The Fabulous Valley

by Dennis Wheatley

  At this, the others exclaimed that they certainly ought to go too, in order to add their testimony to his, should it be necessary. But Cornelius was dead against that.

  He maintained that it was all-important to keep the girls out of trouble if it were humanly possible, now that the law had taken a hand; that Ernest had a clean bill up to the moment, so it would be madness for him to get himself involved unless it was vitally necessary, and that Michael, having only just recovered from a very nasty illness, would be foolish at the present stage of events to face the tiring journey so soon after his recovery. He promised, however, that if the presence of any of them was urgently needed, he would wire from Upington.

  After Cornelius had left them next morning, Ernest settled into the quiet routine of the little household. The place had several acres of garden and meadows attached to it; the whole property being fringed by a belt of pine trees planted originally as pit props for the mines. They were not overlooked by any of their neighbours and, apart from accident, might remain there for a considerable time without anyone guessing that the place was again being lived in.

  Till now, in order to obtain stores without arousing suspicion in their own district, Sarie and Cornelius had walked to a different suburb each evening. In the daytime the two girls did most of the cooking and the chores while the men lazed in the garden, since it would have been highly indiscreet to risk hiring any native servants. Nevertheless, they had ample time to enjoy themselves, and their bruises, burns and sores acquired in the Kalahari were gradually healing. Day after day they sunbathed in the garden, protected from prying eyes by the long, pleached alley of vines on one side, and on the other by high banks of lemon verbena, salvias, gladiolas and dahlias which had been left by the late tenant. For hours they sat laughing, talking, sleeping and telling stories in the sunshine, while the gaily-coloured butterflies fluttered round them, their only anxiety the thought of what might be happening to Sandy and Cornelius.

  More than a fortnight had elapsed since Patricia had lost her father and she was now recovered somewhat from the shock, while Ernest was gradually reconciling himself to the thought that he must order his future life without the help of that elder brother for whom he had had such a deep affection.

  Sarie alone was restless and miserable. She was beginning to realise how much Sandy meant to her, and it gave her a new pang every time she saw Patricia and Michael stroll off together round the garden.

  Now that he had succeeded in his quest Michael was bubbling over with plans for the re-establishment of Harcourt Priory on the grand scale and, for the time being while they waited news of Sandy, the cousins seemed to have tacitly barred any further reference to the close relationship which stood between them and happy marriage. Day after day they lingered, until the shadows fell, in a secluded corner beneath a lemon tree, oblivious of the call to dinner, laughing, talking, clasping hands and kissing between long intervals of blissful silence.

  Meanwhile Cornelius had arrived in Upington, and to his satisfaction was allowed a short interview with the prisoner, at which he learned that Sandy had been brought up before the magistrate on the day that Ernest arrived in Johannesburg. He had been duly charged by Philbeach and Darkie but had applied for a postponement until his own solicitor could arrive from Cape Town to defend him. The request had been granted and the case adjourned for three days. He had wired to his lawyer who, arriving at De Aar Junction from the opposite direction within an hour of Cornelius, had come on to Uppington in the same train.

  Cornelius then held a long interview with the solicitor at his hotel, in which they prepared an alternative defence for Sandy. A plea of ‘not guilty’ in the first instance and, if that failed, a decision to plead justification on the count of robbery should Sandy be sent up for trial, but when they came into court the following morning they found that their long deliberations had been quite unnecessary. Darkie and Philbeach were not present when the case was called and, since they failed to put in an appearance by three o’clock, to which time the magistrate had again adjourned it, the case was dismissed; Sandy’s lawyer having given evidence as to his client’s respectability, and an undertaking that he would appear again if called upon.

  With a heartfelt sigh of relief Sandy left the court accompanied by his lawyer and Cornelius. Immediately they had had tea all three took the night-train back to De Aar, at which the lawyer left them to return south to Cape Town, while the two friends boarded the Johnnnesburg express.

  They arrived at Orchards just before nightfall. Ernest and Michael gave them a rousing welcome and all four felt that the worst of their adventure was over. Michael had reached the ‘Place of the Great Glitter’, the others had helped him to get away with his precious haul, and Sandy had apparently managed to satisfy those dangerous police inquiries. It now only remained for them to lie low for a little bit, split up the diamonds, and each leave South Africa by a different route. They would meet again in London, on a date to be arranged, then Ernest’s friend in Hatton Garden should be duly approached with a view to having the stones secretly cut in Amsterdam and placed on the market.

  No sooner were the congratulations over than Sandy inquired for Sarie, and Michael told him that she had gone out with Patricia to secure their daily supply of necessities over in Rosebank before the shops shut for the night.

  ‘You shouldn’t have let them go alone,’ said Cornelius sharply. ‘I always went with Sarie when I was here.’

  Ernest shrugged. ‘Oh, they like being together without us men. Michael wanted to go but Patricia wouldn’t let him, and I’m being a lily of the field these days—I work not, neither do I sin!’ He laughed delightedly at his own jest.

  ‘Sarie should have more sense,’ said Cornelius abruptly. ‘It will take them the best part of an hour to walk back here from Rosebank, and it will be dark before they turn up.’

