# Terence O'Rourke/Part 2/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII
THE RUSS INCOGNITO
The shadows lengthened; from the minarets of Cairo's mosques muezzins' calls to prayers rang out. O'Rourke, absorbed in musings, hardly heard them; and, indeed, so detached from his surroundings was he that a man sat himself down in the chair opposite O'Rourke's elbow and spoke twice before he roused him.
"Pardon," he said, in French; "Colonel O'Rourke, I believe?"
The Irishman came out of his abstraction with a start.
"Eh, I beg pardon?" he said. "I am Colonel O'Rourke," he admitted, after a careful scrutiny of the other's features, which were barely distinguishable in the fading light. "But monsieur has the advantage of me."
"Then, monsieur, I count myself fortunate," rejoined the stranger, with a careless laugh. "It is a brave man who gains an advantage over Colonel Terence O'Rourke."
He paused; but O'Rourke, with characteristic caution, was waiting for him to declare himself. In the meantime he continued his search of the stranger's lineaments, trying to discover therein some familiar feature. He saw a man of a distinguished type, in evening dress; with a high, pale forehead, rather narrow; eyes close set to the bridge of an aquiline nose; a pointed beard, exactly trimmed, and a mustache with upcurled tips, beneath which his lips showed rather full and red, of a cruel and sensual modeling.
​"Never saw him in my life," declared O'Rourke to himself, watching the tip of the newcomer's cigarette alternately redden and pale as the man applied himself to it.
"You don't know me?" the Irishman heard him ask at last, with the same careless, self-satisfied chuckle.
"I confess—" O'Rourke bowed distantly.
"My card." He pushed a slip of pasteboard across the table; O'Rourke took it and struck a match, which he first applied to the end of his cigar ere holding the card to the light. He read, in fine script:
"M. Nicolas Kozakevitch,
"St. Petersburg."
Below which, in pencil, and hastily, had been scribbled half a dozen words: "Prince Vladislaus Viazma—incognito, if you please, mon ami."
"Yourself!" cried O'Rourke.
He put down the card; the man stretched forth his hand, took it up, and tore it into many infinitesimal fragments, keeping his dark eyes steadily to O'Rourke's.
"Myself," he admitted.
"But—but, Monsieur le Pri—" began O'Rourke.
"S-sh!"
The warning made the Irishman remember. "Oh, I beg pardon," he said, sitting back in his chair; then, "Well, I'm damned!" he announced. And, in a lower tone: "Faith, 'tis your beard, Monsieur Kozakevitch; it befooled me utterly."
"That is as it should be," returned the Russian, "when one travels incognito."
O'Rourke sucked strongly at his cigar, watching the smoke drift lazily upwards. "Ay!" he said aloud, but as ​though to himself; "I was sure of it; 'twas in the air, and I smelled it!"
"What, may I ask, monsieur?"
"Trouble," said the Irishman sententiously.
The Russian chuckled more grimly than before. He tossed his cigarette out into the street ere replying.
"Am I, then, a bird of ill-omen?"
"Ye are a diplomatist," returned O'Rourke cautiously.
The prince laughed again. He leaned forward, selecting another cigarette from a jeweled case. "And if so?" he asked guardedly. "And if, mon ami, it does mean—war?" He raised a cautioning finger. "Remember," he warned O'Rourke, "I speak in confidence."
"Surely, monsieur." The Irishman met his gaze directly until the other was fain to veil his eyes with their heavy lids.
"And if," he repeated softly, "it does mean—shall we call it a diplomatic crisis, monsieur?"
"Ye may, for all of me," permitted O'Rourke graciously. If he had any great respect for this man personally, he was not then showing it.
"Well," continued the Russian impatiently, "if this is so, what do you think?"
"Eh-yah!" yawned the Irishman. "I'm thinking that it all depends upon the outcome, what me opinion is to be. And now tell me, since ye are inclined to be so confidential, what is it all about?"
The prince bent his head to light his cigarette; the flame flared brightly, Outlining his finely carven features; in particular, O'Rourke' was impressed by the heavy brows of the man—a straight, black mark without break from temple to temple, giving to his face a somewhat sinister expression.
"Suppose," said the prince, glancing swiftly around to ​reassure himself that the immediately adjacent tables were still unoccupied, and no listeners were nigh, "that two of the Powers are dissatisfied with affairs Egyptian—or, say, three?"
