_John Solomon--Supercargo_

  _By ALLAN HAWKWOOD_
  (Henry Bedford-Jones)


  _Author of
  "Solomon's Quest" "The Seal of Solomon," etc._


  _London: HURST & BLACKETT, LTD.,
  PATERNOSTER HOUSE, E.C._

  _1925_




  Contents

  CHAPTER

  I. The Cattle-Wharf at Deptford
  II. John Solomon
  III. The Road to Melindi
  IV. Who Murdered Hans Schlak?
  V. The Adventure Begins
  VI. The Lady Professor
  VII. Hammer Starts Something
  VIII. In the Open
  IX. Hammer Begins to See
  X. At Melindi
  XI. Solomon Prepares for Action
  XII. Under Suspicion
  XIII. Accused and Accuser
  XIV. Off At Last
  XV. Dr. Krausz Proves Obstinate
  XVI. The Place of Skulls
  XVII. The Pit of Adders
  XVIII. "Thahabu!"
  XIX. The "Daphne" Again




John Solomon--Supercargo



CHAPTER I

THE CATTLE-WHARF AT DEPTFORD

Frederick L. C. Harcourt, Viscount Ratcliff, was extremely natty in
his flannels, buckskins, and yachting cap, and consequently he
aroused tremendous excitement, plainly being nothing more or less
than a "toff" of the first water.

As he strode along the cattle-wharf at Deptford, he looked as much
out of place as would a royal highness if suddenly dropped among the
habitués of Sally Tucker's pub.

Nevertheless, because of the Royal Yacht Club insignia on his cap,
and also because his face was very brown and square-chinned and his
shoulders rather broader than most, his "sunfish" prodding the
long-horns down the gangs kept their comments strictly to themselves.

Harcourt, who was strolling along in a rather aimless fashion, nodded
quietly to the astonished S.P.C.A. inspector, replied to the latter's
flurried greeting that it certainly was a fine day, and passed on.
His dark-blue eyes settled on an ancient and dishonorable well-deck
cargo tank of some three thousand tons, from which the last batch of
cattle were being driven into the wharf pens.

As he passed down beneath her counter, on the edge of the wharf, his
sauntering ceased rather abruptly.  From somewhere came a
well-directed stream of blue, evil-smelling, pipe smoke, which shot
down with the wind squarely athwart his face.

Harcourt looked up to see a man, obviously a "sunfish" or cattle-boat
hand, leaning lazily upon the rail above him and grinning amiably at
the intruder.

Foul beyond the ordinary foulness of the bullock waiter was the man,
his clothes a mere mass of tattered rags, and dirt; but there was a
twinkle in his grey eyes, and his face and neck were brown and rough
and muscled.  His tousle of black hair was crowned by a battered felt
hat, whose brim flapped at weird angles about his ears; but from brow
to chin his face was aquiline, sharp, while, as he addressed the
other, white teeth flashed on his pipe-stem.

"Slumming, pardner?"

Harcourt smiled, his cheeks rosy through their bronze, and something
of the cool insolence that had rested in the grey eyes above him died
away before his look.

"Perhaps.  Come down here, my man.  I'd like a word with you, don't
you know."

The sunfish did not move, but sent a slow stream of smoke down the
wind, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'm not your man," came the calm retort.  "Also, I'm quite satisfied
where I am.  If you want a word with me you are at liberty to trot up
here; but I'd advise you to take that white coat off first.  I'm
liable to muss it up if you get me too excited."

The Englishman stared for a moment, evidently surprised at the voice
and accent of the sunfish, which held quite as much authority as did
his own and which betrayed culture despite the challenging veneer of
insolence.

Meanwhile, the scattered sunfish and cowpunchers took note of their
visitor's stoppage and, as the last of the cattle were shoved into
their pen, a little crowd collected about the gang, scenting trouble
with unmingled joy.  Seeing that one of their comrades had taken the
burden upon his own shoulders, they encouraged him distantly.

"Don't youse take any lip off'n him, pal!"

"Tell the bleedin', bloody toff 'is pants is tore, 'Ammer!"

"Ain't his little feet pretty----"

The murmuring died away with startling abruptness, for one of the
cow-punchers shouted over from the pen, with callous indifference to
the feelings of the visitor;

"Shut up, you stiffs!  That's his lordship what laid out the Brighton
Blighter last night.  I seen him do it!"

Amid the ensuing silence Harcourt flushed darkly and walked to the
gangway, the men drawing back suddenly from his mild look.

Up above watched the sunfish, his grey eyes wide, for all the docks
had heard the story--how the famous Brighton Blighter had encountered
some toff or other in Oxford Street the previous night, and how,
after some passing reference to lords and ladies, the heavy-weight
champion had been knocked out cold within a minute.

So this mild-eyed, wide-shouldered yachtsman was the man, then!  The
sunfish quietly laid aside his pipe and stood waiting; if his
invitation had been accepted in the spirit in which it had been
issued, he was like to have his work cut out for him.  Harcourt,
however, displayed no bellicose intention, but halted a few feet away.

"Well, now that I am here, I presume you'll grant me a few moments?"

The sunfish grinned as the blue eyes twinkled into his.

"I can spare you five minutes, my lord.  I thought that perhaps you
desired a sparring partner!"

"Oh, I say now!"  Harcourt flushed again and was plainly ill at ease.
"Just forget all that bally rot, can't you?  It's too beastly----"

"Listen!"

The sunfish held up a hand, and from the wharf below a confused
murmur drifted up from the gathering crowd.

"That's 'im, a talkin' to 'Ammer!"

"Aw, what youse givin' us?  He didn't knock out your blamed white
hope!"

"Stow that, ye flatfoot!  Billy here seen it, an' that's the guy, all
right!"

The sunfish grinned again at the uneasy yachtsman.  "Don't be
bashful, your lordship--true greatness cannot be hidden under
flannels, even at Deptford, you see.  Sorry to receive you in these
duds, but my valet hasn't come down to the dock as yet."

A flicker of something that was not amusement flared out in the blue
eyes, but it passed quickly with a chuckle.

"All right, my friend--you're the man I'm looking for!  But, upon my
word, I hardly expected such good luck."

"It's all yours so far," came the dry retort.  "Only, if you're
looking for a thug, you'll find plenty down there in the crowd."  His
grey eyes rested shrewdly, but laughingly, on the other.

"No, thanks very much."  An appraising glance and a nod accompanied
the words.  "You'll do.  Your name is Hammer I take it.  American?"

"Stars and stripes, you bet.  As to Hammer, that's not my name, but
it's handle enough for this craft.  'Ammer, 'ammer, 'ammer on the
'ard 'ighway, you know--only my cognomen is a title of distinction
gained by the honest use of fists.  Yours, if you have one, was
probably gained through the chance of birth.  I will say, though,
that you're very decent-looking, for a Britisher."

"Oh, thanks very much!"  The visitor seemed anything but angry, to
the visible disappointment of the watching gangway; still, he very
plainly was bewildered by the cultured tones of the sunfish.  "Are
you--er--looking for work?"

"Well, that depends on the work," returned Hammer easily, paying no
heed to the outraged ship's officers, who were looking on aghast.
"No yachting, thanks.  Too hard to look pleasant all the time.
Besides, I can't keep straight."

The other's eyes met his, unsurprised, questioning, and beneath that
level gaze Hammer only kept up his truculent air with an effort.
This Englishman was very likeable.

"How so, Mr. Hammer?"

"Oh, general cussedness and particular booze.  Better browse along
and hunt up another victim, your lordship!  I like your looks, but I
don't like my own--in comparison."

This rather impulsive admission had no effect on Harcourt beyond
sending a stubborn glint into his blue eyes.  Deliberately pausing to
light a cigarette, he extended his case to the other; Hammer refused,
replacing his pipe in his mouth, but this time he carefully sent the
smoke downward.

"No, I'm rather keen on you, Hammer.  I've been--er--browsing along,
as you say, all of the morning without any success, and it's getting
tiresome.  As matter of fact, I came out to look for a man with a
second officer's ticket, a man who could use his fists and who was
willing to take a chance with me.

"Now, however, I've changed my mind.  I'm not quite sure yet as to
what offer I'll make you, but come up to my address in the city when
you're through here--to-night, if you can.  Here's my card and a
tenner to act as retainer."

The astonished Hammer mechanically shoved the Bank of England note
into some recess of his ragged shirt, then perused the card.  He
looked up with hesitation in his eyes.

"Mind, Harcourt, I've warned you that I'm no good----"

"Nonsense!  If I was after a sober, respectable seaman, do you think
I'd have come here looking for one?  When can I expect to see you?"

"Oh, have it your own way, then!"  Hammer shrugged his shoulders,
resignedly.  "I'll meet you say, at Prince's for dinner.  Centre
table, far end."

"Eh?"  Harcourt's eyes opened.  "You--er--but Prince's, don't you
know----"

"----Doesn't go with these duds, you mean?"  Hammer chuckled as he
finished the other's hesitating sentence.  "Never mind--you should
worry, Harcourt!  Much obliged for the tenner, just the same; all you
have to do is to show up and see what you find.  Seven-thirty suit
you?"

"Very well, thanks," murmured Harcourt, and so the colloquy ended--in
amused and rather interested toleration on the part of the sunfish,
and in bewildered doubt on that of the Englishman.

At seven-thirty that evening Harcourt received another shock, and
this time a greater one.  For after he stepped into the big
dining-room at Prince's and beckoned the stately head-waiter, that
individual arrived with the calm information that Mr. Hammer was
waiting.

"Er--you know Mr. Hammer, Bucks?"

"Quite well, sir," responded Bucks, and Harcourt followed in subdued
amazement.

He was led to a table, from which a man in evening dress sprang to
meet him, hand extended.  For a moment the sorely-doubting Englishman
did not recognize the sunfish, until he took in the hard grey eyes,
the tanned features, the keen incisive lines of the face.

Then he recovered himself and went through the form of greeting
stiffly; but Hammer had no intention of letting him off so easily.

"It was rather a low-down trick, wasn't it?" grinned the American
cheerfully.  "However, we'll have an explanation all around.  Poor
chap, your face was a picture this morning when I announced that we'd
dine here!"

"I must apologize, of course, my dear chap," returned Harcourt
ruefully; then, unable to resist the infectious humour of the other,
he broke into a laugh and the incident was closed.

In truth, Cyrus Hammer was well calculated to draw a second glance,
for not only did his evening clothes fit him impeccably, but he wore
them with ease and grace which made him to the full as _distingué_ as
his aristocratic companion.

His mouth was hard, and there were lines in his face which has no
place in the face of a man of twenty-eight who had lived his life
well; but these were in great part redeemed by an abundance of
unfailing good humour, which hid, mask-like, the hard-fisted quality
of the man underneath.

Harcourt wasted no time, and no sooner was the dinner fairly begun
than he plunged headlong into the subject under discussion.

"Hammer, I have a little surprise for you myself, perhaps.  I told
you this morning that I had changed my plans pending your acceptance
of my offer to you, so there is no use in beating about the bush.

"Until a month ago I had considered myself fairly well fixed for
life; then came that flurry in Wall Street which wrecked two of your
big institutions.

"I woke up one morning to find myself almost a beggar, as all my
funds were invested in American securities and they had slipped down
and out with a crash.  My word, it was a blow!  I had a few hundreds
left; no more."

Hammer displayed none of the surprise he felt at this astounding
revelation, but merely nodded; and after a moment, the other
continued:

"Practically all that I saved out of the crash was my yacht, the
_Daphne_.  All my family have been sailors, don't you know, and if I
hadn't been, sent down from the 'Mill'--Woolwich--years ago, I'd have
been in the navy to-day.  In fact, one of my proudest possessions is
a Board of Trade certificate as Master.

"Well, I'd about made up my mind to sell the craft and try my luck in
your bally country, when along comes an offer to charter the yacht.
That gave me the idea.  I say, Hammer, why couldn't I take this party
out to East Africa, where they wish to go, then--er--browse around
the ocean, acting as my own captain?  Couldn't a chap make a decent
living at that, eh?"

"Ought to," chuckled Hammer, making no secret of his interest by this
time.  "If you're willing to take a bit of risk once in a while, I
fancy you could pick up some easy coin, and have a good time as well.
But why should this party want to charter a yacht to reach East
Africa with?"

"Oh, it's that big Dresden archaeological chap, Dr. Sigurd
Krausz--he's sending out an expedition to dig up some beastly thing
or other, and wants the _Daphne_ for his own use, the field force
going separately.  I've not the slightest idea what he's after, but
he's willing to pay well, and seems to be doing the thing on his own
hook instead of working for any museum.

"But let's get down to business, Hammer.  I've been thinking this
over, and since I am frankly down and out, as you Americans would
say, I've no notion of depending on myself alone.  I'm a pretty good
character-reader, Hammer, and I liked you at first sight or I
wouldn't make this offer.  Other things being equal, how would you
like to take a junior partnership in the _Daphne_?"

Hammer looked at him silently, wondering if the man meant what he
said.  But the other was plainly in earnest, and, moreover, Hammer
thought that he had seldom met a man to whom he was so attracted.
That the liking was mutual there seemed to be no doubt; but would it
last?

"I don't know," he returned slowly.  "I'm no sailor, for one
thing--I'm a cattle-boat hand, and nothing else.  I can't see where
I'd be any good."

"No matter," declared Harcourt impatiently.  "You could soon pick up
navigation; for that matter, there are plenty of men in command of
craft without proper license.  However, I'm not figuring on you as a
sailor.  I can do that, but I don't know a bally thing about
business.  You could handle the business end of everything and
gradually work into handling the ship; she'd be my property, of
course, but we'd share even on what we made."

"Go slow now," and Hammer laughed quietly while the waiter hovered
about them.  Then, when they were once more alone, he went on:
"Better let me spin you my yarn first, then see how far you'd be
willing to trust me."

Hammer's real name was Cyrus Murray, and until three years before
this time he had been engaged in a profitable brokerage business in
New York City.  Alone in the world, he had made his own way, and in
the course of its making he had contracted a hasty and ill-advised
marriage with a girl who was in no way fitted to be his wife.

It was a sordid little tragedy, by no means uncommon in American life
of to-day; but, unfortunately for Murray, his wife had been the first
to discover that it was a tragedy.

He glossed over this portion of the tale in its telling, merely
stating that he had allowed her to obtain a divorce, and had turned
over to her the greater part of his worldly goods; but he had been
hard hit by the entire affair.

Impulsively, he had thrown his business overboard, and one night, in
reckless desperation, he sought shelter from his thoughts by shipping
aboard a cattle-boat.  Curiously enough, before he reached Liverpool
he had found that in spite of the terribly rough life, in spite of
the almost daily battles for existence into which his very appearance
and manner flung him, the hard physical labour and the tortured
weariness of his body was a relief to his mind.  Then the liquor.

So for three years he had been traversing the Atlantic, working hard,
fighting hard, drinking hard; his ambition was destroying; he took
savage zest in bullying the thugs and degenerates who were his
companions in misfortune, and he had thought himself fairly content
at the level to which he had sunk.

Upon each arrival in England he made a practise of going to London
and living like a gentleman for a week or two--for he had still some
money left--until the life became unbearable to him, and back he
would go to his cattle-boats and human cattle.

"There's the whole thing," he concluded with a bitter smile.  "A fool
paying for his folly, that's all.  Still want me?"

"Yes," came the quiet answer.  "I think we're well mated, Hammer;
but, to make sure, suppose we make this a trial cruise together.
You'll never find any ambition aboard a bally cattle-boat, that's
sure, and you might better go to hell decently, if you're bound to go.

"However, you're a real man, and I like you.  My offer stands; only,
don't you know, I want your word that you won't drink while you're
with me.  I mean--er--well, drinking in a beastly fashion----"

"I get you, old man," chuckled Hammer quickly.  "Suppose we put it
that I can drink as much as you do, but no more, eh?  All right,
then--but I've really no great inclination for drink in itself.  You
have my word of honour, such as it is--and here's a toast in coffee
to the _Daphne_ and the daffy Dutchman!"

"Done!" cried Harcourt in undisguised delight, but as he raised his
cup Bucks approached with a whispered word and a card.  Harcourt
frowned, glancing at the latter.

"'John Solomon'--who the devil is John Solomon?  Who is he, Bucks?"

"A rather queer _person_, sir," replied the head-waiter sagely.  "I
might let him wait in a private room, sir!"

"All right, do so.  We'll be out in a moment--confounded nuisance!
How did the fellow come to look me up here?  By Jove, Hammer, the
unmitigated insolence of some----"

"Cool off," laughed the American.  "Here, have another cigarette
before we go, and we can investigate your friend after we finish.
Funny name, John Solomon!"




CHAPTER II

JOHN SOLOMON

Since Hammer had an inveterate dislike of fat men in general, and
blue-eyed fat men in particular--born out of his experience with a
fat and demented Swede cook on his first cattle-boat trip--it was not
to be wondered at that he eyed John Solomon with no great favour in
his heart.  For John Solomon was fat and blue-eyed.

"Pudgy" would be a better word than the flat and misleading "fat".
Pudgy embraces the face that a man is not merely fat, but that he is
filled to a comfortable completeness, as it were; that he is not too
fat to move about, but just enough so to be dignified on occasion;
and that his expression is cheerful above all else.

Save for this last item, the description fitted John Solomon to a
dot, for while his face was cheerful enough, it was as totally devoid
of expression as a face can be--and still remain a face.

He was a short, little man, not more than five feet six, very
decently dressed in blue serge, and he sat quite contentedly filling
a short clay pipe from a whittled plug as Hammer and Harcourt entered
the private room.

When he glanced up and rose to meet them, the first thing Hammer
noticed was that healthy-looking yet expressionless face, from which
gazed out two eyes of pale blue and of great size.

As he came to learn later, Nature had endowed John Solomon with
absolutely stolid features, but in compensation had given him eyes
which could be rendered unusually intelligent at times.

"You are John Solomon?" questioned Harcourt curtly.  "What is your
business with me, and how did you know I was here?"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," and the pale-blue eyes met the darker
ones of Harcourt without shrinking.  "I 'ave a pal down at Deptford
who 'appens to 'ear what you and Mr. 'Ammer said this morning.  'E
knowed I was werry anxious for a ship, and 'e comes to me with it."

"Oh, you want a ship, then?" returned Harcourt.  "And therefore you
interrupt a gentleman at dinner in a fashionable restaurant----"

"I didn't mean no 'arm, sir," broke in Solomon, without cringing,
however.  "You see, sir, I 'adn't no means o' knowing where to find
you otherwise.  I say that if so be as a man wants work, it don't
matter 'ow 'e gets it, so 'e gets it, and I trust as 'ow you'd look
at it the same way, Mr. Harcourt, sir."

"And quite right you are, John Solomon," exclaimed Hammer, amused
despite himself, and beginning to think that this pudgy little man
had some brains.  Since Harcourt was not quite sure whether to be
angry or not, the American's laugh saved the situation for the
moment.  "You're got plenty of nerve, my friend, but you must want
work pretty badly to go after it so strong.  What's your
line--seaman?"

"No, sir," and the wide blue eyes rested in child-like faith on
Hammer's face.  "I'm a bit 'eavy for that there, sir, though I've
A.B. papers.  No sir, though I can do a bit o' navigation at a pinch,
I'd feel more at 'ome like wi' figures.  I writes a good 'and, sir,
and I knows 'ow to 'andle port off'cers and such.  If so be as you
could use a supercargo, sir?"

Hammer turned to the Englishman, who was still eyeing Solomon
doubtfully.

"How are we fixed for officers, anyway, Harcourt?  I've got a grudge
against fat men as a rule, but hanged if I don't admire this chap's
nerve!  A man who'll butt into a place like this to get a job must
have something in him."

Harcourt rubbed his chin reflectively.  "Well, the yacht has been
laid up for six months and didn't have any crew, so Krausz agreed to
place a dozen of his own men aboard her under a mate, if I'd find a
chief officer and an engine-room crew.

"So far as standing watches is concerned, you can rank as first mate,
unofficially, and I've already arranged for my old chief engineer to
pick up his own men.

"A supercargo isn't absolutely essential, but Krausz is going to take
a lot of stuff out to do his excavating with, as well as packing
cases and all that bally impedimenta--my word, Hammer, I don't just
know what to say!"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," put in Solomon, as the other paused, "but
I can take care o' port papers and such werry well, and 'ave A1
references.  A supercargo ain't no use unless 'e's a lot o' use, I
says, sir, and I goes on that princ'ple.  What's more, Mr. 'Ammer, I
knows a man as can fix you up wi' first off'cer's papers for a matter
o' two pun and no questions asked."

The twinkle in the blue eyes drew an answering chuckle from the
American, even Harcourt relaxing sufficiently to smile slightly.

"You seem to have your uses, certainly," said the Englishman dryly.
"By the way, Hammer, where are you stopping?"

"I've stopped," grinned the American cheerfully.  "My war-bag's
aboard the ship still, but there's nothing in it worth carrying off.
I have my pipe here, and no other clothes worthy the name.

"Then you'd better go home with me to-night," returned the other.
"We'll do the opera first, if you like.  To-morrow, you can take up
your quarters aboard the _Daphne_, and we can talk over money matters
at leisure.

"Now, John Solomon, you seem to have a fairly good idea of my
business already, so I'll simply say that my yacht, the _Daphne_, is
anchored at the Royal Thames docks and that you can go aboard
whenever you please.  As supercargo, you will join the officers'
mess, of course, but I'll be aboard to-morrow and will fix things up
with you, and you can sign articles then.  And--er--about those bally
papers--er--you had better get them."

"Yes, sir, I'll 'ave them to-morrow, sir," and John Solomon touched
his forehead respectfully; but Hammer imagined that he caught
something very like a wink from one of those wide blue eyes.

"Thank you werry much, Mr. Harcourt, and you, Mr. 'Ammer, and I'll be
aboard bright and early, since it's the early worm what sees the bird
first, as the Good Book says."

"Very good," rejoined Harcourt briefly, and so John Solomon passed
forth from all the glory of Prince's, with his little black clay pipe
wagging defiantly at the liveried doormen, and the place thereof knew
him no more.

Although he had accepted the proffered partnership glibly enough,
Hammer was by no means sure that he would stick to it, for various
reasons.  Chief among these was the fact that he had a profound
distrust of himself; since he had deliberately thrown himself to the
dogs, in a way, he had come to have a deep-rooted conviction that he
was no good, that his better qualities mere surface outcroppings, and
that a man such as Harcourt would like him less the better he knew
him.

Still, he frankly liked Harcourt, and the idea of free-lancing about
the ocean appealed strongly to him.  But he had so long been
battering down the better side of his own nature, the shock of his
past trouble had so deeply bitten into his soul, that he could not
look forward to the future with anything approaching hope.

His very promise to abstain from drink had been made solely because
that was the only way in which he could accept Harcourt's offer, and
not from any desire to regain his lost state.

"No," he told himself that night, alone in his room at Harcourt's
apartments, "I guess I'm a wastrel, pure and simple.  I've nothing to
go ahead for, and I've got a devil of a lot to forget; if I can only
get up enough interest in the yacht and in the places we visit and
the work we do, then there's a chance that I can break even and stay
decent for a while.  And, Lord knows, it's about time!"

In which conclusion he was undeniably correct, much more so than in
his foregoing premises.  For Hammer was not nearly so unlikeable as
he imagined; in the effort to cast his old life and his youthful
mistakes far behind him he had plunged into the swiftest maelstrom he
could find, as better men than he have done and will do, but he had
managed to keep his head above water--much to his own surprise.

The good-humoured manner, which was at first an assumption to hide
the hurts beneath, had finally become reality, and perhaps Harcourt
had shrewdly reckoned on the fact that mental trouble is very likely
to lessen and vanish beneath the light of friendship.

Harcourt himself was little bothered over his own financial crash.
Accustomed to thinking little of money or its value, he did not
trouble greatly about making his living now that his plans for the
immediate future were settled.  He was twenty-six, two years younger
than the American, but he had taken the _Daphne_ far around the seven
seas, and in some ways was a good deal older than Hammer.

The following day, having procured other clothes than his dress-suit,
Hammer went aboard the _Daphne_.  She was a small but luxuriously
furnished steam-yacht of a thousand tons burden, and having been
already overhauled for the benefit of Dr. Krausz, was ready for sea,
save for stores and crew; also, the archaeologist's "impedimenta", as
Harcourt had termed it, had not yet come aboard.  Hammer was
delighted with her, and with Harcourt and John Solomon, put in a busy
day.

Harcourt was well satisfied with his supercargo, for Solomon took
charge of the purchasing of the stores, and not only procured them of
excellent quality, but at an astonishingly low price.

He proved to have a thorough acquaintance with his duties, and also
with the duties of the other officers, and promised to be on the
whole an exceedingly useful man.

Nothing was seen of Dr. Sigurd Krausz during the next two days, but
Hammer learned that the point of the expedition was a small bay near
Melindi, on the East African coast, and that another part of the
expedition was being sent ahead to make the preliminary excavations.

On the third morning Harcourt sent the American to Krausz's hotel to
inform the professor that the yacht was ready for her lading and
passengers, and now, for the first time, as a result of that sending,
Cyrus Hammer found himself awakening to the fact that he had been
suddenly transplanted into a group of peculiar individuals, from the
aristocratic but "busted" viscount and the pudgy John Solomon to the
unscientific-appearing scientist, and that there was a screw loose
somewhere.

This was the manner of it.  Being now in possession of his
firstmate's certificate--"and no questions asked"--Hammer sent in his
name and was admitted to the presence of the already-famous
archaeologist.  For Sigurd Krausz was not after the pattern Hammer
had anticipated.

He was a rather thick-set man, clad only in pyjamas, and was at work
over a desk full of papers.  These he abandoned to greet Hammer,
pulling the latter aside to the window as if to keep him away from
the desk.

Then, through his host's _négligé_ attire, Hammer saw that Krausz was
a mass of muscles; his hand-grip was like iron, and his large head
was set well back between his shoulders in a fashion which made him
greet the world with out-flung jaw.

There was nothing very remarkable about the man's face, which was
Saxon rather than Teutonic, save for the heavy-lidded eyes.  The
features were regular, of massive mould, and the ridge denoting the
thinker overhung the eyes; but--and this Hammer did not observe at
once---the right temple was crossed by a nervous muscle, which
throbbed like a ribbon underneath the skin.

On the whole, Hammer liked the scientist, deciding that while his
face could be cruel upon occasion, it was the face of a strong man.

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Hammer," exclaimed Krausz cordially,
on learning the American's errand.  He seemed in no hurry to return
to his papers, but pressed Hammer into a chair and questioned him
closely about the yacht, puffing the while at a long black panetela.

Thanks to his recent labours, Hammer survived the examination in good
shape, and his personality seemed to make some impression on the
German.

"I like you, yess, friend Hammer," remarked the latter, handing him
one of the thin panetelas.  "Also, I like Mr. Harcourt, and trust we
will get on well together.  You are American, yess?  I like
Americans, but not the British, for sailors.  That iss why I am
putting some of my own men aboard, for they will also serve as
helpers in the work.  You are interested in archaeology, yess?"

"Not in general," returned Hammer frankly.  "However, I didn't know
there was anything to be dug up on the east coast of Africa."

"Oh, plenty, plenty!" puffed the other, and after a long puff
continued: "It iss some relics of Portuguese rule in Mombasa which I
hope to find--relics more important ass ethnological and historic
things than for their intrinsic value."

"By the way, I'd like to know just how many are in your party,
doctor.  Our steward wants to get the cabins in shape."

"My party?  _Nein_, there will be but myself and my secretary going
out.  Professor Helmuth my assistant, leaves to-day for Mombasa to
get things started, and coming back we will perhaps crowd the ship,
yess.

"My second mate, Hans Schlak, will bring the men aboard to-morrow; if
our necessary permits, and so on, arrive from the British Colonial
Office, we will leave the day after.  They should be here already.
That iss satisfactory?"

"Perfectly--" began Hammer, when a third voice interrupted
apologetically.

"In half an hour the _Mombasa_ sails, Herr Doctor!"

Krausz turned with an exclamation.  Shuffling out from a shadowed
corner of the room, Hammer saw a black-clad, small, flat-chested man,
with deep-set, furtive eyes, high brow, and retreating chin; the chin
did not express weakness altogether, for it was rather the fox chin,
which denotes cunning and ability.  The doctor waved a hand.

"Mr. Hammer, my secretary, Adolf Jenson.  Very good, Adolf; better
take a taxi and deliver the papers in person.  Remember, Professor
Sara L. Helmuth, stateroom 12 B."

With this he turned to the desk and picked up a small black rubber
wallet, which Jenson took with something very like a cringe,
departing with an inaudible murmur of words.

Somewhat disgusted with the man, Hammer followed him, once more
gripping the firm hand of Krausz and taking with him the remembrance
of cordial words and an effusive smile from the big scientist.

The American stopped in the hotel entrance to light the doctor's
cigar, and, as he glanced over his cupped hands, he saw something
that astonished him.  For there, just at the curb, and beckoning
frantically to the nearest taxi, was no less a person than his
supercargo, honest John Solomon!

Hammer stared in disbelief of his own eyes, since Solomon was at that
moment supposed to be laying in a supply of extra cabin stores on the
other side of the city.

But there was no mistake; even as the taxi drew up Solomon turned and
waved his cap at some unseen individual farther up the street, then
scrambled headfirst into the machine, his hurried words floating back
to Hammer:

"P. and O. docks--the _Mombasa_!  And 'urry or no tip!"

The taxi darted away, Hammer staring after it dazedly.  What on earth
could this mean?  Why was this fat little Cockney supercargo of his
chasing in a taxi-cab after a P. and O. liner due to sail in half an
hour?  Could it have any connection with the errand of the secretary,
Adolf Jenson?

A flood of questions darted through Hammer's brain on the instant,
and, giving way to the impulse, he sprang to the taxi which had drawn
up to the curb in place of that taken by Solomon.  Whatever the
supercargo's purpose might be, Hammer determined to get down to the
dock before the liner sailed and see what was going on, if possible.
It might be a wild-goose chase, but on the other hand----

"P. and O. docks--I want to see the _Mombasa_ go out, and she leaves
in twenty minutes.  Do it on the jump!"

The chauffeur grinned, and slammed the door.  A moment later they
were driving through the streets at a good speed, the American still
pondering this surprising action of his harmless-looking little
supercargo.

And Solomon had actually been talking of tips, when only a couple of
days before he had dared much in order to capture a job!  The whole
affair was perplexing in the extreme.

"I never did like fat men, anyhow," reflected Hammer grimly.  "That
chap seemed to know a whole lot the first night we met, and I'll bet
that he isn't the fool he looks by a long shot.  But whatever got him
mixed up with this Krausz business--if he is mixed up in it?  I may
be barking up the wrong tree, of course, and everything may be all
right, so I'd better go slow if I catch him."

The conviction grew upon him during the remainder of his ride that he
would have done much better to have waited, and to have questioned
Solomon upon returning to the yacht.

The man might have friends leaving on the liner--but Hammer forgot
his vague reasonings when the taxi drew up suddenly and he found the
entrance to the docks of the Peninsula and Oriental just ahead.

The chauffeur had done his work well, for the journey had taken just
fifteen minutes.  Hammer found the dock gates open and pushed his way
through the crowd; as he did so he passed the black-clad figure of
Adolf Jenson.

But the meek little secretary did not look up, vanishing toward the
gates; and the American glanced around for John Solomon in vain.

There was no trace of him in the crowd, and the ship had already been
cleared of visitors.  The waiting tenders had their lines out, and as
Hammer gazed up the gang-plank was just being taken in.

The whistle crashed out, drowning the tinkle of bells, and at the
same instant Hammer saw an officer walk hastily to the open gangway,
accompanied by a small pudgy man, dressed in blue.

They stood talking together for an instant, then shook hands; the
siren shrilled forth, and wharf-lines were cast off, and John Solomon
leaped ashore with amazing agility, and was lost in the crowd.

Standing watching in sore perplexity, Hammer recalled the name of the
scientist's assistant--"Professor Sara L. Helmuth".  He turned and
pushed back to his waiting taxicab, execrating his useless trip, for
he was now convinced that it had been useless.

"I seem fated to get mixed up with people I don't like," he smiled to
himself, as he was being driven back to the city, the Royal Thames
docks being up-river.  "First it's a blue-eyed fat man, and then it's
a woman relic-hunter, to say nothing of that swine of a secretary.
Sara L. Helmuth--gosh, what a name!  I never did know a woman named
Sara that was worth a darn for looks."

With which conclusion he paid off his chauffeur and walked the
remainder of the distance in an irritable humour enough.  This humour
was by no means lessened when he saw John Solomon standing at the
gangway, checking off some stores that were coming aboard, while a
number of heavily-loaded wagons stood waiting by the foredeck, where
a steam winch was getting into action and stevedores were bustling
about.

"What's all this?" he demanded bluntly.  "I thought you were in the
city."

"No, sir," returned Solomon, not looking up.  "I did take a bit of a
run up, sir; but them 'ere wagons were a bringing of our lading, so I
'urried back.  Werry fine day, sir."

Hammer grunted.  "Tell the steward that there will only be two
passengers.  Dr. Krausz and his secretary.  The crew will be aboard
to-night or in the morning."

"Werry good, sir."

Solomon went calmly on with his lists while the extra cabin stores
were brought up the gangway.  Suddenly, as one of the trucks stopped
for checking off, a case of tinned goods joggled over, and Solomon
leaned forward, catching it before it fell.

The action flung his short blue coat up around his waist, and Hammer
caught a glimpse of a black rubber wallet protruding from the man's
hip-pocket.  He recognized it instantly; it was the same wallet which
Krausz had sent aboard the _Mombasa_ an hour previously!

The American leaned quickly forward and snatched the wallet away.
Solomon, having replaced the case, straightened up and whirled, and
Hammer met his wide blue stare with a smile.

"You nearly lost this," he said coolly.  "Nothing very valuable, I
hope?"

Solomon's eyes widened a trifle.

"Lud, no, sir!  Nothing more wallyble than my 'baccy, sir.  If so be
as a man likes 'baccy I says, then it's place ain't in a dirty
pocket, but in a neat like pouch, says I.  Werry kind o' you to save
it for me, sir."

Ignoring the outstretched hand, Hammer opened the wallet, determined
to test the truth of Solomon's explanation.  He was convinced that
this same black rubber pouch had contained the papers sent by Krausz
to Professor Sara L. Helmuth, and that Solomon had, in some way,
obtained them from the latter, or else from the meek secretary.

But his growing anger evaporated suddenly when the opened wallet
showed nothing more than a vile-smelling flat plug of very black,
molasses-impregnated tobacco.

"Yes, a good pouch, that," he said quietly, closing it up and handing
it back to its owner, his face inscrutable.  "Is Mr. Harcourt about?"

"In the saloon cabin, sir," and, nodding, the American went on board.

He looked back once and saw Solomon mopping his brow; for some reason
the action seemed significant of relief on the part of the
supercargo, and Hammer frowned.

"Confound it, I'd like to know a few things!" he muttered savagely.
"I'll have a run-in with that fellow yet!  Wish I hadn't stood up for
him the other night at Prince's; I should have let Harcourt kick him
out, and a good job."

And the events which were to follow kept the regret keen in his mind.




CHAPTER III

THE ROAD TO MELINDI

"Well, the beggar was jabbering Arabic with those three men behind
the ventilator this morning, and his actions don't look good to me,
Harcourt.  Oh, you can laugh, and be hanged to you!  I tell you that
John Solomon has more brains than his position warrants, and that----"

"Oh, nonsense, old chap!  Don't be so beastly suspicious; Solomon
told me at Port Said that he knew a smattering of Arabic, and he's
been tremendously handy.  I say, look at those hills, eh?"

Hammer relapsed into sulky silence, and presently Harcourt left the
bridge to him and sought his cabin, while the American remained
staring moodily at the purplish-blue Jeb el Geneffeh hills to the
south-west, for the _Daphne_ was passing through the Bitter Lakes,
midway of the Suez Canal.

Until reaching Port Said, the cruise had been perfect in every way,
and his half-realized suspicions of John Solomon had completely
fallen into abeyance.

As Harcourt said, the man had proved to be very useful, indeed; he
seemed to have a perfect knowledge of port regulations everywhere; he
attended to customs and _pratique_ expeditiously, and almost made
himself indispensable at mess, with his unfailing good humour and
occasional fragments of home-made philosophy.

In fact, he seemed to have taken a liking to Hammer, and the American
had begun to reciprocate it--until Port Said.

Here, barely an hour before they left for Suez, word was brought
aboard that three of the German crew were in the hands of the
Sudanese police.  Dr. Krausz, who, with his secretary, had not left
his cabin a dozen times during the cruise, went ashore with Harcourt
in furious excitement, but returned considerably subdued.

It seemed that the three men had fallen foul of some French and Arabs
in the native quarter, that a row had arisen, and one of the French
had been stabbed.

Consequently, there was nothing to be done save to place the matter
in the hands of the German Consul and go on, since Krausz did not
wish to be detained pending the case.

As another of the crew was down with eye-trouble and ought to be left
behind in hospital John Solomon had offered to pick up three or four
natives who could make themselves generally useful, and after some
hesitation, Krausz accepted, and the supercargo had promptly got his
four Arabs aboard.

When, the next morning, Hammer had found Solomon talking Arabic with
three of them in shelter of a ventilator, he had at once laid the
affair of the black wallet before Harcourt, all his suspicions
aroused.

But the Englishman laughed him down, and even Hammer had to admit
that there was nothing very terrible about the pudgy little man.  So
while the _Daphne_ pursued her course through the sandy wastes to
Port Ibrahim and Suez, Cyrus Hammer gradually threw off his almost
groundless suspicions and took on his usual good-humoured manner once
more.

