On the screen, Miss Bailey now stood alongside a wooden hut. She was holding on to her straw hat in what appeared to be a sandstorm.
‘This shows the station,’ she said. ‘It’s gone now, I believe?’ she added.
‘A patrol reported it missing a fortnight ago,’ said Shepherd.
At this, Findlay spoke up rather timidly. ‘Missing? You can’t very well lose a railway station can you?’
‘It was stolen,’ said Shepherd. Findlay looked perplexed, and Shepherd blushed as he added, ‘We assume it was dismantled and taken by natives – for firewood.’
We now saw the station from side on, minus Harriet Bailey.
Brigadier General Barnes said to Shepherd, ‘You mean to replace it, I hope?’
‘A new one will be built . . . of bricks,’ said Shepherd.
‘Reminds me of the three pigs,’ said Harriet Bailey. ‘What are you going to call it? Babylon Junction? I’m not sure I approve.’
Somebody called out, ‘Change here for the Tower!’ It was Findlay, and there was some laughter.
There now appeared on the picture sheet a worn-down city amid grey sand.
‘Ah,’ said Miss Bailey, ‘the kingdom of Nebuchadnezzar.’
We’d seen the last of the railway, it appeared, and Harriet Bailey began explaining the ruins. It went over my head, and I had a pretty good notion it was going over the head of Wallace King as well, who sat by the projector, occasionally whispering to his assistant. I could tell he was itching to interrupt Harriet Bailey though, and as she said, ‘This is the east side of the palace,’ he stood and pointed to Captain Ferry. ‘That man,’ he said, ‘is your pipe out?’
‘It . . .’
The assistant continued to turn the projector handle; he seemed to be counting in his head.
‘. . . will be soon,’ Ferry concluded, and something about the long pause, and the steadiness of the stare he gave back intimidated King, who sat down without a further word. It was his assistant who then said, ‘End of the first reel of Babylon.’ Somebody pulled aside the black window cloth, and the hot light poured in. A window was opened, and I walked over to get a breath of what passed for air in Baghdad. Down in Quiet Square, an Arab paced. He was being quiet all right, but there was something funny about him.
At the table, King’s assistant was handing around the still photographs he’d taken.
The man in the square was treading the shadow of the telegraph wire, like a tightrope-walker. I had thought for a moment that he held a cane as he walked, for the Arabs often did. It wasn’t a cane‚ however, it was a rifle. At the table, somebody was making a joke, ‘By the waters of Babylon, we sat down and wept.’ The photographs evidently showed Miss Bailey and her party at the ruins.
The Arab bothered me; I meant to say something to the party at the table, where I saw Wallace King’s assistant giving a handful of photographs to Major Findlay. Findlay, evidently, was meant to look at the photographs and then to circulate them. He looked at the first of the pictures, gave a half smile and passed it to the Royal Engineer sitting next to him.
I looked down at the square: still the Arab paced.
At the table, Findlay inspected another photograph. And he suddenly froze. The look he then gave Harriet Bailey, and the look on the face of Jarvis – who stood behind Findlay while pouring champagne, and who could plainly see the photograph – made me move rapidly to where Jarvis stood. But Findlay placed the photograph face down, like a man folding his hand at poker. He glanced left and right, to see if anyone else had seen it. Jarvis, standing behind him, was left out of account: I believed that Findlay had not noticed him. All of the following happened in a moment. The steady ticking of the projection machine started up again. This was not the showing of the second reel but only preparatory to it, for the black cloth was not over the window. King was in conference with his assistant as the words ‘WALLACE KING BRINGS THE WORLD TO YOU’ appeared once again on the picture sheet, but this time paler, seeming more inconsequential, the room being light. More of the Babylonian ruins – also paler – appeared on the picture sheet. I made out the great statue of a lion as Major Findlay picked up the photograph that had caused such a reaction in both him and Jarvis, and began raising it towards his top tunic pocket.
The photograph did not get there however, for the stained-glass window burst; there was a splash of red on that tunic pocket of Findlay’s; the lion tilted and disappeared. The machine was over, hit by a bullet. Everybody was over. The projection machine was aflame in a confusion of shouts and sharp zinging sounds as further bullets flew into the room. Shepherd was at the window, shooting his revolver into the square. Every other man was down, although I didn’t believe anyone had taken a bullet. I had an image of Harriet Bailey, sitting on the floor, anxiously touching her beautiful curls. Findlay was moving towards her – explaining that the splash of red on his tunic was only red wine. The table was over, and the photograph had spilled to the floor . . .