The Rescue of the Murdered Consul's Children: Sold into Slavery

By Henry Wermuth

This book starts with the adventourous wealthy Lord Alan Lindsey. In Constantinople he met his long lost nephew who was one of four children by his murdered brother-in-law, the Consul Lord Georg Gleneagle whose family was sold into slavery. The first traces were discovered in a harem where the young daughter had just been sold to search the spreads over three continents. The Orient, the wild west of America and the Siberian stoppos of Russia, where they have experienced heights and suffered extreme pain and humiliation. Each find was connected with extraordinany adventures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456775735

Henry Wermuth

Henry Wermuth's claim to fame is an assassination attempt on Adolf Hitler for which he received a medal after the war. This is described in his first book ,Breathe deeply, my son. After a stroke in 2003, which left him severly disabled, he found he could type with one hand on a computer. After having success with his first book, he decided to become a full time author.

Book preview

Chapter 1 Sir Alan Linlay

A warm summer’s day lay on the slim minarets of Constantinople. Thousands of followers of every faith, of every race, enjoyed the view of the town from outside. At the jetties of the harbour were steamers and ships with sails of all sea-faring countries. On the shiny sea were hundreds of strangely built Turkish gondolas and boats. Sea-gulls shot over the waters as if to prove their skill.

From the Black Sea came a small, lovely steamer at unusual speed. It turned the point of Galata, went under the bridges and anchored below Peras. Pera is the part of Constantinople where European consuls preferred to stay. The name of the elegant yacht, written in large golden letters, was ‘LINLAY‘.

Near the debarkation bridge stood a dervish, a Persian word for poor fellow. His green turban attested he was a descendant of the prophet Mohammed. While his fanatical eyes deciphered the name, a peculiar twitch went over his face. Linlay, he mumbled to himself, wasn’t that the maiden name of the Englishman’s wife who rejected my advances and insulted me? Isn’t that family exterminated yet? I will wait and observe whether any member of this family is still alive.

The engines of the little steamer had stopped and the captain had left the command bridge. The cabin door opened. A man stepped out whose appearance would be unusual in old England, let alone in the Orient. He was tall and thin, dressed in a grey checked suit, a grey checked high hat, grey shoes and gloves, grey checked gaiters and he carried a large grey checked umbrella under his arm. Over his shoulders hung a large telescope.

The captain bowed slightly. Going on land, Sir?

Naturally, I haven’t yet learned how to walk on water.

The best views are from here. Inside the town you will find the streets narrow and dirty.

The only good things about the Turks are their women and girls.

The captain grinned but hid it by making another bow. Did you ever see a Turkish girl, Sir?

"Yes, in Mozart‘s opera, ’Die Entführung aus dem Serail.’ The elopement from the harem. My favourite opera. Wouldn’t mind experiencing something like that myself."

When can I expect you back, Sir? The captain’s smile showed he knew his master’s whims. He had given up wondering about Sir Linlay’s eccentricities long ago.

Not at all. I will return when I like, snarled Sir Alan. He noticed the piercing eyes of the dervish. Unpleasant face, suspicious grimace. I could kick him, that horrible fellow, yes.

The helmsman placed himself next to the captain. He laughed and shrugged significantly. Crazy fellow, he said. He will burn his fingers on his adventures one day.

God forbid! This enthusiasm will only last until he finds something else. He tried to find dinosaurs and flying bulls before. He always loved adventure. He is a very good master and I wouldn‘t mind sailing with him ten times around the world.

Sir Alan, meanwhile, ambled slowly through Pera and seemed to be only interested in his surroundings. Whenever he looked back, he noticed the dervish following him. What does he want from me? he asked himself. I will soon be finished with him, yes. He turned around a corner and waited. The dervish came. He had expected the Englishman much further on and did not have the self-control to hide his surprise.

Why are you running after me? Sir Alan exploded with annoyance."

"Anlaman - I don’t understand," he answered.

Disappear or I will make you. Well!

The dervish noticed from the Englishman’s gestures that he meant him to go away. But he wanted to follow him, so he stood still. Linlay made short work of him. He held the giant umbrella in front of the dervish and opened it into his face.. This was a gross insult from a European and an infidel. But the dervish knew the might of the European consuls and he went away.

