by Talbot Mundy
It was to the tune of After the Ball that the engine dipped head-foremost into a dry watercourse, and brought the train to a jaw-jarring halt. The tune went on, and the song grew louder, for nobody was killed and the English-speaking races have a code, containing rules of conduct much more stringent than the Law of the Medes and Persians. Somebody — probably natives from a long way off, who needed fuel to cook a meal — had chopped out the hard-wood plate on which the beams of a temporary culvert rested. Time, white ants, gravity and luck had done the rest. It was a case thereafter of walk or wait.
“Didn’t I tell you?” moaned Brown of Lumbwa. “Didn’t I say walkin’ ‘ud be only just my luck?”
So we walked, and reached Nairobi a long way ahead of Coutlass and his gang, whose shoes, among other matters, pinched them; and we were comfortably quartered in the one hotel several hours before the arrival of Lady Saffren Waldon and those folk who elected to wait for the breakdown gang and the relief train.
It was a tired hotel, conducted by a tired once-missionary person, just as Nairobi itself was a tired-looking township of small parallel roofs of unpainted corrugated iron, with one main street more than a mile long and perhaps a dozen side-streets varying in length from fifty feet to half a mile.
He must have been a very tired surveyor who pitched on that site and marked it as railway headquarters on his map. He could have gone on and found within five miles two or three sightlier, healthier spots. But doubtless the day’s march had been a long one, and perhaps he had fever, and was cross. At any rate, there stood Nairobi, with its “tin-town” for the railway underlings, its “tin” sheds for the repair shops, its big “tin” station buildings, and its string of pleasant-looking bungalows on the only high ground, where the government nabobs lived.
The hotel was in the middle of the main street, a square frame building with a veranda in front and its laundry hanging out behind. Nairobi being a young place, with all Africa in which to spread, town plots were large, and as a matter of fact the sensation in our corner room was of being in a wilderness — until we considered the board partition. Having marched fastest we obtained the best room and the only bath, but next-door neighbors could hear our conversation as easily as if there had been no division at all. However, as it happened, neither Coutlass and his gang nor Lady Saffren Waldon and her maid were put next to us on either side. To our right were three Poles, to our left a Jew and a German, and we carried on a whispered conversation without much risk.
She and her maid arrived last, as it was growing dusk. We had already seen what there was to see of the town. We had been to the post-office on the white man’s habitual hunt, for mail that we knew was non-existent. And I had had the first adventure.
I walked away from the post-office alone, trying to puzzle out by myself the meaning of Lady Saffren Waldon’s pursuit of us, and of her friendship with the Germans, and her probable connection with Georges Coutlass and his riff-raff. I had not gone far either on my stroll or with the problem — perhaps two hundred yards down a grassy track that they had told me led toward a settlement — when something, not a sound, not a smell, and certainly not sight, for I was staring at the ground, caused me to look up. My foot was raised for a forward step, but what I saw then made me set it down again.
To my right front, less than ten yards away, was a hillock about twice my own height. To my left front, about twelve yards away was another, slightly higher; and the track passed between them. On the right-hand hillock stood a male lion, full maned, his forelegs well apart and the dark tuft on the end of his tail appearing every instant to one side or the other as he switched it cat-fashion. He was staring down at me with a sort of scandalized interest; and there was nothing whatever for me to do but stare at him. I had no weapon. One spring and a jump and I was his meat. To run was cowardice as well as foolishness, the one because the other. And without pretending to be able to read a lion’s thoughts I dare risk the assertion that he was puzzled what to do with me. I could very plainly see his claws coming in and out of their sheaths, and what with that, and the switching tail, and the sense of impotence I could not take my eyes off him. So I did not look at the other hillock at first.
But a sound like that a cat makes calling to her kittens, only greatly magnified, made me glance to the left in a hurry. I think that up to that moment I had not had time to be afraid, but now the goose-flesh broke out all over me, and the sensation up and down my spine was of melting helplessness.
