The Gabriel Hounds Read Online Free PDF Page B

old days famous people would go up to stay with her, and it was possible to see over some parts of the palace, just as today you can see Beit ed-Din and the Crusader Castles. But now, alas … she is old now, and they say a little—’ he made an eloquent face and touched his forehead. ‘The place is shut up now, and she sees no one, and she never leaves the palace. But I have heard what a wonderful place it used to be, and I have myself seen her riding out with her servants … but that is all changed, she is old, and it is a long time since anyone has seen her.’
    ‘How long?’
    He spread his hands. ‘Six months, a year, I cannot say.’
    ‘But she’s still there?’
    ‘Certainly. I believe I heard talk of a companion, but this may only be rumour. I think there are still two or three servants with her, and once a month supplies are sent from Beirut up to Sal’q – that’s the nearest village, and taken across by mule.’
    ‘Isn’t there a road?’
    ‘No. The road goes along the ridge above the valley, and to get to Dar Ibrahim from the village one must walk, or go by mule.’ He smiled. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you should do this, because of course it’s not worth it now, you can’t get in. I was only recommending the view. It’s very fine. In any case, Dar Ibrahim looks all the better from a distance.’
    I said, trying it out: ‘Actually, I had heard of the place. I think I know some relatives of hers in England,of the old lady’s. I’d thought of trying to see her. I’d wondered if perhaps I might write her a note and ask if I could visit her.’ Something – I’m not quite sure what – forbade me to explain to the clerk my own relationship with his local legend.
    He shook his head doubtfully, but with a gleam of curiosity in his eyes which told me that my reticence had probably been wise. ‘I suppose you could try, but when she would get it, or when you would get an answer … There is a porter at the gate’ – he shrugged – ‘but they say he lets no one through at all. He takes in the supplies and pays for them, and if there are letters, or if she has written letters, they are handed over at that time. But for a long time now she has received no one – no one, that is, except the doctor.’
    ‘The doctor? Is she ill?’
    ‘Oh, no, not now. I believe I did hear of something last year – about six months ago, in the autumn, and the doctor going up each day. But she recovered, and now is well enough.’
    She had certainly been well enough, I reflected, to draft another snappy Last Will and Testament at Christmas. ‘A doctor from Beirut, was this?’
    ‘Yes, an English doctor.’
    ‘Do you know his name?’ I added, rather apologetically: ‘If I can’t see her, I might get news of her from him.’
    The clerk could not remember the doctor’s name, but he promised to find out for me, and indeed the next time I passed the desk he had it ready, a Dr Henry Grafton with an address somewhere near Martyrs’Square. I thanked him, and went back upstairs to my room, where I picked up the telephone directory and found Grafton, H. L.
    The number was there. After a little trouble I managed to get it, and a man’s voice answered in Arabic, but when we had sorted ourselves out through his excellent French into his even better English, he had to disappoint me. No, Dr Grafton was not here, Dr Grafton had left Beirut some time back. Yes, for good. If he could help me …?
    ‘I was just making some enquiries about a relation of mine,’ I said, ‘a Mrs. Boyd. I understand she was a patient of Dr Grafton’s a few months back when he was in Beirut. I wonder – is she perhaps now on your list? The thing is—’
    ‘Mrs. Boyd?’ The voice was puzzled. ‘We don’t have anyone of that name, I’m afraid. What’s the address?’
    ‘She lives outside Beirut, at a place called Dar Ibrahim. I believe it’s near a village called Sal’q.’
    ‘Dar Ibrahim?’ The voice quickened. ‘Do you mean the