"Ha, eshek kerata, inticalemaladsham ben - Horned donkey. I will take revenge!" he called over his shoulder.

What is he talking about, Sir Alan muttered, pleased with himself. This Turkish is a silly language. One has to learn it to understand it. English, I could already speak as a child. He went on walking at a fair distance from the dervish. Then he turned left and right and thought he had rid himself of this strange man. His efforts to slip away meant he lost himself in a chaos of little streets. It was a lack of caution he would soon notice. The adventure loving Englishman was, as a genuine globetrotter, used to coming through any situation. He was cunning and clever, intrepid to the point of audacity. Occasionally, he loved to portray himself as a bit stupid. His sense of locality failed him and he couldn’t find his way because he didn’t speak Turkish.

He examined his surroundings and the people passing by. A pipe cleaner went from house to house to execute his useful business. A melon seller praised his fruit loudly. A water carrier tried to out-shout him, if possible. Traders of every kind sat at open doors, their wares spread around them. Ownerless dogs searched the waste for food, barking at passers by and running away yelping if they received a kick.

Sir Alan felt more and more uncomfortable. He suddenly saw a notice in French, announcing it was a coffee house. There must be people one can talk to, he mumbled to himself. I will go inside. I am sure I will get the information I need.

He walked toward his aim. With the self-assurance of a man used to giving orders he entered the small guest room. He examined the picture of an oriental coffee-bar. Small rugs covered a part of the dirty floors. Cushions for customers to sit on were along the wall A few tables could be seen, as low as the footstools in Europe. The walls were empty but for a stand with a few greasy pipes in a row..

There were three local guests drinking coffee from tiny cups. They seemed to ignore the stranger. Except for one, who threw a piercing glance under lowered lids at the grey checked appearance, which, because of the half-darkness of the room, was unobserved by Sir Alan.

The innkeeper came through a door. Every expert in middle eastern countries would think him a Greek. He had the cunning face of a fox. Only his eyes marked his character. One look at the Englishman was enough for him to know what kind of person he was dealing with. With three low bows that would satisfy anyone he approached his new guest.

"Benzene Monsieur! - Welcome to my house, he greeted Sir Alan in fluent French. May I ask what I can serve your excellency with?

The Englishman knew French although not as well as the innkeeper For the moment just call me Monsieur.

As you wish Monsieur, what is your order?

Sir Alan only wanted to know the direction to his ship. He didn’t fancy eating or drinking anything in this fifth class establishment. But, as a member of a proud nation who ruled the oceans of the world, he did not want anything for nothing. Thirsty by walking in the sun, he asked for a drink.

Do you wish a coffee, a sherbet - or … The last word was strikingly stretched; the Englishman was startled. Have you anything else?

For those who do not believe in the prophet’s teaching, I have an excellent old Greek wine. A genuine Samos. A drink for the gods.

Samos! Hmm! Nearly as good as sherry or port. I would like to have one.

May I ask you to come into the wine room?

Wine room?

Please remember, explained the innkeeper, my guests are mostly followers of the prophets who have forbidden us to drink wine. It would hurt their religious feelings.

Good, show me the room.

He followed the Greek through a back door into a dark hallway, at the end of which a small room was opened. It was, like the front guest room, entirely laid out in the oriental manner. Carpets, upholstery and low tables filled the room. It was, he thought, meant for the disloyal sons of the prophets who wanted to indulge in in the forbidden juice of the grapes. They would be safe from disturbance. There was one very small window near the ceiling. A hanging lamp spread a little light.

I like it; I will try your Samos.

Oh, Monsieur, said the innkeeper, If you are a connoisseur, you will want more than a glass. I will bring you a jug.

All right, but don’t forget a glass for yourself. Drinking by myself I find boring.

Thank you, Monsieur, said the Greek, bowing deeply.

While the man went to fetch the wine and two glasses, Sir Alan lit a cigar. The old fox thanked me for the invitation. He has obviously no idea that it was pure caution that made me invite him. I don’t trust this fellow. He could have put something in the wine to make me fall asleep so as to clean out my pockets.

The man retuned with the wine. He filled the glasses with the air of someone giving away gold. "A votre santé, Monsieur! - To your good health! He emptied his glass in no time, without putting it down. Sir Alan sipped his slowly.

The wine is good, he nodded. It is the best thing I have found in this much praised town, so far.

