Adventure Magazine Cover — page 17: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The King in Check “T’d like to keep you out of jail, if that’s possible,’ Grim answered. ‘You and I are old acquaintances, Sidi bin Tagim. But of course, if you’re here to sow sedition, and should there be a document at large in proof of it, which document should fall into the hands of the police—well, I couldn’t do much for you then. You'd better tell me who stabbed you, and I'll get after him.” “Ah! But if you get the letter?” “IT shall read it, of course.” “But to whom will you show it?” “‘Perhaps to my friends here.” ‘fAre they bound by your honor?” “T shall hold them so.”’ There was the glint in Grim’s eye now that should warn any one who knew him that the scent was hot; added to the fact that the rest of his expression suggested waning interest, that look of his forebode fine hunting. ~ “There’s one other I might consult,” he admitted casually. ‘On my way here I saw one of Feisul’s staff captains driving in a cab toward the Jaffa Gate.”’ The instant effect of that remark was to throw the wounded man into a paroxysm of mingled rage and fear. He almost threw a fit. His already bloodless face grew ashy gray and livid blue alternately, and he would have screamed at Grim if thé cough that began to rack his whole body would have let him. As it was, he gasped out un- intelligible words and sought to make Grim understand by signs. And Grim apparently did understand. “Very well,” he laughed, “tell me who stabbed you and I won’t mention your name to Staff-Captain Abd el Kadir.” “And these men? Will they say noth- ing?” “Not a word. Who stabbed you?” “Yussuf Dakmar! May Allah cut him off from love and mercy!” “Golly!” exploded Jeremy, forgetting not to talk English. ‘‘There’s a swine for you! Yussuf Dakmar’s the son of a sea-cook who used to sell sheep to the army four times over—drive ’em into camp and get a re- ceipt—drive ’em out again next night— bring ’em back in the morning—get a receipt again—drive ’em off—bring ’em back—us chaps too busy shifting brother Turk to cot- ton on. He'll be the boy I kicked out of camp once. Maybe remembers it, too. I'll bet his backbone’s twanging yet! Lead II me to him, Grim old cock, I’d like another piece of him!” But Grim was humming to himself, playing piano on the bed-sheet with his fingers. “Is that man not an Arab?” asked the fellow in bed, taking alarm all over again. ‘Arab your aunt!” laughed Jeremy. “I eat Arabs! I’m the only original genuine woolly bad man from way back! I’m the plumber who pulled the plug out of Arabia! You know English? Good! You know what a dose of salts is then? You’ve seen it work? Experienced it, maybe? Hah! You'll understand me. I’m a grain of the Epsom Salt that went through Beersheba, time the Turks had all the booze in sight and we were thirsty. Muddy booze it was too—oozy booze—not fit for washing hogs! Ever heard of Anzacs? Well, I’m one of 7em. Now you know what the scorpion who stung you’s up against! You lie there and think about it, cocky; I’ll show you his shirt tomorrow morning.”’ ‘Suppose we go now,” suggested Grim. “T’ve got the drift of this thing. Get the rest elsewhere.” “You can fan that Joskins for a lot more yet,” Jeremy objected. ‘The plug’s pulled. He’ll flow if you let him.” Grim nodded. ‘Sure he would. Don’t want too much from him. Don’t want to have to arrest him. Get me?” ‘“‘Come on then,” answered Jeremy, “I’ve promised him a shirt!” Beyond the screen Narayan Singh stood like a statue, deaf, dumb, immovable. Even his eyes were fixed with‘ a blank stare on the wall opposite. | ‘‘How much did you hear?” Grim asked hirh. “YT, sahib? JTamasick man. I have been asleep.” “Dream anything?” ‘“‘As your honor pleases!” ‘“‘Hospital’s stuffy, isn’t it. Think you could recover health more rapidly outdoors? Sick-leave continued of course, but—how about a little exercise?” The Sikh’s eyes twinkled. **Sahib, you know I need exercise!”’ “‘T’ll speak to the doctor for you. In case he signs a new certificate, report to me tonight.”’ “Atcha, Jimgrim sahib! Atchal’’ CoOmiclbool (C©