Immediately after lunch, Willoughby excused himself and went off with the faithful Jackson to keep an appointment. Garve hoped that Hayson would be impelled to return to his excavating, but the call of archeology was apparently no more insistent than the call of journalism when a charming girl needed company.
Garve, reclining in a deck chair and puffing contentedly at his old briar, rested with an easy conscience. He had been blown-up that day in the service of his paper, and the most unreasonable editor could hardly ask for more. If a train were wrecked or a bridge dynamited he knew that he had good friends at police headquarters who would seek him out and let him know at once. In any case, he could no longer work up any enthusiasm over minor outbreaks of violence. They meant nothing to London. They were hardly news any longer. Much better, he thought, to concentrate on digging out the really big story that he felt was on the point of breaking. If he could only get an “exclusive” on a major revolt, his second visit to Palestine would have proved worth while. And the more he thought of Ali Kemal, the more certain he became that he had hit upon the focal point of the plot. It might break, of course, at any moment, before he could get to the bottom of it, but his contacts were good, and, in the meantime, there was nothing he could do—he glanced at Esther—well, nothing to-day, anyway.
Rest and peace seemed to be having the same attraction for Hayson. With a deliberation which suggested that he was taking up his position for the remainder of the day, he placed a chair near Esther in that possessive manner which angered Garve so much, and proceeded to make himself thoroughly comfortable. To Garve he was gravely courteous, but when he spoke to Esther he always switched on a brilliant smile, which he clearly realized was fascinating. Garve himself was fascinated by it. To Esther, in romantic circumstances, he feared it might prove irresistible.
However, since the afternoon was apparently to be spent à trois, Garve resigned himself to the necessity of being friendly, and, with the true instinct of the newspaper man, set to work to make Hayson talk about himself. He had already scented a possible story. Archaeological discoveries often made first-class copy, and a man of Hayson’s ability would hardly be “digging” in Jerusalem without good reason. Garve openly and smilingly confessed his curiosity with a disarming apology for not minding his own business.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Hayson, with the tolerant air of a man who knows he is worth interviewing. “As a matter of fact, I’m used to pressmen. I even edited a rag myself at Oxford.”
Garve badly wanted to laugh, but hastily coughed instead. Even Esther did not seem very impressed.
“At Luxor,” said Hayson, “we were inundated with newspaper people. I was deputed to act as a kind of public relations officer, and I found them a very decent crowd of fellows. But they didn’t know much about archaeology.”
“I bet they didn’t,” said Garve with a grin.
“Tutankhamen would have turned in his sarcophagus,” said Hayson gravely, “if he had known how they were messing up his dynasty. They got the dates wrong, and the names wrong, and even the history wrong.”
“I don’t believe Mr. Hayson is as fond of newspaper men as he pretends,” declared Esther. She looked cool and comfortable, and was toying with one of Hayson’s Turkish cigarettes, which she liked.
“I assure you I’m quite sincere,” said Hayson. “I know that scientists don’t usually favour the popular press, but the garbled kind of pseudo-scientific article which appears in papers like—like——”
“Like the Morning Call,” prompted Garve, chuckling.
“Well, like the Morning Call,” said Hayson solemnly— “that kind of article is often as much the fault of the scientist as of the journalist. Now, when I talk about my work, I try to make it intelligible. I avoid technical terms as much as possible, and I don’t try to parade a lot of abstruse knowledge.”
“I wish there were more like you,” observed Garve. “Anyway, to avoid any possible misrepresentation, I promise you that if what you are working at here makes a story, I’ll submit my ‘copy’ to you for technical correction before I release it.”
Hayson gave a little gesture of self-depreciation. “There’s not really much to tell yet, and you mustn’t exaggerate the importance of it. I’m searching for the Ark of the Covenant.”
Garve whistled softly. “It sounds like a headline to me.”
“I thought it was stranded on Mount Ararat,” said Esther.
“You’re thinking of Noah’s Ark,” said Hayson, and as he turned to Garve he was just too late to intercept a wink. “The Ark of the Covenant was built by Moses—you’ll find all about it in the Book of Exodus. It was made of shittim wood, overlaid with pure gold, and was carried on gold staves. It was to contain, if you remember, two tablets of stone ‘written with the finger of God.’ Moses broke the first two, but according to Exodus they were renewed. And when we find the ark—if we ever do—we may find the tablets too.”
“They’d make a good picture,” said Garve irreverently. “I remember now—the Ark was supposed to have been hidden in Jerusalem, wasn’t it. Under the city. And that’s why you’re working in Solomon’s Quarries?”
“Exactly. Have you ever been inside them?”
