The Sheik of Araby Affair Read online

  The Sheik of Araby Affair

  By ROBERT HART DAVIS

  Deep in the trackless desert THRUSH had forged a weapon of unthinkable deadliness, as April Dancer faced a ring of foes to rescue Mark Slate and bring back to U.N.C.L.E. her deadly secret.

  ONE

  A PENNY SAVED

  British men, being more reserved than Americans, don't stare as openly at attractive women under ordinary circumstances. Yet every male head at the race track turned in the wake of the girl as she passed by.

  She was a slim girl in her early twenties, perhaps five feet five inches tall and a pound or two less than a hundred and ten. Although this left her a bit on the willowy side, her small weight couldn't have been distributed more delightfully. Dark hair falling to her shoulders framed a lovely, delicately featured face with vivacious flashing wide eyes.

  But there was more.

  It wasn't only her beauty that turned heads, however. It was also her dress.

  Not that it was in any way striking. As a matter of fact her neat blue sport suit was smartly conservative both in color and design. But Englishmen, particularly those affluent enough to occupy the private box section of a race track, tend not only to notice women's clothes, but to be excellent judges of their quality.

  It was apparent to the more discerning men that the simple sport suit was an Italian original which couldn't have cost less than fifteen hundred dollars. They also noted that she wore no jewelry whatever except an attractive but inexpensive charm bracelet.

  The woman was obviously American, and English experience had been that moderately wealthy American women cover themselves with gems in order to flaunt their wealth.

  English connoisseurs of such matters had also noted that the enormously wealthy, feeling less compulsion to impress others, often wore little jewelry or none at all.

  The woman therefore was an American heiress. And, since she wore neither wedding band nor engagement ring, apparently available.

  Approximately every second male head which turned as she passed was considering ways which might be arranged to meet her.

  Two of the men eyeing her sat in a private box directly in the line of her approach. One was a tall dark man in his mid-thirties with an athletic build, wearing a conservative dark suit and an old school tie which would have told the initiated that he was a graduate of Oxford University's Balliol College.

  He had a lean, intelligent face with liquid brown eyes and a slightly aquiline nose. A thin black mustache and a small, close-trimmed black goatee gave him the appearance of a handsome Mephistopheles.

  The other man was short and squat, with powerful shoulders and bandy legs. His slightly oversized head had thick, Slavic features and moist, pendulous lips. He was somewhere in his mid-forties.

  "Do you know who she is, Maxim?" the younger man asked.

  "Never saw her before."

  "She is checking box numbers," the Mephistophelean man said. "Do you suppose we could be lucky enough to have her looking for us?"

  "I hope not," his companion said definitely. "Playing companion to you on this ridiculous jaunt is degrading enough without having to disentangle you from some female."

  "Ridiculous jaunt?" the younger man said with raised brows. "I've been training Salome for this race for over a year. And I really don't require a companion."

  "'A matter of opinion," the squat man said dourly. "To insist on taking time out for this nonsense in the middle of the most important project the organization has ever undertaken hardly impresses me as responsible action. With your knowledge of the project, I wouldn’t turn you loose among strangers for a triple promotion.”

  I’m glad you came along,” the tall man said with a grin. “You’re so suspicious of everybody we meet and so refreshingly incapable of enjoying anything but work.”

  Then his face lighted. “I do believe the lady is looking for us. She is heading this way.

  The girl stopped before the box, examined its number, then looked up with a dazzling smile.

  “Sheik Ranjit Sighn?” she inquired in a musical voice, glancing from one man to the other as though she didn’t know which to address.

  The younger man rose and bowed. “At your service, sultana. My poor sword is yours to command.”

  The squat man rose also, reluctantly. The girl ignored him, too intrigued by the romantic statement uttered in an Oxford accent. Oddly the words hadn’t sounded corny, although from the twinkle in the sheik’s eyes she wasn’t sure whether he was sincere or merely teasing. She decided he was teasing and replied in kind. “I’m sorry I don’t have any dragons to slay today. Salome’s handler told me your box number. I know this is impertinent, but is Salome going to win?"

  "The sheik's horses usually win," the other man said in a guttural Slavic accent. "He devotes most of his time to training them."

  His tone was slightly peevish, as though he considered his companion's devotion to horse training a waste of time.

  After a flick of a glance in the squat man's direction, the girl returned her attention to the sheik, her eyes questioning.

  He exposed white teeth in a smile. "No one can guarantee a win, sultana. But I always race my horses to win. No jockey of mine ever holds a horse back to build up the odds for future races."

  "But do you think she will win?" she persisted. "I want to make a bet, you see."

  The sheik laughed with delighted amusement. "I wouldn't give a bad tip to such a charming lady. Salome can out distance anything she's against today. Barring unforeseen accidents, such as her breaking a leg, you may bet her with confidence."

  "Oh, thanks," the girl said, and started to turn away.

  "A moment, please," the sheik said.

  Pausing, she glanced up inquiringly.

  "You can't move into a man's life, then out again without even telling who you are," he said. "I would never again sleep."

  "Oh, I'm April Dancer," she said airily, and started to walk away again.

  "Wait!"

