Beds were not to be obtained at any price, and they had been compelled to sleep with their clothes on in the plane.
Valerie had located the trouble, and, first thing next morning, they had set off on their last four hundred miles to the south.
After Massawa, Jibuti seemed a quiet backwater yet, as the headquarters of all the neutral hangers on in the war, it was crowded to capacity.
Christopher's money and Lovelace's method of dealing with cosmopolitan innkeepers secured them two rooms in a small hotel. They at once made inquiries about Abu Ben Ibrim, and found that every guttersnipe in Jibuti knew the house of the powerful Arab. Lovelace wrote a letter mentioning Melchisedek of Alexandria and requesting an interview, It was dispatched by hand, and a reply came back that Ben Ibrim would receive them, in the cool of the evening, at nine o'clock. Through most of the day they had remained sweltering in the hotel while the inhabitants of the town apparently slept.
Owing to the intense heat, Government offices and most business houses opened at five in the morning, closed at nine, and did not open again until eight in the evening, as Lovelace told his friends, but, new to this slice of tropical Africa, Christopher and Valerie had refused to lie down during the broiling hours, and were now feeling the fatigue consequent upon their ill advised activity.
Lovelace was still upstairs dozing on his bed when, at last, the sun set and they moved out on to the terrace. For a little while they sat there sucking down iced drinks and panting for a breath of air in the close hot darkness.
Behind them the big bar which was also the only lounge of the hotel had just commenced its nightly traffic. As in other French Colonies, no colour bar was exercised, and all who could pay were welcome. The place was of the middle grade, as Lovelace had thought it imprudent to advertise their presence by attempting to secure better accommodation. A wireless had been switched on which drowned the buzz of the big refrigerator behind the bar; some couples had already started dancing; black, brown, yellow, and white men were drifting in. A few coffee coloured Eurasian girls in European clothes were present, but no white women. The honors’ of the house were being done by a brigade of black Somalis, who, naked to the waist, displayed fine shoulders and beautiful breasts. They twitched their 'hips and shook their short silk skirts provocatively as they moved among the tables, but there was nothing sordid about the spectacle. Their shrill chatter in the dialect of the port was like that of a crowd of happy children.
The only other occupant of the terrace was a tall thin man, seated alone, at a table near by. After glancing at them once or twice he rose, bowed courteously and, introducing himself as Baron Foldvar, asked if they would take pity on his loneliness by allowing him to offer them a drink.
Valerie smiled an acceptance and motioned to a vacant chair beside her. The stranger possessed a delicate aristocratic countenance with sad, grey eyes set deep finder heavy brows. A scar, running from the corner of his mouth to the left side of his chin, marked his 'sate but did not mar it.
After the Somali waiter had been summoned and a fresh round of drinks ordered Baron Foldvar inquired suavely, `Do you go to Addis Ababa, or have you just come down the line?'
'We only arrived in Jibuti this morning,' Christopher told him, 'and we're hoping to be able to transact our business here so that it won't be necessary for us to go up into the interior.'
`Indeed!' The older man raised his eyebrows. `Your case is unusual. Nine out of every ten white people in Jibuti are either coming or going from Addis in these days. The tenth only remains here because he cannot beg, borrow, or steal enough money for his ticket.'
`Are you just back or on your way up?' Valerie asked.
`I go up on tomorrow's train. An abominable trip; so I'm informed. Insolent native officials from whose persecution there is no escape except by bribery; the most disgusting food; and even the water offered in the buffets of the wayside stations quite undrinkable so that one must go with a private supply of Vichy if one would escape enteric. I have travelled much but I confess that I find the prospects of this journey particularly unalluring.'
Christopher sipped the orange juice that the waiter had just set down before him. `It sounds beastly. Thank goodness we'll be travelling by plane if we do have to go. Have you heard anything fresh about the war?'
`The vanguard of the Italian columns are reported to have entered Dessye, the Emperor's battle headquarters.'
`Is that so? If it's true, they're moving mighty rapidly. D'you think they can keep it up?'
Baron Foldvar shrugged. `It is impossible to say. Anything might happen in such a crazy war as this. When the Italians opened their campaign I am quite certain they never dreamed of achieving the swift progress they have made in the last fortnight. Now that they have initiated this lightning thrust who shall predict how far it may penetrate?'
`The Italians have changed their policy then.' Valerie leaned forward. `We know practically nothing about the actual war but you seem very well informed. Do tell us what's been going on.'
'I know very little,' their new friend replied gravely, 'but at one time I was an officer on the Imperial Austrian General Staff. Before the Great War I was for some time Assistant Military Attaché to the Austrian Embassy in London. That is why, pardon me if I seem to boast, many people have been kind enough to say that I speak very good English.'
`You do indeed,' Valerie agreed. 'But you were saying. ..'
`That as a Staff Officer it was my duty to study all problems which might give rise to future wars. Particularly with reference to Italy because, in those days, although they were both members of the Triple Alliance, the interests of Austria Hungary and Italy differed upon so many points.'
`The last twenty years have altered all that,' Christopher remarked.
`Yes, Mussolini has changed the Italian mentality a great deal. Under Fascism the national self confidence has increased out of all recognition but his influence has not been sufficient to eradicate the Italian army's memory of their defeat at Adowa in 1896. That defeat has been much exaggerated. It was largely due to the parsimonious attitude of the Government in Rome who refused to grant even one tenth of the money for the Italian expedition against Menelik that the British had voted for their General Napier when he marched against the Emperor Theodore and penetrated as far as Magdala in the previous decade.
'In actual fact, they lost less than a thousand white troops and between three and four thousand Askaris; while both performed prodigies of valour during that disastrous retreat fighting against overwhelming odds. Yet they've never been able to get rid of the idea that they were badly beaten. Perhaps that is not altogether surprising as, almost unsuspected by them, Menelik gathered together over a hundred thousand warriors secretly in the mountains and fell upon them when they were still in the initial stages of their retirement.
`In any case, that memory still dominated De Bono's policy at the opening of the present campaign. He was terrified of pushing his outposts forward even another mile unless he could support them with masses of troops. Yet he could not advance his main forces until roads were made behind them at every step to ensure the delivery to them of adequate ammunition and supplies. Hence the extraordinary slowness of the Italians initial operations. The war opened on October 3rd; by the 6th they had already avenged Adowa and a few days later they took the sacred city of Aksum, both less than twenty five miles from the Eritrean frontier. Then they stuck. It took them over a month to advance another sixty miles to Makale because they were proceeding with such extreme caution.