Hans Schlak, the second mate, was a big blond German--a Viking in
appearance, slow and stolid, but thoroughly efficient in every way.

The men, too, were smart and well-behaved, responding so well to
Harcourt's discipline that Hammer was not surprised to find that most
of them had served in the German navy.

Beyond discharging her pilot and sending some letters ashore for the
doctor, the _Daphne_ made no stop at Port Ibrahim, and by next
morning she was well on her way out of the gulf and down the Red Sea.

They were holding in somewhat to the Arabian coast, and Hammer, in
charge of the bridge, was seated in the chart-house going over a
lesson in navigation, when a figure darkened the doorway and John
Solomon entered.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. 'Ammer, sir, but would you 'ave the
kindness to let me take a bit of a look through the glass?"

"Well, I don't know that it would do any great harm," replied Hammer
cheerfully.  "Help yourself, Solomon.  Want to get a last look at
Asia, eh?"

"Yes, sir," came the sober answer, as Solomon procured a pair of
binoculars.  "You see, sir, I was down this 'ere way a few months
ago.  Werry interesting place, Mr. 'Ammer, and when so be as you
finds an interesting place, I says----"

The rest was lost as Solomon directed a fixed gaze from the port
doorway toward the distant coast, and he did not change his attitude
for five minutes.  Hammer watched him with some interest, until at
length the other lowered the glasses with a sigh.

"Lud, what a bare coast she is, sir!  If I might make so bold, sir,
what be we a going to do after we reach Mombasa?"

"Why," smiled Hammer, "we're bound for a little harbour up the coast
called Melindi.  We'll have to leave the yacht at Kilindini harbour,
after the trip up, and go to and from Melindi by launch, I suppose."

"Aye, sir; it's a werry bad place indeed, Melindi.  And may I ask,
sir, if so be as we're a-going to stay with the yacht or go with Dr.
Krausz?"

"Not decided yet, Solomon, to my knowledge.  Why, do you want to go
along with the relic-hunters?"

"No, sir, though I'm werry interested in strange things.  Beggin'
your pardon, sir, Dr. Krausz is all werry well in his way, but 'is
way ain't to me notion."

"So you don't like him?  That's queer!"  Hammer pulled out his pipe,
and, accepting this as tacit permission, Solomon began to whittle at
a plug which he had been holding ready.

The wide blue eyes came up and met his squarely, with just the
suspicion of a frown hovering at their edges.  Hammer decided that
his supercargo might yet inveigle some expression into his face if he
kept on in this way.

"No, sir; me 'umble opinion is that Dutchmen ain't to be trusted, not
so far away from 'ome; and I've 'ad some experience.  Do you think,
sir, as 'ow Mr. Harcourt would give me a discharge at Mombasa?  O'
course, I signed on for the voyage, sir, but I 'ave me reasons for
wantin' to be stopping off at Mombasa, so I comes to you all square
and above-board.  If you want a thing, why, ask for it ship-shape, as
the Good Book says, sir.  That's what I 'old to."

"Right," nodded Hammer.  He was no little surprised at the request;
but as it would have been easy enough to slip the yacht at Mombasa,
the fact that Solomon asked for his discharge so long beforehand
showed a desire on his part to play fair--and also to draw his pay on
being discharged.

"I'll speak to the captain about it, Solomon, and I think it'll be
all right.  But we'll be sorry to lose you, for you've certainly been
a great help to us."

"I'm sorry to be leaving you, sir," and the blue eyes opened a trifle
wider.  "Thank you werry much, Mr. 'Ammer."

This was to be a day of surprises for Cyrus Hammer, however.  The day
was cruelly hot, even the breeze created by the yacht's motion being
stifling, and by noon Hammer, as well as Schlak and the others
aboard, had stripped to pyjamas.

Very little had been seen of Dr. Krausz and Adolf Jenson; most of
their meals had been served in their large cabin; and from the
quantities of mail sent out at each port of call, it had been evident
that the scientist was hard at work.

That afternoon, however, while Hammer was splitting a bottle of beer
with Harcourt in the comparative coolness of the latter's cabin, the
steward appeared.  He was a quiet little Englishman, who had formerly
acted as Harcourt's valet in more prosperous days, and had chosen to
remain with his master.

"Mr. Harcourt," he said, hesitantly, "I'd like to ask you about
something, sir."

"Very well, Roberts.  What's on your mind, my man?"

"Why, sir"--and the steward twisted his cap nervously--"it's Dr.
Krausz, sir.  I'm--I'm afraid as he's going it a bit strong, Mr.
Harcourt."

"Eh?  What do you mean?"

"Why, him and that--that yeller-faced swine Jenson"--and Roberts spat
out the words with a sudden viciousness that was astounding--"I've
been a-taking them champagne, sir, all morning, and a half-hour ago
Dr. Krausz he sent for a bottle o' brandy, sir.  I thought, maybe, as
how you might drop a word to him, sir.  It's a mortal bad climate,
you know, sir, for such goings-on."

Harcourt stared at the American, surprise plain in his eyes.

"My word!" he ejaculated.  "I'd positively no idea that he was a
tippler, 'pon my word!  Has this been going on long, Roberts?"

"Off and on, sir, since we left Gibraltar.  But not so heavy as this,
Mr. Harcourt."

"Very good.  You did quite right in telling me, but mention it to no
one else, understand.  You may go."

Left alone, the two looked at each other for a moment until Hammer
chuckled.

"So our worthy doctor has fallen off the wagon, eh?  Well, it's his
funeral, cap'n, not ours.  Better drop him a hint?"

"Eh?  By Jove, no!  I want no bally German telling me to keep my
place!  He knows what he's doing, Hammer, and I'm no nursemaid, so
we'll let him drink himself to death if he likes.  I'd much sooner
see that fellow Jenson go overboard in a sack, for the doctor's quite
a decent sort, don't you know."

"He might be worse," nodded Hammer.  "Well, I'll be off and get a bit
of sleep under the after-awning by the electric fan."

Here he managed to obtain a modicum of relief from the heat, and
dropped off to sleep without troubling himself over the alcoholism of
Dr. Sigurd Krausz.

How long he was asleep he had no idea, until he was aroused by an
excited voice, which resolved itself into that of the doctor in
question.  Half-clad, dishevelled, and with furiously-flushed
features, the archaeologist was disclaiming wildly in German to Hans
Schlak, whose watch it was.

The two were standing by the starboard rail, and as Hammer raised
himself on his hands the second mate cast a helpless glance at him.
The American caught the look, and did not hesitate to break into the
scientist's flow of words.

"Who's up on the bridge, Schlak?" he asked curtly.  "You'd better get
back before the captain----"

"_Was ist_?"  Krausz lurched about with a black frown, and Schlak
seized the chance to get away.  At the same instant Roberts appeared,
bearing a whisky and soda.  He hesitated at sight of Hammer.

"Throw that stuff overboard, Roberts," commanded the later, rising.
With a look of vast relief the steward obeyed.  Krausz glared at
them, and the American saw the peculiar ribbon of muscle beating
furiously under the skin of his brow.

"How dare you!" burst forth the scientist.  "Pig of an American, you
do not your place know----"

He was swinging his fists wildly in the air, and by sheer accident
managed to catch the tray of Roberts with a blow that sent it
clattering to the deck.  Hammer, angry, took a step forward and
caught the German's wrists in a hard grip.

"Get command of yourself, doctor," he said quietly.  "You're making a
disgraceful scene here."

For an instant the other glared at him with bloodshot, maddened eyes
which, despite his light-brown hair, were of the deepest black.
Then.  Hammer caught a ripple of the man's huge muscles, and he was
flung violently back with a curse.

"Iss it not mine ship?" stormed the angry German.  "Pig!  Dog!  I
will show you----"

He rushed forward.  Hammer, seeing that he had to deal with a sheer
madman, wasted no more words but struck with all his weight behind
the blow.  His fist took Krausz full in the stomach.  and with a
single groan the big man shivered and collapsed in a heap.

"Roberts," and Hammer turned to the wild-eyed steward, "send two of
the Germans here to carry the doctor to his cabin.  Then see to it
that I am called at four bells and not disturbed before then."

Poor Roberts fled hastily, and Hammer composed himself to sleep
again.  He would have thought little of the incident, nor did he
expect that Krausz would remember it; but that evening the doctor
appeared at mess--a very rare thing.  His first act was to go up to
the American with hand outstretched.

"My dear Mr. Hammer," he said, sincerity in his tone.  "I deeply
regret what took place thiss afternoon, and apologize to you for it.
I----"

"Don't say any more, doctor," laughed Hammer, with an amused glance
at the wondering Harcourt, who knew nothing of the occurrence.  "It's
really not worth bothering about, I assure you, and if anyone needs
to be forgiven it is I."

"Not at all," beamed the other, but the muscle over his temple was
beating hard.  "By the way, you found no papers on the deck, yess?"

"I didn't notice any," returned the surprised American.  "Why, did
you lose something?"

"A paper, yess.  Adolf believed me to have had it when I left the
cabin.  But no matter, my friend.  We----"

"Hold on there!" cried Hammer quickly.  "If you lost something, we'll
look into it.  Roberts!  Was anyone else on the after-deck?"

"I saw no one, Mr. Hammer," returned the steward.  "I called the two
men, as you ordered."

Hammer frowned, but Krausz waved a hand and insisted that nothing
mattered; and so the dinner proceeded, with a brief but frank
explanation on the part of the scientist to Harcourt and John
Solomon, Schlak still being on the bridge.

Hammer was about to relieve him when Krausz asked him to wait, as he
wished to explain the purpose of his expedition.

This proved to be of little interest to the American, however.  The
doctor had discovered, some time before, a number of old manuscripts
dealing with the Portuguese occupation of the Mombasa coast.

According to these, there was a place not far from Melindi where a
fort had been established, and where, afterward, a number of vessels
had been wrecked on their way from Goa to Lisbon.

The cargoes had been saved, but before they could be transferred to
Mombasa an irruption of natives had destroyed the fort.  It was
believed that a great portion of valuable relics, with gifts from the
Indian viceroy to the king of Portugal, and other such things, had
been buried somewhere within the fort and had never been located.

These formed the object of the party's work; for if found they would
be of great value to historians, more especially as there were many
papers of interest supposed to be buried with the more intrinsically
valuable articles.

The subject did not appeal particularly to Hammer; but Harcourt
displayed keen interest, while John Solomon stared at Krausz with his
blue eyes growing wider and wider.

"And you mean as 'ow to say that there 'ere loot is still there,
doctor?" he broke forth at last.  Krausz smiled blandly.

"Such is my hope, Mr. Solomon."

"Lud!  The ways o' Prowidence are mysterious, as the Good Book says.
To think o' loot a-laying buried for all this time waiting for you to
dig it up!  Once upon a time I worked for a relic-'unter, like you,
sir.  A fine, upstanding man 'e was, too.  But I says, when there's
summat dead, let it lie.  It ain't proper to dig up the past, as the
old gent said when 'e led 'is third to the altar."

"So you used to work for an archaeologist, yess?" and for the first
time the doctor seemed to find John Solomon worthy of attention.
"Where wass that?"

"A main long time back, sir--up in Palestine it was," and Solomon
sighed reflectively.

Hammer, who was studying Krausz, suddenly saw the muscle in his brow
begin to throb.  He felt himself beginning to dislike that muscle
vaguely.

"'Is name was---dang it!  I've been and forgot--no, I 'aven't
neither!  'Is name was 'Elmuth!" he concluded triumphantly.

"Helmuth!"  The word broke from Krausz and found echo in Hammer's
mind.  The heavy-lidded black eyes of the German were bent suddenly
on Solomon.  "The Herr Professor George Helmuth, yess, of the
University of California?"

"That's 'im, sir!"  Solomon's eyes sparkled.  "American 'e was."

"H-m!"  For some reason the doctor's face darkened.  "Hiss daughter
she iss my assistant, Mr. Solomon.  She wass assistant curator at the
Dresden Library.  Well, my friends, I bid you good evening."

Hammer also departed to the bridge, pondering over the coincidence
brought out by Solomon's words; and when Harcourt joined him for a
smoke they chuckled over it together.  The captain had already
decided to let Solomon go at Mombasa, as there would be little need
of his services for a time.

"Funny thing, that," remarked the Englishman.  "Fancy a woman doing
such work out here in Africa!"

"Oh, shucks!" laughed Hammer carelessly.  "The kind of woman who goes
in for that work--well, you know.  Spectacles and Bibles and a blue
_pagari_* on her sun-helmet."


* This is the correct spelling of the word, which is bastardized into
puggaree or pugree, and other forms.  The "Standard" will probably
give pugaree, or some such spelling--_Author_.


So the matter passed, and for the time he forgot it.  Indeed, Hammer
was busier than he had been for many a day.  Besides lessons in
navigation from Harcourt, he was learning a smattering of Arabic from
Solomon, and already could swear fluently at the four Arab sailors,
who took a cheerful delight in adding to his vocabulary.

Also, he was rather surprised to find that he and Harcourt were
drawing closer together with every day; that he was keenly interested
in his new environment, and was looking forward to newer seas and
lands with unalloyed anticipation.

In fact, he was beginning to see the falsity of his old attitude
toward life, while the taste of authority was sweet to him.  Already
the past had faded out in his mind, save for occasional twinges of
bitterness, at which times he plunged into his work and was
astonished at the ease with which the mood passed.

So the days flew by until the _Daphne_ had rounded Cape Guardafui and
the last leg of the journey was begun, down the east coast of Africa.
They were still three days out from Mombasa when Hammer, who had the
second dog watch, went to Schlak's cabin on being relieved by
Harcourt.

He wanted to ask the second officer about some detail of the chart;
and since it was nearly dark, and he made no noise in his pumps, his
approach must have been unheard.

As the door was slightly ajar, Hammer merely pushed it open with a
word and stepped in.  He heard one sharply-drawn breath, and in the
gloom found himself facing Adolf Jenson, whose face was absolutely
livid.

An instant, as he switched on the light, the American saw the body of
Hans Schlak lying on the floor at his feet, a knife-shaft between the
shoulders.




CHAPTER IV

WHO MURDERED HANS SCHLAK?

"My God!  Don't look at me like that, sir--I didn't do it!"

Trembling in every limb, the secretary shrank back against the berth,
staring up at Hammer with horrified eyes.

The American, to whom Jenson was repulsive, made no attempt to lay a
finger on the man, but stood looking at him with sternly questioning
eyes; palsied with fear, the fellow babbled out protestations of his
innocence until suddenly Hammer waved him silent.

"That's enough from you.  How long have you been here?"

"I just came in, Mr. Hammer.  I can prove it by Dr. Krausz; I've been
with him until just now----"

Hammer leaned over and touched Schlak.  The second mate was dead, and
had been dead for some time, since the body was set fast in the rigor
mortis.  For a moment he looked down, frowning, then swept the cabin
with his gaze.

Evidently here had been a struggle, and a desperate one.  A chair was
broken and overturned, clothes and papers were strewn about the
floor, and the clenched fists of the body showed that death had not
found Hans Schlak unawares.

In one hand Hammer saw a fragment of paper, and after a moment's work
got it away intact; it was a torn corner of a letter, probably, for a
few words in German could be made out written in pencil.

Contrary to his own will and even against his first supposition, the
American was forced to the conclusion that the cringing secretary was
innocent.  True, he had the man standing over the body, but Schlak
had been dead for an hour at least--in all probability he had
returned from the dining-saloon to find his fate awaiting him.

Therefore, someone must have been in his room during his absence at
mess.  Who?  Not Jenson, for Jenson had been at the table with them;
and Hammer mentally accounted for every member of the officers' mess
that evening, except John Solomon.

An instant later he remembered that he himself had sent the
supercargo off to make up some accounts which Harcourt desired to
see, and that Solomon had returned a few moments after Schlak had
left the table.

Therefore, it would seem that the pudgy supercargo was cleared; and
at the thought of the little man killing the viking Hans Schlak,
Hammer smiled grimly.

"So you didn't do it, eh?" he said sternly, thinking to make the
secretary cringe for a moment.  Hammer had a thorough dislike and
contempt for the man, and made no secret of it.  "I find you standing
over this body, and you claim innocence!  Do you think that will
stand when you get up before the German Consul at Mombasa?"

For a moment Jenson broke out anew with his frenzied babbling,
weaving his hands in and out, his face ghastly with terror; then he
caught the American's contemptuous smile and shivered into silence.
Hammer was satisfied, but he was to pay dearly for that short moment
of play with Adolf Jenson's nerves.

"Oh, you're cleared all right, Jenson!  Now go down and send Captain
Harcourt here, and Dr. Krausz with him.  Tell no one else what has
happened."

With which Hammer went forward and investigated among the crew.  But
one and all could account for themselves and proved good alibis, even
to the Arabs; so he returned in disgust to the bridge and relieved
Harcourt temporarily.

In ten minutes the captain returned with Krausz, all three men
entering the chart-house gravely enough.

Hammer told his story, exculpating Jenson fully, and produced the
torn scrap of paper taken from Schlak's hand.  Dr. Krausz, who had
taken the news with astonishing equanimity, examined the paper and
uttered a cry of surprise.

"It iss the paper I lost that day when I was drank!  Mein Gott,
gentlemen, but thiss iss queer!  It iss a copy of one of those
Portuguese 'relations', concerning the place to which we going are."

"So?"  Harcourt inspected the end of his cigar.  "Then whoever took
it from you that day must have been in the cabin with Schlak, and the
row probably started over that paper, by Jove!"  He looked up with
sudden excitement.  "Is anyone else after this treasure, Dr. Krausz?"

The big German blinked in surprise.

"_Hein_! It would be of no interest to others, but to archaeologists,
yess.  No one knows but myself.  There iss not any chance of sich a
thing, I am sure."

"Well, here's the knife.  It ought to be recognized."

Harcourt laid the weapon on the table--a plain, horn-hafted
sheath-knife, with no scratch on the haft to proclaim ownership.

As Hammer had not revealed the cause of his visit to the forecastle,
it was decided to call in each man on board the ship, from stewards
to stokers, and see if the weapon would be recognized.

"It's a cinch that the murderer is on the ship," declared Hammer
confidently.  "If that knife belongs to any of the men it'll probably
be recognized."

"By the way," exclaimed Harcourt, "we ought to have Solomon up here.
I believe that chap has some brains, and he can help us out with the
Arabs.  Can you handle their bally talk at all, Hammer?"

"Fairly well, but not for rapid-fire work.  Yes, better have John
come up, and then start in with the men.  I'd better get the articles
and see that we get hold of every man aboard, hadn't I?"

The captain nodded, and Hammer went below.  He went first to his own
cabin, where he dug to the bottom of a ditty-bag full of soiled linen
and fished out an old-style revolver of small size but heavy calibre.

"Not that I want to shoot her any," he grinned to himself, "but she
feels comforting with murderers aboard!  Guess I'd have to have a man
within a yard of me to hit him with this mule of a gun, anyhow."

Visiting Harcourt's cabin, he procured the ship's papers, sent
Roberts to ask John Solomon to step to the chart-house and to follow
himself, and returned.  At anyrate, he thought grimly, this cruise
bade fair to beat cattle-boats as far as excitement was concerned.

He found the others as he had left them, Harcourt smoking and Krausz
staring glumly at the knife, which lay on the table before them.  A
moment later the supercargo arrived, puffing after his climb, and at
Harcourt's invitation dropped into the fourth deck-chair.

"Do you know that knife, Mr. Solomon?"

"Why, cap'n, I can't say that I do--no, sir; I never laid eyes on it
afore, not as I knows of.  I--why, dang it!  There's blood----"

"Yes," cut in Harcourt grimly.  "Mr. Schlak was murdered this
evening.  Oh, hello, Roberts!  Tell the men to come up here one by
one--come in here first.  Ever see this knife before?"

Roberts approached the table and replied in the negative, after which
Harcourt waved him away.  John Solomon said no more, but stared from
one to the other of the three, silent with the horror of the thing.

Taking pity on him, Hammer explained the affair, and had barely
finished when the men began to come in, wondering greatly at the time
and place of the summons.

One by one they passed through, each denying any knowledge of the
knife, and Hammer pricked off the names.  The four Arabs had not yet
appeared when Adolf Jenson came to seek his master on some trivial
errand and stopped, pale-faced and with a virulent glance at the
American, as he noted what was going on.

Solomon's eyes turned to him, remaining in a fixed stare; and after a
moment the secretary evidently became uneasy, for he passed out into
the night again after returning a brief negative to Harcourt's formal
question.

There were only five men left--the four Arabs and the German
boatswain, Hugo Baumgardner.  Two of the Arabs, the only ones who
knew English, came through, and after them the boatswain.  Then for
the first time things began to look interesting.

"Yes, sir," replied Baumgardner slowly, scratching his mop of black
hair reflectively and speaking excellent English, "it seems to me
I've seen that knife before; there's a funny twist to the handle if
you notice, sir."

An electric-charged silence settled down, while Baumgardner scratched
his head and stared at the table.  From outside came a murmur of
voices from the waiting men; then very quietly John Solomon rose and
stepped to the door.

No one except Hammer paid any attention to the movement, and the
American, after noting that Solomon was saying something to some
person out of sight, centred his thoughts on the stalwart boatswain.

"Well, tell us where you saw it," spoke up Krausz encouragingly, as
Solomon resumed his chair.  Baumgardner frowned heavily, then his
face cleared.

"Why, sir, it was the day after we left Malta--I remember that Mr.
Solomon was breaking out a case of champagne and I was helping him
with it.  Yes, that's it.  I asked him for a knife--I'd left mine in
my bunk--and he passed me that one to cut away the straw around the
case.  Just let me hold it a minute."  Harcourt passed over the knife
and the German folded his great hand around it, nodding.  "Yes, I
could swear to it, Mr. Harcourt.  I hope there's nothing wrong, sir?"

"Nothing, Baumgardner.  You have seen the knife at no other time, I
suppose?"

"No, sir.  I only remembered it because it had that little hitch at
the end of the handle, but it's the same one."

"Very well.  That will do."

No one said anything for a moment.  Hammer's eyes went to Solomon,
and he surprised a peculiar look in the other's face--a peculiar look
which he could not fathom.  It was as if John Solomon's faith in
human nature had suddenly received a shock, and if it was acting,
then it was cleverly done.

A second later the third Arab entered, replied to Harcourt's
question, which Solomon translated with a curt negative, and passed
on.  The fourth Arab, however, glanced at the knife, and before a
word had been uttered his eyes lit up.  Harcourt caught the gleam and
checked Solomon.

"Wait a moment, Mr. Solomon.  Hammer, I think you'd better ask him,
to avoid any suspicion against Solomon's question; not that we
suspect you, Solomon, but under the circumstances it might be better."

"Quite so, sir," rejoined the supercargo humbly.  "I'm werry sorry,
o' course, sir."

Hammer put the question in faltering Arabic, and the man nodded at
once.

"Yes, _effendi_, I have seen the knife.  Has it a small nick near the
end of the blade?"

The American translated and Harcourt picked up the weapon.

"Correct.  Ask him where he saw it."

Then Hammer received a surprise.

"I saw it two days ago, _effendi_--no, it was four days ago, two days
after _effendi_ was drunk and you hit him very hard.  I was cleaning
the brasswork.  I saw the little black man come near me, and there
was a bad place in the brass.  I asked him if he had a knife, for I
had none, and he lent me this one.  I remember the nick in the blade,
for Allah willed that it scratch my thumb."

Startled, Hammer made the man repeat his statement to make sure there
was no mistake and that he had understood correctly; then he
translated for the others.  He saw Krausz dart a single flaming
glance at Solomon, which the latter seemed not to note, and then
Harcourt spoke up:

"Ask him who he means by the little black man."

The Arab could not say, except that he would know the man again; but
Hammer felt no doubt in his own mind that Jenson was indicated, and
summoned the latter.  Upon his arrival the Arab identified him at
once.

"That is the man, _effendi_.  If he says that the knife is not his,
then he is a----"

The Arab's opinion of Jenson coincided more or less with that of
Hammer, but the American cut short the Hood of expletives and ordered
the man to stand aside.

"Gentlemen," said Harcourt gravely, "this situation would be
laughable were it not so deuced serious.  One man states that Mr.
Solomon had the knife when he left Malta; Solomon denies having ever
seen it before; another man states that Mr. Jenson had it since that
time.  You will have noted that the Arab recognized the blade by its
slight nick, of which he could have had no previous knowledge.  In my
opinion neither witness is to be doubted."

Not until then did the unhappy secretary realize what had transpired,
or why he had been sent for.  Comprehending the drift of things at
Harcourt's words, transfixed by his master's gloomy eye, poor Jenson
shrank back, trembling, an agony of fear in his livid features.

"I--I never had it!" he cried in a strangled voice.  "Heir
Doctor--gentlemen--I swear before God and the Virgin--I never had the
thing, never saw it----"

"Don't cry before you're hurt, Jenson," said Harcourt coldly.  "Then
you deny having had the knife in your possession, eh?"

"Yes!  My God, yes!"  With a sudden snarl that brought out his
rat-like teeth he whirled on Hammer, "It's you who framed this thing
up--you always hated me; you accused me of doing it in the first
place----"

"Shut up!"  The heavy voice of Krausz silenced his frenzied words.
"Captain Harcourt, you are in command here; but if you please I would
like a word to say, yess?"

"Certainly, doctor."

"Then I can witness that thiss man, Adolf Jenson, wass with me from
the time I went to my cabin after mess until five minutes before I
wass called up here.  Also, I left the dining-saloon before Schlak
did.  If poor Schlak wass killed after then thiss must surely absolve
Jenson."

"It would certainly seem to, by Jove!" exclaimed Harcourt, frankly
puzzled.  "Mr. Solomon, kindly explain to us why you denied all
knowledge of the knife when we first asked you about it.  Do you
stick to that denial?"

"No, sir," and the wide blue eyes, which had rested on Jenson with a
wondering look, shifted to Harcourt.  "You see, sir, I don't carry
weapons, not as a rule.  Everything in its place, I says, and a
supercargo 'e don't rightly 'ave no use for knives.  When so be as I
wants a knife I gets one from the steward, or borries one anywhere.
It may be werry well be as the bos'n says----"

"Then why did you deny it in the first place?" shot out Harcourt
sternly.

Solomon hesitated, his eyes shifting from face to face appealingly.

"Well, sir, I suspicioned as summat was wrong.  I don't 'old to
gettin' shipmates into 'ot water, sir, beggin' your pardon, and I
says to myself, 'John Solomon, tell a lie,' just like that, sir.
'Tell a lie,' I says, 'and don't be a-gettin' of a poor shipmate into
'ot water.  Do as you would be done by,' I says----"

"Confound it," exclaimed Harcourt, "tell me who you borrowed that
knife from or I'll put you in irons!"

"Well, sir," sighed the supercargo, "I must say as I remembers it
werry well, and werry sorry I am to 'ave to say it, Mr. Jenson; but
you----"

"You lie!" screamed Jenson terribly, flinging himself forward.  With
unexpected agility Dr. Krausz leaped up and gripped him.  "You lie!
You lie!  You lie!"  Over and over the words were shrieked out until
a torrent of German from the scientist quieted the livid-faced
secretary.

It was a scene that lingered long in the mind of Hammer--stolid,
pudgy Solomon sitting quietly with something like sadness in his
eyes, while Jenson, an agony of dumb horror in his face, panted in
the grip of the Teuton, Harcourt watching with a troubled frown, and
the Arab standing back in silence.

"Ordinarily that would be good evidence enough," stated Harcourt
finally.  "However, it is only your word against Jenson's, Solomon,
with the preponderance of evidence in your favour.

"Still, Jenson has an excellent alibi.  Where were you while you were
absent from the dining-saloon?"

"In me own cabin, sir," came the prompt answer.  "Fixing up them
accounts, sir."

"Anyone see you there?"

"Not as I knows on sir."

"Then your bally alibi's smashed and we're worse tangled up than
ever!"

Silence once more settled over the chart-house.  For the life of him
Hammer could not solve the puzzle, and in desperation he suggested
that the remainder of the crew be sent for.

Since two of the forecastle mess had recognized the weapon there was
a chance that some of the engine-room crew might have seen it and so
might corroborate either the Arab or Baumgardner.

Harcourt accordingly summoned every man on board but with no result.
Each and all positively denied ever having seen the knife, and
finally the Arab was dismissed with the rest, Baumgardner being
advanced to acting second mate with orders to prepare the body of
Schlak for burial the next morning.

"I'm bally well stumped, gentlemen," announced Harcourt wearily.
Jenson was now standing beside his master, one of Krausz's big hands
resting on his arm.  "What's your opinion, Hammer?"

The American hesitated.  Plainly the secretary believed him to have
framed up the charge, and it was next to impossible to believe that
the fellow had really murdered the giant mate.  Besides, the alibi
was heavily in the man's favour.

"From the evidence of the Arab and John Solomon," he said slowly, "it
would seem that Jenson is guilty.  But the body was stiff, remember,
and there had been a struggle, to say nothing of the alibi.  On the
other hand, Solomon cannot prove where he was at the time.  I would
suggest entering on the log that Schlak was murdered by persons
unknown, and then put the matter up to the German Consul who would
probably have jurisdiction at Mombasa."

"No," corrected Harcourt.  "Extra territorial rights have been
withdrawn in British East Africa.  The government would have
jurisdiction.  What is your opinion, doctor?"

"I would leave it to you, captain.  I say it iss for you to settle."

"And _I_ say," exclaimed Harcourt with sudden harshness, "that no man
is to be murdered in my ship without someone swinging for it, by the
Lord Harry!  We'll get into Kilindini, and never a man goes ashore
until this has been ferreted out.  John Solomon, and you, Adolf
Jenson, mind that!"

So the matter ended for the present, after affidavits and statements
had been drawn up and signed by all concerned.  But, as he paced the
bridge that night, Cyrus Hammer thrashed the matter over and over in
his mind.  The strands were twisted a little bit too much to his
manner of thinking.

Solomon's absence in his own cabin was bad, for there was nothing to
prove that he had been there, save his own word.  This, however, was
balanced by the fact that the knife seemed to belong to Jenson, whose
flat denial of this evidence looked very bad also.  Yet his alibi was
unimpeachable.

What with Baumgardner testifying against Solomon, and the latter
against Jenson, the thing was badly tangled.  Yet the evidence was in
favour of the secretary clearly.  He would hardly have stolen the
paper from Krausz, over which the struggle would seem to have been
waged, and he could account for his movements.

Despite the ownership of the knife, there would seem to be a much
better case against John Solomon, except for the testimony of the
Arab--and at this the American paused.  _What had the supercargo said
there at the door of the chart-house_?

For a long moment Hammer stood staring out at the sea, startled by
this thought which had winged its way into his brain.  Was it
possible that in that moment Solomon had given the Arab his cue?

But why?  He had not desired to testify against Jenson at first,
beyond doubt.  Hammer's mind flashed back again--Jenson also had left
the chart-house shortly before Baumgardner's recognition of the blade.

Was it possible that Jenson had instructed the boatswain what to say,
that Solomon had read his purpose and blocked the move by the counter
testimony of his Arab?

"By Godfrey," thought the American, "that's expecting too much
altogether of Solomon's wits.  Besides, Baumgardner doesn't look as
if he'd lie in order to save that little shrimp of a secretary.
Well, I guess it's up to the authorities at Mombasa, and here's
hoping they can find more sense in the whole affair than I can."

With which he patted the side-pocket of his coat reassuringly and
devoted himself to keeping a sharper lookout than usual.

The next morning Schlak was buried, and the _Daphne_ went once more
upon her way with the mystery still unsettled, until in due time she
rounded into Kilindini, the southern harbour of Mombasa, and her
anchors crashed down into the waters of the port.




CHAPTER V

THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

Now, it is not to be expected that when a man has been living for
three years among "stiffs" and "sunfish", with only occasional lapses
into decency, he can suddenly turn around and rank as a gentleman and
a scholar for ever after, with never a fall from grace.

It would be very nice to chronicle such a miracle in the life of
Cyrus Hammer, and would, no doubt, afford great pleasure to the
average reader; but it would afford great disgust to the average
student of human nature, such as John Solomon.

"Regeneration is all werry well," as that peculiar individual said,
"but it ain't to be 'ad with a 'op, skip, and jump, I says.  'Umans
is 'umans, and nature ain't to be denied, as the parson remarked when
'e smashed the constable in the eye.  If so be as a man's a saint,
why, 'is place ain't 'ere on earth, says I."

Accordingly, in the due course of events, Hammer and the rest were
entertained at the Mombasa Club, where Harcourt found numerous old
friends now "in the service".

These, with the American Consul, were so cordial to Hammer that he
and Harcourt spent one glorious evening around a punch-bowl at the
club, and about midnight Hammer was lost in the shuffle.  At 3 A.M.
he was located by a native policeman, who patiently extricated him
from the embraces of a half-caste Portuguese and two sailors from an
oiler in port.

The extrication was a matter of time and trouble, Hammer vowing that
he was not being shanghaied and had no intention of being so; and
before the question was settled the half-caste had a broken head, two
constables were _hors de combat_, and half Mombasa was watching the
riot in unholy glee--for Hammer managed to hold the cathedral steps
against all comers until taken from behind.

Undoubtedly, it was a highly disgraceful scene, and Hammer was duly
contrite when his fine had been paid and he was returned to the
yacht.  Harcourt made no mention of the occurrence thereafter, and
the American savagely determined not only to stay away from the club
but to get out of Mombasa altogether.

Wherefore it was not long until he was given charge of the
"impedimenta" belonging to Dr. Krausz, and found himself steaming up
the coast aboard the government packet _Juba_ with half a dozen of
the crew.

Krausz himself had gone on to Melindi as soon as the investigation
into the death of Schlak was finished.  And it was quickly finished,
for the authorities, after hearing the evidence, directed that the
finding of the _Daphne's_ log be confirmed, there being no direct
evidence against either Solomon or Jenson.

Whereupon the former had at once drawn his pay and disappeared, and
the latter had gone to Melindi with his master in the yacht's launch.
Harcourt remained in charge of the yacht for the present.

The trip up-coast was fairly uneventful, and at Melindi he found
Jenson waiting with the launch in which to take the men on.  He
himself was given a native guide, and was forced to get the boxes
unshipped two miles from shore, swung into surf boats, landed, and
then loaded onto a gang of Kiswahili porters to be taken overland.
From the Kiswahili guide Hammer extracted the information that their
destination was two days' march north from Melindi, and, perforce, he
resigned himself to the situation, roundly cursing Jenson for leaving
him in the lurch.

An English cotton-planter whom he met on the wharfs came to the
rescue, however, took charge of his boxes and porters, and set off
with him for the first few miles--for all of which Hammer was
intensely grateful.

He was like a child in a strange house, at first; but by the time the
planter stopped off at his own place the American had got into the
swing of things.  The planter sent him down a couple of boys for
personal attendants, and after Hammer had attended to one insolent
porter he had no further trouble whatever.

They were headed for a small ruined fort, dating from the Portuguese
occupation, which lay sixteen miles up the coast from Melindi.  Owing
to the difficulties of the march and the roundabout track they were
compelled to follow, it was not until the evening of the second day
that the guide declared the fort to be near at hand.

It had formerly been built at the head of a small bay, but, owing to
changes in the conformation of the coast, the sea had left it a
half-mile away and the bay had vanished.

As the little safari broke from a thicket of brush and trees Hammer
saw the ruins on a small eminence from which the trees had been
cleared.

At one side were two large tents, with the smaller tents and brush
huts of the native workmen scattered down the hillside.  There seemed
to be no one in sight, however, and Hammer sent the guide on to stir
up Dr. Krausz or his assistants.

He was in an ill-humour, and made no secret of it.  On that two days'
march he had been tortured by insects, irritated by his porters, and
plagued by the remembrance of what had occurred at Mombasa; he
decided that he thoroughly hated East Africa, and longed to be once
more out at sea on the bridge of the _Daphne_.

"By Godfrey," he ejaculated, staring at the silent camp ahead, "when
I get out of this devilish country I'll stay out!  The ocean is good
enough for me, and no mistake.  I wonder what's happened to this
place, anyhow?  Where are all those Dutchmen?"

The guide had run ahead to the two large tents, where a few other
natives appeared, talking to him.  Above, the cleared hilltop showed
long lines of ruined stone-walls three or four feet in height,
crowned by one or two spreading mimosa-trees which had evidently been
too large for removal.

It was a naked-looking place, with the deep jungle behind and around
and running down toward the shore where the sunset gleam was striking
the ocean and the eastern skies to flame, and Hammer wondered where
water came from for camp use--a thought born of his late experiences.

This was answered by the sight of two or three Kiswahili coming from
the ruins with kettles, and the American realized that the fort must
have been built around a spring or well.

The porters slowly wound up the hill, singing happily enough, and
half a dozen natives crowded around the guide as he returned to meet
them.  All were capering and dancing like children, but Hammer was in
no mood to handle them gently.

"Well," he snapped, "where are the sahibs?"

"They are not here, sar," returned the guide.  "Here is one man from
them," and he pointed to a grinning fellow who stepped out boldly.

"I am Potbelly, sar; very good mission-boy," he announced
complacently.  "Missy Professor she say she not see you, not well in
the stomach.  The Herr Doctor, he went off this morning, sar, with
all men hereabouts, in order to engage native help from nigger
village inside of the coast.  He will be back very immediately, sar,
and Missy Professor say you take tent----"

"You're blamed right, I'll take his tent," ejaculated Hammer angrily,
"and you see that these boys are attended to after the stuff is
piled--savvy?"

