LITMIR.BIZ

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is no sounder rule that to follow up one surprise with another one, the second if possible more unexpected than the first. The first one destroys confidence; the second promotes hysteria.

      “I’m a man who found in Jerusalem the TNT that was stolen from the railway here.”

      Charkas turned to look about wildly for a weapon. Swift murder and sudden flight were all he could think of. He looked twice longingly toward a desk in the dingy back office.

      “Come in here,” he said mysteriously.

      Jim kicked the knife into the corner and followed him so quickly that he reached the desk abreast of him. Their hands closed on the lid simultaneously. Jim’s right hand forced Charkas into a chair. With his left he raised the lid.

      “Thought so!”

      “There was a revolver and a dagger with a wavy edge.

      “Which would you have used? Um-m-m! I guess you’re scared enough to have fired and alarmed the town. Let’s see what else is in here—sit still, now! Don’t move or I’ll get a rope out of the store and tie you.”

      He put his foot on the Arab’s lap to keep him from bolting while he searched through a litter of papers at random. They were mostly bills, receipts and private letters. Nothing of obvious importance.

      “There is money at the back,” said Charkas. “Take it and go away.”

      Jim whistled. Charkas shuddered. There is nothing in the world some Arabs hate so much as that. They say only the devil whistles. One can never know beforehand for certain, of course, but Charkas was hardly the kind of man one would expect to believe in that superstition.

      Adding the shudder to the offer of the bribe; Jim drew a false conclusion that led nevertheless to discovery. Supposing that Charkas’ anxiety was for the papers in the desk, he went on searching; whereas the man actually was past fear on that account, thinking now of nothing but how to escape; and his nerves were in such a state that the whistle tortured him.

      Jim found the money, glanced at it and tossed it aside. Then he turned over the papers again, stacking them one on top of the other, and presently whistled again.

      “What in thunder did you keep this for?” he asked, removing his foot from Charkas’ lap as he turned his back to the desk and laughed. “Are you the ringleader of thieves here, and keep the proof of it to show like a Government certificate?”

      Suddenly a fragment of Charkas’ native wit returned and he remembered why he had kept it.

      “That is the memorandum informing General Jenkins that two tons of TNT were in a truck in the siding.”

      “So I see. Well?”

      “General Jenkins gave it to me—into my hand!”

      If Jenkins proposed to betray her, then two could play at that game. All the bitterness and venom that the Arab min inherited from Ishmael and cultivated under Turkish rule came to the surface. Revenge looked sweeter at that minute than safety. Thoughts of flight vanished.

      “General Jenkins gave me that hundred-piaster note. He has given me other sums from time to time. I will swear to it in court. He has been paying me to organize the thieving.”

      “Why?”

      “In order to blame it on the Zionists. He hates Zionists. He is pro-Arab.”

      “And he gave you that memorandum so that you could steal the TNT?”

      “So that my men could steal it, yes.”

      Jim tried not to look incredulous. It would take more than Charkas’ word to convince him that Jenkins would be such a fool as that.

      “When did he give it to you?”

      “On the third, I think it was. Yes, on the evening of the third.”

      “At what time?”

      “Five o’clock.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “Yes, because I met the afternoon train and walked up to his office afterwards.”

      “This is dated the third at four o’clock. He could only have just received it. Was he in the office when you went there?”

      “He reached it just ahead of me. The messenger brought the note; he signed for it, read it, and handed it to me.”

      Jim laughed.

      “You mean he turned away and you stole it off his desk—now don’t you?”

      Charkas denied that hotly—swore by the God of his fathers and by Mohammed and all the saints in paradise that Jenkins had given him the paper. But that was too obviously stupidly untrue. A blundering, fatuous schemer Jenkins might be, but not such a simpleton as that. There was proof on that slip of paper in Jim’s pocket that Jenkins had known a lot about the thieving—probably proof enough to ruin him; but Jim’s task was to let the brigadier ruin himself. In all likelihood Anthony would refuse to listen if he should come with the blackest proof imaginable.

      “Look here,” he said, “you’re all in—d’you realize it? You’ve only got one chance—king’s evidence. Come across with a clean story and I’ll do my best for you.”

      The rat instinct for sudden flight crossed the Arab’s mind again. He rolled his eyes toward the door secretively, but Jim saw that and put his foot back on the man’s lap.

      “Stay put!” he laughed, shoving him once or twice hard in the stomach. “Come on, spill the story. Who’s the iblis?”

      Charkas looked relieved. He even chuckled.

      “He is an Egyptian. I do not know his name, but he is a great charlatan, who left Egypt because of the police. Now he is very much disturbed—tee-hee-hee! He is expert at encouraging thieves. He gives them magic against bullets—tee-hee-hee!—and he demands two-thirds of all the plunder in return.

      “But he cannot dispose of his share of the plunder without assistance; and he does not know where the men who come for it have hidden it. Tee-hee! He is very much exercised.”

      “I happen to know where they have hidden it,” said Jim.

      Charkas snickered scornfully.

      “I don’t believe you. How could you know?”

      “I was with the iblis most of last night, and I went with the men who came at dawn to hide the stuff away. The iblis is waiting for me now to come back and tell him where they hid it.”

      Charkas threw his hands up in despair.

      “You must be a bigger devil than the iblis himself!”

      “Maybe. We’ll discuss that later if you like. The point is, are you going to come across, or would you rather I’d arrest you now and take you straight to Jenkins?”

      “What do you want of me?”

      “The names of all your men. Here’s a pencil. Here’s paper. Write them down.”

      Charkas hesitated for a moment, then tried to wet the pencil on his dry lips and obeyed him.

      “I will make a full confession because you have promised I shall escape imprisonment by doing so.”

      Jim laughed again.

      “I dare say your sentence will be cut in half,” he answered. “That’s the best you can hope for. You can withdraw all you’ve said if you like, plead not guilty and take the consequences.”

      “No, no, no! I will confess and plead guilty.”

      It was at this point that Suliman called out through the doorway and Jim went out to speak with him, first pocketing the Arab’s dagger and revolver, but forgetting the knife he had kicked into a corner. Charkas had not forgotten it, but when Jim returned to the inner office he was back in the chair again.

      “Here

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