You don’t like Constantinople?

Not at all. There would be no harm done if it would make acquaintance with a sponge and a bucket of water.

Don’t tell that to a Turk.

Why not? I tell the truth to everybody, just as I did with the dervish who walked after me like a shadow. I opened the umbrella into his face to make him walk away. Unfortunately, to get rid of him, I went in all directions and ended in this quarter of the town where nobody understands my questions.

The sly Greek considered the situation. No-one could see his planning from his expression. An Englishman who travels the orient for his pleasure, must have money. One shouldn’t miss such an opportunity. Such a bird didn’t fly his direction very often and he meant to use the opportunity. Do you have a map of the town,? he asked the Englishman.

I have, but what use is it to me if I don’t know where in the town I am? Saying this, he searched his wallet for the map. revealing a sizeable wad of banknotes. The Greek, like a predator who sees his prey, followed his moves with eager eyes. He forgot his self-control and caution. Come what may, he was sure the stranger would not leave his house with the wallet.

Meanwhile, Sir Alan, indifferent, searched among his papers for the map of Constantinople. He did not let it be know that he had noticed the Greek’s glance of avarice. He recognised the danger but it did not occur to him to leave the premises. On the contrary, the hazardous situation attracted him. He travelled to experience adventure. He finally found the plan and spread it on the table.

Now, please tell me where on this map is your house? If I know that, I will find my way to my yacht easily.

The Greek already held the papers but stopped...

To your yacht?

Yes.

You have your own yacht? One of the large sailing boats like …

No. A steamship.

"Sacre bleu! You most be very rich."

I am Lord Alan Lindlay. Now where on the map is your house?

The innkeeper controlled himself. With a red face he bowed down to read the map. Was it because of the wine or the excitement of what he had heard? This Englishman must have millions. Blood rushed to his ears. He took pains to give the wanted information. Sir Alan looked at it and was sure to find his way back. He did not believe that the innkeeper would give him false information. There would be no purpose. He was sure the Greek aimed for his wallet and any attack would take place right here.

There was a whistle; it must have been for the innkeeper for he stood up right away, filled the glasses anew and said:. I knew it in advance, everybody likes my Samos. May I bring another one?

Certainly, bring another. One more jug will not pull us down.

Don’t worry, it is not too strong. I will be back in a minute.

Sir Alan heard two people speaking in French outside, but it was indistinct. In two steps he went to the door. There was an inside bolt - a rarity in an oriental house; at least on an inner door. Another three steps, and he piled several cushions on top of each other under the window. His height made it possible to reach the glassless opening. He couldn’t look into the yard but he understood every word spoken. Don’t talk too much, the innkeeper said. He could become impatient."

Make an excuse when you go back, he will be satisfied. Listen to what I have to say: Osman, the dervish is very angry with this infidel dog who opened his umbrella in his face.

I know that, he told me himself.

He doesn’t fear the dervish’s vengeance?

He is laughing at it. He is an English millionaire. These people have an unbelievable self-assurance.

"Nom de dieu, a millionaire?"

Pst, don’t talk so loud, think of the window up there.

He would have to have impossibly sharp ears to hear us, but let’s carry on. Osman knew the Englishman wanted to lose him, but he did not succeed. He is sitting in your coffee shop and sends me to you.

What does he want from me?

You should help him in his vengeance.

A little pause. The Greek seemed to think about how to combine his greed and the dervish’s quest for revenge. Then he spoke again: Tell Osman he should have his revenge; the Englishman is sitting in the wine room. He is already at the second jug. I will talk him into more until the wine shows results. I take his wallet, the dervish then can do what he likes. The best would be to let him disappear for good.

And I? Should I go empty-handed?

You have nothing to do.

On the contrary. I know you can’t take much drink before you fall asleep. I have been 30 years in Paris and 5 years in England. I know they drink porter, ale, sherry and whisky like water. They often stop before they have too much. Give me a quarter of an hour and I will get some sleeping powder.

No good. He is not stupid. His glass is always in front of him….

Put the powder into the jug.

Also no good. He has asked me to drink with him and I would possibly fall asleep before him.

Ah, is he that careful?

Yes, you see that you could be of no use.

Oh yes, I would be able to last longer than you before I fall over.

That’s true.