Potbelly savvied and guided Hammer to one of the two large tents.
Here he found comparative comfort, his two personal boys making a
bath ready; but his reception was vexing in the extreme.

The Missy Professor, of course, was Professor Sara L. Helmuth.  She
probably had the other tent, with her own attendants, and of course
Krausz would never have gone off and left her alone unless she was
perfectly safe here.  The doctor was losing no time, evidently, since
he was already off engaging workmen and getting things under way.

The chop-box which the planter had sent with his boys had been used
up, and as there was no sign of eatables about the doctor's tent,
Hammer changed into some of the German's clothes and went forth to
investigate in a vile temper.

His proficiency in Arabic, of a sort, had vastly increased since
leaving Melindi, and, finding that the natives were gathered about
the boxes which he had brought outside Professor Helmuth's tent, he
strode into the midst and demanded dinner.

Now, whether it was that the American over-estimated the intelligence
of the Kiswahili and Arab half-castes, or whether the absence of
Potbelly in his mistress's tent left the other boys helpless, nothing
ensued save a violent jabbering, in which every native tried to talk
at once, the whole gradually rising to a shrill outburst of angry
shouts, and Hammer's temper gave way.

Relying on the safety of his Arabic the American made himself heard
above the uproar, lashing about with a convenient bullock-whip hide
and pouring out a raging flood of invective and expletive.

Before the face of his anger the Kiswahili melted away in terror, and
long ere his rage was exhausted he found himself standing alone,
glaring around vainly for someone on whom to finish his vocabulary.

A moment later Potbelly appeared jauntily from Professor Helmuth's
tent, bearing a slip of paper.  With a watchful eye on the whip he
handed it to Hammer and skipped out of reach, vanishing with a final
grin.  The American opened the paper, and was dumbfounded.  He read:



    DEAR SIR:

    I would thank you to remember that there is a lady within
    hearing.  If common decency will not restrain your language, I
    shall be compelled to take other measures which will have that
    effect.  SARA L. HELMUTH.


"Good Lord!" gasped Hammer in dismay.  "I never had any idea--why,
she must know Arabic!  Oh, darn it all, anyway--I wish I was out of
this confounded place!  Mixed up with blue-eyed fat men and
short-haired women and Dutchmen--good _night_!"

The Kiswahili had vanished.  Potbelly had vanished.  Even the
daylight had almost vanished, and without a word Hammer flung down
the whip, tore the note into pieces and threw it to the breeze, then
turned to the tent of the "lady professor", as he mentally termed her.

"Very sorry, Professor Helmuth."  He raised his voice, but without
especial civility in his tone.  "I apologize, of course.  I didn't
know you understood Arabic.  I'll trouble you no more."

As no answer came he returned to the other tent, and in desperation
seated himself on a camp-stool.  With his pipe alight, he faced the
fast-gathering shadows outside, and a few moments later was startled
by a wild outburst of yells.

Knowing nothing of the country, when the yells grew closer and more
threatening the American leaped to the conclusion that the natives
were on the war-path, and he leaped up.

Almost at his side stood a heavy, double-barrelled shotgun, and,
making sure that this was loaded, he stepped to the front of the tent
to investigate.  No one seemed to be in sight, for darkness was
almost on the camp; but, seeing a light in the other tent, he walked
toward it with the idea of defending the lady professor.

The place was an inferno, what with the shrill yells and occasional
shots; and from the noise, Hammer concluded that the camp must be
surrounded by hundreds of men.

Suddenly a dark figure loomed up in the dusk a few feet away, and
instantly he brought up his weapon.

"Hold on!" he shouted angrily.  "Who the devil are you?"

For answer he felt the barrel of the gun gripped and flung up, and
found himself looking into the wrong end of a revolver.  Then----

"_Mein Gott_! It iss Mr. Hammer!"

"Krausz--good Lord, I nearly plugged you.  man!  What's going on
here, an attack?"

The other stared at him a moment, their faces close.  Hammer was
quick to observe a startled suspicion in the Teuton's heavy features,
and the revolver did not go down.

"What are you doing with that gun?" demanded Krausz threateningly.

"Holding it," was the American's laconic response.  Then, at a fresh
outburst of yells: "You aren't going to stand here and be murdered, I
hope?"

"Murdered?  _Hein_?" For an instant the other was puzzled, then his
teeth flashed in a sudden laugh as he understood.

"Oh, you thought it wass an attack, yess?  And so you got out the
gun--ho-ho!  Come to my tent----  Pardon, me, but I must laugh, for
it iss but my home-coming, Mr. Hammer.  Have you dined?"

"I haven't anything.  I'm stiff and sore and grouchy, and all I want
is to get out of this blasted country as quick as I can."

The doctor laughed again, and they returned to the tent together.
Before Krausz had finished his bath the camp had undergone a
transformation in Hammer's eyes.  Fires had been built, around which
masses of natives were grouped; there was a smell of roasting meat in
the air, and brush huts were being quickly put up by the dozen.

Jenson received a sound berating for not having attended to Hammer's
wants in better fashion at Melindi, and by the time they sat down to
mess with the secretary and Baumgardner, the American was feeling
more like himself.

Still, he reflected, if the country was as peaceable and quiet as the
scientist declared it to be, that revolver had flashed out with
marvellous promptitude.

Professor Helmuth had been on the ground nearly two weeks, and had
made things ready generally against the doctor's arrival, with the
assistance of a few mission-boys.

The Kiswahili, it seemed, had refused to leave their fields to work
for a woman, even at the urging of the district commissioner; but
Krausz had easily procured two hundred of them, who would dig
trenches and bring in food supplies for the whole camp.

Now that he was here, he confidently predicted that things would go
forward with a rush; but whether it was the champagne, served
abundantly with dinner, or whether the remembrance of that flourished
revolver still stuck in Hammer's crop, he did not exactly like the
way in which the archaeologist referred to his assistant.

He learned that the lady professor kept strictly to herself after
working hours, even to taking her meals apart; and this did not raise
her in the American's estimation.

In her position, he considered, she should frankly accept such things
and not be so stuck on conventions.  None the less, when he expressed
himself in such wise f Dr. Krausz took it as a huge joke and poked
Jenson familiarly in the ribs, upon which another bottle of champagne
was opened.

Hammer, who had absorbed his full share in his bitterness of spirit,
suddenly felt out of humour with the Teutonic attitude of mind toward
women in general.  Spectacles or no spectacles, if the lady hailed
from California then she ought to have more sense, and probably these
Germans had handled her coarsely.  So he leaned over the table and
said as much with the innate earnestness of his convictions.

"_Nein_," returned the doctor good-humouredly; "I am not German, but
Saxon, yess!  So you think she wass not asked rightly, Mr. Hammer?
Perhaps if you asked her then she might come, no?"

"By Godfrey, if she's American I'd take a gamble on it!" blurted out
Hammer, and wagged a long forefinger under the nose of Krausz.  "I'll
bet you that I could get her over quick enough!  I'll bet a million
dollars I could do it!"

"So?"  The archaeologist turned and leered heavily at the others.
"You hear, gentlemen?  Then it iss a bet--a bet of one million
dollars, yess!  The _fräulein_, she does not like to eat with you,
Jenson, _hein_!"

Jenson babbled something, Baumgardner boomed out a stolid assent, and
Hammer had a sudden conviction that if he took another glass of
champagne he was going to be very very drunk indeed, whereupon he
removed his shoes and climbed inside the doctor's mosquito shelter.

In the morning he realized that that extra glass would have been
entirely superfluous, to judge from his head.  It was after nine, but
he had a tub and a cup of coffee and felt considerably improved, and,
finding from the boys that everyone was at work on the hill, he
donned his new sun-helmet and started for the ruins above.

Each of the German sailors had charge of a gang of fifteen or twenty
natives, and trenches were being laid out between the lines of the
old walls, under the supervision of Krausz, who sat beneath a
grass-thatched shelter at a table with Jenson.  The doctor greeted
him with a cordial grin, though for some reason--probably the
heat--the ribbon of muscle in his temple was throbbing noticeably.

"And the _fräulein_--she will dine with us this evening?"

"Huh?"

Hammer stared, astonished, until the wager was brought slowly to his
recollection.  Then he looked around in some dismay, but the lady
professor had not left her tent and the doctor failed to assign any
reason thereto.

"Then I guess she won't leave for me," and Hammer ruefully related
the incident of the note he had received the evening before, at which
the doctor laughed uproariously, and even Jenson cracked a sly smile.
Krausz explained that Professor Helmuth was an expert in Semitic
languages, and also that the bet was off.

"Your beastly champagne did it," said Hammer irritably.

"But listen!"  Earnestness swept into the doctor's heavy black eyes
and his hand went to the American's arm.  "If you will do it, yess, I
will pay one hundred dollars----"

"You'll--_what_?"  Hammer stared at him a moment, then flung off the
hand as he turned away.  "Been hitting up the booze again this
morning, have you?  I'll thank you to get that launch ready for me to
get back to Melindi in.  As for your she-professor, I'll have her
over to dine this evening just to show you what a blooming fool you
are, doctor.  Then I'll start back in the launch after dark.  I've
had enough of this place."

How his remarks were received he did not see, for he strode downhill
without once looking back.  But the scientist's offer to pay him for
getting Professor Helmuth to dine with them was both disgusting and
illuminating.

It filled him with distaste for everything German--or Saxon--with
particular emphasis upon Krausz' ribbon of muscle; and it also made
him wonder why the she-professor was refusing to honour the general
mess with her company.  Did she carry primness to such a limit?

"I'll fix her," he said, and upon reaching his tent sent a boy for
Potbelly.  When that individual appeared, Hammer gave him his name,
stated that he was an American, and said to tell Professor Helmuth
that he intended to call on her in ten minutes.

Potbelly's grin vanished and he looked ugly instantly, whereat Hammer
took him by the shoulder and assisted him from the tent with a kick.

He watched Potbelly disappear inside the other large tent, then sat
down and smoked his pipe.

When the ten minutes were up he promptly knocked the ashes out of his
pipe, began to whistle and started for the other tent.

Potbelly looked out, vanished again, and the next minute the
tent-flap was pushed aside and Hammer obtained his first view of
Professor Sara L. Helmuth--and he was undoubtedly the most astonished
man in the whole of British East Africa at that instant.




CHAPTER VI

THE LADY PROFESSOR

The American's dreams of spectacles and blue _pagaris_ was swept
away, for standing facing him with expectant eyes was--a girl or a
woman, Hammer could not tell which.

There was some mistake, of course; self-possessed, cool, deliberate
in word and look as she was, this slender, brown-haired, brown-eyed
girl could not be the austere mistress of Semitic tongues----

"I beg your pardon," he found himself stammering weakly.  "I didn't
mean that message for you; I wanted to see Miss Helmuth, the
scientific person who doesn't like my Arabic cuss-words."

A trace of red crept through her cheeks, but her eyes held his with
no response to the whimsical laugh of him.

"I am Miss Helmuth," she said coldly enough, not moving that he might
enter the tent, and appraising him keenly as she spoke.

Hammer stared at her in open disbelief, but not for long.  Something
in the curve of the dark eyebrows and the set of the girlish mouth,
something in the poise of the small head, gave a hint of resolution
and firmness--and Hammer took the hint.

"Ah," and he bowed with his fine smile, "I trust you will pardon my
surprise.  I was looking for a spectacled, gaunt lady of uncertain
age, and never expected to find----"

"I am not interested in your expectations, Mr. Hammer," her reply
came coldly.  "What is your business with me?"

Again Hammer was taken all aback and could not quite readjust himself.

"Why--er----"  It struck him that she would think that he was
attempting to flirt with her, and the thought sent him floundering
deeper.  "You see, Miss--Professor, I mean--Professor Helmuth, I'm
first officer of the _Daphne_, and----  Oh, blame it all!  Honest,
Miss Helmuth, get that look off your face or I'll run!"

A flicker of amusement came into her brown eyes, then it passed, and
her look hardened strangely.  Hammer could almost have imagined that
she had been crying not so very long ago.

"Really, Mr. Hammer, I think that would be the best thing you could
do.  I have no desire to have any dealings with you whatever.  Kindly
state your business and go."

"Well, that's flat enough, anyhow."  Hammer's eyes flashed for a
second.  "But I must say that such downright discourtesy doesn't go
with your looks, professor, though anything might be expected of this
outfit.

"Still, as an American, you ought logically to be a little more human
and a little less priggish.  If we were on Fifth Avenue I wouldn't
blame you, but here in Africa I should think you'd have more sense."

She gazed at him, her eyes widening, as if this direct attack
startled and surprised her.  Hammer was instantly contrite.

"Well, I apologize again, professor.  You certainly riled me up for a
minute, and I'm sorry I expressed myself so bluntly.  I guess Krausz
wasn't to blame so much as I thought he was, if you handled him like
that.  You see, I came over to ask you if you wouldn't show up at----"

"So you dare to carry out that bet made in a drinking bout with that
man Krausz and his associates?"  Poor Hammer's jaw dropped as she
straightened up, anger in every feature, and fairly flung the words
at him.

"Haven't I been put to enough shame without having my name bandied
about over the wine and cigars?  For a moment you nearly deluded me
into thinking you a man of another kind, Mr. Hammer."

"Eh?  Say, professor, I don't think I'm wise to all this business by
a long shot!  Look here----  No, don't fire up yet for a minute----
Tell me how you knew about that affair?  It's true, of course----"

There was scorn in her eyes as the American stopped, embarrassed.

"If you want to know, I heard of it through one of my boys, who got
it from your own boys.  Now, Mr. Hammer, you know the penalty
attached to entering this tent.  If you dare to attempt it, either
you or your associates, I shall carry out my threat to the letter.
You may carry back that report.  Good day."

With that she turned inside, but before she could lower the flap
Hammer sprang forward.  His mind was in a swirl, and he only realized
the one great fact that this woman had a very wrong idea of him and
of his intentions.  Catching the flap from the outside, he paused as
she whirled on him indignantly.

"Just a minute, Miss Helmuth!  Look here!  I'm not an associate of
Dr. Krausz, in the first place, and in the next I don't intend to
carry back any report.  But I do want to square myself with you,
honest, and I think you might give me a chance."

He found himself, for the second time within twenty-four hours,
looking squarely into the muzzle of a revolver which she had plucked
from the table behind her.

"You step inside this tent, Mr. Hammer, and I fire."

"But, confound it!" he cried, astounded, "I haven't done----"

"Let go that flap and get out of here!"

Helplessly, Hammer stared into her brown eyes and read determination
there.  He made one more attempt, however.

"Please listen to reason, professor!  I'm not trying to put anything
over on you; all I want is to get out of this accursed place and to
make you look at the thing straight before I go.  I didn't know I'd
got in so bad----"

"Let go that flap or I'll have my boys force you out of here bodily!"

The brown eyes were blazing with fury, but Hammer thought that never
had he seen a woman look so beautiful, so capable of taking care of
herself, so thoroughly efficient.

Realizing that she was in no mood to be argued with, however, he
obeyed her command; and as he turned on his heel a single word broke
from him with uncontrolled emphasis:

"Damn!"

The grinning face of Potbelly peered at him from a corner of the
tent, and he strode back to the other canvas with his ears burning.
It would have been a bad moment for any who had interfered with him
just then, and perhaps the cunning Kiswahili recognized the fact, for
they kept well out of his way.

The humiliation of the interview was maddening to him; and when he
called the boys who had been loaned him by the planter and found that
they had slipped home early that morning, he was in savage humour.

For a moment he determined to return to the tent of Professor Helmuth
and dare her to carry out her threat, but second thought decided him
against it.

She had been in earnest beyond any doubt--but why?  From the very
face of her, she had too much good hard sense to be the prig Krausz
had painted her; and why should she be willing to carry out so
desperate a threat?

At this he recalled her words: "You know the penalty attached to
entering this tent."  Why had this girl set such a penalty?  That she
had done so, publicly, was evident from her words, nor did she bear
Dr. Sigurd Krausz any great love; yet she was his assistant; she had
come out from Dresden in charge of the preliminary work; she must
have known him well before she started; and, above all, Krausz was an
eminent man in his line of work.

Yet Hammer knew only too well how a man, once away from his natural
environment, may do things he never would have dreamed of doing
otherwise.  Could it be that Dr. Krausz, or others of the party, had
insulted the girl?

"By Godfrey!  That name Sara isn't so bad after all, come to think of
it," and Hammer rose, frowning.  "I guess I'll go up and see that
chap.  If he's been cutting any didoes around here I'll show him a
few things.  I wish Harcourt was here; I'm blessed if I know what to
make of it all!"

He passed the she-professor's tent and strode up the hill; for if
there was to be trouble with the doctor, he wanted to have it over
with at once.

And as he went he patted the side-pocket of his coat, where his
old-style revolver still reposed; he remembered the way Krausz had
whipped out his weapon the evening before, and the thought was hardly
reassuring.

He found the doctor as he had left him, and under the direction of
the Germans the natives were beginning to make the dirt fly.  Krausz
looked up, his heavy eyes narrowing slightly at sight of the
American's face; then he smiled cordially.

"Well, Mr. Hammer?  And how did you find the _fräulein_!"

"A darned sight worse than I expected," returned Hammer frankly.
"See here, doctor: I'd like to know why she won't let a man enter her
tent under pain of firing at him, and why she's holding a grudge
against you?"

The ribbon of muscle began to beat under the skin of the other's
brow, though Krausz's expression never changed.  Jenson apparently,
paid no attention.

"Pouf!"  The big Saxon spread his hands with a Continental shrug.
"My dear fellow, it iss her fancy.  What can you expect?  She hass
never been here in Africa before, and she iss nervous.  Ass to
dissliking me, why should she?  Wass I not her father's friend before
he died?"

"How the devil do I know?  It's a cinch she hasn't any love for you,
doctor; and I'd like to know why that girl has to barricade herself
in her tent, that's all.  What's more, she isn't the sort to be
nervous."

Hammer looked down at the other, hands on his hips, his brown face
determined.  He realized that he was beginning to dislike the sight
hissing accent of his employer, no less than that curious muscle in
the forehead, and the aggressive note in his voice was thinly veiled.

Krausz seemed surprised at the change in his first officer, and once
more his eyes narrowed; but this time they were menacing--so menacing
that Hammer felt uneasy.

"Are you her guardian, Mr. Hammer?"

"No; but I'm an American, and I used to be a gentleman."

"Then you will please not interfere in a family affair, my friend.  I
am her guardian, the executor of her father's estate----"

"Now, see here, doctor.  I'm not hunting trouble, understand; but I'm
fairly competent to handle any that comes my way.  To know Semitic
languages and be curator in a big Dresden library takes time and
work; besides, I can tell from that girl's face that she's of age.
You're not her guardian any more than I am, if you want it straight."

"My dear sir, you missunderstand!  Yess, she iss twenty-three years
of age, but I wass her guardian, ass she will tell you.  I wass her
father's best friend, and in my arms he died, yess.  It wass I who
got her that library position.  Ah, come!"  Krausz rose quickly and
patted Hammer on the shoulder, smilingly.  "You and I, we are too big
men, yess, to be losing good humour over a little girl!  _Lieber
Gott_!  Iss she not to me like a daughter, no?  Come down to
luncheon, my friend, and over a bottle will we forget all thiss----"

"No more bottles, I guess," said Hammer decidedly.  None the less,
the scientist's words had their effect.  "However, I don't want to
butt in, doctor, and I'm sorry I made a mistake.  I go back to-night,
I suppose?"

"Yess; Baumgardner shall take you in the launch."

So the matter was closed.  The American still felt a trifle uneasy;
but Dr. Krausz' words had placed the affair in a new light before
him, and he forced himself to the belief that he had interfered in
some petty quarrel where he had no concern.  Krausz had succeeded in
spiking his guns.

With Jenson and Baumgardner, they sat down to a very enjoyable lunch
in the doctor's tent; for Krausz seemed to have brought no end of
chop-boxes from Mombasa, and the natives had fetched in plenty of
fruit, vegetables, and fresh meat.

Even Jenson seemed to attain some semblance of life, almost growing
enthusiastic over the work that had been begun; and the American
found Krausz cordial and entertaining as he had rarely been before.
He had an unfailing supply of his long black panatelas; and while all
four of them were sitting smoking and chatting over their coffee,
there came a sudden interruption.

"_Hodi_!"

All turned.  There, standing unconcernedly in the doorway, was a
native streaked with sweat, his eyes roving from face to face, a
heavy fold of skin hanging in the slit lobe of one ear.  Several of
the camp-boys stood behind him uncertainly.  Once more he repeated
the Kiswahili greeting.

"_Hodi_!"

"_Karibu_," grunted Krausz; and then in English: "Who are you?  What
is it?"

"_Bwana_ Hammer?" came the laconic query.

"That's me!" exclaimed the American.  "What do you want?"

The Kiswahili looked him over for a second, then nodded as if to
himself and drew the skin from his ear-lobe.  From it he took a small
packet and handed it to the American, after which, not deigning to
say another word, he turned and stalked away.

"Well, that's a funny proposition!" exclaimed Hammer, staring at the
heavy little object in his hand.  The others said nothing, but Krausz
smoked furiously as he watched.  Out of sheer decency Hammer felt
that he mast open the thing before them, and proceeded to do so,
wondering greatly what it was and why the bearer had not been more
loquacious.

Unwrapping a heavy fold of tissue-paper, he caught a little silver
ring that leaped out into his hand.  It was a cheap thing enough, and
he remembered having seen just such things sold to tourists at Port
Said, with "Arabic initials engraved while you wait."

Sure enough, looking closer at it, he perceived a thin tracery on the
signet side; but his slight knowledge of Arabic did not extend to
reading the language, and he passed it over to the doctor with a
surprised laugh.

"Can you read Arabic, doctor?"

"_Nein_.  Wass there no writing?"

"Not a scrap," said Hammer.  "Let's get that boy back here."

The messenger was sent for, but he proved to have left camp without
waiting to so much as be fed--a thing unusual, to provoke comment
from the other natives.

"Well"--and Dr. Krausz shrugged his shoulders as he rose--"there iss
some misstake, or the letter hass been lost.  It iss but a trifle.
We must get back to work, my friends, for the afternoon iss getting
on."

The others rose with a sigh, and they went off together, Hammer
stretching out luxuriously on a cot and wondering afresh where this
mysterious little ring could have come from, and what the engraving
meant.  It was irritating, from its very littleness, while the
strange conduct of the messenger refused to be explained away.

If the thing had come from Harcourt it would have had some word with
it.  In any case, what reason would Harcourt have for sending such a
thing?

It had probably come from Melindi, however, and Hammer had not the
faintest idea of who could have sent it from there.

The odd part of it was that the worth of the ring itself must be far
below the cost of the messenger's services, nor was there any
apparent reason for the ending of it.

"By Godfrey," thought Hammer suddenly, "I'll send it over to Miss
Helmuth!"

Clapping his hands, he sent a boy for Potbelly.  Since the Lady
Professor was an adept at Arabic to the extent of understanding
certain expressions which would hardly bear adequate translation,
Hammer saw no reason why she could not decipher the engraving for him.

After he had sent the boy he hesitated, remembering the humiliation
he had already passed through; but a moment later Potbelly appeared
at the entrance of the tent.

"Come here," said Hammer curtly, holding out the ring.  "You see
this?  Take it to Professor Helmuth.  Ask her to tell what this
means----  Why, what the devil's the matter with you?"

Potbelly's grin had faded suddenly; rather, it had been frozen into a
ghastly semblance of mirth, and he looked from the ring to Hammer
with absolute terror.

"You savvy him, _Bwana_?" he whimpered.  "You savvy _Bwana_ John?"

"What Master John?" repeated the American suspiciously, then grinned.
"John Jones or John Solomon?"

To his intense amazement, Potbelly merely whimpered again, then
turned, speaking over his shoulder as he went through the door.

"You come, _Bwana_.  I think mebbeso Missy Professor she see you."

"Well, I'll be darned!" murmured Hammer, and followed like a man in a
dream.




CHAPTER VII

HAMMER STARTS SOMETHING

The American was at a loss to make out what had happened to Potbelly.
The mission-boy had arrived grinningly, almost insolently, and after
a look at the ring he had seemed to be transfixed by terror.  What
was there about that ring to create such an impression?  Certainly it
looked harmless enough, and Herr Krausz would have observed anything
unduly curious about it.

From inside the tent of Professor Helmuth he could hear, as he
waited, Potbelly's voice rising shrilly, though the words were lost.
Then came a softer, deeper voice, which he recognized as that of the
lady in question.  He grinned to himself as he remembered her cool
determination of that morning.

"I guess Potbelly's having his troubles about now," he thought.  "By
Godfrey, I'll have to get to the bottom of this mystery some way!
And the only way to do it, I guess, is to have a frank explanation
with Professor Sara L. Helmuth--bless her brown eyes!  I wonder why I
never liked that name Sara before now!"

Hammer was still cogitating this all-important point when he saw
Potbelly's black visage appear from the tent-flap, and the boy
beckoned hastily.  The American, holding the ring in his hand,
stepped to the tent door.

Sara L. Helmuth, professor and mistress of Semitic languages, was
sitting at the table inside, a revolver ready to her hand.

Simply and coolly dressed in white, with her rippling brown hair
coiled loosely on her head, she offered an extremely attractive
picture to Cyrus Hammer, is spite of the circles of weariness and
trouble about her eyes.

He had always felt a weakness for women who were self-reliant without
becoming, as he had phrased it, "short-haired", and that she was such
a woman had been evident from the first.  Moreover, the doctor had
said that she was just twenty-three.

She did not rise, but stood looking at him for a moment, and Hammer
felt that to her the situation was, for some reason, very grave.
Instinctively he sympathized with her, and under the thought his face
lost its harder outlines, though it retained to the full all its
rugged, healthy strength.  Then she waved her hand toward a
camp-stool just inside the door.

"Sit down, Mr. Hammer.  Make sure the boys are watching, Potbelly."

The mission-boy disappeared.  Hammer felt unaccountably at a loss, as
though all his assurance were ebbing away beneath her steady gaze,
and waited for her to speak.

"Potbelly tells me, Mr. Hammer, that you have come from Mr. Solomon.
If that was true, why did you not speak of it this morning?"

"Eh?" he stammered, utterly bewildered.  "Mr. Solomon?  You mean John
Solomon?"

"Who else would I mean?"

"Why--Miss Helmuth, I--you can search me!  I haven't come from John
Solomon, not that I know of.  What's got into that fellow of yours,
anyway?  Now please don't look like that"--for she had suddenly
stiffened in her chair, her eyes cold--"but I can't make head or tale
of this thing, professor.  That's straight!

"I didn't tell Potbelly that I wanted to see you, and I didn't send
him to you with that message.  I wanted him to ask you if you could
read the seal engraving on this ring, for it looks like Arabic.  He
jumped off on his own hook and told me to come along."

There was unbelief in the brown eyes that gazed searchingly into his,
but the American's whole attitude betrayed the sincerity behind his
words.  Slowly the girl relaxed in her chair, and held out her hand.

"Let me see the ring."

He gave it to her in silence.  She bent over it a moment, then rose
with lithe grace and took an enlarging glass from an open suitcase
near by.

She stood by the light of the open flap, scrutinising it closely,
while Hammer's eyes wandered over her slender figure and jerked back
quickly to her face, almost guiltily: for Cyrus Hammer was like most
highly-strung, clean, hard-living men in that he idealized women in
general, and his own women friends in particular.

That, indeed, had contributed largely to his utter demoralization
after the disillusion that had come upon him three years before.

"Where did you get this ring, Mr. Hammer?"

He started, for his thoughts had been far away.  She returned to her
seat, having seemingly lost her fear for a moment, and he told her
how the ring had been brought to him an hour before, and how the
messenger had straightway departed without a word of explanation.
While he spoke her eyes searched his face keenly, and at the end she
nodded.

"I suppose your story is true, Mr. Hammer; though it sounds rather
odd, I must admit that there is truth in your face.  That is exactly
what I cannot understand."

"You can't?  Why not, please?  You must have a pretty bad opinion of
people!"

"Well, perhaps I have some reason for it, Mr. Hammer.  But--well, no
matter.  Where is Mr. Solomon?  Have you seen him?"

"Not since he left the yacht," and Hammer told what he knew of John
Solomon.  It occurred to him that this was a chance to heal the
breach, and accordingly he dilated upon Dr. Sigurd Krausz as a
side-issue, putting in as good a word for the scientist as he could.
He did not see that suspicion was darkening in the girl's brown eyes
as he proceeded, nor did he note that her hand had closed once more
upon the revolver, until she held out the ring and interrupted
bluntly.

"That is enough, thank you.  This ring, as you probably know, bears
the Arabic name of Suleiman, or Solomon.  There is no use saying any
more in favour of Dr. Krausz, Mr. Hammer.  Your story is rather
improbable, to say the least."

"Why, what do you mean?"  He was once more startled by her sudden
change of front, comprehending that she had resumed her hostile
attitude.  "I wish you would tell me if I can be of any help to you,
Miss Helmuth!  I put it up to the doctor flat, and he told me to keep
out of a family row, but----"

"Now, listen, please," she broke in again, her voice cold--almost
desperate, he thought vaguely.

"Your story is not convincing, Mr. Hammer, and I am frankly afraid
that you think me a good deal of a simpleton.  That ring may have
come from John Solomon and it may not, but under the circumstances I
prefer to take no chances.

"I never met Mr. Solomon, and I never met you; I am practically
helpless here, except for my four mission boys, and while you and the
doctor may pull the wool over their eyes, I intend to take care of
myself.

"When you can produce Mr. Solomon to vouch for you, then things will
be different.  Until then, I must decline to have any further
communication with you."

Poor Hammer stared at her, wondering which of them was crazy.  A
moment before she had seemed perfectly amenable to reason, but his
references to Krausz seemed to have flicked her on the raw and turned
her against him again.

"But, Miss Helmuth, can't you see that I am trying to help you?  Good
Heavens, girl, I'm not any great friend of the doctor!  Things here
look pretty badly for me, and I'm only anxious to help you if I can.
Why are you helpless here?  I can't very well go after Krausz with a
shotgun without knowing why!"

"I think you know why, Mr. Hammer, and I don't believe there is any
use in discussing the matter further.  There is only one man I can
trust, and if you have been telling the truth I will be glad to
apologize.

"But you are either a great fool or you are very ignorant of
conditions, and if you came from Mr. Solomon I do not think you would
be in either category.

"I can only conclude that you are, as you yourself admitted, in the
pay of Dr. Krausz.  If Mr. Solomon comes, as I have prayed he will
come then he may be able to vouch for you.  If not--well, I shall not
give up without a fight, that's all."

She rose in dismissal, but Hammer refused to budge.

"Give up what, Miss Helmuth?  I'm sorry you don't believe me, but I
don't know what the row is about."

The brown eyes gazed at him steadily, almost contemptuously.

"How did Dr. Krausz know that I had appealed to Mr. Solomon for aid?"

"He didn't, that I know of," retorted the American, losing patience.
"What on earth is all this talk about that little fat man, anyway?
You say you've never met him, then you say that he's the only man you
can trust and to bring him along to vouch for me.  If I do, who's
going to vouch for him, I'd like to know?"

Her eyes dilated slowly, and Hammer was under the impression that his
words had had some effect.  He was soon undeceived, however.

"Oh, is he a little fat man with big blue eyes?" and there was
amazement in her voice.

"He is," returned Hammer ungraciously.  "Also, he's in the employ of
Dr. Krausz as supercargo--same as me, if you please.  Also, I think
he's the biggest liar unhung.  I can't quite see the connection
between you and him, professor."

"Then--he was the man who came on the _Mombasa_----" she began as if
speaking to herself, stopping abruptly and gazing at Hammer as if he
had surprised her into revealing some secret.  He paid slight
attention to her words, for he was trying to find the clue which so
persistently eluded his efforts.

Certainly his own statements were a good deal more lucid than hers,
and were not so conflicting by half.  Yet she seemed to think that he
and Krausz were leagued against her in some way and that the ring was
some kind of a trick.

She claimed never to have met Solomon, yet described him and seemed
to trust him implicitly!  Small wonder that the American groaned to
himself in despair.

Sara Helmuth was still standing, however, and now she looked down at
him with angry eyes; but Hammer thought that seldom had he seen so
magnificent a girl even though her mind might be a trifle unbalanced.

"You seem to be insensible to my invitation to depart, Mr. Hammer,"
and there was cold rage in her voice; "and since you have been clever
enough to worm most of the secret out of me, I'll tell you the rest
in order to get rid of you.

"Mr. Solomon came aboard the _Mombasa_ at London, stating that he was
a messenger from John Solomon and proving it quite efficiently.
Naturally I did not recognize him, but I turned over to him the
papers, and received them in duplicate when I reached Mombasa from
the hands of Potbelly.

"They must have been cabled out, but in any case Potbelly has shown
himself worthy of trust, except in this one instance of your
fraudulent ring.  That is all I know, and you can take it back to
your master and share the knowledge with him.  Now will you go?"

Hammer began to see light for the first time since the conversation
began.  John Solomon's hurried trip aboard the _Mombasa_ was
explained, it seemed; also the conflicting statements of Miss Helmuth
began to straighten themselves out.

And yet the thing sounded so incredible!  John Solomon, a fat little
cockney supercargo, in league with this girl he had only seen once----

"I'll go," he said helplessly, "but I'm going to have this thing out
with Krausz and see what screw is loose, Miss Helmuth.  I still can't
understand your connection with that little rat Solomon--but I'll go."

So he went, without a word more from her, back to the other tent,
where he filled his pipe and tried to get the affair into more lucid
shape within his own mind.  The effort was vain, however.

The one thing that stood out above all others was that Potbelly's
recognition of the ring had been in vain, that Sara Helmuth had
absolutely no confidence in it, and had a very lively suspicion that
he and Krausz were attempting to trick her.

But what about?  It was no longer a question of this woman being a
prig--Hammer saw deeper than that, at least.  There was something
underlying it all that vitally affected her.

This much he knew: Krausz had sent her certain papers in a black
wallet from the hotel in London, and she had given those papers to
Solomon five minutes later, doubtless without reading them.  Then
Solomon had lied to him about the black wallet, and he had done it
artistically, too.  The American began to consider Solomon seriously.

"I'll bet a dollar I was right about Schlak's murder," he thought
suddenly.  "John Solomon put that Arab up to testifying as he did,
and whether Jenson worked the same game with Baumgardner--say, I'll
run a bluff on that big Dutchman!"

As the idea occurred to him he looked up and saw Baumgardner himself
approaching the tent, evidently having been sent for something by the
scientist.

Hammer laid down his pipe and waited until the other came up to the
entrance, when he quickly brought out his revolver and covered the
surprised German.

"Sit down, Baumgardner," and he made his voice as cold and menacing
as possible.  "I've a word to say to you, my man."

Anger flitted over the other's heavy countenance, but Hammer was in
no mood to be trifled with and showed it plainly.  The boatswain sat
down.

"Now bear in mind that you're under my authority, bos'n, and not
under that of the doctor.  No, shut your head!  I've got you to
rights, Baumgardner.  Thought you were pretty smooth, didn't you,
when you pulled off that play aboard the yacht?  But I'm on to you,
and you go back before the German Consul, you and Jenson, and before
the British authorities.

"I'm going to open up the case of Schlak's death with a vengeance,
and you'll get about two years breaking stone on the Mombasa roads
for perjury, you and Jenson.  How does that strike you, my man?"

It struck, plain enough, and struck heavily.  Baumgardner, who was a
big, black-haired type like the doctor, stared at first in blank
amazement, but when Hammer finished, his jaw had dropped and dismay
sat in his eyes.  The American, at heart terribly doubtful as to the
outcome of his bluff, pressed the advantage instantly.

"Now, look here, Baumgardner.  You're a good seaman, and I'd sooner
put Jenson over the road than you.  Besides, Mr. Solomon and his Arab
friend are going the same way, so there'll be company, and to spare.
Now tell me exactly what Jenson said to you outside the chart-house
that night."

Baumgardner, whose heavy wits failed to come up to the scratch,
blinked.

"Why, Mr. Hammer," he responded humbly, "he just fixed up the story
with me, that was all, and said he'd stand by me.  How did you know
about it, sir?"

"None of your business," snapped Hammer, unutterably relieved.  "So
it was a frame-up, eh?  And Solomon never had the knife to your
knowledge?"

"No, sir.  It belonged to Mr. Schlak."

"Good Lord!  Is that so?"

"Yes, sir.  The sheath was hanging on his wall, but Mr. Jenson said
to say nothing about it.  The hands didn't know because they'd never
been in his cabin and he generally carried another."

"Then we'll land Solomon--but why did he admit having had it?"

The other only stared dully at him, his face pale.  The American had
almost forgotten about Sara Helmuth in the light of this amazing
revelation which his bluff had forced out of a clear sky.

He thought swiftly.  Solomon must have admitted having had the knife
in order to give better colour to the Arab's testimony, and the
cleverness of it appalled Hammer, who had scarcely expected such
astuteness from the fat supercargo.

Now, however, he determined to carry out the affair to the limit.  He
would take Baumgardner and Jenson back to Mombasa, get hold of
Solomon and the Arab, which could easily be done, and set the whole
group breaking stone with the possible exception of the boatswain,
who had been a mere tool in Jenson's hands.

Moreover, the pallid-faced secretary was turning out to be a
dangerous character.  The American's dislike of him was being well
verified, and he would have to keep a good watch on the viperish
little black-clad man on the trip to Melindi, where the district
commissioner could take him in charge.

