JOHN SOLOMON
Since Hammer had an inveterate dislike of fat men in general, and
blue-eyed fat men in particular--born out of his experience with a
fat and demented Swede cook on his first cattle-boat trip--it was not
to be wondered at that he eyed John Solomon with no great favour in
his heart. For John Solomon was fat and blue-eyed.
"Pudgy" would be a better word than the flat and misleading "fat".
Pudgy embraces the face that a man is not merely fat, but that he is
filled to a comfortable completeness, as it were; that he is not too
fat to move about, but just enough so to be dignified on occasion;
and that his expression is cheerful above all else.
Save for this last item, the description fitted John Solomon to a
dot, for while his face was cheerful enough, it was as totally devoid
of expression as a face can be--and still remain a face.
He was a short, little man, not more than five feet six, very
decently dressed in blue serge, and he sat quite contentedly filling
a short clay pipe from a whittled plug as Hammer and Harcourt entered
the private room.
When he glanced up and rose to meet them, the first thing Hammer
noticed was that healthy-looking yet expressionless face, from which
gazed out two eyes of pale blue and of great size.
As he came to learn later, Nature had endowed John Solomon with
absolutely stolid features, but in compensation had given him eyes
which could be rendered unusually intelligent at times.
"You are John Solomon?" questioned Harcourt curtly. "What is your
business with me, and how did you know I was here?"
"Beggin' your pardon, sir," and the pale-blue eyes met the darker
ones of Harcourt without shrinking. "I 'ave a pal down at Deptford
who 'appens to 'ear what you and Mr. 'Ammer said this morning. 'E
knowed I was werry anxious for a ship, and 'e comes to me with it."
"Oh, you want a ship, then?" returned Harcourt. "And therefore you
interrupt a gentleman at dinner in a fashionable restaurant----"
"I didn't mean no 'arm, sir," broke in Solomon, without cringing,
however. "You see, sir, I 'adn't no means o' knowing where to find
you otherwise. I say that if so be as a man wants work, it don't
matter 'ow 'e gets it, so 'e gets it, and I trust as 'ow you'd look
at it the same way, Mr. Harcourt, sir."
"And quite right you are, John Solomon," exclaimed Hammer, amused
despite himself, and beginning to think that this pudgy little man
had some brains. Since Harcourt was not quite sure whether to be
angry or not, the American's laugh saved the situation for the
moment. "You're got plenty of nerve, my friend, but you must want
work pretty badly to go after it so strong. What's your
line--seaman?"
"No, sir," and the wide blue eyes rested in child-like faith on
Hammer's face. "I'm a bit 'eavy for that there, sir, though I've
A.B. papers. No sir, though I can do a bit o' navigation at a pinch,
I'd feel more at 'ome like wi' figures. I writes a good 'and, sir,
and I knows 'ow to 'andle port off'cers and such. If so be as you
could use a supercargo, sir?"
Hammer turned to the Englishman, who was still eyeing Solomon
doubtfully.
"How are we fixed for officers, anyway, Harcourt? I've got a grudge
against fat men as a rule, but hanged if I don't admire this chap's
nerve! A man who'll butt into a place like this to get a job must
have something in him."
Harcourt rubbed his chin reflectively. "Well, the yacht has been
laid up for six months and didn't have any crew, so Krausz agreed to
place a dozen of his own men aboard her under a mate, if I'd find a
chief officer and an engine-room crew.
"So far as standing watches is concerned, you can rank as first mate,
unofficially, and I've already arranged for my old chief engineer to
pick up his own men.
"A supercargo isn't absolutely essential, but Krausz is going to take
a lot of stuff out to do his excavating with, as well as packing
cases and all that bally impedimenta--my word, Hammer, I don't just
know what to say!"
"Beggin' your pardon, sir," put in Solomon, as the other paused, "but
I can take care o' port papers and such werry well, and 'ave A1
references. A supercargo ain't no use unless 'e's a lot o' use, I
says, sir, and I goes on that princ'ple. What's more, Mr. 'Ammer, I
knows a man as can fix you up wi' first off'cer's papers for a matter
o' two pun and no questions asked."
The twinkle in the blue eyes drew an answering chuckle from the
American, even Harcourt relaxing sufficiently to smile slightly.
"You seem to have your uses, certainly," said the Englishman dryly.
"By the way, Hammer, where are you stopping?"
"I've stopped," grinned the American cheerfully. "My war-bag's
aboard the ship still, but there's nothing in it worth carrying off.
I have my pipe here, and no other clothes worthy the name.
"Then you'd better go home with me to-night," returned the other.
"We'll do the opera first, if you like. To-morrow, you can take up
your quarters aboard the _Daphne_, and we can talk over money matters
at leisure.