Tell him I am French, I love England and I am a very interesting man to talk to. I am going back to the dervish now. Do your best, you aren’t stupid.

Neither am I, mumbled the Englishman as he withdrew, pushed the bolt back, put the cushions in order and sat down as before. His face beamed with pleasure. That’s how he liked his adventure. Excellent, splendid indeed. They want to drink Alan Linlay under the table - ridiculous. They will get a surprise.

The Greek reappeared with another jug. His conscience was troubling him. Linlay noticed his glances at the window and at his guest. Probably estimating whether he could have heard anything. Linlay was amused but looked indifferent, almost stupid.

Pardon me, said the innkeeper, I have let you wait so long.

I didn’t notice that.

"I have met an old acquaintance. Born in France and highly educated. He is a travelling businessman, dresses like a native and is a great admirer of England."

He continued his praises of his friend until Linlay, who wanted to bring the affair to an end, asked him to call his friend to have a glass of wine with them.

The Greek, visibly relieved, would have liked to run and fetch his accomplice, but he remarked: I wouldn’t have dared. I know what I owe to a special guest.

Nonsense. If he is still here, call him in to join us. As a Frenchman, he would probably enjoy a good drink.

The innkeeper rushed out and, within three minutes, he returned with his friend. A friendly conversation began. An unsuspecting observer would have had the impression of a good-natured, cosy party. The Frenchman drank a lot, and quickly. He tried every way to persuade the Englishman to keep up with him. When the jug was empty, the newcomer offered to pay for another one. Sir Alan would never allow anyone to pay for him, but he knew that he was to be the payer in the end. So he accepted.

The Frenchman tried spasmodically to entertain Sir Alan. Finally he asked for his further travels.

Well, thought Sir Alan. This is the cue to start the dance. I don’t intend to idle away my time here. I will be going to India from here. I will complete the abilities which I have learned there.

"What were those?

To look into the future, to read thoughts and to see through walls.

The innkeeper opened his mouth. He didn’t know whether his guest had a screw loose or whether the wine had done its duty. He looked into the face of the Englishman who sat there calmly and did not make any crazy impression. The Frenchman smiled. " You are a spiritualist or an occultist, Monsieur?

Actually no. I only possess the gift to see the future.

Impossible.

Sir Alan fibbed in a masterly fashion. The two criminals didn’t know what to make of it. The Greek kept his mouth shut. The Frenchman thought to keep Sir Alan in a good mood and tried to go along with his stupidities. You see us baffled, he remarked I confess I wish to have an example of your abilities.

I only do this for old friends, but in order not to be called a braggart, I will give you the proof. The innkeeper and his friend had no idea of entering a trap. They had to sit under the window, whereas the Englishman shouldered his telescope, took his umbrella under his arm and posted himself at the door.

First a glance into the future, he began. I can see the two of you walking on a steep height with an abyss in front of you. You start falling down but a stranger who means well pulls you both back - saving you from the abyss. Don’t forget him, he saves you from evil. Now a look through the walls. I can see the guest room. Ah, who is sitting there with a green turban? Indeed, the dervish who managed to follow me. What is he thinking? He thinks of two people who want to help him with his revenge. Two people in this room who want to make me drunk and take my wallet …

He couldn’t go on. The two rogues jumped up to attack him. Dog, you have listened.

Sir Alan had a gun in his hand; stop or I shoot!

They stood still. Sir Alan stepped out of the door, paid the bill and turned a key he had noticed before. He found a back door and, having studied the map, he made his way to his yacht. He entered it with equanimity as if he had returned from a stroll.

48887.jpg

Chapter 2 The painter

The next day Sir Alan went out again. Although he was satisfied with yesterday’s adventure, he longed for more. But he took a different direction. He did not want to meet yesterday’s scoundrels.Once he thought he saw a green turban in the bustle of people but he didn’t care. He thought of Osman the dervish, but there were many dervishes in this town.

Suddenly he heard a song coming from a house. He stood still and listened. It was a western tune. He noticed a sign with a French inscription telling him it was a European coffee shop. He went inside.

He went through a dark hall until he saw - no, he felt - a door on the left side. Nice den, he mumbled. May be there will be another adventure.When he opened the door he was pleasantly surprised. He saw a spacious, well lit room. There were no windows, only a number of openings in the ceiling to let the tobacco smoke escape.

