Death Beneath Jerusalem Page 13

  “The day after to-morrow,” said Baird, “is Mahomet’s birthday. There’ll be celebrations all over the country.”

  “They may be able to celebrate the liberation of Palestine,” said Garve grimly. “They’re just on their toes to drive us and the Jews into the sea, and, frankly, I can’t blame them. I’d feel that way if I were an Arab.”

  “You’d soon see the inside of the concentration camp at Auja el Hafir,” said Baird with a grin.

  Garve snorted. “You policemen are sometimes devilish unimaginative—though, I suppose, you’re satisfied as long as you carry out instructions. Personally, I think it’s sheer lunacy to try and stamp out nationalism by putting agitators behind barbed wire. If we did it in England there’d be shouts of ‘Hitlerism’ right away, but Palestine is a long way from London, and I suppose it doesn’t count.” He hesitated. “By the way, I imagine you’ll get some credit for to-day’s discovery.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Baird, a shade embarrassed. “I know it’s your find——”

  “You misunderstand me,” broke in Garve quickly. “You’re more than welcome, and I’ll give you all the publicity I can when I write my stuff. I was merely wondering if you’d give me a little extra assistance in return.”

  “You bet I will,” said Baird cordially. “What do you want—loan of a fiver, a shut-down on the other pressmen, or a free ticket for the police concert?”

  “I’m taking a young woman for a trip to the Dead Sea to-night,” said Garve.

  Baird grinned. “Naughty, naughty! Well, any assistance I can render? I can’t say I’ve ever chaperoned a newspaper man before, but——’

  “Don’t be an ass. I want an armoured car.”

  Baird stopped suddenly and stared. “You’re pulling my leg again!”

  “No, I’m serious. That car you used at Beersheba with the machine-guns fore and aft. Can you spare it?”

  “Say, what’s the idea. Are you going to start a riot at Jericho?”

  “I won’t, but someone else might. It’s just a precaution. If it’s not wanted, you won’t have exceeded your duty, and if it is, you’ll come in for another pat on the back. What do you say?”

  “I reckon you know something,” said Baird slowly. “It’s carrying police protection rather far, but the car’s got wireless, and if it’s needed back here I can always recall it. You couldn’t, I suppose, cancel the trip?” He gave Garve an ironic glance.

  “’Fraid not,” said Garve. “The fate of something far more important than Palestine may hang on it.”

  Baird chuckled. “I wish you luck. She’s a charming girl. Well, what’s the plan?”

  “I’ll be leaving Damascus Gate sharp at nine. I suggest your car picks up my trail where we turn into the Jericho road, and follows us at a distance of not more than a quarter of a mile. I shan’t speed. You might tell your men to park themselves at a tactful distance when we get to the Dead Sea. We’ll be leaving about midnight, and I’ll give three loud honks just before we set off. O. K.?”

  “I’ll see to it,” said Baird.

  “You’re a sport.” They stopped outside headquarters. “By the way, that police concert—what’s it for?”

  “Raising funds for police widows and orphans,” said Baird.

  Garve nodded. “if you get an anonymous gift of twenty pounds, don’t ask where it came from.”

  “Not me,” said Baird wickedly. “I know where it’ll come from.”

  “Oh?” said Garve.

  “Office of the Morning Call, London, charged to ‘Special inquiries.’ I reckon you’re going to pop the most expensive question any newspaper man ever asked!”

  He ducked to avoid Garve’s fist, grinned broadly, and vanished into the police station.

  12. Dead Sea Interlude

  Almost on the tick of nine Garve’s powerful Ford drew away from Damascus Gate. It was a car which he rarely bothered to use when he was pottering about Jerusalem, but found invaluable when big “stories” broke in other parts of Palestine. He had once got ninety out of it, but the opportunity for real speeding did not often occur on Palestine roads, except in the plains. Esther sat beside him, looking demure and good. They had just finished a very pleasant tête-à-tête dinner, admirably prepared and served by the Willoughbys’ Arab cook, and both she and Garve were cheerful to the point of exhilaration. If a shadow occasionally crossed Garve’s face as his thoughts swung back to more serious matters, it was too fleeting for Esther to notice. Both of them were bent on enjoying themselves and achieving the object of their trip, as the abbreviated swim suit and more abbreviated slips in the back of the car testified. Esther had already tasted some of the keen delights of anticipation, for during their leisurely dinner Garve had whetted her appetite with a description of the route.