"Now, John Solomon, you seem to have a fairly good idea of my
business already, so I'll simply say that my yacht, the _Daphne_, is
anchored at the Royal Thames docks and that you can go aboard
whenever you please. As supercargo, you will join the officers'
mess, of course, but I'll be aboard to-morrow and will fix things up
with you, and you can sign articles then. And--er--about those bally
papers--er--you had better get them."
"Yes, sir, I'll 'ave them to-morrow, sir," and John Solomon touched
his forehead respectfully; but Hammer imagined that he caught
something very like a wink from one of those wide blue eyes.
"Thank you werry much, Mr. Harcourt, and you, Mr. 'Ammer, and I'll be
aboard bright and early, since it's the early worm what sees the bird
first, as the Good Book says."
"Very good," rejoined Harcourt briefly, and so John Solomon passed
forth from all the glory of Prince's, with his little black clay pipe
wagging defiantly at the liveried doormen, and the place thereof knew
him no more.
Although he had accepted the proffered partnership glibly enough,
Hammer was by no means sure that he would stick to it, for various
reasons. Chief among these was the fact that he had a profound
distrust of himself; since he had deliberately thrown himself to the
dogs, in a way, he had come to have a deep-rooted conviction that he
was no good, that his better qualities mere surface outcroppings, and
that a man such as Harcourt would like him less the better he knew
him.
Still, he frankly liked Harcourt, and the idea of free-lancing about
the ocean appealed strongly to him. But he had so long been
battering down the better side of his own nature, the shock of his
past trouble had so deeply bitten into his soul, that he could not
look forward to the future with anything approaching hope.
His very promise to abstain from drink had been made solely because
that was the only way in which he could accept Harcourt's offer, and
not from any desire to regain his lost state.
"No," he told himself that night, alone in his room at Harcourt's
apartments, "I guess I'm a wastrel, pure and simple. I've nothing to
go ahead for, and I've got a devil of a lot to forget; if I can only
get up enough interest in the yacht and in the places we visit and
the work we do, then there's a chance that I can break even and stay
decent for a while. And, Lord knows, it's about time!"
In which conclusion he was undeniably correct, much more so than in
his foregoing premises. For Hammer was not nearly so unlikeable as
he imagined; in the effort to cast his old life and his youthful
mistakes far behind him he had plunged into the swiftest maelstrom he
could find, as better men than he have done and will do, but he had
managed to keep his head above water--much to his own surprise.
The good-humoured manner, which was at first an assumption to hide
the hurts beneath, had finally become reality, and perhaps Harcourt
had shrewdly reckoned on the fact that mental trouble is very likely
to lessen and vanish beneath the light of friendship.
Harcourt himself was little bothered over his own financial crash.
Accustomed to thinking little of money or its value, he did not
trouble greatly about making his living now that his plans for the
immediate future were settled. He was twenty-six, two years younger
than the American, but he had taken the _Daphne_ far around the seven
seas, and in some ways was a good deal older than Hammer.
The following day, having procured other clothes than his dress-suit,
Hammer went aboard the _Daphne_. She was a small but luxuriously
furnished steam-yacht of a thousand tons burden, and having been
already overhauled for the benefit of Dr. Krausz, was ready for sea,
save for stores and crew; also, the archaeologist's "impedimenta", as
Harcourt had termed it, had not yet come aboard. Hammer was
delighted with her, and with Harcourt and John Solomon, put in a busy
day.
Harcourt was well satisfied with his supercargo, for Solomon took
charge of the purchasing of the stores, and not only procured them of
excellent quality, but at an astonishingly low price.
He proved to have a thorough acquaintance with his duties, and also
with the duties of the other officers, and promised to be on the
whole an exceedingly useful man.
Nothing was seen of Dr. Sigurd Krausz during the next two days, but
Hammer learned that the point of the expedition was a small bay near
Melindi, on the East African coast, and that another part of the
expedition was being sent ahead to make the preliminary excavations.
On the third morning Harcourt sent the American to Krausz's hotel to
inform the professor that the yacht was ready for her lading and
passengers, and now, for the first time, as a result of that sending,
Cyrus Hammer found himself awakening to the fact that he had been
suddenly transplanted into a group of peculiar individuals, from the
aristocratic but "busted" viscount and the pudgy John Solomon to the
unscientific-appearing scientist, and that there was a screw loose
somewhere.
This was the manner of it. Being now in possession of his
firstmate's certificate--"and no questions asked"--Hammer sent in his
name and was admitted to the presence of the already-famous
archaeologist. For Sigurd Krausz was not after the pattern Hammer
had anticipated.
He was a rather thick-set man, clad only in pyjamas, and was at work
over a desk full of papers. These he abandoned to greet Hammer,
pulling the latter aside to the window as if to keep him away from
the desk.
