Mesopotamia, "the land between the rivers," has been brought by Time's revolution once more into the foreground of the history of the world. The plains where Abraham, Isaac and Jacob tended their flocks and herds; where the hosts of Sennacherib, Shalmaneser and Alexander contended for "world-power" in their day; where the Arabs, heirs of ancient civilisations, reared a civilisation of their own until it fell under the blight of Turkish dominion: have become once more the battle-ground of opposing armies, the representatives of conflicting spirits and ideals.

This fertile land, whose history dates back many thousands of years, has long lain desolate. Swamps and marshes and the floods of the Tigris and the Euphrates cover immense tracts that were once the granary of the middle East. The old canals and irrigation works constructed by Babylonians and Assyrians are now obliterated by sand. Where once large populations throve and cultivated literature and the arts, now roam only a few tribes of Arabs, degenerate descendants of the race that at one time led the world in the things of the mind. Mesopotamia is the "abomination of desolation."

Here and there a mound—known to archæologists as a tell—marks the site of a buried city, and excavation has brought to light the remains of palaces and monumental tombs, and temples where "pale-eyed priests" chanted incantations to Assur and Ishtar and Merodach—the Baalim and Ashtoreth of the Bible. It was at one such tell that the story to be unfolded in the following pages had its beginning.

Early one morning in the autumn of 1916, any one who had chanced to be standing on this tell would have noticed, far in the eastern sky, a moving speck. It might have been a gigantic bird, but that, as it approached, its flight was swifter, more direct, more noisy. As it came nearer, it swept round in an immense circle, then descended in a spiral course, skimmed the surface of the tell, and finally alighted on a clear and level stretch of ground on the western side.

Through all its ages of solitude the tell had never known so strange a visitant. The shades of ancient priests and soothsayers might be imagined to shrink away from this intruder upon their haunts. What had remotest antiquity to do with this symbol of modernity, the last word in scientific invention in a world of scientific marvels?

Some such thoughts as these seemed to grip one of the two young men who disengaged themselves from the aeroplane.

"So this is your tell!" cried the elder of the two, in the loud tones that bespeak a cheerful soul. He looked with an air of mockery at the rugged contours of the mound.

"Hush, Ellingford!" said the other, in a stage whisper. "We are trespassers—on a spot where Assyrians worshipped when Rome was still a village."

"Well, they can't hear us. What's more to the point, the Arabs can, if they're about; so hurry up."

"Hopelessly matter-of-fact; everlastingly practical! Here are we, in the very nursery and cradle of mankind; yet you can't spare half a thought for the past! You live altogether in the present——"

"Look here, Burnet," said the other, cutting him short; "if you don't stop gassing we shall neither of us live in the future. Before you can say Jack Robinson—or Beelzebub, if you prefer it—we may have a swarm of Arabs round us with Mauser rifles and explosive bullets. I'm responsible for this machine. So buck up. You can commune with the spirits of the past when I am gone."

Captain Ellingford spoke good-humouredly, but with an undertone of seriousness. Roger Burnet laughed.

"Righto," he said. "I'll not keep you."

He glanced keenly around, as if looking for some landmark; then, having found what he sought, set off with quick step towards a group of ruins near the centre of the tell, about a hundred and fifty yards from where the aeroplane had landed. Captain Ellingford, first looking in all directions to assure himself that no one was near, followed his companion, ever and anon throwing a glance backward: he was loth to leave his machine.

The surface of the tell was irregular. At one part you would find a smooth expanse of sand; at another, drifted heaps, fragments of rubble, brick and stone; at a third, larger blocks of stone, broken columns, chips of cornice and frieze. Only at one spot was there any substantial relic of the ancient buildings. The lower portion of what had once been a magnificent gateway or porch, together with the remains of the adjacent walls, rose above the surrounding litter. Each side of the portal was formed of what appeared to be a massive solid block, carved to the image of some strange colossal animal, its mouth gaping in a hideous grimace, like the gargoyles on a medieval church. Through this gateway Burnet passed; then he turned to the right, stooped, and with a piece of broken sherd began to scrape away the sand from an area several feet square. Presently there was revealed a flat slab of stone, which, when he had cleared its edges of sand, he lifted, revealing a shallow flight of steps.

"Here we are," he said, turning to his companion. "We discovered it when we were digging here a few years ago, my poor old father and I, and covered it up, meaning to return. There was a German grubbing about in the neighbourhood, and my father didn't want any poaching on what he considered his preserves. But he never had a chance to come back. Come down and have a look."

He led the way down into a small subterranean room or cellar, and flashing his electric torch, pointed out strange markings on the walls.

"Queer hobby," remarked Ellingford. "Well, I must get back to the bus. Don't like leaving it so long."

They returned to the aeroplane. Burnet took a bundle from it. Ellingford got into his seat, saying:

"A month from now, then. I'll be here unless I'm pipped. Take care of yourself. Good luck!"

He started the engine. Burnet helped him to shove off; the machine jolted over the rough ground, rose into the air, and in five minutes was out of sight.

CHAPTER II

THE GAPING JAWS

Burnet ascended to the highest point of the tell, and, unstrapping a pair of field glasses, made a careful survey of his surroundings. The country between himself and the river consisted mainly of swamp and marsh, dotted with islands of various sizes. There were no dwellings within view, but Burnet knew that the region was inhabited, though sparsely, and the flight of the aeroplane, its descent near the tell, its subsequent departure, must have been noticed by a certain number of Arabs. Curiosity, if no other motive, would impel any who were near to hasten to the spot; but he saw no movement on all the wide expanse around except among the birds of the marsh; and reflecting that those Arabs who had witnessed the return flight of the aeroplane would not guess that it had left a passenger behind, he restored the glasses to their case, and prepared to complete the errand that had brought him to the spot.

Descending to the foot of the tell, he made his way to a wady that bordered it on one side. A sluggish current of muddy water flowed through the channel, whose banks were thickly overgrown with reeds. A number of these he cut with his pocket-knife, binding the stalks with tendrils of a trailing plant. With this faggot of reeds in one hand and the bundle he had taken from the aeroplane in the other, he returned to the ruins on the tell. There he stuck the former in the grinning mouth of one of the grotesque animals at the porch; then he passed inside, and once more descended into the underground room, this time, however, letting the stone slab drop into its place above.

A few seconds later the bundle of reeds hanging out of the monster's mouth disappeared. The animal, so far from being a solid block, as it appeared, was hollow, and Burnet had climbed into it by means of notches in the wall at one corner of the cellar. He withdrew the reeds: next moment they reappeared at a similar orifice on the other side of the figure, which, like Janus, was double-faced, and with this roughly extemporised broom he swept a quantity of sand over the slab, until it was hidden sufficiently to pass unnoticed except by a careful observer acquainted with its position. This done, he drew the broom back and took it down with him to the dark and airless chamber below.

If any watching Arab had seen the young British officer disappear into the earth, he would have been somewhat startled, some twenty minutes later, when the slab was lifted again and an Arab lad cautiously emerged. His head was swathed in a strip of parti-coloured cloth held in position by two thick rings of camel's hair; a dirty, shapeless, yellowish robe descended to his knees; his legs, remarkably brown, were bare; his feet were encased in leather-thonged sandals. He carried a small bundle; across his shoulder was slung a British regulation water-bottle—the only article by which he could have been distinguished from the boatmen who might be seen any day on the Tigris. He lowered the slab, swept sand over it, obliterated the footprints around, and having thrust his reed-broom into the mouth of the stone animal, picked his way through the ruins to the north-west corner of the tell, where an uninterrupted view of the country could be obtained.

He was just turning the corner of a rugged wall when, beneath him at a distance of barely twenty yards, he saw a young Arab rushing up the slope, stumbling, recovering himself, his eyes directed always to his feet. Burnet edged backwards round the corner, and was out of sight when the Arab gained the top. But there was now only a few yards between them; in a second or two the Arab would himself turn the corner, and Burnet saw that if he made a dash for the nearest cover in his rear he must inevitably be observed by the stranger before he could reach it. Whipping out a pistol as a precaution—for he knew not whether the Arab was friend or foe—he stood back. The Arab darted round the corner at racing speed, saw the pistol pointed at him, and swerving slightly grabbed at Burnet's wrist. The sudden wrench jerked the pistol out of his hands and at the same time caused both men to lose their balance. Burnet, the first to recover himself, freed his arm with a dexterous twist, and the two men closed, stumbling and swaying over the broken surface of the tell.

THE STRUGGLE ON THE TELL

As soon, however, as Burnet got a firm hold the issue was not long in doubt. The Arab wriggled like an eel, but he was no match for the Englishman either in physical strength or in athletic skill. Moreover he was already winded by his impetuous rush over the heavy ground. Burnet freed himself without much difficulty from his opponent's grip: then, getting his hand behind the Arab's neck in the position known to the wrestler as the "half-nelson," he forced him downwards and finally threw him helpless into a pocket of sand. In a few seconds he had secured the man's weapons—a clumsy pistol and a crooked dagger called shabriyeh—and regained his own pistol. Then he stood above the Arab, who now lay on his back, staring up at the supposed fellow-Arab who had thrown him so easily and in a manner so unfamiliar.

