by Desmond Cory
He was therefore surprised when he saw the other canoe pulling in towards the near bank; he peered towards the undergrowth there, wondering if Banfield had spotted something worth shooting at, and, when he saw nothing, gesticulated the Bushmen to follow. The Masai canoe slackened speed and nosed into the mud; he saw Madrid rise to her feet and step out on to the land. Banfield remained seated.
The Bushmen nosed their canoe in beside the other; Johnny stood up, and steadied it with one foot on the hard mud. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Mr. Fedora. I wonder if you’d be good enough to change places with me.”
Johnny looked at her, then at Banfield. He tucked his rifle under his arm and left the canoe; Banfield instantly did the same. They converged upon the girl, who was now gazing without much show of concern towards a banana tree.
“You want me to travel with Mr. Banfield?”
“Yes.”
“That’ll be fun,” said Johnny gently.
“Now just you see here.” Banfield was glowering so horribly that Johnny wondered for a moment if the search for the Missing Link had not been ended. “This whole thing is too darn ridiculous. Get back in that canoe of yours, Fedora; I’ll straighten this out.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fedora,” said the girl dreamily, and began to walk towards the second canoe. “Hey,” said Banfield. “Hey,” said van Kuyp, leaning over the Circe’s guardrail. “What’s cooking down there?”
Madrid waved her hand. “Carry on, Van. I’m changing over. I’d rather travel alone.”
“Now what’s David done this time?”
“Look,” said Banfield in a sudden bellow. “I’ve done nothing at all. She just happened to misinterpret a remark—”
“Well, you’d better travel with Fedora anyway.” The Circe had almost passed by, and van Kuyp’s voice was pitched to an aggressive tenor. “… Only a couple of hours to go. We’ll settle it all tonight, when we make camp.”
Banfield, frustrated, looked back towards Madrid; who had already clambered into the Bushmen’s canoe. Then he turned and stumped away, his stiff shoulders expressive of much that had been left unsaid. Johnny did not smile.
He didn’t think that this incident was anything to smile about. In Africa, smaller things lead to murder.
In the event, nothing further was said; the incident was apparently closed. But the Expedition pitched tents that night in an atmosphere of palpable strain. People spoke to one another singly, never in groups; and Johnny noticed that little Dr. Raikes was regarding him curiously from time to time, Johnny being in a somewhat unpleasant mood himself, he felt no desire to assuage the doctor’s inquisitiveness; he slipped away from the camp at the earliest opportunity, and spent an hour alone in the bush practising pistol-flips.
His success partially restored his good humour, and he returned to his tent hoping that, by the morning, the general air of tension would have dissipated itself. And so perhaps it might have done.
Unfortunately, just before midnight a panther took one of the Bushmen.
Johnny came through the tent-flaps with the blast of the rifle shot still tingling in his ears. It was clear moonlight; the first thing he saw was Schneider, striding towards him at high speed, rifle tucked into his hip.
“What the hell’s up?”
“Panther,” said Schneider briefly. “Come on. I think I got the devil.”
Around the night fire, all was chaos. Gleaming half-naked shapes flitted to and fro; from the middle of the maelstrom there sounded a succession of low dog-like whines. Johnny glanced once towards this scene, then hurried after Schneider.
“Sounds as if it found somebody.”
“Silly fools let the fire get too low,” said Schneider. “Never mind about that. That black sod’s around here somewhere.”
They paused at the edge of the clearing, peering into the blackness. From the trees a hundred yards away came the shrill chatter of a frightened monkey; Johnny relaxed.
“There he goes. He’s cleared out of it.”
“Um.” Schneider grunted; began to root among the leaves with the toe of his boot. He paused. Then he stooped, to touch the ground with his fingers; when he raised them to the moonlight, something black and sticky glistened upon them.
“There’s a blood spoor.”
Johnny struck a match; together they looked at Schneider’s scarlet-stained hand. “Arterial,” said Johnny. “Chances are you’ve finished him. Nice shooting.”
