Chronicles of the Secret Service (22 page)

It was not Aziz Ullah’s intention to appear too eager, for fear of rousing suspicion. He showed himself reluctant, therefore, raising many objections. Abdul Qadir had replies for them all and, by slow degrees, the other allowed him to think he was being won over. It was when he was apparently on the point of agreeing that he looked Abdul Qadir full in the face.

‘Why,’ he asked, ‘are you, a Pathan from the land of the Mahsuds, so eager that I should take this step? What advantage would it be to you or your race were I to become king?’

A slow smile spread across Abdul Qadir’s crafty face.

‘That,’ he declared, ‘is the question of one of much wisdom. I make no pretence that there would be no advantages; there would be many. You see, I am frank with you. The reigning amir is a timid, cautious man whose intentions are good, but as king he is useless to his people. He is inimical to the great Pathan race that lives beyond the borders of his country, and languishes under the laws of the English. Rather than help us, he would help those hated unbelievers against us. You, O Master, have proved your love for the people. You have shown yourself, in a short while, to possess a great power. With that power you can work wonders. You would not be inimical to the Pathans, for are they not of the same blood as those for whom you are already accomplishing so much? I could speak for many hours about the advantages that would come to us either directly or indirectly, were you King of Afghanistan, but it is not necessary. There is one ambition dear to my heart, however, and you, when amir, could help me accomplish it.’

He paused and Aziz Ullah looked at him questioningly.

‘Speak!’ commanded The Master when his companion showed no signs of continuing of his own accord.

‘Do you know much of the English?’ asked Abdul Qadir, and there was a depth of hatred in his voice that even surprised Aziz.

‘I know little indeed of them,’ he replied.

Thereupon the Mahsud plunged into a condemnation of the British people that was little short of vitriolic. He spoke of wrongs done to tribes of the frontier, of outrages, insults, indignities that, had they been true, would have called for the vengeance of heaven upon the perpetrators. Vastly amused inwardly, Aziz Ullah wore a look of utter indignation on his face as the tale of wrongs, suffered over a long period of years, went on. At last he cried out in a voice of horror, as though he could no longer bear to hear the recital. Delighted at this manifestation of the other’s newly-born belief in the wickedness of the English, Abdul Qadir then went on to tell of his ambition to unite all Pathans under one leader – he made no secret of the fact that the leader was to be himself – and to drive the hated white people from the country that was not theirs. He told frankly of the manner in which he was organising the tribes into a properly disciplined fighting machine.

‘It will be many moons before they are ready to advance as a united whole to battle,’ he admitted. ‘I have much prejudice to overcome, much persuasive force to use, and I am working practically alone. The young men are with me, but are hotheaded and slow in becoming disciplined. It is a weary task selecting, from among them, those fit to be officers. The elders
are obstinate, and are difficult to influence. But I will win,’ his eyes shone with fanatical fervour, ‘and then I will throw my army against the English. In the meantime, it will do much to hasten matters and consolidate opinion in my favour if I take steps to put you on the throne of Afghanistan. I can, as I have said, bring to your help twenty thousand fighting men now. If, O Master, I can assure my people that, in return for that service, you will ally yourself with me, when you are amir and, as soon as I am ready to strike, aid me against the enemy with the Afghan army, I shall have the support of all. The great day of vengeance will be brought very near.’

He ceased speaking; glanced from the corners of his eyes at the thoughtful face of Aziz Ullah. Anxiously he awaited the words that would mean elation or keen disappointment for him.

‘You have been frank,’ murmured Aziz at last, ‘and I will be frank with you in return. I like not the idea of plunging the country into a war with the powerful white people, but Allah is always with the oppressed and, perhaps, as the servant and instrument of the Beneficent and Merciful, I am destined to help accomplish that which you have shown me is the great need of a grievously suffering people. I am inclined to make the compact you ask, O Khan, but you must give me time to think. I will tell you this now, that I truly believe my answer will be favourable to you. There is only one question that is causing me some doubt.’

‘Ask it!’ begged the highly-satisfied Mahsud.

