Adventure Magazine Cover — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

The King in Check went to sleep again. The sensation was like being turned loose in the strong-room of a national treasury with nobody watching if you should choose to help yourself. There are acres of floor in that building. We walked twice the whole circuit of the upper and lower corridors, knocking on doz- ens of doors but getting no answer, and finally brought up in the entrance hall. Then it occurred to me that Grim might have gone into the building by some private entrance, perhaps around on the eastern -side, so we set out to look for one. We had just reached the northwest angle of the building, when Narayan Singh, who was walking a pace in front, stopped sud- denly and held up both hands for silence. Whoever he could see among the shadows must have heard us, but it was no rare thing for officers to come roistering down thdse front steps and along the drive hours after midnight, and our sudden silence was more likely to give alarm than the noise had been. I began talking again in a normal voice, saying anything at all, peering about into the shadows meanwhile. But it was several seconds before I made out what the Sikh’s keener eyes had detected instantly, and Jeremy saw it before I did. There was a magnolia shrub about ten paces away from us, casting a shadow so deep that the ground it covered looked like a bottomless abyss. But nevertheless, something bright moved in it—perhaps the sheen of that lone light 1n an upper win- dow reflected on a knife-hilt or a button— something that moved in time to a man’s breathing. If there was a certainty in the world it was that somebody who had no right to be there was lurking in that shadow, and he was pre- sumably up to mischief. On the other hand, I had absolutely no right in that place either. Jeremy and Narayan Singh, being both in the British army, were liable to be disciplined, and I might be requested to leave the country, if we should happen to blunder and tree the wrong ’possum, re- venge being more than usually sweet to the official disturbed in the pursuit of unauthor- ized “‘diplomacy.”’ It might even be some clandestine love affair. 3 So I took each of my companions by the arm, gripping Jeremy’s particularly tightly, and started forward, whispering an explana- tion after we had turned the corner.of the building. 25 “Let one of us go and warn the guard,” I suggested. ‘If we should draw that cover and start a shindy, we’re more likely to get shot by the guard than thanked.” So Narayan Singh started off for the guard-house, he being the one most capable of explaining matters to the Sikh officer, and Jeremy and I crept back through the shad- ows to within earshot of the dark magnolia tree, choosing a point from which we could see if anybody bolted. You know how some uncatalogd sense informs you in the dark of the movement of the man beside you? I looked suddenly sideways toward Jeremy, knowing, although I couldn’t see him, that his eyes were seek- — ing mine. It is only the animals who omit in the darkness those instinctive daylight movements; men don’t have sufficient con- trol of themselves. We had both heard Grim’s voice at the same instant, speaking Arabic but unmistakable. There were three men there. talking to the other two. ‘“‘Keep your hands on each other’s shoul- ders! Don’t move! I’m going to search all your pockets again. Now, Mr. Charkian. Ah! That feels like quite a pretty little weapon; mother o’ pearl on the butt? Have you a permit? Never mind; not having the weapon you won’t need a permit, will you? And papers—Mashallah! what a lot of docu- ments; they must be highly important ones since you hide them under your shirt. I ex- pect you planned to sell them, eh? Too bad, too bad! “You keep your hands on Mr. Charkian’s Shoulders, Yussuf Dakmar, or I’ll have to use violence! I’m not sure, Mr. Charkian, that it wouldn’t be kinder to society to send you to jail after all; you need a bath so badly. It seems a pity that a chief clerk to the Administration shouldn’t have a chance to wash himself, doesn’t it? Well: I'll have to read these papers afterward— after we’ve usurped the prerogative of Destiny and mapped out a little of the future. Now—are you both listening? Do you know who I am?” . There was no answer. _ “Vou, Mr. Charkian?” ° “T think you are Major Grim.” “Ah! You wish to flatter me, don’t you? Never mind; let us pretend I’m Major Grim disguised as an Arab; only, I’m afraid we must continue the conversation in Ara- bic; I might disillusion you if I tried to talk Grim was COMmMiCoooks Cc C@