The Fabulous Valley

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘What else could it have been?’ Sandy inquired, with assumed innocence.

  ‘It wouldn’t be a little illegal prospecting by any chance, eh?’ The other’s smile broadened.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so for a moment,’ declared Sandy emphatically.

  ‘You wouldn’t, eh? Yet one of those cousins of yours made a very queer remark about it being a surprise to see you here after you had said in London that you didn’t intend to have a cut at the “you-know-what”?’

  Sandy’s smile never flickered, but inwardly he was squirming as he cursed his stupid indiscretion in having talked to the Bennetts at all in front of the landlord of the inn who obviously understood English perfectly well although he never spoke anything but Afrikaans. ‘I was only referring to a copper proposition that I thought of going into with my cousins when I was in London,’ he lied glibly. ‘When they ran across me here they assumed that I’d decided to go into it on my own.’

  Captain Moorries nodded. ‘Ach, yes, what was the name of the copper man that you were supposed to be staying with when you were here before?’

  ‘I wasn’t—I’ve already told you that I was only playing a joke on my cousins.’

  ‘Where were you staying then?’

  ‘I wasn’t staying with anybody. I was camping out—just on a little holiday—that’s all.’

  ‘Queer place to take a holiday, isn’t it?’

  Sandy shrugged. ‘Some people might prefer Muizenberg or Durban or Mossel Bay, but I happen to have rather a liking for solitude—that’s all.’

  ‘Ever heard of a witch doctor called Kieviet?’ the Captain asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes,’ Sandy admitted after only a fraction of a second’s hesitation. ‘I’m rather interested in the indigenous races of South Africa, so while I was up here I visited one or two of the native kraals.’

  ‘Know a little Hottentot called Ombulike?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sandy admitted again.

  ‘It seems that all these other people are interested in the indigenous races of South Africa too.’

  ‘Maybe. Have another drink?’ Sandy set down his empty glass. ‘There’s nothing unusual in that. Most English visitors to the Union like to see something of the nigs in their native setting, don’t they?’

  ‘That’s so…. Thanks, I’ll have the same again—and, as you say, tourists in the Union may like to see the nigs, but they don’t usually come out here with the names of a couple and go to a lot of trouble to hunt them up.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that I can’t enlighten you any further,’ Sandy said evenly. Upon which the police officer swallowed his second drink and stood up.

  ‘Staying here long?’ he inquired just as he was about to depart.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sandy hedged. ‘Just for a few days, I think.’

  ‘Right-ho!’ the other nodded. ‘Perhaps I’ll be seeing something of you a little later on.’

  When Sandy went to bed that night he was extremely thoughtful. His encounter, with Captain Moorries had shaken him quite a bit. The old man did not seem to know anything about their aeroplane, although one could never tell just what information the police did or did not possess. For a momemt apparently the Van Nierkerks were not under suspicion, but all the others very definitely were, and he foresaw a whole packet of trouble when Ernest and the Philbeach party arrived back.

  It occurred to him then that the inquisitive Captain was probably having the track to Noro Kei watched, hoping to secure the suspects outside the dorp on. their arrival before they had a chance to get in touch with anybody else and plant any stuff they might have. It was nine days now since he had last seen Ernest, so if all was well the chances were that he would be arriving on the following day. In consequence Sandy determined to be up by dawn and ride out towards Noro Kei in the hope of meeting him before he could be got hold of by the police.

  Next morning he put his plan into execution and while it was still dark saddled his horse and rode out north-eastward into the Kalahari once more. Not having to moderate his pace to the slow, laboured progress of an ox-wagon, he made good going and descried, at half-past nine, an but-span approaching on the far horizon.

  The probability was, of course, that Philbeach had kept his lead of Ernest and that this was his convoy, but that did not disturb Sandy in the least. Philbeach and Co. had been deprived of all their weapons, whereas he had his automatic on his hip and, knowing that he might meet them, had taken the extra precaution of slinging his rifle over his shoulder before he started out. As he neared the approaching company he noted that there were no horsemen with it. A native trudged some fifty yards in front, and then another—the voor-trekker—waving his long whip. Unless some accident had overtaken the mounts of Philbeach and his friends this must be Ernest’s party after all, and so it proved to be.