‘I have heard these English have many strange and terrifying machines of warfare. Afghanistan is also now, doubtless, well advanced in this manner. But what of the army you are endeavouring to train? What would be the use of one or two
or even three hundred thousand men fighting with weapons which are of the past, or rudely constructed against a great army equipped with these terrifying modern instruments of battle?’

‘Truly your wisdom is indeed great,’ returned Abdul Qadir in admiring tones. ‘I will let you into a secret that will resolve all your doubts.’

He then proceeded to tell Aziz Ullah of the manner in which, over a long period, he had been smuggling materials of war into the Afridi country. These included machine guns, rifles of the latest pattern, field guns that had arrived in parts and been assembled, and masses of hand grenades and ammunition. His hearers – Kershaw and the Havildar Rashid were, of course, listening close by – could not help feeling an admiration for the cleverness of the man. Kershaw had known of this smuggling of munitions but, despite his resources, had been up to then unable to fathom how it was done. Aziz Ullah let it appear that this disclosure had practically decided him to agree to the pact proposed. However, he took care to sound a trifle doubtful of the actual existence of such quantities of warlike stores. Thus with a craftiness matching Abdul Qadir’s he succeeded in obtaining from the latter the information that the whole stock was hidden in one place. The Mahsud did not trust the tribes sufficiently to equip them fully, until they had completely fallen into line with his plans.

‘It is safely concealed in a series of caves difficult of approach,’ he told Aziz, ‘known only to me and men of my own village, whom I can trust. I alone have a map of the district indicating the caves and the manner of reaching them, and I always carry it with me. It is here.’

He tapped his breast as he spoke, to imply that the precious document reposed in a pocket inside his clothing. Kershaw, hearing all this, felt a desire to give vent to a cry of triumph. He had not anticipated being supplied with a plan depicting the position of this ammunition depot of which, for so long, he had tried to find the whereabouts.

‘It is well,’ nodded Aziz Ullah. ‘I can no longer doubt that you are a man of great resource and possess abundantly the qualities of leadership. I will spend the night in meditation on the proposition you have laid before me. Now we will go to my retreat and partake of refreshments. Will you remain in the mountains as my guest until the morning?’

Abdul Qadir accepted eagerly.

‘It will be a great honour,’ he assured Aziz Ullah.

‘What of your men? Do they know where you are?’

‘I have sent them – all but one who is my brother, and awaits my return in Gharat – back to my country. He only knows of my mission.’

‘Will your brother grow anxious if you return not tonight?’

Abdul Qadir smiled, and shook his head.

‘I told him I might not return until the morrow.’

‘It is well. Come! You must be in need of food.’

They rose, and commenced the descent to the pass. Neither spoke again of the subject that had brought them together. On the way down, Aziz Ullah listened somewhat apprehensively for sounds indicative of the movements of Major Kershaw and Mahommed Rashid. But, except for the occasional note of a bird, the flutter of wings, or the rustling made by an animal, all was silent as the tomb. They came at length to the clearing in
which Abdul Qadir’s pony patiently stood awaiting the return of his master. The Mahsud bent to untie the animal. It was then that Aziz Ullah caught sight of Kershaw and Rashid hurrying towards them. He waited until they were close by, then:

‘Look!’ he cried in pretended alarm, clutching his companion’s arm in a convulsive grip. ‘Who are these?’

Abdul Qadir straightened and swung round. A full-blooded oath, which is certainly not in the Koran, broke from his lips but, before he could raise a finger to defend himself, Kershaw had sprung forward, knocked off his turban, and brought the butt of a heavy revolver down with sickening force on his head. Abdul Qadir crashed to the ground without a sound, and lay still.

‘What the—?’ began Aziz Ullah in surprise.

The red-haired Intelligence officer grinned at him.

‘Altered our plans a little,’ he confided. ‘It occurred to me that the spectacle of you taking to your heels to bring your men to the aid of this bird, might not appear as convincing as we thought. After all, you look as though you could eat both Rashid and me at one gulp. I’m sure this is much the better way. Except for a headache, Abdul Qadir won’t be any the worse, when he comes round. Besides, you know how fantastic these beggars are – he might have forced me to shoot him. He’ll recover to learn that Rashid administered the same medicine to you as I did to him; you’ll both be trussed up, and you personally will be of the opinion that he has betrayed you, or been careless, or something. How’s that?’

