Читать книгу Biggles Flies South - W E Johns - Страница 8

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When they were all comfortably settled and a native servant had placed coffee on a brass-topped table between them, Biggles looked at their guest. ‘Go ahead,’ he invited.

The young Egyptian leaned forward, his dark eyes keen with eagerness. ‘In the first place,’ he began, ‘as I tell my story I want you to bear in mind two things: one is that this subject on which I am going to speak has a peculiar fascination for me—I mention that to account for what may seem a disproportionate enthusiasm on my part. Secondly, my father was, until he retired a few years ago, an honorary assistant curator of antiquities at the Cairo Museum, where, as you probably know, the most famous relics of ancient Egypt are kept. Naturally, he taught me much, and that is why I am well informed on a subject which, to most people, is of no importance. Have you ever heard of the Lost Oasis?’

‘Vaguely,’ answered Biggles, wrinkling his forehead.

‘I know a little about it,’ put in Ginger, somewhat to the others’ surprise.

‘How did you learn about it?’ inquired Biggles curiously.

‘I remember reading something about it in a paper called Popular Flying,’ explained Ginger.

‘That is correct. I read the article myself,’ declared Kadar Alloui. ‘In fact, I cut it out, and have it here in my pocket. It deals with the last attempt to locate the oasis, the expedition being made by air. I think it would be a good thing if I read it to you, because that will tell you, more or less officially, how the matter has been left. But before doing that I must ask another question. It is not necessarily associated with the Lost Oasis, but—well, it may be. One must consider both questions to gather the full significance of my proposed quest. Did you, when you were at school, or since, hear the name Cambyses?’

‘Wasn’t he a general who got lost in the desert, or something of the sort?’ answered Biggles.

‘Yes. That is more or less correct, but what actually happened was this. In the year 525 BC, Cambyses, the son of Cyrus, the founder of the great Persian Empire—the greatest empire in the world at that time—conquered Egypt. He destroyed the Egyptian gods, and, to complete all, he decided to plunder Jupiter Ammon, a famous sanctuary situated near the Oasis of Siwah. I must tell you about this temple of Ammon, which was then the centre of the great Ammonite kingdom. At the time of which we are speaking, and for many centuries later, it was the most celebrated place of pilgrimage in the world, on account of its Oracle. In other words, the high priests claimed to be able to tell the fortunes of those who went there to consult them. Many people still believe in fortune-tellers, so it is not hard to imagine that the Temple of Ammon flourished in those superstitious days. Everyone believed in its power, and everyone who could afford it went there to learn his fate. You must understand that it was not then so inaccessible as it is now. It stood at the cross-roads of the two great African caravan trails—perhaps the oldest roads in the world. Alexander the Great went there to consult the Oracle. So did Hannibal, the famous Carthaginian general: he made a special journey there to ask what would happen if he made war on the Romans. Croesus, the man of fabulous wealth, went there, as did many other kings and princes. This, then, was the shrine that Cambyses proposed to plunder, and we need not wonder why. There must have been vast wealth stored there; indeed, there are still many legends of treasures hidden beneath the crumbling stones.’

‘Then it is still there?’ put in Biggles.

‘Oh yes, although the temple is now in ruins. But we will return to that presently. Cambyses’ army left the Oasis of Khargah, but it never reached Ammon. Nothing more was ever heard of it. Not a man returned. That night the army disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed it up—as indeed, in a way, no doubt it did. And this brings us to the Lost Oasis, named, some say, Zenzura.

