A MAN-CHIMPANZEE
Since the affair with the Rackbird, Cheditafa had done his duty more
earnestly than ever before. He said nothing to Mok about the Rackbird. He
had come to look upon his fellow-African as a very low creature, not much
better than a chimpanzee. During Ralph's absence Mok had fallen into all
sorts of irregular habits, going out without leave whenever he got a
chance, and disporting himself generally in a very careless and
unservant-like manner.
On the evening that Ralph was expected from Brussels, Mok was missing.
Cheditafa could not find him in any of the places where he ought to
have been, so he must be out of doors somewhere, and Cheditafa went to
look for him.
This was the first time that Cheditafa had gone into the streets alone at
night since the Rackbird incident in the Tuileries Gardens. As he was the
custodian of Mok, and responsible for him, he did not wish to lose sight
of him, especially on this evening.
It so happened that when Cheditafa went out of the hotel, his
appearance was noticed by Mr. Banker. There was nothing remarkable
about this, for the evening was the time when the ex-Rackbird gave
the most attention to the people who came out of the hotel. When he
saw Cheditafa, his soul warmed within him. Here was the reward of
patience and steadfastness--everything comes to those who wait.
A half-hour before, Banker had seen Mok leave the hotel and make his way
toward the Black Cat. He did not molest the rapidly walking negro. He
would not have disturbed him for anything. But his watchfulness became so
eager and intense that he almost, but not quite, exposed himself to the
suspicion of a passing gendarme. He now expected Cheditafa, for the
reason that the manner of the younger negro indicated that he was playing
truant. It was likely that the elder man would go after him, and this was
exactly what happened.
Banker allowed the old African to go his way without molestation, for the
brightly lighted neighborhood of the hotel was not adapted to his
projected performance. But he followed him warily, and, when they reached
a quiet street, Banker quickened his pace, passed Cheditafa, and,
suddenly turning, confronted him. Then, without a word having been said,
there flashed upon the mind of the African everything that had happened,
not only in the Tuileries Gardens, but in the Rackbirds' camp, and at the
same time a prophetic feeling of what was about to happen.
By a few quick pulls and jerks, Banker had so far removed his disguise
that Cheditafa knew him the instant that his eyes fell upon him. His
knees trembled, his eyeballs rolled so that nothing but their whites
could be seen, and he gave himself up to death. Then spoke out the
terrible Rackbird.
What he said need not be recorded here, but every word of superheated
vengeance, with which he wished to torture the soul of his victim before
striking him to the earth, went straight to the soul of Cheditafa, as if
it had been a white-hot iron. His chin fell upon his breast. He had but
one hope, and that was that he would be killed quickly. He had seen
people killed in the horrible old camp, and the man before him he
believed to be the worst Rackbird of them all.
When Banker had finished stabbing and torturing the soul of the
African, he drew a knife from under his coat, and down fell Cheditafa
on his knees.
The evening was rainy and dark, and the little street was nearly
deserted. Banker, who could look behind and before him without making
much show of turning his head, had made himself sure of this before he
stepped in front of Cheditafa. But while he had been pouring out his
torrent of heart-shrivelling vituperation, he had ceased to look before
and behind him, and had not noticed a man coming down the street in the
opposite direction to that in which they had been going.
This was Mok, who was much less of a fool than Cheditafa took him for. He
had calculated that he would have time to go to the Black Cat and drink
two glasses of beer before Ralph was likely to appear, and he also made
up his mind that two glasses were as much as he could dispose of without
exciting the suspicions of the young man. Therefore, he had attended to
the business that had taken him out of doors on that rainy night, and was
returning to the hotel with a lofty consciousness of having done wrong in
a very wise and satisfactory manner.
He wore india-rubber overshoes, because the pavements were wet, and also
because this sort of foot-gear suited him better than hard, unyielding
sole-leather. Had he had his own way, he would have gone bare-footed, but
that would have created comment in the streets of Paris--he had sense
enough to know that.
When he first perceived, by the dim light of a street lamp, two persons
standing together on his side of the street, his conscience, without any
reason for it, suggested that he cross over and pass by without
attracting attention. To wrong-doers attention is generally unwelcome.