"Faith, 'twould not be difficult to name them."
"Yes?"
"France," said the Irishman, "Russia, Egypt. Have I guessed rightly?"
"You are very discerning, monsieur."
"Am I so? Thank ye. Let us proceed with your supposition."
"Suppose, then, that the three powers were to unite to drive the English out of Egypt. Eh? What do you think, mon ami?"
"Faith," laughed O'Rourke, his eyes brightening at the prospect, "I think there would be a most hell of a row—if ye desire me candid opinion."
"Yes, yes," returned the prince patiently; "but as to the outcome?"
"That is on the knees of the gods, Monsieur Nicolas Koz-and-so-forth."
"But in event of triumph for the three powers, monsieur, would it not be well with the man who fights with Egypt? In event of a new Dual Control, monsieur, would not the head of the Egyptian Army stand high in the favor of two world powers?"
"In that event—yes, 'tis likely he would. But, come, mon ami,"—O'Rourke swung around in his chair and faced the man squarely—"ye've not told me all this without your purpose. And that is—?"
The Russian carefully flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. He took his time about replying; and when he did so, framed his thought in wary phrases.
​"A skilful, efficient soldier is what the Khedive most needs," he announced slowly; "a man afraid of nothings—afraid not even of England—a soldier and a strategist to lead Egypt's armies to victory. Well, if His Majesty the Khedive's disinterested and loyal advisers suggest the proper man, it will be almost equivalent to an appointment."
"And—? Proceed, monsieur."
"May I venture to suggest that a certain Colonel Terence O'Rourke fills all the qualifications?"
"Ye do me great honor, monsieur."
For some minutes there was silence between the two. O'Rourke sat quietly smoking, his mind in a turmoil of thought; he saw a fair and newly prosperous country running with blood—as once India had run with blood, long years since. He saw brave men and true knifed, assassinated, stabbed in the back, that their places might be filled with others, their equals neither in morals nor in courage.
He saw—a number of things; and abruptly his mind was made up. He rose and bowed.
"It has been a very pleasant chat, monsieur," he said courteously. "Good night."
The prince got to his feet with a jerk, his eyes narrowing. "You are staying here?" he said. "Doubtless I shall have the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow."
"Unfortunately," O'Rourke told him, "I am leaving Cairo at daybreak."
He turned away, but the Russian's voice gave him pause.
"I am to understand," said the prince, "that you refuse?"
"I can refuse nothing that has not been offered to me, monsieur."
"Be pleased, monsieur, to consider an offer made," suggested the diplomat silkily.
​"Then, in that event," drawled' O'Rourke, "and whatever it is, consider it refused, sans thanks, monsieur."
He started toward the hotel again; when a small, delicate yet heavy hand upon his sleeve constrained him to further attention.
"Let me suggest that you think twice."
"I have thought once, and that is sufficient." O'Rourke shook the hand from his arm roughly. "Let me tell ye, monsieur, me final word on the subject: I fight only for men who wear their shirts inside their trousers."
And still the diplomat restrained his rising anger.
"We will forget that—a childish quibble," he purred. "Think twice, monsieur, think twice! Remember, you Irish have no reason to love England."
"And damned little to fight her! We people of the Empire may have our private differences of opinion, but when it comes to outside interference, 'tis shoulder to shoulder we stand. Remember that. Remember also that, while me sword is for hire—and the more shame to me!—never yet has it been drawn in an evil cause. At least, it has fought for the right, Monsieur the Diplomatist. And that is the final word. I bid ye good evening."
This time there was no detaining him; the Russian recognized the fact, and had but one parting shot for O'Rourke.
"You will keep silence," he said.
O'Rourke halted and turned. "It is a matter of honor," he replied stiffly.
The prince laughed. "I did not ask, monsieur; I stated the fact—you will keep silence."
And O'Rourke went on to his room, pondering the hidden menace in the man's tone, and, "Danny," he told his man, "lay out me evening clothes; and, whilst I'm ​dining, pack our trunks. We leave for Port Said in the morning."
Danny's eyes shone with delight. "Sure, now, 'tis the good word for ears weary wid listenin'," he said; and got him to work immediately.