  Ernest was overjoyed to see him, for he had quite made up his mind that Sandy and the rest must have crashed somewhere behind him in those limitless miles of sand and prairie. Despite acute discomfort and a bout of fever from which he was suffering, he had pushed on in the hope of being able to organise a rescue party in Zwart Modder before the others died of thirst.

  They out-spanned at once for the midday rest, during which Sandy told Ernest all that had happened and, between them, they concocted a story for Captain Moorries. If the police searched the whole outspan they would find no diamonds, so both felt reasonably certain that, after being questioned, they would be allowed to go. Then, having disposed of the ox-wagon and paid off the natives, they could proceed at once to the house outside Johannesburg where their friends were lying concealed.

  At half-past three they in-spanned and moved on their way again, arriving at Zwart Modder by seven o’clock. Ernest had not seen Philbeach during his entire journey and so the two could only assume that he had struck off in another direction after reaching Noro Kei; but the big, red-faced adventurer had made the last stage of the trek in the early dawn and arrived at Zwart Modder shortly after Sandy had left it, passing him on a different track through the outskirts of the dorp.

  As Sandy and Ernest entered the inn, Philbeach, with Darkie beside him, was leaning on the bar.

  ‘Here they are!’ he exclaimed to a third man, who was half-hidden behind the open door, a sudden smile of triumph lighting his coarse face.

  The other was not Ginger, as Sandy had assumed in the twilight, but Captain Moorries. He stepped out into the open.

  ‘So there you are, Mr. McDiamid. I’ve been hearing all about you and your friends this morning. It seems that, not content with illicit prospecting, you’ve been going in for robbery under arms. I’ve a warrant here for your arrest.’

  25

  Gandhi’s House

  Sandy had expected trouble; but to be arrested like this on a charge of highway robbery left him speechless and aghast. That Philbeach should have the audacity to lay any information after his own performance almost passed belief, but the tall Captain Moorries obviously meant exactly what he said and stood there, his hand resting upon the butt of his pistol, his tight mouth grimly shut, ready to act instantly should Sandy show the lest sign of attempting to resist arrest.

  ‘Good God!’ Sandy exclaimed, with an attempt at a laugh that broke off short in his throat. ‘You can’t be serious; you’ve no idea, Captain, who these toughs are.’

  The police officer shrugged. ‘They are perfectly legitimate prospectors and they’ve sworn an affidavit that, after their discovery of a new diamond field up in the Kalahari, you and some other persons held them up and robbed them of their samples.’

  ‘What nonsense! They are no more prospectors than I am. Where’s their licence?’ Sandy mopped his brow.

  ‘That is all in order,’ declared the Captain, jerking his head in Darkie’s direction. ‘Mr. Rickhartz here has had a prospector’s licence for some years, but I think you’d be well advised to keep anything that you have to say until you can say it to the magistrate in Upington.’

  ‘Well,
here’s a go!’ Ernest jerked up his chin and the Adam’s apple wobbled in his excitement as he looked at the officer. ‘Do I spend the night in Vine Street, too, or is it only my cousin that you’re taking up before the beak?’

  ‘Do you wish to charge this man as well?’ the Captain asked, turning to Philbeach.

  The big man shook his head. ‘No, we’ve got nothing against Mr. Bennett—haven’t set eyes on him since we left here best part of three weeks ago.’

  ‘Very’ well.’ Moorries relieved Sandy of his gun and touched him on the arm. ‘You’ll come along with me now and we’ll put you inside the local lock-up for the night. You two,’ he turned on Darkie and Philbeach, ‘will be wanted day after to-morrow in Upington to give your evidence. So we’d best start all together round about seven to-morrow morning when I take McDiamid in.’

  As Sandy was marched away Ernest caught his eye and, putting his fingers to his nose, made a rude gesture at the Captain’s broad back.

  Having watched their departure with a troubled look in his small, quick eyes, he demanded a drink of the landlord and, ignoring Darkie and Philbeach, carried it out on to the stoep, wondering what line of action he could adopt which would best help Sandy.

