Appleby on Ararat

by Michael Innes

  “A great many guests,” said Miss Busst, “agree that the Heavens should be compelled to move the hotel. Mr Rumsby is going to speak about it. With this dreadful war one’s nerves are not in a state to be played upon in that way.”

  Appleby nodded. “I can see the possibility of a move having great advantages. Only I suspect that it is too late. You see, if the Heavens were going to move they would have to be capable of moving. But I see Miss Curricle beckoning. Will you excuse me?”

  He crossed the room. Miss Curricle, exceedingly upright and angular, led him out once more to a veranda. “Mr Appleby, there is every sign of a panic.” She spoke with all of a hotel’s sudden and pervading gloom – but at the same time with a certain dark satisfaction, as some literary satanist might speak of a horrid creation of his own. “It is exceedingly disgraceful and disagreeable. With the people at the bungalow we must muster a dozen able-bodied men. And surely somewhere there are firearms. Yet, at a rumour of those cowardly savages–”

  “About the rumour – have you any idea where it started? It has sprung up uncommonly quick.” Appleby was staring into the darkness as he spoke.

  “Nobody seems to know. And the Heavens cannot be found… Listen.”

  Appleby shook his head. “No good listening. Half the life on an island like this is nocturnal, and if one really listens one hears enough to make one’s blood freeze. Which is scarcely what is wanted.”

  “I really thought I heard something like wary movement on the edge of the clearing.”

  “It is very likely. We are probably going to witness some rather terrible events. But I believe that there is, at present, no general danger. It depends, I am afraid, on whether, not so long ago, I sailed rather close to the wind.”

  “Mr Appleby, you speak strangely. Perhaps I ought to say that I have confidence in you.” Miss Curricle spoke with a faintly embarrassed briskness. “I am aware that when I was – ah – seeing matters in a somewhat faulty perspective during our adventures you behaved in a very level-headed way. Your manner is somewhat mysterious, but that is professional habit, no doubt. My dear father, who held a post of much responsibility in the civil service, carried discretion almost to a fault.” Miss Curricle paused decently on this. She might be hearing alarming noises in the darkness, but she was not going to hurry over one of these periodical tributes. “I must say that I have become aware – and the others of our party agree with me – that there is something strange about the way of things here on the island. It is clear that you share this view. I wonder if you could tell me what you know? Incidentally” – Miss Curricle’s voice was perfectly level – “I have just seen a naked figure near Mudge’s hut. As it happens, I have a good eye in the dark. My dear mother had the same faculty… But nothing, of course, which you think it desirable to keep to yourself.”

  “I can’t tell you much.” Appleby was looking at the little glow of light in Mr Heaven’s power-house. “For one thing I am very much in the dark – a dark I ought to have an eye like yours for – still, at the moment the dark.” He paused. “But I know or suspect something, and a little time ago I was afraid I had given it away. Now I believe there is a good chance I didn’t. The indiscretion is making me very close now. But I can tell you this. Heaven is a somewhat disreputable person, who sees all human activity in terms of grab. And this led him to suspect that Hailstone and Dunchue over there were not after what they professed… You were right, by the way. I can see a couple of lurking figures myself. And here is Hoppo. Hoppo, go in and bring Glover and Mrs Kittery here; we’ll stay together.” Appleby looked absently for a moment after the surprised and retreating clergyman. Then he went on. “Heaven was so convinced that those first explorers of the island were frauds that he did a little quiet burglary.”

  “I am not surprised.” Miss Curricle was tart. “No doubt we owe a certain gratitude for the sanctuary we have found, but I must say that I disapprove of this hotel very strongly. There is a man creeping round the corner of the veranda. Very strongly indeed.”

  “Heaven burgled Hailstone” – Appleby was now speaking to the little group of his companions – “and found something. Or so I conjecture. But this, by the way, is absolutely confidential. You understand me? Our lives may depend on it – and more than our lives.”

  Hoppo coughed. “This is most dramatic and startling. One should really feel uncommonly alarmed. But I believe one grows accustomed to fantastic dangers. I confess that at the moment curiosity is my chief emotion. As you know, I am not a courageous person. I am quite surprised.”

