John Solomon—Supercargo

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.