He shook his head. The voice faded. But he was left with a sense of infantile helplessness. Without realising it, he let his gun fall slightly as he asked: “Why did you shoot at them, Gallast? And why the grenade?”
“The shot was pure excitement on the part of one of my men. But the grenade was a calculated act on my part. Having at once assessed the possibilities, I saw that it might be fatal if I permitted the Arabs to gain entry to the fort. After all, I have only six men. I had to do something which would halt the Arabs and terrify them for a few seconds until we could get them covered. And, of course, I was careful to give you the impression that I was merely acting in ignorance and panic.”
D’Aran was gaining control of himself. He said: “Aren’t you being optimistic? You have four men on the ramparts. That means that besides yourself you have only two others. We number nearly thirty. We can easily deal with you, Gallast.”
He did not answer verbally. Instead he looked inside the building and smiled. It was an insulting, patronising smile.
D’Aran looked, too. And he understood the completeness of the rout.
One of Gallast’s men was standing at the angle of the wall. A grenade was balanced in his hand. It would be simple—too simple—for him to snatch out the pin and lob that grenade into the bunk room where the legionnaires were waiting.
The other man had appeared directly behind Keith. He was gripping a Lebel. It was aimed at the centre of Keith’s back.
Even as D’Aran watched, Keith dropped his Luger and raised his hands. He did so after receiving a snarled order, and after glancing over his shoulder to establish his utter impotence.
Keith met D’Aran’s eye. Each understood the other’s feelings. This was the nadir of misery, of futility, of humiliation. All the careful planning, the patience, the controlling of tortured nerves, was for nothing. Why? Basically, because a party of Arab traders had chanced to arrive with horses and water. Arrived at a time when a shortage of horses and water was the master weapon which the garrison was deploying.
It was when D’Aran’s eyes and mind were thus distracted that Gallast disarmed him. He did so with the confident speed of a man well versed in such matters.
He was still idly tossing a grenade from hand to hand. Suddenly the steel oval was flicked upwards, striking D’Aran on the mouth. For an instant, D’Aran thought that all of them were going to be killed there and then.
Then he realised that the grenade pin was still locked in place. It was safe.
But, as he staggered back, Gallast grabbed the Luger barrel and twisted it inwards.
D’Aran felt an excruciating pain as he tried to hold on. He could not do so. When he released his grip Gallast hit him on the jaw.
As he sprawled on the ground Gallast laughed at him. The Luger was aimed at him.
And Gallast was saying: “I’m going to shoot you, lieutenant. I’m going to shoot you now. And the man with you. Then we are going to throw grenades into the bunk room.”
6. The Weary Heart
Keith heard the sentence of death. But he also heard something else.
The sound of heavy breathing. Of uncertain footsteps. Professor Daak was stumbling along the corridor towards them.
Then Daak was with them.
He turned the corner, rested a shoulder against the wall. His pince-nez was no longer on his nose and he blinked short-sightedly.
Keith edged round so that the Lebel rifle was aimed at his ribs rather than his back. The guard did not appear to notice the movement. He was half occupied in taking darting glances at Daak. So was Gallast. And D’Aran.
For Daak was quivering on the edge of hysteria.
His pink face was convulsed like the heaving of a turgid sea. Tears were forming in his round eyes. He began to whimper. And to utter disconnected, meaningless words.
The grenade explosion had been the last straw so far as the professor was concerned.
Gallast made an effort to control his annoyance. He said to him: “Go back to your bunk. Rest for a while. You have nothing to worry about. We have horses now and water.”
But Daak did not appear to hear. He rubbed moist, dim eyes with the back of his hand. He fought to control himself—and with some effect, for his words suddenly began to make sense.
“I can’t go on,” he slobbered. “I can’t! I’m sick and weary. My heart… it is weary, too…” He broke off, then said to Gallast: “You have horses and water? How is that?”
“They are outside the walls,” Gallast said. “They belong to our Arab visitors. Now do as I advise and get…”
Daak interrupted wildly. His high-pitched voice rose to a piercing falsetto.
“Then let us get away from here! If we start now we may get out of the danger zone in time… we must do it… we must… I can’t stay in this place any longer!”
“Professor Daak,” Gallast said with greater emphasis, “return to your bunk immediately. I will speak to you later.”
Despite his condition, Daak recognised the insult in the words. And he reacted to it.
Bunching his fleshy little fists he shrieked: “Don’t dare talk to me so! I will not be addressed in such a manner by a—a piffling colonel. You forget that this is an operation for a scientific purpose. I cannot achieve that purpose. I’m too ill. We must return immediately by the same way that you came. On horseback! I insist!”
It was a critical moment for Gallast.
In military parlance, he had achieved an unconsolidated manoeuvre. Horses and water were to hand, but not yet under direct control. The Arabs were cowering on the ramparts, but a mere four rifles kept them so. The legionnaires were obeying orders by staying in their bunk room, but they had not yet been eliminated. The lieutenant and the English legionnaire were at his elbow and ripe for killing, but they were still very much alive.
And now, into the cockpit of the crisis, a semi-hysterical and utterly demoralised Daak had blundered.
It was obvious that if Daak were to witness any further violence he would lose his reason. And that would be a tragedy for the State both now and in the future. His knowledge, his ability, were priceless. So Gallast saw very clearly that he could not kill D’Aran and Keith while the quivering professor watched. But firm measures would have to be used to induce him to get back to the room.
Gallast was still watching D’Aran as he said to Daak: “We cannot return by the way we came, professor. In your condition you would not survive the journey. It would take us two weeks to reach our agents on the coast. No—we will take the much shorter trip to the safety of the foothills. There you can rest for a few days. And, when it is safe to do so, we will return here and you will compile the data from your instruments. After that… the plane will come for us and we will reach Europe in comfort, with our mission completed.”
It was an unfruitful attempt at firm conciliation. The professor threshed his fists.
“It’s no use, I tell you! I won’t stay here! I can’t stand it! The heat’s killing me, and the tension… the violence… they are driving me insane! I order you to return now, on my own responsibility.”