‘Whether or not this Oasis really exists no man can say, yet it would be a strange thing, would it not, if a name could exist without foundation? From time to time through the ages there have come out of the desert strange rumours of an Oasis, and ruined cities, far away in the heart of the dreaded Libyan sands, known to the Tuareg Arabs as the Region of Devils. If you will look at a map of Africa you will see that all that area is left white, without a mark of any sort on it, unless it be the intriguing word “unknown”. Certainly no white man has ever crossed it. Yet rumours of a mysterious oasis have persisted, and that is not all. The Tuaregs, the cruel nomads of the desert, even tell of a strange white race that live there. If that seems hard to believe, remember that there is a race of white Arabs farther west, in the heart of the Sahara, the descendants, it is generally believed by scientists, of a lost party of Phoenicians. As you probably know, the Phoenician civilization of North Africa was one of the greatest in the early days of the world. When, as I say, one remembers this, there would not appear to be any reason why, if there is an oasis far out in the desert, it should not be peopled by the descendants of the survivors of Cambyses’ ill-fated army. Whatever the disaster was that overwhelmed it, one would expect some to escape, possibly the scouts or advance guards. If some of these did, in fact, reach an oasis in the heart of the great sands, they would have to remain there. It would be impossible for them to get back to civilization. They would be marooned more effectively than mariners on a desert island. On an island there is always a chance, however remote, that a ship will one day call, but the fiery heart of the Libyan Desert is perhaps the one place on earth where no one has ever gone, or is likely to go. There could be no hope of rescue, for not even the most daring explorer would venture there. It is rock, sand, and desolation unutterable. Nothing more. It never rains—‘

‘You don’t mean that literally, do you?’ interrupted Biggles.

‘It is hardly a misstatement,’ was the firm reply. ‘The people who live on the fringe of the sands say that no rain has fallen there for more than three hundred years.’

‘Not exactly the spot to open a barometer shop,’ remarked Ginger.

Kadar saw no humour in the observation. ‘It would be a bad place,’ he said seriously. ‘From day to day, from month to month, and from year to year, you can always be quite sure that tomorrow will be as yesterday; cloudless, and of such heat as is scarcely possible to imagine. What would you call a hot day in England?’

‘A shade temperature of about eighty degrees Fahrenheit is reckoned to be hot,’ answered Biggles. ‘Ninety degrees is a rarely experienced heat-wave.’

‘Then try to imagine what a hundred and fifty degrees in the shade would be like—that is, if there was any shade.’

‘Phew!’ exclaimed Ginger.

‘This doesn’t happen to be the place you propose visiting, I hope?’ murmured Biggles dryly.

‘Yes, this is the place.’

‘I see,’ nodded Biggles. ‘Go on. What about that cutting you were going to read?’

Kadar took out his note-case, selected a clipping from among several, and smoothed out the creases. ‘This article is entitled “The Lost Oasis, or, Has Aviation Solved an Age-Old Riddle of the Sands?” ’ he continued. The early part of it deals with the historical facts which I have already given you. It goes on to say:

“Quite recently Sir Robert Clayton and Mr L. E. de Almasy carried out a flight of exploration in a Moth over this region, and discovered what may prove to be the Lost Oasis of Zenzura. They were accompanied by Mr P. A. Clayton, of the Egyptian Government Desert Survey, and Squadron-Leader Penderel, R.A.F., in a Vickers Victoria twin-engined Troop Carrier. They made their base at Khargah Oasis (from which Cambyses’ ill-fated army set forth) and flew over a large plateau known as Gilf el Kebir, in the direction of Kufra. Khargah is about three hundred and seventy-five miles south of Cairo.

“Running eastwards through this plateau, Sir Robert and his companions sighted a large and fertile wadi, or valley. Photographs were taken from the air, and enlargements distinctly show a white spot among the trees which is believed to be a hut. This discovery suggests that the wadi was recently inhabited, and tends to confirm the belief that it is identical with the Lost Oasis of Zenzura.”

‘The rest of the article,’ continued Kadar, ‘consists of a narrative by Sir Robert Clayton setting out particulars of the ground organization. He concludes by saying:

‘ “Although we were able to fly over what we considered to be our object, we were forced to return to our base three days later, as the expedition had been timed to turn back on that day and no further supplies had been provided.”

‘The remainder of the article deals only with the prospects of future expeditions,’ concluded Kadar, looking up from the paper.

‘What date was that?’ asked Biggles.

‘It was some time ago,’ replied Kadar. ‘The article appeared in the August 1932 issue of the paper, so presumably the expedition was just before that time.’

‘And this was the sort of trip you were hoping to make?’ suggested Biggles.

‘Yes,’ confessed Kadar, folding up the cutting and putting it back into his pocket.

‘How exactly did you propose to go about it?’

