John Solomon—Supercargo

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.