Sheba. Part 36

Mahmoud's voice was quite calm. 'Kane tells me that she is not your woman. That you have stolen her from him.'

Skiros shrugged carelessly. 'I would expect him to say such a thing.'

'I see,' Mahmoud said thoughtfully. 'Two versions of the same affair, each different. Logically, someone must be juggling with the truth. There is one obvious way to find out.'

He clapped his hands and there was a slight movement outside. Marie came through the entrance and stood facing them, blinking her eyes in the gloom, and then she saw Kane. An expression of wonder appeared on her face, and with a slight incredulous cry, she ran into his arms.

He held her close and ran a hand over her dark hair. 'Are you all right?' he said.

'I'm fine - just fine.' She touched his face gently. 'I can't quite believe it.'

Mahmoud placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her round to face him. 'What is your name, child?'

She faced him proudly, chin up-tilted. 'Marie Ferret.'

He nodded slowly. 'I have heard of you. Your mother was a Rashid, was she not?' He turned away and stood slightly to one side of the group so that he could see every face clearly. 'This man Kane says that you are his woman. That Skiros has stolen you from him. Is this true?'

She nodded and the old sheik went on. 'Are you married according to the Christian custom?'

'No, we are not married,' she said.

'Has he known you, child?' Mahmoud said gently.

There was a moment of stillness and Kane held his breath, praying that her answer would be the right one. She nodded her head slowly. 'Yes, I have lain with this man.'

Skiros exploded angrily. 'It's a lie. This is a deliberate plot on the part of Kane. I told you he was my enemy.'

Mahmoud stilled him with a raised hand. 'What woman would shame herself without reason? If she has lain with him, then she is his. She may not belong to another. She is of the blood of my people and it is our law.'

An expression of fury appeared on the German's face, but by a supreme effort of will, he controlled his anger. He bowed stiffly, brushed aside the tent flap, and went out, Muller at his heels.

Jordan emitted an audible sigh of relief and Kane turned to Mahmoud. 'What now?'

The old sheik smiled. 'I think it best if she returns to her tent and stays there under guard until our friends leave.'

'May I speak to her first?' Kane said.

Mahmoud nodded. 'For a little while only.' He touched Jordan on the shoulder and led the way outside, leaving Kane and Marie alone.

She came into his arms and he held her close for a little while, and then they sat down. Kane was suddenly tired - really tired. 'Have you got any cigarettes?' he said.

She took a crumpled pack from her shirt pocket and gave him one. He inhaled and gave a sigh of content. 'That tastes good.'

She reached over and smoothed back his hair. 'You look as if you've been having a pretty thin time.'

'I guess you could call it that.'

'Tell me about it.'

He gave her a brief outline of events, and when he had finished, she gave a sigh of relief. 'I'm glad the Cunninghams are all right. What are you going to do about Skiros and Muller?'

'What can I do? Mahmoud will hold us here after they've left, or I miss my guess. He owes them that much if they've been supplying him with guns. One thing I can't understand is why Skiros decided to leave the valley in such a hurry. What happened?'

'I don't really know,' she said. 'He was on the radio for a long time after the fighting was over. When he came down into the camp, he was very angry. He had a long argument with Selim. Afterwards, he said we'd be leaving at dawn.'

'He was probably in touch with his superiors in Berlin to tell them about the loss of the plane,' Kane said. 'They must have got into a panic. After all, if he was caught and his true nationality disclosed, there'd be h.e.l.l to pay. They most likely told him to get out - and fast.'

'I hope we never see him again,' Marie said.

Kane held out his hands and she clasped them tightly. 'At least one good thing's come out of all this,' he said. 'I know when I'm licked.'

She came into his arms and they kissed briefly, then the tent flap was thrown back and Mahmoud appeared. He stood to one side and Marie brushed past him.

The old Bedouin smiled. 'You look tired. I suggest a long sleep. I'll have you taken to your friend. We'll talk later.'

Kane went out into the bright sunlight and a man led the way through the encampment. Eyes turned on him curiously and several small children ran at his heels all the way to the tent, which was on the outskirts of the camp. When he ducked in through the entrance, he found Jordan sitting cross-legged on a rug in the centre, eating from a can.

'You look terrible,' the geologist said cheerfully.

Kane managed a tired grin and flung himself down on a sleeping pallet in one corner.

Jordan was still speaking, but the words didn't seem to be making any sense. After a while, they were simply a monotonous drone, and Kane was asleep.

He awakened slowly and lay staring into the gloom. It was night and an oil-lamp hung from the pole above his head, its radiance scattering the shadows from the centre of the tent.

Jordan was sitting near by, cleaning his revolver. As Kane moved, he turned and a smile appeared on his face. 'How do you feel?'

'Out of this world,' Kane said, struggling into a sitting position.

Jordan handed a bowl across. 'You'd better have something to eat.'

Kane pushed b.a.l.l.s of boiled rice and pieces of goatmeat into his mouth and discovered he was hungry. 'Has anything been happening?'

Jordan shook his head. 'Quiet as the grave. You've been lying there for about eight hours.'

'Have our friends left yet?'

'They were on the other side of the camp. I suppose the old boy arranged it that way. I heard them drive off a couple of hours ago. What do you think they'll do?'

Kane shrugged. 'Make straight for Dahrein, hoping to get clear before we notify the authorities.'

'Are you going to try to stop them?'

Kane shook his head. 'I don't think so. I'll be glad to see the back of both of them. They're finished round here, anyway.' He got to his feet and stretched. 'Let's call on Mahmoud.'

He brushed back the entrance flap, walked out into the cool night and led the way down through the quiet camp to Mahmoud's tent.

They found the old sheik sitting cross-legged on a sheepskin before the fire, smoking a Turkish cigarette, eyes boring into the heat of the flames.