He saw a large number of guests in Turkish and European attire. The Orientals were sitting on soft cushions on the floor. The Europeans sat at high tables and drank coffee from larger cups than the Orientals. The appearance of the oddly-dressed Englishman caused a sensation. "Adsha’ib tshok adsha’ib - wonderful, most wonderful", mumbled a Turk.

Linlay didn’t care about the attention and steered to the only empty seat . After politely asking the other man at the table whether the seat was still available, he sat down.

Black boys scurried about to serve customers with pipes and glowing coals. Sir Alan ordered coffee in French. He was understood and immediately served. He leaned the umbrella and telescope at the wall and pulled out his well-filled cigar case, throwing an examining glance at his opposite table partner. He was a young man of about twenty four with pleasant features. He intended to start a new cigar when Sir Alan offered him one of his. The young man looked surprised and hesitated. Sir Alan produced a visiting card with his title and name on it. The young man produced one of his with the name of Eric Newman - Painter.

Oh, you also have a card? I didn’t think this western custom had spread to the Orient yet.

I am no Turk.

I can see your name is English. How long have you been in the Orient?

I travelled in the Turkey for three years and I have been in Constantinople since September last. That makes it nine months.

Well, why don’t you light a cigar? It is a genuine Peru. My favourite; I have eight or nine thousand with me.

In your pocket? smiled the painter.

Nonsense! They are on my yacht. I had to provide for a long time as I don’t know when I will return.

Do you have a definite aim? This time he spoke English.

No, I am in search of adventure.

What kind of adventure?

Superfluous question. I am not in the Turkey to experience anything Chinese.

Well?

Very simple, growled Sir Alan, indignantly, something Turkish.

That would be?

You are slow, sir. India has tigers,Africa has lions, the Wild West has redskins…

And Turkey?

Has its harems, sir.

Harems?

Yes, I am looking for a harem adventure. Think about the opera from Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Elopement, danger. Liberation of an abducted Turkish lady or others, yes. His long nose nodded emphatically.

Ah, said Eric surprised, you are joking.

"I never joke, I am Sir Alan Linlay, yes.

Eric smiled almost sympathetically.

You are laughing? said the Englishman, without being insulted. I have been travelling for three weeks up and down the Dardanalles and the Bosporus to experience something extraordinary, but I find nothing. Boring, very boring this Turkey.

If you really want to experience something extraordinary, you would have to do it differently.

How else? Speak up, I like you and I would like to hear your opinion.

I think the first thing you would have to do is to get together with someone who knows the local customs and conditions.

All right, but I don’t know anybody like that. I pay well - very well. Please tell me, are you acquainted with these things? His eyebrows lifted in expectation.

I have told you already. I have travelled in Turkey for three years, nine months of which I have been in Constantinople.

Splendid! Would you like to come with me?

Under certain circumstances - yes.

What circumstances do you mean?

To talk about that I have to know you better. There is danger in these adventures. I love danger and I have measured my strength quite often …

He wanted to continue, but the Englishman interrupted enthusiastically: Trying out your strength? You are my man! Yes! Are you rich?

Unfortunately, no.

It doesn’t matter. Trace out an adventure - a genuine Turkish one. Nothing else. I will pay for everything, yes.

Eric Newman thought about this. After a time, a joyous smile played on his lips. You are a gentleman and I will trust you. How long will you stay here?

How long? As long as I like, naturally, yes.

Where can I find you?

On my yacht, in the harbour. Easy to find. It has my name on it. Tell me Mr. Newman, are you a landscape or a portrait painter?

A portrait painter.

Very well, I want you to paint my portrait. Do you want to?

If you wish.

Good, we’ll start tomorrow. I will give you part of the price now. With this he pulled out his fat wallet, took out an envelope and sealed it - after he had put a larger banknote into it. He then passed it to the painter. Eric Newman accepted the envelope only after some hesitation. But when Linlay’s nose began wobbling threateningly - he took it.

Well, tomorrow morning, said Sir Alan. Do you have any more time now?"

Only a little. I have a meeting.

A painting?

Yes. And as you were open to me, Iwill be open to you. I am painting a lady.

A Turkish lady?

No, a European lady.

Is she pretty?

Incomparably.