“He was moving pretty fast,” said Schneider, and left it at that.
They returned slowly to the camp area. The natives were now sitting cross-legged, huddled together in a silent, fearful group. Raikes and Madrid were crouched over a whimpering figure that lay at the extreme edge of the circle of firelight, while the three archaeologists stood close by, saying nothing. Johnny saw, as he approached, the swift gleam of a hypodermic needle.
“… Seems to have got off lightly,” Raikes was saying.
“Now then. Tell him that I’ve got a very strong mwano that will take his pain away. Tell him to keep still while I give him the injection.”
Madrid knelt down and spoke swiftly and fluently in Kiswahili. The Bushman continued his monotonous moaning; he had some reason to moan, as far as Johnny could see. The panther’s claws had gouged deep into the flesh of his shoulder, and his face was a mask of blood. He probably did not even feel the prick of the needle; but, after the injection, his wailing subsided and his head dropped back to the ground. Raikes took a deep breath and stood up.
“Tell two of the boys to take him nearer to the fire, where I can see what I’m doing,” he said. “And then leave it all to me. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Madrid spoke to the crouching Masai; after a pause, two of them came forward and, with some reluctance, carried the unconscious native nearer to the flames. Raikes followed, walking jauntily; Madrid turned away, pushing back her hair with her hand, and looked at her brother.
“Who was on guard? You?”
“Yes.”
“Well, a damned fine guard you are.”
Schneider shrugged. “I didn’t hear a thing till that fellow yelled. Panthers don’t wear hobnail boots.”
“Did you get him?”
“I think so. What do you think, Fedora?”
Johnny nodded. “He won’t come back, anyway.”
Madrid’s eyes were feline and spiteful in the firelight. “What a pity you weren’t around with your little toy revolver, Mr. Fedora. You could have let it off and kidded us all that you were a hunter.”
“Now why don’t you lay off me?” said Johnny.
It was the way in which he said it that brought a sudden silence down over the group. He felt Schneider stiffen by his side and saw Madrid’s eyes flicker in shocked surprise. He also saw Banfield’s hand move down to the holster at his belt; and Johnny, who had already lost his temper, went wicked. He looked at Banfield very steadily.
“Go ahead and pull,” said Johnny, and his lips went back from his teeth.
The silence stretched out between them like a length of elastic, and broke with the flare of a match. Schneider was lighting a cigarette. “… I’ll tell you one thing,” he said to Banfield, flicking his match away. “If you try it, you’ll die on your feet.”
He moved away from the firelight, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he went. His movement seemed to be the signal for a general stir. “Hey now, hey now,” said van Kuyp, clicking his tongue incredulously. “This won’t do at all. What’s got into you, Fedora? Why, young Banfield here never said a word.”
“Dam’ wise of him, if you ask me,” said Raven. He snorted and turned on his heel. “I’m going back to bed.”
“Maybe we’d better all do that,” said Johnny.
It had been an intriguing little scene, but it had not helped matters particularly.
Johnny was not surprised to find next morning that a reshuffle had taken place, and that his canoeing partner was no longer the belligerent David
Banfield. In the future, he was to accompany the anything but belligerent Doctor Raikes; he was not sure that he preferred this arrangement, for Banfield had at any rate the virtue of silence.
In any case, it was his turn for a day aboard the Circe; which meant that Schneider and Raven would also be present to ease the strain of Raikes’ talkativeness. The mauled Bushman presented an obvious difficulty; but since he was of no more than average size – barely five foot three – van Kuyp decided that a space might be made for him behind the deckchairs and in their shade, lying across the deck. It meant that the other passengers of the Circe would have to put up with an occasional series of heart-rending groans whenever the victim was feeling particularly sorry for himself; but, on the other hand, Raikes would be there to administer savage jabs of morphine if the pain of the wound became intolerable. Since the Bushman was very much more scared of the hypodermic needle than of the results of his wound, not much trouble was expected from him.
