The Message

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER II

  HOW THE MESSAGE WAS DELIVERED

  Owing to the return of the rival boat, Peter's agitation passedunnoticed. A superior person was apologizing for the accident, thoughinclined to tax Warden with foolhardiness.

  "You have only yourself to blame for that knock on the head, whichmight have been far more serious than it is," he said.

  "Will you kindly go to--Jericho?" said the man in the water.

  The superior person's tone grew more civil when he found that he wastalking to one whom he condescended to regard as an equal.

  "Don't you want any assistance?" he inquired.

  "No, thanks, unless you will allow me to use your gangway in order toclimb aboard the dinghy."

  "By all means. I am sorry the oar caught you. But you annexed theprize, so I suppose you are satisfied. What was it?"

  "A calabash, I fancy. You will see it lying in the boat."

  Peter, who was really fascinated by the carved face which drew thegirl's attention in the first instance, suddenly kicked it and turnedit upside down with his wooden leg. The men in the second boat saw onlythe glazed yellow rind of an oval gourd, some twelve inches long andeight or nine in diameter.

  "The pot was hardly worth the scurry," laughed one of them.

  "If Greeks once strove for a crown of wild olive, why not Englishmenfor a calabash?" said Warden.

  There was an element of the ludicrous in the unexpected comment from aman in his predicament. Every true-born Briton resents any remark thathe does not quite understand, and some among the strangers grinned. Thegirl, still holding Warden's wrist as though she feared he would vanishin the depths if she let go, darted a scornful look at them.

  "The truth is that these gentlemen competed because they thought theywere sure to win," she cried.

  "It was a fair race, madam," expostulated the leader of the yacht'sboat.

  "Y-yes," she admitted. "My presence equalized matters."

  As the men were four to two she scored distinctly.

  "Give way, Peter," said Warden. "If I laugh I shall swallow more saltwater than is good for me."

  He was soon seated astride the bows of the dinghy, which Peter's strongarms brought quickly alongside the _Sans Souci_. By that time, thegirl's composure was somewhat restored. Warden obviously made so lightof his ducking that she did not allude to it again. As for the gourd,it rested at her feet, but she seemed to have lost all interest in it.In truth, she was annoyed with herself for having championed her newfriend's cause, and thus, in a sense, condoned his folly.

  It did not occur to her that the _Sans Souci's_ deck was singularlyuntenanted, until a gruff voice hailed the occupants of the dinghy fromthe top of the gangway.

  "Below there," came the cry. "Wotcher want here?"

  The girl looked up with a flash of surprise in her expressive face. Butshe answered instantly:

  "I am Miss Evelyn Dane, and I wish to see Mrs. Baumgartner."

  "She's ashore," was the reply.

  "Well, I must wait until she returns."

  "You can't wait here."

  "But that is nonsense. I have come from Oxfordshire at her request."

  "It don't matter tuppence where you've come from. No one is allowedaboard. Them's my orders."

  Miss Dane turned bewildered eyes on Warden.

  "How can one reason with a surly person like this?" she asked.

  "He is incapable of reason--he wants a hiding," said Warden.

  A bewhiskered visage of the freak variety glared down at him.

  "Does he, you swob," roared the apparition, "an' oo's goin' to give it'im?"

  "_I_ am. Take this lady to the saloon, and come with me to the cutteryonder. My man will bring you to your bunk in five minutes, or evenless."

  "For goodness' sake, Mr. Warden, do not make my ridiculous positionworse," cried the girl, reddening with annoyance. "Mrs. Baumgartnerwrote and urged me to see her without any delay on board this yacht. Itelegraphed her early this morning saying I would be here soon aftermidday. What _am_ I to do?"

  "If I were you, I would go back to Oxfordshire," he said.

  "But I cannot--at least, not until I have spoken to her. I am--poor.I am practically engaged as companion--another name for governess, Isuspect--to Mrs. Baumgartner's daughter, and I dare not throw away thechance of obtaining a good situation."

