“Donnerwetter! I wish I had known about the war three days ago!” he said, between drinks. His pig eyes rolled to the gun-case in the corner of his little cabin. “There was an Englishman living up there! He has a fine house on the hill outside Titigading village; I stayed there two days.”
A guest in the man’s house, and now regretting that he had not known of the war so he could murder the man!
“Well,” he said, leering at me, “there is nothing to prevent going back there, hein? You and I together, my friend! And we shall put that Englishman in hell!”
I took another drink. “My country is not at war, Doktor,” I told him.
“No, but this Englishman has found—what do you think? Diamond clay! Yes, for I saw it outside his fine house, a heap of it. Boats must bring it down to him.”
I whistled at this, with a vengeance!
There were no Holland traders in that country; the posts were all across the hills in Tapanuri province. So this Englishman was doing an illicit diamond business! That put another aspect on von Traube’s proposal.
Not that I have too fine a conscience, but I dislike killing a man without reason. Well, here was a reason, and a good one! I could kill the Englishman legally, and I could take his unlawful diamonds legally. Also there would be a reward at Batavia for having done it. It was obvious that he had been settled in the country for a long while, and had encouraged the natives to bring him down the blue clay in their boats, from the hills. Therefore he must have a fine stock of diamonds on hand.
“You want to kill this Englishman,” I said, “because your country is at war with his. And I want to kill him because he is in the illicit diamond business, which is against the law, and also because I want his diamonds. Well! That is plain.”
“Hold on,” grunted von Traube. “I want some of the diamonds, too!”
Was that not a true German for you? However, we agreed to split the loot between us, and von Traube would pilot my boat back to the Englishman’s place. The Englishman was all alone, said Doktor von Traube, except for a few native servants; we agreed to kill these also, and leave no trace.
“But we will not be in a hurry, hein?” von Traube winked at me. “We shall tell him about the war, first. It will be humorous.”
“Suit yourself,” I agreed, “so long as we get the diamonds.”
You will understand, brethren, that I am not glossing over my own part in this.
* * * *
Doktor von Traube got into my boat next morning, left his own men encamped, and we started off for the Englishman’s house near Titigading—a miserable little village up the river, which in dry seasons is quite a trading-point for the district. It was a three-day trip, and during those three days, von Traube rather got on my nerves with his talks about the old German god and the Kaiser and so forth. I would have been tempted to leave him clinging to a mangrove tree in the swamp, except that he had no money to make it worthwhile.
On the third afternoon we passed the mud walls of Titigading, perched on its hill above the floods, and toward evening we reached the Englishman’s house. It was a very good frame house, perched on a hillside above the highest watermark; it had a nice garden around it, I remember. Off to one side was the Englishman himself, bossing three native boys who were shoveling blue clay into the river. When he saw us coming, he vanished, to reappear a moment afterward with a rifle slung in his elbow.
“Lieber Gott!” muttered von Traube, grasping my arm. “Look at the diamond-clay!”
I nodded. “The evidence is vanishing rapidly, eh? He probably has it brought down in large quantities, and lets the water carry it off after he’s worked it over.”
The Englishman walked down to the water’s edge to meet us. He was a brown, lean man, with hard gray eyes like agate, and anything but a nice twist to his mouth—a hard drinker, evidently. He called himself Robinson, but he wore a bloodstone seal ring bearing a crest and other initials below the crest. It was not hard to imagine that he had been a gentleman, and had gone wrong.
He greeted von Traube with a cordial handshake, and gave me another upon being introduced. Naturally, he wanted to know my business here; I let him know that I was not an official, but was hunting orchids. He asked us into the house. Dinner would soon be ready.
I have compunctions about dining with a man and then killing him, but von Traube gave me a nudge, and we went along. Robinson spoke Hollandish like a native. He took us into the house, which was simply but neatly furnished, and assigned us his spare room with apologies that he had not one for each of us. Then he vanished to see about dinner.
“It must be done before we dine,” I told von Traube firmly. “Otherwise not at all.”
