'When the devil's at bay
Ye may kneel down and pray
For a year and a day
To be spared the distress of dispatching him,
But the longer ye kneel
The more squeamish ye'll feel
'Cause the louder he'll squeal,
And at brotherly talk there's no matching him.
Discussion's his aim,
And as sure as you're game
To give heed to the same,
You regarding extremes with compunction,
You may bet he'll requite
Your compassion with spite,
Knifing you in the night
With much probonopublico unction.
For a while we looked like having trouble with Coutlass. We gave Brown
a rifle, and distributed the other Mausers among Kazimoto and our best
boys, but we did not dare trust the Greek with a weapon he might use
against us, and he resented that bitterly. He had an answer to Fred's
subterfuge that as a white man he would need a license before daring to
carry firearms. "I dare do anything! I care nothing for law!" he
argued, and Fred nodded.
That night we reveled in luxury, for after the life we had led recently
it took time to reaccustom any of us to the common comforts.
Schillingschen traveled with every provision for his carcass and his
belly; and we plundered him.
We put the prisoners and our own porters in a hut in the nearest native
village (less than half a mile away) under the watchful eye of Kazimoto
and the shot-gun, dividing Schillingschen's two large tents between
ourselves. The others offered me the camp-bed as a recent invalid, but
I refused, and Will won it by matching coins. We divided the blankets
in the same way, and all the spare underwear. Brown and Coutlass had
to be satisfied with cotton blankets from a bale of trade goods; but
when they had rifled enough to build up good thick mattresses as well
as coverings, there were still two apiece for our boys and all the
porters.
The chop-boxes were a revelation. The man had with him food enough for
at least a year's traveling, including all the canned delicacies that
hungry men dream about in the wilderness. Before we slept we ate so
enormously of so very many things that it was a wonder that we were
able to sleep at all.
We all hoped Schillingschen would die, for it was a hard problem what
to do with him. He had no papers in his possession, beyond a diary
written in German schrift that even Will could not make head or tail
of, for all his knowledge of the language; and a very vague map
bearing the imprint of the British government, filled in by himself
with the names of the villages he had passed on his way. There was no
proof that we could find that would have condemned him of nefarious
practises in a British court of law.
"And believe me," argued Will, sprawling on the plundered bed, blowing
the smoke of a Melachrino through his nose, "your local British judges
would take the word of Professor Schillingschen against all of ours,
backed up by simply overwhelming native evidence! They're so in awe of
Schillingschen's professorial degree, and of his passports, and his
letters of introduction from this and that mogul that they wouldn't
believe him guilty of arson if they caught him in the act!"
"Something's got to be done with him pretty soon, though," answered
Fred from the floor, lying at ease on a pillow and a folded Jaeger
blanket, smoking a fat cigar.
Coutlass and Brown were singing songs outside the tent and I sat in a
genuine armchair with my feet on a box full of canned plum pudding.
(Nobody knows, who has not hungered on the high or low veld--who has
not eaten meat without vegetables for days on end, and then porridge
without salt or sugar--how good that common, export, canned plum
Pudding is! To sit with my feet on the case that contained it was the
arrogance of affluence!)
"We have his stores and his papers," said I. "We have his Baganda;
and as time goes on, and his other spies begin to come in, we shall
have them, too, if we're half careful. Why don't we let him go, to
tell his own tale wherever he likes?"
"Maybe he'll die yet!" said the optimist on the camp-bed, blowing more
cigarette smoke.
"Suppose he doesn't. We've done our best to keep him alive. He's quit
bleeding. Suppose we let him go, and he lays a charge against us.
Suppose they send after us and bring us in. We've his diary and his
men--evidence enough," said I.
"You bally ass!" Fred murmured.
"Cuckoo!" laughed Will.
"I don't believe he'd dare approach a British official with his story,"
said I.
"Incredible imbecile!" Fred answered. "He has the gall of a brass
monkey."
"And magnetism--loads of it," Will added. "He'd make the Pope play
three-card monte."
"To say nothing," continued Fred, "of the necessity of not letting the
government know we're here! Rather than turn him loose, I'd march him
into Kisumu and hand him over. But, as Will says wisely, our
proconsuls would believe him, and put us under bonds for outraging a
distinguished foreigner."