  Warden, who was dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, did notreply at once, and Evelyn Dane, in her distress, little guessed theirrational conceit that danced in his brain just then. But the presenceof Peter, and the torrent of sarcastic objurgation that flowed fromthe guardian of the _Sans Souci_, imposed restraint. It was on the tipof his tongue to suggest that, under the conditions, it would be acapital notion if they got married, and took a honeymoon cruise in the_Nancy_!--Long afterward he wondered what would have been the outcomeof any such fantastic proposal. Would she have listened? At any rate,it amused him at the time to think that there was little differencebetween a lover and a lunatic.

  But he contented himself with saying:

  "I fear I am rather light-headed to-day, Miss Dane. Let us appeal toPeter the solid, and draw upon his wide experience. Tell us then, Opilot, what course shall we shape?"

  Peter, rapidly restored to the normal by the familiar language comingfrom the rail of the yacht, glanced up.

  "If I was you, sir, I'd ax monkey-face there wot time 'is missis wasdue aboard. Mebbe the young leddy would find her bearin's then, so tospeak."

  "Excellent. Do you hear, Cerberus? When does Mrs. Baumgartner return?"

  The watchman, taking thought, decided to suspend his taunts.

  "Why didn't you ax me that at fust?" he growled. "I'm on'y obeyin'orders. Seven o'clock, they said. An' it didn't matter 'oo kem here, ifit was the Pope o' Rome hisself, it's as much as my place is worth tolet him aboard."

  "That is final, Miss Dane," said Warden. "There are two alternativesbefore you. I can either gag and bind the person who has just spoken,thus securing by force your admission to the yacht, or I can entertainyou on the _Nancy_ until seven o'clock."

  "But I ought to go ashore."

  "It is not to be dreamed of, I assure you. Cowes is overrun withexcursionists. You will be much happier with Peter and me, and we areno mean cooks when put on our mettle."

  She yielded disconsolately. Dislike of the _Sans Souci_ and every oneconnected with that palatial vessel was already germinating in hermind. If it were not for the considerations outlined in her briefstatement to Warden she would have caught the next ferry to Portsmouthand allowed Mrs. Baumgartner to make other provision for her daughter'scompanionship, or tuition.

  "Give me a call when you are let off the chain," said Warden pleasantlyto the watchman, as the dinghy curved apart from the yacht's side.

  The girl colored even more deeply. Such behavior was not onlyoutrageous, but it supplied a safety valve for her own ruffled feelings.

  "I wish you would not say such stupid things," she cried vehemently."What would happen if that wretched man took you at your word? Youwould be mixed up in some horrible brawl, and wholly on my account."

  "He will not come, Miss Dane," he said sadly. "Let me explain, however,that I prodded his thick hide with set purpose. He is alone on the_Sans Souci_; he blustered because he was afraid we meant to goaboard, aye or nay. Is it not extraordinary that such a vessel shouldbe absolutely denuded of owner, guests, servants, and crew? That manis not a sailor. Unless I am greatly mistaken, he does not belong tothe yacht in any capacity. What does it mean? You may take it fromme that it is unusual, I might almost say phenomenal, for a valuablesteam-yacht in commission to be deserted in that manner."

  "But he admitted that 'they,' meaning Mr. and Mrs. Baumgartner, Isuppose, would return early this evening?"

  "I am sure he is right in that. But where are the twenty odd domesticsand members of the crew? When Peter and I went ashore at ten o'clockto-day the _Sans Souci_ was alive with people."

  "I only know that Mrs. Baumgartner s
eems to have been thoughtless whereI am concerned," said the girl, absorbed in her own troubles.

  Nevertheless, she brightened considerably when Warden assisted her toreach the spotless deck of the _Nancy_. By dint of much scrubbing andpolishing, that taut little cutter had no reason to shirk the vividsunlight. At the beginning of the cruise she had been fitted with anew suit of sails and fresh cordage. For the rest, Peter, and Peter'sfourteen-year-old son "Chris," roused now from sound sleep in the cabinby his father's loud summons, kept brass fittings and woodwork in aspick-and-span condition that would bear comparison with the best-foundyacht in the roadstead.

