When It Was Dark: The Story of a Great Conspiracy

On such a night as this the little group may have sat in the vale of El Makhna in quiet talk at supper-time.

The same stars looked down on him as they did on those others two thousand years ago. How real and true it all seemed here! How much easier it was to realise and believe than in Chancery Lane!

Why did men live in cities?

Was it not better far for the soul's health to be here alone with God?

Here, and in such places as these, God spoke clear and loud to the hearts of men. He shuddered as the thought of his own lack of faith came back to him.

In rapid review he saw the recent time of his hopelessness and shame. How utterly he had fallen to pieces! It was difficult to understand the pit into which he was falling so easily when Basil had come to him.

Now, the love of God ran in his veins like fire, every sight and sound spoke to him of the Christus Consolator.

It was more than mere cold belief, a love or personal devotion to Christ welled up in him. The figure of the Man of Sorrows was very near him – there was a great fiery cross of stars in the sky above him.

He entered the little tent to pray. He prayed humbly that it might be even thus until the end. He prayed that this new and sweet communion with his Master might never fade or lessen till the glorious daylight of Death dawned and this sojourning far from home was over.

And, in the name of all the unknown millions whom he was come to this far land to aid, he prayed for success, for the Truth to be made manifest, and for a happy issue out of all these afflictions.

"And this we beg for Jesus Christ, His sake."

Then much refreshed and comforted he emerged once more into the serene beauty of the night.

He lit his pipe and sat there, quietly smoking. Presently Ibrahim the Egyptian began to croon a low song, one of the Egyptian songs that soldiers sing round the camp-fires.

The man had done his term of compulsory service in the past, and perhaps this sudden transition from the comfortable quarters in Jerusalem to the old life of camp-fire and plein air had its way with him and opened the springs of memory.

This is part of what he sang in a thin, sad voice:

Born in Galiub, since my birth, many times have I seen the Nile's waters overflow our fields.

And I had a neighbour, Sheikh Abdehei, whose daughter's face was known only to me:

Nothing could be compared to the beauty and tenderness of Fatmé.

Her eyes were as big as coffee cups, and her body was firm with the vigour of youth.

We had one heart, and were free from jealousies, ready to be united.

But Allah curse the military inspector who bound my two hands,

For, together with many more, we were marched off to the camp.

I was poor and had to serve, nothing could soften the inspector's heart.

The drums and the trumpets daily soon made me forget my cottage and the well-wheel on the Nile.

The long-drawn-out notes vibrated mournfully in the night air.

Sadly the singer put his hand to one side of his head, bending as if he were wailing.

The quaint, imaginative song-story throbbed through many phases and incidents, and every now and again the motionless figures round the red embers wailed in sympathy.

At last came the end, a happy climax, no less loved by these simple children of the desert than by the European novel reader.

… So that I was in the hospital and had become most seriously ill.

But swifter than the gazelle, the light of my life came near the hospital.

And called in at the window, "Ibrahim! my eye! my heart!"

And full of joy I carried her about the camp, and presented her to all my superiors, leaving out none, from the colonel down to the sergeant.

I received my dismissal, to return to Galiub and to marry.

Old Abdehei was awaiting us, to bless us. God be praised!

So sang Ibrahim, the converted Christian, the Moslem songs of his youth; for here, in El Makhna, the plain of Shechem, there were no missionaries with their cold reproof and little hymns in simple couplets.

The fire died away, and they slept until dawn flooded the plain.

When, on the next day, the sun was waning, though still high in the western heavens, the travellers came within view of the ancient city of Nabulûs.

There was a great tumult of excitement in Spence's pulses as he saw the city, radiant in the long afternoon lights, and far away.

Here, in the confines of this distant glittering town, lay the last link in the terrible secret which he was to solve.

On either side the purple slopes of the mountains made a mighty frame to the terraced houses below. Ebal and Gerizim kept solemn watch and ward over the city.

The sun was just sinking as they rode into the suburbs. It was a lovely, placid evening.

The abundant cascades of water, which flow from great fissures in the mountain and make this Turkish town the jewel of the East, glittered in the light.

Below them the broad, still reservoirs lay like plates of gold.

They rode through luxuriant groves of olives, figs, and vines, wonderfully grateful and refreshing to the eye after the burnt brown herbage of the plain, towards the regular camping-ground where all travellers lay.

In the cool of the evening Spence and Ibrahim rode through the teeming streets to the Governor's house.

It was a city of fanatics, so the Englishman had heard, and during the great Moslem festivals the members of the various, and rather extensive, missionary establishments were in constant danger. But as the two men rode among the wild armed men who sat in the bazaars or pushed along the narrow streets they were not in any way molested.

After a ceremonious introduction and the delivery of the letter from the Governor of Jerusalem, Spence made known his business over the coffee and cigarettes which were brought immediately on his arrival.

The Governor was a placid, pleasant-mannered man, very ready to give his visitor any help he could.

It was represented to him that the man Ionides, who had but lately settled in the suburbs, was in the possession of some important secrets affecting the welfare of many wealthy residents in Jerusalem. These, it was hinted, were of a private nature, but in all probability great pressure would have to be put upon the Greek in order to receive any satisfactory confession.

The conversation, which was carried on in French, ended in an eminently satisfactory way.