The stranger was no older than Burnet himself. He was an Arab of the best type, with handsome features and intelligent and fearless eyes.

"Rise, I pray you, brother," said Burnet in Arabic. "We have somewhat to say one to the other."

The Arab got up quickly. Puzzled as he had been by the wrestling trick, he was still more puzzled by the friendly manner of the man who had vanquished him, and especially by the slight smile that accompanied his words. He fixed his keen eyes on Burnet's face, but said nothing.

"I am alone here, as you see," Burnet went on, "and in these times, when it is hard to know friends from foes, a man must needs take care. We are strangers, yet it may be that we are also friends."

The Arab assented merely with a word, but did not relax his attitude of watchfulness. This man who spoke to him used good Arabic, but was more direct and less given to expletives than the average Arab.

"You are my captive," Burnet continued. "Tell me who you are, whence you come, and why you ran hither in such headlong haste."

"My lips are dry; give me drink," said the Arab.

"By the grace of Allah I have fresh water—not like the foul water of the swamp," said Burnet, unscrewing the stopper of his water-bottle. "Drink, brother."

The young man took a deep draught, returned the bottle with a word of thanks, and said:

"My tongue will speak true things, and Allah judge between us."

Burnet threw a keen glance around the horizon, then sat down on a broken block of stone, inviting the Arab to sit opposite him. And then the young man began his story.

His name was Rejeb, and he was the chief of a clan of the Anazeh whose territory lay on the far side of the Euphrates. His father, now some years dead, had been a lifelong rebel against the Turkish rule, and in his last year had suffered a disastrous defeat through the defection and treachery of another chief who had been his ally. In this final battle he had lost his life; his people had escaped extermination only by fleeing into the desert. Since the outbreak of the Great War they had gradually reoccupied their old districts, the Turks having enough to do without taking measures to suppress so unimportant an enemy. It was otherwise, however, with the treacherous tribe which had been his father's ruin. For some time its chief, Halil, had made no sign: his fighting strength was greatly reduced through the fact that many of his men were with the Turks. But after the British failure to relieve Kut he had collected a considerable force, and taking advantage of Rejeb's absence at Kerbela he had first cut off the young man's tribe and then attacked it. The tribe, after a stout resistance, had made good its retreat across the Euphrates, to a fastness in the swamps. Rejeb, on his way back from Kerbela, had been met by a messenger with news of the reverse, and, changing his route in order to rejoin his people, had been chased by a party of Halil's horsemen. In eluding them he had lost touch with the messenger who had hitherto accompanied him; his horse had foundered, and the only course then open to him was to swim the Euphrates on a skin. This he had done, and thought himself safe, when the reappearance of his pursuers revived his anxieties. Fortunately their horses were useless in the swamps, and on foot he had reasonable hope of escaping them. An hour or so, however, before his arrival at the tell, he had only just succeeded in giving their main party the slip. The direction of his flight had been seen by three or four of their number who had separated from the rest, and he did not doubt that these three or four, if not the whole body, had tracked him and before long would reach the tell.

Rejeb's story was told rapidly, and with an air of sincerity that would have disarmed suspicion even in one far more sceptical by nature than Roger Burnet. The news that men of a hostile tribe in Turkish pay were hastening to this spot was very disturbing. Burnet knew that he was in fully as much danger from his captive's pursuers as the captive himself. His disguise might pass muster; the story he had invented to account for the presence of a solitary boatman so far from the river, if he were challenged, was sufficiently plausible; but if he was found in the company of the young chief whom Halil's men were hounding down he would certainly be seized and carried to Halil for examination at least. He had very little time in which to secure himself.

The obvious course was to release Rejeb, who would no doubt continue in the direction he had been going, and as soon as he was out of sight, to take refuge in the subterranean room until the chase was past. But the young chief was jaded, worn out by his hurried flight and the subsequent struggle on the tell. It was almost certain that he would be run down. Burnet had taken an instinctive liking to him; he could not give him up to his enemies, who were at the same time enemies of the British. After a few moments' reflection he turned suddenly to the Arab and said:

"If I save you from the hands of Halil, will you swear by the beard of the Prophet not to play me false?"

Rejeb was apparently staggered by this strange offer from a man with whom, a few minutes before, he had been locked in fierce struggle—a man, moreover, who had given no account of himself and about whom there was something mysterious. He flashed a keen questioning glance at Burnet, as if fearful of a trap.

"You are no boatman?" he said slowly.

"And if I am not? What is that to you if I am a friend?"

The Arab hesitated for a brief moment. Then perhaps it occurred to him that his situation could scarcely be worse than it was; perhaps he was mutually attracted to this young man of his own age. At any rate, after the slightest pause, he said, raising his hand:

"By the beard of the Prophet I swear it."

During this conversation the two men had remained behind the wall, Burnet every now and then peering through a gap in the masonry in the direction from which the Arab had come. He now suggested that Rejeb should go to the corner and keep watch for the pursuers. Having left his field glasses with the rest of his equipment in the underground room, he was less able than the keener-sighted Arab to view the distant country.

Rejeb went to the corner and flattened himself against the wall with the instinct for cover natural to a dweller in the wilds. In a few moments he beckoned to Burnet with one hand, the rest of his body remaining motionless. When Burnet joined him, he asked him to look at a large bed of rushes some distance to the north-west. Shading his eyes with his hand, and careful not to expose himself, Burnet gazed towards the spot indicated, and was soon able to make out five or six figures moving among the reeds and advancing straight towards the tell. Burnet led the Arab to the central ruins and through the porch to the entrance of the underground room. Raising the slab they descended; then Burnet mounted into the interior of the colossal animal in which he had left his broom, and swept sand over the slab and the nearest footprints as before. He had hardly withdrawn the broom when he heard shuffling footsteps on the rough ground beyond the wall, and looked out through the wide mouth of the image. It was almost completely dark within, and in the unlikely event of any enquirer thinking to peer into the jaws of the colossus he could escape discovery by stooping.

In a few minutes a tall Arab appeared round the corner of the wall. He was followed at short intervals by four others. All were stalwart sinewy warriors of the desert, bristling with arms. They hunted through the ruins like a pack of dogs that have lost the scent. Here one would point to the impressions of sandals, and the rest followed him as he traced them along the wall and up to the portico. Burnet watched them without much anxiety, for he had taken care that no tell-tale footmarks remained around the slab; and knowing that the tracks that were visible led both towards and away from the ruins, he guessed that the Arabs would suppose that their quarry had come and returned. Their actions justified him. They traced the marks back to the wall, then back again to the portico, beneath which they stood to consult together. From the few words that Burnet caught it was clear that they had seen Rejeb mount the tell, and they supposed that he had crossed it and pursued his journey on the other side. Presently one of them climbed a pile of rubbish from which he could scan the surrounding country. The fugitive could not have gone any great distance, and he must become visible on one or other of the open spaces between the beds of rushes. The scout's four companions meanwhile threw themselves down in the shade of the portico to rest.

Secure in his hiding-place, Burnet felt some amusement at the situation. He went down to the chamber beneath, and, warning Rejeb against making any sound, took him up to his peep-hole and showed him the figure of his enemy looking for him. It was some time before the Arab gave up his vain task and returned to his companions. They came to the conclusion that the fugitive must be lying hidden among the rushes near the tell, and separating, started to scour the vicinity thoroughly. They went methodically through clump after clump until Burnet grew tired of watching them. Not until it was getting late in the afternoon did their perseverance give out. Baffled, weary, and angry at their failure, they rested awhile on the tell and ate some of the food they had brought with them; then they set off to return the way they had come.

Burnet was glad enough to win release at last from his stuffy quarters. Emerging with Rejeb, he made all secure, and prepared to resume the mission which the day's events had interrupted. In the underground chamber he had already returned the young Arab's arms, and discussed with him his subsequent movements. Rejeb would continue his journey to his people, who were a march away to the south-east. He was full of gratitude to his rescuer, and begged to know how he might serve him.

"Surely it is right that I should serve the saviour of my life," he said; "and my people also: they shall know that in serving him they serve me."

"We will not talk of service now," replied Burnet. "Who can tell the future?"

"At least let me know the name of my preserver: how else can I speak of him rightly to my people, and bid them watch for opportunities of serving him?"

"Call me Yusuf the boatman," said Burnet, after a slight hesitation. "By that name I am known to some in Bagdad and elsewhere. It may be that some day we shall meet again."

As soon as darkness made it safe to leave the tell they parted. Rejeb took his way to the south-east; Burnet set off north-west through the swamps, in the direction followed by Rejeb's pursuers.