But while he was turning the matter over in his mind, Baumgardner,
perhaps suspecting that the American had bluffed the truth out of
him, was regaining his lost self-control, and now spoke out with
startling boldness.

"You'll have to see Dr. Krausz, Mr. Hammer, before taking us back.
I'm working for him----"

"You shut your head!"  Hammer shoved the revolver back into his
pocket, for he much preferred to use his fists, and his face,
dangerously alight, shot forward almost into the German's.

"Don't give me any of your lip or I'll show you who you're working
for, you pie-faced Dutchman!  Now stay where you are while I fetch
Jenson, and we'll be off for Melindi in ten minutes.  You leave this
affair to me and I'll pull you out of it; but start any monkey-work
and I'll make it hot for you.  Don't forget that."

Baumgardner was thoroughly subdued and showed no sign of giving
further trouble.  So Hammer, determining to get off in the launch
before the afternoon grew old, called one of the boys who was in
sight.

"You talk English?  Good.  Break out two chop-boxes and put them
aboard the launch--where is she, Baumgardner?"

"Anchored a quarter-mile off shore, sir.  The boat's on the beach.
It's too shallow to run her in closer, sir."

"Very good.  Boy, what's your name?"

"Mohammed Bari, sar."

"Then get a couple of boys down to the boat with the boxes and stay
here.  Be ready to lead me down there.  That's all.  How far is the
shore from here, bos'n?"

"Straight down, sir, about three hundred yards.  But we come by a
path, sir, which goes down to the boat.  It's a matter of a
half-mile."

"All right.  You stay where you are."

So, having no more fears that the boatswain would prove
insubordinate, Hammer rummaged around in the effects of Dr. Krausz
until he found a length of very serviceable wire-twisted cord which
would make a good substitute for handcuffs.  He was going to take no
chances with Adolf Jenson.  A moment later he started for the hill.
With one of the sailors to accompany them and fetch back the launch
from Melindi, he could take care of Jenson.  He found Krausz and the
secretary at their table beneath the sun-shelter, and perhaps
something in his eye warned the latter, for Jenson started to his
feet as Hammer came up.

"You're coming back to Mombasa with me, Jenson," said the American,
reaching forward and dragging the fellow out bodily by the collar.
"Stick out your hands, you little beast!"

"_Was ist?_"  The doctor's voice was very gentle, but Hammer felt a
little rim of steel touching his neck.  "Let that man go please,
yess?"




CHAPTER VIII

IN THE OPEN

Cyrus Hammer had never felt a revolver-muzzle against the back of his
neck before, and the touch was decidedly unpleasant.  It sent a
peculiar cold chill quivering down the length of his spine, and there
was an odd note in the doctor's voice which sent the same kind of a
chill through his brain.

In no sense was the American a coward, but he had seen enough of life
to have grasped an extremely difficult accomplishment--that of
knowing when a man is in cold earnest, from the mere tone of his
voice.

Dr. Krausz was just at present in earnest, and therefore Hammer
loosened his grip on Jenson and tossed his length of cord on the
table; there had swiftly leaped into his mind a premonition that he
had overlooked the most difficult part of the proposition--by name,
Dr. Sigurd Krausz.

"Now will you please explain, Mr. Hammer."

So Hammer explained, and the manner of his explanation was not
calculated to soothe the doctor's feelings or those of Jenson, who
had shrunk back beside his protector.  The American was angry, and
three years on cattle-boats give an angry man a vocabulary which is
little short of being extraordinary.

When he made an end, Jenson, with his rat-like snarl, was clinging to
the scientist like a frightened child, while Krausz, his revolver put
aside, was looking at Hammer with an ominous glint in his black eyes.
Over his temple that peculiar strip of muscle was pounding furiously
with every throb of blood.

"So, Baumgardner hass confessed, no?"  The doctor's voice was fairly
athrill with hostility, though the words came calmly enough.  "And on
the word of a drunken sailor you would deprive me of my helper when I
need him most?"

Hammer flushed.  "Your assistant is in her tent down there, doctor,"
he said significantly.  "And, by the way, I had a talk with her this
afternoon.  No, I'm not doing this on the word of any drunken sailor,
doctor, but that fellow Jenson is going over the road, and you may as
well make up your mind to it.  Either he or John Solomon knows who
killed Hans Schlak, and I'm going to find out."

There was no mistaking the rage that flashed out into the heavy eyes,
but it was directed against Jenson, as if the name of the murdered
mate had aroused a slumbering ferocity within the big Saxon.

"So!" he spoke slowly, looking down at Jenson with terrible quiet,
only that ribbon of muscle betraying his emotion.  "So?  And whoever
killed Hans Schlak, it wass he who took that paper from me when I
wass drunk, yess.  I do know Adolf Jenson.  I did not suspect that it
wass you or that it wass Mr. Solomon, but if it was you, Adolf, you
shall be very sorry, yess!"

Until now poor Jenson had trembled in silence, but he looked up and
caught the full gaze of Krausz, and it was as if something in the
heavy powerful face had blasted the last remnants of courage within
him.  He buried his face with a muffled scream.

"I didn't!  I lied because Mr. Hammer and Solomon were friends--they
both hated me--don't look at me like that, Herr Doctor!  Before God,
I didn't take the paper!"

It struck Hammer as odd that the taking of that paper seemed more
important to Jenson than the murder of Schlak.  However, he had to
ascertain what the attitude of the archaeologist was to be.

"See here, doctor, I want to do the square thing, but you can't stand
up for this man.  He's perjured himself in court and he's got to
explain it.  Of course, I can't scrap you and your men--for these
Germans will stand by you--but what I can and will do is to go back
to Melindi and send the district commissioner up here for Jenson.  If
you persist in sticking up for him you'll get into hot water, that's
all."

Krausz looked at him calmly.

"Do not get excited, Mr. Hammer!  I am not sticking up for anyone;
but Adolf cannot go back to Mombasa, just yet.  Later, perhaps----"

Jenson pulled away from him suddenly, looking up with his viperish
snarl.

"If you let them take me, Herr Doctor, I'll tell----"

With brutal force the Saxon's hand struck down, caught Jenson square
in the mouth, and knocked him under the table, where he lay
whimpering.  Hammer was startled at the change in the face of the
man; its glossed-over brutality was standing out in full relief, its
heavy eyes were filled with rage, its finely-chiselled mouth was
convulsed with untrammelled passion.

"Pig!  Dog!  Be quiet!" bellowed the doctor threateningly, then
turned to the American.  "As for you, Mr. Hammer, of what did you
talk with the _fräulein_?"

"Eh?  The professor?  Why, we--say, I can't see where that's any of
your business, doctor.  You'd better attend to the matter in hand and
quit using your fists on that poor devil.  Now, speak up, for I don't
intend to hang around these diggings all afternoon.  Are you going to
hand Jenson over to me, or not?"

"My friend, I do not like your tone.  Remember that I am your
employer, yess.  When I ask you a question I expect it to answered
be."

The two men glared at each other across the table, beneath which lay
the prostrate figure of Jenson.  From behind them came an occasional
guttural exclamation from one of the seamen-overseers, and the ring
of pick or shovel on stone; if the scene beneath the grass-thatch was
observed, it passed unnoticed.

And beyond was the jungle and forest, deep, silent, tropical; behind,
the tents and brush huts, the jungle again, and then the blue sea.

It may have been that a breath of bracing salt air drifted in from
the sea at his back, but Hammer felt unaccountably stubborn on a
sudden.  He closed his fists, and was aware of the silver ring
setting a bit tightly around his little finger.

"I feel the same way about it, exactly," was his dry response, and
there was danger in his level grey eyes.  "I asked you what you were
going to do about Jenson, doctor, and I'm waiting for my answer."

He saw the burly hand tighten on the revolver, and the ribbon of
muscle deepened with the flush that swept across the face of Krausz
at his words; he saw the figure under the table change its position
slightly; he saw one of the German seamen painstakingly explain to a
group of natives how to handle their picks properly; but all the
while he was gazing steadily into the black eyes of the scientist,
waiting for the latter's decision.

Then the affair was taken out of his hands.

For, being trained thus to see many things while looking only at one
thing, the American caught a glint of something bright beneath the
table.

With his nerves on edge as they were, he shied at the thing as a
horse shies at a newspaper, and well it was for him that he did so.

Barely had he shifted his position when a splash of red ripped out in
the shadow of the table, something sang viciously an inch from his
ear and whined up through the grass thatch, and he realized that
Adolf Jenson had made answer for himself.

Hammer never attempted to excuse what happened next, though he was
never very sorry over it.  Comprehending in a flash that Jenson had
fired at him, and that Dr. Krausz stood waiting, revolver in hand, he
tackled the more dangerous opponent first, even without provocation.

The scientist's face was dawning with surprise, for he had evidently
not been expecting Jenson's move, when Hammer's fist caught him
squarely in the chin.

Hammer had no time to waste blows, and Krausz went down without a
word.  Almost in the same movement the American jerked up the table
with his knee, exposing Jenson, and stamped hard on the wrist which
was pulling up the revolver once more.

Jenson screamed once, and then again as Hammer's kick took him in the
stomach and doubled him up gasping.  Already, however, Krausz was
struggling to his feet, and the American jumped for him, raging.

Even in his anger he could not strike a man who was down, though he
had not hesitated to put the treacherous Jenson out of commission.
He caught the doctor's revolver hand in both his own, wrestled away
the weapon with a savage twist that brought a grunt from the Saxon,
then picked up the automatic dropped by Jenson and sprang back.

The six seamen were coming on the double-quick, drawn by the shots
and Jenson's screams, and the American knew that he had his work cut
out for him.

"Down with you, Krausz," he cried, his voice high.  The doctor,
raising himself on one elbow, cursed, but obeyed, while Jenson
writhed in the dust and whimpered.  Across their bodies Hammer
levelled the two revolvers and waited.

"Well?" he said more calmly as three of the seamen came up together.
"You, Schmidt, and Klaus, pick up that rope there and tie Mr.
Jenson's hands behind his back.  Behind his back, remember, and do it
so that I can see the knots.  The rest of you stay where you are."

Krausz raised his voice in a storm of furious curses, but the six
seamen were used to taking orders from Hammer, and after a look into
the two revolvers they obeyed him promptly if sullenly.

"Stop that silly cursing, doctor," commanded the American, now sure
of himself.  The cursing stopped, though the doctor's face was not a
pleasant sight, what with his fury and a trickle of blood from a cut
lip.

By this time the two sailors had jerked Jenson to his feet and were
trying his hands as Hammer had directed, the other four men standing
back and staring from the doctor to the American in stupefied wonder.
Already, however, Hammer was making his plans as how to get away.

If he took Jenson and Baumgardner and started for the beach the
doctor and his six men would be after him instantly.  The natives did
not count; Hammer had learned enough from the doctor to know that
there was nothing to fear from these Kiswahili.  Then there was
Baumgardner to be considered----

"You want help, sar?"

Hammer glanced hurriedly over his shoulder at the gentle voice.
There, to his infinite amazement, he beheld the grinning features of
Potbelly; also the submission of Dr. Krausz was explained, since
Potbelly held him under the muzzle of his own shotgun, and appeared
to be enjoying himself immensely.

The American remembered suddenly that he could not take to his heels
and leave Sara Helmuth in the lurch, though he had forgotten all
about her.  And that he would be leaving her in the lurch he had no
doubt whatever.

"Did Professor Helmuth send you up here?" he asked crisply.  Potbelly
grinned.

"No, sar.  I hear _bang-bang_, take gun belonging to _Bwana Doctor_,
come quick."

There seemed to be no doubt of his antagonism to the Saxon, so Hammer
accepted the fact without trying to explain it.

"All right.  You stay here.  If the _Bwana_ Doctor or his men try to
follow me, shoot.  Get that?"

"_Jambo, Bwana_," came the assured answer.

"Come over here, Jenson--move lively, you hound, or I'll come and
kick you over!"

Hammer's grim voice fetched the cowering secretary, whose arms were
fast bound behind him.  Throwing away the automatic, which he did not
understand, the American put the doctor's revolver into his vacant
coat-pocket and grabbed Jenson by the shoulder, accelerating his
progress as he turned.

Beneath, he could see Mohammed Bari and Baumgardner standing,
watching, beside the tent.  He was not ready for them, however, but
paused outside Professor Helmuth's canvas, drawing out one of his
revolvers in order to keep the boatswain safely lined up.

"Miss Helmuth!" he called.  "Get out here, quick!"

A second later the tent-flap was pulled aside and he saw the girl
standing, her revolver in her hand.  Her eyes widened in amazement at
sight of him standing over the figure of Jenson.

"Get what necessities you must take, and do it in a hurry, please.
Potbelly's holding the doctor up there with the shotgun, and we'll
have to make tracks for the launch.  Don't stop to argue, but for
Heaven's sake get a move on if you want to skip out of here!"

He caught one muttered exclamation of something that sounded very
much like "Thank God!" and she vanished.  It was curious, thought
Hammer, that while she had twice repulsed him that same day, with
varied degrees of suspicion, she now did as he commanded without a
word of protest.

Perhaps Potbelly had something to do with it, or else the sight of
Jenson in bonds had influenced her to believe him sincere at last.

He eyed Baumgardner grimly, and, deciding to make the big boatswain
of some use, ordered him to take charge of Jenson.

"If he gets away, one of you will stop a bullet," he concluded.  "You
go first and lead the way, Mohammed Bari."

The Kiswahili grinned, nodding cheerfully and seeming in no wise
affected by the display of revolvers by these white men, to whose
vagaries he was accustomed.  Looking up at the hill, the American
could see the tableau beneath the grass-thatch very clearly.

Potbelly stood with the shotgun at his shoulder, covering Krausz, who
still lay on the ground, his heavy curses carrying down to the tents,
and behind him stood the six seamen in a bunch.

"I guess that nigger's competent," chuckled Hammer to himself.
"Wonder what he knows about my friend John Solomon?"

His wonder vanished before the necessity for action, as Professor
Helmuth appeared at the entrance to her tent, a small wicker suitcase
in her hand.  Hammer took it as she reached his side, and motioned
her to fall in ahead of him.

"Go ahead, Mohammed," he said.  "You next, bos'n, with Jenson--no,
you go with Mohammed, professor; I want to keep an eye on these two
beauties.  I guess Potbelly can take care of his own getaway."

The girl made no protest, but joined the native, and all five left
the camp and the staring Kiswahili behind.  A last backward glance
showed Hammer that Potbelly was slowly retreating down the hill, and
then the jungle had closed in about him and all behind was lost to
sight, with only the green tangle on every hand and the backs of
Baumgardner and Jenson in front, while through the shadow-haunted,
sun-creeping mass of foliage came to him occasional glints of the
white dress of Professor Helmuth.

Cyrus Hammer felt quite pleased with himself for once.  He had
bearded the lion in his den and had got clean off with the
bone--meaning Jenson.  As to Sara Helmuth, that was another matter
and not one with which Hammer was not now greatly concerned.  If she
had been in trouble, she was out of it, and enough said.

But Jenson was going over the road, the American told himself grimly.
To tell the truth, he was angry, more because the pallid little
secretary had played with him than because he had committed perjury,
and he was now intent on reopening the case of Schlak.  Either Jenson
or Solomon could tell who had killed the second mate, and why there
had been a double perjury afterward.

As they tramped along, stumbling over vines and creepers, with the
jungle wall dark and impenetrable on either hand, Hammer caught the
two men ahead talking, and warned them against it with such savage
intensity in his voice that they obeyed.

The American was perfectly well aware of the dangerous quality of the
secretary by this time, and was surprised that Dr. Krausz had stood
up for the man so boldly, even to defying the law.

For that matter, Krausz was apt to prove extremely dangerous himself,
now that his open antagonism must have been aroused.

Hammer chuckled at the delight which had been so evident in the face
of Potbelly.

The fellow had the quality, rare in natives, of acting on his own
initiative, and the American hoped that he would get away in safety
from the German party.

Undoubtedly he owed Potbelly's help to the little silver ring,
however--and that was a mark in John Solomon's favour.

But had Solomon really sent him the ring, and why?  It seemed a
senseless thing for a supercargo--ah!  If Potbelly had recognized it,
what connection had he with John Solomon, and where was the link
between Solomon and Sara Helmuth?

"It's too blamed deep for me," concluded Hammer, eyeing Baumgardner's
broad back and the narrow cringing shoulders of the secretary.  "Best
thing I can do is to see Harcourt and soak this devil Jenson before
the doctor gets back to fire me--which same he won't get a chance to
do if I know it!"

It had been his original plan to bring one of the German sailors who
could take back the launch from Melindi, for the convenience of Dr.
Krausz.  This did not matter greatly to Hammer now, however, so he
concluded that when they reached Melindi they could find out about
the Protectorate despatch-boat _Juba_, the only ship which made the
place.

If she was about due they could wait for her, and if not they could
easily run the sixty-five miles down to Mombasa--which, however,
would be longer by coast, for the launch was a small one, and Hammer
would not chance a squall very far from shore.

After an excessively long fifteen minutes the American, who was
half-fearful of treachery on the part of Mohammed Bari, the guide,
saw the welcome gleam of water ahead, and they stepped out from the
trees to the sand, almost without warning, for the jungle ended as
suddenly as it began.

Below them lay the surf-boat, with the two boys indolently lying
under the thwarts, and Mohammed Bari was already stirring them to
action with his foot and tongue.  A white speck out beyond the lines
of heavy ground-swell surf showed the launch at anchor.

Hammer marched his captive Jenson and his semicaptive Baumgardner
down to the boat without heeding Sara Helmuth, who was watching
anxiously.  Dropping the suitcase to the sand, which was alive with
sand-fleas, he addressed the boatswain sternly.

"Now, Baumgardner, if Jenson has been putting any treachery into your
head you forget it quick.  Get up in the bow of that boat when she
goes out, and then get into the bow of the launch and take care of
Jenson.  If his bonds are loosened or if you try any tricks, I'll
give you a bullet first, so mind that.  All ready, Miss Helmuth?"

She assented silently, and he helped her into the stern-sheets of the
boat, the boys waiting to run it out.  Ordering the two to return
after they made the launch and Mohammed Bari to remain with him, he
sent the two Germans into the bow, then lent a hand at running out
the boat.

A moment later he flung himself in over the stern, the dripping boys
took an oar each, and they headed through the slow swells of breaking
surf for the launch.




CHAPTER IX

HAMMER BEGINS TO SEE

Not until reaching the launch did Jenson, who was almost beside
himself with terror, seem to realize that Dr. Krausz had been
powerless to save him from Hammer.

As Baumgardner tried to put him over the side he broke away, and
flung himself face downward across the fore thwarts of the boat with
whimpering, inarticulate cries.

The American caught Baumgardner's helpless gaze and ordered Mohammed
to hold the two craft together while he attended to Jenson.

At this juncture, however, Sara Helmuth developed resources of her
own.  Motioning to Hammer to hold on, she calmly took a revolver from
his coat-pocket, rose, and went forward.

"Get into the launch, Baumgardner," she said coldly, and the man
obeyed.  Jenson looked up at her, then fell to grovelling at her feet.

"Don't shoot!" he shrieked, a mad agony of fear in his voice.  "I'll
tell it all, _fräulein_--it was I who told the Herr Doctor about
the----"

"Be silent!" she said scornfully, and his whimperings died away.
"Get into that launch unless you want to be thrown in."

To the surprise of Hammer, the secretary clambered into the launch
without a word more, and she followed him.  When the chop-boxes had
been put aboard and Mohammed Bari had followed them, Hammer went over
the side also and curtly ordered the two boys to row back to the
shore.

"Do you understand this engine, Miss Helmuth?" he asked meekly.
Since this girl from California had shown herself adept at so many
other things, it was more than possible that she could take care of
the launch engine, so that he was not surprised when she nodded,
handed back the revolver, and stooped over the fly-wheel.

An adjustment of oil and gasoline pins, and with the first crank the
engine went off into a steady splutter that rose to a roar beneath
her hand.

Hammer made room for her in the stern-sheets and took the
tiller-ropes himself, for the launch steered from a wheel at the bow,
with another amidships, but he could easily steer by the ropes from
the stern.

"Baumgardner, get up that anchor.  Help him, Mohammed."

The boat rocked as the little anchor was torn loose and then swung
away.  By the time the boatswain had got the anchor in-board the
launch was standing down the coast: looking back, Hammer could see
nothing save jungle, over which the sun was lowering redly, for the
afternoon was hard upon its close.

"Well, it's good-bye to the doctor and his ruins," he said cheerfully
to the girl at his side.  To his amazement, he saw a mist in her
eyes; then she turned and looked at him, her hand extended.

"I ask your pardon, Mr. Hammer."

The touch of her cool hand thrilled him, but before he could speak
she went on, her voice low.

"I am sorry that I misjudged you so terribly, but under the
circumstances I was unable to trust anyone.  Then, when I heard the
shots and came came out to see you with Adolf tied up, I knew that
Potbelly had been right after all, and----"

"And so you came," he finished gravely as she paused.  "I do not
understand, Miss Helmuth, as I told you before, but I am just as glad
as you are to leave that place behind."

"I'm--I'm not glad," she faltered, looking away from him, and he
could see that her eyelids were closing and unclosing rapidly, as if
to quench tears that welled forth.  "It was my father's dream--I----"

He leaned forward to throw off the motor, but she recognized his
intention and checked his hand swiftly.

"No, no--you misunderstand, Mr. Hammer!  Please, let me think a
moment!  I'll try to tell you----"

"No, please don't tell me anything that distresses you, Miss Helmuth.
I am very sorry that circumstances brought us together in the way
they did, but everything's coming all right now, so don't worry.
This boat isn't very fast, but we ought to pick up the Melindi light
an hour after dark at furthest."

"What do you intend to do with Adolf Jenson, Mr. Hammer?"  She turned
and faced him, and now her brown eyes seemed very determined once
more with the passing of her momentary weakness.

So Hammer told her the story of how Hans Schlak had died unavenged,
and of necessity began at the beginning with John Solomon's arrival
at "Prince's" in search of a job.

She listened with grave intentness, only smiling once, when he told
about that hurried trip to the departing _Mombasa_ at London, then
sitting and watching his face.  Hammer himself could give but a
divided interest to the story, since he had to tell it and watch the
coast at the same time, until it occurred to him to order Baumgardner
to handle the yacht from the wheel forward.

He also ordered Mohammed to break out the chop-boxes and dish up as
good a meal for all as their contents would afford.  Then, leaning
back, he filled his pipe and finished his story.

"Certainly, smoke all you want to," she smiled at his inquiring look.
"Have you always been a sailor, Mr. Hammer?"

"Eh?  Well, not exactly," he returned, flushing, and hesitated for a
bare second.  "I've been working on cattle-boats for three years
past."

"Well, isn't that being a sailor?" she laughed back.  Hammer looked
sharply at her, and found that she meant the words.  Evidently she
knew nothing of cattle-boats.

"Not exactly, Miss Helmuth.  It means that one associates with thugs
and the lowest sort of men, and in general stands for ostracism among
decent people."

"Then why did you tell me that?"

"Because you asked me."

Hammer felt, indeed, as though she had drawn the truth from him
bodily, and the earnestness of his tone perhaps startled her, for she
looked out toward the east, where the after-glow was striking the
skies to crimson; and when finally she spoke it was with entire
abandonment of the subject, much to the American's relief.

"Mr. Hammer, I wish I had trusted you in the first place.  Do you
know, I do think that Mr. Solomon sent you that ring for the very
purpose of making me trust you?  No, wait a minute, please!  I
haven't anyone else to depend on, and if I told you my story I think
it would help me a great deal.  You see, I've been rather wrought up
for the past few days--in fact, ever since Dr. Krausz arrived."

Hammer nodded quietly.  "I'll respect the confidence, of course, Miss
Helmuth.  And if I can be of any assistance, you may command me."

She seemed not to have heard the words, for she was gazing off toward
the darkening coastline, lost in thought.  He watched her firm,
well-poised features for a moment while he lit his pipe, and as the
match hissed in the water alongside, she turned decisively to him.

Hammer stopped her, telling Mohammed to get out the launch's lights
and set them in their sockets, then settled back and listened without
comment.

"You'll pardon me for going into my own history, Mr. Hammer, but it's
necessary here.  My father was an archaeologist connected with the
University of California, though he was usually afield, and as I
accompanied him ever since my mother's death, ten years ago, you can
see how I come to recognize your Arabic expressions yesterday."

Hammer grinned to himself, for there was a suspicion of dry humour in
the girl's voice, and he knew that he was forgiven.

"Last year my father and Dr. Krausz were together in Greece, while I
was preparing to take up work at Dresden Library.  Mr. Hammer, what
happened on that trip has never been discovered.  I received a very
hasty letter from my father, dated at Lisbon on his return to
Germany, and this was followed by the news of his death.  Dr. Krausz
brought his body home, for we were living in Dresden, temporarily.

"In his letter my father had merely said that he was not well but had
made a great discovery, and if anything happened to him I should
write to Mr. John Solomon, a friend of his at Port Said, to whom he
had already written in full.  At the time I thought nothing of it,
though I believe that he had some presentiment of his death; nor did
I distrust Dr. Krausz when----"

"Good gracious, girl!" snapped out Hammer, startled.  "You don't mean
to say that Krausz was responsible for your----"

"No, no!  Wait, please!"  She laid a hand on his arm, withdrawing it
instantly.  "You see, father's death was a dreadful shock to me, and
then I had to straighten up all his affairs besides going on with my
work at the library.  So I forgot all about father's discovery and
writing this Mr. Solomon.  There was no mention of such a man in his
papers which Dr. Krausz turned over to me--after keeping some of
them, as I now know."

"Then Krausz is not your guardian, as he told me?" broke in the
American.  In response to the girl's surprised glance he told her of
the doctor's words.

"No; that was all a lie, Mr. Hammer.  Of course, I never suspected
that anything was wrong, for I used to see a good deal of him in
Dresden, where he stayed to work on a book.  Well, about three months
ago he came to me offering me this position of assistant to him.  I
was naturally quite flattered, for he is really a big man in the
world of science, Mr. Hammer, and of course I accepted.  He told me
only that he had found out about this place, and, as usual, I waited
to be taken into his confidence when the time came.

"Well, while I was clearing things up at home I found father's
letter, and it occurred to me that since I had to pass through Port
Said I might as well write to this Mr. Solomon and ask him about
father's discovery.  I did so, and in return received a long cable
telling me to say nothing to Dr. Krausz, but to trust implicitly in
whoever showed me the letter I had written Mr. Solomon.

"I waited for the messenger, but none came until that day in London
when the steamer was leaving.  Then a fat little man with queer blue
eyes rushed up, showed me the letter, and demanded the papers which
the doctor had just sent me.  Since the purser had directed him to me
and there was no time to waste, I obeyed, although the papers
contained directions as to what I was to do in the preliminary work.
Fortunately, he cabled me their contents at Mombasa."

"The thing sounds incredible, Miss Helmuth," said Hammer, as she
paused, "but I rather think that there is more in it than we know.
Solomon certainly must be more than a mere supercargo--and say, he
sure handed Krausz a hot one!"

Whereupon he told her about Solomon's mention of having worked for a
Professor Helmuth in Palestine.  She smiled sadly.

"I haven't finished yet, Mr. Hammer.  It--oh!  What's that?  It's
just like a lighthouse!"

Hammer turned to see a tiny dot of light against the coast to the
south-west, and nodded.

"The Melindi light--stationary white light, Miss Helmuth.  We're
miles away yet."

"Well, I got here and got the work started after a fashion.  I
thought it was awfully queer that Mr. Solomon had acted the way he
did, but father spoke very warmly of him in his last letter, and
father had some queer friends all over the world.  Things went on
very well until Dr. Krausz and Jenson came the other day.  The first
evening the doctor drank a good deal of champagne, and he said some
things that startled me, in connection with the expedition.

"Then, the second day, I went to his tent while he was on the hill,
in order to get some quinine.  As I passed his table I saw a sheet of
paper on the floor and stooped to pick it up; you can imagine the
shock it gave me to see my father's handwriting!  Then I saw that it
was something about this place--Fort St. Thomas, it was called--and
the paper proved to be part of a transcription father had made from
some old document, telling about the things buried here.

"That made me suspect Dr. Krausz of having stolen the papers from my
father.  Perhaps you can guess, Mr. Hammer, that with archaeologists
especially, a 'find' such as this would be a terribly big thing; it
would mean not only money, but a great deal more.  And with certain
scientists, just as with actors, it is almost a monomania to 'have a
big name'; besides, the passion for discovering such things gets a
tremendous hold on one, all by itself.

"I was so angry that I went right up to the ruins and asked the
doctor about it.  He had been drinking again, and instead of getting
angry he only laughed at me, telling me to prove it if I could--and
he frightened me, Mr. Hammer.  I'm not very timid, but I think any
woman is afraid of a drunken man."

Hammer winced imperceptibly.

"I tried to get away with my boys, but he prevented me--not openly,
but so I understood that I could not go.  Therefore I managed to get
one of my mission boys off with a note, but he was found and brought
back by a party of Kiswahili, and the only thing I could do was to
barricade myself in my tent."

"Which you did very effectually," laughed Hammer.  Inwardly, he was
cursing Dr. Krausz with all his soul.  "Tell me, where did you get
that boy Potbelly?  He seems to know a lot about Solomon."

Potbelly, it appeared, had met her when she first landed, displaying
letters of recommendation from John Solomon and others, upon which
she had promptly engaged him.  Since then he had proven invaluable to
her, though he had said nothing of Solomon until he rushed into her
tent that afternoon, saying that Hammer had come from that individual.

In the American's mind there was no doubt that Krausz had been
carried away by the craze of his science, and he expressed himself
forcibly on the subject.  It occurred to him, however, that
possession was nine points of the law, and they had no evidence on
which to prosecute Krausz for anything.  On the other hand, if he set
to work to gather in John Solomon for the perjury committed on the
yacht and in court, he would be removing the girl's only mainstay.

Solomon had clearly been playing a smooth game, for some undefined
purpose.  Supposing that Professor Helmuth had really written him
from Lisbon, upon receiving the letter from Sara Helmuth telling of
Dr. Krausz's expedition and asking details of her father's discovery,
he might have leaped to the conclusion that Krausz was crooked.

Then he had come to England for the purpose of finding this out?
That was the question troubling Hammer.  It Solomon had joined the
yacht merely to play Sara Helmuth's hand for her, which seemed like
incredible chivalry in such a man, there would be a bad complication
if Solomon were arrested for perjury.

In fact, that would be the best thing in the world for Dr. Krausz,
for whoever and whatever this Solomon was, he was certainly taking
care of everything in a remarkably shrewd manner.

Potbelly had plainly been stationed at Mombasa to attach himself to
the girl and protect her.  The mere use by Solomon of the cables in
so reckless a manner showed that the man must have money behind him.

Sara Helmuth went on to say that all of Dr. Krausz's men had been
with him for years, from the giant Hans Schlak to Adolf Jenson.  It
was clear to Hammer that Krausz had received as much of a shock as
had anyone upon Schlak's death, and he had afterward threatened
Jenson darkly, there and up on the hill.

But if the fellow knew who had killed Schlak, why did he not tell--or
had he told the truth when he said that he had tried to fasten the
crime on Solomon because he was Hammer's friend?

Suddenly the American remembered Jenson's cry, stopped by a brutal
blow from the doctor.  "If you let them take me, Herr Doctor, I'll
tell--" what?  The secretary had started to say the same thing as he
grovelled at Sara Helmuth's feet, and as he recalled this Hammer
sprang up.

"Jenson!  Come aft here, and move spry unless you want me to come
after you."

The secretary, his hands still bound, had been stretched out on one
of the side-cushions near Baumgardner, and at Hammer's words he got
up and shambled aft.

The American was growing less anxious with every moment to push the
investigation into Schlak's death; at any rate before he and Miss
Helmuth had had some kind of an explanation with John Solomon.  Once
Jenson was turned over for perjury, Solomon, the Arab, and
Baumgardner would of necessity be gathered into the same net, while
the legal complications might be unending.  And Cyrus Hammer had both
the sailor's and the broker's fear of lawyers.

"Look here, my man," he addressed Jenson with curt asperity, the
pallid, almost corpse-like features of the man standing out in the
starlight clearly.  Hammer noted absently that over the shoulder of
Jenson the Southern Cross hung low above the horizon's rim.

"Miss Helmuth and I know some things, and we want to know more,
especially about your master's dealings with Professor Helmuth in
Lisbon.  You know, and you can tell us.  If you do, I promise you
that you'll not go up before the court for perjury, though we may
hold you for a few days aboard the yacht.  If you refuse, then you'll
take your medicine for perjury and for your murderous attack on me.
Choose."

Jenson chose, and quickly.  He sank down in the bottom of the boat
awkwardly, because of his bound arms, and the terror in his face was
so great that the girl turned away from him, unable to watch longer.

"I'll tell, Mr. Hammer, if--if you'll let me go."

"I promise, Jenson," said Hammer quietly.  "But mind you don't lie,
for we know enough to test the truth of your story."

"I'll tell the truth, Mr. Hammer, so help me!  Professor Helmuth was
sick, and we knew that he had found something big in one of the
libraries.  I was nursing him, and when he got worse I went through
his papers one night, then took them to the Herr Doctor who kept them.

"Professor Helmuth died, and we tried to get hold of the original
papers at the library, but there had been an outbreak of Royalists
and everything was closed or in disorder.  So we came to Dresden and,
later, made up the expedition.  That's all, sir!"

"And enough."  Hammer turned to Sara Helmuth.  "Anything you would
like to ask him, Miss Helmuth?"

"No," she shuddered, looking away.  "Get him out of my sight."

Jenson needed no urging to remove himself, and for a space the two in
the stern remained silent, while the motor sent its staccato exhaust
humming over the sea.  The Melindi light was very close now, and
Hammer headed for the river, since the launch was small enough to get
into the mouth of the Sabaki and make the dock.

"Thank you, Mr. Hammer," the girl spoke in a low voice as she turned
to him.  "So it was that man who brought about father's betrayal!  I
think that he will suffer punishment for that, one day."

The American gave little heed to her words at the time, but he was to
remember them later, when he and Sara Helmuth and Adolf Jenson were
facing the end of things together.

Jenson's soul seemed to Hammer as colourless as his face.  He lay
amidships, over a thwart beyond the motor, in silence: odd, thought
the American, that while the man was a creature of lies and theft and
treachery yet he was the veriest coward withal.

Baumgardner, who was smoking a pipe, had also come amidships to the
wheel there, while Mohammed Bari was sitting forward, just beyond
Jenson, chewing betel and humming some monotonous native air to
himself.

The American overlooked one significant fact, namely, that
Baumgardner, as well as the other Germans of the crew, had been with
Krausz for several years, and since the Melindi fight was now so
close he apprehended no further trouble.

He was joying in the fact that the girl's confidence had drawn them a
bit closer together, mentally; and by that curious sixth sense which
comes to men at such moments he felt that she also realized this, and
that it was not unwelcome to her.

He frankly was drawn by Sara Helmuth.  The way in which she had faced
the problem presented by Dr. Krausz, her absolute independence of
thought and action, and the very manner in which she bore
herself--all these attracted the American greatly, and he smiled as
he recollected his mental picture of this Professor Sara L. Helmuth.

Sara wasn't such a bad name alter all, he reflected, then remembered
how the doctor had spoken of his assistant and frowned.  Dr. Krausz
certainly had something coming to him, and if he only got the chance
he was going to see that it came.

However, that could wait.  First was the problem of John Solomon,
while he and Harcourt would have to look into Schlak's death between
them.

Mohammed Bari shifted his position and hung over the side, lazily
squirting betel juice outboard, and as they were now opposite the
Melindi light, and a half-mile out, Hammer directed Baumgardner to
head straight in for the river mouth.

The launch swung about, ceased her rolling as she rose on the first
surf-crest, and on a sudden the engine gave one deep-throated,
convulsive gasp and died into silence.

"The oil--turn the oil-cocks off!" exclaimed Sara Helmuth sharply, as
Hammer rose.  "I thought I had turned them off, but----"

"All right, I'll fix it in a minute."

Hammer went to the engine, beside Baumgardner, and leaned over; with
the action he received a heavy shove that sent him head first against
the second cylinder.  His head striking the oil-cup, he felt the
thing snap off, the jagged glass and metal ripping the skin of his
brow above his left eye: for a second he was half-stunned, but fought
blindly to regain his balance, thinking that the launch had struck a
reef.  Then he was caught from behind and half-lifted back toward the
rail, a hand closing on his throat.

As he came erect, gripping desperately at the air, he saw the form of
Jenson at one side, hands unbound.  A flash of red split the
starlight into blackness, and Jenson, with a strange clucking noise,
dove head first over the side.

Baumgardner, who was trying to fling the American over the rail,
stumbled on a thwart, and they both came down in a heap.

Over the port bow lay Mohammed Bari, very still and silent, a black
thread of betel juice trickling from his mouth and something blacker
running from between his shoulder-blades where a knife-haft gleamed.
Jenson had acted swiftly.

Thrashing about in the launch's bottom, Hammer wrenched around and
clutched the boatswain with his left hand, forcing him back against
the rail.  But his throat was dry, his breath was shut off, and the
figure of Sara Helmuth standing in the stern, revolver in hand, was
lost in a swirl of blackness.

Vaguely, Hammer felt the fingers of his right hand close on something
hard beneath him, and with a last effort he brought the object up and
struck the German with all his strength.

Hit squarely on the temple by the heavy wrench, Baumgardner groaned
softly and fell back with loosened fingers, toppling slowly over the
rail until a surf-crest picked him up gently and smothered him from
sight.