How is it that you, a stranger, are able to see and paint the girl?

It is simple and rare. You know the slave trade is now forbidden. But it goes on, nevertheless. Very often European girls are brought to Constantinople to be sold to the pashas of this country. I happen to know such a dealer in white girls who only deals in beauties of the first class. He recently received a girl who is destined to be sold to the sultan. The best way to do that is to send a picture to his mother. As there are no Mohammedan painters, the dealer is forced to engage a European. He chose me.

Sir Alan listened with close attention. Have you started the painting yet?

Yes.

Is she really very pretty?

Strikingly pretty.

The Englishman thought for a while. Listen, Mr. Newman, I think the girl is something for me.

The painter twitched somewhat. For you?

Yes. I mean that we have found what I was searching for. The poor thing has been robbed and dragged into slavery. We will take her away from this dealer.

A girl one can buy one doesn’t kidnap.

Pity that. His nose sadly sank to his chin.

I mean - you could buy this girl.

No. That‘s no adventure. I did not come to Constantinople to buy a girl.

The painter dropped his head, disappointedly and kept silent.

Well, we’ll have to wait for another opportunity. I leave it to you. Another coffee?

No, thank you. My time has come. I want to be punctual.

Linlay paid and they left together. Wherever they went, Linlay’s outfit caused a sensation. Finally Newman stopped. I am at my destination. Here lives Barish, the slave dealer.

Well, I will find the way back to my yacht myself. Will I see you tomorrow?

Yes.

Goodbye. The Englishman went his way. Newman looked after him until he disappeared. He then went to a coffee shop opposite the house of his destination and opened the envelope Sir Alan gave him. It contained fifty pounds, a tidy sum. Good job, he mumbled to himself. I am short of cash and would not be able to give a bribe to the guard to enable me to talk to the girl. He changed the English currency into a Turkish one and left the coffeee shop.

48950.jpg

Chapter 3 The slave girl

The house of the slave dealer was, like most houses in Constantinople, built of wood. There were no windows towards the street. The rooms received their light and air from the rear only. The entrance was not locked, the hall narrow and low.

Newman knocked at the door on his left. A bolt being pushed back, a large nose appeared. It was opened after it withdrew.

The nose belonged to the owner of the house. He answered the painter’s greeting with the politeness of someone who only endured the artist because he was needed. I have looked at the painting, he said. I am satisfied, but how long will it take to finish it?

This I cannot tell you. The colours are drying slowly because your house is damp. The fact that he was working slowly to be longer together with the pretty slave girl, he wouldn’t, of course, tell Barish, the dealer.

The faster you will finish, the bigger the baksheesh which I will give you, besides the sum we have agreed. You are later than usual today.

He went through another hallway into a passage. Here he was expected by Ali, the black guard who had to watch the painter to see that he wouldn’t talk to the girl. For a bribe of fifty pesetas, about half a pound sterling per session, the guard would look away. But with the condition that his master would not know about this. He was allowed to talk, but only about the painting. Today he put his hand on Newman’s shoulder. If you give me one hundred pesetas you can speak of other things with the girl.

Eric Newman’s heart jumped for joy. He knew almost nothing about the girl. He was in love with this incomparable being. And he would do anything to make her happy. What if your master surprises us?

He can’t. I will stand watch. Do you agree?

Yes.

"So give me the hundred pesetas

Newman would have given even more. The fat Negro looked at the golden coin with avaricious eyes while pocketing it. Now I will bring Tshita.

It was a bright and friendly room. The walls were blue with sayings from the Koran in golden letters. At the wall stood a red sofa and opposite the easel with the painting wrapped in his scarf. His hands trembled as he took off the cover. It was a masterpiece.A masterpiece of art. A cultured voice shocked him out of his dreams.

Allah greets you.

His face flushed. There she stood. Her whole figure, including the head, was wrapped in a white mantle, leaving only an opening for the eyes. The soft carped had made her entry silent. He rallied fast and managed to answer calmly. Tshita went to the sofa, took off her mantle, undid her hair, turned around and asked: Is this what you want?