CHAPTER III

THE BARBER'S APPRENTICE

Firouz Ali, the barber of Bagdad, had just opened his shop near the south gate. There were many other barbers in the city, but none of them was so popular as Firouz Ali. Arabs, Turks, Greeks, Persians, Germans, and the hundred and one nondescripts of the population resorted to the well-known shop, not merely because Firouz Ali was dexterous in his craft, but because he was a chatty agreeable fellow and a fathomless well of information. Every customer of his who went to be shaved, or shampooed, or to have his nails trimmed or his ears cleaned (a very necessary toilet operation in a land of dust), came away feeling that he had spent a very pleasant quarter of an hour and gained knowledge at a trifling cost. He was not often aware that he had given more than he had received. The barber had just opened his shop, and, early as it was—the sun had risen no more than half an hour before—a customer had already presented himself in the person of a Turkish non-commissioned officer, come for a shampoo to brace him for the work of the day. Firouz Ali had spread his towels, and was shaking up his mixture.

"A most elegant preparation, by the Beard," he said, holding the bottle to his customer's nose. "You smell the oil of lavender? When you leave me your hair will diffuse a sweet savour, and perfume the street."

"Wallahi! I hope it will not attract the insects," said the Turk.

"Make your mind easy about that. There is here an essence that is bitter as death; insects shun it as you would the plague. You keep your hair well, O noble warrior; the wear and tear of war has not diminished your locks, Allah be praised! My own head, man of peace though I am, has a bald spot that is only prevented from spreading by the daily use of my own famous lotion. It is marvellous to me that you men of war, considering the strain upon your intelligence and the hardships you undergo, can preserve such bountiful locks without the aid of my unguents."

"Hardships! You speak truth, barber," grunted the soldier. "You men of peace know nothing about it. Bad food, hard work, pay always in arrears——"

"A dog's life, indeed," said the barber sympathetically. "And, if I am not deceived, the hard work is done by such as you, while the credit goes to the officers."

"You are not deceived, barber. If all goes well, how accomplished are the officers! If things go ill, where is the misbegotten dog of a non-commissioned officer who is to blame?"

"Wallahi! That is the very echo of my own thought. What labours are laid upon you! What responsibility is yours! Well for me that my years forbid my bearing arms, for without doubt the strain would wear me to a shadow and I should sink into my grave. Now bend your head, and let your nostrils inhale the delicate odour of this matchless preparation."

He was in the act of pouring lotion on the man's head when a young Arab in the dress of a boatman entered. Firouz Ali threw him a quick glance; an observer might have detected a mutual look of recognition between them; but the Turk's eyes were fixed on the basin.

"Enter, O kelakji, and wait your turn," said the barber. "A month ago, before my worthless dog of an apprentice left me, you might have been attended to by the boy while I myself was occupied with customers of importance; but now you must have patience until the demands of the officer of the Padishah are satisfied."

The newcomer sat himself down on a stool, and the barber went on:

"Said I not truly? Is not the aroma fragrant as the gardens of the Prophet? And the lather is white as the bloom of the tobacco plant. Wallahi! we were speaking of your toils and sorrows, noble warrior, when this young boatman entered. Truly your life is no bed of roses."

"Truth is on your tongue, O barber," said the Turk. "This week I have been able to snatch scarce an hour's sleep at a time. From morning till night, from night till morning, stores to be checked, a never-ending task. What with the railway and the river there is no rest. If it is not a barge-load of grain, it is a train-load of ammunition."

"And it falls upon you to count all these things? Surely it is like counting the ripples on a stream."

"A labour beyond any man. The ammunition comes in boxes—we number the boxes. I passed in 100,000 rounds yesterday, as many the day before; and to-day there are machine-guns."

"No wonder you come to be refreshed with a shampoo! You have charge of the guns too! A heavy charge—all those thousands."

"Ahi! I said not thousands—would there were! But in truth we have not so many machine-guns as could be wished. The Alemans have not sent us so many of late. But now they are beginning to come in again. There are twenty, so word came to me, now waiting to be unpacked."

"Verily it passes my understanding how you find room for all these engines of war, even in so great a city as Bagdad. Moreover, is there not great danger in the handling of them? I speak as a man of peace."

"We are in truth sometimes hard put to it for store room, and when the godowns are full, we have to keep our stores in the barges upon the river hard by. But they do not remain there long, so great is the demand for them from our brothers down the river. And as to danger——"

At this point the Turk found himself under the necessity of keeping his mouth shut. He was in the middle stage of the shampoo. To take part in the conversation was impossible when the barber was pouring floods of water over his head, or even later, when his head was smothered in a towel, and the barber was kneading it with his hands. Firouz Ali himself said, little during the final perfuming of his customer's hair, and the sound of a bugle reminded the Turk that he must hasten back to his duties.

When he was gone, the barber turned to the young Arab.

"Your father's son must always be welcome," he said, "but what of prudence? Is it not a necessary virtue? The Turk is stupid, Allah knows: witness the ass-head I have just anointed; but a watch is set upon all the approaches to the city, and you may tempt fortune too far. The house of Ionides was but lately occupied by a picket——"

The young Arab started.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Peace, peace!" replied the barber, with a significant gesture. "The walls have ears; the dust carries tidings. Is it not my business to know?"

It was barely two hours since Burnet, slipping through the garden of a deserted house on the bank of the Tigris south of the city, found refuge in the building itself and watched for an opportunity, when, as he thought, no observer was near, to make an unobtrusive entrance into the streets. He knew of old how perfect was the barber's knowledge of what went on in Bagdad, and indeed throughout Mesopotamia; but this new illustration, this proof that his temporary shelter in the deserted house of the Greek merchant Ionides was already known to Firouz Ali, came upon him with something of a shock.

Roger Burnet, as some may remember, was the son of a Cambridge scholar who had devoted the latter years of his life to archæological research in Mesopotamia. There Roger had spent the greater part of his boyhood, learning to speak Arabic almost as well as a native. Just before the outbreak of war he had been recalled from school in England by a peremptory telegram from his father, whom he found very ill. Mr. Burnet lingered for more than eighteen months in the hill village of an Arab chief, and it was not until June 1916 that Roger, after his father's death, was able to set off with the intention of joining the British army. Disguised as an Arab, he had travelled to Bagdad with a party of the chief's men, and taken counsel with Firouz Ali, an old friend of his father, a man of quick wit, and an important member of an organisation that was working for the release of the Arabs from the Turkish yoke.

At that time the British attempt to relieve General Townshend in Kut had disastrously failed, and the cause of freedom lay under a heavy cloud. Burnet learnt that the Turks were organising an expedition to punish the chief whose hospitality he had enjoyed, for his refusal to furnish levies to the Sultan's army. It subsequently came to light that the expedition had been instigated by the Germans, its real object being the capture of a stronghold that commanded an important road of communication. Burnet decided to throw in his lot with the chief, escaped from Bagdad by the aid of Firouz Ali and of a mysterious dervish who turned out to be a British secret service agent, after many adventures assisted in the defence of the stronghold against a large force of German-led Turks, and ultimately reached the British lines below Kut. He wished to return to England by way of Bombay for the purpose of training for a commission; but a man with his knowledge of the native dialects was too valuable to be spared. The commander-in-chief made direct application to the War Office on his behalf, and he had in fact been gazetted a second lieutenant on the General List a few weeks before he set off with Captain Ellingford on his present mission to Bagdad.

Firouz Ali was too polite to make any direct enquiries of Burnet as to the object of his visit. The latter explained.

"You spoke of prudence, my friend," he said. "Well, I grant there are risks, but I have run risks before—for good cause. Of late we have had no news either from you or from the dervish Hezar."

"That is true, Aga," replied the barber, "and therefore is my heart heavy. But who can strive against Fate? Twice within the past month have I sent messengers. The first came back with a shattered arm: the Turkish dogs shot him as he tried to pass through their lines, and he was hard put to it to escape with his life. The second was drowned swimming the river to avoid them. And as for the dervish Hezar, did he not quit the city secretly some ten days ago, having reason to believe that some were looking upon him with suspicion?"

"I guessed there was a simple explanation: that there were difficulties. That is why I am here. We must know what the Turks are doing—whether they are receiving reinforcements and supplies, and where these are stored."

"By the Beard, you heard something from that addle-pate who has but now left us. But that is little. I can tell you more. There is at this time in the city a German, a very cunning fellow, who has gathered about him spies in number as the ants in an ant-hill. Ahi! but there is no buckle to his shoe; by which parable understand that he speaks not the tongue of those that he employs, and needs an interpreter. With him there is an Arab who has sold himself to the Turks, and moreover a German who speaks my tongue readily, though with a gurgling throat—a man who has lived many years in this land, digging for the treasures of old time. Is not his name Bukkad Bey?"