They set off on the third successive morning of the trip, not more than half-an-hour late; and the day went by as the others without obvious signs of disturbance. In the morning break for “chop,” Demetrius watched the Bushmen and the Masai warily for symptoms of uneasiness; his report to Johnny was, predictably, non-committal. Raven, also predictably, spent the better part of the day slumbering in his deck chair; his capacity for undisturbed sleep was quite phenomenal. Schneider journeyed perched on top of the cabin, straddling the blistering wood without any apparent discomfort; his grey slit-eyes constantly scanned the surrounding country, but he made few comments on what he saw. Raikes, sitting next to Johnny, commented on almost everything; Johnny made the replies expected of him, and otherwise remained alone with his thoughts.
They travelled not quite so fast as on the two preceding days, but the terrain they passed through slowly began to change. It was a very gradual process, hardly discernible; but, as the afternoon wore on, it became apparent that the terraces to either side of the river were beginning to close in. Moreover, they became less densely wooded; the jungle no longer swept triumphantly over the crest, but made spasmodic uprushes in valleys and defiles; elsewhere, the trees gave place to rough scrub, wait-a-bit and acacia, and then, were great patches where the bare earth shone through with a strange red-yellow lustre. Johnny guessed that beyond the crest, where the land was neither watered by the river nor made rich by fathoms of humus, must be the typical dry bushland, the “blue” of Central Africa, stretching away for miles and miles towards the Great Rift Valley and Kenya; the country of zebra and buffalo and antelope and lion. Schneider probably thought so, too; round about five o’clock, he leaned forwards to make his first remark of the afternoon.
“Looks as if we may be getting some real shooting at last, Fedora.”
Johnny grinned. “Not satisfied with panther?”
“When they come,” said Schneider, and shrugged. “We’ll be hearing the real big cats before long, though. We may have to start building stockades.”
“Should have been done before,” said Raikes instantly.
“A common sense precaution. Then last night’s little bit of trouble would never have taken place.”
“Depends,” said Schneider pensively. “The panther might not have come. The other was inevitable, anyway.”
As though aware that he had expressed himself rather cryptically, he swung himself down to the deck and walked forward to the Circe’s bows; forestalling any further questioning. Raikes watched him with furrowed brows. “What did he mean by that?” he asked Johnny.
“It might have grown up to be a crack about me and Banfield.”
“Oh! Oh yes, I see.” Raikes peered forward, his head tilted a little to one side, as though to ensure that Schneider had passed out of earshot; then he turned to Johnny again. “It’s none of my business, old chap, I know; but just what is there between you and little Madrid?”
“Nothing,” said Johnny briefly.
“She seems to have it in for you, rather.”
“So I’ve noticed. But I don’t know why, and I don’t particularly care.”
“Oh. M’m. Quite. But if you don’t mind my saying so …” Raikes thought for a few moments. “Oh well. I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“Go on,” said Johnny, and smiled. “You can say it, doctor. I wouldn’t draw a gun on you.”
“Here, I say!” Raikes seemed thoroughly alarmed. “I should hope not. There’s no question of drawing guns on anybody. You know, you’re rather a … a dangerous fellow, Fedora.”
“No, I’m not. I just don’t like being pushed around, that’s all.”
“Banfield doesn’t mean to push you around. He’s just jealous of you, that’s all.”
Johnny stared at him. “Why jealous of me, for the good Lord’s sake?”
“You’ll think me crazy if I try and explain it,” Raikes sighed heavily. “The fact remains that what our little Madrid needs is a hairbrush on her backside. But none of us seem to have the nerve to give it to her; and nothing is more obvious than that, if she goes on getting in your hair, you’re going to land her no end of a wallop. Everybody seems to be waiting for it … For God’s sake, don’t do it.”
Raikes’ last phrase was spoken with an unusual degree of urgency. Johnny blinked, and pushed back the hair from his forehead. “Why are you so emphatic?”