He just nodded agreement. Her lower body was dressed in the finest yellow silk. The upper part was dressed in a short jacket of the same material but in pink. On her feet she had small silken blue slippers. The most glorious part was her head. She was ashen-blonde. On her face was the sweet breath of innocence. There was a moving touch of suffering of the soul that had its own charm. Her long wavy hair was constantly in her way. All this beauty seemed immaterial to the Negro. Eric, on the other hand, was deeply moved. Please lower your head a bit, he said, just to say something.

She obeyed.

That’s too much, wait. He put down the paint brush and took her head into his hands, to move it to the right positon. She reacted as if shocked..

What are you doing? she said, her voice trembling. Do you want to die?" You are touching me!

Do you want me to die?

Oh no, but if the master should know about it?

Nobody will tell him.

Ali also knows not to tell him?

He will be silent.

Her eyes lit up. Did you speak to him?

Yes, he is not to hear nor see anything.

Allah bless him.

So you like me to speak to you?

Oh, how can you ask me that? She replied. I am thinking about you every day, I am dreaming about you every night. That you are a rich pasha and you buy me."

Deeply moved he took her hands. With infinite tenderness he asked: Would you like it if I bought you?

More than anything. Barish, my master, tells me that I will be bought by the Sultan; that I will wear costly jewels and rule over his harem. But I don’t want that. You, only you should buy me. Your love is my jewel. I don’t want to rule. I want to love and to serve you all my life. My master wants a lot for me. Are you rich?

No, he said sadly, I am poor.

Nevertheless, I would rather be with you. I don’t want anybody else, I would rather die. She bent down to his ear and, for Ali not to hear it, she whispered quietly. Free me, I will follow you everywhere.

Yes, I will do it, he whispered back.

But it can cost your and my life.

Allah will help. I will free you for certain.

At this moment, the guard turned hastily: Apart! he shouted. The master is coming."

The next moment Eric stood at his easel, appearing indifferent. Barish entered. You can go now, he said ruthless to the artist. Come again tomorrow,"

Eric turned slowly towards him. I am not finished for today.

I don’t care. There is somebody interested in buying Tshita if he pays as much as the sultan. He then turned to Tshita and examined her with the eyes of a connoiseur.

Stay just as you are, that’s how he should see you. He turned to Eric. Come again tomorrow. Ali will see you out.

Newman obeyed with fierce temper. Outside, to his astonishment, waited the dervish. What does this man want? Newman suddenly felt uneasy. He could not explain it to himself. Should this man do other things than just begging?

He hurried home to a flat he shared with his friend. ---

Back already? asked the friend, turning away from the window. He was not as tall and powerfully built as the painter. Blonde and white skinned, he couldn’t be other than a European.

The meeting, unfortunately, was interrupted just when it was at its most beautiful.

At its most beautiful? Did you speak to her?

Yes.

And?

"She loves me, Charles. She has told me herself.

His friend pressed his hands. I wish you well.

And I thought you were against all this ‘romantic madness‘, as you called it.

I became more indulgent.

Since when?

Since the day before yesterday.

May I know the reason?

If you promise not to laugh.

I promise.

Instead of answering Charles pointed to the sofa. The painter looked surprised at a complete street-attire for a Turkish woman.

What on earth is that?

I will be wearing these for a rendezvous.

Are you mad?

Perhaps it is only an adventure, perhaps it is something more.

May I know who it is?

It is a girl, naturally. But it could be a married woman.

You must be mad.

I am as sane as you are. Let me tell you all about it. Light yourself a … ah, you are already smoking. Eric, you are becoming frivolous. This cigar cost at least …

It cost nothing. It was a present.

From whom?

From your uncle, answered Eric, as he observed his friend.

From my - uncle? You are mad again.

Very well. Without further ado. I have met your uncle, Sir Alan Lindlay.

The whimsical Lord Alan? Do you want to make fun of me?

Not at all. Listen, young man! Eric told him in detail of his meeting with Sir Alan.

Did you tell him my real name?

We did not speak about you at all.

It’s better that way. My uncle is a strange fellow - an odd fish. Now he is absolutely keen on an adventure?

Yes.

That’s just like him He bustles about in many countries and has often been in dire circumstances. I would be surprised if he died peacefully in a bed like normal people. If I may give you advice, do not become involved with him - anyhow, not too much.

On the contrary, Charles. It may well be that I let him play a part in rescuing Tshita. But, let’s wait and see. Let us rather discuss your affair of the heart.