  “My dear fellow” – Glover spoke gruffly – “we have great confidence in you. And now let Appleby go on. Heaven burgled something. Now, burgled what…? Good gad, there’s a nigger with one of those spears.”

  “Let him alone. And just what Heaven burgled I can’t tell. But I imagine it may have been an old Spanish chart – something like that. And that marked on it is a spot where you may dig up any amount of doubloons and pieces of eight.”

  “The wagon!” exclaimed Diana.

  “Quite so: the barrow. Heaven found this chart, and during a curious little picnic this morning he deliberately revealed the fact to our archaeological friends – which was a great mistake. That is all that I can tell you at the moment – and more, I repeat, than you must tell anyone else. The sequel is going to be violent… Ah!”

  From across the clearing before them there had come a crash of splintered glass, and seconds later the little light vanished from the power-house. They swung round where they stood. The hotel was in darkness too.

  “I suggest,” said Appleby, “staying where we are. If we move we shall be encouraged to keep on moving – which would be rather a waste of physical effort on this debilitating island.” There was a sudden scream from within the hotel. “I think that is Miss Busst faced with another Good Time. Presumably a frightful savage has climbed through her window. And there” – momentarily he flashed a torch on a bellowing figure bounding across the veranda and down a flight of steps – “there is Rumsby. Perhaps he has gone to fetch the police. Steady, now” – he raised his voice against a sudden pandemonium of howling voices and beating drums all about them – “and remember we have had all this before. It is possible that they will burn down the hotel, but on the whole I think not.… Look out.”

  There was a sound of rending wood and splintering glass behind them as the frame of a window gave way from within. A figure tumbled through, picked itself up and ran – a brown and naked figure; it was followed by Sir Mervyn Poulish brandishing what appeared to be the leg of a chair. And Appleby laughed aloud above the tumult. “My heart warms towards that profoundly dishonest man.” He checked himself. “Tomfoolery. But with tragedy at the core of it, I am sorry to say.”

  18

  Dawn came luridly to the island, as if Sin and Death had thrown back their doors and admitted some reflection of the eternal bonfire to the sky. At least the elements were preparing a demonstration – and Miss Busst, not without hints of the hand of Providence, thought it likely that the retreating savages would be scattered about the deeps. For over what had happened Miss Busst was bitterest of all. She had been assaulted by a gigantic native: he had pranced round her howling, that was to say, and before making off had seemed almost disposed to tweak her nose. Mr Heaven would abundantly have heard about it if Mr Heaven had not been dead.

  The finding of the body was announced by Dunchue, who explained that its discovery was the first intimation of the raid that the bungalow had received. For he and Hailstone had gone off camping for the night – each admitted to a faint interest in nocturnal turtle-hunting – and it was as they returned that some excitement on the part of George led to the discovery of the dead man among the sandhills. Whereupon they had left one of their boys on guard and hurried to the hotel. Dunchue, having less leisure in his soul, arrived considerably in advance.

  He found an Appleby who
was doing his best hastily to fortify the place against a second night raid. Windows were being barricaded and buckets of sand and water prepared against any attempt to employ fire. It would be useless, Appleby explained, against an enemy armed with any species of guns. But against these noisy but not very courageous natives it might do. Mudge was preparing some harmless – but it was hoped frightening – grenades.

  Dunchue listened to a recital of these preparations with what, had he known it, Appleby analysed as a mixture of malice and genuine satisfaction. And he gave his bad news reluctantly. There it was. These noisy intruders had made their second kill. If somebody from the hotel would come along and have a look they could then arrange for bearers to bring the body in. Perhaps Appleby himself would come. At this Appleby scratched his chin and suggested that quite a number of people should go.

  Things had progressed so far when a blob of variegated colour on the beach heralded the arrival of the more ponderous Hailstone and the attendant George. Both were decently subdued. One almost expected the gay umbrella to have trimmings in black crepe.