  She paused a second time, this time frowning.

  "Won't you join us and watch the race from our box?"

  "Thank you," she said politely.

  "But I have to find my bookie to get a bet down. And he's clear over near the box of the people I'm with."

  "You may use my bookie," he said. "It will be simple to arrange."

  When she pursed her lips undecidedly, the sheik said, "We would be delighted to have you. And I may be able to give you tips on other races."

  April's eyes lighted.

  "All right," she said. "I love to win."

  The sheik gallantly descended the short steps leading from the box to take her hand and personally escort her up them. He introduced his friend as Maxim Karsh.

  The squat man dourly said he was charmed, but he didn't sound it.

  When they were settled in seats, April between the two men, Sheik Ranjit Sighn motioned over a portly man in a bowler who was standing nearby.

  "This is Miss April Dancer, Basher," he said. "Put the name on your books and cover any amount she wants to bet."

  "Sure, guv'nor, your 'ighness," the bookie said. "What's your liking, Miss?"

  "Oh, Salome, of course."

  Basher made a notation. "'Ow much, and what position do you favor?"

  "Just a moment," April Dancer said.

  Opening the alligator bag she carried, which both men could see was loaded with currency, she took out a piece of paper bearing a column of figures and studied it.

  "Let's see," she said, speaking aloud to herself. "I'm ten shillings six pence ahead. If I dropped the ten shillings, I would still be six pence up.

  To the bookie she said, "A half pound on second place."

  "Seco
nd!" the sheik said with a mixture of amusement and indignation.

  April hiked her eyebrows at him.

  "I don't want to risk losing," she said.

  The sheik laughed aloud, as one laughs at the cute exploit of a small child. "Put it down, Basher. And a thousand for me on the nose. You want to place a bet, Maxim?"

  "You know I don't gamble," Maxim Karsh answered.

  The horses were led from the paddock and began parading up and down. The sheik said, "Salome is number two"

  "I know," April said. "Isn't she beautiful?"

  Ranjit Sighn swelled like a new father whose baby daughter has just been complimented.

  "I'm rather proud of her," he admitted.

  "I love horse racing," the girl confided. "I almost always win."

  "l can imagine," the sheik said with dry amusement.

  "We do it differently in America, you know. We have betting windows. There are no bookies at the track."

  "I know," the sheik said."I've been to America."

  "Oh? Sorry I can't return the compliment. I've never been to Arabia."

  "I'm not from Arabia," Ranjit said. "I happen to be the Sheik of Mossagbah."

  "Oh?" April said blankly.

  The, sheik's expression turned rueful. "Few Americans seem to be aware that my country is on the map. It's on the edge of the Arabian Desert. It's not large; but it’s rich in oil and equally rich in beauty. Nothing is more beautiful than the desert."

  "I would like to visit it someday, "the girl said politely.

  "I would be glad to arrange it now," the sheik said.

  She smiled at him. "I'm afraid I have to return to the States next week. How do I address you, incidentally? Sheik? Your highness? Or guv'nor, like Basher?"

  "Ranjit," the sheik said.

  "Then you may call me April. Oh, look, it's post time. "

  Conversation ceased until the race was over. It is not the custom in England to shout for your horse at race tracks, but April got carried away as the horses entered the stretch and yelled Salome home. It wasn't until Salome crossed the finish line first, that April glanced around and saw people staring her way and she realized her breach of etiquette.

  Putting her hand to her mouth, she abruptly sat down and gave the sheik an abashed look.

  "I embarrassed you," she said. “You delighted me," he assured her."The English could enjoy life more with a little American type enthusiasm."

  Salome had been the favorite. When the results were posted, April discovered that the odds had been so low, she had increased her winnings only by three shillings sixpence. But she exhibited no disappointment. As a matter of fact she seemed eminently satisfied.

  It wasn't the amount you won that was important, she explained to the sheik. The important thing was to win.

  The comment further amused Ranjit Sighn. If there had been any doubt in his mind that April Dancer was actually an American heiress, her performance dispelled any uncertainty. It had been his experience that only very rich Americans showed concern over small amounts of money.

  Probably the value of money had been drilled into her since childhood, he thought. This was a peculiarity of American millionaires.

  A penny saved was a penny earned. He had once read that the children of old John. D. Rockefeller were allowed a spending allowance of fifty cents a week until they reached their teens.

  TWO

  THE SILENT LISTENER

  Under the indulgent tutelage of the sheik, April made equally frugal and successful bets on the remaining races. By the end of the last race she was two pounds eight pence ahead and was obviously delighted by her winnings.

  The sheik was equally delighted, but in a different way. Between races he had worked considerable personal information from the girl, and was now convinced beyond all doubt that she was a multimillionairess. She had told him she was an orphan and had been the only child of a freezer manufacturer in Akron, Ohio.

  A casual mention that her father had died in the very three-hundred-bed hospital he had donated to the city amounted to an admission that she had inherited millions; for only a multi-millionaire could make such a charitable donation.

  Ranjit Sighn was not impressed by money; he was a multimillionaire himself. But the girl's enthusiasm over her small winning when she could probably have bought the whole track outright from her pocket money tickled his sense of humor.