He assented with a nod and a sneer. “Very well, Mynheer Van Loon. When we are seated at the table, you understand? Then I shall tell him about the war, and do the rest. You will attend to the servants. I wonder where he keeps his diamonds?”
I had been wondering about that myself, not so much about where he kept them, as about his method of getting them out of the country. He would not take them openly, of course, for toward the river-mouth he would encounter too many difficulties; perhaps he had never taken any out, and had the collection of years right here! It was enough to make a man’s mouth water.
“If we cannot find them, we shall be fools,” said von Traube. “Perhaps it would be best not to kill him until he tells us where they are.”
“Suit yourself,” I responded, indifferently.
I left the Doktor grubbing at the washbasin, and went out to the living-room of the house. There I found Robinson setting out cigarettes and cheroots, and we chatted. Since I did not care whether I offended him or not, I asked him direct what his business was.
He looked at me with a twisted grin. Even then, I imagine, he suspected us.
“You passed the town of Titigading on the way, didn’t you?” he inquired. “Well, I’m training animals for the local sultan. That’s the truth, too—training them!”
I must have smiled at this, for he shrugged and gave me a sour look.
“It’s true, all the same, Van Loon! If you’d come a few days sooner, I’d have shown you something—a pet rhino that I raised from birth, and trained to do no end of things! They say a rhino can’t be trained, but—”
“A rhinoceros!” I exclaimed, giving him a sharp look as a sudden fear bit into me.
“Yes.” He frowned, a bit puzzled by my attitude. I could see that he was watching me pretty closely, and was not going to be taken off guard. “Unfortunately, the poor brute was washed out the last flood—about a week ago. I must have searched half this damned country, without finding his body!”
A tingling sensation swept over me, as I began to realize the truth. I took a cigarette from his box and looked him square in the eye.
“See here, Mynheer Robinson,” I said quietly, “do you mind explaining why you’d waste time searching for a dead rhino? Perhaps he was valuable—or was the body marked?”
Robinson went white along the jaw. His fingers twitched slightly, and I guessed that he had a revolver within quick draw. But his hard gray eyes did not flicker from mine.
“You have a reason for asking that?” he snapped.
“I have,” I told him frankly, “and a good reason. Some days ago I ran across a dead rhino. The horn was marked in a very peculiar fashion—with marks which used to mean a good deal to me, Robinson. If you can describe those marks, and can tell me what they represent—”
“I think,” he said coolly, the twitch of a smile on his lips, “we’d better shake hands all over again, Van Loon. Then I’ll proceed in the usual way.”
* * * *
Well, there was no doubt about it, as he made very plain. When he mentioned his lodge, which was one of the most famous of England, I knew at once that his name was not Robinson.
I made some excuse to get away, and rejoined von Traube just as he was coming to meet us. I led him back into the room, wondering.
“Now
,” I told him without preamble, “our arrangement is off, Herr Doktor. I have discovered that Robinson has peculiar claims upon me—in fact, claims so strong that I cannot disregard them. So long as I am here, you shall not touch him. Further, I’ll tell him about the war myself, although I’ll not mention our late intentions toward him; if you and he want to go out into the garden with pistols and have a war of your own, that’s another matter. But there’ll be no killing, and no looting. Think it over.”
I left him there, staring like a dumb man with apoplexy, and rejoined my host.
He was unaccountably eager to get hold of me, too, and his eagerness was centered upon that rhinoceros horn.
“I can’t see why on earth you put the horn on that rhino,” I told him, “but of course, it’s no business of mine. Anyway, I’ve the horn in my boat, with the gold intact. We’ll get it tomorrow or have one of the boys bring it up tonight if you prefer. Meantime, allow me to tell you that Germany and England are at war, and you and von Traube will have to keep off the subject.”
Five minutes later von Traube joined us, smiling.
“There is war in the world, Mynheer Robinson,” he said, “but there need be none here, I think?”