Mok not only trod with the softness and swiftness of a panther, but he
had eyes like that animal, and if there were any light at all, those
eyes could make good use of it. As he neared the two men, he saw that
one was scolding the other. Then he saw the other man drop down on his
knees. Then, being still nearer, he perceived that the man on his knees
was Cheditafa. Then he saw the man in front of him draw a knife from
under his coat.
As a rule, Mok was a coward, but two glasses of beer were enough to turn
his nature in precisely the opposite direction. A glass less would have
left him timorous, a glass more would have made him foolhardy and silly.
He saw that somebody was about to stab his old friend. In five long,
noiseless steps, or leaps, he was behind that somebody, and had seized
the arm which held the knife.
With a movement as quick as the stroke of a rattlesnake, Banker turned
upon the man who had clutched his arm, and when he saw that it was Mok,
his fury grew tornado-like. With a great oath, and a powerful plunge
backward, he endeavored to free his arm from the grasp of the negro. But
he did not do it. Those black fingers were fastened around his wrist as
though they had been fetters forged to fit him. And in the desperate
struggle the knife was dropped.
In a hand-to-hand combat with a chimpanzee, a strong man would have but
little chance of success, and Mok, under the influence of two glasses of
beer, was a man-chimpanzee. When Banker swore, and when he turned so that
the light of the street lamp fell upon his face, Mok recognized him. He
knew him for a Rackbird of the Rackbirds--as the cruel, black-eyed savage
who had beaten him, trodden upon him, and almost crushed the soul out of
him, in that far-away camp by the sea. How this man should have suddenly
appeared in Paris, why he came there, and what he was going to do,
whether he was alone, or with his band concealed in the neighboring
doorways, Mok did not trouble his mind to consider. He held in his brazen
grip a creature whom he considered worse than the most devilish of
African devils, a villain who had been going to kill Cheditafa.
Every nerve under his black skin, every muscle that covered his bones,
and the two glasses of beer, sung out to him that the Rackbird could not
get away from him, and that the great hour of vengeance had arrived.
Banker had a pistol, but he had no chance to draw it. The arms of the
wild man were around him. His feet slipped from under him, and instantly
the two were rolling on the wet pavement. But only for an instant. Banker
was quick and light and strong to such a degree that no man but a
man-chimpanzee could have overpowered him in a struggle like that. Both
were on their feet almost as quickly as they went down, but do what he
would, Banker could not get out his pistol.
Those long black arms, one of them now bared to the shoulder, were about
him ever. He pulled, and tugged, and swerved. He half threw him one
instant, half lifted the next, but never could loosen the grasp of that
fierce creature, whose whole body seemed as tough and elastic as the
shoes he wore.
Together they fell, together they rolled in the dirty slime, together
they rose as if they had been shot up by a spring, and together they went
down again, rolling over each other, pulling, tearing, striking, gasping,
and panting.
Cheditafa had gone. The moment of Mok's appearance, he had risen and
fled. There were now people in the street. Some had come out of their
houses, hearing the noise of the struggle, for Banker wore heavy shoes.
There were also one or two pedestrians who had stopped, unwilling to pass
men who were engaged in such a desperate conflict.
No one interfered. It would have seemed as prudent to step between two
tigers. Such a bounding, whirling, tumbling, rolling, falling, and rising
contest had never been seen in that street, except between cats. It
seemed that the creatures would dash themselves through the windows of
the houses.
It was not long before Cheditafa came back with two policemen, all
running, and then the men who lay in the street, spinning about as if
moving on pivots, were seized and pulled apart. At first the officers
of the law appeared at a loss to know what had happened, and who had
been attacked. What was this black creature from the Jardin des
Plantes? But Banker's coat had been torn from his back, and his pistol
stood out in bold relief in his belt, and Cheditafa pointed to the
breathless bandit, and screamed: "Bad man! Bad man! Try to kill me!
This good Mok save my life!"
Two more policemen now came hurrying up, for other people had given the
alarm, and it was not considered necessary to debate the question as to
who was the aggressor in this desperate affair. Cheditafa, Mok, and
Banker were all taken to the police station.
As Cheditafa was known to be in the service of the American lady at the
Hotel Grenade, the _portier_ of that establishment was sent for, and
having given his testimony to the good character of the two negroes, they
were released upon his becoming surety for their appearance when wanted.
As for Banker, there was no one to go security. He was committed
for trial.