On the left-hand hillock a lioness stood looking down with much intenser and more curious interest. She looked from me to her mate, and from her mate to me again with indecision that was no more reassuring than her low questioning growl.
I do not know why they did not spring on me. Surely no two lions ever contemplated easier quarry. No victim in the arena ever watched the weapons of death more helplessly. I suppose my hour had not come. Perhaps the lions, well used to white men who attacked on sight with long-range weapons, doubted the wisdom of experiments on something new.
The lioness growled again. Her mate purred to her with an uprising reassuring note that satisfied her and sent my heart into my boots. Then he turned, sprang down behind the hillock, and she followed. The next I saw of them they were running away like dogs, jumping low bushes and heading for jungle on the near horizon faster than I had imagined lions could travel.
That ended my desire for further exercise and solitude. I made for the hotel as fast as fear of seeming afraid would let me, and spent fifteen aggravating minutes on the veranda trying to persuade Fred Oakes that I had truly seen lions.
“Hyenas!” he said with the air of an old hunter, to which he was quite entitled, but that soothed me all the less for that.
“More likely jackals,” said Will; and he was just as much as Fred entitled to an opinion.
While I was asserting the facts with increasing anger, and they were amusing themselves with a hundred-and-one ridiculous reasons for disbelieving me, Lady Saffren Waldon came. She had, as usual, attracted to herself able assistance; a settler’s ox-cart brought her belongings, and she and her maid rode in hammocks borne by porters impressed from heaven knew where. It was not far from the station, but she was the type of human that can not be satisfied with meek beginnings. That type is not by any means always female, but the women are the most determined on their course, and come the biggest croppers on occasion.
She was determined now, mistress of the situation and of her plans. She left to her maid the business of quarreling about accommodations; (there was little left to choose from, and all was bare and bad); dismissed the obsequious settler and his porters with perfunctory thanks that left him no excuse for lingering, and came along the veranda straight toward us with the smile of old acquaintance, and such an air of being perfectly at ease that surprise was disarmed, and the rudeness we all three intended died stillborn.
“What do you think of the country?” she asked. “Men like it as a rule. Women detest it, and who can blame them? No comfort — no manners — no companionship — no meals fit to eat — no amusement! Have you killed anything or anybody yet? That always amuses a man!”
We rose to make room for her and I brought her a chair. There was nothing else one could do. There is almost no twilight in that part of East Africa; until dark there is scarcely a hint that the day is waning. She sat with us for twenty or thirty minutes making small talk, her maid watching us from a window above, until the sun went down with almost the suddenness of gas turned off, and in a moment we could scarcely see one another’s faces.
Then came the proprietor to the door, with his best ex-missionary air of knowledge of all earth’s ways, their reason and their trend.
“All in!” he called. “All inside at once! No guest is allowed after dark on the veranda! All inside! Supper presently!”
“Pah!” remarked Lady Saffren Waldon, rising. “What is it about some men that makes one’s blood boil? I suppose we must go in.”
She came nearer until she stood between the thre
e of us, so close that I could see her diamond-hard eyes and hear the suppressed breathing that I suspected betrayed excitement.
“I must speak with you three men! Listen! I know this place. The rooms are unspeakable — not a bedroom that isn’t a megaphone, magnifying every whisper! There is only one suitable place — the main dining-room. The proprietor leaves the oil-lamp burning in there all night. People go to bed early; they prefer to drink in their bedrooms because it costs less than treating a crowd! I shall provide a light supper, and my maid shall lay the table after everybody else is gone up-stairs. Then come down and talk with me. Its important! Be sure and come!”
She did not wait for an answer but led the way into the hotel. There was no hall. The door led straight into the dining-room, and the noisy crowd within, dragging chairs and choosing places at the two long tables, made further word with her impossible, even if she had not hurried up-stairs to her room. “What do you make of it — of her? Isn’t she the limit?”