Then, through his host's _négligé_ attire, Hammer saw that Krausz was
a mass of muscles; his hand-grip was like iron, and his large head
was set well back between his shoulders in a fashion which made him
greet the world with out-flung jaw.
There was nothing very remarkable about the man's face, which was
Saxon rather than Teutonic, save for the heavy-lidded eyes. The
features were regular, of massive mould, and the ridge denoting the
thinker overhung the eyes; but--and this Hammer did not observe at
once---the right temple was crossed by a nervous muscle, which
throbbed like a ribbon underneath the skin.
On the whole, Hammer liked the scientist, deciding that while his
face could be cruel upon occasion, it was the face of a strong man.
"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Hammer," exclaimed Krausz cordially,
on learning the American's errand. He seemed in no hurry to return
to his papers, but pressed Hammer into a chair and questioned him
closely about the yacht, puffing the while at a long black panetela.
Thanks to his recent labours, Hammer survived the examination in good
shape, and his personality seemed to make some impression on the
German.
"I like you, yess, friend Hammer," remarked the latter, handing him
one of the thin panetelas. "Also, I like Mr. Harcourt, and trust we
will get on well together. You are American, yess? I like
Americans, but not the British, for sailors. That iss why I am
putting some of my own men aboard, for they will also serve as
helpers in the work. You are interested in archaeology, yess?"
"Not in general," returned Hammer frankly. "However, I didn't know
there was anything to be dug up on the east coast of Africa."
"Oh, plenty, plenty!" puffed the other, and after a long puff
continued: "It iss some relics of Portuguese rule in Mombasa which I
hope to find--relics more important ass ethnological and historic
things than for their intrinsic value."
"By the way, I'd like to know just how many are in your party,
doctor. Our steward wants to get the cabins in shape."
"My party? _Nein_, there will be but myself and my secretary going
out. Professor Helmuth my assistant, leaves to-day for Mombasa to
get things started, and coming back we will perhaps crowd the ship,
yess.
"My second mate, Hans Schlak, will bring the men aboard to-morrow; if
our necessary permits, and so on, arrive from the British Colonial
Office, we will leave the day after. They should be here already.
That iss satisfactory?"
"Perfectly--" began Hammer, when a third voice interrupted
apologetically.
"In half an hour the _Mombasa_ sails, Herr Doctor!"
Krausz turned with an exclamation. Shuffling out from a shadowed
corner of the room, Hammer saw a black-clad, small, flat-chested man,
with deep-set, furtive eyes, high brow, and retreating chin; the chin
did not express weakness altogether, for it was rather the fox chin,
which denotes cunning and ability. The doctor waved a hand.
"Mr. Hammer, my secretary, Adolf Jenson. Very good, Adolf; better
take a taxi and deliver the papers in person. Remember, Professor
Sara L. Helmuth, stateroom 12 B."
With this he turned to the desk and picked up a small black rubber
wallet, which Jenson took with something very like a cringe,
departing with an inaudible murmur of words.
Somewhat disgusted with the man, Hammer followed him, once more
gripping the firm hand of Krausz and taking with him the remembrance
of cordial words and an effusive smile from the big scientist.
The American stopped in the hotel entrance to light the doctor's
cigar, and, as he glanced over his cupped hands, he saw something
that astonished him. For there, just at the curb, and beckoning
frantically to the nearest taxi, was no less a person than his
supercargo, honest John Solomon!
Hammer stared in disbelief of his own eyes, since Solomon was at that
moment supposed to be laying in a supply of extra cabin stores on the
other side of the city.
But there was no mistake; even as the taxi drew up Solomon turned and
waved his cap at some unseen individual farther up the street, then
scrambled headfirst into the machine, his hurried words floating back
to Hammer:
"P. and O. docks--the _Mombasa_! And 'urry or no tip!"
The taxi darted away, Hammer staring after it dazedly. What on earth
could this mean? Why was this fat little Cockney supercargo of his
chasing in a taxi-cab after a P. and O. liner due to sail in half an
hour? Could it have any connection with the errand of the secretary,
Adolf Jenson?
A flood of questions darted through Hammer's brain on the instant,
and, giving way to the impulse, he sprang to the taxi which had drawn
up to the curb in place of that taken by Solomon. Whatever the
supercargo's purpose might be, Hammer determined to get down to the
dock before the liner sailed and see what was going on, if possible.
It might be a wild-goose chase, but on the other hand----
"P. and O. docks--I want to see the _Mombasa_ go out, and she leaves
in twenty minutes. Do it on the jump!"
The chauffeur grinned, and slammed the door. A moment later they
were driving through the streets at a good speed, the American still
pondering this surprising action of his harmless-looking little
supercargo.
And Solomon had actually been talking of tips, when only a couple of
days before he had dared much in order to capture a job! The whole
affair was perplexing in the extreme.
