Читать книгу Biggles Flies South - W E Johns - Страница 9

Table of Contents

After Kadar had gone Algy turned an accusing eye on Biggles. ‘I thought we were going straight to Cape Town,’ he scoffed.

Biggles smiled. ‘To tell you the honest truth, I was very much taken with that lad’s story,’ he confessed. ‘I liked his straightforward manner, too. This delving into the dark pages of history is extremely fascinating, and it would be rather gratifying to contribute something to archaeological research—quite apart from which there would be some satisfaction in doing the thieves who stole the lad’s plans out of what they hope to gain.’

‘And get knifed for our trouble,’ growled Algy. ‘We seem to do nothing but dash about the world crashing into other people’s affairs. This trip will cost a pretty penny, I imagine.’

‘The boy’s father will pay expenses, no doubt. You heard what he said. If it costs us nothing, as we have a little time on our hands—‘

‘You’ve decided to go?’

‘I haven’t definitely made up my mind yet.’

Algy yawned. ‘Well, I suppose we may as well go there as anywhere,’ he agreed. ‘I’ve always wanted to have a look at the inside of a real, first-class desert.’

‘If we go with this lad you’re likely to get your wish,’ Biggles told him. ‘Pass me that map, will you? I’d like to get an idea of where this place—’ He broke off abruptly, staring at a man who was standing near them on the terrace. So quiet had been his arrival that Biggles had no idea of his presence; nor could he imagine how he had appeared without being heard.

The others had turned at Biggles’s unaccountable silence, and, seeing the man standing there, Algy got up belligerently, for if there was one thing he could not tolerate it was eavesdropping.

Apparently the new-comer sensed this in his manner, for he moved forward into the light, revealing himself to be a middle-aged man of undoubted eastern extraction notwithstanding the fact that he was dressed in expensive European clothes. He was short and inclined to corpulency, but this in no way impeded his movements, for they were made with the smooth grace of a cat. His skin was dark, as were his eyes, which, like those of many orientals, appeared to be heavy and curiously expressionless. He was clean-shaven, and his regular although somewhat rounded features might almost have justified his being described as good-looking; but there was something smugly self-satisfied and well-fed about his expression, and, as Algy afterwards put it, one felt that if one stroked him he would purr. He was, in fact, of a type common in the Middle East, where east and west are all too often blended with unfortunate results.

Biggles spoke first. ‘Are you looking for me, by any chance?’ he asked curtly.

The man bowed, and his right hand touched his heart with an obsequious gesture. ‘Have I the honour of addressing the celebrated Major Bigglesworth?’ he inquired suavely.

‘My name is Bigglesworth, if that’s what you mean,’ answered Biggles coldly.

‘Ah! Permit me to present myself. Fuad Zarwan, Esquire, at your service.’ As the man spoke he bowed again in a manner that made Biggles long to kick him. ‘I fear with deep regret that your privacy has been disturbed tonight,’ he continued smoothly.

‘Even if it has, I do not see that you have any cause either for fear or regret,’ Biggles told him frankly.

The man moved nearer. ‘Pardon me, sirs,’ he almost crooned.

‘What precisely is your business here?’ asked Biggles in no uncertain manner.

‘I have come to express my deep regret at the inconvenience you have suffered.’

‘I have suffered no inconvenience, and, if I had, I cannot see that you need lose any sleep on that account,’ said Biggles in a manner that would have settled an argument with an Englishman there and then.

But the Turko-Greek only smiled and took out a heavy gold cigarette-case, at the same time, with studied carelessness, allowing the light to fall on an enormous diamond ring which he wore on a rather podgy finger. ‘Will you smoke?’ he murmured.

If by this ostentatious display of wealth he expected to impress Biggles he was sadly in error, for the result was the reverse. And his next words, after Biggles had refused the proffered case, did nothing to calm Biggles’s rising spleen.

‘It is very sad about that unfortunate young man who came to see you tonight,’ he observed, placing his fingers together in an attitude of prayer.

‘Why sad?’ asked Biggles crisply, yet not without curiosity.

The other extended the palms of his hands. ‘To be insane is an unhappy state.’

‘Ah!’ murmured Biggles. ‘I see. So he is insane?’

‘At least, he suffers from strange delusions.’

‘About things like lost oases?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Are you his guardian or something?’ asked Biggles.

‘No, but we do not like to see visitors—I might say guests—in our country molested by such people.’

‘Just as a matter of interest, how do you know he came here to molest me?’ inquired Biggles.

The other hesitated for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, you see—‘

‘Yes, I think I see very clearly,’ said Biggles softly. Not for one moment did he believe that there was anything wrong with the young Egyptian.

‘Good! I am glad,’ declared Zarwan. ‘You will take no further notice of his foolish ramblings, I hope?’

‘None whatever,’ answered Biggles with a curious smile.

The other’s manner changed suddenly. ‘Of course, if you seek adventure, and would like to take part in an expedition, no doubt it could be arranged.’

‘You are sending one somewhere, then?’

The other nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and an aeroplane would perhaps be useful.’

Biggles hesitated. He had, of course, no intention of accepting the man’s offer, or even considering it, but he was trying to work out the wisest policy to pursue. There was no point in deliberately making an enemy of the man, if, by pretending to play into his hands, there was a chance that he might learn something. Yet a moment’s reflection was enough to convince him that such a course was unthinkable. He could not associate with a man whose very presence was distasteful. In the end he compromised. ‘We are on our way to Cape Town,’ he said casually. ‘We shall be leaving in a day or two.’

The other bowed. ‘Perhaps you are wise,’ he murmured.

Biggles frowned. Even if he made an enemy of him he was not prepared to accept threats from such a man. ‘Just what do you mean by that?’ he asked coldly.

The half-caste, with a natural but significant movement, put his hand into his breast pocket and allowed it to remain there. ‘Visitors in Egypt are well advised not to become inquisitive in matters that do not concern them,’ he said softly.

Again Biggles hesitated, controlling an urge to kick the man off the terrace. ‘I gather that it would annoy you if we took part in another expedition.’

‘It would be imprudent of you to take part in an expedition that might interfere with my own.’

Biggles kept control of himself by an effort. ‘I see,’ he said smiling, but there was no humour in his eyes. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

Zarwan bowed. ‘It is a great relief to hear you say that,’ he said glibly. ‘With your permission I will now withdraw, regretting the necessity for troubling you.’ He held out his hand, but Biggles was busy lighting a cigarette.

When he looked up the man had gone, so he flicked aside the spent match and turned to Algy. ‘You will go a long way before you meet a nastier piece of work than that,’ he said quietly. ‘Did you notice the whites of his eyes? They were yellow, like those of a wolf, and never by any chance did he look any one of us straight in the face.’

‘Why didn’t you kick the oily-faced hog into the road?’ demanded Algy hotly. ‘I would have done.’

‘And spent the rest of our stay in Egypt preventing people from sticking knives into us,’ replied Biggles calmly. ‘Oh, no. I should say that that gentleman is a knife-thrower in a big way. There was no sense in precipitating an exhibition of it; that will come soon enough, if I know my man.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ answered Biggles, ‘if it is all the same to you, I am going with our young Egyptian friend to help him to find Cambyses and his merry men—or what is left of them.’

‘When are you going to start—tomorrow?’ asked Ginger eagerly.

Biggles smiled. ‘I shouldn’t think so. As they have been lost for about twenty-five hundred years, a day or two more or less shouldn’t make much difference. But what about a spot of bed? It must be getting late.’