Jews in long, black gaberdines; Albanian Arnauts, Tosks, Ghegs and Malissori tribesmen, stately and savage6; Greek mountaineers in the dirty, starched7 fustenella; tall Serb peasants, with the bearing of nobles and the faces of poets; Bulgars, stolid8, imperturbable9 and level-eyed; hawk-nosed Ottoman Turks in tasseled10 fezzes; Armenians, fawning11 and humble12; lank13, hungry Syrians; treacherous-looking Greeks of the Peninsula; Greeks of the Islands, beautiful as statues by Phidias; Roumanians, with heavy black brows and the stocky build of Trajan's legionaries; Tziganes, lean and gaudily14 dressed; Kurds with cruel eyes and the bow-legs of a race of horsemen;—all the races of the Near East swarmed15 and crowded and cursed and pushed along the untidy sidewalks.
"This is No Man's Land," said Nikka as our dilapidated automobile16 forced a slow progress through the congested traffic. "All races here hate one another. We are two hundred years behind western Europe. Here treachery is the rule. Might is right. The strong hand takes all. Women are inferior beings—save amongst my own race."
His thin face lit with a smile.
"Many things can be said against my people, but we give our women freedom. Yet over us, as over all the other peoples, still hangs the shadow of Islam, shutting out the sun, denying culture, restricting thought."
At the railroad station we fought for places in a first-class compartment17, which had room for six and must accommodate eight. The second and third-class cars were jammed to the doors. Women wept, children howled and men swore and struck each other and their women indiscriminately. In the midst of it all, with one warning whistle-blast, the train lunged out of the station, shaking off superfluous18 passengers as it jolted19 over the switch on to the main line.
That was a dreadful journey, not long as regards distance, but tediously protracted20 in time. The country grew steadily21 more mountainous as we left the coast. The engine panted and heaved; the cars rattled22 and shook. At frequent intervals23 we stopped by some station, and the scenes of our departure from Salonika were repeated according to scale. But the engine toiled24 on, and in the full tide of hours we crawled over a mountain-ridge and saw the sun rising in the east beyond the close-packed roofs of Seres.
It was a town that seemed to huddle25 together as though in fear, and there were great gashes26 and gaps in its lines of white-washed house-walls, relics27 of three wars, each of which had taken toll28 of its citizens. Here and there a church or a mosque29, a school or a government building, rose above the level of two-story dwellings30. But it had none of the teeming31 squalor and gorgeous conflict of colors that made Salonika so effective a gateway32.
Nikka commandeered a fiacre in the station-square.
"Do you know the house of Kostabidjian the moneylender?" he asked the driver in Greek that sounded more than passable to me. "Very well, then, drive us there."
"Who is Kostabidjian?" I inquired as the driver whipped up his small horses.
A dour33, secretive look had settled on Nikka's face in the last two days. His eyes had narrowed, and their gaze was fixed34 upon the far horizon when they were not shrewdly surveying the appearances of people around him.
"He is the agent of the tribe," he replied shortly. "It was through him I sent word to my uncle."
I held my peace after that. We drove for half an hour into the northeastern suburbs, where the houses became little villas35, with courtyards and small gardens, and sometimes orchards36 behind. At last we stopped at a gateway overhung by olive-trees, and the driver got down to pull the bell-wire which protruded37 from an opening by the gate. The solemn clangor echoed faintly, and was succeeded by shuffling38 foot-steps. A wicket opened, and a dark, bewhiskered face was revealed. Nikka ejaculated a single sentence in the Gypsy dialect that Toutou's gang sometimes used, and the gate swung ajar. I gave the driver of the fiacre a couple of drachmas, and followed Nikka inside.
The individual with the whiskers, a dried-up, elderly man, quickly fastened the gate again, with a sidewise look at Nikka, half respect, half fear. The courtyard was empty, save for some ponies39 and mules40 under a shed at the rear, and the custodian41 motioned to us to follow him to the house.