Hammer lay motionless at the girl's feet, a black-red smear over brow
and eyes, while she stood as if paralysed; and over the bow one of
Mohammed Bari's hands flopped crazily to the lift of the surf.

And so the launch drifted slowly toward the river-mouth and beach,
with no man to guide her.




CHAPTER X

AT MELINDI

"Dang it, I've a 'ole bloomin' 'ospital on me 'ands, what with Mr.
'Ammer as 'e is and Mr. Harcourt on 'is beam ends!  And worse luck,
it comes just when--ah, all ready, miss?  And what'll it be this
time?"

"Whatever you say," rejoined the voice of Sara Helmuth, grave and
self-contained.  "Is there any change in Mr. Harcourt?"

"No, miss.  'E's crying fretful like--or at least 'e was.  Seems like
a woman's step and tongue quiets 'im a bit, miss: werry unusual, o'
course, but when so be as a man's off 'is 'ead, I says----"

"Darn you, Jenson!  Stop your bally grinning!  He stabbed me, I tell
you----"

Harcourt's shrill cry pierced through the low-toned voices and sent
cold sweat starting on Cyrus Hammer's brow as he stared up into
darkness.

Where was he?  What was this terror that had seized on Harcourt?  For
answer the soft murmur of Sara Helmuth's soothing voice came to him,
followed by the wheeze of a harmonica.

"All right, miss, I've got me instrument in ship-shape order, so to
speak.  Let's give 'em that 'ere lullaby you was a-singing of last
night, miss--them Irish things fair brings the music out o' me,
though bein' born and bred in Wapping I ain't got much use for the
Irish in general.  But let 'er go, miss; I'll come in somewheres."

Silence for a moment; then the girl's voice rose--a soft, deep-toned
contralto, with Solomon "coming in somewheres" with his harmonica in
a monotone accompaniment which did well enough, however, and must
have satisfied him amazingly.  Hammer's eyes glistened as the words
came sweetly to him, for the words and air brought many things back
to him, things that he thought long forgotten----

  "Out on the sea where the sad winds wail
    (Sad and low, sad and low!)
  Watch for the flash of thy father's sail
    Dipping from sight in the sunset glow!
  He comes no more till the dim stars die
  And the day gleams, red in the eastern sky;
    Baby of mine--
  Oh, baby of mine, hush, hush thy cry,
  For the deep sea-moan holds grief of its own--
    Grieve not my heart with thine!

  "Out on the sea where the slow gulls wheel
    (Sad and slow, sad and slow!)
  Watch how the writhing night-mists steal.
    Veiling the infinite ocean's wo!
  Father will come when the nets are drawn
  With a kiss for thee, as the night is gone;
    Baby of mine--
  Oh, baby of mine, in the rosy dawn
  He will come to me, with a kiss for thee,
    On the crest of the tossing brine!


"Dang it--'e's asleep--excuse me, miss, while I see to Mr. 'Ammer."

Solomon's voice was husky and jerky, and the American, who felt much
the same way himself, saw a flood of light spread through his
darkness for a moment.  A step sounded, and Solomon dropped into a
creaking chair beside Hammer.

"Dang it," came a mutter, "I didn't 'ave the 'eart to tell 'er, bless
'er sweet face!  'E's done for, 'e is, and 'ere I be, tied up wi' the
missus and the two on 'em while that danged pasty-faced scoundrel's
been and got clean off.  But wait, me friend!  Them as stabs in the
dark shall perish in the dark, as the Good Book says; but when I gets
me 'ands on 'im--Lud!  So you've been and woke up, Mr. 'Ammer?"

The American, wondering what sort of nightmare he was passing
through, had raised his hand and felt a thick bandage around his
head, and the movement had startled Solomon from his soliloquy.

Despite the bandage and his bewilderment, Hammer felt very well, and
announced that fact as he tried to sit up.  Solomon's hand repressed
him.

"Down wi' you, if you please, sir!  It's still a-workin' in you, but
to-morrow morning you'll be fit to--Lud help us all!  If 'e don't
last----"

"If who doesn't last?" queried Hammer, lying back among his pillows.
"Who is it that's done for?"

"You've 'ad a sleeping potion, Mr. 'Ammer," came Solomon's reply, a
curious note in the man's voice.  "It's been and give you bad dreams,
sir, so just drink this, and in the morning----"

Obediently, Hammer swallowed a few drops from the spoon that Solomon
held to his mouth, and still wondering what the conversation had been
all about, slipped off into slumber before he could speak his
thoughts.

He woke to find it broad daylight.  He was lying on a
mosquito-curtained cot beside an open window, and gained a glimpse of
green trees and white-boiled cotton-fields before he turned his head
to inspect his quarters.  For a space the wonder of the thing gripped
him, keeping him from recalling what had last taken place.

He had gone to sleep in an open launch off the Sabaki River, and he
had wakened in a room that might have housed a prince.  Save for his
cot and a small stand of plain ebony beside it that held medicines,
there was no furniture in the room but rugs--rugs on walls and floor,
and ceiling, even.  Though knowing nothing of such things, the
American sensed the fact that they were such rugs as he had never
seen before.

Opposite him was a royal Ispahan prayer-rug of solid fawn and blue
silk, with unbroken lines of Arabic worked in solid gold thread, and
the cypress, the tree of life, rising over all in white.

On another wall beside the one door hung a rug of pale-blues and
yellows, bearing the five-clawed dragon of the imperial family of
China; it could have come from no place save the imperial palace, so
much Hammer knew.

These were but two of the many which struck his eye in that first
moment, and utterly bewildered, he sat up, feeling slightly dizzy but
perfectly sound, save for a slight pain in his head.  As he sat, a
voice came to him; at first he took it for Harcourt's, then
recognized his error.

"I have notified the authorities, Mr. Solomon, as you wished, and
have no doubt that all will be right as far as you are concerned.
No, I am sorry that there is no hope whatever; this bally fever has
complicated the thing, don't you know, and I am frank to say that I
can do nothing.  He'll be conscious for an hour or so before----"

The voice died away, and Hammer sat staring dumbly at the Ming
dragon, for now he recalled that wild dream he had had.  What was
going on here, anyway?  Where was he?

Suddenly conscious of hunger and a feverish thirst, he seized a glass
of water from the ebony stand and drained it.  As he set it down the
door opened, and into the room came John Solomon, holding open the
door for Sara Helmuth, pale-faced but steady-eyed as ever.

He could do nothing but stare at them blankly, Solomon, his pudgy
face very pale, heaped up a large rug for the girl at the head of the
bed; and as she sat down she looked up at Hammer with a smile, but it
was a smile that struck a cold fear to his heart.

"What's the matter?" he asked hoarsely.  "For Heaven's sake talk!"

"You tell him, Mr. Solomon," and there was a catch in the girl's
voice.  Solomon nodded and sank down on a rug with his legs crossed:
Hammer noted absent-mindedly that he wore dingy carpet-slippers and
held his empty clay-pipe in one hand.

"Mr. 'Ammer, sir," the supercargo cleared his throat, "let me say
first as 'ow you're all right, or will be after a bit, though you've
been off your 'ead for a matter o' three days.  You're in my own
'ouse, sir, and werry safe you are, if I do say it as shouldn't.
It's a werry crooked story, sir--dang it, Mr. 'Ammer, don't
interrupt!"

For a wonder the last words were so irritably shot out that Hammer
sank back, listening, his questions stilled.  So he heard what had
chanced, with a slowly-gathering horror in his heart, and a great
grief filling his soul, for the words of John Solomon bit into him
ineffaceably.

When the launch had drifted in toward the shore, Harcourt had just
been bringing up the _Daphne_ to Melindi, and had picked up the
launch with her searchlight.  Harcourt himself had contracted a
slight touch of fever, but had insisted on bringing the senseless
Hammer and Miss Helmuth aboard personally, and the off-shore breeze
had not aided his fever to any extent.

Alarmed at the story told by the girl, and the condition of Hammer,
who had remained unconscious that night, Harcourt had gone ashore
early the next morning intent on getting a doctor.

He had barely left his boat when a figure had started out from the
crowd of natives about him with a shriek, and the next thing anyone
knew was that Harcourt was lying in a pool of blood, stabbed in the
side.

Solomon had appeared on the spot, and being known, it seemed, to the
native constabulary, had assumed charge of Harcourt.  Getting the
story of Hammer and Miss Helmuth from the four German sailors who had
rowed the captain ashore, he had sent for them as well, installing
all three at his cotton plantation a mile outside the town.

Here an English physician had come to attend them from the _Juba_,
then in port, and had remained until a few moments before.  Hammer
had been given a sleeping-draught the day previous, his own slight
fever had vanished altogether, and he was perfectly well: but
Harcourt was dying.

From his delirium Solomon and the girl had gathered that his attacker
had been Jenson--probably rendered insane by fear at sight of
Harcourt.  At this juncture the American disregarded Solomon and
broke in with a single curt question, his face grim.

"Where is Jenson?"

"No one knows, Mr. Hammer," answered the girl gently, placing her
hand on his wrist for a moment.  "Wait, please!  It was not found out
who had stabbed Captain Harcourt until we found it out from his
ravings.  Then Mr. Solomon said not to tell the authorities anything
about it."

Hammer looked at the supercargo, a flame of grief and fury in his
hard, grey eyes, his face tense.

"Explain this, Solomon, or by Godfrey----"

"Mr. 'Ammer," and for a brief instant the American was all but awed
by the look in the wide blue eyes, "I liked you, and I liked Mr.
Harcourt, more than I like most men.  If so be as you're bound to do
it, then report the thing; but I says, wait.  Just like that, Mr.
'Ammer--wait.  I 'as me own ways of doing a thing up ship-shape, and
I'm older than you be, Mr. 'Ammer, havin' learned a mortal lot in me
day.  I knows the authorities, Mr. 'Ammer, and I knows John Solomon,
and I gives you me Bible oath that this 'ere Jenson answers to us for
what 'e's been and done."

The eyes of the two men gripped and held for a long moment.  Hammer,
struck to the heart by the news of Harcourt as he was, a furious
madness for revenge tearing at his brain, yet felt a curious impulse
to obey this John Solomon.

All the obsequiousness of the latter had vanished, and in its place
had come a quiet assurance, a steadiness, that could not but impress
the American.  More than this, even, did the next words of Sara
Helmuth restrain him.

"Please, Mr. Hammer, don't be hasty in this affair.  Believe me, I
know a good deal more than I did that night in the launch, and when
you know it, too, I think that you will agree fully with me.  Beside,
Mr. Harcourt is--is--the doctor said that he would not live more than
a few hours longer."

Not until that moment did Hammer fully realize how dear his friend
had become to him.  It was to him an incredibly dreadful thing that
after all he had passed through, after finding Harcourt, after coming
to like and to be liked--that the gods had now snatched this gift
from him, just when he was coming to most depend on the other man.

"My God!" he said under his breath, and dropped his head into his
hands.  "Harcourt dying!"

It was horrible; a thing almost beyond his comprehension.  But, so
deep down in his soul that even he did not realize it, was fear--fear
that he would go back to what Harcourt had dragged him from--fear
that the old terrible bitterness would sweep back over him and
smother him.  Suddenly he looked up, his face drawn and grey.

"You--last night you were singing!" he cried hoarsely, and his eyes
shot accusation into the brown pitying gaze of Sara Helmuth.  "What
do you mean?  Are you playing with me----"

"Be quiet!"  Solomon's voice rang harsh and stern.  "'Ow dare you,
Mr. 'Ammer!  I says this 'ere lady is an angel--why, dang it, sir,
she 'asn't slept for two blessed nights, what o' watching wi' you and
'im!  Yes, she was a singing, Mr. 'Ammer, 'cause Mr. Harcourt 'e
thought she was 'is mother, 'e did, and wouldn't go----"

"Oh, stop it, stop it!" Hammer groaned, waving his hand in
desperation.  "I'm sorry, Miss Helmuth--I understand now.  Take me to
Harcourt, please."

He gained his feet, careless of the fact that he was dressed only in
a suit of pyjamas.  Sara Helmuth looked after him, her eyes brimming,
but did not move; Solomon led him out into a wide hallway and across
into another room.

Harcourt was lying in a cot, wasted, pale to ghastliness, dark
circles under his eyes, but none the less with his mouth wearing its
same good-humoured lines.  By his side was a chair, and into this
Hammer dropped, gazing down at the sleeping face of the man who had
been his friend.

How long he sat there he did not know.  He was vaguely aware that
Solomon had gone away on tiptoe, but before his mind's eye were
passing scenes, pictures of Harcourt as he had known him from day to
day, now sharp and clear-cut, now dim and ill-remembered.

And three days had wrought this change!  Three days, death in their
wake, had transformed the broad-shouldered, clean-minded Englishman
into this wasted semblance of himself.

"Good God," muttered Hammer, licking his dry lips.  "It's horrible!"

As he breathed the words to himself, leaning over the bed, the dark
eyelids flickered and opened, and Harcourt's blue eyes met his--at
first with blank unrecognition, then with surprised delight.
Harcourt smiled faintly, and his voice came clear but weak.

"Hello, old chap!  You're--by Jove, where's that Jenson?"

The blue eyes had suddenly flashed out with anger as Harcourt
remembered.  The American, with more tenderness than he had ever
thought to show any man, put out a hand to the cold brow of his
friend.

"Quiet, old man; we'll take care of all that."

For the life of him he could not repress the message that leaped from
his own eyes to those of the other.  Harcourt looked up steadily; he
had read the message aright, but the clear blue eyes never faltered.

"So bad as all that, old chap?"

Hammer nodded, his mouth quivering as he bit at his lips; then the
words burst forth brokenly.

"God knows I wish--he'd taken--me instead, Harcourt!"

The other put out a weak hand to his, still smiling.

"I say, old chap, don't be so bally broken up!  How long?"

Before Hammer replied a step sounded, and he looked up to see Solomon.

"What-o!" exclaimed that individual cheerily.  "Inwalid woke up?
We'll----"

Solomon's voice died away, and into his wide blue eyes crept a look
of utmost sympathy and kindness as he saw that Harcourt knew.

"How long can I count on, Solomon?"

"It's 'ard to say, sir.  An hour, the doctor said----"

"All right.  I want to make a will, don't you know.  I say, Hammer,
brace up!  'Pon my word, I'm having a splendid time, old chap; I've
always wanted to have a look in on the stage and see how things were
run."

"I'm a notary public, sir, if so be as you wants to----" suggested
Solomon.

"Very well.  Hammer, you don't mind leaving us alone for a bit?"

The American, choking, rose and left the room, returning to his own.
Miss Helmuth had vanished, and he stood over his cot, looking out the
window, and fighting back his emotion with grim intensity.  It seemed
untold ages before his door opened and he turned to face the master
of the house.

"'E's all through, Mr. 'Ammer, and wants you.  Werry weak 'e is, sir."

Hammer strode back hurriedly and dropped beside Harcourt.

"Hammer, old chap," and Harcourt's voice was faint.  "I'm not afraid
to meet the Stage Manager; but, Christian or not, I do wish that
you'd get Jenson for me, will you?  Not that I object particularly,
don't you know, but I do object to being hurried in such a bally
indecent way."

"I'll get him," muttered Harcourt, meeting the clear blue eyes.

"I'll get him, Harcourt, and I'll get his master with him, by
Godfrey!"

"Werry good, sir!" echoed the voice of Solomon behind.

Harcourt's gaze shifted and the trace of a smile crept into his
colourless cheeks.

"Tell me, Solomon, do you know who killed that bally second mate?"

"I did, sir."

Hammer heard the words dully, but they did not pierce to his brain,
nor would he have heeded them if they had done so.  Harcourt's
vitality was ebbing fast, and their hands came together for the last
time.

"Well, old chap," and his voice was little more than a whisper, "no
bally preaching, you know--but take care of yourself.  And I wish
you'd take me cut to sea for the last scene, if you don't mind.
Beastly country to rot in, this.  What's the time, John?"

"Four bells, sir, afternoon watch."

"Thanks very much."

Silence ensured, while Hammer's grey eyes fastened hungrily on the
face of his friend, and Harcourt gazed up, still smiling faintly.

Then the blue eyes closed, but the hand that the American held still
pressed his feebly.  After a moment Harcourt looked up again, a tinge
of colour in his cheeks, and spoke in his old voice.

"Don't forget--Jenson.  Good luck, old chap!"

And there were but two men in the room.




CHAPTER XI

JOHN SOLOMON PREPARES FOR ACTION

"Solomon, I wish you'd tell me about that Schlak business, just to
get it off my mind."

"Yes, sir; just a moment.  Miss 'Elmuth, can you bring to mind the
date o' that 'ere scrimmage up at the camp?"

Hammer stared, for the supercargo--supercargo no longer--seemed to
think more about getting his notes down in that little red morocco
notebook than he did about the death of Schlak.  Presently, however,
Solomon closed and carefully placed a rubber band about the notebook,
shoving it into his pocket.

"I likes to keep my accounts all ship-shape, sir and missus, and I
must say as 'ow I'm getting a mortal big account over against the
name o' Krausz.  Why, Mr. 'Ammer, 'ere's the facts o' the case.

"You may remember as 'ow, that night, I was gone from mess for a bit?
Well, I'd slipped up to Mr. Schlak's cabin to see if I could find
something I was after--papers connected wi' the expedition, they was.

"I 'ad the paper I'd taken from the doctor's pocket, and was
comparing of it with some others I found when, lo and behold, in pops
Mr. Schlak!

"'E never says a word, 'e don't, but just goes for me.  Lud, but it
did give me a turn for a moment, sir!  Forchnit it was me 'and fell
on 'is knife, where it 'ung on the wall, after 'e'd knocked me back
and took me by the throat.  No, I 'ad to do it, miss; it was 'is life
or mine, and no mistake."

It was four days after the sea funeral of Harcourt.  The latter, by
the terms of his hasty but authentic will, had left to Hammer all his
property, consisting of the _Daphne_.

At first the American had flatly refused to accept the yacht, until
the practical, hard-headed common sense of John Solomon won him
around; and when he put the case up to Sara Helmuth she had promptly
decided that he should accept.

He did so, was duly constituted as lawful owner, and there being no
objections to the first mate's papers, obtained for him by Solomon,
took command of the yacht until her arrival in England once again.
She was at anchor off the river, Hammer and Sara Helmuth remaining
with Solomon until they had agreed upon some plan.

Hammer began to feel that it was time for action.  No word had
drifted in from the ruins of Fort St. Thomas during the week that had
intervened, and Hammer's grief had settled into a determined thirst
for vengeance.

Solomon was at one with him in this, but had exercised a restraining
influence to which Hammer had yielded with good grace.  He had begun
to find out things about John Solomon.

The man seemed to have no lack of money, and it was apparent that he
was neither supercargo nor cotton-planter.  The very character of his
visitors precluded that, while it but vexed Hammer the more.

On one occasion it was a Kiswahili chieftain from up-coast; on
another a party of dirty but stately Arabs from a dhow in port; on
another a bearded, khaki-clad officer of police from somewhere
up-country.  These visitors were received in private and departed as
they came, without meeting Hammer or Miss Helmuth.

On this, the fourth day after the sea-burial, all three were sitting
in a large living-room on the ground floor of the house.  Like the
other rooms it held many rugs, together with native weapons and two
of the ancient Shishkhana rifles from Damascus, of which Solomon was
inordinately proud.

He had been seated over a little desk in the corner, busily writing
in his red notebook, and when at last the impatient American had got
the story of Schlak's death out of him he squatted down on some
cushions beside Sara Helmuth, who, with her quiet common sense which
embarrassed Hammer at times, was darning socks for the two men.

"About Jenson now," he continued, whittling at his tobacco plug--"it
don't pay to be in a 'urry, Mr. 'Ammer.  I 'ave men out 'unting for
Potbelly----"

"But, confound it, Solomon, why can't I go up there and----"

"Now, Mr. 'Ammer, don't take on so!  First off, we 'as t' get this
'ere business straightened out all ship-shape and proper, so to
speak; and the East ain't the West, Mr. 'Ammer.

"If so be as you wanted a certain book, you'd say, 'Get the book I
gave you last night,' which is all werry well in its place, I says;
but if you was talking Hindi you'd say, 'What book was by me given to
you yesterday at night, that book fetchin' to me, come.'

"Now, Mr. 'Ammer, that's just a sample, like.  The East ain't the
West, I says, and a werry good job that it ain't.  Besides, there's
the missus to think on, sir."

Hammer glanced at Sara Helmuth, who smiled at him, noticing that his
face was older than it had been a week before--that it was graver,
finer drawn.

"Perhaps it's time for an understanding, Mr. Hammer.  I haven't seen
much of you the last two or three days, you know, but Mr. Solomon
and----"

"Make it John, miss, if you don't mind," broke in Solomon pleadingly.
"It's John with me friends, if I may make so bold as to place you in
that 'ere category."

"All right, then," laughed the girl.  "John and I have had an
understanding, Mr. Hammer----"

"Make it Cyrus, miss," interrupted the American, his eyes narrowing
in a slight smile as he met her gaze.  "Or cut off the mister and
make it plain Hammer, both of you."

"Hammer it is!" exclaimed the girl, though John shook his head
solemnly.  "So, of course, I'll reciprocate with plain Sara.  And now
let me finish.  The whole story that Dr. Krausz told you, Hammer, was
untrue."

"What?  You don't mean about the treasure stuff----"

"Yes, for he changed that to suit himself.  Now, here's the real
story.  My father found a number of old papers in Lisbon giving the
whole thing, and wrote it to Solomon, intending to join him later and
go shares on it.  In 1696 Fort Jesus, or Mombasa, was besieged by the
Arabs.

"That siege lasted for thirty-three months, for the Portuguese sent
over help from Goa, but in the meantime all the other Portuguese
settlements were being destroyed.

"Our own Fort St. Thomas was able to hold out until Fort Jesus had
fallen, when the Arab fleet came up and put everyone in the fort to
the sword.  We don't know who escaped, but, at anyrate, father found
the papers telling about the treasure.  It seems that the Viceroy of
Goa had sent some alleged relics of St. Thomas, who was supposed to
have died in India, you know, back to the King of Portugal; and with
them he had sent a lot of valuable papers and documents, as well as
such things as gold and jewels--there has to be a treasure, of course.

"Well, that ship put into the bay which used to be at St. Thomas; she
was driven ashore, and the garrison only had time to transfer her
cargo to the fort before they were attacked.  So far as anyone knows
to the contrary, Hammer, it's there yet."

"I guess not."  The American shook his head.  "Krausz has it by now;
you can lay on that--Sara."

His brief hesitation before her name was answered by a slight flush
as she laughed quickly up at him.

"No, he hasn't!  At least, not the papers, the best part of all.
They were hidden away separately, and not even father knew it, There
was one paper he could not translate, for it was written in cipher,
so he sent it direct to John.  That paper told about the hiding-place
of the papers and the relics, and Krausz never heard of it."

Hammer glanced at Solomon, beginning to grow interested in this
treasure-hunt in spite of himself.

"What kind of a chap are you, John?  By Godfrey, I'm thinking that
you must be some kind of wizard!"

"Well, Mr. 'Ammer, so the Arabs do say.  You see, sir, I've 'ad a bit
o' luck wi' the rosary predictions--'El Rame!', the Arabs call
it--and I'm free to admit, sir and miss, that it ain't far removed
from rank sorcery to a Christian's way o' thinking.  But I've learned
a mortal lot in me time, Mr. 'Ammer, and 'ave 'andled some main
ticklish jobs.

"You might not think it, sir, but I've a fondness for these 'ere
rugs, and I've got some as couldn't be bought, sir--sent to me by
different 'ands.  But put not your trust in Hajjis and Sayyids as the
Good Book says: no, sir, I 'olds to me own game and plays it me own
way.  Just so with this 'ere Jenson; and when Potbelly gets back,
why, we go after 'im and 'is master and the loot, all in one pile."

"Potbelly?" queried Hammer.  "Is he a man of yours?"

"One of a few, sir, and not so black as 'e's painted.  A Hazrami, 'e
is; them Hazramaut men wanders all over, sir--reg'lar soldiers o'
fortune, like.  The Hindus say: 'If you meet a viper and a Hazrami,
spare the viper'.  But this 'ere man Potbelly, which ain't 'is proper
name, is main useful.  Lud, what I've seen that man do!  A actor, 'e
is, sir."

Hammer learned that nothing had been heard of Potbelly, but men were
looking for him.  He also learned that Solomon had, in reality, been
the _deus ex machina_ during the entire cruise of the yacht, and that
he had managed the affair at Port Said, thus detaining three of the
Germans and replacing them with his own men in case of trouble.  As
he had advised dismissing the remaining Germans at once, they had
been summarily discharged and sent to Mombasa.

Thither, Hammer decided to follow them.  Roberts, the steward, had
already been sent home with his master's personal effects, and the
sooner the yacht was in the shelter of Kilindini harbour the better.

As Solomon wished to get two Afghan friends of his up from Mombasa,
Hammer concluded to take down the yacht in the morning; for it was
beginning of November, and the south-west monsoon was threatening the
insecure anchorage of Melindi.

"What day is this?" he asked suddenly.

"The 14th day o' the month Zil Ka'adah," rejoined Solomon, with a
twinkle in his eye.  "Year o' the Hegira, 1331.  In other words, sir,
it's Thursday."

"Then I'll be back on the _Juba_ Sunday night," reflected Hammer.
"What are your plans?"

Solomon's plans were quite well-defined, once he stated them.  He
intended to go up-coast to old Fort St. Thomas by launch, sending a
party of Arabs around by land; the natives would be easily sent away,
leaving Krausz with six Germans and Jenson.

The last-named would be either given up or taken by force, and Krausz
could get back to Melindi and Mombasa as best he might, while with
their men Solomon and Hammer dug up the ruins.

Sara Helmuth insisted that she be of the party also, and since there
was no great danger to be apprehended, Solomon consented.

He bade Hammer keep the little silver ring, saying that most of the
natives knew the emblem and that it might prove of help to him at
some future time.

Frankly mystified, Hammer questioned the man directly as to who and
what he was; but Solomon merely laughed and waved a hand complacently.

"Easy, sir--easy!  A man as asks too much gets less'n 'e asks, I
says; it ain't in 'uman nature to be answerin' of questions, I says,
but Lud, there's few men as understands 'uman nature, Mr. 'Ammer!
Ship's stores, me line is, Mr. 'Ammer, and I 'as me little shop in
Port Said all neat and ship-shape like, where I'll be mortal glad to
receive ye on 'appier occasions, sir and miss."

Hammer gave up questioning his ex-supercargo.  Sara Helmuth proved to
know no more than did he himself, but he had talked much with her of
other things, striving to gain something of her poise and perfect
self-confidence.  For the American was in deadly fear of himself.

With each day the old bitterness had been surging back into his
heart, driving him to action no matter what it might be.  Harcourt's
death had been a sore stroke to him, and yet--even more than he could
comprehend--the presence and friendship of Sara Helmuth had upborne
him and kept him from the brooding which had proven his undoing in
time past.

He listened without interest as Solomon questioned the girl about the
old fort and her preliminary work in getting it cleared of brush and
trees.  As she replied to his queries, Hammer saw a frown slowly
gathering on Solomon's pudgy face; then the little man pulled out his
clay pipe and tobacco and began to whittle thoughtfully.

"All werry good, miss," he declared finally, "but I'm mortal sorry as
'ow you 'ad all that work for nothing."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly.

"Well, I thought as 'ow I'd say nothing about it till the proper
time, miss; but this 'ere's the proper time, I says.  You see, that
there place you was a-workin' on wasn't the fort at all, miss; it was
just the ruins of the old store-house and slave barracoon, at what
used to be the water's edge.  The fort itself is a matter o' two
hundred yards back in the jungle, miss."

While Hammer and the girl stared at him, almost in incredulity, he
went on to explain, with one of his quiet chuckles.  He had visited
the ruins four years previously on an inspection with the district
commissioner from Melindi, and so was aware of there being two sets
of ruins.

Those of the fort proper were well overgrown by the jungle, but were
in much better preservation than those on the hill, which had been
levelled long since by the elements.

Bearing this in mind, he had instructed Potbelly to meet the party of
Miss Helmuth and to lead her to the lesser ruins, saying nothing
about those of the fort proper.

This Potbelly had done, and in consequence Dr. Krausz was spending
time and money in digging up ancient slave barracoons, knowing
nothing of the real fort so close to him.

Hammer could not understand this until Solomon explained the density
of the jungle near the place, which was uncrossed by any native
tracks.

"But if he got the location from the papers left by your father,"
argued the American, "surely he would know better, Sara.  He's a man
of experience----"

"Not in Africa," broke in Solomon, chuckling.  "Not in Africa 'e
ain't!  Them places was all alike, sir--just a square with a roof
over it, like.  The fort's just three o' them there squares with a
wall around and other buildin's in between.  No, sir; in them papers
you mentions, 'e found where to dig, prowiding 'e got the right
place.  So 'e's a-digging of his bloomin' 'ead off, and much good may
it do 'im, I says.  When so be as we gets ready to dig, why, them
Arabs o' mine will 'ave it all ready cleared for us.  It's so mortal
thick in there, sir, that two parties could live for a year on end,
ten yards apart, and never know it--just like that, sir."

In the end Hammer was forced to admit the logic of Solomon's
reasoning, though when he learned that the Arabs were probably on the
spot by this time he refused to believe that they would not be
discovered at work.

The Afghans he was to pick up at Mombasa had been despatched to Goa
by Solomon in the endeavour to learn something definite about the old
fort; but whether they had done so or not Solomon did not know.

Nor could the American understand the other's choice of men.  Why he
should send Afghans on such an errand, why he should trust Potbelly
and make use of him as he did, why he should seemingly put so much
trust in natives and so little trust in white men, drew a series of
questions from Hammer which forced Solomon to explain.

"White men is all werry well in their place, sir, but Africa ain't
their place.  Me men know me, Mr. 'Ammer, and 'as faith in me.  White
men can't 'elp from talking too much, sir; but it ain't in the nature
of brown men to talk.

"Work a brown man all square and aboveboard, I says, and 'e'll curse
ye for a bloody fool; but work 'im underhand, like what e's been used
to for the last thousand years, and 'e'll fair go through fire and
water for ye.  What 'e loves is the game, sir--same as me.  It ain't
the money as I'm after, though I do say as money 'as its uses."

Which was all Hammer ever extracted from John Solomon on the matter
of colour.

That night, after a long talk with Sara Helmuth, the American went
out to the _Daphne_.  He had not been able to nerve himself to the
deed before this, but now installed himself in Harcourt's cabin and
arranged with the chief engineer to sign on a crew at Mombasa as fast
as the men could be picked up.

He was without money, practically, and doubted very much whether he
would be able to make the yacht pay in future--for this, however, he
made no plans; his first duty was to get hold of Jenson, and what
came after that did not trouble him greatly.

At Mombasa he found the two Afghans without trouble.  Both were
heavily-bearded, stalwart men, of keen intelligence, and cousins;
Akhbar Khan and Yar Hussein were alike, grave-eyed, dignified,
green-turbaned, and dependable.  Hammer concluded that John Solomon
knew what he was about, after all.

His only business ashore was to get the two Afghans, and with them he
returned to the waiting launch, provisioned and manned by Solomon's
four Arabs, for the run up-coast.

He did not go near the club, and saw no one he knew until reaching
the wharf.  Here, however, he ran into a little Cockney, a waiter at
the club the evening he had so gloriously awakened Mombasa.

Finding the man staring at him, he nodded and would have passed on,
but the fellow plucked his sleeve.

"Beg pardon, guv'nor, but you'd best cut and run for it.  I heard two
o' them nigger bobbies sayin' as 'ow they was lookin' for you
up-town."

"Eh?  I guess you've made a mistake, my man!" exclaimed the American.
The other winked and sidled away hastily.

"Just a tip, guv'nor.  Don't wyste no time----" and he was gone.

Laughing over the occurrence, and thinking that the man was drunk,
Hammer dropped into the launch and the wharf was soon left behind.

He had decided not to go up on the _Juba_, as the launch would be of
use to them and he could make a quicker run up in her.  Solomon had a
launch hired at Melindi, but another would not come amiss, he
thought.  Nor did it, as events proved.

The run to Melindi was uneventful in the extreme, and they made the
river-mouth shortly after nine in the evening.  Bidding the Arabs and
Afghans come to the plantation with him, where there were a number of
buildings in which they could find shelter.  Hammer led the way at
once.

To his surprise, the plantation-house was dark save for the servants'
quarters, nor was there anyone to greet him.

Mystified and no little startled by the empty rooms, the American lit
some of the lamps and soon had the house-boys on the jump.

The only information that he could elicit from them was that Potbelly
had come that morning, and Solomon and Sara Helmuth had gone shortly
after luncheon--where, no one knew or would say.




CHAPTER XII

UNDER SUSPICION

Irritated almost beyond control by Solomon's exasperating method of
playing his hand in the dark, Hammer passed a very bad night.

More than once he was on the point of sending a boy to Melindi for
the district commissioner and of putting the whole case into the
hands of the authorities, and only his promise to Harcourt restrained
him, for he had come to look upon that promise as a personal pledge,
to be carried out by himself alone.

Why had Solomon gone off without leaving him any word, and why had he
taken Sara Helmuth with him?  Perhaps the latter query worried the
American more than the former.

He overlooked the facts that Sara Helmuth was quite competent so far
as taking care of herself was concerned; that she had as much or more
interest in the entire affair than he had, and that she was not the
kind of person to sit idly by while Solomon worked in her behalf.

Evidently Potbelly's tidings had in some way drawn them off the
original plan, though Hammer could not see how.

The Hazrami, who was masquerading as a Kiswahili, must have brought
back important news to bestir Solomon to such rapid action, for at
dawn no move had been contemplated till Hammer's return.  Besides,
Solomon had no taste for hurry, as the American knew.

The two Afghans and the four Arabs had received the news of Solomon's
absence with grave acquiescence, departing to the rooms assigned them
by the house servants, who were all Kiswahili.  Akhbar Khan had
carried a small roll of sheepskin, the only baggage of the two, and
this he had taken with him.

But when Hammer descended to breakfast both Akhbar Khan and Yar
Hussein had vanished bodily, sheepskin and all.  The four Arabs could
tell nothing of them, and, although Hammer expended all his store of
Arabic upon the house servants, he elicited nothing but the
surprising information that the two visitors must have been djinns,
since they had flown away in the night, even as they had come.

So the American cursed them all impartially in the name of Allah and
bade them leave him alone, which they did willingly.  There being
nothing better to do, he gave himself up to waiting; but an hour
later he was pleasurably surprised by the arrival of no less a person
than Potbelly himself.

Now, however, he came in his own guise.  No longer a Kiswahili, he
had doffed his pseudo-mission clothes and came in all the stately
pride of a Hazrami, an Arab of the Arabs, masterless, and bowing to
no man.

Yet, in spite of his white burnoose and green turban of the
pilgrimage, he was weary and in much need of repair, having plainly
come through the bush.  He insisted on speaking French, also, to the
further annoyance of Hammer, though the American could understand him
well enough.

"It's about time you came, Potbelly," grunted Hammer ungraciously.
"What's your news?  Where's Solomon?"

For answer the Arab settled himself on a rug, clapped his hands, and
demanded coffee from the boy who came, and then saw to it that his
proper self made a proper impression on Hammer.

"I am no longer Potbelly, _m'sieu'_, but the Hajj Omar ibn Kasim el
Hamumi----"

"I don't care a whoop who you are!" exclaimed Hammer angrily.  "Give
me your message or get out of here!"

A wounded look from Omar ibn Kasim was followed promptly by his news,
as he met the eye of Hammer, and saw fury smouldering there.

But, mindful of the words of John Solomon, the American forced
himself to restraint and let Omar tell the tale in his own fashion,
which consisted largely in dwelling on every little circumstance to
the full, and lauding his own efforts with great self-satisfaction.

The gist of the tale, as Hammer finally extracted it, was that Omar
had held Dr. Krausz and his men helpless until Hammer and Sara
Helmuth had obtained a good start on any possible pursuit.

Then, knowing that he had no retreat by sea, he had shouted to Miss
Helmuth's mission-boys to join him in the jungle, and had plunged
into the midst of it, chancing upon the real ruins of the fort.

At this point his story was full of fanciful interpolations, as
Hammer termed them, concerning monkeys who threw skulls at him, and
pits full of snakes.  After weird and wholly impossible adventures he
had met Solomon's party of Arabs, who were later joined by Sara
Helmuth's mission-boys.

Since the Arabs, whom he wrathfully described as "men without shame",
were determined to carry out Solomon's orders, and laughed at his
stories of the ruins, he had come on to Melindi with the mission-boys.

Midway, however, he had come down with fever, which explained his
delay.  The mission-boys had cared for him, and Hammer shrewdly
judged that he had made the most of his illness, for at present he
displayed no great signs of emaciation.

On the day before, as he was coming into town, he had seen a party of
nine men leaving; of these stalwart Masai _askaris_, bearing the
eagle of the German Consulate on the collars of their tunics.  Here
the American interrupted wrathfully:

"What manner of lie is this, Omar ibn Kasim?  How should these men
get here from Mombasa?"

"Did not the _Juba_ arrive the day before yesterday, and does it not
arrive again to-morrow, Yaum el Ahad?"

"Yes, to-morrow is Sunday," retorted the American, "but that doesn't
explain how Jenson could have fetched those _askaris_ from Mombasa."

"A week has passed, _effendi_," and the other struck into Arabic.
"Am I a liar, then?  _Al Nar wa la al Ar_!  May fire seize on me, but
not shame!  If I lie, _effendi_, may I be childless, may my----"

"Oh, cut it out and go on!" groaned Hammer wearily, recognizing his
want of tact in dealing with the man.  "You are more truthful than
the Koran, Omar Ibn Kasim, so finish the story and I will doubt no
more."