"Burckhardt! I know him. I met him with my father years ago." He smiled at some recollection. "So he's here, organising secret police! Well now, my friend——"

Firouz Ali interrupted him by a gesture. The barber's eyes were fixed on a water-seller who was passing the shop, going down the street. Burnet saw no glance exchanged, heard no word; but the man had no sooner gone by than Firouz Ali said in a hurried undertone—

"One of the German's spies approaches. It is not wise that you remain here. Leave me now: go up the street, and after the sun is gone down seek the caravanserai of our friend Yakoub: there will I meet you."

Burnet had barely risen from his stool when a carpet-mender passed, in the opposite direction to the water-seller.

"Wallahi!" muttered the barber, who had gazed at him with the same fixity. "Another spy approaches, from the other end. If you go now, verily you must meet one or the other. They would mark you as a stranger. Is it a time for questions? Haste now: that former day you became for a while my apprentice, and beguiled the Turkish dogs. So it shall be again."

He was already stripping off Burnet's travel-stained outer clothes and clumsy shoes. These he cast under his bench, and then with amazing quickness replaced them with a long white djellab and light sandals.

"Mark you, Aga," he said, "you are my nephew and new apprentice, in place of that misshapen Mahmoud who has left me. You have even now arrived from Bebejak." He named a village near the Persian frontier northward which was not likely to be well known to these agents of the secret service.

Burnet had just taken up a razor and was feeling its edge when a man in the dress of a city merchant passed the open shop, throwing a glance into the interior. Half a minute afterwards a second man appeared from the opposite direction. He stopped, mounted the two steps that led to the shop, and greeting the barber sat down on the chair.

"Comb my beard, barber," he said.

"In truth it needs the comb, effendi," said Firouz Ali. "A fine beard, of the fineness of silk, though its beauty is hidden by the thrice-accursed dust that defiles it. Yusuf, lay my whitest napkin about the effendi's throat."

"A new apprentice, barber?" said the customer, eyeing Burnet. "More agreeable to look at than that hunchback of yours."

"He has a straight back, Allah be praised," said the barber, "but what is that? A fair form may go with a foolish mind. Ahi! The ingratitude of man! Behold, Mahmoud left me without a moment's warning, enticed away by some flattering tongue. And here am I in a pitiful plight, for all likely youths are snapped up for the army, and I have had to summon my nephew from his mean village in the north, a mere country lout——"

"A lout, say you? Methinks his frame deserves a fairer word."

"A lout, I say again: clumsy as an untamed colt. Did he not break my best basin into a thousand and one fragments?"

"And why is he too not in the army?"

"In the army! By the tomb of my father, what should he do in the army? Where are his wits? Bid him go to the right, straightway he goes to the left. Ahi! it broke my poor brother's heart to find a witless mind in a body that, as you truly say, has some elements of graciousness. Will he repay me for all my pains in training him to my honourable craft? Who can tell? He has but just arrived; and I have yet to learn——"

Here the barber was interrupted by the hurried entrance of a young man in military uniform.

"Salaam, barber," he cried. "The barber of Bukkad Bey has fallen sick, and the Bey requires a cunning hand to smooth his cheeks. Whose hand is more cunning than Firouz Ali's? Haste, then, for time presses."

Firouz Ali briefly acknowledged the command, and apologised to his customer for spending less time on his silky beard than its beauty deserved. The secret service man, apparently satisfied with the barber's explanations about his new apprentice, left the shop.

"Woe is me!" exclaimed the barber. "What is to become of you, Aga? I dare not leave you here, and I fear some harm will befall you if you go alone through the streets."

"Take me with you, of course! I can carry your things."

"Mashallah! But Bukkad Bey may know you again."

"Not he! I was hardly more than a child when he saw me, just that once; and he was too busy with my father to notice me."

"Truly you are bold with an exceeding great boldness. But so it shall be. Gather up the basin, and soap, and the brush, and two razors, and the strop. I will bid my neighbour have an eye to the shop, and we will go together."

CHAPTER IV

THE SHAVING OF BURCKHARDT

Major Cornelius Burckhardt was quartered in an old house not far from Firouz Ali's shop. He occupied two rooms on the ground floor, the bedroom opening from the sitting-room. It was into the latter that the barber and Yusuf his apprentice, having been admitted to the outer courtyard by the doorkeeper, were ushered by the major's servant, who bade them wait there, and disappeared into the room beyond.

Burnet looked around with curiosity and amusement. The appointments of the room bespoke a blend of archæologist and military officer. In the centre stood a roll-top desk, open, and strewn with maps and papers: Major Burckhardt, although unshaved, had already been at work. Military accoutrements, hanging from pegs on the wall, dangled above a table strewn with potsherds, fragments of tiles, tablets, and other objects unearthed from Babylonian ruins. Images, large and small, all very much damaged, were ranged on the floor around the walls. Across one corner was a stone screen nearly six feet high, strangely carved, and chipped at the edges.

The servant having left the bedroom door half open, his announcement of the barber's arrival was clearly heard in the outer room. A husky voice, speaking Arabic with a strong guttural accent, bade him show the man in. Firouz Ali, closely followed by Burnet carrying his utensils, entered, bowing low, and giving the customary salutation, "Salaam aleikam!" to which the German suitably responded.

"My barber is sick," he went on. "I sent for you, knowing you to be skilful with the razor."

"May your excellency——" began Firouz Ali.

"Yes, yes; but no man lives for ever," said the German, cutting short the formula. "I was about to say that I cannot shave myself. I have worn a beard for twenty years, but naturally I had to discard it on resuming my career in our German army. I explain this, because it is foreign to my nature to be dependent. I prefer to do everything myself. Also my beard grows strong: therefore is it necessary that your razor should be particularly keen. And now proceed."

Burnet had some difficulty in repressing a smile. Major Burckhardt was a tubby little man, with an immense dome-like head, rather bald, and spectacled. His brown moustache was brushed up at the ends. He wore a long camel's-hair dressing-gown that accentuated his rotundity. Burnet vividly remembered his last sight of the little man, then heavily bearded. He was being rushed down the slope of a tell by Burnet's father, who had seized him by the scruff of the neck, the German frantically calling upon his Arab followers to assist him against the English interloper. Prudently, the Arabs had stood by, gravely watching the scene.

"Yusuf, spread the napkin," said the barber. "Your excellency will have no cause to regret the misfortune that has befallen your barber. In all Bagdad, nay, in all the realm of the Padishah there is no razor equal to this, whether for keenness or for the velvet softness of its touch. Your excellency will be soothed and——"

"Yes, yes," the major interrupted; "get to work. I want my breakfast, and I am already later than my usual hour."

Firouz Ali, like all loquacious people—even though his loquacity was designed—disliked the spoiling of his sentences. He pressed his lips together, and vigorously stropped his razor, signing to Burnet to lather the officer.

While Burnet was preparing the lather, Major Burckhardt, his thick neck swathed with a snowy napkin, looked up at the ceiling, and discoursed of many things.

"There are great days coming for this city of yours, barber. When our Kaiser establishes a protectorate over the country, Bagdad will regain something of its old renown—nay, it will become even more illustrious than it was in its palmiest days. And we have not long to wait." Here Burnet began to lather; but the major, having started on the pleasant pastime of hearing himself speak, continued, in spite of the brush that was travelling over his cheeks and chin. "The English are beating their heads vainly against the impregnable fortresses down the river, erected by German genius. Soon they will be swept away into the sea they claim as their own; that race of boastful braggarts, robbers, hypocrites, scoundrels, scum——"

How far the major's vocabulary of abuse would have extended will not be known, for at this moment Burnet dabbed the shaving-brush, thick with the whitest and creamiest of lathers, into the German's half-open mouth. The little man jumped up, spluttering with froth and fury. Firouz Ali instantly feigned an explosion of rage. Seizing the brush, he flung Burnet aside and shouted:

"Away with you, you clumsy fool, last of a generation of apes! Woe is me that I should call you kin! Would you shame me before the very face of his excellency? Would you take away my good name, and cause it to be spread abroad throughout the world that Firouz Ali is the uncle of an ass? I pray your excellency to pardon me, the least of his servants, and not to turn away the light of his countenance from me because of the iniquities of this poor fool, who is but lately come from a mean village that I may sharpen his wits and better his manners. Stand here, poor witless lout, and hold me the basin: 'tis all you are fit for."

A MOUTHFUL OF SOAP

The German allowed himself to be appeased; he wanted his breakfast. Firouz Ali, alternately abusing his apprentice and flattering the officer, finished his task, and coaxed out an admission that, barring the awkwardness of the young man, it had been a very comfortable shave. The major then dismissed him, telling him to wait in the next room and the servant would bring his fee.