"Well, then," said I, "what the devil shall we do with him? Offer
something constructive, you two solons!"
"Have the four men we borrowed from the island bolted home yet?"
wondered Will.
"They hadn't this evening," I answered. "I don't believe they'll
venture home until we stop feeding them. They were hungry on their
island. Our shortest commons then seemed affluence. Now they're in
heaven!"
"Their canoes must be where they left them in the papyrus."
"Sure. Who'd steal a canoe?"
"Whoever could find them," Fred answered. "But they're skilfully
hidden. Why don't we put Schillingschen and his ten pet blacks into
those canoes, with a little food and no rifles--and show them the way
to German East?"
"Because," said I, "they wouldn't go. They'd turn around and paddle
for Kisumu, to file complaint against us."
"Don't you suppose," suggested Will, "that Schillingschen's own men 'ud
insist on going home? Out on the water, ten to one, without guns or
too much food, they wouldn't have the same fear of him they had
formerly."
"That chance is too broad and long and deep," said Fred. "Altogether
too bulky to be taken. Let's sleep on it. This cigar's done, and I'm
drowsy. Are you quite sure Schillingschen's hands are fast behind him?
Then good night, all!"
The problem looked no easier next morning, with Schillingschen
recovered sufficiently to be hungry and sit up. There was a look in
his eye of smoldering courage and assurance that did not bode well for
us, and when we untwisted the iron wire from his wrists to let him wash
himself and eat he looked about him with a sort of quick-fire cunning
that belied his story of headache.
He was much too astute a customer to be judged superficially. I
whispered to Fred not to shackle him again too soon, and sat near and
watched him, close enough for real safety, yet not so close that he
might not venture to try tricks. He said nothing whatever, but I
noticed that his eye, after roving around the tent, kept returning
again and again to a chop-box that stood near the foot of the bed.
Now I had unpacked that chop-box and repacked it the previous night. I
knew everything it contained--exactly how many cans of plum pudding.
It was the box I had rested my feet on. I felt perfectly sure he knew
as well as I what the box contained, and to suppose he would sit there
planning to recover canned food, however dainty, was ridiculous.
Wherefore it was a safe conclusion he was trying to deceive me as to
his real intention. I put my foot on the box again, and he frowned, as
much as to say I had forestalled his only hope. Pretending to watch
the box and him, I examined every detail of the tent, particularly that
side of it opposite the box, away from where it seemed he wanted me to
look.
The human eye is a highly imperfect piece of mechanism and the human
brain is mostly grayish slush. It was minutes before I detected the
edge of his diary, sticking out from the pocket of Fred's shooting coat
that itself protruded from under the folded blanket on which Fred had
slept. It was nearer to Schillingschen than to me. After watching him
for about fifteen minutes, during which he made a great fuss about his
headache, I was quite sure it was the diary that interested him.
I stooped and extracted it from the coat pocket. The grimace he made
was certainly not due to headache.
"Fred!" I called out, and he and Will came striding in together.
"That diary's the key," I said. "It's important. It holds his
secrets!"
Will was swift to put that to the test.
"What will you offer?" he asked Schillingschen. "We want you to go
back direct to German East. Will you go, if we give you back your
diary?"
Schillingschen blundered into the trap like a buffalo in strange
surroundings.
"Ja wohl!" he answered. "Give me that, and yon shall never see me
again!"
At that Fred threw himself full length on his blanket and took one of
Schillingschen's cigars.
"Of course," he said, "you would give anything for leave to take those
words back! You needn't try to hide the wince--we fully appreciate the
situation! What do you say, you fellows? How about last night's idea?
Who mooted it? Shall we send him back by canoe to German East, with a
guarantee that if he doesn't go we'll hand over diary and him to our
government?"
"Better send the book to the commissioner at Nairobi, or Mombasa, or
wherever he is," suggested Will. "Then if the 'prof' here doesn't get
a swift move on he's liable to be overtaken by the cops, I should say."
"Let's make no promises," said I. "I vote we simply give him time to
get away."
At that the Germain saw the weak side of our case in a flash.
"If you dared give that diary to your government," he growled, "you
would do so without bargaining with me! Why do you propose to let me
go? Out of love for me? No! But because you dare not appeal to your
government! Give me that diary, and I will go at once to German East,
not otherwise! It is only a diary," he added. "Nothing
important--merely my private jottings and memoranda."