At the door, he stood aside and ushered42 us into a parlor43 furnished in the French style. Off it opened a dining-room. A stout44, smooth-faced, elderly man rose from a desk as we entered. He started to salaam45, thought better of it, and offered his hand, which Nikka grasped perfunctorily. Then he commenced to speak in the Tzigane dialect, and Nikka cut him off.
"Speak French," said Nikka curtly46. "I have no secrets from my friend, Mr. Nash." And to me: "This is Monsieur Kostabidjian."
Kostabidjian bowed to me.
"My poor home is honored, indeed, by two such distinguished47 guests," he protested. "Monsieur Zaranko, it is many years now since I had the pleasure of meeting you, but you will find that I have executed all your commissions faithfully."
Nikka smiled sarcastically48.
"You would not be alive and whole if you had not," he commented.
"Surely, you do not mean that you think I would do anything else," cried Kostabidjian.
"I mean I am sure that you do as I command," returned Nikka impatiently. "Also, that I feel I do not have to rely upon your honesty in the matter. Now, what news have you for me?"
Kostabidjian—he was an Armenian of uncertain parentage, I afterwards discovered, with the ingrained servility pounded into that unfortunate race by centuries of oppression—drew up chairs for us.
"The telegram was forwarded at once to the Chief," he answered. "But Wasso Mikali sent back word yesterday that he would be delayed in waiting upon you in consequence of a caravan49 of cartridges50 which the band are running into Albania. It is an affair which has attracted his attention for the past month, and he dares not trust the work to another."
"Does he, himself, go to Albania?"
"No, Monsieur Zaranko. But the starting of the caravan, and the paying of the purchase-price—"
"In advance?"
"Of course."
"Good," said Nikka. "When will he be here?"
"Then serve us food, and lead us to a room where we may rest."
The Armenian clapped his hands, and the old man with the whiskers—who was dumb in consequence of having had his tongue cut out in one of the Turkish massacres52 of the red past—returned and carried word in his own fashion of our wants to the kitchen. Presently we sat down in the dining room to a hot meal of pilaf, with chicken, dough53 cakes and coffee, which Kostabidjian pressed upon us officiously.
"It has been a hard year for the tribe, Monsieur Zaranko," he purred, rubbing his hands together. "I don't know what they would have done without your aid."
"The subject is not for discussion," rapped Nikka.
"Oh, ah! Certainly!"
And he was quiet for a few minutes. Then his loquacity54 gained the better of him, and he burst forth55:
"It's not as it used to be in the Balkans, gentlemen! The law doesn't run any stronger. I'll say that. And boundaries are still vague, for all that the great ones in Paris decided56. But people are poor as Hajji Achmet after he'd been to Mecca. They earn nothing, and have nothing—and therefore there's nothing to take or to steal. Hee-hee-hee!"
"P-p-par-d-dd-don!" The Armenian's teeth rattled.
"You may go. I will summon you if I have need."
The man went like a whipped dog, and cowered61 over his mysterious accounts at the desk in the next room.
Nikka sat through the meal with a black frown on his face. He was plainly out of sorts, and while I could understand his aversion to Kostabidjian, I was secretly amazed by the constantly growing change in his manner, for he was normally of a uniformly pleasant disposition62. But it was not until we had been shown to a bedroom on the upper floor that he unmasked his feelings. I began to undress, but he paced the floor restlessly from wall to wall. Suddenly he turned on me:
"I'm not aware of it, if you have," I returned cheerfully.
"I'm having a hell of a time," he groaned64. "The two selfs in me are wrenching66 at my soul. There's Nikka, the Gypsy freebooter, who has been dead for years, and against him fights Nikka, the artist and man of the town. Neither of them owns me. Until the other day—except now and then when the old self reared its head temporarily—I thought I had thrust the Gypsy behind me. But I was a fool to think so, Jack. God, what a fool! Why, the music in me always was Gypsy!
