Part 35 (2/2)
Anyway, he happened to speak of Trebizond; and, naturally, I said that my father had been a missionary there many years ago.
As this seemed to interest him, and because he questioned me, I told him my father's name and all that I knew in regard to his career as a missionary in the Trebizond district. And, somehow--I don't exactly recollect how it came about--I spoke of Herr Wilner, and his death at Gallipoli, and how his effects came into my father's possession.
And because the old, sleepy-eyed Admiral seemed so interested and amused, I told him about Herr Wilner's box and his diary and the plans and maps and photographs with which I used to play as a little child.
After dinner, Princess Naa asked me what it was I had been telling Murad Pasha to wake him up so completely and to keep him so amused. So I merely said that I had been telling the Admiral about my childhood in Brookhollow.
Naturally neither she nor I thought about the incident any further.
Murad did not come again; but a few days later the Turkish Charge d'Affaires was present at a very large dinner given by Princess Naa.
And two curious conversations occurred at that dinner:
The Turkish Charge suddenly turned to me and asked me in English whether I were not the daughter of the Reverend Wilbour Carew who once was in charge of the American Mission near Trebizond. I was so surprised at the question; but I answered yes, remembering that Murad must have mentioned me to him.
He continued to ask me about my father, and spoke of his efforts to establish a girls' school, first at Brusa, then at Tchardak, and finally near Gallipoli. I told him I had often heard my father speak of these matters with my mother, but that I was too young to remember anything about my own life in Turkey.
All the while we were conversing, I noticed that the Princess kept looking across the table at us as though some chance word had attracted her attention.
After dinner, when the gentlemen had retired to the smoking room, the Princess took me aside and made me repeat everything that Ahmed Mirka had asked me.
I told her. She said that the Turkish Charge was an old busybody, always sniffing about for all sorts of information; that it was safer to be reticent and let him do the talking; and that almost every sc.r.a.p of conversation with him was mentally noted and later transcribed for the edification of the Turkish Secret Service.
I thought this very humorous; but going into the little _salon_ where the piano was and where the music was kept, while I was looking for an old song by Messager, from ”La Basoche,” called ”Je suis aime de la plus belle--” Ahmed Mirka's handsome attache, Colonel Izzet Bey, came up to where I was rummaging in the music cabinet.
He talked nonsense in French and in English for a while, but somehow the conversation led again toward my father and the girls' school at Gallipoli which had been attacked and burned by a mob during the first month after it had been opened, and where the German, Herr Wilner, had been killed.
”Monsieur, your reverend father, must surely have told you stories about the destruction of the Gallipoli school, mademoiselle,” he insisted.
”Yes. It happened a year before the mission at Trebizond was destroyed by the Turks.” I said maliciously.
”So I have heard. What a pity! Our Osmanli--our peasantry are so stupid! And it was such a fine school. A German engineer was killed there, I believe.”
”Yes, my father said so.”
”A certain Herr Conrad Wilner, was it not?”
”Yes. How did you hear of him, Colonel Izzet?”
”It was known in Stamboul. He perished by mistake, I believe--at Gallipoli.”
”Yes; my father said that Herr Wilner was the only man hurt. He went out all alone into the mob and began to cut them with his riding whip.
My father tried to save him, but they killed Herr Wilner with stones.”
”Exactly.” He spread his beautifully jewelled hands deprecatingly and seemed greatly grieved.
”And Herr Wilner's--property?” he inquired. ”Did you ever hear what became of it?”
”Oh, yes,” I said. ”My father took charge of it.”
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