‘I am coming to that,’ answered Kadar. ‘Ever since I was a small boy the problem of the Lost Oasis has fascinated me. Can you wonder? Even if the Oasis does not exist, somewhere out in the sands lies the mummified remains of an army, with its weapons, armour, chariots and baggage, just as it took the field nearly two thousand five hundred years ago. What a find that would be for an archaeologist—or anyone else, for that matter, since there is certain to be much of value there. And that brings me, I suspect, to the reason for the attack made on me just now. You will believe me, I hope, when I say that my interest is entirely in the historical aspect, and that it was solely in the hope of throwing fresh light on the world’s history that my father agreed to finance an expedition into the desert—not necessarily by air, of course. I have only contemplated that during the last few days. But the question of possible wealth hidden in the sands is not to be ignored. Legend has it that the chariot carrying Cambyses’ treasure-chest was lost with the army, and, frankly, I think it is more than likely that it was. Be that as it may, from time to time jewels—mostly uncut emeralds and rubies—have reached Cairo and Alexandria from a mysterious source. They appear to pass through several hands, and no one knows where they come from. You will agree, I think, that it would not be straining the imagination very hard to suspect that they are coming out of the desert, and that the source is either Jupiter Ammon or the final resting-place of the Persian host. It was in the hope of being able to learn something about this fount of wealth that I have made three journeys into the desert, in disguise, for should my supposition prove correct, then I should soon be on the trail of things far more important to me than mere money.’

‘Did you gather any information?’ asked Biggles, almost eagerly.

‘A little. My task was a difficult one. You see, I know the Bedouin too well to make the fatal mistake of asking questions. But they are born gossipers—as is only natural, for they have no other means of spreading information—and I hoped, by listening, to pick up any rumours that were current concerning the mysterious jewels, the lost army, or the Lost Oasis. As I say, I learned a little, and it may have been due to the fact that I made no secret of it that my plans have now miscarried.’

‘Is it expecting too much to ask what you discovered?’ inquired Biggles.

‘Not in the least,’ was the frank reply. ‘Actually, all I discovered in substance was an inscription on a stone, the existence of which was reported to me by a friendly Bedouin who suspected my mission. I did not see the stone myself, for I was not equipped for such a journey as would have been entailed, but he went out and made a copy of it on paper. Inscribed stones, ruined buildings, and aqueducts occur over the whole of what is now the Libyan and Saharan deserts, relics of the great civilizations that existed there in the dim past; but one glance at the inscription brought to me by the Arab was enough to excite me, for the characters were cuneiform letters. A translation told me that the Persian army had actually passed the spot where the stone was found. That was one thing. The second item of importance was a story told to me by a very old man at the Oasis of Siwah. He said he was more than a hundred years old, and it may have been true. He told me that when he was a young man he was out on a raid, and in the darkness of the night he became lost. He was lost for three days. On the second day, by which time he was suffering greatly from thirst, he saw a spear, or lance, of a type which he had never seen before, sticking up out of the sand near some barren hills. The handle was made of a dark-coloured wood unknown to him and reinforced with carved brasswork.’

‘Did he collect it?’ asked Biggles.

‘Unfortunately, no. Such was his plight that the last thing he thought of was to burden himself further, so he left the lance where it was, intending to return for it later should he manage to get back to his friends. He did, in fact, get back, but the tribe shortly afterwards moved its tents so that he had no opportunity of fetching the lance. Still, it is something to know it is there, for where there is one it is more than likely there will be others. The description given by the Arab makes it almost certain that the lance was of Persian origin. What is even more important is that the two clues, the inscribed stone and the lance, give me the Persian line of march.’

‘So the Arab told you where the lance could be found—or where he saw it?’

‘Yes, as far as description is possible in the desert, where there is seldom anything to describe. Fortunately, as I have told you, the weapon happened to be at the base of some rocky hills, so that should greatly facilitate a search. And, I may say, the area is the one through which Cambyses’ army might easily have marched; that is to say, it is not far south of a straight line taken between Khargah and Jupiter Ammon. You will remember that Khargah was the point of departure, and Jupiter Ammon, which is close to the Oasis of Siwah, the objective.’

‘This Oasis of Siwah?’ queried Biggles. ‘Is it inhabited?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Are the people savage?’ asked Ginger curiously.