  “A shocking thing,” said Hailstone. “We sympathise with you all.” He patted George. “But, of course, with Mrs Heaven first of all. I think I should go to her at once. George, come.”

  It was explained that Mrs Heaven had disappeared. When this had been discovered just before dawn Jenner, with considerable gallantry, had ventured all round the environs of the hotel in search of her: with Mudge and Colonel Glover he was out on a wider sweep now. Hailstone looked anxious. “A woman!” he said; “this is more terrible still.”

  Miss Busst offered an inarticulate noise; several female guests began to weep; Mr Rumsby, who had unprecedentedly got his own breakfast, called out urgently to know if anyone were preparing luncheon. And then a party was arranged to go and inspect the late proprietor of the hotel. Dunchue had a shotgun and remained to guard the majority of the agitated guests. Hailstone had an ancient and ineffective looking revolver; this he offered to Appleby, who courteously declined to relieve him of it; the two set off together with a little crowd behind them.

  For once Hailstone contrived to combine pedestrianism and conversation. “I am afraid,” he said, “that we must both cry peccavi. I confess that over your black friend Unumunu I was sceptical; it did not appear to me that any natives in these parts were likely to commit such an act. And I think you were sceptical too. But now – well, the thing seems beyond argument.”

  The blue glasses turned sharply on Appleby. And Appleby replied with faint reluctance. “Yes, there can be no doubt of it.”

  “I tell you frankly that I think there is no hope for that wretched woman. A first crime was a surprise, and I think that only his being a black man brought it about. But a kill quickly influences these Polynesian people for the worse; if they taste blood in a place once they will go for it there again.”

  Appleby nodded. “You speak,” he said ingenuously, “as if you had some interest in the local anthropology after all.”

  Hailstone laughed a still decently-muted laugh. “Nothing but a little casual reading. Dunchue knows more than I do, and he knows little enough. Enough, perhaps, to strike up some sort of possible relations with these invaders – nothing more.”

  “Ah,” said Appleby.

  “Here is Heaven dead and his wife no doubt dead or next to dead too. You and I will not waste sympathy on them. Their trade with these skulkers and escapists was scarcely a noble one. What we must consider is the practical problem.”

  “Exactly. In fact I have been considering it for some time.”

  Again Hailstone glanced quickly at his companion. But Appleby’s eye was mildly on the dignified forward wobble of George. “All these people will almost certainly want to leave, and one can scarcely blame them. They have nothing to tie them to the island.”

  “Unlike yourself, Mr Hailstone.”

  “Quite so. We couldn’t, of course, leave the dig, and we must take our chance. It is a thousand pities that the wireless is out of order. Have you any skill with such things?”

  “None at all, I am afraid.”

  “A pity again. It really seems necessary to call for help. Fortunately Dunchue has reminded me of something I had forgotten. Our trader is not positively engaged to look in on us for some months. But now we remember that the skipper said something which makes it possible that it will be back quite soon. And it could take everybody away.”

  “Well, nothing could be better than that.”

  “Quite so.” Again Appleby was aware of a swift scrutiny. “Only there is one thing that troubles me, and with your acuteness you will at once guess what it is.”

  Appleby shook his head. “I find any guessing peculiarly difficult here: no doubt because the environment is wholly strange to me. I must confess that my only thought at present is to get back to London and my own job.”

  Hailstone nodded approvingly. “You will know that I sympathise. To be away from one’s work is wretched.”

  They walked for a few moments in silence, as if digesting these improving sentiments.

  “But at a venture,” continued Appleby, “I should say that, with the interests of the dig in mind, you don’t want any sort of fuss.”

  “Exactly,” said Hailstone, and paused for a breather. George, pausing too, wagged his tail. Things were going with a wonderful unanimity. “Exactly. But it cannot be denied that from an official point of view something very serious has occurred. And when our friends start spreading it about–”

  “I think they will be discreet. After all, their position is rather delicate – ridiculous, indeed. They are pitched with their stamps and diamonds out of their earthly paradise and back into a jarring world. I don’t think they’ll talk.”