  Following his cousin’s lead, he had refrained from blurting out the truth, realising from all Sandy had told him since they had met that morning that any mention of the fact that they had secured diamonds must be rigorously kept from the police. Obviously, too, Sandy’s intention was to take the brunt of the whole business upon his shoulders and, if possible, keep Michael and the Van Niekerks out of it.

  Philbeach and Darkie would probably suborn their three native boys into supporting their evidence and, unless Sandy was prepared to involve his friends by calling them as witnesses on his behalf, it looked as though he was in an exceedingly tight corner.

  At first he felt the only thing for him to do was go into Upington with the others and stand by in court, in case he was able to render any assistance. He did not know how the South African authorities would view such a charge and if they would allow bail or not. If so, he could offer to go surety for his cousin on a banker’s reference. But would they accept him?

  On second thoughts, however, it occurred to him that he could probably serve Sandy best by abandoning him for the moment and going as quickly as he could to the others at the address which, very fortunately, Sandy had given him in Johannesburg. Cornelius was a Dutchman and, into the bargain, the son of a judge, so he would be acquainted with the Law and far better able to decide what steps they should take.

  Accordingly he got hold of the landlord’s daughter, who did all the talking in English which was necessary in the little hostelry, and arranged through her the hire of a Cape cart and driver to take him into Upington the following morning. The matter was too urgent for him to waste a couple of days crawling back there in his out-span, and having seen the head boy Johnnie, he arranged to leave it parked in Zwart Modder for the moment.

  Sandy spent a most miserable night of indecision and anxiety in the local gaol and early next morning was led out to mount his horse, which was attached to Captain Moorries’ by a leading rein. With another officer, Philbeach and Darkie, the cavalcade started for Upington. Ernest took the same road an hour later in his hired trap.

  It was a long day for both parties. Philbeach and Darkie laughed and joked with the two policemen but as Sandy rode on hour after hour he became more and more despondent. Without telling the whole story and giving away the fact that Michael had actually secured a fine haul of diamonds—which would be immediately confiscated—he could see no way out of his wretched plight.

  The Captain was a pleasant, kindly fellow, who provided him with drinks when they halted from time to time at the widely separated native stores, but could not resist the temptation to try and pump him. Having heard Philbeach’s account of the plane and the party which it carried he was extremely anxious to get his hands on Sandy’s confederates, and he felt quite convinced that if he could sift this matter to the bottom he would have a fine case of illicit prospecting and attempted diamond smuggling to his credit.

  Sandy accepted the drinks and endeavoured to show his appreciation of the other’s decency, but he kept a guard upon his tongue, fearing to be trapped into some statement which might involve the others; moreover, he was too mad against Philbeach to do more than pretend to any cheerfulness in his presence. Ernest, hot, dusty, anxious, and unable to exchange a word with his driver who talked nothing but Afrikaans, jogged on a few miles behind them.

  At length as evening was closing in over the veldt with a magnificent sunset, they sighted the outlying farms of Upington. Sandy was taken to the police station. Philbeach and Darkie—warned to attend the court on the following day—took rooms at the Gordonia, while Ernest drove straight to the railway station.

  Luck favoured him, for he found a train was leaving for De Aar under the hour and, having made a scratch meal at the station buffet, he boarded it with a feeling of immense relief that he was able to proceed on his way to consult the others so quickly.

  Yet, although ten days had elapsed since his learning of it, the death of his brother struck him with renewed force now that he was safely back in civilised surroundings, and thoughts of his loss made him miserable throughout his lonely journey.

  Arriving the following night in Johannesburg, he took a taxi straight out to the little house at Orchards and marched up the garden path to the highly-polished slab of stone before the front door, or rather the wire gauze construction which served for one, through which he could see a wide porch in which arm-chairs, a settee, and a gramophone were the principal furniture. Although he rang several times, there was no answer or sound of approaching footsteps so he stepped back a few paces and looked quickly about him.