‘They are not exactly friendly, but one would not call them dangerous. Until recently it would have been certain death for a stranger, particularly a Christian, to go there. All the explorers who reached the place in the last century were ill-treated; in fact, few escaped with their lives. But allow me to return to the matter of this information which I discovered, for the most important development is yet to come.

‘On all my journeyings, sooner or later I came up against what I can only describe by using the French word impasse. I could get no farther. Something was there, I felt, but it ever escaped me. At first I put it down to a natural reticence on the part of the Arabs, but in the end I became convinced that it was organized opposition to my plans; and this was borne out in a curious way when, not long ago, I announced my definite intention to proceed.’ Kadar broke off and glanced around nervously. When he resumed he did so in a low voice.

‘A man came to see me,’ he went on softly. ‘He is a man well known in Cairo, affluent and influential. He is neither English nor Egyptian. He is, I think, half Turkish and half Greek—but that does not really matter. He came to see me and, much to my surprise, offered to finance my expedition under certain conditions, which were, briefly, that we should retain for our own use anything of value that we discovered. Naturally, I would have nothing to do with such a proposal, which was, not to mince words, dishonest. I must explain, in case you do not know, that every antiquity now found in Egypt becomes automatically the property of the Government, which is only right and proper, or Egypt would soon be denuded of the treasures of her romantic past. Most of the finds go into the museum here in Cairo, or Alexandria; some are distributed to other museums, such as your British Museum in London. Naturally, the finder is recompensed for his trouble. So now you see how distasteful this man’s proposal was to me. In any case, I do not like him. He is not a man whom one could trust. Well, that was all. He went away and I heard no more, but I have felt a sinister influence opposing all my plans. My own opinion is, although I would not dare to say this in public, that Zarwan—his name is Fuad Zarwan, by the way—is behind these jewel finds. He finances the Tuareg, and they, from a secret source, bring him what they find.’

‘A profitable business,’ murmured Biggles.

‘Very profitable indeed,’ agreed Kadar. ‘But to conclude. The affair took rather a disconcerting turn the other night when all my notes and plans were stolen. Actually, the loss was not vital because I had memorized everything, but it means that whoever stole my plans and notes now knows as much as I do. It was possibly in order to make himself the sole possessor of the information that the thief attempted to take my life.’

‘Well, this is all very interesting,’ said Biggles quietly. ‘Your idea was originally, I take it, to lead an expedition into this mysterious land in search of the Lost Oasis?’

‘Yes, the Oasis was my chief objective, firstly to settle any doubt as to whether or not there is such a place, and if there is, to try to discover if the inhabitants—if there are any—are descendants of the survivors of Cambyses’ army. Failing to find the Oasis, I hoped to find the spot where the Persian army perished. But my plans having been stolen, assuming that the thief would try to take advantage of his knowledge, it seemed to me that my only chance of reaching the spot first would be to fly there.’

‘You do not mean that you hoped to fly straight there and back?’

‘Oh, no. I should establish a base at Semphis, which is a small, uninhabited oasis to the west of the large oasis of Dakhel, on the fringe of the great desert. It lies between Khargah and Ammon, and must be on, or near, the line of march of Cambyses’ army.’

‘What about petrol and stores? Quite a lot of things would be required.’

‘My intention was to send a caravan on with them to Semphis. Having established a base there, I could then explore the surrounding country at leisure.’

‘Such an organization would cost a lot of money,’ declared Biggles dubiously.

‘My father was prepared to finance me. He is as interested as I am, and he is not a poor man.’ Kadar made the statement quietly, without any hint of pride or vanity.

‘I see.’ Biggles stroked his chin thoughtfully while Ginger watched him expectantly. Algy lit a cigarette.

The young Egyptian stood up. ‘Well, I must be returning home,’ he announced. ‘My father will be wondering what has become of me.’

‘Just a minute.’ There was a peculiar smile on Biggles’s face as he said the words. ‘Your story has interested me very much indeed. I am always sorry to see thieves get away with anything. Let me think about this. Perhaps we shall be able to come to some arrangement after all. Come back in the morning and I will give you my views on it.’