* * * * *
When Ralph went to his room, that night, he immediately rang for his
valet. Mok, who had reached the hotel from the police station but a few
minutes before, answered the summons. When Ralph turned about and beheld
the black man, his hair plastered with mud, his face plastered with mud,
and what clothes he had on muddy, torn, and awry, with one foot wearing a
great overshoe and the other bare, with both black arms entirely denuded
of sleeves, with eyes staring from his head, and his whole form quivering
and shaking, the young man started as if some afrit of the "Arabian
Nights" had come at this dark hour to answer his call.
To the eager questions which poured upon him when his identity became
apparent, Mok could make no intelligible answer. He did not possess
English enough for that. But Cheditafa was quickly summoned, and he
explained everything. He explained it once, twice, three times, and then
he and Mok were sent away, and told to go to bed, and under no
circumstances to mention to their mistress what had happened, or to
anybody who might mention it to her. And this Cheditafa solemnly
promised for both.
The clock struck one as Ralph still sat in his chair, wondering what
all this meant, and what might be expected to happen next. To hear
that a real, live Rackbird was in Paris, that this outlaw had
threatened his sister, that the police had been watching for him, that
he had sworn to kill Cheditafa, and that night had tried to do it,
amazed him beyond measure.
At last he gave up trying to conjecture what it meant. It was foolish to
waste his thoughts in that way. To-morrow he must find out. He could
understand very well why his sister had kept him in ignorance of the
affair in the Gardens. She had feared danger to him. She knew that he
would be after that scoundrel more hotly than any policeman. But what the
poor girl must have suffered! It was terrible to think of.
The first thing he would do would be to take very good care that she
heard nothing of the attack on Cheditafa. He would go to the police
office early the next morning and look into this matter. He did not
think that it would be necessary for Edna to know anything about
it, except that the Rackbird had been arrested and she need no
longer fear him.
When Ralph reached the police station, the next day, he found there the
portier of the hotel, together with Cheditafa and Mok.
After Banker's examination, to which he gave no assistance by admissions
of any sort, he was remanded for trial, and he was held merely for his
affair with the negroes, no charge having been made against him for his
attempt to obtain money from their mistress, or his threats in her
direction. As the crime for which he had been arrested gave reason
enough for condign punishment of the desperado, Ralph saw, and made
Cheditafa see, it would be unnecessary as well as unpleasant to drag
Edna into the affair.
That afternoon Mr. Banker, who had recovered his breath and had collected
his ideas, sent for the police magistrate and made a confession. He said
he had been a member of a band of outlaws, but having grown disgusted
with their evil deeds, had left them. He had become very poor, and having
heard that the leader of the band had made a fortune by a successful
piece of rascality, and had married a fine lady, and was then in Paris,
he had come to this city to meet him, and to demand in the name of their
old comradeship some assistance in his need. He had found his captain's
wife. She had basely deceived him after having promised to help him, and
he had been insulted and vilely treated by that old negro, who was once a
slave in the Rackbirds' camp in Peru, and who had been brought here with
the other negro by the captain. He also freely admitted that he had
intended to punish the black fellow, though he had no idea whatever of
killing him. If he had had such an idea, it would have been easy enough
for him to put his knife into him when he met him in that quiet street.
But he had not done so, but had contented himself with telling him what
he thought of him, and with afterwards frightening him with his knife.
And then the other fellow had come up, and there had been a fight.
Therefore, although he admitted that his case was a great misdemeanor,
and that he had been very disorderly, he boldly asserted that he had
contemplated no murder. But what he wished particularly to say to the
magistrate was that the captain of the Rackbirds would probably soon
arrive in Paris, and that he ought to be arrested. No end of important
results might come from such an arrest. He was quite sure that the great
stroke of fortune which had enabled the captain's family to live in Paris
in such fine style ought to be investigated. The captain had never made
any money by simple and straightforward methods of business.
All this voluntary testimony was carefully taken down, and although the
magistrate did not consider it necessary to believe any of it, the
arrival of Captain Horn was thenceforth awaited with interest by the
police of Paris.
It was not very plain how Miss Markham of the Hotel Grenade, who was well
known as a friend of a member of the American legation, could be the wife
of a South American bandit. But then, there might be reasons why she
wished to retain her maiden name for the present, and she might not know
her husband as a bandit.