  “It’s a pity in a way that you won’t see it in the daytime,” he said as the car moved off. “You’ll miss the colours—but it’s almost equally beautiful by moonlight.”

  “It could hardly be more beautiful than it is now. I’ve never seen any country look so washed by the moon before.” Esther gave a little ecstatic shiver—or was she cold? Garve’s left hand drew her wrap a shade more closely round her shoulders, and returned without lingering to the driving-wheel.

  “I’m not really cold,” said Esther, “only tremendously excited. I apologize for being so schoolgirlish. I think it’s because we’ve been waiting for this ride for so many nights, and I’m keyed up.”

  “That’s fine,” said Garve encouragingly. “By God, I feel the same—I’d like to stamp on the old accelerator in sheer high spirits and go shooting down to Jordan in a streak of speed. But it wouldn’t do. See, this is where we turn left into the Jericho road.”

  His gaze, however, was to the right. A hundred yards or so away the sidelights of a stationary car were visible. Garve pressed his electric horn three times, and as he swung left, the stationary car moved off and slowly gathered speed.

  “First stop, Dead Sea,” he observed happily. “You know, I love this road. I’ve heard people say it terrifies them, and I’ve heard them describe the Jordan Valley as obscene and macabre, but I get a colossal kick out of it—probably because it’s such a freak of nature. I don’t suppose there’s another place in the world where a mountain 2,300 feet high and a rift in the earth 1,300 feet deep can be found so nearly side by side.”

  Headlights suddenly flashed through the back window panel on to the windscreen, and Garve pulled down the blind.

  “It looks as though we’re going to have company,” said Esther.

  “It may be a police patrol,” Garve told her, anxious that her evening should not be marred by any uneasiness. “In a normal year there would be a whole procession of cars with tourists running down for a midnight bathe. Now even the Arab bus has been cancelled. That’s an experience, if you like—being driven down here in a bus. They hardly ever have an accident, but they habitually tear round corners as though the road were straight. They know every bend, though there must be thousands of them.”

  The car was gliding along at a steady thirty, and presently one or two lights glimmered away on the right.

  “Bethany,” said Garve. “It was near here that I found the ammunition dump which disappeared so mysteriously.”

  The road descended steadily in an interminable succession of loops and bends, a winding pass through the barren mountains of Judea. Continually the powerful headlights revealed ahead a great wail of parched rock, and it seemed that the road must end there, but always at the last moment it dipped and swung back to the right or to the left with startling unexpectedness. The great moon, now rising ahead of them, bathed the whole landscape in an unearthly silver light, so that even by night its dreadful sterility and tortured contours became clear.

  “It’s a brigands’ playground,” Garve declared. “These twisted hills are eaten out with caves which only the Arabs know. It’s the real Biblical wilderness. See how the mountain slopes are littered with chips and boulder
s—just like the Kedron Valley, only worse.”

  “I’ll listen to no harsh names about it,” said Esther softly. “It’s terrible enough, but it’s so beautiful. I don’t think it could look nearly so marvellous with the sun on it.”

  “Perhaps not—except when dusk is about to fall and all the hillsides turn a glorious mauve and the boulders throw long shadows. In daytime in the summer, of course, it’s too infernally hot to bear. The vegetation, the reptiles, the insects—everything’s tropical. The rock gets too hot to touch, and the air is acrid and stifling.”

  “I can feel it getting warmer now,” said Esther, opening wide the window at her side. “There was quite a nip in the air in Jerusalem, but it’s velvety here … I say. What’s that?”

  Garve stamped on his brake and narrowly missed a small black shape which darted across the road in the path of the car. “Only a mountain goat. Heaven knows what they find to live on. I suppose there are tiny patches of tough grass, but I can’t recall ever having seen one with the naked eye.” He swung the wheel sharply to the right as the road wound away from a ravine between overhanging cliffs. At the top of a slight incline a solitary building stood out against the skyline and a light twinkled in its window.

