‘My degree attests that I had a thoroughly good time in my three years at Cambridge, nothing more.’
‘I thought all Oxbridge types were highly academic.’
‘They’re all well off, Jim,’ he said, ‘all well off.’
The voice of Manners had been echoing in my head: I must show discretion. But Shepherd and I had become quite confidential, and Manners could go hang. I would not let slip that I was on a secret job for the government, but I must step a little way into the open.
I said, ‘There’s a damn silly rumour about yourself, sir . . .’
I ought not to have said ‘damn silly’. That was me like a man trying to sound like an army captain. Anyhow I’d got Shepherd’s attention.
‘It says that when you were part of the vanguard, on the night the city fell . . . that you went into the railway station, and you met with a Turkish officer . . .’
Shepherd had set down both cigarette and glass; he did not take his eyes from me. He was indicating that he knew I was more nervous than him.
‘. . . That you met with a Turkish officer,’ I said again, ‘and that . . .’
‘And that what?’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s true enough so far.’
I was thinking I should never have started in on this, and that if it hadn’t been for the brandy, I never would have done.
‘It’s that you went into the station and received from the Turk a quantity of . . .’
‘What?’
‘Treasure.’
‘A bribe?’
‘I suppose so.’
Shepherd now did the following. He caught up his revolver; he stood; he holstered his revolver. He turned on his heel and quit the room. I believed he’d gone downstairs, and I eyed the chest against the wall. I moved rapidly towards it, lifted the lid. It was one of the emptiest chests I’d ever seen. I sat back down, and a moment later, Shepherd re-entered the room holding a tin box about a foot square. It was pretty; lavender-coloured with swirling Arabic script on it – Turkish Arabic, perhaps. Shepherd set it on the table, sat down.
‘Turkish delight,’ he said, pouring two more brandies. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come in with me, Jim?’
Pouring two more brandies, Shepherd said, ‘I must say, the fellow was extremely courteous; spoke beautiful French and said that even though we were at war, he hoped there would be no unpleasantness between us. He said he would like to reach an accommodation with me. He was in charge of the last train of the Turkish retreat. It was in steam and we walked the length of the platform looking through the windows by the light of his lantern: three passenger carriages and one goods van. It was full of wounded Turks, but there was a quantity of ordnance in the goods van. He meant to take the train out. He said we’ll have a scrap over it if you want, and some more men will die, and if you manage to stop us leaving you’ll have a hundred Turkish wounded on your hands – or words to that effect. I said, “You can go if you uncouple the weapons.” He agreed to that, and while the job was being done, he said in jocular fashion, “We’ll be back to reclaim Baghdad shortly, in the mean time please keep it in good order for us” – which was a bit rich, since he and his pals had spent the past twenty-four hours blowing the place up. He asked me whether I’d heard of the great railway from Berlin to Baghdad that his people were building. I said I’d attended a lecture on the subject just a few weeks before. He said, “You have a passion for railways.” I didn’t contradict him. He took me into the station buffet, or one of them – what was left of it after the Turks had ripped the place up. Not the tea place, where I believe Boyd was found on the Friday before last. Not the tea place at all. It was the coffee place next door.’
Well, I’d been in there myself, but I had decided against any further declarations.
Shepherd reached forward and opened the tin. He took out a handful of what appeared to be coins, passed one to me. I saw the Arabic inscription on one side, the image of the locomotive on the other, and the eyehole on the top, so that a green and red ribbon might be threaded through. It was covered in white powder.
‘There’s a display to do with the Berlin–Baghdad line in the coffee place,’ said Shepherd. ‘These are, or were, a feature of it. Copper medals minted by the Turkish government for small investors in the line.’ He eyed me, smiling. ‘I have not invested in the Berlin–Baghdad railway, Jim. The extent of my treachery is that I accepted the half dozen of these medals that he put in this tin, which was lying about on the floor, and handed to me. They’re quite worthless, I assure you.’