The Mule on the Minaret (60 page)

What would that second home be like? Would he be a bachelor? Would he have remarried? Remarried whom? Diana? Why not, after all, why not? She would want to make an end sometime of her present vagabondage, which was well enough in wartime, but would not be in step with a world that was bent not upon destruction but upon reconstruction. Not that Diana wanted to be in step. But she was a part of the spirit of her day; in her revolt against her father, she was in tune with the moment's mood, reacting against complacence. That battle was now fought out. A new battle would be starting; the rebuilding of a broken world. Why should not he and Diana find themselves in step?

From behind him, seemingly from the office wing, came a metallic bark like the sound of a rifle shot. Which probably was what it was. One of the
chowkidars
trying to scare off an imagined thief. Two weeks ago, the tyres had been stolen off one of the Centre's cars, under the sentries' eyes. The sentries had been told to shoot. He listened, craning his neck. From his balcony he could see the front of the offices. A light went on in one of the top windows. The door of the office opened. A man stood in the doorway. A white man; in a dressing-gown. The duty officer. Damn him; he had no right to undress. He had a bed there, surely that should do. He broke into a run. He was making for the mess. There was something up. Reid hurried down to meet him. There was a lamp over the entrance to the mess; it shone down on the duty officer's face so that the cheek bone shadowed it, giving it the look of a distorted mask. ‘Yes, yes, what is it?'

‘It's Major Johnson, sir. He's shot.'

‘He's wounded?'

‘No, sir. Yes, sir. I mean he's dead.'

‘You're sure?'

‘Oh yes, sir, quite. His whole head, sir, blown right off.'

‘Who by? What by? That damn fool
chowkidar?'

‘Oh no, sir, by himself; his own revolver. It was in his hand. He was in his office. He's been over there half an hour; in his office, working. Then suddenly the gun went off.'

‘I see. We'll go across.'

Funerals had to be carried out quickly in Baghdad in the summer. Johnson's was fixed for the following afternoon. A
perfunctory inquest decided that he had died by his own hand through misadventure. Subsequently there would be a military court of inquiry. A verdict of suicide would establish that the crime of a self-inflicted wound had been committed, an unfavourable decision that would affect the pension to Johnson's widow. Reid had no doubt, however, that the court would take a lenient view of the situation. So many juries had ruled that a man had had an accident cleaning his gun. There would be only two witnesses, himself and the duty officer. The duty officer would testify that Johnson had come into the office late, had gone to his own room and worked over his files. Johnson had spoken to him on his way to his office and said that he expected to be there for about an hour. Half an hour later there had been the report of a shot being fired. He would describe the condition in which he had found Johnson. He would add that there were a number of routine files on the desk. Johnson had clearly spent the last half hour of his life working on those files. At any rate until he had begun to clean his revolver. The cleaning materials were on the desk.

Reid in his turn would describe the dinner at the Sinbad. He would say that Johnson was in the best of humours; that they had had two whiskies at the British Club; that Johnson had had two glasses of white wine and then had drunk whisky from his flask. He could not remember how many whiskies Johnson had nor how strong they were. Johnson had a good head for whisky, but he had certainly drunk enough to be a little careless. ‘I was glad that I had not got to drive a car myself.' Reid proposed to say. He would add that he had known Johnson well. They had been contemporaries at Sandhurst, though they had not met there. On their journey out to the Middle East, they had found that the fact of their being contemporaries had constituted a genuine bond between them. He had received a number of confidences from Johnson. He had the highest respect for Johnson as a man and as an officer. He did not believe that Johnson had any personal worries. A year ago, Johnson had been worried by his inability to find a suitable posting in the Middle East. He had been worried by the report that officers over the age of forty-five were to be relegated to unemployment if they were not needed upon any staff. It was at his own suggestion that Johnson had been offered an appointment with the Centre. It was work that he was admirably fitted to undertake. He enjoyed the work. He was popular with the officers and with the other ranks. There was no reason why he should not stay on in the Centre till
the end of the war. He could see no reason why Johnson should have wanted to take his life.