  “The Inn of the Good Samaritan,” Garve explained. “I hope my running commentary doesn’t bore you. It’s the last outpost of civilization till we reach the Dead Sea, unless you count a police box. Are you quite comfortable?”

  “Perfectly,” said Esther, smiling. Her finely moulded face was joyous with excitement, and Garve could not refrain from turning continually to look at her as the car’s ceaseless windings brought the moonbeams to and fro across her.

  Now the road seemed to plunge more determinedly into the depths. The way became steeper, the straight stretches briefer, the bends more serpentine. Garve’s foot maintained a steady pressure on the brake, while his keen eyes watched for any sign of movement ahead, and took comfort from the faint illumination on the blind behind them.

  Esther clung a little dizzily to the side of the car. “Does the road wind downhill all the way?” she asked, smiling. “It seems incredible that we haven’t reached the bottom. Is there a bottom? I feel as though I’m descending into some awful inferno.”

  Garve chuckled. “I assure you it’s a heavenly hell when you reach the water. Remember, we’re dropping over four thousand feet. Look—there’s a sign you’ve never seen on a road before!”

  As the little white post was picked out by the headlights she read the two words, “SEA LEVEL.” She clutched Garve’s arm involuntarily. “Do you mind—I won’t interfere with the driving. It’s such a curious feeling. Below sea-level! Just think—the Mediterranean is washing on the shores of Palestine above our heads. And still we go down.”

  The wind of the car’s own movement blew warmly in through the open window. Esther threw her wrap and coat into the back seat and sat comfortably in a neat white blouse with sleeves which left her arms exposed.

  “It was nice of you to advise me what to wear,” she said primly.

  Garve stole an appreciative glance at her and grinned. “So many people overdress,” he said.

  “Look—we’re leaving the mountains.”

  Esther gazed in silent awe at the landscape which now opened out in front of them. They were dropping into a great plain, drenched in moonlight, and almost at their feet a silver streak of water lay like a drawn sword.

  “The Jordan,” said Garve tersely. “It looks near, but it’s still several miles away. On the right, you’ll see the Dead Sea as a tiny lake when we turn the next bend. Across the valley, fifteen miles away, you can just make out the Mountains of Moab. You know—the ones which looked like a lunar landscape from the Mount of Olives—was it six months ago? Beyond them there’s nothing but desert.”

  For a mile or two the car ran smoothly along the dead flat plain, and then swung right at a junction. To the left a signpost pointed to Jericho.

  “Nothing much to see there but ruins and a dark village,” said Garve, “though in the daytime it’s rather a beautiful oasis in this rocky waste.” He pointed ahead. “See the squat building and the wire fence—that’s at the head of the Dead Sea—they’re commercializing the chemicals from the water. Over to the right here is our destination. Believe it or not, but there’s a rather pleasant Lido, where with luck we can get a drink.”

  The car drew slowly to a halt outside the brightly illuminated restaurant. As it came to rest and Garve switched off his headlights, the rear blind suddenly went dark too. Garve hummed softly to himself—everything was going according to plan.

  He walked round the car and opened the door for Esther. Her fingers touched his arm lightly as she climbed out and faced him, hatless and coatless in the warm sub-tropical night. As she tossed the chestnut curls from her face, they shone like a halo, just as they had done on the Mount of Olives. She was very serene and self-possessed, unconscious of his fast-beating pulse.

  “Stiff?” he asked, as she stretched herself with an “Ah” of satisfaction.

  “A little—but it was worth it. You drive very well, you know—with some people I should have been terrified on that wriggling road. And you hardly bumped me at all.”

  “It’s a good car,” said Garve modestly, though, like all drivers, he loved to be praised for his skill.

  Esther sniffed. “What’s the curious smell?”

  “Sulphur. You get used to it, and I believe it’s quite healthy. Shall we see if we can raise a drink?”

  They walked through the café on to a veranda illuminated with shaded lanterns and furnished with half a dozen round tables and wicker chairs. The Dead Sea lay just ahead of them in limpid motionless glory.

  Esther seemed to have lost a little of her composure, and her breath came quickly between slightly parted lips.