“I don’t know,” Raikes admitted. “This is … Well, it’s a rummy sort of an outfit, as I told you. I just feel that if you do, something’s going to go off pop.”
“Then what do you suggest I do? Lie low and say nuffink, like Brer Rabbit?”
“I could answer that,” said Raikes very soberly, “if I knew just what it was you were out here for.”
There was a silence. The nape of Johnny’s neck began to itch; he reached up to scratch it. Raikes watched the movement of the hand as though mesmerised by it, and Johnny realised that, for some reason, the little doctor was scared of him.
“I’m not sure that I know what you mean.”
“Now look here, old boy,” said Raikes nervously, “I don’t like mysteries.”
“I’m not very keen on them myself.”
“I’ll put it this way. I’ll ask if the name Huysmans means anything to you.”
Johnny’s hand continued its rhythmic massage at the back of his neck; he screwed up his eyes thoughtfully. “Sounds like a Dutch name. But I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”
“No? That’s very funny.” Raikes looked down towards his bare brown knees, as though surprised to find them still attached to him. “Because when you had that go of fever way back in that beastly village, you were saying it over and over again. I couldn’t help hearing it.”
“In that case,” said Johnny softly, “I should lose no time in forgetting it.”
“Are you trying to … to threaten me?”
“Yes. But for your own good. I’m giving you good advice.”
“There’s something very fishy going on,” said Raikes decisively. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of it. There’s something fishy about this whole darned Expedition, and I don’t like it.”
Johnny sighed. “This is a purely personal matter, doctor. It has nothing to do with the Expedition at all.”
“No? But there’s somebody else in this outfit who seems to know all about Huysmans – whoever Huysmans may be. You’re not going to pretend you don’t know who that person is.” Raikes had gone anxiously on the aggressive. “There’s some sort of a plot—”
“Do you know exactly what you’re talking about?” said Johnny, and the tone of his voice cut Raikes’ last sentence short. The doctor’s eyes opened very wide, then narrowed suspiciously again.
“I assure you that I do.”
“Then tell me,” said Johnny, “who is it you’re talking about. This is important, doctor. Don’t make any mistakes.”
“Mistakes? I’m …” Raikes’ mouth jerked, almost as though shaken by a nervous tic. At the same moment, Schneider called abruptly f
rom the bows of the boat – “Hey! Fedora! Take a look at this.”
Johnny swung round in his seat, and looked in the direction of Schneider’s pointing finger. “What is it?”
“Can’t you see it yet?” Schneider scrambled impatiently back to the after-deck. “Down there on the bank. About ten feet to the right of that mukuruwe tree.”
Johnny gave Raikes a quick glance, then rose to his feet and leaned over the guard-rail. He saw at once what Schneider had indicated; it was the mutilated carcass of a buffalo calf, black with buzzing flies. He shaded his eyes from the sun, as the Circe went wallowing slowly past it.
“That’s a fresh kill, all right.”
Schneider nodded. “Fifteen minutes, I’d say.”
“A lion, all right.”
“Probably a young one. It’s early for a kill. And an old one would have carried it off, when he heard us coming.”
“Well, but look at the buffalo slot,” said Johnny. “It looks like a salt lick to me; they’ve trampled the bank down, over there.”
They looked at one another, and Schneider nodded again more slowly. “We’re due to make camp in fifteen minutes’ time. And a good-sized buffalo ought to keep us in meat for the rest of the trip.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a crack at a buffalo,” said Raikes cheerfully. “It’d make a change from the usual waterbuck. I say, there’s a whole pack of crocs here too.”
The three men looked in silence at the ugly great shapes lining the near bank. There were twelve or fifteen of them; some slithering clumsily down towards the water, others watching the approach of the boat with beady reptilian eyes. The biggest of them all opened its jaws and displayed for a moment it’s foetid black gullet; then snapped its mouth shut with a noise like a bear-trap springing.
