by Talbot Mundy
“You see that post?” asked Schillingschen.
The stump of a dead tree that he referred to stood up nearly straight out of a crack in the rock, and a few yards above water level. The crocodiles all lay nose toward it, some of them twelve or fourteen feet long, some smaller, and some very small indeed, all interested to distraction in the dead tree-trunk.
“That is where he feeds them,” Schillingschen announced. “He has tested them for hearing, smell, and eyesight. By making fast a living animal to that post be has been able to convince himself that from about nine in the morning until five in the afternoon their senses are limited. Only occasionally do they come and take the bait between those hours. They are hungriest in the early morning just before daylight. Recently a large ape tied to the post at midday was not killed and eaten until four next morning, and that is about the usual thing, although not the rule. Now my proposal is—”
He stepped back and eyed me with the coldest look of appraisal I ever sickened under. I blenched at last — visibly suffered under his eye, and he liked it.
“ — that you tell your secret or be fastened to that post from noon, say, until the crocodiles make an end of you!”
He stepped back a pace farther, perhaps to gloat over my discomfort, perhaps from fear of some concealed weapon.
“You have not much time to arrive at your decision!”
He took another pace backward. It occurred to me then that he was looking for some one he expected. Nobody turning up, he began to gather loose stones and throw them at the reptiles, driving them down into deep water, first in ones and twos and then by dozens. Most of them swam away to the far side of the pool, and hid themselves where it was deep.
Then, panting with having run, there came a native who looked like a Zulu, for he had enormous thighs and the straight up and down carriage, as well as facial characteristics.
“You are late!” shouted Schillingschen in German “Warum? What d’ye mean by it?”
The man opened his mouth wide and made grimaces. He had no tongue.
Schillingschen laughed.
“This is a servant who does no tattling in the market-place!” he said, turning again toward me. “He and I can tie you to that post easily. What do you say?”
There was nothing whatever to say, or to do except wonder how to circumvent him, and nothing in sight that could possibly turn into a friend — except a little tuft of faded brown that out of the corner of my eye I detected zigzagging toward me in the direction from which we had come. A moment later I knew it really was a friend. “Crinkle,” a mongrel dog that Fred had adopted the day after our arrival, breasted the low rise, saw me, gave a yelp of delight and came scampering.
The dog sniffed my knee to make sure of me, and then trotted over to sniff Schillingschen. The professor stooped down to pat him, rubbed his ear a moment to get the dog’s confidence, and then seized him suddenly by both hind legs. I saw what he intended too late.
“Stop, or I’ll kill you!” I shouted, and made a rush at him. But he swung the yelping dog and hurled him far out into the pool.
A second later my fist crashed into his face and he staggered backward. A second later yet the dumb Zulu pinned my elbows from behind and set his knee into the small of my back with such terrific force that I yelled with pain. Then Schillingschen approached me and began to try to drive my teeth in with unaccustomed fists. He loosened my front teeth, but cut his own knuckles, so began looking about for a stick.
Strangely enough my own attention was less fixed on Schillingschen than on the wretched “Crinkle” swimming frantically for shore. Dog-like he was making straight for me, and there was no possibility whatever of his being able to scramble up the steep side. I shouted to call his attention, and tried to motion to him to swim toward shallow water, but the Zulu would not let my arms free, and the dog only thought I was urging him to hurry.
Schillingschen found a stick and came back to give me a hammering with it just at the moment when a crocodile saw “Crinkle.” A blow landed on my head, cut my forehead, and sent the blood down into my eyes at the same moment that I heard the dog’s yelp of agony; and next time I looked at the pond there was a tiny whirlpool on the surface, slightly tinged with red.
“You swine!” I shouted at Schillingschen, trying to break loose and attack him. For answer he raised his cudgel in both hands and stood on tiptoe to get leverage. If that blow had landed it must have broken something, for he was strong as a gorilla; but somebody shouted — I recognized Fred’s voice, and in another second he and Will charged down on us. Schillingschen turned about to strike Fred instead of me, but Will’s fist hit him on the ear and split it. The professor staggered backward, and a moment later Fred had felled the Zulu. I reeled from weakness and excitement, and nearly fell down.
“Throw him to the crocks, you men!” I urged madly. “He threw Crinkle in. Throw him! Nobody’ll ever know! He’d have dared throw me in! Nobody comes here! Throw him in and trust the crocks to leave no trace!”
“Shut up, you fool!” growled Fred.
“Did you see him throw that dog in?” I retorted.
“No,” he answered, “but I saw him strike you. That’s enough! I’ll deal with him!”
I suppose Fred intended to knock the professor down and belabor him with the same stick he had used on me, but the plan died stillborn. Schillingschen bethought him of his hip-pocket, produced a repeating pistol, and leveled it.
“Any nonsense, and I shoot you all!” he announced.
That ended the battle as far as we were concerned. We had no firearms. Schillingschen wasted no time on explanations, but beckoned his Zulu and walked off, striding at a great pace and only looking back over his shoulder once or twice to make sure we were not in pursuit.