The barber bowed himself out, and harshly bade Burnet follow him, and close the door. They heard the major ring for his servant, who gained the bedroom by another entrance. There was some delay, and Burnet catching sight of a marked map spread out on the desk, and remembering his mission, moved across the room to examine it. Before he had taken more than a cursory glance, however, there was a sound of persons approaching the outer door. Instinctively he slipped behind the stone screen at his elbow, next moment feeling annoyed with himself, for there might have been time to rejoin Firouz Ali. The door opened, and there entered a tall man in the uniform of a German general, with a Turkish aide-de-camp at his heels, Major Burckhardt's servant following. The latter crossed at once to the door of the bedroom, half opened it, and announced that General Eisenstein had called on important business. Major Burckhardt, still in his dressing-gown, came out hurriedly, with proper apologies for his appearance. He signed to Firouz Ali to go, and the barber was followed out by the servant, who handed him his fee, receiving a portion of it as commission, in accordance with oriental custom.

"Where is your apprentice?" he asked.

"Where is that ass-head, that worker of iniquity!" cried the barber. "By the Beard, it were fitting he should drown himself. Did you not see him pass out, rubbing his pumpkin pate?"

"He did not pass me."

"Then peradventure he slunk out at the back while you were admitting your master's high-born visitor. Truly he would shrink from showing his foolish face even to you, friend."

He spoke in a very loud tone of voice, in order to be heard both by the doorkeeper across the courtyard, and by Burnet within the house. When the servant had closed the door, Firouz Ali stood for a moment or two debating with himself what he had better do. He was seriously perturbed. For years past he had lived on the edge of circumstance, a secret revolutionary, owing his safety solely to his quickness, resource, and address. He had never felt so helpless as in the present predicament, due to Burnet's impulsive action. Deciding that to loiter in the neighbourhood could do no good, and might do harm, he returned to his shop, convinced that he would see his benefactor's son no more.

Meanwhile Burnet, crouching back in the corner behind the screen, and feeling that he deserved all the abuse lately showered upon him by his friend, had perforce listened to the conversation between the German officers. The opening sentences, spoken in German, he did not understand. General Eisenstein had in fact begun by apologising for disturbing Major Burckhardt at what was clearly an unseasonable hour.

"As you know," he remarked, "I am myself up and about before dawn."

Burckhardt caught the implied reproach, and answered in something of a fluster.

"I have already been at work, Herr General," he said, "but my barber fell sick, and——"

"Quite so, but speak in Arabic, if you please. Major Rustum Bey does not understand German. I have come to you for information about a part of the country with which I understand you are familiar. Major Rustum Bey has had some difficulty in getting exact particulars."

Burnet pricked up his cars. From this point on the conversation was conducted in Arabic.

"The chief Halil," General Eisenstein went on, "who has hitherto shown himself friendly and proved to be of some use (although one can trust these Arabs no farther than one can see them), has come in to ask for assistance. It appears that a certain tribe with which he has been long at war (they call it war!) has crossed the Euphrates and established itself in a fastness among the swamps. The tribe is known to be disaffected towards his Ottoman Majesty: if it is not rooted out it will become a nucleus of hostile activity, attracting other rebel Arabs, and may seriously threaten our communications on the river. The situation of the fastness is described as a long march south of the tell of—what is the name, major?"

"The tell of Tukulti-Ninip, Excellenz," said the Turkish officer.

"Now, Major Burckhardt, in the first place do you know this tell of—ach!——"

"Tukulti-Ninip," said Burckhardt. "Certainly: I know it well. Only a few years ago it was the scene of a brisk little action between myself and a brutal Englishman who was poaching on my ground. The Englishman had cause to repent his insolence."

"Good, Major Burckhardt. You will soon have further opportunities, no doubt, of action of a still more stirring character. Now, as to this fastness—you have a map? Yes, I see you have. Point out to me the locality of this tell of——"

"Tukulti-Ninip. Here it is, Herr General." He laid a fat forefinger on the spot. "It is covered with the ruins of a temple erected by Samsi-Addu to the god Anu, and was——"

"We are discussing military matters, not antiquities, my dear major. Let us proceed. The fastness in question is described as an island in the marshes, and has ruins of some kind, giving good cover. It is approached by a causeway nearly a thousand metres long. Do you know such a place?"

"That, too, Herr General, I know as well as I know my own native village of Obervogelgesang: better, indeed, for I once spent six months digging in the ruins you mention, and the museums of Dresden and Munich count my finds among their choicest treasures. I had the good fortune to discover a tablet commemorating the expedition of Tukulti-Ninip to the Sebbeneh-Su——"

"My good major, confine yourself to our present business, if you please. You know the place well. Then we shall not be dependent on the Arabs for our information. Where would you locate it on the map?"

Burckhardt took a pencil, and after some consideration marked the spot, saying:

"It is here, as nearly as possible. The wady, once a canal (dating from the time of Assur-Uballit) that irrigated the whole surrounding country, is now the cause of the marshes. It carries the flood water of the Euphrates over a hundred square kilometres, and is now a scourge where it was once a source of prosperity. I discovered in my researches that Pudi-ilu——"

"Enough!" cried the general, his patience giving out. He turned to the Turk. "A company of infantry with a machine-gun, assisted by Halil's horde, will no doubt suffice?"

Though in form a question, there was so little real enquiry in the remark that Major Rustum Bey hastily agreed.

"Certainly, Excellenz. It will be quite sufficient."

"Then I will arrange that you undertake the little expedition, associated with Major Burckhardt, whose peculiar local knowledge should be of much value. Shall we say a month from to-day? Halil will have to return to his tribe and make his arrangements, and procrastination is such a vice with the Arabs that we must give him plenty of time. Tell him to be ready in a fortnight, and we may be reasonably certain that he will be ready in a month. That is all, then, Major Burckhardt. Ah! it occurs to me to remind you that this is a military expedition, not a hunt for old stones."

The visitors took their leave, Burckhardt accompanying them to the door.

CHAPTER V

SECRET SERVICE

Behind the screen, Burnet had listened to the three officers' conversation with mixed feelings. On the one hand he had gained a piece of information which might be of importance and well worth his risky visit to Bagdad. On the other, he had placed himself in a position which made it very doubtful whether he would be able to use the information, or even to escape with his life. There was short shrift for any spy.

What could he do? Burckhardt, on the departure of his visitors, rang for his servant, ordered him to prepare breakfast, and retired into his bedroom to finish his interrupted toilet. The servant set the table. In a few minutes the German would be engaged with his meal, after which he would no doubt resume work at his desk. Burnet felt that if he did not escape at once he would probably have no opportunity later. The only possible chance seemed to be to follow the servant as quietly as possible when he should leave the room to fetch his master's food. What course would then be open to him he could not guess. He was ignorant of the plan of the house. All that he knew of it was that small portion which he had passed through with Firouz Ali. The front door opened into a small courtyard about which the house was built, with a verandah along the front of the house. Near the outer door, on a small square of carpet within the shade of the verandah, sat the doorkeeper, cross-legged. To gain freedom Burnet would have to reach the front undetected, cross or skirt the courtyard, and pass the doorkeeper. It was so far fortunate that Burckhardt had followed the oriental custom in employing a native porter, instead of being guarded by a sentry as might have been expected. There was, it was clear, a back door, giving access no doubt to one of the narrow evil-smelling lanes which Bagdad, like every oriental city, has in plenty; but to go exploring in search of that was out of the question.

The doorkeeper was the difficulty. Burnet wished that Firouz Ali had not been so ready with his explanation of his being unaccompanied by the apprentice. The man would almost certainly be suspicious if the apprentice who, he supposed, had already left the house should come out of the front door so long after his master. Even if not suspicious, he might detain Burnet for a chat on things in general, or to enquire the reason of the barber's anger, and during their talk the servant might come into the courtyard and see him. Burnet was taxing his wits for some means of eluding the doorkeeper when the servant, having set the table, went off to fetch the meal. For the moment there was but one thing to be done: to escape from the room before either the man or the master re-entered it.

No sooner had the servant gone out, leaving the door open, than Burnet slipped from his hiding-place and followed him on tiptoe into the passage. The servant had turned to the right, no doubt towards the kitchen. Burnet, waiting at the doorway until he had disappeared, hurried to the left towards the front door, paused until he had made sure that the doorkeeper on the far side of the courtyard had not seen him, then slipped under the shade of the verandah behind a tall plant growing in a pot. He had noticed, under the verandah on the opposite side, not far from the doorkeeper, a pile of packing-cases, in which he guessed that Burckhardt's antiquities had been transported. This pile would form a securer shelter than the plant, which was in full view of any one who might enter the courtyard from the street. Stealing round the verandah close to the wall, he got behind the cases; and breathing a little more freely, waited to consider his next move.

He looked across the courtyard, and through the window of Burckhardt's room saw that officer, now in his military uniform, come from his bedroom and seat himself at the table. The servant brought in a tray, poured out his master's coffee, then disappeared. Burckhardt propped a book against the water-jug, and divided his attention between that and his breakfast. There was little to be feared from him.

