Adventure Magazine Cover — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

50 rather than use. He took it off and, groping in the dark, helped Mabel put it on, without a word of explanation. Then, instead of putting on his own Mos- lem over-cloak he threw that over her shoul- ders and digging down into his bag for a spare headdress, snatched her hat off and bound on the white kerchief in its place with the usual double, gold-covered cord of camel-hair. Then came my friend the train conductor and addressed me as “‘Colonel,”’ offering to carry out the bags. The moment he had grabbed his load and gone Grim broke silence: “Call her Colonel and me Grim. Don’t forget now!” We became aware of faces under helmets peering through the window—officers of Feisul’s army on the watch for unwelcome visitors. From behind them came the con- ductor’s voice again, airing his English— “Any more bags inside there, Colonel?” “Get out quick, Jeremy, and make a fuss about the Colonel coming!” ordered Grim. Jeremy suddenly became the arch-effici- ent servitor, establishing importance for his chief, and never a new-made millionaire or modern demagog had such skilful advertise- ment. The Shereefian officers stood back at a respectful distance, ready to salute when the personage should deign to alight. ‘What shall be done with the memsa- hib’s hat?” demanded Narayan Singh. You could only see the whites of his eyes, but he shook something in his right hand. “Fat it!’ Grim answered. “Heavens! That’s my best hat!’ ob- jected Mabel. ‘‘Give it here. Ill carry it under the cloak.” “Get rid of it!’ Grim ordered; and Nara- yan Singh strode off to contribute yellow Leghorn straw and poppies to the engine furnace. I gave him ten piastres to fee the engineer and five for the fireman, so you might say that was high-priced fuel. “What kind of bunk are you throwing this time?” I asked Grim. - He didn’t answer, but gave orders to Mabel in short, crisp syllables. *You’re Colonel Lawrence. Answer no questions. If any one salutes, just move your hand and bow your head a bit. You’re just his height. Look straight in front of you and take long strides. Bend your head forward a little; there, that’s it.” Adventure “T’m scared!”’ announced Mabel, by way of asking for more particulars. She wasn’t scared in the least. “Piffle!’’ Grim answered. ‘Remember you're Lawrence, that’s all. They’d give you Damascus if you asked for it. Follow Jeremy, and leave the rest to us.” I don’t doubt that Grim had been turning over the whole plan in his mind for hours past, but when I taxed him with it after- ward his reply was characteristic: “Tf we’d rehearsed it, Mabel and Hadad would both have been self-conscious. The game is to study your man—or woman, as the case may be—and sometimes drill ’em, sometimes spring it on ’em, according to circumstances. The only rule is to study people; there are no two quite alike.” Hadad was surprized into silence, too thoughtful a man to do anything except hold his tongue until the next move should throw more light on the situation. He followed us out of the car, saying nothing; and being recognized by the light of one dim lantern as an intimate friend of Feisul, he accomplished all that Grim could have asked of him. He was known to have been in Europe until recently. Rumors about Lawrence had been tossed from mouth to mouth for days past and here was somebody who looked like Lawrence in the dark, followed by Grim and Hadad and addressed as “Colonel.” Why shouldn’t those three Shereefian officers jump to conclusions, salute like automatons and grin like loyal men who have surprized a secret and won’t tell any one but their bosom friends? It was all over Damascus within the hour that Lawrence had come from England to stand by Feisul in the last ditch. The secret was kept perfectly! We let Mabel walk ahead of us, and there was no trouble at the customs barrier, where normally every piastre that could be wrung from protesting passengers was mulcted to support a starving treasury; for the officers strode behind us, and made signs to the customs clerk, who immediately swore at every one in sight and sent all his minions to yell for the best cabs in Damascus. Narayan Singh distributed largesse to about a hundred touts and hangers-on and we splashed off toward the hotel in two open landaus, through streets six inches deep in water except at the cross-gutters, where the horses jumped for fear of losing soundings. COMICOOokKS Cc C@