  “Is it real?” she asked in a voice hardly above a whisper. “Oh, Philip, what an exquisite place. How—how incredibly romantic.” She stood immobile, basking in the night’s loveliness, confident that Garve would say nothing to spoil it. He knew her mood, and watched silently by her side, content. Whatever happened, nobody could ever take from him that peace and beauty that he was sharing with her. It linked them in understanding as no words could do. In the end it was she who stirred first.

  “How quiet it is. Is there no life down here at all?”

  “Precious little. The water is too salt for fish to live in, and because there are no fish there are no birds. The sea is well named.”

  “If death were always so beautiful, no-one would ever fear it,” said Esther softly.

  They turned as the door of the restaurant opened and a young Arab approached them with a greeting. He showed no surprise that they were there, and waited with a friendly smile while they discussed their requirements.

  “I’ll have a dry Martini,” said Esther. She looked curiously at the waiter. “Are you always open to stray visitors?” she asked. “Even this year?”

  The Arab smiled and bowed. He was a young man of few words.

  “Two dry Martinis,” said Garve. “And we’re taking a dip afterwards—we’ll use your dressing-rooms. That will be all right, won’t it?”

  Again the Arab nodded and smiled. He departed silently to execute the order.

  “They’re used to odd people dropping in,” said Garve. “Even when there are no tourists the police often come here at night for a swim and a drink when they’re off duty. At the height of a normal season, of course, there’s music and dancing and a crowd—but it’s better like this—don’t you agree?”

  “Perfection would look tawdry by comparison,” said Esther. “You see how I strain my speech to let you know how happy I am.”

  “I’m glad,” said Garve simply. “I hope with all my heart that it will be a memorable night for both of us.” Words crowded in on his tongue—hot passionate words—all those words of love and admiration which through difficult days and nights now he had stored away in his mind. Not yet! not yet! he told hi
mself. Impatience would spoil everything. Romantic sentimentalist he might be, but he wanted this night to be a flawless one.

  Speech seemed an offence against nature in such surroundings, yet there was so much that Garve wanted to say and to ask. He knew so little of Esther, and she of him. He only knew that what he had seen of her he loved. Her swiftly changing moods attracted him, though he required no counsellor to tell him there was danger in them too. Who cared?—at least there was life and movement in her, and he had always hated cow-like women. He loved her vitality, her small imperiousness, and the way she suddenly melted and relied upon him. She was wholly feminine, and never tried to conceal her womanliness. Queer that he should have lived so long and loved so little. Queer that he had never before met a woman who seemed just right. He felt proud to be with her—proud that she could sit so contentedly alone with him and want nothing but his company. He noticed for the hundredth time the proud tilt of her nose, the faintly provocative chin, the passionate mouth which turned inwards and upwards so alluringly at the corners, and sent his heart thumping and galloping about every time he looked at her. Perhaps he was making a fool of himself over her —losing his head over her. Again, who cared? He had often thought it stupid enough to fall in love, but then most men fell in love with such worthless women! Esther was a woman one could give one’s soul for, and count it no loss. If one could live with any woman for ever, one could live with Esther. She would make the only possible wife. She would arrest his growing cynicism. With her, how could he ever grow middle-aged—let alone old? She knew how to find and make joy in life, she was adventurous in mind and body. She had spirit and independence.

  Of course, he reflected, he was thinking only of his own requirements. How annoyed Esther would be if she could guess what was passing in his mind—if she could realize that he was so calmly weighing up her suitability. Or would she? Was not that the attitude of most males? He tried to put himself in her place. What had he to offer her? Nothing much in the way of looks, certainly, for he was no Apollo. He had a broad and infectious grin, which always seemed to draw a response from her, though no doubt it made him look fairly inane. He was lean and strong and active enough for any woman—probably too active for most. He could not imagine himself fitting into any quiet domestic scheme of things. His humour was a little mordant, but Esther would mellow it. Life as the wife of a journalist was an uncertain and hazardous adventure for any woman, but no doubt in interest and excitement there were reasonable compensations. And, in any case, marriages didn’t generally happen by arrangement—he loved Esther, and if he could make her love him, then, by God! they would marry and chance the consequences.