The doorkeeper remained on his mat. He was not even drowsy. Burnet tried to think of something that would account for his presence, but found nothing that would not involve such lengthy explanations as he was anxious to avoid. If only something would take the doorkeeper away for a minute or so!—the wish had no sooner formed itself than an idea occurred to him. The cases and crates among which he was sheltering were very insecurely stacked. A slight push would displace one of the topmost. Its fall would probably bring the doorkeeper to the spot, not to replace it—that would not be his job, and an oriental servant is the last man in the world to do more than he must—but to satisfy his curiosity and find a subject for conversation. Burnet might then dodge behind the other cases towards the doorway, and with luck slip out.

The plan was no sooner formed than acted on. A heavy crate, which a European would have put at the base of the pile instead of at the summit, toppled over on to the paving-stones with a crash and flying splinters. But the stolid doorkeeper only turned his head for an instant. A crate had fallen: what was that to him? The noise, however, had an effect which Burnet had not reckoned on. Burckhardt, with his napkin round his neck and the coffee-pot in his hand, came to the window. His servant appeared at the door.

"What is that?" the latter called.

"Have you no eyes, foolish one?" answered the doorkeeper without rising. "The crate lies where it fell."

Here Burckhardt threw open the window and roared, with his mouth half full:

"Get up, you son of idleness, and set the crate back in its place, and take care that it is secure. Shall I speak twice?"

Burnet, keeping out of view, saw the doorkeeper rise slowly and move towards the crate. The servant returned into the house, no doubt fearing that he might be called upon to lend a hand. But Burckhardt remained at the window to see that his command was carried out. Burnet was in despair. He could dodge the doorkeeper, but it was impossible to reach the door unnoticed while Burckhardt stood looking on. But the German, seeing that the man was stirring, went back, presumably to fill his cup, or to replace the coffee-pot on the table. Burnet seized the lucky moment. He slipped along behind the pile, threw a hasty glance towards the house, and knowing that the doorkeeper's back was now turned to him, darted through the open doorway into the street.

Firouz Ali uttered a fervent "Mashallah!" when Burnet, a few minutes later, walked into his shop, then empty.

"Verily a leaden weight is lifted from my heart, Aga," he said. "It was bowed down with the fear that you were in the hands of the enemy. Tell me by what device you escaped out of the net."

Burnet explained.

"It was well done," said the barber, "and surely good fortune attends you. But give heed to the words of one who has learnt wisdom. Let two thoughts go before one action. What need to hide in the very chamber of the foe? Am I a child? Could you not trust me to bring us both safely away? Such foolishness leads you into dangers that might be avoided: moreover, it might have brought my own head into peril, for has not a sword hung over it by a hair these many years? Nay, more: my life must end some day: such is the fate of all; but I would not that it should end before my eyes have seen the glory for which I have striven since I was a beardless youth."

"What you say is quite right, my old friend," said Burnet. "I was rash, and I am sorry for it. But after all, if I had not hidden I should not have learned what I did."

"What was that?" asked the barber eagerly.

"The Germans are joining hands with that rogue Halil to attack Rejeb son of Hussein. I have not told you yet—I have not had time—that I met Rejeb on my way here, and was able to do him a trifling service. Halil's men were even then hunting him."

"Mashallah! What you did for him was well done, for Rejeb is as a pillar in the temple of our freedom. If any harm befalls him, not only will a heavy blow be dealt against the faithful who would throw off the Turkish yoke, but the safety of your own countrymen between the rivers yonder will be put in jeopardy. There are tribes in the desert, now friendly to you, or at least wavering, which would turn to the enemy from very fear if Rejeb fell; and then your people would be harassed by constant raids, and their task, heavy enough, would be doubly hard. And I may tell you now that the dervish Hezar, when he left the city of late, set forth to learn how stand the minds of the tribes bordering the Euphrates towards you. Of him I have heard nothing: he is in the hands of Allah!"

The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of a customer; indeed, it was not resumed until the time of the midday siesta checked the stream of customers who came to Firouz Ali for his professional attentions and almost as much for the flow of chat which he poured out. Burnet admired the unfailing tact with which the barber suited his talk to the tastes and interests of his various patrons. He remarked, too, how cleverly his friend, knowing that his stay in Bagdad must be brief, prepared his customers for another change of assistants.

"Wallahi! Mahmoud was a hunchback," he said to one, "but he was learning his craft: whereas this poor thing, my nephew, fresh from his benighted village, will never make a barber, even though he live to the age of the patriarchs. His tongue is slow, an ill thing in barbers; moreover, he is clumsy as a camel: did he not this very morning fill the mouth of a German effendi with soap, to my everlasting shame? No, he must find other work for his unruly hands."

Burnet listened to all this with secret amusement, and laughed heartily when, in a leisure moment, Firouz Ali apologised for his uncomplimentary remarks.

"My friend, I enjoyed them," he said. "Besides, you are quite right. I am conscious that I never should make a satisfactory barber."

It was not until the end of the day that they were thoroughly at leisure to discuss the course of action which Burnet ought to follow as the result of what he had learnt. Firouz Ali decided to send a messenger to warn Rejeb of his impending danger: the same man would also try to penetrate to the British lines with a message from Burnet giving the same information. Meanwhile Burnet himself, in pursuance of the object that had brought him to Bagdad, would remain at any rate for a few days to pick up any information he could regarding the enemy's movements and plans. With this purpose it would be necessary to find opportunities of visiting different parts of the city. The barber pointed out that it was no longer easy, as in the past, to perambulate the city without exciting suspicion. The old laxity had disappeared when the Germans assumed control. Discipline was now rigorous in the army, and the civil administration had been militarised. Burnet was not likely to learn more about the Turkish arrangements than Firouz Ali could tell him. His reply to this was that he wanted not only to know the numbers and constitution of the military forces, the extent of their supplies and so on; in addition, for the purpose he had in view, he must learn by personal observation exactly where the storehouses were situated.

During the next few days the two men spent a good many hours in going about the city and its neighbourhood. For these excursions they chose the middle part of the day, when people in authority were resting, and the shop could be left most safely. They were always prepared with a story.

While talking matters over with Firouz Ali, and combating the objections he raised on the score of prudence, Burnet had a happy thought. Why should not the barber make capital of his summons to Burckhardt? Let him announce through his agents that during the middle part of the day, when people of consideration were resting, and few or no customers came to the shop, the barber who had had the honour of attending upon Bukkad Bey would visit at their own lodgings any who were at leisure to be refreshed with a shampoo, to have their nails trimmed, or their hair improved by the application of his famous lotion.

"But what will it profit?" asked Firouz Ali, not seeing the drift of the suggestion. "If I am thus employed, how can I accompany you in your goings to and fro, and accompany you I must, for your own safety?"

"My friend, we may thus account for our presence in any part of the city at unusual hours, armed with our brushes and bottles. And as for those who would avail themselves of your services, what easier than to explain to a man in one quarter that when he wanted you, you were busy in another?"

The plan, as further explained, was one after Firouz Ali's own heart, and next morning it was put in operation. It succeeded admirably. For a day or two the barber, always accompanied by his apprentice, spent the early afternoon in practising his craft here and there in the city; then, having taken care that his new activities should be talked about, he dropped them, and led Burnet to the quarters he was anxious to see. He was sometimes stopped and questioned, but his explanation was always ready, with his apparatus for credentials.

After each excursion Burnet, on his return to the barber's house, took from its place of concealment between the soles of one of his shoes a plan of Bagdad, placed over it a sheet of semi-transparent paper such as is commonly used in the country, and marked upon it a small dot over the spot at which some military establishment was situated. In the course of a few days this paper, which would have appeared to the uninitiated merely a blank sheet with a number of scattered and apparently meaningless dots, was in reality a compendium of important discoveries.

One day, when they were out on their usual errand, Burnet's wish to discover the exact position of certain ammunition barges that lay in the river led them to venture farther than was prudent. They were stopped and questioned by a sentry more than usually alert. Firouz Ali's glib explanations for once did not satisfy the man, perhaps eager for promotion, and they were marched to the guard-room. At the moment none but private soldiers were there, one or two of whom knew the barber, and were quick to inform their comrade that he had made a mistake. While they were discussing the point, there entered the non-commissioned officer whom Firouz Ali had been shampooing at the time of Burnet's arrival at the shop some days before.

"Ahi! What is this?" he cried, in surprise.