  “But,” said Hailstone – and he resumed his walk – “there are your companions and yourself.”

  Appleby appeared to consider. “I believe that Colonel Glover and I could use a little influence which would ensure that the island should not be publicised. Of course we couldn’t prevent an enquiry – at least I don’t think we could – but we could see that it would not go beyond official circles. I think I can undertake that, even if the jurisdiction here should prove to be American. If you feel it would help, that is.”

  “My dear sir, I am exceedingly grateful. Perhaps we are discussing the matter prematurely. But you know how afraid I am of unwelcome notoriety.”

  “I do, indeed.”

  They walked on in silence. Appleby glanced at their two shortening shadows on the sand. Neither at all knowing where he had the other. Bluff? Double bluff? It was like a sort of peripatetic poker.

  “The body is round this hummock,” said Hailstone. “One of my boys is with it, though I fear sadly scared. Ah! I hadn’t thought the ants would be so quick.”

  Heaven’s body sprawled on its face. A spear had been thrust through his back and still stuck there. All his clothes had been wrenched off and had vanished. As he had lain dying or dead there had been some ugly writhing at his neck and limbs. Now the ants were eating him. It was, in its comparatively simple way, a peculiarly horrible death.

  Appleby looked at the body with a sort of mild attention, undisturbed by the exclamations of the men behind him. He turned to Hailstone. “I wonder how they got him? I last saw him at the hotel not very long before the raid. We had a conversation – it seems oddly inappropriate now – about gold and lead. Dear, dear.”

  “Gold and lead?” Hailstone was startled.

  “A futile literary conversation,” said Appleby easily. “He was, you know, by way of being aesthetically inclined. Yes, about the golden and leaden caskets in The Merchant of Venice. And now, what with all these ants, he could do with a leaden casket himself. Is Hoppo with us? Ah, yes. Well, I suggest that a quick burial will be the decent and least troublesome thing. Our efforts should be directed to making sure a
bout his wife. They may have carried her off – perhaps only to some other part of the island. With at least a couple of firearms I think we might risk a search-party. Don’t you think?” And Appleby, practical and level-headed, but neither very forceful nor very concerned, looked enquiringly at Hailstone.

  “I think you are quite right.” Hailstone nodded almost briskly. “It is a great comfort to have someone who always gets an accurate grasp of an affair.” He turned and spoke to the waiting boy.

  They buried Heaven. In half-an-hour he had vanished. The pace of things, Appleby thought, was improving…if it could be put that way. He walked down to the sea. Here within the reefs the waves were very small and lapping, they followed one another almost secretly to the shore. Fish darted – so tiny that they could loop and wheel in the utmost shallows; a crab, like some magically liberated shadow, scuttled from stone to sheltering stone. The tiny drag of the receding wavelets shifted the sand, raised and caught into its gyres a myriad all-but-ultimate particles of matter, lost itself in contrary or transverse impulsions which carried on the ceaseless motion. It was like a reading in Bergson: change and again change, without anything that did the changing. Heaven, Hailstone and Heraclitus, Appleby said to himself – and looked up to see this world of continual flux declaring and intensifying itself on the beaches. He watched idly, his mind a thin trickle of philosophers’ clichés, unaware of any practical significance in what he saw. The air was still about him but in the middle-distance Hailstone’s trousers, George’s fleece were faintly stirring, a breeze more stealthy than the lapping, secret waves was scurrying over the sands, a slurring movement as swift and close-gliding as a furtive caress. And on the sands those strange fibrous balls with which Diana played had still been piling; they were there in thousands and millions now, as if all the Sirens had played at tip-and-run through all the ages and every hit had been out of bounds. And the low-creeping wind thrust at them with exploratory fingers, turned them over, rolled them one against another in an endless complication of cannons, tentatively tossed them a few inches in air. The smaller of the light, dun spheres began to hop on the beach – clumsily, like sand-lice or like tiddlywinks inexpertly flipped. And far down the beach something which Appleby had taken for a boulder stirred and fluttered, raised a sudden dark pennon which flapped in air. He shouted. And everyone was hurrying that way.