Where you will also play a part - even today.

What role?

You will guard our rendezvous.

I will do that, but tell me how this Tukish lady caught you.

All right, please listen! He sat down, lit a cigarette and started his report:

You know the ‘valley of the sweet water’, a favourite place where the local population, especially the ladies, move about in the open. Recently, I had nothing better to do, I went there. In a little plane-tree wood. I suddenly heard loud voices and laughter coming from ladies in play. I know now that I should have withdrawn, but curiosity prevailed. I wanted to observe Mohammedan women and crept nearer. Finally I saw a place where several young ladies were running about.

Young ladies? How do you know that? In these ugly sack-like wrappings one couldn’t distinguish Venus from the devil’s grandmother.

No, they played in light clothes of the kind they wear at home. There was one amongst them who caught my eye. A beautiful being, full of grace and charm. Once she came nearer I saw a splendid gem on the finger of her little hand. When they left in their carriages the horses of one of them stampeded. The women screamed. I managed to run after them and brought them to a standstill. The curtains had opened and one of the veiled ladies passed me her hand. I saw the same gem again and knew it was the one I had admired so much.

You are a European, she said. I will thank you in your fashion.

I kissed her hand one, two, three times before she withdrew it. The other ladies in the wagon giggled. Unfortunately, I couldn‘t find out were they came from.

A thousand pities!

The day before yesterday I went to a bazaar and into the shop of a muesli dealer. A covered lady came in. I recognised her voice and saw her diamond ring- it was her, the one I admired. I couldn’t speak to her,naturally, but I went there the next day. She entered after me.

And this time you talked to her?

Yes. It cost me a not insignificant sum of money to send the shopkeeper to the far end of his premises. As we are sharing our money, I fear you will be angry.

Nonsense, I told you I have received a substantial sum from your uncle. Carry on.

"You are the rose of the ’valley of the sweet water’, I whispered.

She hesitated with her answer. Let me see your face, just for one moment, I begged her.

You are very daring, stranger.

I have come here because I hoped to see you again.I will follow you to find out where you live.

For Allah’s sake, don’t do that.

I will refrain if you come here again.

I will come.

Let me talk to you undisturbed. Be merciful.

At this moment, the dealer returned. I couldn’t stay on and I left. I stopped at the neighbouring shop and looked at his wares. She came out too and passed close by to me.

Don’t follow me, she whispered.

If you will tell me tomorrow where I can meet you, I whispered back.

She nodded and I didn’t follow her. I was curious whether she would keep her word.. She came, but the dealer did not give us the opportunity to speak to each other. She dropped a scrap of paper. I naturally dropped my handkerchief and picked up both."

What was written on the scrap?

Here, read it yourself.

The note was written in Latin letters but in Turkish: Herbert Waller, Effendi! Come today at 10 o’clock to the cemetery. I will be at the north west corner under the ivy.

How does she know the name by which you are travelling here?

That’s a riddle to me too.

Well, you’ll find out. 10 o’clock is two hours before sunset, Turkish time. Are you going in women’s cloth?

No, that is unnecessarily dangerous. We will visit the cemetery and take women’s clothing with us. The cemetery is like a wood. I will always find a place where I can change if there is danger. ---

48956.jpg

Chapter 4 At the Turkish cemetry

Just as they entered the cemetery, a young, simply dressed man came up to them.

Are you Herbert Waller? he asked?

Yes answered Herbert, astonished that this young man knew his name.

I have to tell you to be careful, danger awaits you. With these words he tried to move away but Herbert gripped his arm.

Where should I be careful?

I don’t know that; maybe in the cemetery.

Who told you to tell me?

She did. With these words he tore himself loose and ran away.

That was strange indeed. The European is used to seeing the orient romantically. . Seen closer, this romance usually turns into dust. What remains is danger of which the stranger had either no idea or had underestimated its extent. Herbert Waller and Eric Newman had been in the orient long enough to appreciate its brighter side without overlooking its shady aspect. Eric asked: Are you armed?

One never leaves the house without arms. I carry a gun.

They walked along the wall toward the north-west corner. Herbert suddenly stopped. Look at the peculiar figure over there. All dressed in a grey checked suit, grey high-hat and, by golly, a grey checked umbrella.

Ah, how does he get in here? laughed Eric. "Permit me