  Miss Dane was accommodated with a camp chair aft, while Warden divedinto the cabin to change his clothes. The boy, after a wide-eyed stareat his employer, was about to busy himself with tying up the dinghy,when Peter bade him be off and see to the stove if he wished to escapea rope-ending. Chris was hurt. He had not expected such a greeting fromhis revered parent; but he disappeared instantly, and Peter imaginedthat his offspring was thus prevented from investigating the mysteryof the gourd, which he took good care to leave in the bottom of theboat.

  As for the girl, her mind was occupied to the exclusion of all else bythe strange combination of events that brought her a guest on boardthe _Nancy_. She was not so much perturbed by the absence of Mrs.Baumgartner as by Warden's manifest disapproval of the lady. A railwayreturn ticket, sufficient money in her purse to pay for a room in ahotel, and the existence of a friend of her mother's in Portsmouth,a friend whose good offices might be invoked if necessary, made herindependent. But she did not want to go back defeated to Oxfordshire.Her father's carelessness had left her practically at the mercy ofa stepmother, who enjoyed the revenue of a fair estate until death.The settlement was not to the liking of either woman, and Evelyn wasgoaded into an endeavor to escape from it by the knowledge that she wasregarded as an interloper in a house that would ultimately come intoher possession if she survived the second Mrs. Dane.

  The well-paid appointment offered by the Baumgartners was apparentlyan opening sent by the gods. She had been strongly recommended for thepost by a friend, and there seemed to be no reason whatever why itshould not prove an ideal arrangement for both parties. Yet Warden,unmistakably a gentleman, if rather eccentric in his ways, evidentlydid not view the mining magnate's family with favor. That was adispleasing fact. Though she had no personal experience of the sectionof society which dubs itself the "smart set," she gathered that theBaumgartners belonged to it, and it was a risky undertaking for a youngwoman to constitute herself part and parcel of the household of one ofits leading members.

  Her somewhat serious reverie was interrupted by the grateful scentof cooking that came from a hidden region forward. Warden reappearedin dry clothing. The cut on his forehead was covered with a strip ofsticking plaster. He was bare-headed, and a slight powdering of gray inhis thick black hair made him look more than his age.

  "Our glass and china are of the pilot pattern," he explained, placing aladen tray on the deck, "but we balance deficiencies in these respectsby a high tone in our cuisine. To-day's luncheon consists of grilledchicken and bacon, followed by meringues and figs, while the claret waslaid down last week in Plymouth."

  "I am so hungry that I can almost dispense with the glass and china,"she admitted. "But won't you let me help? I am quite domesticated."

  "What? Would you rob the cook of his glory? You must eat and admire,and thank the kindly gales that wafted Peter to the Indian Ocean whenhe was putting in his sea service, because he learned there how to usecharcoal in the galley instead of an abominable oil lamp."

  "I was born in India," she said with delightful irrelevance.

  "Ah, were your people in the army?"

  "No. My father was in the Indian Marine. But he retired when I was twoyears old--soon after my mother's death. I lost him eight years later,and, having lived thirteen years with a stepmother, I thought it hightime to begin to earn my own living."

  She fancied that this brief biography might encourage him to speak ofthe Baumgartners, but Warden's conversation did not run on conventionallines.

  "I find your career most interesting," he said. "Now that we know eachother so well I want to hear more of you. Promise that you will writeevery month until early December, and report progress in your newsurroundings. Here is my card. A letter to the Universities Club willalways reach me."

  She read:--"Captain Arthur Warden, Deputy Commissioner, NigeriaProtectorate."

  "Why must I stop in December?" she asked, with a smile and a quickglance under her long eyelashes.

  "Because I return to Nigeria about that date, and I shall then supply anew address."

  "Dear me! Are we arranging a regular correspondence?"

  "Your effusions can be absolutely curt. Just the date and locality, andthe one word 'Happy' or Miserable,' as the case may be."

  The arrival of Chris with a grilled chicken created a diversion. Peterhad to be summoned from the galley. He explained sheepishly that hethought the meal was of a ceremonious character. They feasted regally,and all went well until the unhappy Chris asked his father if thevegetable marrow was to be boiled for dinner.

  "Wot marrer?" demanded Peter unguardedly.

  "The big one in the dinghy."