‘Excellent. And what becomes of Aziz Ullah? Is he to be taken along with you as an additional prisoner.’

‘Not on your life. I leave you tied to a tree in the hope that we can get safely away before you are discovered and spread the alarm. I also apologise for the inconvenience, pretend I don’t know Aziz Ullah from Adam, and explain that the trouble that has befallen you is entirely due to your own fault in being associated with a man so badly wanted by the Indian government.’

Aziz laughed.

‘You’ve certainly worked everything out very neatly,’ he admitted. ‘Who unties me from the tree?’

‘Nobody. You walk away when Abdul Qadir’s packed up and we’re out of sight. We’ll only pretend to tie you. By the way, that brother’s a nuisance. We can’t leave him in Gharat.’

Rashid had been listening to the conversation with a slight smile on his stern face. Now he broke in in his laboured English.

‘Me know him, sahib. Not worry – I get.’

‘Good for you, Rashid,’ approved Kershaw. ‘Now let us truss this beauty up. Oh, boy,’ he exulted to Aziz Ullah, ‘what a jolly old triumph! The way you got him to talk about that armament dump of his was priceless, and to think he was obliging enough to bring along a map.’

‘Yes; that certainly was rather an unexpected piece of luck,’ agreed Aziz. ‘You’d better take possession of it before he wakes up.’

The luckless Abdul Qadir Khan was carefully searched. Not only was the plan of which he had spoken on him, but various other interesting documents, among which, after a hasty glance through them, Kershaw brought to light a draft treaty which the Mahsud hoped would be approved by Aziz Ullah, and detailed notes concerning the tribesmen under training as a result of his
ambitious scheme. There was also a complete list of the arms and ammunition stored ready for the day when he confidently expected to commence driving the British from the Frontier.

The red-haired major was exuberant. Aziz Ullah seemed no less elated. They certainly had achieved a great triumph. All that remained was to accomplish safely the difficult task of conveying the captive through the lawless country between the frontier of Afghanistan and Peshawar. Under the critical eye of the Englishman, Rashid bound Abdul Qadir hand and foot. They debated whether to slip a gag into his mouth also, but decided that could be left till later. Aziz Ullah was also tied, but his thongs were left so loose that he could have shaken them off whenever he wished. Still he gave the appearance of being effectually trussed. Water from a nearby stream was brought in a pannikin and thrown on the Mahsud’s face. At first, this had no effect, but eventually he stirred uneasily; then opened his eyes with a groan. As his opened, those of Aziz Ullah, who was lying close by, shut. The result was that, when memory returned and Abdul Qadir realised that he had been attacked, the first sight he saw was The Master stretched out in the vicinity, apparently unconscious and bound with ropes. At the same time he grew aware of his own trussed condition. Then his eyes became fixed on the slim Englishman standing looking down at him. Immediately his face became convulsed with rage and hate; a string of profanities poured from between his lips. Kershaw listened and smiled, made no attempt to interrupt. Eventually Abdul Qadir Khan obtained sufficient control of himself to demand an explanation of the attack, the reason why he and his companion were bound with rope, and the identity of his captor.

‘Do you not know me?’ returned Kershaw. ‘Well, learn, O man of trouble, that for many moons have I been on your track. Now, at last, I have you. You will be conveyed to Peshawar and will have to answer the charge of planning war and outrage against the Indian government. Your activities are well known and I now have these’ – he waved before the other’s appalled eyes the documents that had been taken from his pockets – ‘to condemn you. My task is complete; your dreams of greatness will now have to be replaced by the certainty of years of exile in the Andamans or some other secure retreat where you can do no harm.’

The previous outburst from the Mahsud was nothing compared with the frenzied utterances that were now flung at the white man. He appeared to have gone mad, his eyes burning feverishly, foam collecting at the corners of his lips. At last he stopped, it seemed from sheer exhaustion. After a pause, during which he made great efforts to regain command of himself, he went on more calmly:

‘You fool, do you believe you can carry me out of Afghanistan, through my own country to the land groaning under the iron heel of your vicious race? Do you know who he is who lies there?’