“Not for tonight, at least,” said Robinson with an answering smile. “Can you chaps take me out with you tomorrow? I’ll want to get into the scrap, you know. I suppose you, von Traube, are just as anxious? Then we’ll declare a private truce, eh?”
Von Traube assented gladly, but I did not like the look in his eye.
* * * *
We had an excellent dinner, and Robinson was traditionally Briton enough to don a regulation evening outfit. It was a bit tatted, but the real thing. Doktor von Traube rather surprised me by being extremely affable, cordial and avoiding all war-talk after I had stated the bare news of the declaration—which had come to me the day before I left Batavia.
By the time we came to the coffee, with long, thin, Sumatra cheroots, all three of us were quite chummy. I’ll not say that a drink or two had not warmed us, either. Well, Robinson turned to me, with strange lights glinting in his eyes of gray jade, and said:
“You spoke about that rhino-horn, Van Loon—remember? If you’d not mind sending down to your craft for it, I’ll be glad to explain its secret. There is a secret, you know, and a dashed interesting one, if I do say it.”
I rose, nodding, while Doktor von Traube peered at us suspiciously. He knew nothing about the horn.
“I’ll get it myself, Robinson. I put it away carefully, so those boys of mine would not know about it.”
Robinson would have protested, but I laughed and swung out of the house.
It took time to pick my way down to the water, for everything was pitch-black outside, and I had left my electric torch in the boat. Naturally, I was congratulating myself that everything had gone smoothly; for after knowing that Robinson was of the Craft, my whole intent fell to pieces.
Indeed, although the words may sound strange in my mouth, my finding of the drowned rhinoceros and the subsequent fashion in which I had been led to this Englishman’s house, to say nothing of the chance remark which had led to my learning that he was of the brethren, all seemed to me a providential train of circumstance—a skein, as it were, of which the Divine Architect had the unwinding.
When I had groped my way down to the boat, one of the men found my electric torch, and I dug into the little shelter-cabin. A moment later I had the rhinoceros horn under my arm—and it was damnably heavy—and started back. The lights of the house guided me this time, and I soon reached the veranda.
As I did so, I heard a heavy, thudding crash from the dining-room, followed by silence—as though a man had fallen with his full weight.
I ran, alarmed instantly, cursing myself for not having given Robinson full warning. But when I came to the door of the dining-room, and paused, there was no one to be seen.
For a moment I stared, rankly incredulous; then I saw the square head of Doktor von Traube rising at the opposite side of the dining table. It rose slowly, and halted; the Doktor, snarling a little like a struggling dog, was gazing down at something between his hands. I realized suddenly that he was strangling Robinson to death.
A mad rush of haste flurried me, made me lose all coherence of motion, impelled me into a perfect fury of action. I might have drawn my automatic, but the thought did not occur to me; the first instinct of a man is to throw whatever is closest to hand, and I was already carrying the rhinoceros horn. I threw it blindly, without aiming, threw it heavily as a man throws the shot, at the head of von Traube. And as my automatic leaped out into my palm, I saw the pointed end of that horn hit the German just above the ear.
Before I could get across the room, Robinson was rising; I exhaled a breath of relief at sight of him. About his neck was a thin cord of Chinese silk, almost buried in his flesh. He jerked it away.
“Thanks, Van Loon,” he said quietly. “The beggar caught me by surprise—jerked me clear over backward and fell on me. I suspected something of the sort, you know, and had made ready for it, but his method was peculiar.”
He lifted the edge of the tablecloth. Just beneath the table itself, and hung at Robinson’s place, was a Browning automatic. It came away at the touch of his hand, and he shoved it into his pocket. Then he stooped and picked up the rhinoceros horn.
There was no need of asking any questions about Doktor von Traube. He would never strike another blow in behalf of Germany.
“You’ve wondered about this,” said Robinson, wiping the horn on the tablecloth and setting it on the table beneath the lamp. “Well, I’ll tell you about that rhino. I wanted to smuggle some stuff out through Batavia; so I worked a long time over that rhino, fitted the horn and all that. Then I let it go six months, until the skin had crept up about the jointure—”
“But how the devil did you work on a live rhino like that?” I demanded.