Fred and Will lent me an arm apiece and we followed slowly, I recounting as fast as I could all that had happened, and they trying to chaff me back into a sensible frame of mind.
“That was a decent dog!” I insisted. “He slept on my bed those nights when I had fever!”
“I know it,” Fred answered. “Will and I lay and scratched, while you rested, with proper flea-food for protection! Don’t worry, we’ll find you another dog!”
Schillingschen’s consideration for my wound had vanished with the chance of making use of me. As we emerged into the open we saw him in the distance lolling in the hammock he had brought me in.
“Never mind!” grinned Will. “I’ll bet the brute has an earache!”
“And teeth-ache!” added Fred.
“And I’ll bet he has gone to prepare us a hot reception!” said I. “He owns this town!”
But nothing happened immediately on our return into the town. Actually Fred and Will had been outside township limits and could be arrested; suspecting foul play as soon as they saw me with Schillingschen, they had followed at once. They were as mystified as I when no swift vengeance lit on them. We saw Schillingschen carried in the hammock up the steep path leading to the commandant’s house; but no one came down again. After we got back to camp we spent all the rest of the day waiting for the vengeance we felt sure was overdue, but none came. Toward evening we even began to grow hopeful again and to talk about the dhow. Fred and Will had examined it through field-glasses from the top of the rock, and were optimistic ‘regarding its size and general condition.
“Even if it leaks rather badly,” said Will, “we could reach some island, and beach it there, and caulk it.”
“How about that launch, that brought the professor and Lady Saffren
Waldon?” I asked.
“What about it?”
“Couldn’t they follow us with that?”
“You bet they could!” said Will. “We’ve either got to spike the launch’s boilers, or give them the complete slip on a dark night!”
“We might steal the launch!” suggested Fred, but that was too wild a proposal to be taken seriously. The launch was the apple of the German governmental eye, and the engine crew slept on it alw
ays.
The prospect was unpromising as ever, yet I went to bed and listened to the strains of Fred’s concertina in the next tent with less foreboding than at any time since reaching Muanza, and fell asleep to the tune of Silver Hairs among the Gold, a melancholy piece that Will liked to sing when hope or courage stirred him.
I was awakened near midnight of a moonless black night by a hand on my bedclothes and the light of a lantern in my eyes.
“Hus-s-s-h!” said some one. “Don’t speak yet! Listen!”
It was a woman’s voice, and it puzzled me indescribably, for a sick man’s wits don’t work swiftly as a rule when he lies between sleeping and waking.
“Listen!” said the voice again. “I must come to terms with you three men! You are the only hope left me! I have no friends in Muanza — and none whom I trust! Those Greeks and that Goanese would sell me to the first bidder, and these Germans are worse than dogs!”
“But who are you?” I asked stupidly.
For answer she held the lantern so that I could see her face. Her hand trembled, and the unsteady light threw baffling shadows, but even so I could see she looked drawn and aged.
“Where is your maid, then, Lady Waldon?” I asked, for it seemed to me that was one friend who had served her through thick and thin.
“Ask the commandant!” she answered. “The poor fool thinks he will marry her! Little she knows of the German method! I am alone! I have not even a servant any longer! I have walked through the shadows from the commandant’s house, only lighting this lantern after I was inside the hedge. Nobody knows I am here. One watchman was asleep; the others did not see me. All you need fear is those Greeks. As long as they don’t suspect I am here we can talk safely.”
I tumbled out of bed on the far side, and went to waken the other two. After a hurried consultation we decided my tent was the best for the interview, because of the light that had burned in it nearly always while I was so deathly ill. We wrapped ourselves in blankets, and Fred went and shook Simba awake.
“Watch those Greeks!” he ordered him. “If they show signs of life, come and give the alarm!”
Then we set Lady Waldon’s lantern on the ground in the back of my tent, closed the tent up, and foregathered. There was one chair. We three sat on the bed.
“Before we begin,” said Fred, “we’d like some kind of proof, Lady
Waldon, that your overture is honest! I’ve no need to labor the point.
Until now you have been our implacable enemy. Why should we believe
you are our friend to-night?”
She sighed. “I don’t expect friendship,” she answered. “You and I are in deep water, and must find a straw that may float us all! If I can help you to escape out of the country I will. If you can help me, you must! If you don’t escape there are worse things in store for you than you imagine! If you tell your secret now, they intend to prevent your telling it to any one else afterward! And unless you tell they intend to take terrible steps to compel you! As for me — they have discovered that after all I know nothing, and am of no further use to them! They have not said so, but it is very clear to me how the land lies. Professor Schillingschen is drunk to-night; he came home with his car and mouth bleeding, and has plied the whisky bottle freely ever since until he fell asleep an hour and a half ago. He boasted over his cups. They are simply using this long wait for Major Schunk, who is supposed to be coming from the coast, to gather additional evidence against you. They have men out following your trail back by the way you came, and if they can find no genuine evidence they will invent what they need; the purpose is to get you legally behind the bars; and if you ever come out again alive that would not be their fault!”
“What do you propose?” asked Fred.