Neither he nor the duty officer would be precise about the condition of Johnson's body. The significant question would therefore not be asked. ‘Why should a man in the process of cleaning a revolver put its muzzle in his mouth?'

The inquest, and the preparation for the funeral—he was to be given full military honours—made the morning a busy one for Reid. It was not till shortly before lunch that he had time to look through his in-tray. It is only then that he found among his mail an envelope marked ‘Personal and Private' addressed to him in Johnson's handwriting. The letter was dated ‘Just back from the Sindbad.' It ran:

‘Prof., old boy. I'm sorry about all this. And I hope it won't be too much of a nuisance and inconvenience. I suppose it will. But I don't see what else there is to do. I'll be very blunt about it and make no excuses. I have been pinching money from the Secret Fund. What I have done is this. When you or one of the other officers asked me for some money for one of your agents, let us say for 20 dinars, I have marked down in the book 30 dinars and kept the balance for myself. As you know, no details are kept of these transactions; receipts are burnt. At the end of the year, the adjutant hands in to the Colonel the grand and final total. It is quite a large sum, as you will have realized by now, because a number of high-up Iraqis are in our pay. Questions are never going to be asked. That is the essence of secret service work, unless the total suddenly richochets up. I did not see how an increase of three hundred pounds would arouse suspicions. I did not see how I could get found out if I limited my pilfering to three hundred. And I still don't see how I could. But that's what every criminal thinks, isn't it? Anyhow, as long as I was dealing with a stranger like Mallet, I was prepared to run the risk. But it was different with you. You're rather a special person, Prof., you know. Or at least you've been special to me. You were very sympathetic to me when things were going badly. You found this job for me. And I simply couldn't bear being had up on the mat before you on a charge like this. My pride could not have stood it.

‘There was another thing too. I realized that, when I saw you sign the taking over paper. You are now responsible for the moneys held by the Centre. If there's a deficiency, you would have to make it good. You, not me. And that was something else I couldn't take, running the risk of letting you in for a large sum. And I couldn't continue as your officer, in your mess, with that hanging over my head. It would have
poisoned everything. I wouldn't have had one minute's peace of mind. I am sure this is the one way out.

‘That's why I'm writing you this letter; as evidence that will let you out if any prying accountant raises difficulties. I don't see how he could, but he might. If he does, you've got the letter. It's up to you to do what you like with it. You might feel that you should hand it over to the G.O.C. straightaway and he might try to sue my estate for my defalcations. I can't say I'd like that to happen; it wouldn't be very pleasant for my wife. But I've no say in the matter, have I? What I'd prefer, and that's why I'm writing this letter after all, is for you to keep it, in your own interests, in case anything blows up. That way you'll know you're safe.

‘I'm sorry about all this. It was good of you to come out tonight. It was good to be able to relive those days when I was a different person, and the world was a different place. It's sad that all that should have finished up like this. But I suppose if it hadn't been this way, it would have been another way. I'd got to the end of the road. Good luck.'

Reid read the letter slowly. ‘This is one of the times,' he thought, ‘when one acts on impulse.' He took a cigarette lighter from his pocket and switched it on. He led the flame to the paper and watched it run across the sheet, leaving its black, crinkling edge. He dropped the paper on to the tiled floor, let it burn itself out; then crunched his heel on it. ‘Now for the funeral.'