  The house was a one-storied building consisting of four rondavels—round white stucco replicas of the native hut—joined together by a large, square, central room. The whole was heavily thatched, so that its roof had the appearance in the distance of-four conical hay-stacks set at the corners of one large square one. For a moment he was afraid that his friends must have left the place for some reason, but when he remembered that since they were living there in hiding they would naturally refrain from answering the front door, so he walked quickly round the side of the house, through a small orchard of orange, lemon, peach and nectarine trees, until he came on to a wide lawn, overlooking which he saw the back stoep, once more protected by wire gauze.

  Here again no sign of occupation met his eye, but he had made quite certain from the taxi driver that this was the house he wanted so, feeling that if the others had gone they would be certain to have left some message there for Sandy, he put his shoulder against the wire door and heaved sharply until the flimsy lock suddenly snapped.

  Inside he found a dining-room, upon the table of which four places were already laid for dinner. It was a lofty room, and in the semi-darkness he failed to notice that a partition which closed off the further half did not rise right up to the sloping ceiling. Picking up a silver candelabra he was just about to light it when he almost choked with fright. A voice had suddenly addressed him from out of the darkness six feet above his head.

  ‘By Jove, it’s Ernest.’

  ‘ ’Struth!’ He looked up quickly. ‘Is that you, Michael? What the hell are you doing on the ceiling? You brought me heart right into me mouth.’

  ‘We’re in hiding and we wanted to make certain who you were,’ Michael laughed. ‘Switch on the light, old chap, you’ll find them over there by the door.’

  Considerably relieved, Ernest switched them on, and then he saw that beyond the partition a triangular loft occupied the portion of the roof which lay over the kitchen. The others were now scrambling down from it by means of an old iron folding ladder.

  ‘Well, this is a rum place and no mistake,’ he said after the greetings were over. ‘Fancy having a loft leading on to the dining-room! Dirty, I call it!’

  ‘This pl
ace is historic,’ Sarie explained. ‘Gandhi lived here once and he used to sleep up there with his goat.’

  ‘Tell that to the marines!’ Ernest winked a knowing eye. ‘It’s true,’ Cornelius assured him. ‘Gandhi used to sleep there, as Sarie says. He used to climb up that iron ladder to bed every night.’

  ‘Go on!’ Ernest protested. ‘Gandhi’s an Indian and not a South African nigger.’

  ‘Perhaps. But he started all his stupid nonsense in this country, practised as a barrister her and this is the house he lived in … But where is Sandy?’

  ‘Ah, now you’ve said a mouthful.’ Ernest sank wearily into a chair and broke the news to them of Sandy’s plight.

  ‘The audacity of the brute,’ exclaimed Michael when Ernest had done. ‘After having robbed me himself! But we’ll hoist him with his own petard now he has called in the law.’

  ‘It’s going to cost you your diamonds if you do,’ Ernest remarked, ‘and maybe they’ll put us all in quod for illicit prospecting into the bargain.’

  Cornelius shook his head. ‘I don’t think we need get wind up about that at the moment.’

  ‘But we can’t let Sandy be put in prison on a charge of robbery,’ Sarie exclaimed. ‘We’s simply got to tell the truth and face the music.’

  ‘Easy on, my dear,’ her brother strove to pacify her excitement. ‘Nobody is suggesting leaving Sandy in the lurch, but I don’t think Philbeach and Co. will ever be able to sustain their charges. If you remember, I recognised Darkie as an ex-crook who had been sentenced by father and, when I go down to Upington and tell the authorities that, it is going to put quite a different complexion on the matter.’

  ‘You’ll have to explain what you were doing with your plane down there,’ Patricia put in, ‘and that doesn’t seem to me as though it’s going to be an easy job of work.’

  Cornelius shrugged. ‘I realise that, of course, but we must think out a really good story. After all, nobody apart from Philbeach’s crowd have any proof that Michael actually succeeded in getting any diamonds. With luck, we may be able to persuade the police that we were only on an extended picnic to see something of the Kalahari, and that Philbeach has trumped up this charge through some old grudge against Sandy. The whole thing to me seems to hinge on our being able to wreck Philbeach’s credit with the magistrate, and he’s much more likely to believe me, as the son of Judge Van Niekerk, particularly as up to date I have had a perfectly clear record. All of you had better stay here and I will go down to Upington to-morrow.’