"I never did like fat men, anyhow," reflected Hammer grimly. "That
chap seemed to know a whole lot the first night we met, and I'll bet
that he isn't the fool he looks by a long shot. But whatever got him
mixed up with this Krausz business--if he is mixed up in it? I may
be barking up the wrong tree, of course, and everything may be all
right, so I'd better go slow if I catch him."
The conviction grew upon him during the remainder of his ride that he
would have done much better to have waited, and to have questioned
Solomon upon returning to the yacht.
The man might have friends leaving on the liner--but Hammer forgot
his vague reasonings when the taxi drew up suddenly and he found the
entrance to the docks of the Peninsula and Oriental just ahead.
The chauffeur had done his work well, for the journey had taken just
fifteen minutes. Hammer found the dock gates open and pushed his way
through the crowd; as he did so he passed the black-clad figure of
Adolf Jenson.
But the meek little secretary did not look up, vanishing toward the
gates; and the American glanced around for John Solomon in vain.
There was no trace of him in the crowd, and the ship had already been
cleared of visitors. The waiting tenders had their lines out, and as
Hammer gazed up the gang-plank was just being taken in.
The whistle crashed out, drowning the tinkle of bells, and at the
same instant Hammer saw an officer walk hastily to the open gangway,
accompanied by a small pudgy man, dressed in blue.
They stood talking together for an instant, then shook hands; the
siren shrilled forth, and wharf-lines were cast off, and John Solomon
leaped ashore with amazing agility, and was lost in the crowd.
Standing watching in sore perplexity, Hammer recalled the name of the
scientist's assistant--"Professor Sara L. Helmuth". He turned and
pushed back to his waiting taxicab, execrating his useless trip, for
he was now convinced that it had been useless.
"I seem fated to get mixed up with people I don't like," he smiled to
himself, as he was being driven back to the city, the Royal Thames
docks being up-river. "First it's a blue-eyed fat man, and then it's
a woman relic-hunter, to say nothing of that swine of a secretary.
Sara L. Helmuth--gosh, what a name! I never did know a woman named
Sara that was worth a darn for looks."
With which conclusion he paid off his chauffeur and walked the
remainder of the distance in an irritable humour enough. This humour
was by no means lessened when he saw John Solomon standing at the
gangway, checking off some stores that were coming aboard, while a
number of heavily-loaded wagons stood waiting by the foredeck, where
a steam winch was getting into action and stevedores were bustling
about.
"What's all this?" he demanded bluntly. "I thought you were in the
city."
"No, sir," returned Solomon, not looking up. "I did take a bit of a
run up, sir; but them 'ere wagons were a bringing of our lading, so I
'urried back. Werry fine day, sir."
Hammer grunted. "Tell the steward that there will only be two
passengers. Dr. Krausz and his secretary. The crew will be aboard
to-night or in the morning."
"Werry good, sir."
Solomon went calmly on with his lists while the extra cabin stores
were brought up the gangway. Suddenly, as one of the trucks stopped
for checking off, a case of tinned goods joggled over, and Solomon
leaned forward, catching it before it fell.
The action flung his short blue coat up around his waist, and Hammer
caught a glimpse of a black rubber wallet protruding from the man's
hip-pocket. He recognized it instantly; it was the same wallet which
Krausz had sent aboard the _Mombasa_ an hour previously!
The American leaned quickly forward and snatched the wallet away.
Solomon, having replaced the case, straightened up and whirled, and
Hammer met his wide blue stare with a smile.
"You nearly lost this," he said coolly. "Nothing very valuable, I
hope?"
Solomon's eyes widened a trifle.
"Lud, no, sir! Nothing more wallyble than my 'baccy, sir. If so be
as a man likes 'baccy I says, then it's place ain't in a dirty
pocket, but in a neat like pouch, says I. Werry kind o' you to save
it for me, sir."
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Hammer opened the wallet, determined
to test the truth of Solomon's explanation. He was convinced that
this same black rubber pouch had contained the papers sent by Krausz
to Professor Sara L. Helmuth, and that Solomon had, in some way,
obtained them from the latter, or else from the meek secretary.
But his growing anger evaporated suddenly when the opened wallet
showed nothing more than a vile-smelling flat plug of very black,
molasses-impregnated tobacco.
"Yes, a good pouch, that," he said quietly, closing it up and handing
it back to its owner, his face inscrutable. "Is Mr. Harcourt about?"
"In the saloon cabin, sir," and, nodding, the American went on board.
He looked back once and saw Solomon mopping his brow; for some reason
the action seemed significant of relief on the part of the
supercargo, and Hammer frowned.
"Confound it, I'd like to know a few things!" he muttered savagely.
"I'll have a run-in with that fellow yet! Wish I hadn't stood up for
him the other night at Prince's; I should have let Harcourt kick him
out, and a good job."
And the events which were to follow kept the regret keen in his mind.