Adventure Magazine Cover — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

14 revolution here in Palestine in Feisul’s name? Why not get the malcontents to murder “Jews wholesale, with propaganda blowing full blast to make it look as if Feisul’s hand is directing it all? It’s as simple as falling off a log. French agents who look like honest Arabs approach the most hare- -brained zealots who happen to be on the inside with Feisul, and suggest to them that the French and British are Allies; therefore the only way to keep the British from help- ing the French will be to start red-hot trouble in Palestine that will keep the British busy protecting themselves and the Jews. “The secret agents point out that al- though Feisul is against anything of the sort, he must be committed to it for his own sake. And they make great capital out of Feisul’s promise that he will protect the Jews if recognized as king of independent Syria. ‘Kill all the Jews beforehand, so there won’t be any for him to protect when the time comes!’ that’s the argument.” Mabel interrupted. “Haven’t you warned Feisul?”’ She had both elbows on the table and her chin between her hands, and I dare say she had listened in just that attitude to fifty inside stories that the newspapers would scatter gold in vain to get. “T sure did. And he has sent one of his staff down here to keep an eye on things. I saw him this afternoon riding in a cab toward the Jaffa Gate. I said as much to that fellow in the hospital, and he was scared stiff at the idea of my recovering the supposed Feisul letter and showing it to an officer who is really in Feisul’s confidence. That—I mean the man’s fear—linked every- thing up.” “You talk like Sherlock Holmes,” laughed Jeremy. “I'll bet you a new hat nothing comes of it.” “That bet’s on,” Grim answered. “It’s to be a female hat, and Mabel gets it. Order an expensive one from Paris, Mabel; Jeremy shall pay. We’ve lots of other in- formation. - The troops here have been warned of an intended massacre of Jews. The arrival of this letter probably puts a date to it. “But it puts a date to something else on which the whole future of the Near East hangs; and that means the future of half the world, and maybe the whole of it, because about three hundred million Mohammedans Adventure are watching Feisul and will govern them- selves accordingly. India, Persia, Meso- potamia, Egypt, all Northern Africa— there’s almost no limit to what depends on Feisul’s safety; and the French can’t or won’t understand that.” There came the sound of heavy ammuni- tion boots outside on the stone step, fol- lowed by a cough that I believe I could recognize among a thousand. Narayan Singh coughs either of two ways—once, deep bass, for all’s well; twice, almost falsetto, for a hint of danger. This time it was the single deep bass cough. But it was followed after half a minute by the two high-pitched barks, and Grim held up a hand for silence. At the end of perhaps a minute there came from the veranda a perfect imitation of the lascar’s ungrammatical, whining sing-song from a fo’castle-head— “Hum dekta hail” * Grim nodded—to himself, I suppose, for none had speken to him. “Do you mind stepping out and getting that letter from him, Ramsden? Keep in the shadow, please, and give him this pistol; he may need it.” So I slipped out through the screen door and spent a minute looking for Narayan Singh. I’m an old hunter, but it wasn’t until Narayan Sigh deliberately moved a hand to call attention to himself that I dis- covered him within ten feet of me. The risk of being seen from the street in case some spy were lurking out there was obvious. So I walked all the way round the house, and came and stood below him on his left hand where the house cast impenetra- ble shadow; but though I took my time and moved stealthily he heard me, and passed me a letter through the veranda rails, accepting the pistol in exchange without comment. I cold see him distinctly from that angle. His uniform on one side was torn almost into rags, and his turban was all awry, as if he had lost it in a scuffle and hadn’t spared time to rewind it properly—a sure sign of desperate hastc; for a male tiger in the Spring-time is no more careful of his whis- kers than a Sikh is of the thirty yards of cloth he winds around his head. As he didn’t speak or make any more movement than was necessary to pass me the letter and take the pistol, I returned the way I had come, entered by the back *I’m on the watch. . COnniclboool< (C©@