The Quest of Julian Day (25 page)

I didn't know very much about the white-slaving game but I did know that the first act is to break the spirit of any unwilling victim. The usual procedure is a beating of sufficient violence to make the girl incapable of any endeavour to escape through the sheer misery of her physical condition; after which she is forcibly raped by the heftiest thug in the house, which ordeal naturally has the effect of throwing her into such hopeless dejection that she no longer has the vitality even to attempt planning a get-away for many hours. The victim is then normally half-starved, beaten and raped again systematically for a number of days until her will is so broken that she consents to receive a client upon the promise that if she does so her daily beatings shall cease, her hunger be appeased and that she can count henceforth on more comfortable conditions.

In Sylvia's case there was not even the hope that she would
be kept at Ismailia for several days. They would naturally be anxious to get her out of Egypt as quickly as possible. I visualised with a horror that made my palms of my hands wet, that poor girl being subjected by the native servants of the house in the night that was now approaching, to every brutality which might rob her of the initiative to endeavour to get a message through to us. The following day, or night at latest, she would almost certainly be drugged, smuggled aboard a native craft and shipped down the Canal to a port on the east coast of the Red Sea where she would be sold by secret negotiations into the harem of some wealthy Arab sheik, and all trace of her lost for years or perhaps for ever.

It was a hideous thought and one which I strove to put from me but, try as I would, I could not evade the fact that although the smug, self-righteous ruling caste of Europe elects to ignore it, a similar fate does still overtake tens of thousands of young women annually, and that if that was the way Zakri had planned to get rid of Sylvia, she would fare no better than any of the others.

While we were trying our poor best to do justice to a créme caramel Longdon was called away to the telephone. He returned to say that he had been talking to Essex Pasha. There was no news which could definitely be associated with Sylvia; police spies of every kind were hunting feverishly for traces of her through all the black spots of Cairo, so far without result, and the police-posts on other roads out of the city had been no more successful in their search for a car that might be suspect than those on the roads running east to Suez and Ismailia; but the air port police had reported a private 'plane with two men and three women on board as having left at a quarter-past three ostensibly for Alexandria. The three women had been dressed in native garments and were wearing veils; one of them had been supported by the other two and the party had declared that they were taking her home after a serious operation. As the 'plane was not leaving the country there were no passport formalities so no one had questioned her or examined her closely, but it was thought, in view of the circumstances, that this might possibly have been Sylvia in a semi-conscious state after having been doped so that she should not talk or call for assistance.

This news was far from cheering as, if the woman was Sylvia, it now looked as though they might have flown her right out of country direct to one of the Red Sea ports, in which case our chance of rescuing her was almost nil and, although I did not express my opinion, I felt that the poor girl would be better dead.

Better news came through twenty minutes later, while we were still sitting over our coffee; or, if not better, at least news which gave us something to occupy our minds and take them temporarily off our more dismal speculations. The police at Ismailia telephoned to say they thought they had located the House of the Angels. The officer in charge at Ismailia said he was waiting for definite confirmation that the house was the right one before issuing orders for a raid; so we decided to leave at once in the hope that we might arrive in time for it if it was made.

I went with Longdon in his car and the others followed in the one which had brought us from Cairo. For the first few miles out of Suez the road twists through native villages, palm groves and well-cultivated fields, but soon we were on the magnificent highway running parallel with the Canal which is kept by the Company.

The distance from Suez to Ismailia is about fifty miles and after about twenty the road leaves the Canal to follow the shores, first of the Little Bitter Lake, and then the Great Bitter Lake, through both of which the Canal passes. On these long, straight stretches we went all out but it was half-past eleven before we reached Ismailia. On entering the town Longdon drove straight to the French Club where, he said, the Ismailia Chief of Police had promised to have a man with the latest news for us.

When we stepped out of the cars Longdon was greeted by the Chief of Police himself, a sandy-haired, moustached man named Major Hanbury, to whom he introduced us.