“Oh yes—a little way—but only as a tourist, I’m afraid.”
“Please, please,” Esther interrupted. “You’re going much too fast for me. “I haven’t been inside Solomon’s Quarries. Do tell me more about them.”
“Solomon’s Quarries,” said Hayson, beaming on Esther as on an ignorant child, “are a great chain of underground caverns which run beneath the old city. Nine hundred years before Christ the stone for Solomon’s Temple was hewn out of them. For two hundred years their existence was lost sight of. Then, in the middle of the last century, a man was walking past the Damascus Gate when he suddenly missed his dog. He turned on his tracks and discovered the animal crawling out of a hole under the wall, which was all overgrown with vegetation. He shifted a lot of debris, and discovered that the hole was really the choked-up entrance to a vast cave. Nowadays the upper workings of the quarries are one of the sights that visitors always want to see.”
“I should think so,” said Esther. “It sounds most interesting. Please go on.”
“Well, all sorts of wild rumours began to circulate—it was sufficiently dark and dangerous inside for anything to be possible. One of the suggestions was that in addition to the gold and silver vessels and the jewels of Solomon, the Ark of the Covenant itself was somewhere cunningly concealed beneath the site of the temple. The quarries became the mecca of treasure hunters, and a stimulating problem for serious investigators. They were all unsuccessful. Several people broke their necks by falling over frightful precipices, and one man was discovered accidentally in the last stages of starvation after being lost for over a fortnight. In the end the search was given up.”
“H’m.” Garve seemed disappointed. “It doesn’t sound so hopeful, does it?” He looked curiously at Hayson. “What makes you think you may be more successful?”
“I hate to be beaten,” said Hayson slowly, his eyes on Esther. “Indeed, I’m rarely beaten. The Ark of the Covenant has never been found. If it had been destroyed some record of its destruction would surely have survived. If it still exists, it must be in the quarries. In any case, I intend to explore the caverns so thoroughly that I shall be able to say definitely, one way or the other, whether it is there or not.”
“Surely you’ll need some help?”
“Later on, yes. At the moment I’m fully occupied with a discovery I’ve already made. Deep down in the lower workings I’ve found some remarkable signs carved on one of the walls. I have a feeling that they may have something to do with the ark. In any case, they have a real antiquarian interest, and I’m going to get them deciphered.”
Hayson’s dark face was flushed with enthusiasm, and Garve caught the infection. “I’d like to go down with you one day,” he said. “Maybe I could get a flashlight of the carvings?”
“You might,” said Hayson dubiously. “I don’t know how well they’d come out. But I’ll be glad to show you round if you’ve a good head for heights.”
“For yawning chasms, you mean,” said Esther. “Do remember you’re talking to a newspaper man. I hope you’ll include me in your subterranean expedition?”
Hayson leaned slightly towards her, and gave her a glance so bold and full of meaning that Garve shuddered at his audacity.
“I’ll take you by yourself, Miss Willoughby. I really couldn’t be responsible for two people at once.”
“Have you been working in the quarries very long?” asked Garve.
“Nearly three months now. I’m afraid none of the big men—the really big men—take the enterprise very seriously. The scientific papers humour me because of Luxor, but they don’t believe I’ll succeed.”
“Do you have any trouble with the Arabs?”
“Nothing to speak of. There’s a man at the entrance who looks after tourists, and I sweeten him with a few piastres now and again. He’s even helped to keep people away occasionally when I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
Garve nodded. “I only hope nothing happens to prevent the completion of your work.”
Hayson looked interested. “Trouble with the Arabs, you mean? You don’t really think there’s any serious danger, do you?”
Garve shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve been in Jerusalem longer than I. Do you sense nothing in the air?”
Hayson smiled rather superciliously. “I’m afraid I only work on data,” he said. “I’m not a politician—or a journalist. I try to take an intelligent interest when people start talking about ‘The Situation,’ but all these squabbles bore me.”
“Do the train wrecks and the assassinations and the bombings bore you?” asked Garve with some heat.
“I’m shocked, of course,” said Hayson calmly, “but I find it very difficult to believe that they mean serious trouble. These Arabs behave so childishly. Their secret societies are schoolboy stuff—with a trace of real horror, I admit, but infantile all the same. When I hear that a corpse has been found with a knife through it, and that a piece of paper has been attached to the handle with the word ‘Revenge’ inscribed on it in Arabic, and signed ‘The Black Hand Gang,’ or words to that effect, I refuse, as a scientist, to take the thing seriously. I’m sure that dangerous secret societies don’t strike so melodramatically.”
