Cry Wolf

By now, Jake was almost totally submerged under a heaving mound of
black evening dress. There were three of them riding on his back, two
hanging around his legs, and one tucked under each of his arms.
"Not me, you fools. Not me him!" He tried to point to Gareth,
but both his arms were occupied.
"Quite right," Gareth agreed. "Dirty cheating dog!" and he wielded
the billiard cue with uncanny skill, holding it inverted and tapping
the thick end smartly against the skulls of the well-dressed gentlemen
riding on Jake's back. They dropped away, and freed of their weight
Jake turned to Gareth once more.
"Listen-!" he bellowed, advancing despite the bodies that clung to his
legs.
"Listen, indeed." Gareth cocked his head, and the sound of a police
whistle shrilled, and there was the glimpse of uniforms beyond double
doors. "Peelers, by Jove, Gareth announced. "Perhaps we should move
on. Follow me, old son." With a few expert swings of the billiard
cue, he knocked the glass from the window beside him, and stepped
lightly and unruffled into the darkened garden.
Jake strode along the unlit footpath under the dark jacaranda trees. He
followed the main road out towards his camp beside the stream. The
outraged cries and the sound of police whistles had long since died
away in the night behind.
Jake's anger had also died away, and he chuckled once as he thought of
the peer's purple face and his bulging affronted eyes. Then behind
him, following along the dark street, he heard the rhythmic squeak of
the springs of a ricksha, and the pad of bare feet.
Even before he looked back, he knew who was following.
"Thought I'd lost you," Gareth Swales remarked lightly, his handsome
noble features lit by the glow of the cheroot between his teeth as he
lolled against the cushions of the ricksha. "You took off like a long
dog after a bitch. fantastic turn of speed. I was very impressed."
Jake said nothing, but strode on towards his camp.
"You can't possibly be bound for bed." The ricksha kept station beside
Jake. "The night is still a pup and who can say what beautiful
thoughts and stirring deeds Care still to be thought and performed."
Jake tried not to grin, and kept going.
"Madame Cecile's?"Gareth wheedled.
"You really do want those cars don't you?"
"I am hurt,"
announced Gareth, "that you should imply gross materialism to my
friendly overtures."
"Who is paying? "demanded Jake.
"You are my guest."
"Well, I've drunk your beer, eaten your food why should I stop now?" He
stopped and walked to the ricksha. "Move over, then, he said.
The ricksha driver wheeled in a tight turn and trotted back into the
town, while Gareth pressed a cheroot between Jake's lips.
"What did you deal yourself?" Jake asked, between puffs of the
fragrant smoke. "Four aces? Straight flush?"
"I am appalled at the implied slur on my character, sir. I shall
ignore the question." They jogged a little farther in silence until it
was Gareth's turn to ask the next question.
"You didn't really roast that poor fellow's chestnuts, did you?"
No, "Jake admitted. "But it made a better story." They reached the
door of Madame Cecile's, discreetly set back in a walled garden, with a
lamp burning over the lintel.
Gareth paused with his hand on the brass knocker.
"You know damned if I don't owe you an apology. I've misjudged you all
along the line."
"It's been a lot of laughs."
"I think I'm going to have to be honest with you."
"I don't know if I can stand the shock." They grinned at each other
and Gareth punched his shoulder lightly.
"It's still my treat, what?" Madame Cecile was so tall and thin and
bosorriless that she seemed in danger of snapping off like a brittle
stick. She wore a severely cut dress of dark and indeterminate colour
which swept the ground and buttoned up under her chin and at the
wrists. Her hair was drawn back tightly into a large bun at the back
of her neck and her expression was prim and disapproving, but it
softened a little when she let them into the front room.
"Major Swales, it is always a pleasure. Mr. Barton, we haven't seen
you in a long while. I was afraid you'd left town."
"Let us have a bottle of Charlie Champers, my dear." Gareth handed his
silk scarf to the maid. "Have you run out of the Pal Roger 1923?"
"Indeed not,
Major."
"And we'd like to talk alone for a while before meeting any of the
young tallies. Is your private lounge vacant?" Gareth was settled
comfortably in one of the big leather armchairs with a glass of
champagne in one hand and a cheroot in the other.
Duce is about to put himself in to bat. Though God alone knows what he
hopes to gain by it. From all accounts, it's the most desolate stretch
of desert and mountain one could imagine. However,
Mussolini wants it perhaps he has visions of empire and glory. The old
Napoleonic itch, you know."
"How do you know this?" Jake was sprawled on the buttoned couch across
the room. He wasn't drinking the champagne. He didn't like the
taste.
"It's my business to know, old chap. I can smell out a barney before
the fellows themselves know they are going to fight. This one is a
racing certainty. Duce is going through all the classic stages of
protestations of peaceful intentions, combined with wholesale military
preparations.
The other big powers France, our chaps and yours have given him the
wink. Of course, they'll all squeal like blazes, and make all sorts of
protests at the League of Nations but nobody is about to stop old
Benito making a big grab for Ethiopia. hail Selassie, the king of
kings, knows it and so is princes and roses an c ieftains and merry
men.
And they are desperately trying to prepare some kind of defence.
That's where I come in, old boy."
"Why must they buy from you at the prices you say they are offering?
Surely they could get this sort of stuff direct from the
manufacturers?"
"Embargo, old chap. The
League of Nations have slapped an arms embargo on the whole of
Eritrea,
Somaliland and Ethiopia. No imports of war material into the area.
It's intended to reduce tension but of course it works out completely
one-sided. Mussolini doesn't have to go shopping for his armaments he
has all the guns, aircraft and armour that he needs already landed at
Eritrea. just ready to go and the jolly old Ethiopia has a few ancient
rifles and a lot of those long two-anded swords. It should be a close
match.
You aren't drinking your Charlie Champers?"
"I think I'll go get myself a Tusker. Back in a minute. "Jake rose
and moved to the door and
Gareth shook his head sadly.
"You've got taste buds like a crocodile's back. Tusker, forsooth,
when I'm offering you a vintage Charlie." It was more for a chance to
think out his position and plan his moves than desire for beer that
made Jake seek the bar in the front room. He leaned against the
counter in the crowded room, and his mind went swiftly over what
Gareth
Swales had told him. He tried to decide how much was fact and how much