The replacement of Johnson as his adjutant presented Reid with an administrative problem. On paper, the Centre was a part of Paiforce and he should have applied to the M.S. branch at G.H.Q. Paiforce for a new adjutant. Yet in reference to its special activities, its orders came from Cairo, after reference to London. If it had been an Intelligence Corps captain who had died, Reid would have assumed that Cairo could either fill the vacancy or would instruct him to find a replacement locally. Usually in a G.H.Q. there were one or two efficient officers who, on personal grounds, were not quite happy where they were and would welcome a transfer. An adjutant, however, was in a different category. He did not need to have had an Intelligence Corps training. Johnson had not had one. And Reid did not see why his successor should. You needed in an adjutant someone with military training, with a sense of discipline, who would inspire his juniors with a sense of awe, and, which was more important, would know his way about regulations, would be familiar with army orders and the technique of claiming appropriate allowances. Reid would have looked consequently for a ranker officer, a man of twenty years' service, who with his knowledge of how to get things done would not only save the Centre a lot of money, but its staff a great deal of time. Reid, therefore, on the evening after the funeral, signalled to Cairo, reporting Johnson's death and suggesting that he should apply to the M.S. Branch in Paiforce for a replacement. To his complete astonishment, however, he received a signal in reply stating that Temporary Captain (W/S Lieutenant) A. Q. Sargent had been
appointed to fill the vacancy created by Major Johnson's death and would assume the acting rank of Major. Captain Sargent, it continued, would be arriving by the Nairn bus on the following Thursday.

Reid stared at the signal. Gustave to fill a post such as this which required long familiarity with military procedure, and training in paper work. It was a job that he would have hesitated to take on himself. He could think of no one less fitted for the post than Gustave. He remembered Gustave telling him in Beirut that he was hoping to be coming to Baghdad soon with a crown upon his shoulder. He had not understood at the time what it was all about. And at that time Cairo had not known that there would be a vacancy for a major on the Baghdad establishment. He could only assume that for some devious reason of its own, Cairo wanted to have Gustave in Baghdad, with the rank of Major. He could not begin to think what it was all about.

He drove down to the Nairn office to welcome Gustave. Gustave was in the highest spirits; he looked well and healthy and his crown glittered on his shoulder. ‘This is very decent of you, Prof.,' he started; then he checked. ‘I suppose I should call you “Sir” now, shouldn't I?'

‘In the office, yes; in the mess, Colonel; and anything you like when we're like this.'

‘That's a great deal for me to remember, isn't it?' He looked from left to right as they drove through the quiet, humble residential streets; he wrinkled his nose. ‘This place smells.' He noted the shabby pedestrians, the heavily laden mules, the drooping dustcovered oleander bushes ‘Scruffy too,' he said.

‘I warned you, didn't I?'

‘You did. I know you did. But anyhow I don't think I'm going to be here very long.'

‘What makes you think that?'

‘Something that Farrar said. I've got a letter from him, which should explain it. Diana Benson asked to be remembered to you; very specially remembered.'

They talked about mutual friends. Gustave chattered away briskly. His buoyancy was in marked contrast to that of the majority of men with whom Reid had been dealing during the last few weeks. Everyone looked drained and exhausted by the heat.

The car drew up outside the mess.

‘This doesn't look too bad,' said Gustave.

‘It was a palace twenty years ago.'

Reid showed Gustave which his room was. It faced not upon the river but the date groves. ‘This isn't too good a room, I'm afraid.' Reid said. ‘There should be a better one vacant soon. But if you aren't going to be here long perhaps it doesn't matter. As soon as you're straightened up, come over to the office. Have you got that letter, by the way?'

The letter was hand written.

‘Dear Prof., this will be a big surprise to you; perhaps not a very pleasant one, I'm afraid. But don't worry. It isn't for long. I was very sorry to hear of Johnson's accident. Particularly on your account. I know that you were fond of him. But actually it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and in a way it's providential. For quite a while we've wanted to have Gustave in Baghdad, and with a major's rank. And we haven't known how to do it. This is a good opportunity.

‘I won't give you any details about the project. The less you know the better. By that I mean the less you know the more peace of mind you'll have. It is a very tricky bit of work, but it is a most important one. It's the kind of thing that I've been trying to bring off for the last eighteen months. All this may be a bit of a nuisance for you. I know Gustave isn't the right man for your adjutant, but I don't suppose that he can do much damage in six weeks.'