Mollified, the Arab told how he had brought the news to Solomon, and
how that individual had at once set out after Jenson, taking him for
guide.

Miss Helmuth had gone with them, with enough boys from the plantation
to make a respectable safari.  As they had failed to come up with
Jenson by nightfall, in the morning Solomon had despatched the Arab
to bring up Hammer.

"Then it's time we started," growled the latter, angry at Solomon,
Omar, himself, and everyone else.  "If we had only got the
authorities after the fellow," he thought, "it would have been all
over by this time.  Confound Solomon!  It's too late now."

He questioned Omar about the two Afghans, but the latter knew nothing
of them.  Neither did he have any inclination to hurry forth into the
jungle again, and said so plainly as he sipped his coffee.

Hammer, exasperated by the coolness and almost contempt of the man,
could restrain himself no longer.  Starting from his seat, he grasped
the arm of Omar with a wrench that sent the man to his back on the
rug.

"Now," and he glared at the angry Arab with his grey eyes hard and
cold, "I've had enough of your insolence, my friend, and I don't give
a hang whether you're a Hajj or a Hazrami or Mohammed himself.
You're going to lead me to John Solomon, and do it on the
jump--understand?"

This was exactly the action required.  Omar looked up at him for a
moment, then his dark face cleared, and he stated that he understood
and would do exactly as the _effendi_ ordered, though he was dying
for lack of food.

"That's all right," and Hammer released him.  "Do all the dying you
want to but not until you have led me to Solomon _Effendi_.  Now, get
out and see that you have some boys ready to start within an hour,
else I go alone and spread the story of your shame through all the
coast.  Jump!"

Omar jumped, and, with the four Arab soldiers to help him, he
speedily raised a force of twenty boys from the plantation quarters.

As Hammer knew where Solomon's stores of chop-boxes and supplies were
located, he broke into the storehouse without scruple and left Omar
getting the loads ready.

Though he searched every room in the main house, he could find no
arms save the weapons adorning the walls, and these were handsome but
useless to him.

Evidently Solomon had small use for weapons, so he was forced to bide
content with his own two revolvers.  Meanwhile, the problem of Jenson
and the consulate _askaris_ was worrying him.

There was no doubt that the secretary had swum ashore, either
frightened or wounded by Sara Helmuth's bullet, the night he had
stabbed Mohammed Bari in the launch.  He had met Harcourt the next
morning, probably after hiding on the wharf all night; and where had
he been during the intervening week?

Remembering the _askaris_, Hammer whistled softly and consulted Omar
ibn Kasim, who replied to his questions with the information that the
German Consul in Mombasa did not have _askaris_, requiring no
protection; but that all the Consulates in Zanzibar did, and,
further, that if a man was fool enough to be in a hurry he could get
to Zanzibar from Mombasa and back in a couple of days, more or less.

This, then, explained the actions of Jenson fairly well.  Immediately
after his stabbing Harcourt he must have gone aboard the _Juba_ to
Mombasa--but would he have the influence and authority to command
_askaris_?  Also, he was taking them to Fort St. Thomas, a thing he
would never dare do on his own initiative.  This compelled a
readjustment.

Evidently, then, Jenson had gone to Dr. Krausz, either overland or by
launch.  This could be verified by ascertaining in Melindi if he had
hired a launch at the time in question; yet he must have done so to
account for his other movements.

Armed with letters from Krausz, the American reflected, he had caught
the _Juba_ on her next trip, connected at Mombasa for Zanzibar, and
hurried back with the _askaris_.  Krausz evidently wanted men who
could shoot, as these Masai could.

Hammer strongly doubted whether it was legal or not to bring the
Consulate guards from Zanzibar up here into British East Africa.
Certainly, the German Consul would take no such risk, for the thing
would be sure to demand investigation if illegal, as Hammer thought
it was.

How, then, had Jenson secured the men?  Probably by
misrepresentations, or else by actual lies; and if this was the case
Hammer felt that he had Krausz cornered at last.

Omar had met the party leaving Melindi, however, and if Jenson acted
thus openly the presence of the _askaris_ must be unquestioned.

The best thing to do was to see the district commissioner about it,
thought the American, and with this thought he issued from the house
and sought out Omar.

The latter was ready to start, as was his safari, and from somewhere
the Arab had dug up an ancient Snider rifle and bandolier, which
Hammer eyed with some disfavour.  As he gave the order to march,
however, a Kiswahili boy ran up with word that Bwana Somebody was
coming, whereat all save Omar seemed to be affected with sudden
fright.

The American got them into shape with much expenditure of Arabic, and
as he did so became aware of a little party coming down the
track--for the plantation of Solomon, being away from those of the
East African Corporation, did not have the benefit of any road.

The party, as he saw at a glance, consisted of a very trim and spruce
officer of police, a sergeant, and four men, and that they were
coming here he had no doubt.  So, bidding the natives wait, he
advanced to meet them.

"Good afternoon," the officer responded curtly to his greeting.  "Is
there a Mr. Hammer anywhere about?"

"I am Mr. Hammer," replied the American, surprised.  "Sure you want
me!"

"Well, rather!" snapped out the other, curtly.  "Sergeant, arrest
this man."

Before the amazed Hammer knew what was happening there was a
policeman on each side of him, and the officer's eye had lighted on
Omar.

"Here, you!  Have you a permit to carry that _bunduki_?"

The officer was somewhat taken aback when Omar, grinning, held out a
folded paper and replied in English:

"Yes, sar.  Licensed to carry one gun, sar."

"Humph!"  By the time the officer had glanced over the permit and
returned it with a bad grace, Hammer had recovered his power of
speech.  He knew that something was radically wrong, but that if he
resisted it would be more wrong still, so he restrained his anger and
spoke with what seemed to him remarkable coolness.

"I'd like to know what this means, lieutenant!  How dare you arrest
me, and on what charge?  What----"

"Whatever you say will be used against you," replied the officer.
"You are under arrest for murder, sir, and I warn you not to resist.
I just got here in time evidently; you slipped out of Mombasa pretty
neatly, 'pon my word!"

"Slipped your grandmother!" retorted Hammer with some heat.  "I'm not
in the habit of slipping out of anywhere, you impertinent young
puppy!  I want to know----"

"See here, Hammer," and the officer, for all his youth, showed
determination, "I'd advise you to keep your mouth closed unless you
want it closed for you.  If you can't help talking, wait till you get
closeted with the district commissioner.  I'll warrant you'll get a
mouthful from him, my man, and no mistake, but in the meantime I'll
thank you not to discuss this affair with me.  I've no bally use for
a man of your stamp, and the less you say the better for you.  All
ready, sergeant?"

The sergeant was, and so was Hammer.  Furious but helpless, he
clearly perceived that there was no use resisting, and that argument
with this business-like young officer was worse than futile.

He was but obeying orders, after all, and the only thing to do was to
have it out with the district commissioner.

So, angry at the mere senselessness of the arrest, the American fell
in between the two men and followed the sergeant, his face pale and
hard.

As he went he saw that Omar ibn Kasim, after a quick order in Arabic
which he did not catch, was starting after him.  Struck by a sudden
thought, Hammer held up the hand on which glittered Solomon's ring.

Omar stopped, waved a hand, and departed by another path in all
haste, while Hammer proceeded with more calmness.  He was suddenly
aware that he had great confidence in John Solomon, and, whatever
this situation was into which he had stumbled, the pudgy little man
would find some loophole.

Then he remembered the Cockney whom he had met on the Mombasa wharf,
and realized that the thing must be serious indeed if the Mombasa
police were after him.  They had notified Melindi by wire of course;
but of what had they notified?  What was the cause of the whole
business?

Hammer racked his brains vainly.  He might have been arrested for the
death of Baumgardner, although no hue and cry had been raised over
finding any such body along the beach.  Besides, the testimony of
Sara Helmuth would have cleared him of that, and Solomon had
accounted to the authorities for the death of Mohammed Bari in some
manner or other.

It must be some trumped-up charge brought against him by Krausz, he
considered.  The scientist had no knowledge or fear of John Solomon's
activities, and he was probably trying to get Hammer out of his way,
believing him the only champion of Sara Helmuth.

The reason was plain, for with the persistent American safely
disposed of, pending trial, the doctor and his aides could get hold
of the treasure and get it stowed away where Sara Helmuth would never
find it.

At this reasoning, which proved correct enough in its way, Hammer
chuckled and began to feel relieved.  Krausz would have a hard job
finding any treasure in the place he was looking for it, that was
sure.

As for himself, he would be freed just as soon as he had had a talk
with this asinine district commissioner, or as soon as Solomon came
to the rescue.  And with that Jenson would be tracked down in short
order.

"By Godfrey, he's going to swing for that murder!"  Hammer swore
savagely to himself, almost forgetting his own plight.  The party had
swung into the road by this time, passing old and new cotton
plantations on every hand, for Melindi threatened to become a big
cotton-producing centre in no long while.

On whatever evidence Krausz had trumped up this charge against him,
thought the American, he was reasonably sure of getting off in a day
or two, and it would be more than a day or two ere Jenson got out of
the country.  He was not greatly concerned whether he brought the man
to justice or killed him himself, and rather preferred the latter,
for feud was strong in his heart.

"I suppose I'll have a preliminary hearing?" he asked the officer.

The latter nodded curtly.  "I suppose so.  You must be formally
identified."

Hammer asked no more questions.  Ahead of him were the two small
corrugated iron bungalows, with the flag fluttering gaily before them
and the police huts at one side, while the natives stared in high
glee at a white man being brought to justice.

The American grinned cheerfully as he caught sight of the planter who
had assisted him on his first arrival at Melindi standing in the
doorway of a store; but to his surprise his grin was not answered in
kind.  Instead, the planter darted him a black look, and Hammer could
almost hear the curse that left his lips as he turned on his heel and
vanished.

He had small time to wonder at this, however, for he was led into one
of the iron bungalows which mark the limitations of British rule in
all torrid lands, and found himself in the presence of the district
commissioner.  The latter was a red-faced young man who sat at a
table writing, with a whisky bottle on the shelf behind him; two more
of the police were sitting on a bench inside the door, and these rose
in salute as the squad marched Hammer inside.

"This is our man, Mr. Smith!" exclaimed the police lieutenant,
saluting.

Commissioner Smith looked at Hammer from a pair of narrow set eyes
and pulled a paper in front of him with a weary air.

"You are Cyrus Hammer, first mate of the yacht _Daphne_?"

"You bet I am!" shot back Hammer, irritated by the man's air.  "And I
demand to know why I am under arrest?"

"For murder," came the laconic answer, accompanied by a stare of mild
surprise.  "Don't come that, my man!  Can't get away with it, really,
don't you know!"

"Confound it, who have I murdered, you blithering ass?"

"Why--er--oh, yes--Frederick R. C. Harcourt, your owner and captain.
And no more insolence, you cur, or I'll put you in irons, you know."




CHAPTER XIII

ACCUSED AND ACCUSER

It was perhaps unfortunate that District Commissioner Smith had very
recently been transferred from Nairobi for his sins, inasmuch as he
knew not the gods of Melindi and cared not to know them.

He was utterly bored by the place, and showed it plainly: he disliked
Americans by instinct and training and Hammer saw that the question
of his guilt or innocence was of the utmost indifference to his
inquisitor.

"Do you plead innocent or guilty to this charge Mr.--er--Hammer?"

The American tried to collect himself, for the charge had struck him
like a bolt from the blue.  Preposterous as it was, the very
absurdity of it shocked him into quiet coolness.

If it was the work of Krausz, as he had conjectured, then he would
eventually hold the whip-hand, through the testimony of Solomon and
Sara Helmuth; but in the meantime it would do no good to try and
bluster out his innocence.

"Not guilty, of course.  I trust that you'll note that I gave myself
up without making a fight?  Does that look as if I was a murderer,
Mr. District Commissioner?"

Smith made an entry on the sheet before him, then looked up.

"You'll please bear in mind, Hammer, that you're not here to ask
questions, but to answer them.  Where were you on the morning of the
14th instant?"

"The 14th?"  Hammer thought back desperately--ah, that was the
morning of Harcourt's murder!

"I was aboard the _Daphne_, ill with fever."

"You deny the fact, then, that you were on the wharf that morning?"

"Of course I do!  I was brought ashore that day unconscious, and can
bring witnesses to prove it."

"Ah!"  For the first time Smith began to show a trace of interest.
"Their names?"

"John Solomon for one.  Miss Sara Helmuth for another, the doctor who
attended me, natives----

"Testimony of natives not allowed."  The commissioner glanced at his
police officer.  "Who is this--er--this John Solomon, lieutenant?"

The officer hesitated, for he knew Solomon of old.

"He is a planter, Mr. Smith.  His place is about a mile outside town.
I would suggest, sir, that he be----"

"Kindly bear in mind that I am conducting this examination,
lieutenant."

The latter bit his lip and flushed.  It was plain that he had no
great love for his superior.  The commissioner turned languidly to
Hammer.

"Where is this Mr. Solomon?"

"Out in the jungle somewhere--search me.  But he'll be in soon."

"Oh, very good!  Lieutenant, you will see that he appears.  Now,
Hammer, what physician--er--attended you?"

"I don't know, but he was the same who signed Harcourt's
death-certificate."

"Ah, Dr. Fargo--at present with the _Juba_ at Mombasa.  Very good.
Well, Hammer, I can't see that you have any case whatever.  Cheek, I
call it.  However, they can settle it at Nairobi, and be blessed.
Lieutenant, put the prisoner in the----"

"Look here," Hammer broke out furiously, "I've had about enough of
this farce, Mr. Smith!  Now you bear in mind that I'm an American
citizen.  Also that I plead not guilty.  You hand out what testimony
you have against me or I'll make it hot for you in darned short
order; and if I can't I'll bet a dollar John Solomon can!"

The commissioner gazed at him mildly, then shifted his look to his
lieutenant.  What he saw in the latter's face may have decided him,
for with an air of boredom he shuffled the papers before him, fixed
on the right one, and nodded.

"Very good.  You are probably aware of the fact that according to the
death certificate of Mr. Harcourt he died from a stab at the hands of
persons unknown, complicated by fever.

"Since that time it has been reported to the authorities at Mombasa
that you inflicted the wound, later getting away in the crowd.  It is
also known that you benefited largely by his death, since by his will
you were given ownership of the yacht _Daphne_.  Yesterday, you
visited Mombasa, getting away--er--secretly before you could be
apprehended."

"See here, Mr. Smith," exclaimed Hammer earnestly, "this charge is
absolutely absurd.  Not only was Mr. Harcourt my best friend, but I
was ill and unconscious at the time----"

"Just a moment--I overlooked that scar on your forehead," broke in
the commissioner, looking up from his papers.  Hammer put up a hand
to the scar which had resulted from the fight aboard the launch,
"Yes, that is it.  These papers state that--er--it is the result of a
blow struck you by Mr. Harcourt as you stabbed him."

"Confound it all," exclaimed the enraged American, "who's bringing
all these charges, anyway?  Dr. Krausz?"

For answer the commissioner glanced at his police officer.

"You detained those fellows, lieutenant?"

"I did, sir, against their protest."

"Damn their protest, my dear chap!  Bring 'em in.  Since you persist
in going through with this ruddy mess, Hammer, I'll give you all you
want of it."

The American asked nothing better, and began to think that the
commissioner was not so bad after all, having probably been
prejudiced against him from the start.  The police officer, with his
sergeant and two men, left the room, Hammer watching the door eagerly
for their return.

Who were these unknown persons?  Whoever they were, he reflected,
they had done their work well.  The devilish ingenuity of it all was
amazing, and as Hammer never doubted that Krausz was behind the
thing, he began to score up an ugly debt against the scientist.

Except for the evidence which could be brought by Solomon, Sara
Helmuth, and the doctor of the _Juba_, all of whom would not be
suspected by Krausz, the identity of Harcourt's murderer was unknown.

Counting on this fact, Krausz must have worked out the case against
Hammer to the last detail--even to that scar on his forehead.

There was no ultimate danger, of course, but that was not the fault
of Krausz; he must have reasoned that if Harcourt had disclosed the
name of his attacker before he died, it would have set the
commissioner after Jenson.

Therefore he had not disclosed it, and therefore it was perfectly
safe to make out the case against the American--and with a
plausibility which was startling to Hammer himself, certain as he was
of disproving the charge absolutely, on the return of Solomon.

Yet, was Krausz so wholly to blame after all?  Could he have known
those little things, such as the scar, and Hammer's ownership of the
yacht?  He had been miles away all this time, and while he must have
furnished Jenson with letters to the German Consul, in order to get
the _askaris_, the little secretary must have acted on his own
initiative in regard to this charge.

Krausz was no saint, but he was a sinner only because of his
life-work, his science; he was no plotter in the dark, and the very
theft which had brought him here, which had made him bring Sara
Helmuth with him as a sop to a guilty conscience, was attributable to
the secretary, who was his evil genius.  And that Jenson could act on
his own initiative had been shown after Schlak's murder.

Yes, concluded Hammer grimly, he had a godly score to settle with
Jenson.  Solomon could handle Krausz, for he had long since
constituted himself the companion of Miss Helmuth, but Jenson was his
own peculiar affair.  And, _askaris_ or no, he was going to the ruins
and get Jenson----

At this juncture the door opened.  Behind the policeman entered two
of the German sailors from the _Daphne_, and behind him Adolf Jenson.

Hammer said nothing.  Thoroughly master of himself by now, he knew
the futility of threats, nor did he want to show Jenson his hand
unless it was necessary.  But he soon found that it was highly
necessary for his own safety.

"You are Adolf Jenson?" demanded the commissioner brusquely.

"Yes, sir," and the secretary, more pallid-faced than ever, let his
eyes rest on Hammer's grim face, caught the flame in the American's
eyes, and shifted his gaze abruptly.

Hammer remembered that the lieutenant had stated that Jenson had
remained only under protest.  This, then, was why Solomon had not
found him with the _askaris_ in the bush.  The two seamen gazed
stolidly at the commissioner.

"You came ashore with Mr. Harcourt from the _Daphne_ the morning of
the 14th instant, according to your evidence sworn to at Mombasa?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who else was with you in the boat?"

"These two men, sir, as well as two more, who are now in camp with
Dr. Krausz, my master."

"State what happened on the wharf."

Jenson licked his lips nervously, but the sight of Hammer under
arrest seemed to give him courage.  He had a red weal across one
cheek, which the American took to be the mark of Sara Helmuth's
bullet, fired during the struggle aboard the launch.

"Why, sir, Captain Harcourt had just stepped ashore.  I was right
behind him, sir, and there was a crowd of Arabs and natives all about
for the _Juba_ had just come in, and a number of surf-boats had come
ashore from her."

He paused, the telling of the story being plainly distasteful to him.
Commissioner Smith nodded his head, reading one of the papers before
him.

"The captain was a little ahead of me, for I had turned to see that a
man was left in the boat.  I saw a man wearing a white burnoose step
close to Mr. Harcourt, and the next minute he had drawn a knife, sir.

"Before any of us knew what was happening, he had stabbed Mr.
Harcourt.  The hood of his burnoose fell off, and I recognized Mr.
Hammer there; then the captain grappled with him and struck him.
That's the mark over his eye, sir.  It was made by a heavy ring that
the captain always wore."

Jenson was an accomplished liar, thought Hammer grimly.  Harcourt had
indeed worn a heavy seal ring.  Again the man paused, licking his
lips, his face ghastly, and again the commissioner encouraged him
with a nod.

"Go on."

"He had the hood on again in a minute, sir, but not before we knew
who he was.  As Mr. Harcourt fell I tried to reach him, but Mr.
Hammer's knife touched my cheek, just here, sir"--and Jenson
indicated the red weal under his eye.  "Then, before we could do
anything more, he had slipped away into the crowd.  That's all, I
think, sir."

Jenson stepped back toward the door, in evident relief that his story
was done with.  Except for the two native policemen on the bench, he
had the open doorway to himself, since the lieutenant had taken his
stand behind Hammer, one hand on his holstered revolver.

The American eyed Jenson grimly enough, but still in silence.  The
thought that was in his mind, occurred to the commissioner at the
same instant.

"Look here, Jenson," said Smith, looking up for the first time, "your
story agrees with the facts as brought out by the inquiry at the
time, except that no such evidence was then given my assistant, who
made the inquiry.  I'd like to know why you and these two men, who I
see gave their testimony in German, went down to the German Consulate
at Mombasa after a week had passed, instead of coming to me on the
spot and accusing the murderer?"

"We were frightened, sir," returned Jenson promptly.  "Mr. Hammer
threatened us a little later on, when he found that we had recognized
him.  It wouldn't have mattered so much to me, sir, but the two men
here are members of the crew, and without their testimony mine would
not have been believed, I thought.

"Mr. Hammer threatened to kill them if they said a word, sir.  I went
to the camp of Dr. Krausz, who sent us at once to Mombasa, and then
to Zanzibar, where we produced a number of _askaris_ to guard the
camp, as you know, sir."

"Yes, and I've taken that up with Nairobi, by Jove!"  Smith seemed to
wake into life suddenly.  "It's a deucedly funny affair that I have
to see German soldiers walk into my district to protect a man!  If
Mombasa people hadn't agreed to it not one of 'em would have set foot
in Melindi, and if they aren't kicked out of here inside of two days
I'll hand in my resignation.  Confound the insolence of you Germans!"

He glared at Jenson, who cringed abjectly.  Hammer, who had only been
forestalled by the commissioner's questions in regard to the delay in
giving evidence, smiled grimly across the stuffy little room at
Jenson, and the smile seemed to discourage the secretary entirely.
Shrinking back, he pointed at the American, his voice shrill.

"I want you to protect me, sir!  He's threatened to kill me before
now, and he carries revolvers----"

"Did you search that man, lieutenant?" asked Smith sharply.

Before the officer could reply Hammer drew the two revolvers from his
pocket and laid them on the table, still smiling.

"Kindly observe that they are loaded," he said contemptuously; "also
that if I had desired to make any resistance it could have been done
very easily."

Smith cast a single glance at his officer, who bit his lip again, for
he had evidently forgotten about searching his prisoner for weapons.

The Commissioner forbore to make any observation, however, being
plainly highly incensed over Jenson's action in bringing the
_askaris_ into his district.

"Look here, my man, I've a deuced good notion to send you after those
_askaris_ and ship the lot of you out of here to Mombasa!  Confound
it, this isn't your bally German East Africa by a long shot, and if
you think you can carry things with a high hand in my district,
either you or I go, by Jove!"

Jenson did not reply, save by an inarticulate mutter, and shifted his
gaze out of the open doorway, the two seamen consistently inspecting
the boards of the floor.  Smith turned to Hammer, gathering up the
papers before him as if his task were done.

"Well, Hammer, I trust you are satisfied that you will get justice
done you?  And let us hear no more 'American citizen' talk----"

"Is it customary here to allow an accused man to be heard in his own
defence?" broke in Hammer quietly.  He saw that he had started off
badly, and that while Smith did not care a snap about the outcome of
the case, he did care about the dignity of his position and the brand
of justice which he was there to dispense.

"I'm sorry if I offended you at first, Mr. Smith, but I didn't quite
understand the situation and was naturally indignant."

"Why--er--of course, Hammer," assented the other, still with his air
of boredom, as he prepared to write.  "Anything you may say, of
course.  No deuced use, though, I'll say frankly: you're bound to go
to Nairobi for this thing----"

"Oh, then my accusers will go, too, of course?"

"Naturally," came the dry response.  "And under the circumstances I'd
advise you to change your plea there, Hammer."

"Thanks," smiled the American.  Jenson, uneasy, was darting swift
little glances at him, but he paid no heed to the secretary.  "But
I'd like to go on record as denying the whole affair, Mr. Smith.
When does the _Juba_ come in, may I ask?"

"She's due to-morrow night, and you'll go back on her the next
morning."

Much as he disliked to show Jenson his cards, Hammer saw that he had
no other choice.  He did not want to leave on the _Juba_, and he
hoped to delay matters until the arrival of Solomon, with Sara
Helmuth.

If only Potbelly, or Omar ibn Kasim, rather, had understood that last
signal of his!  Surely Solomon could not be so very far away by now.

"You still deny the accusation, then?" the commissioner was asking,
with some surprise in his tone.

"Most certainly, sir.  Not only do I deny the charge, but through the
evidence of Mr. Solomon, Miss Helmuth, and Dr. Fargo of the _Juba_,
who stayed over here, as you are aware, to attend Mr. Harcourt, I am
prepared to prove that not only was I unconscious at the time of the
attack on Mr. Harcourt, but that I was on board the _Daphne_.

"If necessary, Roberts, the yacht's steward, can be brought out from
England to testify to that fact, since he caught the first steamer
home with certain of Mr. Harcourt's personal possessions.
Furthermore, through the same evidence----"

Hammer paused, unwilling to lay out his whole hand as yet.  The
commissioner was staring at him in blank amazement, while Jenson,
more pallid-faced than ever, was still looking nervously out the
doorway.  Smith laughed as the American stopped speaking.

"That's a poor game, don't you know, Hammer!" he said incredulously.
"You can't produce your witnesses, it seems, and you're making a play
for time that'll do you no good in the end.  Now----"

Suddenly Jenson interrupted, coming a pace forward.

"Beg pardon, sir, but if you think it would be a good plan I can get
a launch at the wharfs and fetch these other two witnesses of mine,
sir, in time to catch the _Juba_.  Their testimony would clinch
matters, sir."

"Yes," and Smith nodded, pursing up his lips.  "That's a good plan.
Go ahead----"

"Stop him!" cried Hammer sharply, as Jenson sidled toward the door.
He could not make out the secretary's purpose, but it was clear that
Jenson was anxious to get away.  "I charge that man with being Mr.
Harcourt's murderer----"

"Enough, Hammer," ordered the commissioner coldly.  "Another word and
you go in handcuffs.  Get your witnesses, Jenson, and be back here by
to-morrow night at latest."

Furious, barely able to restrain himself, the American saw Jenson
flit hastily from the door, leaving his two Germans still on the spot.

From his position he was unable to see the street, and five minutes
had elapsed during which time Smith was giving instructions as to the
care of the two seamen and preparing his papers, until he ordered
Hammer taken to the little corrugated iron prison.

He stopped the officer to order him to get John Solomon as a witness
when Hammer heard the sentry outside halt some person.

"See who it is, sergeant," commanded Smith impatiently.

The sergeant went out, but came back hurriedly.

"Mr. John Solomon, sar."

And a moment later the overjoyed American saw the pudgy form of
Solomon enter, with the grinning Omar Ibn Kasim at his heels like a
faithful watchdog.




CHAPTER XIV

OFF AT LAST

"Dang it, but it be a mortal 'ot day!"

Solomon, with his mild observation, paused to mop his brow with a
flaming red handkerchief.  Instantly offended, Smith snapped out a
curt question.

"Your business with me, sir?"

Solomon looked up, his blue eyes widening in surprise.

"Why, dang it, if it ain't the new commissioner as I 'aven't met yet!
Werry pleased I am to meet you, sir, and 'ere's 'oping as 'ow we'll
get on well in future, as the old gent said to the new 'ousemaid.  Me
name's Solomon, sir, John Solomon."

"So I understand.  Your business?"

Solomon once more seemed surprised, then looked around and nodded to
Hammer.

"Why, sir, I 'eard as 'ow me friend, Mr. 'Ammer, was 'ere, so I says
to meself: 'John,' says I, 'don't refuse a 'elping 'and to a friend!
'Elping 'ands is cheap,' I says; 'but friends is werry 'ard to find.'
So 'ere I be, sir, 'oping as 'ow you'll see fit to let Mr. 'Ammer go
with me."

"You're a very innocent person," came the brusque reply.  "Mr. Hammer
is accused of murder, and does not go _with_ you."

"Lud!  Murder!  And who's 'e been and murdered, if I may make so
bold, sir?"

Hammer grinned to himself, though inwardly worried over Jenson.  Had
the man seen Solomon coming?

"He's accused of murdering Mr. Harcourt, who died at your house not
long ago."

"Lud!  To think o' that!"  Solomon fixed the commissioner with his
wide blue stare, seemingly as harmless as a baby's, then shifted it
to the officer.  "Your servant, lieutenant, sir!  Mr. Smith, might I
'ave bit o' speech with you in the other room, sir?"

"You may not.  By the way, lieutenant, better make sure of getting
Mr. Solomon as witness in this case I----"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir; but if so be as you 'as the time, I'd like
a bit o' speech with you in the other room."

Smith looked up, raging at Solomon's calm persistency.

"Confound your deuced insolence, sir!" he began.  "Do you think----"

"Did you ever 'appen to 'ear, sir," and the wide blue eyes narrowed a
trifle, "as 'ow this station come wacant?  Werry unforchnit it was,
sir, for the gentleman as was 'ere before you.  Lieutenant, your
servant; if so be as you'd say a word to Mr. Smith----"

"I really think, sir," said the police officer dryly, "that it would
be wise to grant Mr. Solomon's request."

Smith glared from one to the other, while Hammer chuckled.  Then, as
Solomon very calmly drew out clay pipe and plug, the commissioner
sprang to his feet and whirled into the other room.

"Very well, Solomon."

"Thank you, sir," and as Solomon passed the lieutenant of police,
Hammer caught an almost imperceptible wink.

What transpired in the other room Hammer never knew.  For a long ten
minutes those in the outer room listened to the hum of voices; then
the commissioner reappeared, his face very red indeed.

"Lieutenant, put those two Dutchmen in cells and keep them there," he
ordered succinctly, and sat down at his table while Solomon came out.
For another few moments he wrote rapidly, then passed the paper to
Solomon, who scrutinized it carefully and signed.

"I'm sorry this mistake occurred, Mr. Hammer," and the commissioner
turned to him with extended hand, which the American grasped.
"You'll have to go to Nairobi, of course; but I've accepted Mr.
Solomon's bond for your appearance there.  By Jove!  Sergeant, take
two men and get down to the wharfs; stop that fellow Jenson and bring
him up here.  We'll land him for perjury, Solomon!"

"Werry good, sir; and if so be as all's well, Mr. 'Ammer and I will
bid you good day.  We'll be back werry shortly, I 'opes, sir."

Once more in the free air, Hammer's first thought was for Jenson.  As
he started after the sergeant Solomon stopped him with a quiet
chuckle and pointed out to a dot at the river-mouth.

"Too late, sir.  But there ain't no 'urry, Mr. 'Ammer.  There's a
mortal lot in what the Arabs say about fate, sir; and if so be as a
man's turned to evil ways, sir, then 'e's got to run 'is course, I
says.  Don't you fret, Mr. 'Ammer, we're a-going to send that 'ound
to 'ell, sir."

To his surprise, the pudgy man led the way to the river, with Omar
trailing after them, and, as they went, Solomon explained matters
somewhat.

When he had left with Omar, the day before, he had missed the trail
of Jenson and the _askaris_, owing to the fact that Jenson had been
fetched back to Melindi by the police.

The _askaris_ had perforce come with him, but had been sent on to the
camp by launch, with a native for guide.  Solomon had left no word of
his whereabouts because he wanted Hammer at the plantation house
where he could find him at a moment's notice.

No such restrictions had been placed on the two Afghans, however,
since he was anxious to see them.  Accordingly, having found out from
the servants the direction in which Solomon had started, they had
slipped out during the night and come to meet him.

Not until after sending Omar to bring Hammer did Solomon find out
from a party of natives that he was on the wrong scent, so he had
promptly turned back, to be joined by Omar and brought to the
commissioner's office in the nick of time.

"No such thing," returned Solomon to a remark by Hammer--"no such
thing as coincidence, Mr. 'Ammer.  Just the way things work out, I
say.  When the time comes to get that 'ound Jenson, why, we'll get
'im, sir, and not till then."

"Where's Sara Helmuth?" asked the American.

"Right 'ere, sir," and Solomon pointed to the wharf ahead.  Then
Hammer saw that his own _Daphne_ launch and another were lying ready,
filled with Arabs; in the first was seated Sara Helmuth, who left the
shade of the awning to meet them as they came down the wharf.

"A fair jewel, the missus is," but Solomon lowered his tone as he
went on.  "I came to get you off, sir, while she took charge o' this
'ere.  And werry well done it is, sir!  Off we goes after Jenson."

Few words passed between Hammer and the girl, to whom the story was
told as they chugged out into the lines of surf and headed to the
north.  Quiet and self-contained as always, she had brought down the
men and provisioned the launches while Solomon had gone on to the
commissioner's.

With the three of them beneath the awning sat the two Afghans, who
greeted Hammer with grave dignity, while Omar had taken command of
the other launch.

In all, there were some fifteen Arabs in both craft--and after
leaving Melindi behind, fifteen very excellent Winchester rifles
mysteriously appeared, with all the appurtenances belonging thereto.

Hammer suddenly appreciated the fact that these men were very
different from the chattering natives, and were apt to be dangerous.
When Solomon explained that his plan was to land Sara Helmuth and
five men a mile this side of the ruins that they might join the Arabs
behind the doctor's party, while he and Hammer would go straight for
the camp with the other ten, the American voiced his thoughts.

"All very well, John; but wait a minute.  Those two Germans back
there at Melindi were the same two I kicked off the yacht.  Jenson
found them and didn't have much trouble persuading them to swear to
his lies, evidently.  But that only goes to show what a hold he and
Krausz have on their men.  There are eight _askaris_ and six seamen
up at the ruins now--fourteen in all, with Krausz and Jenson.

"I'm not afraid of being outnumbered, since we've got it all over
them there; but I am afraid of a general row, and no mistake.  If we
get into a shooting scrape and half a dozen men get laid out, these
Britishers will give it to us hot and heavy for going after Jenson on
our own hook, to say nothing of the danger to Sara----"

"One minute, Mr. 'Ammer, sir.  I'm werry strong wi' the governor,
sir, and the government generally, so to speak, so I wouldn't worry
none about a-shooting of all fourteen o' them 'ere men, wi' the
doctor into the bargain, sir."

"Mind, I don't say to 'unt any such mess, Mr. 'Ammer; but if it
comes--why, I says to meet it half-way.  This 'ere's a partnership
deal, sir--you for Jenson and me for the doctor; but so be as 'e gets
out peaceable, why, let 'im go.  What be you a-going to do wi' this
Jenson?"

"Take him back to the _Daphne_ and string him up, and explain to the
authorities afterward," announced Hammer.  "I'd have brought the
engine-room crew if I'd known we were to go after Krausz hammer and
tongs, like this.  If Jenson resists, I'll shoot him."

To which intention Sara Helmuth made no objection whatsoever.

Now for the first time Solomon had a chance to interview his Afghans,
for they had all been too worn out the night before to have any talk.
The result of their mission, which Yar Hussein announced with no
little pride, was embodied in the little sheepskin packet he had
carried.

This, being opened, proved to contain some very well-copied plans
which Akhbar Khan had located among the archives--though he did not
say where or how.  He was the locater and Yar Hussein the draftsman,
it seemed, and the work had been copied line for line and word for
word, even to the early seventeenth-century Portuguese text.

Solomon held them in his lap, Sara Helmuth and Hammer leaning over
his shoulders as they inspected the plans and he explained them.  The
first was a rude map of the coast, which clearly showed the location
of the fort and storehouses and barracoons; when erected, the latter
buildings had been well defended by the position of the fort itself,
though the coast seemed to have changed greatly.

There were three others showing the Melindi--spelled
"Maleenda"--buildings, which Solomon tossed aside, but at the fifth
and last he uttered a grunt of satisfaction.  This, to Hammer's
surprise, was labelled Fort San Joao.

"That 'ere was its first name," explained Solomon knowingly.
"Accordin' to them papers o' Professor 'Elmuth's, it was changed to
Fort St. Thomas after its destruction.  You see, sir and miss, some
o' them 'ere relics belonged to Saint Thomas--Didymus, I doubt it
was--and as they was never dug up again the name just stuck to the
place, so to speak.  This 'ere'd be the place for Jenson, Mr.
'Ammer," and he chuckled again as he laid his finger on one of the
squares in the corner of the plan.

As Solomon had told them before, the fort was merely a group of
buildings with a wall around, much as were the barracoons and
warehouses for less valuable goods.  The corner to which he pointed
was that farthest away from shore, and seemed to be separated from
the fort proper by the angle of the corner bastion.

"Why?" asked the girl.  "What was that, John?"

"This 'ere, miss, was a little room set above the ground, according
to the plan.  It was a prison--them Portuguese were main cruel, which
was why they didn't last--and under this 'ere room was a stone pit
full o' puff-adders."

Solomon went on to say that he had not seen this room when there
before, as there was too much jungle to inspect the place closely;
but the text, with the plans, explained its purpose fully.

In fact, it was not until a native king had perished in this
snake-pit that the place was finally attacked and razed, with the
help of the fleet from Muscat which had already taken Port Jesus, or
Mombasa.

Suddenly, Hammer recollected Omar's wild tales about monkeys throwing
skulls at him and pits full of snakes, and related what he could of
the man's story.

Solomon nodded gravely, saying that there might still be snakes
there, though the monkeys were probably imagination, and fully
reassured Sara Helmuth that she would be in no danger through joining
his Arabs and making camp in the ruins; and, in any case, puff-adders
would hardly be encountered outside the pit.

Upon which, with the air of a man who has played his part exceeding
well, Solomon stated that he was in need of rest and would take a nap
until the run was finished.

