The Pawns Count | Page 8

child.

"That's all right, Hassan," she said. "Sorry to have interrupted you at
your prayers, but it had to be done. You know me?"
"Yes, mistress," he answered unwillingly. "I your dragoman one year in
Cairo. What you want here, mistress?"
"You know that I know," she went on, "that you are a Turk and a
Mohammedan, and not an Egyptian at all."
"Yes, mistress, you know that," he muttered.
"And you also know," she continued, "that if I give you away to the
authorities you will be sent at once to a very uncomfortable internment
camp, where you won't even have an opportunity to wash more than
once a day, where you will have to herd with all sorts of people, who
will make fun of your colour and your religion--"
"Don't, mistress!" he shouted suddenly. "You will not tell. I think you
will not tell!"
He was sidling a little towards her. Again one of those curious changes
seemed to have transformed him from a dumb, passive creature into a
savage. There was menace in his eyes. She waved him back without
moving.
"I have come to make a bargain with you, Hassan," she said, "just a few
words, that is all. Not quite so near, please."
He paused. There was a moment's silence. His face was within a foot of
hers, lowering, black, bestial. Her eyes met his without a tremor. Her
full, sweet lips only curved into a faintly contemptuous line.
"You cannot frighten me, Hassan," she declared. "No man has ever
done that. And outside I have a chauffeur with muscles of iron, who
waits for me. Be reasonable. Listen. There are secrets connected with
your restaurant."
"I know nothing," he began at once; "nothing, mistress--nothing!"

"Quite naturally," she continued. "I only need one piece of information.
A man disappeared there this morning. I just have to find him. That's
all there is about it. At half-past one he was inveigled into the
musicians' room and by some means or other rendered unconscious. At
three o'clock he had been removed. I want to know what became of him.
You help me and the whole world can believe you to be an Egyptian
for the rest of their lives. If you can't help me it is rather unfortunate for
you, because I shall tell the police at once who and what you are. Don't
waste time, Hassan."
He stood thinking, rubbing his hands and bowing before her, yet, as she
knew very well, with murder in his heart. Once she saw his long fingers
raised a little.
"Quite useless, Hassan," she warned him. "They hang you in England,
you know, for any little trifle such as you are thinking of. Be sensible,
and I may even leave a few pound notes behind me."
"Mistress should ask Joseph," he muttered. "I know nothing."
"Oh, mistress is going to ask Joseph all right," she assured him, "but I
want a little information from you, too. You've got to earn your
freedom, you know, Hassan. Come, what do they do with the people
who disappear from the restaurant?"
"Not understand," was the almost piteous reply.
Pamela sighed. She had again the air of one being patient with a child.
"See here, Hassan," she went on, "a few days ago I went over that
restaurant from top to bottom with the manager. There is the musicians'
room, isn't there, just over the entrance hall? I suppose those little glass
places in the floor are movable, and then one can hear every word that
is spoken below. I am right so far, am I not?"
Hassan answered nothing. His breathing, however, had become a little
deeper.

"An unsuspecting person, passing from the toilet rooms upstairs, could
easily be induced to enter. I think that there must be another exit from
that room. Yes?"
"Yes!" Hassan faltered.
"To where?"
"The wine-cellars."
"And from there?"
Hassan was suddenly voluble. Truth unlocked his tongue.
"Not know, mistress--not know another thing. No one enters
wine-cellar but three men. One of those not know. If I guess--I,
Hassan--I look at little chapel left standing in waste place. Perhaps I
wonder sometimes, but I not know."
Pamela drew three notes from her gold purse, smoothed them out and
handed them over.
"Three pounds, Hassan, silence, and good day! You'll live longer if you
open your windows now and then, and get a little fresh air, instead of
praying yourself hoarse."
Again the black figure swayed perilously towards her. She affected not
to notice, not to notice the hand which seemed for a moment as though
it would snatch the door handle from her grasp. She passed out
pleasantly and without haste. The last sound she heard was a groan.
"Done your bit o' business, eh?" the landlady asked curiously.
Pamela