Major Hanbury said that he had suggested our coming to the French Club as it would be more comfortable for us to wait there than in his office. The house had proved to be the right one but the raid had not yet been made as time was needed for the police to take up their positions, but it was provisionally fixed for eleven-forty. He led us into the Club and offered us
drinks in a big, cheery-looking bar with many little tables and gaily-painted, semi-comic maps upon its walls. There was only a sprinkling of people about and none of them took any notice of us, so directly the drinks had been ordered Major Hanbury gave us details about the result of his enquiries.

None of his men had ever heard of the House of Angels before that afternoon but once they had got on to the place it had proved to be the residence of a wealthy merchant named Suliman Taufik which stood in its own grounds on the northern outskirts of the town. Taufik was an influential and ostensibly respectable man and for that reason Hanbury had hesitated to order a raid on his house without some confirmation of the belief that it was being used for illegal purposes but, since his telephone call to Suez, he had managed to trace two of the native servants who were taking an evening off in the town. On questioning them he had elicited the information, under considerable pressure, that young women of many nationalities were brought to the place, generally at night, and remained there as guests for a day or two before being spirited away again.

Having considered that good enough to justify the issue of a search-warrant, his juniors had been busy for the last hour collecting all their available forces for the purpose of surrounding the house before the raid was made. When he had finished his drink he stood up and said that he must now be upon his way.

‘If I may, I would very much like to come with you,' I said. ‘If there's a scrap there can't be too many of us and in any case you'll need somebody to identify Miss Shane—if she's there.'

‘I'd like to be in this thing too,' Harry added promptly.

‘You can come if you like', the Major agreed. ‘But what about Mrs. Belville? I'm afraid we can't have ladies mixed up in this business.'

Clarissa sighed resignedly. ‘You men have all the fun; although it can't be any joke for poor Sylvia. But never mind, I'll be all right here. Only for goodness sake take care of yourselves. Don't go getting shot or anything.'

Hanbury smiled. ‘You needn't worry, Mrs. Belville. I've raided plenty of places before and we've more than sufficient men to deal with any rogues we may find in Taufik's house. It
would be miserable here for you waiting on your own but I think I can solve that problem. There are some friends of mine at that table over there—Geoffrey Chatterton and his sister. If I may, I'll introduce you and they'll look after you while we're away.'

The introduction was duly effected. Chatterton, I gathered, was in the Irrigation Department—a tall, bronzed young man with a ready smile; his sister was a plain but pleasant woman of about thirty.

Hanbury just told them that we had some rather tricky business to transact which might take the best part of an hour, and asked them to entertain Clarissa in our absence, to which they readily consented. We left her with them and piled into the two cars outside, taking Amin and Mustapha with us.

Ismailia is quite a small town so the drive was a short one and we left the cars on its northern outskirts a few hundred yards from a long wall, some little distance from the roadside, which Hanbury pointed out to us as the place we were going to raid.

His junior officers reported to him that the place had been surrounded and instructions were given that, while sufficient men were to be left outside to catch anyone attempting to escape over the walls, the rest were all to come in over them on hearing one long blast from his whistle. He gave them ten minutes to get back to their posts and then, supported by a sergeant-major and six native policemen, our group walked quietly towards the main gateway.

When we were still some distance from it Hanbury detached the sergeant-major and one of the policemen, telling them to get over the wall fifty yards to the right of the gate and tackle anyone in the porter's lodge should the porter refuse us admission. As soon as they were out of sight on the far side of the wall we advanced to the main gate and hammered on it.

For a moment or two there was no response, then the covering of the grille in the great old-fashioned structure was lifted and a pair of dark eyes peered out at us.

‘What do you want?' asked a voice in Arabic.

‘To see Suliman Taufik Bey,' replied Hanbury.

‘He is from home,' replied the
boab
.

‘When is he expected back?'

‘I cannot say. He spends much of his time in Cairo and has been gone from here some days now.'

‘Then I wish to see whoever is in charge in his absence.'

‘Everyone is in bed at this hour,' said the man surlily.