"Mashallah! Here is one who knows the truth of things," exclaimed the barber, before the sentry could begin. "This excellent servant of the Padishah did but his duty, beyond doubt, but you, being a man in authority, will be able to content him. Who can bear witness better than you that I am Firouz Ali, the barber of Bagdad, the maker of sweet scents and famous lotions? Is it not known far and wide that the illustrious Bukkad Bey has entrusted to me his noble chin? And was I not honoured in bedewing your own matchless locks with my sweet-savoured essences? And lo, chancing to pass this way, and remembering your witty sayings and all that you told me, I did but think to pay my respects, and perchance to behold with my own eyes your manifold labours in the service of our father the Padishah. And now, wallahi! we are taken, myself and my poor nephew—we are taken, I say, as common malefactors. Woe is me! Shall it be said that Firouz Ali, a man of no little renown——"

"Stay," interrupted the sergeant, clearly flattered at being coupled with Bukkad Bey; "this is very true. That you are Firouz Ali the barber I know, and that you have shaved Bukkad Bey and shampooed me; but who is this? Surely it is the kelakji who came into your shop that morning. Wherefore then is he in your company, his raiment changed?"

"Wallahi! Do not I ask myself that question twenty times a day? This youth, effendi, that came to me that unlucky day—woe is me that I should call him nephew! Behold him, the poor witless loon who ran away from his village and sought fortune vainly in many crafts, and having failed in them all for want of wit, he came to me for help, and I could not believe he was my own brother's son, so much had he grown. Ahi! As his stature increases, so does his mind decrease; he will never be a barber, for all my instruction; and he is fit for nothing better than to carry my pots and perchance to stir a lather. Wallahi! My poor brother!"

"By the Beard, it is a sore affliction for your family," said the sergeant, looking pityingly at Burnet, who stood with half-open mouth and as silly an expression as he could assume. Quite unsuspicious, he rated the sentry for his stupidity in arresting a citizen so well-reputed as Firouz Ali, and ordered the prisoners to be released, at the same time warning the barber against indiscretions in the future.

"Verily it is a lesson," said Firouz Ali, after profusely thanking the man. "I will offend no more. And here, effendi, is a bottle of my famous lotion—a small token of my gratitude, but in truth what can a man give better than his best?"

When they had been escorted beyond the military quarters Firouz Ali uttered a heart-felt invocation of the Prophet.

"It is time for you to go, Aga," he added earnestly. "That sentry has more wits than the ass-head who commands him. Did you not perceive his sulkiness, and the sparkle of some thought in his eye? Of a truth he was not satisfied, and he may even yet bring harm upon you."

"I am inclined to agree with you, my friend," said Burnet, "and the more readily because I doubt whether it is worth while my staying any longer. And I must keep my appointment with my countryman at the tell; there may be delays; I had better start at once."

"We will talk of it this night when the shop is closed. You must not go as you came: ahi! it needs that I work my wits once more for your behoof. What would I not do for the son of my protector and friend!"

CHAPTER VI

THE DERVISH HEZAR

Before Burnet laid himself down that night on his humble couch in Firouz Ali's house the plan for his departure had been thoroughly discussed. Among the barber's friends and agents was one Ibrahim, once a prosperous owner of camels, which he hired out to merchants or pilgrims. Since the war, however, all his camels but two had been commandeered by the Turks; his business was ruined; and he now employed himself in picking up camels from the remoter tribes in the Arabian desert, and selling them to the army authorities at a miserable profit. He had adopted this occupation to cover his real business, which was to keep in touch with the revolted chiefs at Mecca and Medina and to act as a travelling link between them and Firouz Ali, the centre of the secret revolutionary movement in Bagdad.

Firouz Ali arranged that Burnet should become Ibrahim's temporary assistant. Having lost no opportunity of belittling the intelligence of his new apprentice, the barber would find it easy to explain to any one who was curious enough to enquire, that the lad had shown himself hopelessly inefficient, and gone to try his luck as a camel-driver. Burnet would accompany Ibrahim to Kerbela and Meshed Ali, and thence make the best of his way to the tell of Tukulti-Ninip, in good time, he hoped, for his appointment with Captain Ellingford.

Next day he did not leave the barber's house, but employed himself in writing a letter. Curiously enough, it was addressed to himself, and in Arabic; and though of no great length, its composition occupied several hours. The paper on which it was written was that thin sheet which he had several times laid over his map of Bagdad and the neighbourhood and marked with small dots, which formed a haphazard pattern like the stars in the firmament. Written Arabic, as every one knows, is a series of strokes and curves and dots, like a compacter sort of shorthand; and the reason why this simple letter was a work of long labour was that the dots already marked on the paper had to be incorporated, in the most natural way possible, with the invented message. When the letter was finished, only a very observant eye would have noticed that some of the dots were slightly heavier than the rest. No one would have suspected that only these dots were of the least importance: the letter existed for them.

It read somewhat as follows:

"To my dear son Yusuf, greeting. My heart is sore, yearning for you, my sweet son, for a sight of your face, round as the moon, and your eyes, like raisins in a cake. I hope that you have not shed your bright blood by careless handling of your uncle's razors, and I pray that you may become rich enough to give your sister a good dower, and that you will attain as high a renown as my famous brother himself. Blessing and peace be with you. Written by the hand of the mullah for your father and mother."

"That'll do, if I'm collared," thought Burnet, as he tucked the letter into his girdle.

He then tore up the map which gave the key to this letter: there were plenty more at headquarters.

In the evening, when the shop was shut, Ibrahim the camel-driver came to the house and was introduced by Firouz Ali to his new assistant. Ibrahim had brought with him a few essential articles of clothing, and it was settled that Burnet should join him next morning at dawn.

Soon after daylight the two camel-drivers, each mounted on a rather poor specimen of the kind, rode southwards out of the city. Ibrahim had a pass, which franked them through the sentries, to whom, indeed, he was pretty well known through previous journeys in and out. Like all travellers in those desert lands he carried a rifle: Burnet, apparently unarmed, had his revolver securely tucked away.

Burnet had lived long enough in Mesopotamia to have more than a passing acquaintance with the camel, its moods and vagaries; but during the next few days he learnt more about that useful "ship of the desert" than he had known in all his previous experience. His steed tramped on hour after hour at the same steady pace, with a jolting movement that he found unpleasant and tedious. He longed for the lithe, springy, varied gait of a horse, and once ventured to express his preference to his companion. Ibrahim was up in arms at once, and lectured him so roundly that he wished he had held his tongue.

"You speak out of your little knowledge, effendi," said this champion of the camel. "The horse, indeed, starts with his heels in the air, and will curvet and gallop and perform as many tricks as a tumbler. But how is it at the end of the day? The beast shambles and stumbles, and, ill-tempered from hunger, he will bite and fight, scatter his corn like a prodigal, and even paw it with his hoofs into the mire. But the camel—behold how patiently he marches, as well at sunset as at dawn; how gently he kneels down at his journey's end, and thankfully receives his beans, and chews the cud peacefully until the morning. He has more wits than a horse, and if he roars, it is but to say that his saddle galls him, and to plead that it may be restuffed. Better one camel than twenty horses."

There was something to be said on the other side, but Burnet had tact, an excellent thing in a travelling companion.

The sixty-mile journey to Kerbela was almost uneventful. As Burnet knew, the place was seething with disaffection towards the Turks, and he was not surprised when, a few miles from the town, a small party of rebels suddenly sprang out from behind a palm grove and commanded the travellers to dismount. The sequel caused him to realise that the movement controlled by Firouz Ali was very widespread. At a few words from Ibrahim, and the display of a small token that he carried in the folds of his turban, the hostile attitude of the rebels changed as by magic to the frankest friendliness. They readily answered Ibrahim's questions as to affairs in the town, and took a cordial farewell.

The travellers stayed in Kerbela only long enough to rest their camels, then pushed on towards their destination, Meshed Ali, fifty miles to the south. Leaving the palm gardens behind them at early morning, they were soon in the barren desert. Towards sunset, when they had almost reached Birs Nimrud, half-way to their goal, they came upon a camping party of five men, squatting on mats and eating dates, in the shade of a small pile of ruins. Four horses were tethered close by, and Burnet saw that one of the men, a wild, dirty, long-bearded figure clad in the deerskin of a dervish, had his hands tied together with a piece of rope.

"What did I say, Aga?" remarked Ibrahim, as they came abreast of the party. "The horses are far spent; they can go no further; otherwise those men would not have paused here to rest when the town lies but a few miles beyond."

The men, each of whom had a rifle laid across his knees, looked up somewhat suspiciously at the two travellers. Ibrahim pulled up and gave them a greeting.

"I perceive you have a prisoner," he added. "Verily he has the look of a vile creature and a worker of iniquity. What is his offence, I pray you?"

"Wallahi! He is indeed an evil-doer," answered the leader; "a runaway thief, and we have ridden hard to catch him."

"He shall be beaten with stripes, and repent with mourning," said Ibrahim. "Upon you be blessing and peace."

THE PRISONER

The camels jogged on again. As they passed, the prisoner looked up and flashed one quick glance at Burnet, instantly lowering his eyes. Burnet involuntarily started, but recollected himself in a moment, and refrained from turning his head. Those keen grey eyes, however, were unmistakeable. The prisoner was the man who passed among the natives as the Dervish Hezar, but was known to the British headquarters staff as Alfred Sanderson, the most daring and skilful of secret service agents.

