CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

That seemingly small task took longer than I thought and by the time we had finished the sun was setting. We had our evening meal and went to sleep early. At dawn the following morning Paul and I helped Byrne take out the last two bolts that held the propeller to the shaft and we lowered it to the ground using a rope made up of bits and pieces of the donkey harness. Byrne and I carried it to the grave in the cave while Paul brought the plaque. We set the propeller upright near the grave and Byrne fastened the plaque to the boss using some wire he had found in Flyaway.

Then we stood there for a while, doing nothing, but just standing there. Byrne said, 'I guess Billson was the first guy to see those pictures in here in a few thousand years. Maybe this propeller and the inscription will still be there in a thousand years from now. Aluminium don't rust and things change slow in the desert. It's a good marker.'

After a while we went away, leaving Paul to his own thoughts.

In spite of the hobbles the donkeys had moved a fair way in search of grazing and it took us a while to find them and it was an hour before we got them back to the camp. Paul had come back looking sombre and helped us load them. It was time to go.

We took one last long look at Flyaway and then began the awkward business of coaxing the donkeys through the narrow cleft in the rock. When we got them out Byrne said, 'Okay – back to Tamrit Maybe three days.'

Paul said, 'Do you mind waiting a minute? I won't be long. I just want…' He swallowed convulsively and looked at me. 'You didn't take a picture of the plaque. I'd like that.'

I glanced at Byrne who said, 'All right, Paul, but not more than fifteen minutes. Tether those donkeys firmly. We'll stroll ahead.' He pointed. 'That's the line we take.'

I unfastened my bag and took out my camera. 'Shall I come with you, or can you take the pictures?'

'I can do it,' he said, so I gave him the camera and he went back through the cleft.

Byrne said, 'Funny thing, this flesh and blood. You wouldn't think he'd feel like that about a man he hardly knew.' He tugged at the donkey rein. 'Let's go; he can catch up.'

We went at an easy pace, threading our way among the rocks for about half a mile. I looked back and said, 'Perhaps we'd better wait for Paul.'

'Huh?' said Byrne abstractedly. He was staring at the ground. 'Been camels here.'

I looked down at the enormous pad marks in the sand. 'You said there were wild camels.'

Byrne dropped on one knee. 'Yeah, I know I did – but wild camels don't repair their own pads.' He traced a line on one of the footprints. 'This one cut its foot and someone put a leather patch on.'

I frowned. 'Can that be done?'

'Sure. I just said so, didn't I?' He stood up and looked around. 'And there it is.'

I turned and, coming up from behind us was a man riding a camel – the Arab who had been with Kissack. He whistled shrilly and from our front came an answering whistle. There were five of them altogether; Kissack and the Arab, and Lash and his two musclemen, all mounted on camels and with no less than six baggage animals. There was no weapons in sight but that didn't mean a thing.

Lash looked down at us from the enormous height a camel confers. 'Mr Byrne,' he said pleasantly. 'And Mr Stafford. Well met. I didn't expect to find you here. Looking for frescoes, I take it?'

Kissack said, 'You're a long way from Kano, Stafford.

You've come the wrong way.'

'And there's someone missing.' Lash snapped his fingers. 'What was his name? Ah, yes – Billson. Where is Mr Billson?' One of the men behind him muttered something, and he added, 'And the Tuareg who were with you?'

Byrne dropped the leading rein of his donkey and put his foot on it. 'Paul went sick so they took him back to Djanet' It was a good improvised lie.

'Strange that we didn't meet him,' observed Lash. He beckoned to the Arab, who came close to him. Lash tossed him the camel reins and the Arab coaxed the camel to its knees and Lash dismounted awkwardly. He had not been riding in the Tuareg manner with his feet on the neck of the camel, but had stirrups. He grimaced. 'Damned uncomfortable beasts.'

'No call to ride them if you don't want,' said Byrne. 'You'd do better with a Tuareg saddle instead of that Chaamba rig.' He jerked his head at the Arab. 'His, I suppose.'

'You suppose correctly.' Lash waved his hand and all the men dismounted, the camels grunting discontentedly. 'Cat got your tongue, Mr Stafford?'

'I've found nothing interesting to say, so far.'

'Oh, you will,' he assured me. 'I'm certain you will. You've both already met Kissack so there's no need to introduce him. As for my other friends, they have no English.'

'Friends!' I said. 'Not guides?'

Lash smiled thinly. 'Propinquity breeds friendship. From the direction you're taking it seems you are returning to Tamrit. Do I gather that you've found what you were looking for?'

'Yeah, we found some paintings,' said Byrne. 'And I guess these are new ones – not seen before.'

'You weren't looking for frescoes,' said Lash flatly. 'Let's cut the cat and mouse act, shall we? You were looking for an aeroplane. Did you find it?'

'I don't know what business it is of yours,' I said.

Lash looked at me unsmilingly. 'Or yours, either. You wouldn't take a warning back in London. You had to play the thick-headed hero and meddle in things that don't concern you.'

So there it was said outright – Lash had been responsible for having me beaten up. 'Who's paying you?' I asked.

'Still meddling? That's dangerous. Now, Where's Billson?'

'You've just been told,' I said. 'He went back to Djanet three days ago. He had an injury which was inflamed.' I touched my own shoulder. 'Here.' I was careful not to look at Kissack.

The play of expression on Lash's face was interesting because what I had just said could be circumstantially true. He dismissed Billson for the moment. 'And the aeroplane -where is it?'

'What airplane?' asked Byrne.

Lash sighed. 'Look, Byrne; don't play with me. That's just being stupid.' He turned away and began to talk to the Arab in low tones. The Arab remounted his camel, urged it to its feet, and began to backtrack along the way we had come, if he went far enough he'd find the donkeys Paul had left tethered outside the cleft in the rock. He might even find Paul.

Lash turned back to face us. 'Where's that aeroplane? And don't ask which aeroplane. It's a Northrop "Gamma" 2-D, built in 1934 and called Flyaway. It was crashed around here in 1936 by Peter Billson.' As Byrne opened his mouth Lash held up his hand. 'Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. That would be a big mistake.'

Before Byrne could reply Kissack said, 'You're wasting time, Mr Lash. Let me try.'

'Shut up!' said Lash coldly.

Byrne said, 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'All right;' said Lash wearily. 'We'll try it your way, Kissack.'

There was suddenly a gun in Kissack's hand. He stepped forward and looked at us speculatively. 'The old geezer knows more about the desert than Stafford, I reckon; so he'd be a better guide.' I looked at the pistol he lifted; the muzzle was pointing directly between my eyes and I knew I was close to death. 'If you don't tell us, Stafford will be dead meat.'

It seemed an eternity before Byrne said, 'Okay – it's about ten kilometres back.'

A grunt of satisfaction came from Lash, and Kissack said, 'Do I kill him anyway, Mr Lash?'

'No,' said Lash. 'We might need him again – and for the same reason. Search them.'

They found our pistols, of course. Kissack checked the loads on the three donkeys. 'You had a rifle – where is it?'

I realized it had been packed on one of Paul's donkeys.