The words were scarcely out of Will’s mouth when a roar that made the dishes rattle broke and echoed and rumbled in the street outside. The instant it died down another followed it — then three or four — then a dozen all at once. There came the pattering of heavy feet, like the sound of cattle coming homeward. Yet no cattle — no buffaloes ever roared that way.
“Now you know why I ordered you all inside,” grinned the ex-missionary owner of the place. I divined on the instant that this was his habit, to stand by the door before supper and say just those words to the last arrivals. I had a vision of him standing by his mission door aforetime, repeating one jest, or more likely one stale euphuism night after night.
“Lions?” I asked, hating to take the bait, yet curious beyond power to resist.
“Certainly they’re lions! Did you think you were dreaming? Are you glad you came in when I called you? Would you rather go out again now? Make a noise like a herd of cattle, don’t they! That’s because they’re bold. They don’t care who hears them! The day is ours. It used to be theirs, but the white man has come and broken up their empire. The night is still theirs. They’re reveling in it! They’re boasting of it! Every single night they come swaggering through like this just after sunset. They’ll come again just before dawn, roaring the same way. You’ll hear them. They’ll wake you all right. No trouble in this hotel about getting guests down-stairs for early breakfast!”
“I’ll get my rifle and settle the hash of one or two of them before I eat supper!” announced Will, turning away to make good his words. But the proprietor seized him by the arm.
“Don’t be foolish! It has been tried too often! I never allowed such foolishness at my place. A party up-street fired from the windows. Couldn’t see very well in the dark, but wounded two or three lions. What happened, eh? Why the whole pack of lions laid siege to the house! They broke into the stable and killed three horses, a donkey, and all the cows and sheep. There weren’t any shutters on the house windows — nothing but glass. It wasn’t long before a young lion broke a window, and in no time there were three full-grown ones into the house after him. They injured one man so severely that he died next day. They only shot two of the lions that got inside. The other two got safely away, and since that time people here have known enough not to interfere with them except by daylight! They’ll do no harm to speak of unless you fire and enrage them. They’ll kill the stray dogs, or any other animal they find loose; and heaven help the man they meet! But the place to be after six P.M. in Nairobi is indoors. And it’s the place to stay until after sunrise! Hear them roar! Aren’t they magnificent? Listen!”
The noise that twenty or thirty lions can make, deliberately bent on making it and roaring all at once, is unbelievable. They throw their heads up and glory in strength of lungs until thunders take second place and the listener knows why not the bravest, not the most dangerous of beasts has managed to impose the fable of his grandeur on men’s imagination.
We were summoned to the table by the din of Georges Coutlass rising to new heights of gallantry.
“Gassharamminy!” he shouted, thumping with a scarred fist. With a poultice on his eye he looked like a swashbuckler home from the wars; and as he had not troubled to shave himself, the effect was heightened. “What sort of company sits when a titled lady enters!” He seized a big spoon and rapped on the board with it. “Blood of an onion! Rise, every one!”
Everybody rose, although there were men in the room in no mind to be told their duty by a Greek. Lady Saffren Waldon walked to a place near the head of the table with a chilling bow. As usual when night and the yellow lamplight modified merciless outlines, she looked lovely enough. But she lacked the royal gift of seeming at home with the vulgar herd. She could make men notice her — serve her, up to a certain point — and feel that she was the center of interest wherever she might choose to be; but because she was everlastingly on guard, she lacked the power to put mixed company at ease.
Only the ex-missionary at the head of the table seemed to consider himself socially qualified to entertain her. She was at no pains to conceal contempt for him.
“You honor my poor hotel!” he assured her.
“It is certainly a very poor hotel,” she answered.
“Do you expect to remain long, may I ask?”
“What right have you to ask me questions? Tell that native to go away from behind my chair. My own maid will wait on me!”