  "By Jove, we have never given a thought to the calabash that createdall the rumpus," cried Warden. "What about that black face you saw onit, Miss Dane? I didn't notice it afterwards. Did you?"

  "No. I was too excited and frightened. Your son might bring it to usnow, Mr. Evans."

  "Beggin' your pardon, miss, we'll leave it till you've finished lunch,"said Peter, regarding Chris with an eye that boded unutterable things.

  "But why, most worthy mariner?" demanded Warden.

  "'Cos it's the ugliest phiz that ever grew on a nigger," was theastonishing answer. "It gev' me a fair turn, it did, an' I'm a prettytough subjec'. It's enough to stop a clock. If the young leddy takes myadvice she'll bid me heave it overboard and let it go to the--well, towhere it rightly belongs."

  "It's only an old gourd," exclaimed Evelyn, looking from one to theother in amused surprise.

  "Peter," said Warden, laughing, "you have whetted our curiosity withrare skill. Come, now. What is the joke?"

  "I'm in reel earnest, sir--sink me if I ain't. It's--a terror, that'swot it is."

  "Bless my soul, produce it, and let us examine this calabash of parts."

  "Not me!" growled Peter, hauling himself upright with amazing rapidity."Believe me, sir, I 'ope you won't 'ave the thing aboard the _Nancy_.Get forrard, you," he went on, glaring at the open-mouthed Chris."Start washin' them plates, an' keep yer silly mouth closed, or you'llcatch somethin' you can't eat."

  There could be no doubt that the usually placid and genial-spoken Peterwas greatly perturbed. To avoid further questioning, he stumped offto his quarters in the fore part of the cutter, and swung himself outof sight, while the girl endeavored vainly to estimate how he couldsqueeze his huge bulk through so small a hatchway.

  Warden also stood up.

  "After that there is but one course open to us," he said, and drew inthe dinghy's painter until he was able to secure the gourd.

  He was on his knees when he lifted it in both hands and turned itround to ascertain what it was that had so upset his stout friend.In reviewing his first impressions subsequently, he arrived at theconclusion that close familiarity with the features of the WestAfrican negro must have blunted his mind to the true significance ofthe hideous face that scowled at him from the rounded surface of thecalabash. He paid heed only to the excellence of the artist--none tothe message of undying hatred of every good impulse in mankind that wasconveyed by the frowning brows, the cruel mouth, the beady, snake-likeeyes peeping through narrow slits cut in the outer rind. Were not thelineaments those of a pure negro, he would have imagined that somelong-forgotten _doyen_ of the Satsuma school had amused himself byconcentrating in a human face all that is grotesque and horrible in theJapanese notion of a demon.
But there was no doubting the identity ofthe racial type depicted. Warden could even name the very tribe thatsupplied the model. A curious crinkled ring that had formed round thegourd near the upper part of its egg-shaped circumference suggested thequoit-shaped ivory ornament worn by the men of Oku. Oku used to be aplague spot in West Africa. It is little better to-day, but its virusis dissipated by British rule.

  Warden's kindling glance soon detected other important details. Theraised ring, and certain rough protuberances that might have bornea crude likeness to a man's face when the gourd was in its naturalstate, were utilized with almost uncanny ingenuity to lend high reliefto the carving. Indeed, the surface had been but slightly scored withthe artist's knife. Half-lowered eyelids, a suggestion of parted lipsand broad nostrils, some deep creases across the brutish forehead,and a sinister droop to each corner of the mouth--these deft touchesrevealed at once the sculptor's restraint and power. The black skinwas simulated by a smooth and shining lacquer, the ivory ring by ascraping of the rind that laid bare the yellow pith. No characteristicwas over-accentuated. The work offered a rare instance of the art thatconceals art.

  And Warden felt that none but an artist worthy to rank with the electcould have conceived and carried out this study of some fierce negrodespot. That it was a genuine portrait he did not doubt for a moment.It seemed to him that in its creation hate and fear had gone hand inhand with marvelous craftsmanship. The man who exercised such cunningon the inferior material provided by a rough-coated calabash was notonly inspired by the pride of conscious power but meant to leave animperishable record of a savage tyrant in his worst aspect. A greatItalian painter, limning his idea of the Last Judgment, gratified hisspite by placing all his enemies among the legion of the lost. Thisunknown master had taken a more subtle revenge. It was possible thatthe black chief, had he seen it, would have admired his counterfeitpresentment. It demanded a more cultured intelligence than Oku societyconferred to enable him to appreciate how plainly an evil soul leeredfrom out a dreadful mask.