‘All the same, you'll let me in,' snapped Hanbury, and drawing his revolver he suddenly thrust it into the grille so that the barrel was within an inch of the
boab's
nose adding, ‘Don't move. I'm a police officer, and you will be charged with obstructing me in the execution of my duty it you make any resistance.'

The man's eyes goggled with fright but he did not attempt to shut the covering of the grille and remained staring down the threatening barrel of the revolver.

‘Hussein!' Hanbury called, raising his voice. ‘Are you there?'

‘
Hadra, effendi
!' came the gruff voice of the sergeant-major.

Hanbury spoke again. ‘Secure this man and get the gate open.'

There was a slight scuffle as the porter was pulled away from the grille, followed by the noise of heavy wooden bolts being thrust back, and one half of the massive gate swung open.

With cautious footsteps, our pistols in our hands, we made our way up a long, straight drive bordered by palm trees to the front entrance of the house. It was quite silent but lights were burning in some of the upper windows. The building was a fairly modern one, probably erected somewhere in the eighteen-nineties. In a whisper Hanbury directed us to take up positions on either side of the front door where we should be concealed in the shadows. He then went up the two steps alone and rang the bell.

It clanged hollowly somewhere at the back of the house and we waited there holding our breath until someone should come to answer it. After what seemed an interminable time footsteps shuffled on the far side of the door. It was opened a crack and I could just see a native servant peering suspiciously round it.

There was a short, muttered conversation in Arabic and I caught the words ‘… your master …' and ‘… warrant to search these premises …'

At that the servant endeavoured to force the door to again but Hanbury had his foot in it and next second the blast of
his whistle screamed loud through the still night as he flung his weight against the door.

At the sound we all leapt from our cover to his assistance. The door gave suddenly and Hanbury fell headlong inside it with Longdon and one of the policemen on top of him. Over their prostrate bodies I saw the servant grab a lever which was fixed to an iron box on the wall. As he wrenched it over an alarm-bell somewhere in the centre of the house suddenly shrilled with a frightful clamour.

Hanbury was on his feet again but the servant was racing down the passage shouting at the top of his voice and deaf to our commands to halt.

We poured into the narrow hall-way and as we did so I could hear the thudding feet of the police reinforcements who had come in over the walls and were now pelting across the garden to our aid.

Hanbury led the way after the flying servant towards the back of the house, two of his men following him. Longdon and the sergeant-major dashed into a room on the right where a dim light was burning. I headed straight for the stairs, taking them three at a time, my gun in my hand and Harry after me.

As I reached the bend I saw a group of men on the landing above who were dashing down to meet us. One of them raised his pistol and fired. The bullet whistled past my cheek and buried itself in the wall.

I fired in reply and at that moment the lights went out.

There followed in the next few moments the most terrifying experience that I have ever been through. On the previous night I had had not time to be really frightened; Yusuf and his fellow cut-throats had fallen on me too quickly for me to think of anything but bracing myself to meet their attack. Although they had rushed at me out of the darkness there had been no horrid interval in which I was directly menaced by an unseen enemy; as they had not used firearms I had not had to face the threat of being suddenly stricken down from a distance in the dark. Once their first rush was over, all my wits had been occupied in a purely physical endeavour to dodge their knives and force them from me, limb pressed to limb, until the moment when I practically lost consciousness.

The present encounter was utterly different. How long it was after the lights went out before the fight started again, I cannot say; probably not more than a couple of minutes at the outside, but it seemed an eternity. Downstairs it had been renewed almost immediately; shouts and the trampling of feet came from the rear portion of the premises into which the native servant had disappeared. They were followed by the crash of shots coming distant and muffled from somewhere out in the grounds. But I remained silent and motionless crouching on the turn of the stairs. There were armed men, I knew, up there on the landing no more than ten feet away from me; I had not the least cover and they could hardly fail to hit me if they fired at the place where they had seen me standing before the lights went out. I could not retreat without making a commotion, as Harry and some of the police were blocking the staircase in my rear, and I knew that at the least sound a hail of bullets would come crashing at me from above.