinks, who probably lost the advice or lit his pipe with it.

“Three days later the Air Force, who were expecting the stuff, began to make inquires—twisted the tail of the R.T.O. to help his memory—went to the siding—found the truck—seals broken—no TNT. Went to Jinks promptly. Jinks blustered as usual—denied all knowledge of the consignment—was shown a copy of the R.T.O’s memorandum—remembered a few stale grudges against me, and swore he had give me orders to go and take charge of the stuff the moment it came. I was sent for, and it was the first I’d heard of it.

“In less than two minutes he had me under arrest to await court martial for culpable negligence and disobedience to orders. I shall plead not guilty, of course. He’ll swear he gave me orders. I’ll deny it. His word against mine. Maalesh—feenish!—as the Arabs say.”

“What other charges can he bring against you?”

“Anything he pleases. What’s the odds? There’s so much thieving going on in this camp—no thieves caught or stuff recovered—that any sort of charge against anyone gets believed. How can you possibly checkmate a brigadier like Jenkins in the circumstances?”

“Did you ever kill a dog?” asked Jim.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Bullet. Poison. Why?”

“They say there are more ways of killing them than by choking them to death with butter; but suppose we try butter just this once.”

“Jinks’ll eat all the butter there is and yell for more.”

“Let’s try him. Tell me what you know, or guess, or think, about that TNT. You know I’ve discovered the stuff in Jerusalem? There was a Moslem plot to blow up the Dome of the Rock and blame it on the Zionists. Who’s the worst fanatic in these parts?”

“All the Hebron men are fanatics; you know that. They’re the principal thieves. They hide all over the place, and grease themselves at night, and slip past the sentries. Once in a while one gets skewered with a bayonet or shot, but the look outweighs the risk, and for one that gets napooed twenty get away with it.”

“Kettle told me it looked like organized conspiracy.”

“I don’t believe it. It’s just half-brother Ishmael with his hand against every man and every man’s hand against him.”

“You haven’t heard of any sheik or priest or trader hereabouts who’s getting rich and uppish?”

“No. It’s simply a case of flies around a jam-pot.”

“See you later,” said Jim, grinning to hide from Catesby his own appreciation of the fact that the brigadier held all the trump cards.

He continued to wear the grin by way of self-encouragement.