  In no respect was the truth of the image more convincing than inthe treatment of the eyes. A minute mosaic of chalcedony was usedto portray white and iris and cornea. Small pieces of clear crystalformed the pupils, and the rays of light glinted from their depthswith an effect that was appalling in its realism. Thus might the eyesof a cobra sparkle with vindictive fire. They exercised a diabolicalmesmerism. Warden, rapt in his admiration of a genuine work of art,remained wholly unconscious of their spell till he heard a faint gaspof horror from the girl.

  He turned and looked at her in quick dismay. All the roses had fledfrom her cheeks, leaving her wan indeed. Her own fine eyes weredistended with fright. She, like Peter Evans, gave no heed to theconsummate skill of the designer. She was fascinated at once by thatbasilisk glare. It thrilled her to the core, threatened her withimmeasurable wrongs, menaced her with the spite of a demon.

  "This is the most wonderful thing of its kind I have ever seen," saidWarden eagerly.

  Though he was not yet awakened to the magnetic influence exercised bythe vile visage he could not fail to note the girl's consternation. Hethought to reassure her by pointing out the marvelous craft displayedin its contriving.

  "It is amazing in every sense," he went on, bringing the gourd nearerfor her inspection. "Although the calabash is of a variety unknownin West Africa, the face gives a perfect likeness of an Oku chief.There is a man in Oku now who might have sat to the sculptor, thoughhe is far from possessing the power, the tremendous strength, of theoriginal. Yet it seems to me to be very old. I cannot, for the life ofme----"

  A loud crash interrupted him. Chris, removing the remains of the feast,had gazed for an instant at the astounding object in Warden's hands.The boy backed away, and tripped over a coil of rope, with disastrousresult to the crockery he was carrying.

  Warden's voice, no less than the laugh with which he greeted Chris'sdiscomfiture, restored the poise of the girl's wits.

  "You obtained that for me, did you not?" she cried with a curiousagitation.

  "Yes, of course," said he.

  "Then give it to me, please."

  He was certainly surprised, but passed the gourd to her without furthercomment. She half averted her eyes, took it unhesitatingly, and triedto pitch it into the water. For its size, it was astonishingly light.Were it as heavy as she imagined, it must have dropped into the Solentseveral yards from the vessel. As it was, it flew unexpectedly high,struck a rope, and fell back on deck, whence it bounded, with theirregular bounce of a Rugby football, right into Warden's hands again.

  "That was a mad trick," he said almost angrily.

  "Oh, please, throw it away," she pleaded.

  "Throw away a rare and valuable curio! Why?"

  "Because it will bring you nothing but ruin and misery. Can you not seeits awful meaning? Throw it away, I implore you!"

  "But that would be a crime, the act of a Vandal. It may be the chiefesttreasure of a connoisseur's collection. Would you have me ape somefanatic Mussulman hammering to atoms a statue by Phidias?"

  "There is no beauty in that monstrous thing. It is--bewitched."

  "Oh really, Miss Dane--we are in England, in the twentieth century."

  He laughed indulgently, with the air of an elder brother who hadforgiven her for an exhibition of pettish temper. He held out thecalabash at arm's length and viewed it critically. He saw immediatelythat the crown inside the ring was misplaced.

  "Hello!" he muttered, "you did some damage, then!"

  Closer inspection revealed that the fall had loosened a tightly fittinglid hitherto concealed by the varnish used as a preservative. Heremoved it, and peered within.

  "A document!" he announced elatedly. "Perhaps, after all, yourunaccountable frenzy was a blessing in disguise. Now, Miss Dane, wemay learn what you termed its 'awful meaning.' But, for pity's sake,don't yield to impulse and rend the manuscript. You have cracked hischiefship's skull--I pray you spare his brains."