Hammer had seen no sign of Jenson's launch ahead, for he had no
glasses, and the secretary had obtained a good start.  When Solomon
had curled up on the bottom beneath the thwarts the American sat
beside Sara Helmuth in the stern, as they had sat on that eventful
night that seemed ages ago, when Baumgardner had paid for treachery
with his life.

"Talk about Arabian Nights," laughed Hammer grimly, glancing back at
Omar's launch in their wake, "I guess this is the limit, Sara!  I've
half a notion to use that snake-pit on Jenson after----"

"Don't, please!"  She shivered despite the heat, then met his gaze
and smiled.  "I know you didn't mean it, Hammer, but it sounded
anything but nice.  Now tell me--I have been thinking about something
during the past few days, and I wonder if--if this man Jenson could
have had anything to do with my father's death?"

Hammer stared at her, trouble in his eyes.

"I don't know.  The man is a regular viper; but though it has
occurred to me, also, I rather fancy that he's not guilty of that,
Sara.  You see, he's hardly the sort of man who commits murder except
when he's panic-stricken--a cornered rat, exactly, even to his face.
He murdered Mohammed Bari in the hope of getting away from me, and he
murdered Harcourt in blind panic, thinking he was discovered."

The girl looked pensive, and said:

"I'm glad you think that, Hammer; because, while I'm afraid I hate
the man as much as you do, if I thought he had injured father in any
way, I don't know just what I would do.  No, I think you're right.
He started out by lying about that horrible murder on board your
yacht, didn't he?  And he just got in deeper and deeper through his
desperate efforts to get out until----"

"Until he's in too deep to ever get out now," concluded Hammer.
"Shouldn't wonder if John's right in his doctrine of Kismet.
Jenson's whole life, little and mean and full of lies, has been
leading him up to this very point, it would seem.  He hasn't met his
punishment yet, but it's mighty close, seems to me."

"Yes.  But isn't that always the way, Hammer?  Isn't a man's life,
and a woman's, always slowly leading up to some great moment?  It has
always seemed to me like a mosaic, in which every little action fits
like a stone--insignificant in itself, and yet giving its tiny detail
to the making of the whole, until the great moment of highest power
or highest failure comes.

"It may not be very high, but I think it comes to everyone, banker or
grocer's clerk, and whether it is power or failure depends largely on
the structure of the mosaic.  How do you like my philosophy?"

"I'm afraid it's very true," returned Hammer slowly, his voice low,
his eyes gazing straight over the bow of the launch.  Something in
his tone struck the girl, for the underlying earnestness in her own
voice crept into her eyes as she watched him.

The American's thoughts were not pleasant.  It came to him that this
argument of hers was indeed very sound, and he quailed before it.
Jenson's whole life had been leading up to his greatest villainy; his
own entire life had been leading up to--what?  So with other men he
knew, and women.

So with his own wife--her life a tissue of trifles, of petty vanities
and unworthy ambitions, until it had culminated in finding a man
after her own stamp, and her preferment of him to her husband.

Little things, all of them, yet when united all led irrevocably to
some great valley of decision.  Why, this serious-eyed girl had hit
to the very heart of things!

So, never looking at her, he told her his story.

She listened, half-fascinated by the virility of him, half-awed by
the fact that she had pierced to his soul unthinkingly.  She watched
the fine-lined face, whose rare smiles swept away its harshness; the
clear eyes that frowned into the blaze of afternoon sun; the firm,
almost too firm, mouth and chin and nose.

And as she watched, harkening to his low words, the faintest trace of
a smile touched her lips, though in her eyes there was only a great
compassion.

"So, you see, you hit near home, Sara," he concluded.  "What my great
moment will be there is no telling; but if it were to come soon I
would be afraid--yes, afraid to meet it, I think.  Harcourt met his
great moment with a clean heart, like the splendid man he was; but my
little moments have not been so good, so open to all the world, so
fearless and honest as his."

She was silent an instant; then, "But they have been strong, Hammer!
And better a devil than a fool!  No; when that great moment of yours
arrives I think it will be one of power, not of failure; I would like
to see what happens when it does come."

A sudden blaze outbroke in the man, and he turned; but the words on
his lips were interrupted.

"'Ere!  'Ere!  Dang it, you've been and passed the place!"

Startled, he looked around to see Solomon awakened and hastily
gaining his feet.  It seemed that Hammer had passed the intended
landing-place of Sara Helmuth by a good half-mile, very nearly
reaching that of himself and Solomon, in fact; for, looking ahead, he
could see a launch anchored and rocking lazily to the swells, while
on the shore was the deserted boat.

He swept his launch around, bidding Omar shut oft power and wait
where he was.  As they had no boat, Solomon went into the bow and
conned the shoal-water until, at his cry, Hammer shut off the engine.

A swift order sent five of the men over the side, up to their knees
in water; and these took up Sara Helmuth and carried her to shore,
where all vanished amid the trees a moment later, after a last wave
of the hand.

"All right, Mr. 'Ammer!" cried Solomon, relaxing.  "They'll be in
camp in an hour, God willing."

"And in less than that time we'll either have our friend Jenson ready
for the rope, or else we'll have a sweet scrap on our hands," added
the American.  But he was now thankful to John Solomon, for that
sudden awakening had saved him from words which he might have sorely
regretted.

Five minutes later the launch was at anchor, and Hammer, lowering
himself from the arms of his bearers, saw the path to the ruins
directly ahead of him.




CHAPTER XV

DR. KRAUSZ PROVES OBSTINATE

Hammer was by no means certain as to the attitude of Dr. Sigurd
Krausz, and he was very certain indeed as to the attitude of the
British East African officials.  He knew that if he played a waiting
game for a day or so, District Commissioner Smith would see to it
that the scientist's force was disrupted and the _askaris_
transported home, and his recent elbow-brush with the law had shown
him very vividly that men do not die in East Africa without
investigations, and reasonably thorough ones at that.

Wherefore, with the flame of vengeance no whit undimmed, but burning
in the lamp of caution, he waited for Solomon to land the rest of the
Arabs and the two Afghans, who had also been given rifles.

"Going to take the men up with us, John?  It might be wiser not to
make any display of arms until we see what Krausz intends to do."

Solomon nodded, and spoke in Arabic:

"Keep the men here, Omar.  We'll be back before sunset."

"And if you do not come, _effendi_!"

"Then see that no one from the other party reaches their boats, but
do not fire the first shot.  If there is a fight, your task will be
to cut them off from escape."

Mopping his streaming brow--for there was not a breath of
wind--Solomon turned to the American.

"If so be as you're ready, sir?  It don't seem as 'ow there'd be any
trouble, Mr. 'Ammer; so we'll not take any arms, if it's the same to
you, sir.  Guns is all werry well in their place, I says; but if men
wasn't so danged anxious to be carryin' of 'em there wouldn't be so
many cartridges wasted, says I.  So we'll go gentle like and meet the
doctor 'alf-way, so to speak."

Hammer handed back the rifle he had taken from Yar Hussein, and
nodded.  Knowing the path up to the ruins, he plunged into the
opening; but Solomon insisted on going ahead, fearing that Jenson
might be lying in wait and might go crazed with fear again at sight
of the American.

The latter laughed, and gave way, and he was surprised at the agility
with which Solomon clambered along, for the pudgy little man gave no
great evidence of bodily activity to a casual eye.  Remembering the
episode of Hans Schlak, however, Hammer decided to suspend judgement.
He had already found John Solomon highly surprising in more ways than
one.

Though he watched the jungle keenly as they proceeded, he could
detect no sign of danger.  But surely Jenson must have known that he
would be followed, and Krausz would not be fool enough to put out no
sentries!

Nor was he, as the American found out soon enough.  They had covered
perhaps half the trail, and had just crossed an open space amid the
bamboo thickets, when Solomon, four yards ahead of Hammer, vanished
around an abrupt turn in the trail.

The American pushed hastily after him, and upon rounding the same
bend was brought up in startling fashion.

Solomon had halted, and directly in front of him Hammer saw Dr.
Krausz calmly seated on a camp-stool, with that murderous,
double-barrelled shot-gun of his covering the approach.  So, then,
their launch had been seen!  Behind the doctor stood two gigantic
Masai _askaris_, their black faces stolid.

For a moment, Krausz looked at the two men before him, his heavy face
impassive, but that ribbon of muscle beating, beating, beating
endlessly on his brow.  He was perfectly sober, the American was glad
to note, though none the less dangerous on that account; and when at
last he broke the silence his voice was impassive as his face, as
though he were exercising a great restraint upon himself.

"So you have come back, Mr. Hammer!  And what are you doing in this
man's company, Mr. Solomon--you who used to work for Professor
Helmuth, yess?"

In his last words contempt flashed out, but Solomon's eyes only
opened a trifle wider as he met the sullen, menacing gaze of Krausz.
By tacit consent Hammer allowed his companion to do the talking.

Solomon's answer was characteristic, however.  Before replying, he
put a hand inside his coat, paying no heed to the swift movement of
the doctor's shot-gun, and drew out his red, morocco-bound notebook.
Then, wetting his thumb, he opened it and shuffled over the leaves
until he found the place desired.

"Ah, 'ere it be, all ship-shape and proper!"  He held it out, and
Krausz took it, but without relaxing his vigilance.  At a word from
him the two Masai brought up their rifles while he glanced down at
the notebook.

"Werry sorry I am, Dr. Krausz, sir," went on the little man
apologetically, "for to bring this 'ere account to your notice, but
you asked a question, sir, and so I answers according.  If a man
can't tell 'is business honest like, I says, why, 'e ain't no
business 'aving any business, says I.  If you'll just turn over the
page, sir, I made so bold as to set down Mr. 'Ammer's account wi'
Jenson, keepin' same separate _and_ distinct from the account o'
Solomon and 'Elmuth."

But Krausz was paying no heed to the words.  As he read, his heavy
jaw snapped shut, and a dark flush rose slowly to his brow, where the
muscle was pulsating terribly.

Deeper and deeper grew the flush, though he forced himself to turn
over the page and read to the end; then, with a swift movement, he
dashed the notebook down and sprang up with fists extending and
shaking, the shot-gun slipping unheeded to the ground.

"Swine!" he roared, furious almost beyond control.  "Swine!"

Hammer prepared for anything as Krausz advanced, for one blow from
the big man would put him or Solomon in hospital.  The latter,
however, only gave Krausz a reproachful glance and bent over to pick
up the notebook, without heeding the great fists which waved about
his head.  The action seemed to both puzzle and calm the infuriated
archaeologist.

"It iss foolishness!" he foamed, yet looked curiously at Solomon.
"Thiss Professor Helmuth, she iss crazy, no?"

"No, sir," retorted Solomon simply; "no more'n I be, sir.  You see,
doctor, I was in partnership with 'er father, in a manner o'
speakin', and 'e wrote me a letter before 'e went and died, 'e did."

"What?"  Krausz controlled himself, swept the brutishness out of his
face, and concentrated his keen energies on John Solomon's
personality.  "You were my supercargo, yess?  Then you were a spy,
also!"

"Yes, sir, so to speak.  I----"

Krausz interrupted with a brusk gesture as he turned his broad back.

"Come."

Solomon and Hammer followed him, the two _askaris_ falling in behind.
Hammer was not at all convinced that Krausz did not intend treachery,
but there was no help for it, and he followed, wondering if Sara
Helmuth had by this time joined forces with Solomon's Arabs behind
the camp.

He could not know what was in Krausz's mind, or if the scientist had
by this time heard of Harcourt's death.  It was possible, indeed,
that Jenson had carried his trickery through to the extent of
deceiving his master, though Krausz was not a man to be easily
deceived.

Now the camp hove in sight ahead, and to his surprise Hammer saw that
work on the ruins had been abandoned.  More, the hastily-constructed
huts of the natives seemed deserted, while the sailor-overseers were
sitting idly beneath a large tree.

But, on the hill-top above, he could see an _askari_ standing
sentinel, while five more were scattered about the camp.  Of Jenson
there was no sign, and Hammer guessed rightly enough that the
secretary was inside the doctor's tent.

"This is great state in which to receive poor wayfarers," said Hammer
dryly.  "Ready for our ultimatum, doctor?"

The other strode on without answering, curtly bade them wait,
disappeared within his own tent, and emerged a moment later with one
of his black panatelas smoking mightily.

Already irritated by the manner of their reception, the American
suddenly found himself furiously angry, and flung off the hand of the
ever-watchful Solomon without ceremony.

"No, you've said your say, John, and got nothing for it.  I'll talk
to this brute and show him that we mean business."

With which he strode up to Krausz grimly and delivered his
"ultimatum" without any preliminaries.

"You mind your eye, Krausz!  You're here after stealing a girl's
property and trying to bluff her with threats, but I'm not calling
you to account for that.  You're shielding a murderer here, and I
want him.  You tried to shelter him once before and got what was
coming to you, but you hand over Jenson now or you'll learn what's
what in a very different way."

"Who hass he murdered?"  The other eyed him, puffing calmly.

"Captain Harcourt, and I guess you know it!"

"And," Solomon came forward with something in his manner that was
almost boldness, surprising Hammer greatly, "I'd like to say, doctor,
as 'ow you'd better move out of 'ere werry quick, like.  A man as'll
steal from a lady, I says, ain't to be trusted nohow.  It's 'uman
nature to steal, I says, but----"

"Be quiet!" broke out Krausz, losing his calm.  "How iss thiss?  You
say that Jenson killed Mr. Harcourt?  That iss a lie!  A damnable
lie!"  He glared at them, overlooking entirely the charges of Solomon.

"Well, do something," suggested the American challengingly.  "Hand
him over or refuse, one of the two."

"Wait," and Krausz pointed to the tent of Sara Helmuth.  "Go in
there, both of you, and in the morning----"

"Not on your life," and Hammer took a step forward threateningly.
"You make up your mind right here and now, Krausz.  I don't give a
whoop which you do--all I want to know is----"

"Go," repeated the other, displaying no other emotion than the
pulsating ribbon of muscle.  "Go, or my _askaris_ take their whips to
you, and shoot if you refuse, yess!  Now go."

Hammer, breathing hard, saw an _askari_ approach, trailing the long
lash of a rhinoceros-hide whip behind him, two others standing with
rifles ready.

"Then you will give us your decision in the morning, doctor?" asked
Solomon rather humbly.  Krausz flung him a swift look of contempt.

"Yess, to you and Mr. Hammer both.  Go!"

Solomon turned and went.  Hammer hesitated, but seeing that they were
practically prisoners, turned and followed.

At anyrate, thought the angry American, the enemy had taken the
offensive and had only himself to blame for what followed.

An escape that night, or a signal to the Arabs, who were, no doubt,
aware of what was forward, and Krausz would find himself up against
something solid.

But Solomon had no intention of either escaping or signalling, as he
flatly stated when Hammer had exhausted his arguments.  The other,
sucking his clay pipe, accepted the situation very complacently.

"What better could we 'ave asked, Mr. 'Ammer?  ''Ere,' says 'e, 'I'll
give you me answer in the morning.'  'Werry good,' says I.  'E can't
get away, nor can Jenson.  Nor, for the matter o' that, can we; but
'e thinks as 'ow our men are down by the shore and 'e don't know
about them as Miss 'Elmuth 'as.  It wasn't worry as made Methusalum
live longer'n most men, sir, as the Good Book says."

Hammer grunted, but knowing the hopelessness of trying to shake
Solomon's conviction, said no more.  His eagerness to get hold of the
man was accentuated a thousandfold by Jenson's nearness, yet he could
see that there was some reason in Solomon's argument.

Also, two _askaris_ brought in their supper before long, and since
they were to eat alone, Hammer pitched in and made a good meal,
feeling more comfortable over a pipe afterward.

In any case, they had Krausz on the hip, what with the men watching
the boats and the second party in the ruins of the real fort.

For that matter, he need not be made to move; they could settle down
and dig up the treasure, as Solomon had hinted, without the Germans
knowing anything at all about it.

What Hammer did not know was that the reading of that notebook and
Solomon's words about stealing from a lady had sent a desperate and
terrible fear through the big Saxon.

It was not the fear of bodily ill, but it was the fear of the
scientist who sees that thing for which he has worked and planned and
bartered his soul suddenly about to be snatched from him.

It is a bad fear to have place in a man's heart, but worse when that
man is able and determined and when he has staked much upon the issue.

"What's become of the natives?" asked Hammer when they were about to
turn in.  "Krausz had about two hundred of 'em the last time I was
here."

Solomon chuckled.  "I sent 'em word to be gone 'ome, sir.  They
worship some kind o' snake god 'ereabouts, Mr. 'Ammer, so I sent 'em
a quiet 'int that the doctor 'e was a-goin' to sacrifice some of 'em.
That settled it."

"Snake god?" repeated the American thoughtfully.  "Anything to do
with that den of snakes we were talking about?"

"Not as I knows on, sir.  To be downright frank, it's some years
since I've been and lived 'ere, sir, and I ain't kept in touch
rightly wi' things.  'Owsoever, it may be, though I 'as me doubts."

"Snakes don't live without food," retorted Hammer.  "They might have
a sort of voodoo business along here, which would explain their snake
god and also why the snakes had kept alive--for I guess Omar ibn
Kasim was telling the truth after all, in part."

Leaving to the morning the question whether they were to be hostages
or captives or free men, Hammer slept the sleep of the just that
night.  They were wakened to receive an early breakfast, which was
soon followed by the intimation that "Bwana Krausz" wished to see
them in the other tent.  Solomon nodded, but stopped Hammer as the
latter was preparing to follow the Masai.

"Just a minute, sir.  It strikes me that you 'ave a way to make 'im
give up Jenson, if so be as 'e refuses, Mr. 'Ammer."

"Eh?  How's that?"

"Why, 'e don't know about the real fort, and no more 'e don't know as
Jenson 'as 'fessed up to Miss 'Elmuth about them there papers 'e
stole from 'er father.  Jenson 'asn't been and told 'im, you can lay
to that, sir!  'E'll be fair mad when 'e finds it out."

"Oh, if it comes to that, we'll make him give in," returned the
American slowly.  "But I don't fancy the method, John, and that's a
fact.  I'm sore at that big Dutchman for his general conduct, and I'd
like to make him crawl without using any such side-issues.  But we'll
see what turns up; it's certainly a good card to hold."

They found Krausz seated at the table in his own tent, two _askaris_
at the door, and two more of the seamen within call.  At one side sat
Jenson, who was very plainly possessed by one of his cowardly fits,
and who contented himself with darting a venomous glance at the two
as they entered.

Krausz motioned Solomon to one side and transfixed Hammer with a
baleful stare, at which the American grew angry instantly.

"Well?" he rasped out, "what have you to say?"

"Thiss, my friend.  I have found out who killed Mr. Harcourt.  He
wass a good man, and a good captain, and I am sorry.  Adolf did not
kill him, but you did, and for that you shall hang by the neck, yess.
Ass for taking Adolf away, that iss foolishness.  Adolf shall take
you, yess."

Hammer collected himself, for he had half-expected such a counter
accusation from the secretary, who was desperately endeavouring to
weave such a network of lies about the death of Harcourt that he
might be able ultimately to wriggle out through some loophole.  Angry
as the American was, he laughed shortly.

"Suit yourself, Krausz.  Adolf never goes away from here except in
irons, though.  So, now that you've settled me so neatly, what about
Mr. Solomon?"

Krausz turned to Solomon, who looked very wide-eyed at him.

"As for you, Mr. Solomon, I do not like people with notebooks, no.
You also are a very big liar, and to a bad end you will come.  I
might prosecute you for blackmail, but no.  Out you shall go, but do
not think you can----"

"_Bwana_!"

A sudden disturbance arose outside, followed by a shout in German.
One of the seamen entered and made a hurried speech in that language,
to which the doctor nodded, looking slightly surprised.  The man
hurried out again.

"Ah!  I thought we saw you land Miss Helmuth yesterday, yess!"  He
beamed on the American, caressing the thin cigar in his mouth, and
his face was cruel.  "Also I thought she would not stay out in the
jungle long, for here she iss!"

Hammer started.  Was Sara really coming, then?  She or Omar must have
seen that he and Solomon were prisoners, of course, but it was a mad
thing to come in and throw away their best chance of rescue!

He flung a despairing glance at Solomon, which fetched a chuckle from
Krausz, but Solomon merely stared like a surprised baby and kept
silence.

Of course the girl would lead out her men and make what show of force
she could, thought Hammer, edging around to get a view of the ground
immediately outside the tent.

With fifteen men here, and ten more under Omar against his fourteen,
even the stubborn Saxon must see that he was outnumbered.  An instant
later the American felt dismay tugging at his heart.

For Sara Helmuth came in alone, with neither Afghan nor Arab behind
her, but with an _askaris_ and a seaman conducting her.  With a
glance at Hammer and Solomon she walked up to Krausz, who doffed his
sun-helmet for a wonder, and opened fire.

"What does this mean, doctor?  Are my friends your prisoners?"

"Not at all, dear lady," he beamed, putting forward a camp-chair,
which she ignored.  "Thiss Mr. Hammer iss a murderer, and later on
Adolf takes him back to justice, yess!  Thiss Mr. Solomon is an
impudent little fat man, who gets turned out in the jungle to
starve--but away from hiss men, yess, away from hiss men.  Not on the
seaward side, you understand!"

He smirked knowingly, and the anger in the girl flashed out.

"You scoundrel!  For a man of your position to stoop so low as to
steal and lie!  Oh, I know the whole story now!  You stole those
papers from my father, your friend, as he was dying; but you didn't
steal them all, Dr. Sigurd Krausz!  Poor fool of a thief that you
are, not even to know a fort from a slave barracoon--and yet you call
yourself an archaeologist!  Why, you don't even know what the
treasure is yet, the best part of it, nor where it is, nor where the
real fort is!  And you never will know.  Now, either send Mr. Hammer
and Mr. Solomon safely out with me, or I'll----"

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but if so be as I could smoke it'd be a
mortal help!"

The words were a desperate effort on the part of Solomon to save the
situation.  So rapidly had the furious girl poured out her
denunciation that before Hammer realized what she was saying, before
any one could intervene, she had given away the secret.

Solomon's words, however, and the look that he flashed her, saved her
from letting Krausz know any more.  It was all-important that he
should not know that they had men in the jungle ready to spring at
his throat.

As she realized what she had said she went deadly pale; but there was
no wavering in her eyes, and Hammer, dismayed though he was, could
not but approve her for it.  Krausz, too, caught the meaning of her
words, but more slowly.

As he grasped their import his face changed from red to white, and a
snarl came into his eyes; then he sank into his camp-chair, gazing
steadily at her as he forced himself into control and tried to read
meaning into her words.

"You know the whole story now--so!  And they were not all stolen,
yess?  But what iss thiss--that I do not know a fort from a slave
barracoon--_Himmel_! That iss why we found nothing!  And, _fräulein_,
you know all these things, yess?"

"I do, and you shall not know them."

"Listen, _fräulein_!"  He leaned forward, sweat dripping from his
face, and earnestness in every feature, while the ribbon of muscle on
his brow pounded furiously.

"You know thiss, and I do not, _hein_?  What will you take that you
shall tell me?  It iss nothing to you, it iss everything to me!"

"Tell you?"  And the scorn in her voice lashed him like a whip.
"Thief and liar that you are!  Tell you?  I would sooner tell that
man Jenson there than you!"

"Ah, yess!  Jenson!"  Still he gazed at her, fighting himself hard.
"I have made a mistake, then?  Thiss iss not the fort, but I knew
that much already, _fräulein_!  And this Mr. Hammer iss your
friend--_Ach, mein Gott_!  It wass you who told about the papers,
Jenson!"

The big Saxon whirled in his chair, his hand shot out, and Jenson,
clutched by the shoulder, was dragged bodily over the table into the
group.  The fellow was too frightened even to whimper, and the blaze
in the eyes of Krausz seemed to paralyse him.

"So, it wass you who told, while you were away!  You told, swine!
Listen, _fräulein_!  Tell me what you know, and we shall be partners,
yess!  Tell me, and this Mr. Hammer he shall take Adolf with him!
Perhaps it wass Adolf who killed Captain Harcourt, after----"

Quick as Jenson was, the scientist was quicker, his foot shooting out
with the swiftness of light.  Hammer fancied that Jenson's wrist was
broken by the kick, for he screamed once, horribly, even before the
knife fell to the ground.  Krausz flung him to the seamen with an
order in German, and a moment later Hammer was seized and his hands
bound before he could resist.

The incident aroused all the brute in Krausz and he stood glaring
around for a moment, Sara Helmuth instinctively shrinking before him.

"You, _fräulein_, you know me!  Yess, the papers were stolen, but I
did not come to the right place?  Then you shall tell me where that
place it iss.

"I will not," came her firm answer.

Krausz turned and snapped out an order in German, pointing to Hammer.
The American saw one of the sailors snatch the rhinoceros-hide whip
from the _askari_, but the girl's face had gone white.

"Stop!" she almost screamed.  "I'll tell--I'll take you there; but
not that!"

"Good," grunted the Saxon, watching her malevolently.  Jenson, bound
and writhing impotently, was laid on the ground, and he took the whip
from the seaman.

"Get up, Jenson."  A stroke of the whip and Jenson rose; what with
the whip and his arm, the man was in agony, and Hammer almost pitied
him.

A few orders from Krausz, and Solomon was bidden go where he
willed--on the landward side of camp; two _askaris_ forced Jenson and
Hammer along, two more followed, and with Krausz and Sara Helmuth
walking side by side the party proceeded up the hill toward the
jungle and the ruins beyond, while John Solomon looked after them for
an instant and then incontinently took to his heels.




CHAPTER XVI

THE PLACE OF SKULLS

Cyrus Hammer, as he was forced along beside Jenson, was aware that
the crisis had come in the twinkling of an eye and that he had proven
wanting.  Sara Helmuth had met it in his place--and Krausz had proven
victor.

On the surface, at least.  But, as he heard Sara Helmuth telling the
scientist the tale of the real fort, Hammer smiled to himself.  She
might reveal the secret of the fort and treasure and all else--for
Krausz had done the very thing which Hammer had never for an instant
dreamed that he would do in releasing John Solomon.

The American recollected that, to Krausz, Solomon was no more than a
mere pudgy little man who had shoved himself into the affairs of
others, and for whom a day of wandering in the jungle would be
veritable torture.

Krausz had woven his own net, for the only man there able to warn him
against Solomon was Jenson, and from Jenson he would receive no
warning.  Moreover, Hammer saw that vengeance was like to be taken
from his hands, since Jenson's punishment was slowly but surely
drawing in upon him.

His exultation did not last long, however.  He soon saw that, short
of a murderous volley which would cut down all four _askaris_ and
Krausz with them, Solomon could not do much to help them just at
present.

The girl was telling Krausz of the treasure now as they stood among
the trenches on the hill, where tools lay flung about as the natives
had deserted them.

Krausz had done a good deal, thought Hammer; in that week he had
found out for himself that he was on a false scent--and that despite
Solomon's prediction to the contrary.

Behind them the camp lay quiet, smoke curling up from the fires, the
seamen and the four remaining _askaris_ looking after the party.  In
front stretched the jungle, deep green and yellow tangles of vines
and trees and bamboos.  The girl turned to Hammer.

"Do you know just how to get in there, Hammer?" she said wearily.
"I've promised to guide the doctor there, and----"

He saw that she was trying not to betray the secret of the camp from
which she had come, but with Solomon gone to his men, as he plainly
was, there was naught to be feared.

"Lead us by the path you came," he reassured her, Krausz paying no
heed, but searching the jungle with eager eyes.  "The ruins ought to
be straight back from these, about two hundred yards or so."

She caught the meaning of his words and his quick smile and, with an
answering flash in her eyes, turned back to Krausz, who still bore
the whip taken from the _askari_.  Though he carried no gun, Hammer
caught a bulge in the coat-pocket of the big Saxon and knew that he
was not unarmed.

Now, without further hesitation, Sara Helmuth led the way across the
half-trenched lines of ruins.  The American saw that when she had
come to the camp that morning out of the jungle-hid fort it had been
with little fear of such a result as this.

Perhaps trusting in John Solomon or himself, perhaps determined, if
necessary, to force the doctor's hand by threat of exposure--any one
of a hundred reasons flashed through Hammer's mind; but the central
thought was that she had borne herself far better than had he.

Bound, helpless, marched at the side of the staggering, moaning
Jenson, he found himself forced into a narrow path, and the jungle
closed around them.

Krausz was not careless, however.  Finding that the path was actually
walled in by trees, bamboos, and creepers, and doubtless suspicious
at seeing it recently cleared, he sent an _askari_ ahead, then Sara
Helmuth, and followed himself, with another _askari_ behind, his long
whip ready for action, and ordered Hammer and his guard immediately
behind, while Jenson and the fourth Masai brought up the rear.

Barely had they got well in shelter of the jungle than Hammer, with
Jenson's moans coming from behind like the inarticulate cries of a
trapped beast, felt the hand of his guard fumbling with the cords
that bound his wrists.

He half-turned in surprise, when a hand on his shoulder pressed him
about again; with the fingers of his other hand the Masai tapped
gently on the little silver ring Hammer still wore, and the latter
understood.

This Masai fighting man, brought by Jenson from Zanzibar to defend
Krausz, with the German eagle on tunic and fez, had recognized the
sign of John Solomon, and had made answer to it!

Almost as the unbelievable thought found its way into his brain he
felt that his bonds were loosened; a warning hand pressed his wrist
again, and was gone.  He comprehended that for the present he was not
to free himself, and though the impulse was in him to leap on Krausz
from behind, he held it in check and followed blindly.

In one respect at least the scientist seemed sincere, and that was in
his belief, inspired by Jenson, that Hammer had stabbed Harcourt.
Indeed, in matters foreign to his calling Krausz was probably all
that could be wished.

But he, too, beginning at the comparatively innocuous point of taking
the papers belonging to the dying Helmuth, had been wound in the
skein of cumulative wrong-doing, reflected Hammer.  He was not weak
like Jenson, however; his wrong-doing was aggressive, determined,
positive, while that of Jenson was decidedly negative.

Where the hiding-place of the relics and papers was the American
himself did not know, though Solomon and the girl did.  Now Krausz
knew as well, or soon would, for Hammer divined Sara's intention
perfectly.

She would give up all in order to appease the Saxon, depending on
Solomon to eventually overpower the latter, if he did not first
prevent the disclosure of the secret.

Hammer spared no thought on himself.  That he was in any present
danger did not occur to him, since he could not suspect the thoughts
behind the doctor's heavy-lidded eyes and throbbing band of muscle.

For the jungle smell had entered into the nostrils of the
scientist--and whether it be in jungle or forest or sand reaches, no
man can taste the loneliness of Nature and hold to his veneer of
man-learning.

It is the same whether he be beside the Mackenzie or the Mahakkam,
under Kilimanjaro or Tacoma.  Once away from his kind, man forgets
his kind, for the despotism of the wild overbears all else.

It was so with Krausz and, to a certain sense, with Sara Helmuth; it
was so with Hammer, though he did not comprehend it; but if it was so
with John Solomon no man could say.

"We are here," exclaimed the girl dully.

The party halted.  Without perceiving it in the half-gloom of the
overhanging masses of vegetation, they had suddenly come among
half-fallen walls, ruined stone structures that loomed far up and
were held in place by thigh-thick vines.

Through some had pierced old trees and limbs of trees, yet the walls
still held in grotesque mimicry; no roofs were there, but only walls
and ruins of walls.  And over the place brooded silence, with never a
chattering of monkey or parrot's screech to quiver hollowly up.

Hammer felt a twitch at his arm, but shook off the hand of the
_askari_.  If the man thought he was going to run for it and leave
Sara Helmuth in the lurch, he was much mistaken.  Slowly, very
slowly, the American saw that men had been here not long before,
since in amid the ruins were evidences of clearing--lopped branches
piled up in places, flickering shadow-gleams of sunlight that
filtered down from somewhere above, and queer white fragments that
strewed the ground in spots.

If Krausz saw this, however, he paid small heed, but clambered over a
smoothed-out pile of stones, the others following.

"_Gott_!  Truly thiss iss the real place!"

He stood looking around, caressing the handle of the whip with his
fingers.  On three sides towered walls and trees and vines,
inextricable and undefined; where walls ended and trees began it was
impossible to say, for the growth of two hundred jungle years is not
to be lightly set aside by a few Arabs in a week's time.  Jenson sank
down where he stood, cowed into silence by the silence around.

Suddenly, as if the echoes of the doctor's words had worked through
the interstices of the leafy roof, a great burst of shrill chattering
arose somewhere overhead.

Hammer jumped, startled; at the same instant two or three white
objects shot down from nowhere, apparently.  Two burst into shreds,
the other struck a mossy wall and rebounded to the feet of Krausz,
who leaped back in alarm.

One half-stifled shriek burst from the first _askari_ and stilled the
clamour above.  Sara Helmuth stared at the thing, as did everyone
else, her face very pale; and Hammer knew, at last, that Omar ibn
Kasim had spoken truth indeed--for the object was a skull.

An oath from Krausz recalled the frightened _askaris_ to their
vigilance.  He stood mopping his brow and staring from the unbroken
skull to the trees above, and, as Hammer glanced up, he saw one or
two dark forms flitting about the top of the nearest wall and
vanishing in the trees.

"Monkeys!" exclaimed Sara Helmuth, her eyes unnaturally large, but
her voice firm.  "Are you afraid of monkeys and skulls, Herr Doctor?"

For answer Krausz snorted and picked up the skull.  He flung it away
instantly.

"Pah!  It iss mouldy--it hass been the ground in.  Monkeys--pigs of
scavengers!  Yess, thiss iss the place."

For a moment he stood silent.  Then, for the gruesome thing must have
wakened the depths of him, he swiftly changed the whip to his left
hand, drew a revolver with the other, and turned on the group behind
him.

Hammer started at the change in the man.  His great brow was mottled,
as were his cheeks, save for the panting band of muscle that stood
out deep red, and his black eyes gleamed with something that was near
akin to ferocity.  Never had Hammer seen such a face on a man, and
now, for the first time, a strange alarm stirred within him.

Krausz tried to speak, but could not for a moment; lips and tongue
were dry, and his voice came in a hoarse growl that betrayed how that
monkey-flung skull had got on his nerves.

"You tricked me, yess!" he cried at length.  "You tricked me, Sigurd
Krausz!  You, _fräulein_, you, and Adolf here!  But no more shall you
trick me, no.  I----"

He paused quickly, plainly fighting for his lost self-control,
meeting the firm eyes of Sara Helmuth.  Hammer, fearing that the man
would break out into violence, tensed his muscles and measured the
distance between them, but Krausz lowered his revolver as slow sanity
crept back into his eyes.

The girl still faced him, though she had shrunk back before that mad
outburst, and in reply her voice came low, but with a note that
seemed to calm his rage, so cold and self-contained was it.  Hammer
noted that she made no gesture as for a weapon; she must have come
unarmed, probably on the impulse of the moment.

"Yes, you were tricked, Her Doctor--tricked by a girl.  And you are
called the greatest archaeologist in Europe!  Dresden will laugh when
it hears the story, doctor--the story of how you dug for a week in
the ruins of a storehouse, while the fort you were in search of lay
under your nose here.  And then the treasure!

"Now free me and Mr. Hammer there, and I promise you that this shall
never be known in Europe, Dr. Krausz.  If the story came out it would
blast your reputation, and you know it well."

Krausz looked at her, frowning as if in hard thought.  Hammer saw
that the strain was telling heavily upon her, and breathed a sigh of
relief when the scientist replied:

"Yess, it would my reputation blast, _fräulein_.  That iss very
right--very.  But listen.  You have told me that the treasure was in
two parts, yess, and the relics and papers, I do not know where they
are.  But you know, _fräulein_.  Now tell me, take me to thiss place
also, then will I free you and Mr. Hammer and Adolf--yess, you shall
go free with Adolf, both of you!"

As he made this offer, there was something about the narrowed eyes of
the man that Hammer did not like.  Sara Helmuth studied him for a
moment, but she was plainly weakening fast.

Something of the fetid aspect of the place seemed to be in the face
of Krausz, and she palpably distrusted him; but he forced quietude
into his features and stared stolidly at her, waiting.

Another white object fluttered down from above with a chattering that
floated away amid the tree-tops, and the girl shuddered as the skull
struck the wall behind her and shivered rottenly.

"How--how if I refuse?"

"If you refuse, _fräulein_, the whip--and no promise."

He gestured with his hand toward Hammer.  The girl flung the latter
one helpless glance, and bowed her head as she turned.

"Come."

Krausz, with triumph beaming from his massive features, motioned the
others to fall in line, and they went as at first, out across the
fallen wall.  To the American the place was shapeless, formless, but
Krausz cast quick nodding glances about him, and Sara Helmuth did not
hesitate.

Hammer felt his heart throbbing--the atmosphere of the jungle-hid
ruins was oppressive, stultifying.  The girl led them across fallen
walls and past cleared spaces to a great heap of ruins overgrown
thickly.

Through it led a hard-beaten path, and with half-darkness about them
she paused at what seemed to be a square hole in the ground, perhaps
a dozen feet across, with trees roofing all in overhead.  Here the
path ended.

"It is there," she said simply.

Krausz growled something at the _askaris_, and went forward.  Hammer,
watching, saw him stop suddenly as though listening.  Then, at the
edge of the hole, he laid down revolver and whip and went to his
knees, and so flat on his belly, his hands gripping roots on either
side of him.

Here he stayed motionless for what seemed ages to the overwrought
American.  When, at last, he crawled upright, his hands were shaking
tremulously, his face was ghastly white, and he clutched at a near-by
tree for support.

"_Mein Gott_!" he said thickly, staring at the girl.  "_Mein Gott_!
_Mein Gott_!"