“And yet,” observed Garve reflectively, “we know that they strike in a very deadly way. Dozens of Arabs, probably hundreds, have already paid with their lives for refusing to keep in step with the extremists. No one is safe, not even the leaders themselves. Death, as you know, is the immediate penalty for the slightest sign of weakness. Such intimidation may drive cautious men to rash deeds.”
Hayson’s face was clouded and his voice irritable. “I refuse to be troubled by their quarrels, anyway. My only concern is to be left in peace in the quarries. Very selfish, no doubt, but an important scientific discovery matters far more than a few lives.”
“At least,” said Garve unkindly, “you’ve a safe retreat down below if a revolt does break out suddenly. With a little food and plenty of patience you could live in the quarries for days. I suppose there’s water?”
“Water? Yes, there’s water!” His tone was so grim that Esther felt her spine creep. “I shouldn’t like to be alone down there without a light. It’s—well—eerie, to say the least of it.” Garve had a sudden idea. “I suppose there’s no possibility that the Arabs store their arms there?”
“I’ve never seen any traces, but it would be an incomparable hiding-place. The thought never occurred to me.”
“We might keep our eyes skinned when we go down together,” said Garve. “Tell me, isn’t there supposed to be another entrance to the quarries somewhere?”
“I believe there is. I seem to have read somewhere that there’s a way in from the temple area. Yes, of course—it was through that entrance that the Ark of the Covenant was supposed to have been carried. But I never heard of anyone who knew anything definite.”
“Did you ever know anyone who’d been through Hezekiah’s Tunnel?” asked Garve.
Hayson blew a smoke ring and watched it uncurl and vanish. “Hezekiah’s Tunnel? No. I don’t think I ever did. I’m a bit vague, but it isn’t exactly a health resort, is it? I always understood it was an extremely messy and almost impassable underground water-course.”
“That’s right. Hezekiah cut it to provide the city with water when the Assyrians came down like a wolf on the fold. It’s about the only place in Jerusalem I haven’t scrutinized, and I’d like to see it.”
“Aren’t you carrying your passion for knowledge rather far?” asked Hayson. “Personally, I wouldn’t go near the place. Why, you’ll be wanting to take a dip in the brook Kedron next.”
Garve grimaced horribly, for the stench of the brook was still in his nostrils. “Thanks, I draw the line there. Seriously, though, I can’t see that exploring the tunnel is any more dangerous than prowling about in the quarries.”
“Mr. Hayson,” Esther reminded him, “is serving the interest of science. You are merely proposing to satisfy your vulgar curiosity.”
“On the contrary, I spend all my time trying to satisfy the vulgar curiosity of the great British public, which adores anything subterranean. Seriously, do you think I could get a guide?”
“Surely,” said Esther, still teasing, “a newspaper man doesn’t have to have a personally conducted tour?”
“Sensible people don’t take unnecessary risks,” Garve reminded her, with an unsuccessful attempt at severity.
Esther made a wry face. “I should have those words set to music, Mr. Garve. They occur in your conversation like a refrain.”
Garve refused to be put off. “There must be someone in Jerusalem who’s been through the tunnel. Look here, Hayson, you’ve been in the city a good while. Have you really never heard anyone speak of it?”
“I tell you, Garve, it’s a foolish project,” said Hayson with more heat than the occasion seemed to warrant. “I wouldn’t send my worst enemy through it.”
His brooding eyes met Garve’s, and each knew what the other was thinking. Garve flushed a little. “I wouldn’t let that worry you,” he said earnestly. “I should regard myself as under a real obligation to you if you could give me any assistance.”
Hayson hesitated and pondered. “Well—Hezekiah’s Tunnel? Yes, there was a man—but it’s absurd, Garve—the place is little better than a sewer.”
“Please,” said Garve stubbornly.
“Well, don’t say I haven’t warned you. Esther will be my witness.” (“Esther!” thought Garve. “Damn the fellow’s nerve!”) “I remember now—I did once run across an Arab who had been through the tunnel—or said he had. It was soon after I first came here, and I wanted a guide to show me round the Holy Sepulchre. I picked a man up at a little Arab café just inside the Jaffa Gate on the left as you enter the city. A villainous looking fellow he was, with only one eye and a face pitted by some horrible disease.”
“He probably caught it going through the tunnel,” said Esther cheerfully.
Hayson ignored the flippant interruption. “He told me if I ever wanted to go anywhere else he could always be found at the café in the early morning. He was a good guide, but his face frightened me, and I always avoided him afterwards.”
“I believe I’ve seen him,” said Garve, “though one cut-throat is very like another.”
“He’ll probably try to knife you in the tunnel,” said Hayson gloomily. “Take my advice and keep away.”