“Escape!” she answered excitedly. Then another thought made her clench her fists. “Is it possible you told Professor Schillingschen your secret to-day? Did one of you tell him? Is that why he is drunk?”
She saw by our faces that that fear was groundless, but a greater one, that she might not be able to convince us, seized her next and she made such an excited gesture that the shawl she wore over her head and shoulders fell away and her long hair came tumbling down like a witch’s.
“Listen! There is nothing that you men from your point of view could say too bad about me! I know! I have been in the pay of Germany for many years, but what you don’t know is how they got me in the toils and kept me in, dragging me down from one degradation to another! They have dragged me down so far at last that I am not much more use to them. If we were in British territory they would simply expose me to the British government and save themselves the trouble of ending my career. They did that to Mrs. Winstin Willoughby, and Lord James Rait, and fifty others; it was so easy to put incriminating evidence against them in the hands of the public prosecutor. Lord James Rait died in Dartmoor Prison — a common felon. I shall not! But believe me — I am certain as I sit here that they only wait for my return to British East! To have me murdered here might start inconvenient rumors that would lead to unanswerable questions! It was proposed to me to-day that I should return to British East on the launch!”
“Then why talk about escaping?” Fred wondered. “Why not go?”
“Because,” she hissed emphatically, “don’t you see, you stupid! — if they send me back it will be to my doom! My one chance is to escape from their clutches — get into touch with British officials — and save the situation by telling my own tale first!”
Fred was in no hurry to be convinced. I was already for accepting her story and helping her out; but that was perhaps because I was a sick man, too recently recovered from the gates of death to care to be hard on any one.
“I still don’t see your danger,” Fred told her. “In all my life I fail to recall a single instance of the British courts passing a severe sentence on a spy. If you’ll excuse my saying so, your story about Lord James Rait is incorrect. I recall the case well. He got a twenty-year sentence for forgery.”
“True!” she answered. “And Mrs. Winstin Willoughby was sentenced to fifteen years for theft! Lord James did forge — in the way of business for the German government! Jane Winstin Willoughby did steal — for the same blackguard masters! Do you think they will expose me as a spy? That would be too clumsy, even for such bullies as they are! Do you suppose they could have dragged me down to this without some sword held over me? They can prove that I committed a crime in England several years ago. Oh, yes, I am a criminal! I raised a check. It was a check on a German bank, given to me by a German on behalf of a countryman of his. I needed money desperately, and the man who brought the check to me suggested I should raise it! Since then I have tried to repay that money with interest a dozen times, but they have always laughed and told me they preferred to leave matters as they are.”
“What would be the use of returning to British territory, then?” asked
Fred. “If they hold that over you, they can denounce you at any time.”
“Not they!” she answered. “Not if I get there first! I know too much! I can tell too much! I can prove too much! If I were once arrested on the charge of raising that check, no government in the world would listen to me. But if I can tell my story first, and confess about the check, and explain why the charge is likely to be brought against me, then there will be Downing Street officials who know how to whisper to the German Embassy words that will frighten them into silence! I can prove too much against the German government, if only I can tell my tale before they crush me!”
“Why not write it?” asked Fred, and it seemed to me there was humor in his eye, but she only detected stubbornness, and laughed scornfully.
“My own maid even gave them the letters written to me by my sister! If I should be suspected of writing they would never rest until they had the letter!”
“Give me your letter to mail!” suggested Fred maliciously.
“Deluded man!” she sneered. “All the letters you have written since you came to Muanza lie in
a drawer in the commandant’s desk! I myself have read them!”
In the dark, with shifting shadows thrown by the cheap trade lantern, it was difficult to judge what was going on behind that beard of Fred’s. I had begun to suspect he was coming over to my way of thinking and would yield to her presently, but he returned to the attack — very directly and abruptly.
“What is it you know against the German government?” he demanded, and sat with his jaw in the palm of his hand waiting for her answer.
“Why should I tell you? Why should I put myself completely in your power?”
“Why not?” asked Fred.
“What would prevent you from stealing my thunder, and telling my story as your own — leaving me at the Germans’ mercy?”
“Something very potent that I think you would not understand if I talked of it,” Fred answered. “Listen to me now a minute. I haven’t conferred with my friends here, as you know. Whatever I tell you is subject to their agreeing with me. The only condition on which I, for one, would consent to taking part with you in anything — after all our experience of you! — would be that you should put yourself so completely in our power that we could feel we had your safekeeping. On those terms I would be willing to do my best to help you out.”
“I agree to that like a shot!” said Will; and I nodded.
“You mean — ?”
“All or nothing!” Fred insisted.
“You mean that you also, just like these Germans, must have a sword to hold over me?”
“I thought you wouldn’t understand!” Fred answered. “What we demand, Lady Saffren Walden, is proof that you really do give us your confidence. Without that we have nothing to say to you, and nothing to do with you!”
She broke down then and cried a little, tearing herself with sobs she hated to release. Suddenly she raised her head and glared at us wildly, dry-eyed; not a tear had accompanied the sobbing.
“If I tell you — if you fail me after that — I shall kill myself in such way that you shall know — my blood is on your heads!”