CHAPTER XVII

THE PIT OF ADDERS

Hammer could not understand himself.  He was practically free, he
realized fully that this was the time to act, when Krausz was
unarmed, and yet his brain was dulled and refused to impart movement
to his limbs.  He stared at Krausz, fascinated by the least movement
of the man, utterly unable to do a thing.

Whether it was auto-hypnotism, or whether the terrible deadening
influence that had come upon him was caused by the noxious jungle
bringing back his fever, the American never knew.

Jenson had ceased to moan, and crouched at one side by his guard,
cowed.  The Masai cast uneasy glances about and at each other, but
still Krausz stared at Sara Helmuth, who seemed to droop under his
gaze.

"You knew, yess?" he muttered finally.

She nodded listlessly.

"Yes.  I stayed near here last night.  I was here."

The colour flowed back into the face of the scientist little by
little.  Turning his back on the party, he stooped and picked up
revolver and whip, then stood looking down at that which lay in the
blackness of the hole.

Hammer wanted to scream, but he could not, for some unseen power had
paralysed his muscles.  He wondered, idly, what lay in that hole, but
he was more interested in watching the big Saxon.  He had never seen
Krausz so completely overcome before, he thought, and it made him
want to laugh.

"By Godfrey!"  He shook himself, conquering that terrible apathy.
"You've got to quit this, old man, or God knows what'll happen.  That
chap is breeding trouble and first thing you know he'll spring
something bad."

Why the thought came to him he could not tell, but come it did.
Krausz turned, with a nervous glance around at the silent trees, but
there was no danger in his face, save that the tell-tale ribbon of
muscle was pounding madly.

Then once more the scientist went to the brink of the hole and looked
down.  It was as if he were reflecting on something, weighing
something over in his mind before coming to a decision.

A half-sound caught Hammer's attention and he looked at Sara Helmuth.
She had turned partly aside, her head was down in her two hands, and
her shoulders were shaking softly as she stood.  Overcome by the
horror of the place, she had given way at last, and the sight was too
much for Hammer.

As if by magic he felt himself once more, with all his old quickness
of thought and vigour of action returned to him.  Solomon had failed
them and they were alone, and the thought brought responsibility back
to him.

Quietly slipping his hands free of the loosened cords, he strode over
to the girl's side, none hindering him, and in the face of the jungle
horror about them he put an arm about her shoulders, drawing her head
to his breast.

"Quiet, Sara," and he patted her back in a clumsy effort to soothe
her.  "It's all right, girl--don't cry.  We'll get out of this place
and forget about it----"

For several weeks now Sara Helmuth had forced herself into the
position of a man among men, playing a lone hand in the dark, and
while friendship had come to her in the guise of Solomon and Hammer,
her woman's soul had craved sympathy as a child craves its mother's
arms.

Furthermore, the place in which they stood mirrored dread into her
soul, for only the evening before she had stood at the edge of that
hole and gazed down while the Arabs held torches aloft and looked
grimly at each other.  So, but chiefly because of Hammer's actions
and words, she smiled once and fainted.

The American felt frightened for a moment, then relief came to him.
The burden had been put on his shoulders, and, allowing the girl to
slip to the ground, he turned to find Krausz looking at them and
frowning, blackness brooding in his eyes and an evil twist to his
heavy jaw.

"She hass fainted?  That iss good."

"Yes, she's fainted: but you'll notice that she kept her word first."
Hammer's anger turned cold within him, for as he wondered what
frightful thing lay in that hole he remembered the story of the pit
of snakes--and he dreaded snakes as he dreaded no other thing on
earth.

"She's kept her word, Krausz, so I guess it's up to you to keep
yours.  You lend me a couple of these _askaris_ to carry Miss Helmuth
and we'll be going."

"Wait."

The scientist seemed oddly apprehensive, seemed as if he were trying
to say something which could not find utterance.  He looked at
Hammer, then at the _askaris_, then at the jungle above and around,
and finally beckoned.

"Come--look at thiss thing."

Hammer did not want to look, yet it seemed as though some force drew
him to follow the other to the edge of that black hole.  Now he knew
why the horror had come upon him, the snake-fear which lies at the
bottom of many men's souls and which is not to be explained or
reasoned away.

"_Mein Gott_--look at them!"

The American obeyed with cold chills gripping his spine.  Yet he
could see little.  The pit was deep, very deep.  As his eyes searched
the darkness of it he guessed that the bottom was twenty feet away.

Then a soft, slithering sound broke the dead stillness, and a low
"his-s-s" which there was no mistaking.

"Adders," stated the doctor decidedly.  "Puff-adders, my friend, and
a bite it iss death, yess!"

Hammer did not know a puff-adder from a black snake, but he did know
why the other had gazed so long into that pit of darkness, for there
was a deadly fascination about it that compelled his eyes despite his
loathing.

"If the treasure iss there, it can wait, yess!" exclaimed the
scientist.

The American mentally added that it could wait until what Sherman
said war was froze over, for all of him; but he still looked down
until gradually the thing took shape before him.

The sides of the pit were straight and well paved, slimy, mossy, with
never a break in the stones.  Far down something scintillated for an
instant, then again, and the slithering noise went rustling faintly
without cessation.  Hammer was aware that Krausz had come to his side
and was pointing down.

"There--look at that.  It iss a platform, no?"

With the words the scientist scraped a match and flung it down.  The
American got a glimpse of a small jutting-out stone, some two feet
square, half-way down the pit, and below that a twining, shuddering
mass of something that drove him reeling back with sickness strong
upon him.

"That's enough," he gasped, wiping the cold sweat from his face.
"I'll get out of here and stay gone, don't worry----"

"Stop!"

There was a new note in the voice of Krausz, and it brought Hammer
around instantly.  The other had followed him back from the hole, and
was glaring at him with such mad eyes that instinctively the American
took a step backward.

"You are not going away," said the big Saxon slowly, his eyes burning
into those of Hammer.  The band of muscle was deep crimson, and it
was pulsating like a wild thing against the man's white brow.
Hammer's foot struck against the limp form of Sara Helmuth, and the
touch restored him from his panic.

"Eh?  What's that?" he exclaimed, unbelieving.

"I say you are not going away--you and Adolf and Professor Helmuth,
yess!"

"What's the matter with you?" demanded Hammer, thoroughly angry.
"You promised that when----"

"Yess, and my promise I shall keep--but thiss way."  Krausz gestured
with his whip toward the hole.  "I promised to set you free, _nein_?"

Between anger at the man and fear of what lay behind him, Hammer
stared at him astounded.  It had not occurred to him that Krausz
would not perform his part of the agreement--but what did he mean by
"thiss way"?

The big Saxon went on, his jaw pushed forward aggressively, his eyes
fastened banefully on Hammer:

"Fools!  Did you think that I would let you go, yess, to make of me a
joke before all Europe?  _Ach_, no!  Am I, Sigurd Krausz, to be
tricked and made a fool?"

He turned swiftly to the nearest _askari_--the same who had freed
Hammer.

"Go back to the camp and bring a rope--quick, you black swine!"

The man saluted, flung Hammer a helpless look, and disappeared.  The
other three watched, leaning on their rifles.

"What do you mean?" began the American, aghast before the terrible
thought that had leaped into his brain.  Krausz flung about on him,
raging.

"Mean?  What do I mean?  American pig!  Iss my work to be spoiled by
thiss _fräulein_?  No!  _Ach_, but Adolf iss a devil!  He betrays
everyone, but he shall not betray Sigurd Krausz.  No, nor you,
American.  I meant to kill you all, but now I have a better way,
yess, and I shall my promise keep.  Later I will come back, yess, and
get the treasure and give it to the world--my treasure, my papers, my
relics!

"Never hass so great a chance come--and it iss not to be perilled by
you.  So I tell you plainly, American, you shall not play with Sigurd
Krausz."

Then, too late, Hammer realized that the look in the other's eyes was
little short of madness.  He cast a look around, but the jungle
hedged them in, silent and merciless, with no sign of Solomon or aid.

But--what did the madman mean to do?  He was crazed on the subject of
his work, that was plain, and whether the jungle mania had unbalanced
him or not, there was a fury in his eyes.

"What do you mean?" asked Hammer again.  "Don't think you can get
away with any dirty work, Krausz, or Solomon----"

"Bah!  Do not joke with me.  Listen--you saw that platform, American?
Then I tell you that you and Adolf Jenson and Professor Helmuth, you
shall stand there until you get tired.  You shall be free, yess--but
you cannot get up, and when you go down you will not play with Sigurd
Krausz any----"

Hammer saw red and struck.  The whole insane scheme darted clear to
his mind, and he drove his fist home into that mocking face with a
furious curse.  Krausz flung up his revolver-hand, but Hammer dashed
it aside and the weapon fell; he saw Krausz reel back and knew he had
crushed the man's nose with his first blow, but he followed with
relentless fury in his heart.

Krausz tried to fight him off, and he saw the three _askaris_ closing
in on him; then he felt the whip curl about him, sending a terrible
red wale over his cheek and biting into his body; but time and again
those fists which had won him his name stabbed into the face of the
big Saxon--until the _askaris_ ground him to the earth by main weight
and tied him.

The American glared up, still raging in his helplessness.  Krausz had
dropped his whip and was clinging to a long vine that trailed down
across the body of Jenson, who had not moved.

The fight had hardly lasted a minute, but Hammer had learned his
trade in a hard school.  The heavy features of Krausz were crushed
into a red mass, for the first blow of Hammer's had splintered his
nose; yet, for all the pain he must have been suffering, Krausz said
no word.

Groping for his handkerchief, he slowly wiped the blood from his
eyes, then stooped and picked up his pith helmet and put it on,
carefully letting down the mosquito-gauze about his features.

There was something in the action, something of iron tenacity, that
made Hammer hold his breath, waiting for he knew not what.  With that
crimsoned visage masked from sight, Sigurd Krausz appeared even more
formidable.  Hammer knew that his outburst had effected nothing.

Yet it had been half panic.  The scientist's fiendish plan had sent a
shudder of abhorrence through him; the very odour of that pit
nauseated him, and he had lashed out in a frenzy of mingled fear and
rage.  Then the memory of that narrow shelf of rock----

"By Godfrey!" thought the American desperately, "if Solomon doesn't
show up in a hurry it's all off!  That ledge won't hold more than one
person, that's sure."

Panic-stricken, he watched the Saxon.  Krausz took a step, and
stumbled across Jenson, all but falling.  At the same moment the
_askari_ who had been sent to camp returned, panting, carrying a
length of rope.

Krausz seized it from him and bent the end around under Jenson's
arms.  From where he stood Hammer could see how the secretary
trembled, and a moment later he shrank away from Krausz, scrambling
desperately to regain his feet, screaming.

"Don't!"  The wail shrilled up.  "Don't!  Oh--God----"

Krausz had signalled to the _askaris_, who shut off Jenson's screams
with grins of delight.  It was not the sort of work they usually did
for white people, but to Masai hearts it was glorious.  Hammer
realized that the one friendly man could do nothing for him, and his
cheeks blanched.

He watched Jenson carried to the edge of the pit and carefully
lowered.  A jerk or two freed the rope, and since no sound came
forth, Hammer supposed that the man had reached the ledge in safety.
Krausz turned to where Sara Helmuth lay, still senseless.

Then the American knew that there was no hope, that this fiend would
actually carry out his threat, and he felt his flesh creep at the
thought.

He pictured to himself that narrow ledge, with Jenson already
there--ready to fight off whomever came next.

If the girl was sent down alone, unconscious as she was, what little
chance she had would be gone, while he, Hammer, was whimpering up
here!

He slowly got to his feet, the _askari_ who stood over him pulling
him up, and, as Krausz leaned over the girl with the rope ready,
Hammer knew that he had become himself once more.  He might die, but
he would die like a man.

"Put that rope around me, Krausz," he said calmly.  "I'll take her in
my arms, if you'll untie my wrists."

The other straightened up, turning toward him, and Hammer saw the
little dribble of blood that trickled down the front of his khaki
coat from beneath the helmet-gauze.  He noted, too, that Krausz
feared to trust him, and added desperately:

"I'll give you my word, doctor, to make no trouble.  Let's have it
over with decency."

"Good!" came the rumbling response, with a gesture to one of the
Masai.  The latter cut Hammer's bonds, and the American strode to the
side of Sara, lifting her in his arms.  Then, with firm step but
ghastly face, for the feeling of revulsion was almost too strong to
be endured, he walked to the brink of the pit, and waited.

"Hurry, for God's sake!" he gasped.

The rope was put around him, under his shoulders; he did not feel how
it cut into him as his weight came upon it.  He knew only that
terrible darkness was rising up at him, that the nightmare had begun,
that slimy mossy stones were all about him.

He strove for a footing with his hanging feet, but to no avail.  The
walls were smooth, fissureless; he could not look down because of the
body of the girl who lay in his arms.  And it was as well that he
could not, for an instant later his foot struck something soft.

He almost screamed at the touch, having forgotten Jenson for a
moment; then he remembered.  What next happened he could not tell; he
felt himself swinging on the rope, and a great fear surged into him
that the Masai had dropped him.

Then he knew that Jenson was beating against his legs, trying to
drive him off with his beast-like, wordless whimpers.

He felt that he was kicking out in desperation, and his foot landed
once; then from below came a single strangled cry, followed by a soft
thud, and an instant later he was afoot on the rock ledge.

How long he stood there holding Sara Helmuth he never knew, for he
was battling with all his will-power to get control of the awful
horror that was over him.  The snake-fear had gripped him, and the
very rock at his back seemed to be a living thing that was pressing
him forward, trying to fling him to the things below.  This must have
been the rope loosening from him, however, for presently he had
conquered himself and the rope was gone from about him.

For a little space he did not realize that he was in any great
danger.  He was a good ten feet above the things that crawled down
there and as much below the surface; he thought of Jenson, but spared
no pity on the man; and the remembrance of his own words regarding
the snake-pit and Jenson even brought the faintest flicker of a smile
to his tense lips.  Yet in his bitterest moments he could not have
wished the man such agony as was now his own.

He listened for some sound from above, but none came.  Had Krausz
departed to cure his own hurts or was he waiting for some word from
his victims?  Hammer compressed his lips tighter; at least, the Saxon
would not have the satisfaction of hearing him whimper, he thought.
He was thankful that the girl showed no signs of wakening from her
swoon.

But how was Solomon to know where they were?  He could not have been
watching, or he would have prevented the terrible deed at all costs;
of that Hammer was assured.

If he did not shout for aid--but what good would shouting do him?
The sound would be lost in the pit or in the leafy roof above; he
could not have pierced that mass of vegetation if he had had the
lungs of Stentor.

It occurred to him that if he set the girl down on the ledge at his
feet he might be able to get out in some way.  There was only a
ten-foot wall above him, and even the mosses would give him foothold.

Besides, her weight was beginning to tell on his arms, and he could
not hold her for ever.  He felt gingerly forward with one foot--and
cold fear struck him to the heart.

Now he knew why Jenson had slipped away, and how.  In the darkness of
the pit, looking down from above, the ledge had seemed fairly wide;
as a matter of fact, it jutted straight out from the wall for a scant
foot; then the upper part of the stone broke and shelved down on all
sides to the under part.

On that foot square of rock it was possible for one person to stand;
it was possible for him to stand so long as he could hold the girl's
weight in his arms, but there was not foothold for two persons--and
he could not hold Sara Helmuth much longer.  As it was, his arms were
tiring rapidly.

Hammer's face clenched into a grimace of pure agony as the tremendous
temptation swept over him--all the more powerful because of his
inborn dread of what lay below.  The girl was unconscious; she would
never know!  Was it not more merciful, after all, to give her to
death now than to leave her precariously hanging on that foot-square
ledge until she wakened, moved, and--dropped?

"Oh, God!" he muttered, Jenson's cry on his lips, and repeated it
over and over.  How could he save his own worthless life at the
expense of hers?  A terrible convulsion seized him; he tottered, and
only recovered his balance by a miracle.  The danger sickened him,
but it also woke latent words in his brain.

"--I think it will be one of power, not of failure.  I would like to
be there----"

He groaned, and it was as if the groan had been wrenched out of his
soul, for he knew that his great moment had arrived.  And he knew
that, despite himself, it would be one of power--nay it was one of
power!

Though half of his soul fought against the other half, trying to
loose his arms, it was in vain; sophistry was swept aside, and he
felt that he must do his utmost, even though it might be useless.  He
would go to join Jenson, and he must go soon, lest his strength fail.

Feeling about with his feet, he found the last inch of rock that
would hold him up, and slowly bent downward.  Twice he had to shift
his position laboriously because of the wall behind him; once again
he tottered, his foot slipped, and only a desperate effort recovered
him.

After he had laid the girl across that ledge he could never get
upright again without standing on her body--and, harmless though that
might have been to her, it never came into his head.

He lowered her to his knees, twisting about, and inch by inch bent
downward until she lay across his feet and ankles in safety.  Only
his grip on her body held him on the ledge now, and the physical
torture of his position sent the sweat running down his face in
streams.

His will-power all but failed him in that last instant.  With
infinite pains he drew one foot free, then the other, and went to his
knees.  But they slipped on the slant of broken rock-face--and,
bending swiftly, he touched his lips to hers as he went down.

He seemed to fall for miles and miles through space.  From somewhere
above came a dull report, and a second; then a shock, and he landed
feet first on something soft, and felt great shapes twining around
him.  He screamed--and fell asleep.




CHAPTER XVIII

"THAHABU!"

"I did, miss."

Who did what?  Dull mutters and echoings pierced into Hammer's brain,
as if voices that he used to know were whispering in the distance.
They swelled and died away and swelled again, reminding him vaguely
of the bells he had heard one evening in Venice.

There it was again--there--that was the clear silver of San Giorgio's
Campanile, with the deeper tones of Giovanni e Paolo dipping down
through the silver, then Santa Maria Formosa dropped in her liquid
notes, with, over all, far-flung cadences drifting faintly down on
the sea-wind from the Frari until the great dome of the Salute spoke
to the sunset, and all the myriad others----

No, it was nothing but Harcourt talking, talking to his mother!  That
was odd: Harcourt was five miles out at sea, and his mother had been
dead for twenty years, he was quite sure.

Ah, he was wrong after all!  It was only John Solomon and Sara
Helmuth talking together.  At that he opened his eyes, caught a faint
flicker of light--and remembered.

A violent nausea swept over him, but he conquered it, lying with
clenched fists.  He recalled what a dying man had once whispered to
him aboard the cattle boat--"I wonder what the other place is
like?"--and he repeated it over and over in his mind, for it was a
good joke.

"I wonder what the other place is like!"

It was his own voice speaking, and he laughed, a dry cackle of a
laugh that struck the other voices dead.  Where was he?

"I'll lay odds that it's hell----"

Something cool touched his brow and he jerked away sharply, every
nerve in his body twinging.  Then he realized that the thing was a
hand, and heard that queer laughter of his ring out again, though he
had not meant to laugh at all.

"Best let 'im be, miss.  'E ought to be waked by now, but 'e'll come
up all right-o.  Dang it, I don't know as I blames 'im much.  It was
a mortal bad place."

"Hello, John!"  Hammer made a great effort and forced himself to
speak.  "What are you doing on the other side, as the spiritualists
say!  Who's that devil got his hand on me?  Take him off, darn it!"

The hand was withdrawn, and he heard Solomon chuckle.

"'E's come through, miss, but 'e don't know it.  'Ey, you, Mr.
'Ammer!  Sit up and take a werry good look at this 'ere devil 'o
yours--beggin' your pardon, miss."

The startled American felt himself pulled to a sitting position, and
blinked.  The flickering light was from a fire, and he seemed to be
sitting on a cot in a tent; also, the tent looked oddly like that of
Dr. Krausz's.

That was hardly possible, of course, but John Solomon was standing in
front of him and smoking his vile black tobacco, while it was
indubitably Sara Helmuth at his side.

"Why--why, what's--where--" he stammered confusedly.  Then a cry of
mortal agony broke from him.  "Good God, don't play with me like
this!"

He tried to shut out the vision, his hands over his eyes; as he sank
back on the cot he felt other hands on his, pulling them away, and
something warm and wet splashed on his face.

"Hammer!  Don't, please!  It's all right, really!  Hammer, dear--oh,
John, can't you do something?"

"Ay, miss, if you'll stand aside."

Something struck him, and he heard a cry, then came more blows that
knocked him back; furious, he struggled up to see the girl forcing
the laughing Solomon back.

"Stop that, John!  Don't be cruel----"

"Say, what do you think I am--a punching-bag?"

The angry American leaped up, and instantly Sara Helmuth was holding
to his arms, half-laughing, half-crying as she looked up at him.
Solomon chuckled.

"I thought as 'ow that'd fetch 'im about, miss!  Sit down, sit down,
Mr. 'Ammer.  It's only John Solomon, a-'itting of you flat-'anded.
Sit down, sir."

Hammer obeyed, utterly bewildered, still holding the girl's hands.
The hysterical seizure passed and and left him very weak.

"Then I'm not dead, Sara?"

"Not as anybody knows on, sir," returned Solomon cheerfully, and his
voice changed suddenly.  "Miss, leave us alone for a minute, if you
please."

Obediently, the girl rose, and stepped outside the tent, Hammer
looking after in terror lest it was all a dream.  Solomon came and
sat beside him, gripping his hand.

"'Ere, buck up, sir!  I'm sorry there ain't a drop o' liquor, but
there ain't.  Now you brace up ship-shape and proper, Mr. 'Ammer--you
'ear me?  Buck up, I say!  You ain't 'urt and you ain't dead, and if
I punches you one in the eye you'll know it.  Beggin' your pardon,
sir, but don't be a----"

And there came a flood of low-pitched but biting words that effected
their purpose.  Hammer forced control over himself with a shudder and
gripped back at Solomon's hand.

"'I'm all right, John," he said shakily.  "But--but it's hard--to
realize.  Call Sara, will you?"

She must have been listening, for she was at his side immediately,
and when he had her hands in his again it seemed to Hammer that all
was right with the world.

"Now tell me about it," he said, his flagging interest reviving
before the wonder of it all.  "Didn't the--the adders--puff-adders,
Krausz said they were----"

"No, sir, they didn't," broke in John.  "They didn't, 'cause why,
they wasn't nothing of the sort, sir.  I dessay the doctor thought as
'ow they was puff-adders, and for the matter o' that so did I till I
got down and 'ad a good look at 'em as I was a-slipping of the rope
on you----"

"Great Scott!"  exclaimed Hammer sharply.  "Do you mean to say you
went down in there after me?  And you thought they were adders----"

"Lud!"  And for the first and last time in his life Hammer saw John
Solomon blush in the firelight.  "Don't take on so, Mr. 'Ammer--you
see, the Arabs wouldn't do it, so it was werry plain it 'ad to be
done, and----"

The American put out a hand, his voice husky.

"Thank you, John," he said simply.  "I--I think you understand."

"Yes, sir.  And now if you'll be letting me tell my story, sir--well,
it was like this.  I got there too late, what wi' losing some o' me
men and one thing and another, and the doctor 'e was a-looking down
the 'ole, so I knowed where you was.  It fair druv me mad for a bit,
sir, and I ups and lets drive.  Werry sorry I am to say it, but I
missed, not 'aving used a gun for a long time.

"'Owsoever, we potted three o' them danged _askaris_, the fourth
bein' me own man, but the doctor's got clean off.  It give me quite a
turn, Mr. 'Ammer, it did that, when I come to the edge o' that there
'ole and looked down.  The two Afghans was after the doctor, and the
Arabs wouldn't go down, so I 'ad to.

"We got the missus up first-off, but when I went down again for you,
sir, it near give me the jumps to see you a laying across Jenson's
body----"

"What!" broke in Hammer.  "Jenson dead?  I thought you said they
weren't----"

"So I did, sir; so I did; and quite right they weren't.  Near as we
could figure it out, sir, Jenson died o' fright, and a good job, I
says.  So we got you up, and wi' that I went for the doctor and druv
him clean into the jungle, I was that worked up.  Werry sorry I am to
say it, but where 'e is I don't know, and what's more, I don't care.
We made a good job o' them _askaris_, though, and took two o' them
Dutchmen alive.  So there you be, Mr. 'Ammer, all ship-shape and
proper."  Silence settled inside the tent, broken only by the choking
bubble of Solomon's ancient pipe.  Hammer realized that it had all
taken place that afternoon, and this was evening; but the snakes were
not deadly after all----

"I made a blessed fool of myself, then!"  He looked up and caught his
words, wondering if they knew, by any chance.  Well, since the girl
had been unconscious and Jenson dead, they didn't.  "However, no
matter about----"

"Yes, Hammer, it does matter."  Sara spoke gravely, her eyes
glistening.  "You see, after we brought you here you were out of your
head, like you were back there at the plantation, and you went over
and over that horrible scene--oh, Hammer dear!"  There was a catch in
her voice.  "Didn't--didn't I tell you once upon a time that when the
great moment came----"

"Don't, Sara!" begged Hammer earnestly, trying to smile and failing
dismally.  "Yes, you were right, and it doesn't matter whether I made
a fool of myself or not.  I----"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir and miss," broke in Solomon hastily, as he
rose, "I'd better see as them Arabs put out a guard in case----"

But neither of them heard him, for they were looking into each
other's eyes, and Hammer suddenly found that words would not come to
him.

"Sara, I--I'm afraid--I love you."

He dared not move, for he had blurted the words out before he
thought, and now fear nestled in his heart.  Then a soft hand touched
the red whip-wale on his cheek, and----

"Hammer, dear, I--I'm glad, I love you!"

But, as John Solomon remarked to the Southern Cross--having forgotten
what he went out to do--"Dang it!  'Uman nature is 'uman nature, I
says.  If so be as a man 'as a 'eart like gold there ain't no woman
too good for 'im, as the old gent said to the actress lady."

Which, taking it by and large, may be accepted as a true statement of
fact.

Now, it is commonly said of novelists and magazines that a man in the
first transports of requited love feels forgiveness for all his
enemies; nay, the hero, in the magnanimity caused by owning the earth
and the seven heavens, all too frequently sends his deadliest foe
packing with the confident trust that he, the foe, will go and sin no
more.

That makes good Sabbath-day reading, but it makes nothing else.  A
man strong enough to have a great enemy may be strong enough to
forgive that enemy, but it is much more likely that he is not, has no
desire to be, and would not if he could.

Cyrus Hammer expressed himself to this effect at breakfast the next
morning.  Sara Helmuth was still sleeping, and he and Solomon, with
Omar and the two Afghans, discussed the probable future of Dr. Sigurd
Krausz, archaeologist.

"He's dangerous," declared Hammer with decision.  "I'd say, send out
all the men after him, John, and if he comes willingly, then all
right.  If not, fetch him, anyway.  The poor devil must be in bad
shape, what with that nose of his; but after yesterday I'll be
blessed if I'm not set on giving him the limit!"

Solomon looked at the Afghans.  Akhbar Khan exchanged glances with
his cousin, and the two men rose, bowed in a silent salaam, and
stalked off with their rifles under their arms.

Solomon looked at Omar, and the Arab's teeth flashed out as he
followed.  And so, for the present, Hammer forgot his enemy, for Sara
Helmuth had emerged from the other tent and now joined them.

"There's summat as Mr. 'Ammer don't know about yet," remarked Solomon
complacently as the girl sipped her coffee, and she flashed a smile
at him.  Save for the circles about her eyes, sleep had removed all
traces of her weariness.  "When so be as you're ready, miss, we might
'ave a look at it."

"Very well," she nodded, then her eyes steadied.  "But first, John, I
want it thoroughly understood that I waive all claim to it.  By right
it belongs to you and to Hammer--by right of suffering and toil
and----"

"What is it you're talking about?" demanded the American, frowning.

"The treasure," she said, and explained.  As she had rightly told
Krausz, that part of the treasure which contained the papers, relics,
and gifts from the Viceroy to the King of Portugal, had been placed
in the pit of snakes, and in all likelihood would have remained there
had not Solomon been forced to descend, and so discovered that the
snakes were harmless.

It had been hauled out and left amid the ruins.  The more
intrinsically valuable portions of the treasure were buried
underground in another place, but the girl had by now given up all
hopes of ever getting it.

"We know where it is," she concluded with a shiver, "but it would
take time, and I wouldn't stay here a minute longer than necessary,
money or no money.  You and John, Hammer, can divide----"

"Hold on there!" exclaimed the American.  "I'm not in on this
treasure stunt.  It belongs to you, Sara----"

"Just a minute sir and miss," and Solomon leaned forward earnestly,
waving his empty pipe as he spoke.  "O' course, I 'as to go back wi'
you to Mombasa and straighten up this 'ere mess wi' the governor; but
if so as you don't want to wait, I'll come back and dig up the stuff
on me own.  I'll chance it if you will, miss; and you Mr. 'Ammer to
take what there is 'ere, me to take what's left."

"That's fair enough, Sara," put in Hammer quickly.  "Only, I've no
right to----"

"You have!" cried the girl indignantly.  "The idea--after all you've
gone through for me!  Well, let's have it as John proposes, then; you
and I, Hammer, take the papers and relics, and John can take the gold
for his share.  If you don't say yes, I'll--I'll give the whole
business to Potbelly!"

"All right," laughed the American, who, to tell the truth, had no
great faith in the entire treasure story.  "All ready?"

As only two of the Arabs had remained in camp, Solomon summoned them
with axes, and the five started for the ruins.  Hammer could not
enter the tangle of jungle without a shudder, and would greatly have
preferred staying away altogether; but once in for it he patted the
revolver given him by Solomon and determined to see the thing through.

Fortunately for his peace of mind it appeared that Solomon had left
the treasure in one of the clear spaces of the fort itself, for which
Hammer was devoutly thankful; he sorely doubted his ability to visit
that pit again, for his nerves were still badly shaken.

They reached the clearing, and in spite of his scepticism, Hammer
felt a thrill at sight of the two coffin-like lead cases that lay
beside the bush-strewn ruins of a wall.  Without delay the two Arabs
fell to work with their axes, ripping open one of the cases; and
after half an hour's labour a second case, of heavy wood, was laid
out.

"Teak," grunted Solomon.  "Give that ax 'ere."

With some care he attacked the locks that rimmed the iron-bound case,
smashing them one after another.  When the last had gone he paused,
and beckoned Sara forward.

"Open it, miss."

The girl obeyed eagerly.  Stooping over, she managed to raise and tip
back the heavy top, and with it a mass of camphor-smelling cloth that
had lain beneath.  A gleam of yellow shot up, and Hammer found
himself staring down at a magnificent gold-wrought reliquary.  One of
the Arabs gave an exclamation in Kiswahili.

"_Thahabu_!  Gold!"

At the same instant Hammer's eyes darted up to the bush-strewn wall.
The others had heard nothing, absorbed in the sight of the treasure,
but Hammer caught a dull tan-hued form amid the bushes, and snatched
at his revolver.  He perceived a glint of steel, and fired through
his coat pocket.

"Yess, it iss gold," came a mumble, piercing through the startled cry
of Sara, and the misshapen face of Sigurd Krausz rose amid the bushes.

A tongue of flame spat back at Hammer, who tried to fire again but
could not.  Slowly, yet before the echoes of Krausz's shot had flung
back from the jungle around, the American slipped and went to his
knees.

He looked up in surprise at Sara Helmuth; then, as her fingers went
out to his, he choked and fell sideways, both hands clutching at his
throat.




CHAPTER XIX

THE "DAPHNE" AGAIN

"Er--'pon my word, Mr. Hammer, I'm--er--glad to be able to apologize!"

"Nonsense, commissioner!  Then it's all right with Nairobi?"

"Perfectly, my dear chap, perfectly!  Had a bit of a ragging from the
Germans, but Krausz had misrepresented things fearfully, you know,
and that _askari_ business--er--put the governor in a perfectly
beastly rage, I'm told.  He gave 'em the man's body with his
compliments.  Ripping morning, isn't it?"

"Couldn't be better," grinned Hammer cheerfully.  He was sitting in a
deck-chair beneath the _Daphne's_ awning, Sara Helmuth on one side
and Commissioner Smith on the other.  His throat was swathed in
bandages, and he had lost his healthy tan, but he was undeniably
happy, and showed it.

"That yarn--er--reminded me of your American tales," went on Smith
rather heavily, as the figure of Solomon appeared coming to join the
group.  "Two bad men, don't you know--er--shooting across a bar, and
all that kind of thing.  Each one plugs the other--er--double
funeral.  Rather exciting thing out here, though, 'pon my word!  Very
usual in America, I understand."

"Oh, yes, very," returned Hammer gravely.  "Hello, John!  Can I smoke
yet?"

"Werry sorry, sir, but against orders.  Your servant, Mr. Smith and I
'opes as you're quite well?"

The Commissioner flushed slightly as he shook hands.

"Quite, thanks, very much.  Er--narrow escape Mr. Hammer had, by
Jove!"

"Quite so, sir.  Missed the jugular by a matter of 'airbreadths, the
doctor said.  Prowidence is a werry mysterious thing, sir, as the old
gent said when the 'ousemaid saw a mouse."

"We might show Mr. Smith that reliquary, John," smiled Sara Helmuth,
and her hand stole quite shamelessly over the arm of the deck-chair
to Hammer's.

The _Daphne_ lay anchored off Melindi.  The commissioner's launch lay
at the ladder, its crew of two spruce policemen chatting in Kiswahili
with the Arabs above, while the oily ground-swell lifted the yacht at
her anchor.

It was two weeks since Hammer had left the jungle behind for ever, as
he devoutly hoped, and with the commissioner's visit the last weight
had been lifted from his mind.

Not only had he been entirely absolved from any complicity in
Harcourt's death, but Nairobi had been graciously pleased to overlook
entirely the death of Dr. Krausz, and to waive all claims to the
treasure in hand--after the cathedral at Mombasa had been presented
with the relics.

Hammer had little use for relics, but he had been very careful to say
nothing about the reliquaries.  Of these, the finest was that
containing the reputed hand of St. Thomas--indeed, Commissioner Smith
declared it, rather vaguely, to be "perfectly ripping--top hole,
don't you know, in such things!"

His judgement proved ultimately to be entirely correct, while the
records, historical and otherwise, contained in the cases, were
declared by Sara Helmuth to be worth a good round sum to any library
in Europe.

As Hammer was not particularly imbued with a love for art, he sold
the three smaller reliquaries to Solomon; and also agreed to carry
that individual back to Port Said on the yacht.

As Solomon said, the gold had waited two hundred years, and it could
wait another few months very well, while he had important business at
Port Said.  A crew of sorts had been shipped at Mombasa, and with
Hammer's recovery the voyage home would begin.

"You'd better stick around, commissioner," smiled the American as his
visitor rose.  "About a week from now the American Consul is coming
up from Mombasa, and there's going to be some doings, as we say in
America."

"Eh?"  Mr. Smith looked blank for a moment, until Sara Helmuth's
blushes proclaimed themselves.  Whereupon, being a very observant
young man, his face brightened up, and he seized the American's hand.

"Er--by Jove, old chap--I congratulate you both, 'pon my word I do!
I say, do let me bring my assistant and the lieutenant, eh what?"

"Bring your whole constabulary force," grinned Hammer, "and we'll do
the thing up in style!  And come out for dinner Sunday night, Smith."

Quite excited, the commissioner departed.  Hand in hand, Hammer and
Sara Helmuth watched his launch puff away toward the green-hilled
shore, until Solomon cleared his throat nosily, and they saw two
Arabs approaching bearing a bulky package.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir and miss," announced Solomon, "but this
'ere's a bit o' summat as aren't to be shown at the weddin', so to
speak.  If I may make so bold, miss, as to be a giving of a weddin'
present before the 'appy moment----"

A cry of delight broke from the girl, for as the package fell apart
there was displayed that same fawn-coloured rug, with the blue,
white, and gold dragon of five claws, which Hammer had seen when
first he wakened in Solomon's house.

"It's a rug as you might not care for, first-off," explained Solomon
apologetically, "but it ain't to be bought for money, miss.  Where I
got it I 'adn't ought to say, but it 'ad best be kept under cover
till you get out o' these 'ere waters.  That's the imperial dragon o'
China, Mr. 'Ammer, and rugs like them ain't made for sale----"

"Oh, it's beautiful!" cried the delighted Sara, Hammer nodding with
appreciative eyes, for he knew that John Solomon's words were
strictly true.

As he looked about, however, he saw the pudgy little man bending over
his little red notebook, writing very carefully with his fountain
pen, and forbore to interrupt.

"Are you glad, girl?" he turned to Sara very soberly, motioning the
Arabs to take away the rug as he did so.

"Hammer, dear," she whispered, "I'm happy!"

His face had lost the old lines of hardness and bitterness, and as he
met her eyes and smiled into them with perfect understanding, he
remembered something.

"But--my name isn't Hammer, dear!  You'll have to be Mrs. Cyrus
Murray----"

"Yes, but you'll be just Hammer, to me!"

"There!" and Solomon clapped his notebook shut with a very complacent
air.  "I'd been and overlooked that 'ere account wi' Dr. Krausz; but
it's all ship-shape and proper now to file away and 'ave done with."

"Oh, your account!" laughed the American.  "That's the one you
presented to him, eh?  Do you always keep your accounts, John?"

"Werry good plan, sir.  They come in 'andy, like, mortal often, even
if they're filed away.  Howsoever, sir and miss, business is all
werry well in its place, but its place ain't between two young
'earts, I says--and since this 'ere account is closed, I'll just file
it away."

And as he shuffled off in his carpet-slippers toward his own cabin,
the two who sat side by side gazed after him for a moment, smiling,
and then turned to each other.



THE END



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