"But I thought I had submerged it, drowned it. I thought I was like you and Hugh. I know better now. Since we started east I have felt these half-dead instincts rising up in me, clutching at my soul, tormenting67 my intelligence. The hunger for the open road, contempt for order and law, the mastery of my own will, all these things call to me. And yet, Jack, I feel ashamed! I feel ashamed to bring you here, to have you meet the fellow downstairs, who, when all is said and done, is the agent through whom my people dispose of what they steal and smuggle68.
"For that's the truth, Jack! My people are not like Toutou's gang. But they are Gypsies. They live by their own hands, and every man's hand is against them. They make their own laws, and abide69 by their own customs. They take what they need, and consider it their due. Kostabidjian spoke of my uncle's running cartridges to Albania. I know what it means. After the War there were vast stocks of ammunition70 scattered71 all over the Balkans, treasure trove72 to such wild peoples. The Allies ruled that it should be surrendered or destroyed. But do you suppose it was? Never!
"It was stolen, hidden and smuggled73. I would swear that my tribe have sold it to Kemal Bey, to the Russian Soviets74. Now, the Greeks and the Serbs are pressing down on the Albanians, and my uncle sells to the Albanians. If he can, too, he will sell to the Greeks and the Serbs; and he will take—steal, if you like—whatever of value he can get from all three of them.
"I tell you all this, because I don't want to fly false colors with you. I lived that life when I was a boy. But I should like to make you understand that in some way, by some esoteric, involved, well-nigh impenetrable process of psychology75, it is not stealing in the sense that Toutou steals. My people have been outcasts for centuries; they have been bred up in this way of life. It is as natural for them to take what they need, and thrive on other people's needs, as it is for the Arabs to practice the same methods in battling the hardships of the desert.
"It isn't wrong in their eyes. Put it that way. And I—I can see it both ways, Jack. I can see how wrong it is, and I can see how right it seems to them."
I dropped my hand on his shoulder.
"You don't need to say all this to me," I told him. "Why, Nikka, it's—it's—"
"It's what? Hard to understand!"
"Easy to understand," I corrected. "Hard to phrase. But I know you too well to worry about you. As for the wrench65, I'm beginning to feel it myself."
Nikka resumed his restless pacing.
"I don't mind anything so much as that oily Armenian downstairs," he insisted. "He—he is dishonest. And we make him dishonest. Not that I've used him so, Jack. Most of what I earn goes to my people, who need it, poor souls, especially since the War laid its blight76 on all south-eastern Europe. Kostabidjian is one of the agents I employ to distribute my funds. I use him because of his connection with my uncle's tribe."
"Most of us have to use dishonest helpers occasionally," I said. "I'd hate to have to guarantee every business associate of mine. But can we trust this man, Nikka? If he's all you indicate him, isn't he likely to sell us out?"
"He'd sell us out in a minute, if he dared," rejoined Nikka, with a tight-lipped smile. "But he knows that if he did he would get a knife in him. It would be only a question of time."
His outburst had eased Nikka's nervous tension, and he soon dozed78 off. For a while I watched the afternoon sunlight outside the windows, then the weariness of our travels overcame me, and I, too, slept.... I woke abruptly79, feeling a light blazing in my eyes. My first thought was of Toutou and Hélène de Cespedes, and I dived under the pillow for my automatic and sat up at the same time.
A man was standing80 in the doorway81 of the room, with a kerosene82 lamp in his hand, a tall man, with the proud face of an eagle. Wisps of silver-white hair escaped from the varicolored turban that wrapped his brows, but he held himself with the erect83 poise84 of youth. He was dressed in tight breeches of brown cloth, and a blue shirt and short red jacket. Flat sandals of bull's-hide, sewed to a point at the toes, were laced over his bare feet by straps85 that wound across his insteps and above his ankles. Around his waist was twisted a heavy sash, bristling86 with knives and pistols.
As I prodded87 Nikka awake, he closed the door behind him and set the lamp on a table, calmly ignoring my pistol. Nikka, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, took one look at the apparition88 and jumped from the bed.
