‘The sunrise,’ Wilson was whispering to the Chief. ‘That’s why we were there, you see: to film the sunrise.’ After a few minutes he leant over to Buckley, saying, ‘Not a flicker! Not a flicker!’ at which Buckley nodded rather graciously. ‘It’s a good job we don’t have sound,’ Wilson continued after a further half minute or so of the sun rising, ‘because just now you’d be hearing Mr King saying, “Pan right, you idiot, pan right!”’
And the camera now began its travel, bringing the abandoned train into view.
‘Nice work,’ Buckley whispered to Wilson.
‘Not bad,’ said Wilson. ‘Well, I’ve been in the camera trade since I was a boy.’
The camera came to rest on three figures, all blurred. The focus was adjusted and I saw myself with gun pointing at Shepherd. I was wavering, staggering somewhat. A man came into view – Findlay. He drew his gun; I turned as he was aiming it, and fired my own revolver – in complete silence of course – whereupon Findlay’s piece went spinning from his hand.
‘Good shot‚ lad,’ said the Chief, from three seats along.
On the screen, I now had my gun aimed at both Findlay and Shepherd, and we were all speaking. The wife, next to me, was looking on, fascinated. Then Shepherd had his gun pointed at me, and she turned and stared at me in horror. Beyond Shepherd’s right shoulder, I could make out the muster of mounted Arabs. They were out of focus, but not completely so, and I saw a small figure in the middle of them gesturing to another of the tribe (if that be the word), who aimed a rifle. The small figure signalled to the marksman, and Shepherd fell down at that moment.
‘Is this real?’ gasped Buckley.
‘Better than The Gentleman Rider, eh?’ said Wilson.
‘But he’s not dead is he?’ said the wife, who’d had the whole story from me several times over.
‘He will be soon,’ I said, and the Chief leant towards the wife, kindly explaining, ‘The bullet went clean through his upper arm, shattered two ribs and – fortunately for him – lodged in the lung. If you’re going to be shot,’ he added, ‘be shot in the lung. It’s very seldom fatal.’
I had fallen at the same time as Shepherd.
Wilson said, ‘At this moment I was saying to Mr King, “Hadn’t we better go and help?” and he was saying, “If you leave off cranking, I’ll bloody shoot you!”’
On the screen, I was attempting to stagger to my feet, which I had not remembered doing. In the course of that action, I faced the camera.
‘Oh‚ Jim,’ said the wife, ‘you look like nothing on earth.’
But I wasn’t looking at me. I was watching the approaching rider – the one that had broken away from the Arabs; the one who had indicated to the marksman.
‘So that’s Harriet Bailey,’ said the Chief. ‘She’s quite a looker.’
‘Hold on a minute.’ I was saying, ‘Hold on a minute.’
On the screen, I’d fallen down again. I was on the desert floor alongside Shepherd – looked like I was lying in bed with him. Major Findlay had approached Harriet Bailey, who had remained mounted, and who wore a keffiyah. The focus was again adjusted, and I could clearly see Findlay in profile, speaking to Harriet Bailey. He then gave a thin smile. But Miss Bailey did not return it. She pulled at the keffiyah, so that it fell away from her face, and she glowered down at Findlay. She then spoke to him, and his smile disappeared. Other men came running into the picture – Royal Engineers – and the screen went black.
Silence in the auditorium.
The lights came up, and I turned to Manners, who said, ‘She protected you, do you see? She ordered her Arab pal to shoot when Shepherd pulled the gun on you.’
‘What was she doing with those Arabs?’
‘Oh you know, buttering them up, arguing the British case. I can’t quite recall what lot they were, but her dealings with them were a matter of absolute confidentiality. I believe it was pure coincidence that she was in the same region of the desert as your party, and in order to come to your aid she had to break cover so to speak. As you could tell, she wasn’t very happy about it. You see, it was above all important that the Arabs should believe her to be quite independent of the British secret service, whereas in fact of course . . .’
‘She was the other agent.’
‘Correct.’
‘She was the one you wouldn’t let me speak to.’
‘Right again. I’m sorry about it all. We ought never to have mentioned any other agent in the first place.’
‘So before my arrival,’ I said, ‘Captain Boyd was in contact with Harriet Bailey only because they were both intelligence agents?’