When they were out of earshot, Burnet said to his companion: "The prisoner, no thief, is a friend of Firouz Ali's. We must rescue him."

"Say you so? Firouz Ali's friends are mine, and if that man be the Dervish Hezar——"

"He is."

"Ahi! But what can we do? They are four, well armed: we are but two."

"Yet it must be done, and though they are more than we, peradventure with two there will be more wisdom and cunning than with four."

This implied compliment to his intelligence pleased Ibrahim, and as soon as they had ridden out of sight he turned aside from the beaten track, rounded a slight eminence, and causing the camels to kneel down, asked Burnet to dismount with him and talk over the problem.

"Those poor beasts," he remarked, "are jaded; they will not be fit to travel for some hours to come; therefore the men will remain where they are until the morning. Perchance in the darkness we could steal up to their camp and bring the dervish away."

"We had better return to it while there is still light in the sky," said Burnet. "It will be dark in half an hour, and we might then find it difficult to discover them. The ruins will cover us from them if we approach from the east."

"It is well said, Aga. I will give the camels a handful of beans which they will chew peacefully, and so refrain from disturbing the night with their roaring; then we will make a circuit and come to the ruins even as the sun sets."

Less than half an hour later the two men, having made their way back to the ruins, crept stealthily to the southern corner, where they could see the spot on which the five men had camped. It was growing dark, but in the slight glow from the western sky they perceived at once that the men were no longer there. There was no sign of them in what was visible of the open desert to the west; it was indeed scarcely likely that they had decided to pursue their journey on horses so patently fatigued. Ibrahim suggested in a whisper that they had withdrawn farther into the ruins to avoid observation by passengers along the direct route from Kerbela to Meshed Ali.

This was disappointing. The ruins were extensive; to explore them in the dark would be as hazardous as difficult. Their footsteps would be inaudible in the sand; but they might stumble against one of the innumerable fragments of masonry that lay scattered all about, and the Arab's ears are so quick that the slightest sound might utterly defeat their purpose. The night would be moonless; even if it had been otherwise, moonlight would have been little less dangerous than darkness, for though they could have seen their way, a flickering shadow might have betrayed them.

In whispers they discussed their safest course. Burnet agreed to remain on the outskirts of the ruins while Ibrahim searched. When the Arab started on his quest darkness had descended, and there was only a slight glimmer from the stars. It seemed hours before he returned. He explained that he had almost despaired of finding the men, and concluded that they had after all ridden away to the north, when he suddenly heard voices, and creeping towards the sound had almost stumbled upon the party, encamped in the midst of a group of broken columns hidden by a slight fold in the ground. Their horses were tethered some little distance away, and from the appearance of things it seemed clear that the men had no intention of leaving the spot until daybreak.

During Ibrahim's absence Burnet had turned over in his mind, not merely the problem of getting the dervish away, but the further problem of successfully eluding pursuit. Tired as the horses were, they had probably had rest enough to make them more than equal to the camels in pace. Should he stampede them? It would be easy enough, but the attempt might lead to disaster, for they would almost certainly scent a stranger long before he reached them, and a startled whinny would bring the Arabs in haste upon the scene. The safer plan would be to depend on releasing the prisoner while his captors were asleep, and then on following a roundabout course through the desert.

The two men consulted in whispers and soon came to a determination. Burnet, as the more active of the two, and also as being well known to the prisoner, undertook the task of releasing him. Ibrahim meanwhile would ensconce himself at a convenient spot near at hand, and remain on the watch, ready to defend the others with his rifle if need arose.

The Arab has an almost unerring sense of locality and direction, and in spite of the darkness Ibrahim was able to lead Burnet without fault through the maze of ruins to the slight hollow where the men were encamped. Looking down upon it from his higher point a few yards away, Burnet was just able to discern, by the glimmer of the stars, five figures on the ground. Four of them were squatting; every now and then a word was spoken; the fifth lay at full stretch, a little apart from the others.

Burnet watched and listened impatiently. Surely the men would not remain thus the whole night through. What if they slept in turn, leaving one always on guard? After a while the conversation became still more spasmodic and drowsy: presently it ceased altogether, and all four men sank into a recumbent posture. Secure in their retreat far within the ruins, they had seen no need of keeping guard.

All was now silent. Not even a snore broke the stillness. Only a slight clink came occasionally from the spot where the horses were tethered. Burnet still waited, though he knew that the Arab, like all creatures of the wild, falls asleep instantly. But he knew also that the sleep was light. The least unusual sound, inaudible to a European ear, would cause these men to spring up, as wide awake and alert as a house-dog.

At last he moved, stealing along a few feet away from the rim of the hollow until he came opposite the spot where the fifth man lay. Then, after a momentary pause, he wriggled down the slope as noiselessly as a slug, breathing fast, drawing nearer only inch by inch to his friend. He touched him lightly; the prisoner started, but relapsed immediately into immobility. Feeling along the inert body, Burnet discovered that now both hands and feet were bound. With silent cuts of his knife he severed the cords, lay for a moment listening, then crawled backwards up the slope. Why was not the prisoner following him? He had gained the top before the dervish gave any sign of movement. Then, however, he began slowly to follow, and Burnet guessed that his limbs were stiff from his bonds. Watching with eager impatience, he saw the greyish figure, scarcely distinguishable from the earth, draw nearer to the top. The Arabs slept on undisturbed. And at last the dervish rose to his feet, clasped Burnet's hand, and followed him silently to the spot where Ibrahim was awaiting them. Without a word spoken they hastened with all speed to the camels. The dervish mounted behind Burnet, and within twenty minutes of his rescue all three were heading southwards. At the moment of starting they had a slight alarm. Ibrahim's camel, annoyed, no doubt, at the early disturbance of his rest, uttered a hoarse grunt. His master instantly pressed a couple of dates into his mouth, and the beast was appeased.

Safety lay in their making the best speed they could. Should any of the Arabs wake, he would almost certainly discover the absence of the prisoner, but it would be impossible to track him in the dark. With the dawn, however, the tracks would be easily picked up, and then their horses, refreshed, would regain the start if the pursuit was carried far enough. The dervish suggested that pursuit was unlikely. His captors belonged to a tribe that was in Turkish pay, and the neighbourhood of Meshed Ali, where the revolutionaries were strong, was by no means safe for supporters of the Padishah. But Ibrahim, unwilling to run risks, struck off from the highway into a stony district with which he had become familiar in the course of his business journeys. Here, even if they were pursued, it would be difficult to track them.

"I owe you my life," said the dervish to Burnet as they rode on, "and I thank you."

"I am only too glad. You helped me out of a hobble not so long ago; I never imagined I should have a chance of doing anything in return. But surely your life was not in danger?"

"There can't be much doubt of it. I heard that that old ruffian the chief Halil had gone to Bagdad, and knowing that there was some difference of opinion among his tribesmen as to his wisdom in siding with the Turks, I took advantage of his absence to visit them, in order to learn the strength of the opposition party and to do what I could to increase it—to foment treason, in fact. Some of Halil's people suspected me: they were quite right: and they only waited the return of their chief to denounce me. He came back unexpectedly. I had warning only just in time, and decamped. I had begun to think myself safe when those four fellows rode me down. No doubt there are scores more of the tribesmen hunting me in all directions. Halil has an old grudge against me: I crossed him once before."

"Then I am doubly lucky. Halil's business in Bagdad was to arrange an attack on Rejeb's people. He is back sooner than I thought possible, and I am glad to know it, as I should not have done but for meeting you. It is one more item in my budget of news for headquarters."

The conversation was conducted in Arabic. The identity of the dervish was known only to the headquarters staff and to Firouz Ali, and he always took particular care not to let fall the slightest hint that he was other than an Arab, even to fellow-workers in the same cause.

Ibrahim allowed his animals to finish their interrupted rest during the small hours, and the travellers started again at dawn. When they were still a mile or two distant from Meshed Ali, within sight of the glittering dome of its mosque towering high above the walls, the dervish dismounted.

"It will be better for us all if I enter the city alone," he said. "I shall not be long after you. But if we meet within the walls, let it be as strangers."

"You are a wise man, O dervish," said Ibrahim, "and I perceive that the spirit of Firouz Ali is in you. Allah will bring us all together openly in his good time."

Burnet and Ibrahim reached the city about an hour before noon, and passing through the one gate in its high brick walls, and along the crowded bazar, came to the khan or inn where Ibrahim had decided that they should part. After the Arab had attended to his beasts, he returned to the chief room, where traders, camel-drivers and others were squatting around the walls, ordered a meal, and then carried out the instructions of Firouz Ali.

Carry On! A Story of the Fight for Bagdad

CARRY ON!

A STORY OF THE FIGHT FOR BAGDAD

CHAPTER I

A TELL NEAR BABYLON