“Stupefied him with native drugs!” Robinson laughed. “I meant to take his head and preserve it, then pass it out of here and into England, you see.”
“No,” I said, frowning at him, “I don’t see at all! Of course, a man is not allowed to deal in free gold here, but there’s not enough gold in this horn to make it worth all that trouble.”
A slow smile crept about his mouth. He took a knife from his pocket and opened it.
“True enough, Van Loon. But I’ve no more use for this contraption, now that the trophy is spoiled; besides, I’m going home to this war—and finish the whole botched job. See here; you’ll understand in a moment.”
With the knife, Robinson dug at the soft molten gold that filled the end of the horn. A moment, and it came away in his hand—a thin, oval plate of gold. As it came away, there poured out upon the table a heap of yellow dust; under the slab of gold, the horn had been filled with dust, and in the dust had been snugly nested something like two dozen of the finest Sumatran diamonds!
“The pick of three years’ work,” said Robinson quietly. “If I’d smuggled these stones out of here and into England or America, I’d have had something, eh? But they’re of no particular use now, and I can’t be bothered finding a new method of smuggling. Suppose you take them along, sell them whenever you get a chance, and remit me half the proceeds. The dust will take me home and get me into the army. There’s enough in the stones to make us both well off.”
“That’s very handsome,” I said thoughtfully. “But my friend, do you realize what would have happened if I had not found that horn carved with the square and compasses?”
Robinson laughed in his thin, ominous fashion.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “You fellows would have done me in; then, my dear Van Loon, the estimable Herr Doktor von Traube would have done you in!”
“Not at all,” I said, laughing. “You see, I was figuring to do him in! But let’s clear out of this, and I’ll take you over to Malacca Town in my boat, eh? The customs patrol down the river won’t bother me much—when it’s a question of a brother in di
stress.”
* * * *
“Worshipful meester,” said Van Loon, “and brethren, I thank you for your attention.” He sat down.
“A highly immoral tale, yon,” said the Scots engineer, chuckling. “What wad they be makin’ of it, eh, in the regular circles?”
My little New Yorker rapped with his pipe. “I might say, brethren, that Brother Van Loon is having a gavel made from the horn of a rhino, ain’t it, w’ich is carved with appropriate emblems and w’ich vill be presented to this lodge next Sunday night. And now, brethren, if there ain’t no more business—”
“’Ere, ’old on!” exclaimed the cockney, scrambling to his feet. “I know oo that there man Robinson was! I sye, Van Loon, didn’t ’e ’ave a zigzag scar on ’is left ’and?”
Van Loon assented. The little cockney continued eagerly:
“Well, ’e went west at Mons—I was in the bleedin’ ’orspital wif ’im! From what ’e said afore ’e passed out, I learned a ’ole lot abaht ’im; and it was talk abaht a rhino ’orn too! And I want to sye, brethren, that ’e ’ad the D.S.O. afore ’e up and bleedin’ well died, too! A credit to the Craft; that’s what ’e was!”
A vote of thanks to Brother Van Loon was moved and seconded; then Irregular Lodge No. 1 proceeded to fold its tents and silently steal away.
CLANCY, DETECTIVE
Half a second more, and the truck would have backed the little old man out of existence. It was one of those traffic jams for which Paris is famous, at the corner of the narrow Rue Caumartin. Caught between two lines of taxicabs, oblivious of the truck coming at him from behind, with everybody vociferously shouting at everybody else, the old chap stood bewildered and hesitant, or so I thought.
Consequently, I made a grab for him, rushed him under the nose of a taxi, and literally carried him to the sidewalk. There, to my surprise, he turned on me savagely with a flood of French.
“Save your breath,” I said. “I don’t savvy half what you say, anyhow—”
His face lighted up and he switched into English.
“American, are you? Well, what the purgatory do you mean by assaulting me that way?”
The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack Page 81
