He kept up his speed and sent the motor-cycle flying in a storm of sand and dust along the road, a sweaty, dirt-streaked figure bent low over the handlebars, a grotesque sight in his shroud as the garment billowed out behind him in the wind made by his passing. Some distance along he hit the hoped-for roadway leading off to the right, and he turned along it, trusting that it was the one which would take him into Ismailia. Luck was with him, for he had struck the road from Bargum, and it wasn’t long after that that he saw the waterway ahead, saw the lighted superstructures of ships passing along. It was a north-bound convoy in transit, just entering the northern sector of the canal as it came out from Lake Timsah. There was no sign of any shipping bound south, but then the next convoy from Port Said would not leave until midnight. There was still a chance of catching the liner.
Shaw ditched the motorcycle just before he hit the canal road a little to the north of Ismailia. There was in fact little petrol left in the tank now, and the best thing would be to try to jump a lorry — he could get away with that all right in the darkness and with his knowledge of the language.
He was walking along the roadway, making for the town, when he saw a car coming up in a cloud of dust from the direction of Suez. He saw it clearly, because the headlights of a car coming from the opposite direction were playing on to it. He gave it little more than a casual glance, intending to keep out of its way more than anything else… until he saw its number-plate.
He recognized it as bearing an American registration. Very likely that car belonged to a Canal Authority’s pilot.
Shaw stepped into the road, waving frantically.
The car swerved and the driver put his hand on the siren and kept it there. Shaw moved across, planted himself firmly in the car’s path. It pulled up, the driver leaned out. He cursed at Shaw. He was a burly, red-faced man bearing the stamp of the sailor and Shaw felt that his guess had been the right one. Besides, the oaths were unmistakably American. Shaw held up his hand and grinned. He said,
“Sorry. I only wanted to ask you something.”
The driver gaped at him. “What in hell’s name are you?” he asked incredulously.
“British subject,” Shaw told him briefly. “Name’s Shaw, Commander Shaw of the British Navy.” He looked down at his shroud. “This rig’s against me, I know, but I can’t go into details… I’d like to know if the New South Wales is still in the canal.”
“She’s not. She’s gone through.”
Shaw’s heart sank. “Has she cleared Suez Roads?”
“Uh-huh. She was in the last southbound convoy, next ahead of the ship I was taking through.” The pilot peered closer at Shaw. He demanded, “Say, what is all this, huh?”
“We’ll skip that, if you don’t mind.” Shaw thought fast. “Will you take my word for it that it’s desperately important I get to a British Consul as fast as possible? It’s a matter of international importance.” He looked direct at the man in the car, conscious of his unprepossessing appearance as the shroud flapped about him in a light breeze, of his face, bruised and swollen from the blows given him by the police in Solli. He asked, “Can I get in? I suppose you’re going to Port Said?”
The American gave him a long look, nodded, jerked the door open. “Get in,” he said briefly. “I’m going right through.”
“Thanks.” Shaw climbed in. As the driver started up he looked sideways at Shaw.
He said, “You’re the guy the New South Wales left behind, aren’t you?”
“You’ve heard about that?”
“Sure I’ve heard about that!” The voice was very unfriendly. “You realize she missed a convoy all because of you? We heard you were dead.” He breathed heavily. “Some people… bloody thoughtlessness! I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but I’ve a darn good mind to hand you over to the local authorities just the same.”
“On the face of it,” Shaw said quietly, “I don’t think I’d blame you if you did try doing just that. But I’ll guarantee you wouldn’t succeed, chum!” He raised his voice as the pilot interrupted. “Just a moment… ever been in command of your own ship?”
“Uh-huh. Five years. And I wouldn’t have missed a convoy for a bloody passenger, not on your life I wouldn’t!”
“Exactly. And neither would the Master of the New South Wales.”
“Come again? I don’t get you.”
“Don’t you?” Shaw murmured. “What I’m trying to say is, that the Captain wouldn’t have waited unless he had some good reason — unless it was important that I should get aboard. He wouldn’t have waited for — well, just for any passenger. Now d’you see?”
There was a pause; then the pilot said slowly, “Okay, I get you. Or do I? Sorry. Could be that you’ve been having a rough time, I guess, huh?” He glanced at Shaw. “Or would you rather say no more about it?”
"I would. And thanks.” Shaw sat back in relief, pulled his shroud round his body. The night air was chilly, but it wasn’t as chilly, as terrible, as it had been at the top of that tower. Shaw could still feel his flesh crawling at the thought of that, could still feel the pain of the open beak-wounds too. They drove on fast, without saying much, and they were soon into the outskirts of Port Said and then it was not long before they pulled up at the offices of the British Consul. Shaw thanked the pilot, who drove away, and then he went inside and found an Egyptian clerk.
The clerk tried to eject the weird, filthy figure who kept insisting he was Commander Shaw, Commander Shaw whom the clerk knew to be dead. The Consul, he said, was not in the office at this hour. Shaw snapped, “Then find him, and find him fast. I’ll wait.” Angrily he sat on a chair in the waiting-room. The clerk dithered. Shaw said threateningly, “If you don’t so something quick, I’ll personally see that you’re kicked out of the Consulate for good.”
The young man looked at him sharply, carefully, then shrugged his thin shoulders and sighed. The man spoke perfect English and he carried an air of authority… but how could a dead man… he shrugged again. Stranger things had happened in the Consulate before now. He picked up a telephone, spoke into it volubly.
Half an hour later the Consul arrived, glanced at Shaw, went into a huddle with the clerk in his private office and then Shaw was brought in and the clerk disappeared.
The Consul, who was a short, pleasant man with a ready smile, asked, “Have you any means of identification, of proving what you say?”
“None. Why don’t you contact the Ambassador in Cairo? I’ve an idea he’ll know all about me.”
The official gave him a keen look. He murmured, “If you are Shaw, we’re not exactly in total ignorance about you here, old man. You’d better tell me everything in detail.” After Shaw had gone through everything that had happened since he’d come ashore from the liner, the Consul asked him a number of pertinent questions about the ship and he appeared satisfied with the answers. He said, “All right, Shaw. I believe you. As it happens, I’ve already been in touch with the Cairo Embassy about you and I understand they’ve had word from some V.I.P. in London. They were extremely worried about your ‘death,’ I might add!” He smiled. “Come to that, so was I. Just give me time to make some arrangements, and then I hope we can put you on your way by air.” He added, “It’ll have to be a bit of a wangle. I don’t say you’ve necessarily broken any of the local laws by coming back to life — but you’re a trifle unpopular with the authorities, or you would be if it was known you were alive.”
The Consul made several telephone calls, and while he was doing this he turned Shaw over to the clerk and told the latter to see to it that the Commander had a wash and a meal and some decent clothing, also some attention for his injuries. And within a couple of hours a refreshed and reinvigorated Shaw was sent for again and told that a car was waiting to rush him to Cairo and he’d better hurry. Just before he was smuggled into the car, the Consul had a word with him and told him that efforts would be made to find out the political affiliations of the policemen who had taken him off, and of the local agents of Ycecold Refrigeration, but held out little hope that anything would in fact be achieved. Then, a minute later, the car was speeding out for Cairo and the British Embassy. Shaw took this opportunity to have a nap in the car: on arrival in Cairo he was taken to the Ambassador himself, to whom he made a full report of proceedings for transmission to Latymer in London. The Naval Attache fixed him up with a new revolver, and soon he was rushed in another closed car to the airport; within ten minutes of his arrival there he was airborne, heading out for Aden; and a signal had gone out to the Master of the New South Wales informing him of Shaw’s re-appearance.