Whether purposely or not, she cast such a chill upon the company that even Georges Coutlass subsided within himself, and, though he ate like a ravening animal, did not talk. Almost the only conversation was between the owner and the native servants, who waited at table abominably and were noisily reprimanded, and argued back. Each reprimand increased their inefficiency and insolence. Natives detest a fussy, noisy white man.
Bad food, indifferent cooking, and no conversation worthy of the name produced gloom that drove every one from table as soon as possible. Even the proprietor, with unsatiable curiosity exuding from him, but no spirit for forcing issues, departed to a sanctum of his own up somewhere under the roof. The boys cleared the tables. The smell of food spread itself and settled slowly. A half-breed butler served countless orders of drinks on trays, and sent them upstairs to bedrooms. Presently we three sat alone in the long bare room.
“Shall we wait for her?” I asked. “Haven’t we had enough of her?”
Fred laughed. “She can scarcely cut the throats of all three of us!”
“I said we’d never hear the last of it!” said Will, with a scowl at me.
“Shall we wait for her?” I repeated.
My own vote would have been in favor of going upstairs and leaving her to her own devices. I could see that Fred was afire with curiosity, but guessed that Will would agree with me. However, the point was settled for us by the arrival of her maid, who smiled with unusual condescension and produced from a basket an assortment of drinks, nuts, cigarettes and sandwiches. She spread them on the table and went away again.
We sat and smoked for an hour after that, imagining every moment that Lady Saffren Waldon would be coming. Whenever we yawned in chorus and rose to go upstairs, a footstep seemed to herald her arrival. To have passed her on the stairs would have been too awkward to be amusing.
At last we really made up our minds to go to bed; and then she really came, appearing at the bend in the stairs just as I set my foot on the lower step, so we trooped back to our chairs by the window. She was dressed in a lacy silk negligee, and took pains this time to appear gracious.
“I waited until I felt sure we should not be disturbed,” she said, smiling. “Won’t you come and sit down?”
We brought our chairs to the table, she sitting at one end and we together at one side, Fred nearest her and I farthest away. She made a sign toward the wine and sandwiches, and offered us cigarettes of a sort I had never seen. Without feeling exactly like flies in a spider’s web, we were nervous as schoolboys.
“What do you want with us?” asked Will at l
ast.
She laughed and took a cigarette.
“Don’t let us talk too loud. You three men are after the Tippoo Tib ivory. So is the Sultan of Zanzibar. So is the German government. So am I.”
She gave the statement time to do its own work, and smoked a while in silence. The strength of her position, and our weakness, lay in there being three of us. Any one of us might let drop an ill-considered word that would commit the others. I think we all felt that, for we sat and said nothing.
“You answer her, Fred,” I said at last, and Will nodded agreement.
So Fred got up and sat on the other side of the table, where we could see his face and he ours.
“You haven’t answered Mr. Yerkes’ question,” he said. “What do you want with us, Lady Saffren Waldon?”
“I want an understanding with you. I will be plain to begin with. We all know you know where the ivory is. Lord Montdidier is not the man to connect himself with any wild goose chase. We don’t pretend to know how you came by the secret or why he has gone to London, but we are sure you know it, perfectly sure, and for five or six reasons. We are willing to buy the secret from you at your own price.”
“Who are ‘we’?” asked Fred pointedly, helping himself to nuts.
“The German government, the Sultan of Zanzibar, and myself.”
Fred smiled. “Between you you probably could pay,” he remarked.
“I will tell you a few hard facts,” she said, “now that the ice is broken. You will never be allowed to make full use of your own secret. You have arrived at an inopportune moment, for you and for us. Our plans have been on foot a long time. Our search has been systematic, and it is a mathematical certainty we shall find what we look for in time. We do not propose to let new arrivals on the scene spoil all our plans and disappoint us just because they happen to have information. If you go ahead you will be watched like mice whom cats are after. If you find the ivory, you will be killed before you can make the discovery known!”
“We seem up against it, don’t we!” smiled Fred.