Part 11 (1/2)

”Who turned the handle?”

”Ahmet. I taught him, dear old Ham. Taught him, and he did what I told him to do. That's the horribly hideous part of it.”

For all his faith in Ahmet, he interviewed that gentleman.

”You didn't open the little door, of course, Ahmet? The-door-that-must-never-be-opened?” he asked solemnly.

”Lord, I opened it, but only for a little time, whilst I looked for some pictures which I had improperly taken, without your lords.h.i.+p's knowledge. But they were not there.”

”In daylight did you open it?” asked Bones in horror.

”No, lord, in sunlight,” said Ahmet, ”but there was nothing there, as I have told your lords.h.i.+p, only a yellow ribbon and no pictures!”

THE HEALER.

Men lie with a certain transparent simplicity in the lands that border the Great River. Their falsehoods are easily detected, and are less falsehoods than inventions, being so elaborated and painted in such primitive colours that no man is deceived.

For they lie as children lie, about remarkable things and happenings that could not be: such as two-headed dogs that spit smoke, and trees that walk about, and little bees that fall in love with beautiful maidens. If they lie for safety or business purposes, they do so haltingly or sullenly, as the circ.u.mstances command, and are to be brought to the frank truth with a sharp word.

Such a liar as Lujaga, the petty chief of the Inner N'gombi, was a rarity, and he was one of three men who, in twenty years, completely deceived Mr Commissioner Sanders.

And talking of liars...

”There's a lot about you, Bones,” said Hamilton, ”that reminds me of the Isisi.”

”Dear old officer,” murmured Bones reproachfully, ”why compare a jolly old comrade to the indigenous native?”

”I was thinking more particularly of your interesting contribution to the Guildford Times Guildford Times,” said Hamilton.

He was sitting on the verandah after tiffin, smoking a lazy cigar, and as he stretched out his arm, he picked up from the floor a newspaper that had come by the mail. Bones glanced at the t.i.tle and shuffled his big feet uncomfortably.

”Dear old officer,” he pleaded, ”if you're going to spring on me a little flight of fancy, a jolly old jeu d'esprit jeu d'esprit, so to speak”

”I have been reading your account of how you chased the wild okapi through the forest,” said Hamilton relentlessly, ”and how, when it was at bay, it turned and snarled at you. The okapi doesn't live in this country anyway, and if he did he wouldn't snarl. He would neigh or he would bray. Possibly he would bray, recognising you as a man and a brother, but he would not snarl or, as you suggest, show his fangs. He hasn't any fangs to show, though I dare say he could pick up a few in his travels if he had the mind of a collector.”

Sanders strolled out at that moment and stood, an interested listener, in the doorway.

”Listen to this,” said Hamilton.

”Dear old Ham,” begged the agitated Bones, ”why pursue the jolly old subject?”

”Listen to this,” said the remorseless Hamilton.

”'As the okapi swung round and faced me I reached for my rifle! It was not there! My terrified native bearer had bolted! I was alone in the jungle with a fierce okapi! He leapt at my throat! I dodged him! In that moment all my past life swam before my eyes! Whipping out my revolver, I fired at him twice! He fell lifeless at my feet!'”

Hamilton glared over the top of the paper. ”Liar!” he said simply.

”Dear old sceptical superior,” said Bones, speaking with a certain dignity, ”you seem to forget the colourless lives that the jolly old Guildfordians live. As a matter of fact, they wrote and asked me to give them a little story of adventure for their Christmas number.”

”That makes it more understandable,” said Hamilton. ”You tried to write a fairy story. Well, you succeeded. But you're showing up the service, Bones. An officer in these territories ought at least to know that the okapi is something between a donkey and a zebra, and that he wouldn't show fight even to a mouse.”

He picked up another newspaper.

”Who sends you these infernal things?” asked Bones irritably. ”Bless my jolly old life,” he added a little incoherently, ”is there nothing sacred, nothing private? Can't a fellow”

”There's nothing sacred about the twopence I paid for this newspaper,” said Hamilton. He opened the pages with exasperating leisure, and Bones writhed. ”Here is the second part of the serial. I won't read it all. It is headed” he glanced at the top of the column ”A Fight with Vampires.”

”Don't let's have any unpleasantness,” said Bones, but Hamilton was not to be denied.

”This is the bit I like best”

”'At night I was awakened'

”By the way, they've corrected your spelling, I observe

”' by a shrill, whistling sound and a sense of keen pain in my toe. Looking up, I saw a huge, shadowy shape floating at the foot of my bed. It was a vampire! Not daring to move, I watched, fascinated, the hideous animal'”

”I should have said 'bird,'” murmured Bones, ”or perhaps 'reptile'.”

”Or 'fish',” suggested Hamilton. ”But don't interrupt.

”'Its baleful eyes were fixed on me like two green moons! I reached out my hand stealthily'”

”I hope they've only put two l's in 'stealthily,'” said Bones with a cough.

”'I reached out my hand stealthily,'” Hamilton went on, Hamilton went on, '”and seized a pistol that lay on the bedside table! It was not loaded! What should I do? With all my strength I hurled myself upon the dreadful insect'” '”and seized a pistol that lay on the bedside table! It was not loaded! What should I do? With all my strength I hurled myself upon the dreadful insect'”

It was Sanders' long chuckle of delight which interrupted the reading. ”Bones, you're really wonderful,” he said, as he came forward and pulled up a chair. ”I presume it was our visit to the Isle of Bats which inspired that cla.s.sic.”

In the Middle River, four days' steaming from headquarters, is a long island where the bats live by day, hanging in huge cl.u.s.ters, not by the thousand but by the million; and Bones and he had spent an eerie evening watching these things of the night wake to life.

”The question is,” said Hamilton as he folded the paper, ”is or is not a man who writes that kind of stuff a natural liar; and has or has not Bones the Isisi mind?”

”The Isisi mind is the mind of a poet, Bones,” said Sanders, ”and if I were you I'd plead guilty. Whilst on the subject of gay deceivers, may I mention that I shall want you to go up into the Inner N'gombi tomorrow perhaps perhaps not for a week or so? There is a brand new cult come into being, and one Bobolara is its prophet.”

Hamilton looked up quickly. ”Leopards?”

Sanders shook his head. ”Not Leopards this time. It is something with a little witch doctorery in it, and I want it checked before it goes any farther. A healer of healers is amongst us, and he has made his appearance, of all places in the world, in the Inner N'gombi.”