"Wasso!" he cried.
The stranger raised fingers to lips and breast in a graceful89 salaam, and replied in the Gypsy patois90, a cadenced91, musical speech when used by those to whom it was a mother-tongue. Nikka grasped his hand, and exchanged a rapid-fire of question and answer, then called to me:
"This is my uncle. He arrived sooner than he expected. He guessed my need was great, and traveled without respite92. Come and meet him."
Wasso Mikali rendered me a salaam and a handshake. His bright eyes surveyed my face, and he made a comment which drew a laugh from Nikka.
"My uncle thinks you have the look of one who likes to know how many cartridges his enemy carries," Nikka translated.
The old Gypsy sank to his haunches on the bare floor, with a sweeping93 gesture of invitation to both of us to join him.
"No, no," exclaimed Nikka as I started for a chair. "He has never sat on a chair in his life. Do as he does or he will think you are trying to demonstrate how different you are."
So I crouched94 cross-legged beside them—it seemed to be easy enough for Nikka to resume the ways of his boyhood—and concealed95 my discomfort96 as stoically as I could. It was close to midnight when we were awakened97, and the talk with Wasso Mikali lasted for several hours. First, Nikka explained to him the circumstances of our trip to Constantinople, and the old man's eyes glistened98 at the mention of the treasure. He interrupted with a liquid flow of polysyllables.
"He says," Nikka interpreted, when he had finished, "that he has heard about it. It is just as I told you and Hugh, the tradition is known all through the Balkans. He says that the treasure is concealed in an ancient palace in Stamboul which has been inhabited longer than men can remember by a tribe of Gypsies whose chief is one Beran Tokalji. He says that this Tokalji is a great thief—" Nikka grinned ruefully—"that comes well from my uncle, Jack, and that there is a rumor99 amongst the tribes that he, Tokalji, is an ally of a group of Frank thieves. There is a tradition in Tokalji's tribe that their forefathers100 believed the treasure ultimately would go to them."
"Will he help us?" I asked eagerly.
Nikka gave me an odd look.
"His tribe are mine. My wish is their wish. How can they refuse?"
"Yes," I insisted, "but how much will they want? Is it safe to tell him all this?"
Nikka's face flushed purple. For a moment I thought he would strike me. Then he turned, and shot a question at the old Gypsy, who replied with an amused grin.
"I did not repeat your second question," said Nikka coldly. "He would not have taken it in good grace even from me. But I did tell him your first. Do you want to know just what his answer was?"
"Yes," I said, "and I say, Nikka, don't be uppish because I don't know the ropes about your damned family. Man dear, this is all new to me!"
Nikka relented at once.
"My fault," he apologized, slightly shamefaced. "This Gypsy complex I told you about plays funny tricks with me. But—" and his grin duplicated Wasso Mikali's—"My uncle's precise answer to your first question was that he would consider 'the spittle of his sister's son ample payment for whatever he could do.' He meant it, too."
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1
minarets
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| n.（清真寺旁由报告祈祷时刻的人使用的）光塔( minaret的名词复数 ) | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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7
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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tasseled
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| v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的过去式和过去分词 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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11
fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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12
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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gaudily
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| adv.俗丽地 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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24
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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25
huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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gashes
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| n.深长的切口（或伤口）( gash的名词复数 )v.划伤，割破( gash的第三人称单数 ) | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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29
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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30
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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39
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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40
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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41
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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42
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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45
salaam
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| n.额手之礼，问安，敬礼；v.行额手礼 | |
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46
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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47
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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48
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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49
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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50
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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51
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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52
massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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53
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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54
loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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55
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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56
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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57
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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58
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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lackey
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| n.侍从；跟班 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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trove
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| n.被发现的东西，收藏的东西 | |
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smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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soviets
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| 苏维埃（Soviet的复数形式） | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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83
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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cadenced
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| adj.音调整齐的，有节奏的 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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100
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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