`Come on ! come on!' Christopher urged, springing to his feet,
`Crawl, man, for Gods sake. Lovelace shouted, but his warning came too late. Christopher grabbed at his arm and then sank down on his knees.
I’m hit!' he muttered, "Hell, how it hurts bone's smashed, I think, but, but it's only my left arm I'm not done yet,' He began to wriggle forward aura his stomach.
Lovelace's shoulder was paining him badly and he knew that he was losing blood. As he edged his way towards the house a new clamour caught his attention. Something was happening out in the roadway. Shouting, shots, and a fresh pandemonium came from the outer court, adding to the general din. Fighting had broken out there as well, some private feud, perhaps but he had no time to pause and wonder; they had nearly reached the doorway of the house. It was still open and they both stood up to rush it.
Christopher threw a quick glance over his shoulder. The court was lit by the continuous flash of rifles. Bodies lay twisted and hunched in all directions. The machinegun in the bungalow had ceased fire. The Abyssinians were charging across the open, trampling down their wounded comrades as they ran. The gunmen were still using their pistols, determined to sell their lives dearly. The place was a shambles.
As he turned he saw Lovelace stagger, hit again, this time in the thigh; to save him further exposure to the flying bullets he thrust him through the door of the house and flung himself in behind him.
In the flickering light caused by the flashes Lovelace saw that the hall was empty except for the dead lion. A sudden sound in his rear caused him to lurch round. A figure crouched in the angle behind the open door. It was Cassalis.
Half dazed by pain and weak from loss of blood, Lovelace strove to jerk up his automatic, but the Frenchman was already holding a pistol levelled at his face. A thick, black cylinder on the end of the barrel was less than six inches from his mouth. He recognised the weapon instantly as an ether pistol which could discharge poison gas, like those the Millers of God issued to their appointed executioners.
Lovelace knew then that the game was up. There was no time to duck or charge even if he had had the strength to do so. Yet in that split second the words
`VENGEANCE IS MINE SAITH THE LORD flamed
through his tired brain as he realised that he was to die by the very means they had intended for Zirrif.
Suddenly a fist crashed on his wounded shoulder. The pain was agonising, his knees gave way, and he slid to the floor.
The last thing he glimpsed was Christopher's clear cut cameo like features surrounded by a misty halo of the deadly gas. By striking Lovelace down from behind he had been forced to receive the discharge of the pistol full in his own face.
When Lovelace came round he was first conscious of the clean, astringent smell of disinfectant and the crackle of spasmodic rifle fire coming faintly from a distance. The sound brought back the fact that he was wounded; his thigh and shoulder began to throb. He tried to ease his position by turning over, but found himself apparently strapped down; only his left hand was free and the fingers of it met the cool linen of a sheet.
A freckle faced, sandy haired man, clad in a white coat bent over him. `So you've roused at last,' he said with a strong Scotch accent. `It's near to five days you’ve been lying like a corpse.'
`Where am I?' Lovelace managed to murmur.
`In the hospital ward of the British Legation.' The orderly held out a glass. `Drink this now; the doctor said I was to give it to you the moment you came to.'
Lovelace knew there was some question which he wanted desperately to ask, but his mind seemed to have gone completely blank. All he could do was to stammer, 'What what does that shooting mean?'
`The heathen are killing each other and looting their own town. It started the day after they brought you in within an hour of the wee Emperor abandoning the war and them to their own devices. He went off in the train to Jibuti with his family and friends; to travel to Europe, they say, and ask help of the League. But you must'na talk. Drink this now.'
`Wait!' Lovelace turned his face away. He remembered now the thing he had to know, `Miss Lorne An American lady have you heard anything about her
is she is she safe?'
The orderly grinned. `Ai, and she's been here every hour of each day to look at you. She's safe and so are you. Safe as if you were in the ould Castle on the rock of Edinburgh. Haven't I told you, mon, that you're in the British Legation.'
Lovelace drank off the yellow fluid. His body way now one great pain and he felt very, very tired. The effort to think coherently was too much and, after a moment, he gave up the struggle.
When he opened his eyes again it was the following morning and Valerie was beside him. She stooped and kissed him on the mouth.
`Christopher?' he asked in a whisper.
'Dead,' she said, and he saw that her eyes were almost burnt out with crying, so that she could cry no more
`How, how did I escape being butchered after I fainted?' His head was clearer now and the details of that last scene of carnage were coming back to him
She leaned nearer. I couldn't stand it, Anthony 1 couldn't stand it. I stuck it out for six hours and every moment I thought I was going mad; then I caved in and made Henrick Heidenstam take me to the Emperor.
`I told him everything the whole truth about the Millers of God and he understood. He was wonderful, oh, wonderful. He sent troops at once to arrest Zirrif’s gunmen and both of you. They arrived in time to save you, but poor Christopher was dead. He gave his life for Peace.'
`He gave his life to save mine,' Lovelace said softy, `Later I'll tell you about it; but we failed, you know failed to get Zirrif. He'll be well on his way back to Europe with the concession in his pocket by now.'
Valerie shook her head. `No, my darling. If only we'd known it we might have all slept tranquilly in our beds that night. Zirrif was already dead by four o'clock in the afternoon.'
Lovelace closed his eyes. That explained a lot, he was thinking. The gunmen were all sleeping, then, because they had no one left to guard. It accounted, too, for Cassalis having been in such a state of dither at sunset. In a faint voice he asked, 'How how did Zirrif die?'
`Heart, darling. You know how it troubles even us at this height; the strain must have proved too much for him at his age. I was still at the Palace waiting for news of you when Ras Desoum was brought in by the soldiers and told the Emperor. I suppose that's why he decided to leave Addis the following day.'
`Poor little man.' Lovelace's voice came stronger now. `If his deal with Zirrif had gone through he'd have been in funds again.
'Yes; although things were in a far worse state than we knew. His troops were mutinying and his army going to pieces under Marshal Badoglio's ceaseless attacks.'
`Perhaps, but the Italian main line was still nearly two hundred miles away. If the Emperor had been able to collect the funds from Zirrif to satisfy his greedy, thieving Rases the Abyssinians would have hung together and the rains would have given him six months to reorganize. As it is, Badoglio's exploited his victories in the genuine Napoleonic manner and the Emperor's thrown his hand in. So the war's over, eh?'
`Yes, the war's over,' Valerie agreed quickly. `The Italians are marching into the town now, and they'll do more in ten years to make life safe and human and decent for the people of the country than poor, priest ridden Haile Selassie could have done in a century. Giulio Dolomenchi arrived with the advance guard. I saw him this morning. He went straight to the American Legation to inquire after our safety, and then he came on here. He's such a dear. I'm terribly glad he's come through all right.'