Fred turned toward me so that Schillingschen could not see his face.
"Are you willing to start for Kisumu at once with that book?" he asked,
and I nodded. He winked at me so violently that I could not trust
myself to answer aloud and keep a straight face.
"Very well,"' he said. "Suppose you start with it to-morrow morning.
At the end of a week well turn the professor home to follow his own
nose!"
Schillingschen shrugged his shoulders and refused to be drawn into
further argument. We gave him a good meal from his own provisions, and
then once more made his hands fast with wire behind him and left him to
sleep off his rage if he cared to in a corner of the tent.
Later that morning we sent for the Baganda--gave him a view of
Schillingschen trussed and helpless--and questioned him about the man
he boasted he knew, who could tell us what Schillingschen was after.
He was so full of fear by that time that he held back nothing.
He assured us the German was after buried ivory. There was a man, who
had promised to meet Schillingschen, who knew where to find the ivory
and would lead the way to it. He did not know names or places--knew
only that the man would be found waiting at a certain place, and was
not white.
"How did you get that information?" Fred demanded.
"By listening."
"When? Where?"
"At night, months ago, in Nairobi, outside the professor's tent. I lay
under the fly among the loads and listened. The man came in the dark,
and went in the dark. I did not see him. I did not hear him called by
name. He must have been an old man. Speaking Kiswahili, he admitted
he knew where the ivory is. He said he saw it buried, and that he
alone survives of all men who buried it. He promised to lead the
professor to the place on condition that the Germans shall release his
brother, and his brother's wife, and two sons whom they keep in prison
on a life-sentence. The professor agreed, but said, 'Wait! There are
first those people who also think they know the secret. Perhaps they
do! Wait until after I have dealt with them. Then you shall take me
to the place! After that your criminal relations shall be pardoned!
Here is money. Go and wait for me at the place we spoke of when we
talked before.'"
We each cross-examined him in turn, but could not make him change his
story in any essential. He merely exaggerated the parts that he
guessed might please us, and begged to be allowed to run before
Schillingschen could break loose and get after him.
By noontime, when we gave him his second meal, Schillingschen had made
up his own mind that his case was desperate and called for heroic
remedy.
"All right," he growled. "I need that diary. Hand it to me and I'll
tell you how to find what you're after!"
"You mean about the man who's to meet you?" suggested Fred blandly.
Schillingschen started as if shot.
"One of your men is an eavesdropper," Fred assured him with a cheerful
nod. "That plug has been pulled already, Professor!"
"Let's play the cards face up!" Will interrupted impatiently. "Listen,
Schillingschen. You're an all-in scoundrel. You're a spy. You're a
bloody murderer of women and defenseless natives. If we could prove
that we wouldn't argue with you. We know you burned that dhow with the
women in it, but we've got no evidence, that's all. We know the German
government wants that ivory, and we know why. We also want it. Our
only reason for secrecy is that we hope for better terms from the
British government. We've nothing to fear, except possible financial
loss. If you prefer to come with us to Kisumu and have the whole
matter out in court, all you need do is just say so. On the other
hand, if you want to get out of this country before your diary can
reach the hands of the British High Commissioner--you'd just better
slide, that's all!"
"You've only until dawn to think it over," remarked Fred. "You poor
boob!" continued Will. "You imagine we're criminals because you're one
yourself! The difference between your offer and ours is that you're
bluffing and we know it, whereas we're not bluffing by as much as a
hair, and the quicker you see that the better for you!"
"Oh, rats! Let's take him in with us to Kisumu!" said I, and at that
Professor Schillingschen capitulated.
"Very well," he said. "Kurtz und gut. I will leave the country. Permit
me to take only food enough, and my porters, and one gun!"
"No guns!" said Fred promptly.
Schillingschen sighed resignedly, and we went out of the tent to talk
over ways and means. In spite of our recent experience of Germany's
colonial government we were still so ignorant of the workings of the
mens germanica that we took his surrender at face value.
The problem of getting him down to the lake shore safely was none too
simple. I was soft hearted and headed enough to propose that we should
loose his hands, now that he had surrendered, and permit him reasonable
liberty. Will--least inclined of all of us to cruelty--was disposed to
agree with me. We might have overborne Fred's objections if Coutlass
and Brown, returning from walking off their overnight debauch together,
had not shouted and beckoned us in a mysterious sort of way, as if some
new discovery puzzled them.