  ‘Well, what about it?’ Ernest wanted to know. ‘They’re not kids to be frightened of the dark!’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ cut in Sandy promptly. ‘This is South Africa—not England—and white women should never be out after dark without their menfolk, because of the niggers.’

  Michael looked quickly across at Cornelius. ‘I thought you told me last week that you have a sort of curfew for natives and that they either have to be back by nightfall in their own settlement outside the town, or else in the houses if they’re servants, unless they have a special permit signed by their master, who is responsible for their good conduct.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Cornelius agreed. ‘But there are always a certain number of bad blacks who evade the law and prowl round at night time, particularly out in these suburbs here. You must remember that we are the best part of five miles from the centre of the town.’

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Michael. ‘You don’t think there’s a chance of any brutes like that attacking Patricia and Sarie, do you?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Cornelius answered a little uncertainly. ‘A white woman might leave her house after dark every night for a week and nothing would happen to her, because even out here, as you’ve probably noticed, every street is brilliantly lighted for that very reason, but on the other hand you never know, and I wouldn’t even allow Sarie to walk up the street to post a letter after dusk.’

  An uncertain, fretful silence descended on the party while they mixed drinks and waited, hoping every moment that they would hear the footsteps of the girls coming up the tessellated pavement of the garden path; but dinner time came and went, and they still had not put in an appearance.

  By nine o’clock the men were seriously worried, and Cornelius muttered something about the Amalaitas.

  ‘What’s that?’ Michael inquired.

  ‘It is a Bantu word for a sort of secret society,’ Cornelius replied, ‘mostly composed of youths from the criminal section. It hasn’t got any particular leader and is a nebulous sort of thing upon which nobody can put their finger. They roam about the streets at night with bicycle chains attached t
o the end of a long stick, which forms a most ghastly weapon. With one stroke of it they can practically sever your head from your body. Generally, they go for the black house-servants in the hope of robbing them of their wages, but every now and again you hear of them attacking whites.

  ‘Stop!’ cried Sandy, putting his hands over his ears. ‘For God’s sake, stop!’

  By ten o’clock they had decided that although they were in hiding they must get into communication with the police. The telephone was cut off, the house being nominally unoccupied, but Cornelius got on to headquartes at a local telephone box and, ten minutes later, they were picked up by a police car, which took them all in to Johannesburg, where they made their despositions and gave full descriptions of the girls.

  During the hours that followed, frantic with anxiety, they were rushed by the police officers from place to place where dubious characters among the negro population were questioned, but all their efforts were unavailing. By morning, haggard and in the last stage of misery and apprehension, they were back at the house still without any news of Sarie and Patricia.

  In a terrible despondency, they cooked a few eggs and knocked up a scratch breakfast, then, just as they were sitting down to it, the front door bell rang. All four left the table and ran to open it, thinking that it might be a policeman with some tidings, but it was only the postman who had dropped a single letter into the box and hurried away.

  It was addressed to Michael. With trembling fingers he tore it open while the others crowded round him to read the few typed lines.

  ‘By the time you get this both the ladies will have had an interesting night, but they seem to prefer your company to mine. If the feeling is mutual you will be at the White River Hotel, North Eastern Transvaal, at six o’clock to-morrow evening—bringing the stuff with you. If there is any funny business, or you fail to turn up, the little darlings won’t be nearly so pretty when you do see them again.

  R.P.’

  26

  Illicit Diamonds

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Sandy. ‘The swine!’

  ‘Anyhow, they’re safe,’ Cornelius muttered. ‘I’ve been picturing them with their throat cut after the Amalaitas had dealt with them.’

  Michael put down the letter; his face had gone deadly white. ‘But—what does Philbeach mean by both the ladies “had an interesting night”?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Sandy comforted him. ‘No harm can have come to them yet—there hasn’t been time.’

  ‘I should have thought there had been plenty,’ Ernest said gruffly.

  Cornelius picked up the envelope in which the note had been delivered. ‘No,’ he said, ‘Sandy’s right. This was posted last night in Johannesburg, immediately after Philbeach succeeded in netting the girls. He wouldn’t risk staying in the town and since he’s given us White River as a meeting place it’s a thousand to one that they were on the road all night. It’s every bit of two hundred and fifty miles to White River so they probably only got there early this morning.’

  ‘Well, what are we going to do about it?’ asked Ernest.

  ‘Get a car and go up there right away,’ Sandy replied promptly.

  ‘Oh, hell!’ Cornelius brought his fist down with a crash on the top of the gramophone that stood in the porch. ‘To think that we’ve got to hand over the diamonds after all.’

  ‘It’s the only thing to do,’ Sandy shrugged despondently.

  ‘Oh, damn the diamonds,’ exclaimed Michael. ‘It’s the girls I’m thinking of.’

  Sandy gave a bitter little laugh. ‘You’re not the only one—so are we all. But I wonder how that devil Philbeach managed to run us to earth here?’

  ‘Perhaps he shadowed you back from Upington,’ Ernest suggested.

