On the following morning he was escorted to the back sitting room and left there undisturbed. The staff were as polite as ever, so he came to accept the fact that he was kept a virtual prisoner only as part of a cautious routine : simply to ensure that he should learn nothing of Zarrif’s business.
He attempted to occupy himself with books and papers, but as hour after hour slipped by he became more and more concerned with the apparent impossibility of getting in touch with his friends. Before they left Athens it had been arranged that if Christopher and Valerie succeeded in keeping track of Zarrif’s plane they should remain for five days at a prearranged address in any town at which they saw him land. If Lovelace failed to communicate with them during that time they would then proceed a stage further south; on the assumption that Lovelace was too closely watched to send a message and that Zirrif would most probably move, without their being able to witness his departure, towards Abyssinia as the date of his appointment in Addis Ababa drew nearer.
After a little Lovelace flung down his book. His eyes were reading the printed lines, but his brain was not taking in their meaning. He realised, quite suddenly, that he had not the faintest idea what the last chapter he had read had been about. His mind was solely occupied with the knowledge that two of the days during which Christopher and Valerie would remain in Alex. were already gone and that there seemed no more likelihood of his being able to communicate with them during the next three than in those which had passed.
As the brief twilight fell, heralding his third night in Egypt, his nerves were becoming a little jumpy from having to keep so strict a watch upon his tongue at every meal; and wondering what sinister business brought those visitors whose footfalls he could hear, but whom he could not see, to this mysterious house on the edge of the desert; yet he had no premonition of coming trouble when Cassalis arrived to say that Zirrif wished to see him. He walked across the tiled hall without the least suspicion that anything had gone wrong.
His first intimation of the unusual was the sight of two of the bodyguard standing behind Zarrif’s desk with their automatics drawn ready in their hands.
A big, flashily dressed Negro, his face shiny with perspiration, stood in front of the desk. His arms hung loosely at his sides and he seemed to have shrunk a little so that he no longer fitted his smart, white suit of European design.
Lovelace took in the scene at a glance. A second later he felt something prod him in the back. Turning he saw that Cassalis, his shiny jet black eyes gone hard and soulless, was holding a pistol to his spine.
With a smile which it took a very considerable effort to produce he looked at Zirrif and asked: `What is all this what's the trouble?'
Zarrif’s green eyes fixed him like those of a snake about to strike. `The trouble is,' he said icily, waving a hand towards the big Negro, 'that I don't know who you are but this is Mr. Jeremiah Green.'
11
The bluff that failed
Lovelace stared dumbly at the negro for a moment. He saw that his only chance lay in bluff and stepping forward he thrust out his jaw. `Who is this fellow?' he demanded hotly. `He's lying anyhow!'
`No sah ! ' protested the black man with an emphatic shake of his head. `I'se Jeremiah Green of Gainesville, Fla.; a citizen of de United States of America. Pastor Donovan gives me dat name in de sight o' de Lawd toirty nine year ago as I kin prove.'
`Perhaps there's some mistake then,' suggested Lovelace. `The name of Green is not uncommon; nor Jeremiah for that matter.'
`He comes from Abyssinia and my agent in Cairo is quite satisfied that he is Ras Desoum's messenger,' Zirrif said sharply, `otherwise he would not have been sent on here to me.'
`Then your agent doesn't know his business,' Lovelace snapped. He knew he was fighting for his life now and must use every possible weapon. D'you think that an Amhara noble, one of the Emperor's personal friends, would stoop to make a confidant of a nigger?'
Mr. Green of Gainesville, Fla., drew himself up. `For all I'se a coloured man I hopes one day to sit upon de right hand o' de Throne. As de Lawd am ma witness I speak de truth.'
`You claim to be the friend and messenger of Ras Desoum? Next I suppose you'll ask us to believe that you dined every night with the Emperor?' Lovelace inquired sarcastically.
`No, sah ! I never saw the Emperor no time tho' I
tried mighty hard. I'se an educated man an' lot's why I were chosen by de brudderhood to take de goodwill o' one Christian people to anudder in de day of lair poisicution by de ungodly. Dem Abyssinian quality may be Christian but dey's a long way from de Baptist Church what sint me over de ocean, Dey wouldri' even shake me by de hand; all “cept Ras Desoum who do believe in de Lawd jes' de same way as I does. Wen I tells him I'se gwine back home he says to me, ”Mr, Green, yo'se jes' de very pusson to be ma hon'ble messenger to Mr. Zirrif on yo' way back thru' Eurupp." Yessah ! lot's de truth.'
Lovelace had no doubt whatever that it was. He knew that coloured people all over the world were watching the war with a flaming partisanship for the Abyssinians, and that their organizations were sending the most varied offers of help, in complete ignorance of the Abyssinians' utter contempt for negroes. In happier circumstances he would have felt sorry for the earnest Mr. Green, who had travelled some five thousand miles, only to be treated as a recently released slave, at the end of his long journey, instead of as a brother who had found the Light, As it was Mr. Green had to be discredited at all costs otherwise Lovelace stood very little chance of getting out of that villa alive. He saw that from the cold glitter of Zarrif’s eyes and the business like way in which the gunmen held their pistols pointing at his midriff.
'I suppose you've got a letter from Ras Desoum to Mr. Zirrif, proving your identity?' he asked acidly,
'No sah,' the negro spread out his black hands with their pale palms uppermost. De Lawd seed fit to strike his servant in de valley an' po' Jeremiah Green were a mighty sick man. It looked like he were booked fo' Kingdom Come an' dem heathen people stole his letter off him while his eyes were fixed on Heaven. But de Lawd raised his servant up again so he come on heah, jes' de same,`
`They left him his passport.' Zirrif tapped the document which lay in front of him on the desk. `It is all in order. I wish to see yours.'
`It's in my room,' Lovelace lied, thanking his gods that he had had the sense to hide that damning piece of evidence. `I'll go and get it.'
`Stand still!' Zirrif rapped. 'Cassalis you go. Make a thorough search and bring any other papers which you can find down with you.'
The pressure of the pistol was withdrawn from Lovelace's spine and Cassalis left them. Zirrif returned to his work and for the next ten minutes appeared quite oblivious of the fact that anyone else was in the room, but his two men kept their eyes riveted on Lovelace who felt quite certain that if he raised a hand they would shoot him down.
Having entrusted Valerie with any papers which might prove his identity before leaving Athens he knew that Cassalis would find nothing, but that was poor comfort. The sudden disappearance of his passport would turn their present belief that he was not Jeremiah Green into a certainty, His nerve was good but he felt it going now. His hands were twitching slightly as he strove to think of a way out of this horrible impasse. What would they do to him when they had satisfied themselves that he was an impostor? This was a secret war and one in which prisoners would not be allowed to live so that they could fight again another day. He had entered it knowing that, yet he had never quite faced the fact that he might be called on to pay the final penalty in person. Would the gunmen take him out and shoot him, he wondered, or had they some other way which would save them the inconvenience entailed by the disposal of a bullet riddled body? He strove desperately to think of a plan by which he might save himself but he could not. His brain seemed to have seized up like a motor engine that is white hot from overwork and lack of oil.