We walked about a hundred and fifty yards to where they stood by a row
of low ant-hills. Neither of them was in a sociable frame of mind. It
was obvious from the moment we could see their faces clearly that they
had not called us to enjoy a joke. They stood like two dumb bird-dogs,
pointing, and we had to come about abreast of them before we knew why
we were summoned.
There lay five clean-picked skeletons, one on each ant-hill. One was a
big bird's; one looked like a dog's; the third was a snake's; the
fourth a young antelope's; and the fifth was certainly that of a
yellow village cur, for some of the hairs from the tip of its tail were
remaining, not yet borne off by the ants.
The skeletons lay as if the creatures had died writhing. There were
pegs driven into the earth that had evidently held them in position by
the sinews. Most peculiar circumstance of all, there was a camp-chair
standing very near by, with its feet deep in the red earth, as if a
very heavy man had sat in it.
I went back to the camp and told Kazimoto to bring one of the
professor's men. Kazimoto had to do the talking, for we did not know
the man's language, nor he ours.
Yes, the professor always did that to animals. He liked to sit and
watch them and keep the kites away. He said it was white man's
knowledge (science?). Yes, the animals were pegged out alive on the
ant-hills, and the professor would sit with his watch in his hand,
counting the minutes until they ceased from writhing. It was part of
the duty of the ten to catch animals and bring them alive to him in
camp for that purpose. No, they did not know why he did it, except
that it was white man's knowledge. No, natives did not do that way,
except now and then to their enemies. The professor always made
threats he would do so to them if they ran away from him, or disobeyed,
or misbehaved. Certainly they believed him! Why should they not
believe him? Did not Germans always keep their word when they talked
of punishment?
We decided after that to let Schillingschen lie bound, whether or not
the iron wire cut his wrists. We did not trouble to go back to inquire
whether he needed drink, but let him wait for that until supper-time.
The remainder of that afternoon we spent discussing who should have the
disagreeable and not too easy task of taking the professor to the lake
and sending him on his way. We sat with our backs against a rock, with
the firearms beside us and a good view of all the countryside, very
much puzzled as to whether to leave Coutlass behind in camp (with Brown
and the whisky) or send him (with or without Brown) and one or two of
us on the errand. He was a dangerous ally in either case.
Evening fell, and the good smell of supper came along the wind to find
us still undecided. We returned to the tent thinking that perhaps
something Schillingschen himself might say would help us to decide one
way or the other.
"Better see if the brute wants a drink," said Fred, and I went in ahead
to offer him water.
He was gone! Clean gone, without a trace, or a hint as to how he
managed it! I called the others, and we hunted. The sides of the tent
were pegged down tight all around. The front, it is true, was wide
open, but we had sat in full view of it and not so much as a rat could
have crept out without our seeing. There were no signs of burrowing.
He was not under the bed, or behind the boxes, or between the sides of
the tent and the fly. The only cover for more than a hundred yards was
the shallow depression along which we had come to the capture of the
camp, and that was the way he must have taken. But that, too, had been
practically in full view of us all the time.
We counted heads and called the roll. Coutlass was close by. It did
not look as if he had played traitor this time. Brown was sleeping off
his headache in the shade. Kazimoto and all the boys were accounted
for. The prisoners were safe. No donkeys were missing--no
firearms--and no loads. The earth had simply opened up and swallowed
Schillingschen, and that was all about it!
He had not made off with his pocket diary. Fred had that. There and
then we packed it in an empty biscuit tin and buried it under a rock,
Will and I keeping watch while Fred did the digging and covering up.
It was too likely that Schillingschen would come back in the night and
try to steal it for any of us to care about keeping it on his person.
It was too late to look far and wide for him that evening. A hunter
such as he could have lain unseen in the dark with us almost stepping
on him. Gone was all appetite for supper! We nibbled, and swore, and
smoked--locked up the whisky--defied either Brown or Coutlass to try to
break the boxes open--and arranged to take turns on sentry-go all that
night, Will, Fred, and I--declining very pointedly offers by the other
two to have their part in keeping watch. In spite of lack of evidence
we suspected Coutlass; and we knew no particular reason for having
confidence in Brown.