  It even seemed to amuse dour Maxim Karsh. By the end of the afternoon he had thawed so much that he was actually being pleasant.

  In the process of giving out information about herself, April managed to acquire some about the two men too.

  The sheik had a palace in Massagbah's capital city of Fada, a chateau on the Riviera, and a chalet in the Swiss Alps, she learned. But his favorite residence was his oasis fifty miles from Fada, out in the middle of the desert.

  "It's the blood of my nomadic ancestors, I suppose," he said. "Even after years of exposure to western culture, I'm most at home in a tent."

  "You live in just a tent?" she asked.

  The sheik smiled. "There are tents and tents. This one happens to be a hundred feet square with numerous rooms, a modern kitchen, electricity and some rather priceless art treasures. I hardly rough it. It's quite as luxurious as any modern hotel."

  "It sounds enchanting," she said.

  "Just like an old Rudolph Valentino movie!"

  Ranjit laughed at the comparison.

  The only actual prying the girl did was as to Ranjit's marital status. He was a bachelor, he assured her, although under Moslem law he was entitled to a total of three wives.

  April also learned that Maxim Karsh was a geological engineer, and his acquaintance with the sheik stemmed from the fact that his company was in the process of drilling for oil near the oasis.

  This information was volunteered by Ranjit, and for some reason it seemed to upset the engineer. April got the impression he would have preferred the sheik to give no explanation of him whatever.

  When the last race was over and the bookie Basher had settled accounts, the sheik asked April where she was staying.

  "In London at the King George," she said.

  "I'm at my club, which is only a stone's throw from there. May I call to take you to dinner this evening?"

  When April graciously accepted the invitation, he pressed his advantage by asking if she would ride back to London with him in his limousine.

  "Oh, I couldn't," she said. "I came with Lord Thaxton and the American Ambassador and his wife. We were in Lord Thaxton's box. I'm going to have to apologize for deserting them so shamefully all afternoon."

  "Try to make excuses," he urged. "We'll wait for you at the main exit."

  "I'll try," she said dubiously. "But don't count on it."

  Her party was ready to leave and was waiting for her when she returned to Lord Thaxton's box. After apologizing for her long absence, she drew the ambassador aside.

  "I managed to make my contact," April said. "You've been very helpful. Now I have a chance to follow it up. Do you think his lordship would be offended if I didn't drive back to London with you?"

  "I'm sure he'll understand. The old fellow followed you with his glasses and saw you seated with that handsome bearded young fellow. He's quite a romantic beneath his reserved exterior. He probably expects you to desert us."

  "Thanks," she said. "That's all I wanted to know."

  She went over to the elderly Lord Thaxton and made her excuses to him and the ambassador's wife. Both assured her it was perfectly all right for her to return to London with Sheik Ranjit Sighn and Mr. Karsh.

  She found the sheik waiting for her alone at the main exit.

  "All set," she said. "Where's Mr. Karsh?"

  "He went to tell the chauffeur to bring the car around from the parking lot. We'll be picked up right outside the gate."

  The limousine was a long black Rolls Royce, chauffeured by an Arab in uniform. Maxim Karsh was seated in front next to the driver.

  Ranj
it helped April into the back, told the chauffeur to drive to the King George Hotel when he reached London, then closed the glass partition between the front and rear seats.

  "Now we can talk in privacy," he said.

  April rather doubted that.

  Knowing how THRUSH, the arch-enemy of U.N.C.L.E., operated, she was sure everything they said would be recorded for later study. It was possible, though, that Ranjit Sighn didn't know his limousine was bugged. According to her information on him, his connection with the organization was fairly recent, and he may not yet have learned that THRUSH didn't even trust its own agents.

  As they turned onto the road for London, the sheik said, "Do you have to return to the States next week, April?"

  "I'm afraid so. There's some business about my estate. A transfer of stocks, I think Larry said. He's my lawyer. I really don't know exactly what it's all about but nothing can be done without my signature. What difference would it make anyway? You said you have to go back to Mossagbah about the same time."

  "I do. I thought I might talk you into coming along and seeing the wonders of the desert."

  April smiled. "Sorry. Larry will have a fit if I don't show up in New York when I'm supposed to."

  "I can't stand the thought of being parted so soon," the sheik said, taking her hand. "When will I ever see you again?"

  "You're going to see me this evening."

  "Oh, sure. And every evening for the next week, if you'll allow me. But after that are you just going to walk out of my life forever?"

  His touch sent a small tingle along April's arm in the direction of her heart. My, he was a handsome man, she thought. It was too bad he was involved with THRUSH. Under other circumstances she might generate kinder feelings about him.

  Steeling herself against such weakness, she said, "Do you ever get to Cairo?"

  "Sometimes. If you're going to be there, I'll make a point of it."

  "I'll be there for a day or two soon. I've signed for a Mediterranean cruise at the end of this month. I know there's a short layover at Cairo for fuel and supplies, because that's the end of the route. From there we start back."

  "I'll pick you up in my plane and fly you to Mossagbah," he said enthusiastically.

  "We won't be there that long," she protested. "I would miss my ship." .