  ‘No, he must have known before that,’ Sandy said with conviction. ‘The girls were already late when Cornelius and I turned up last night, so he must have sprung his trap for them just about the time we were coming out here in a taxi. He wouldn’t have had the opportunity to prepare it if he had come in on the same train with us. It’s much more likely that he shadowed you when you came up here five days ago.’

  ‘How could he?’ Ernest protested. ‘He was spinning his yarn about you to the beak in Upington the morning after after I left.’

  ‘I’ve got it—or at least, I think so.’ Cornelius turned suddenly to Sandy. ‘When you and Ernest met Philbeach at Zwart Modder Ginger wasn’t with him, and I believe he had the whole thing figured out then. He planned to get you arrested and put you out of the way if he could, but he purposely refrained from charging Ernest—guessing that he would come straight to where ever we were hiding in order to let us know what had happened. While Philbeach was telling his story to the police at Zwart Modder, and you had gone out to meet Ernest on the last stage of his trek, Ginger was already on his way to Upington. Then he lay in wait there until Ernest arrived, and followed him up here on the same train. Directly he had traced Ernest to our hiding-place he must have wired Philbeach to join him in Johannesburg, and that is the reason why Philbeach failed to turn up to prosecute when you were brought into court the second time. If I’m right he would have had two clear days here in which to arrange the kidnapping of the girls.’

  ‘’Struth!’ Ernest clapped him on the back. ‘You are right, I’m certain of it. When I changed trains at De Aar I caught sight of a fellow in the distance who looked just like Ginger, but of course it never occurred to me that it could be him at the time. Then, when I drove out here from the station where was a yellow cab following behind which pulled up on the corner of this road about a hundred yards away just as I was paying off my driver. I’ll bet a packet that was Mr. Ginger, too.’

  ‘That’s about it,’ Sandy nodded, ‘but we mustn’t stand here talking. We’ve got to cover two hundred and fifty miles before six o’clock. I had better go along to the call box and phone up a garage for the best car we can get to be brought out here at once.’ Without waiting for the others’ assent, he pushed open the wire-covered door and strode off down the garden path.

  ‘How about the police?’ said Michael as Sandy’s tall figure disappeared from view. ‘Oughtn’t we to let them know what’s happened? They were awfully decent to us all last night.’

  ‘Good God, no!’ Cornelius made a shocked grimace. ‘If you do that you’ll have to give it away that we’ver got the diamonds, then we’ll all be had on the illicit prospecting charge after all, and they’d confiscate the goods in the bargain.’

  ‘What the hell does that matter, since we’ve got to give them up, anyway?’

  ‘Ach, man! don’t be an idiot. If the police get hold of the stones how shall we be able to ransom the girls? Philbeach will never let them go, if we can’t hand over the plunder. At least, not until he has mutilated them first.’

  Michael groaned and passed a hand over his tumbled, curly hair. ‘I can’t believe he’d actually do that.’

  Cornelius’s face softened as he saw the boy’s distress. ‘I’m afraid you don’t know what these toughs are like.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Yet I wish we could have the police with us in this job because we’ve no guarantee that Philbeach will give us a straight deal.’

  ‘None; we’ve just got to chance his good faith, but I don’t think you need worry. It is the diamonds that he’s after, and if we hand over those everything will be all right.’

  Ernest nodded gloomily. ‘You’ve said a mouthful, my boy. The police must be kept out of this. If they get wise to the fact that we’ve got those stones they’ll take them off us, and if we fail to hand them over poor Sarie and young Pat will be properly sunk.’

  Sandy rejoined them a few minutes later, with the information that he had secured a fast, open car, which would be delivered to them in about twenty minutes, so they set about making preparations for their departure. In case Philbeach might try to trick them they thought it best to take their pistols, but put them in a basket so that they would not excite undue comment at places where th
ey would have to halt for petrol and a snack of food.

  The car was duly delivered and handed over by the garage man who had driven it out, then the four friends climbed in and, with Sandy at the wheel, headed for Pretoria, Cornelius having said, that, although it would involve a slight detour on the first stage of their journey, this route should be quicker on account of better roads.

  The thirty odd miles of broad, metalled highway to the capital of the Transvaal was covered in almost as many minutes. The way was straight with an open view, traffic was almost non-existent, and Sandy drove most of the time at nearly eighty miles an hour.

  As they flashed past the Military College at the entrance of the city, Ernest leant over to Sandy. ‘I say, you’re not going to drive like this all the way, are you? You’re getting me properly scared and I’m in a muck-sweat already.’

  Sandy grinned back at him. ‘No, don’t worry. The road gets absolutely filthy later on so I was taking advantage of the only decent stretch you’ll see to-day to get our average up a little.’

  Twenty minutes later Ernest saw that Sandy was right. A few miles north of Pretoria the metalled road ended, giving place to an equally broad stretch of reddish grit; but this, in turn, came to an abrupt termination after another quarter of an hour’s driving, and the great highway to the north-east dissolved into a narrow, rutted, stony track, which would have disgraced a rural council even in a remote village of the English shires.

  Despite this, however, Sandy kept the car going at nearly forty miles an hour—slithering over loose shale and dry-skidding the corners by driving completely on his brakes in a manner that alarmed Michael, who was beside him, and really terrified Ernest, who was in the back.