WHO MURDERED HANS SCHLAK?
"My God! Don't look at me like that, sir--I didn't do it!"
Trembling in every limb, the secretary shrank back against the berth,
staring up at Hammer with horrified eyes.
The American, to whom Jenson was repulsive, made no attempt to lay a
finger on the man, but stood looking at him with sternly questioning
eyes; palsied with fear, the fellow babbled out protestations of his
innocence until suddenly Hammer waved him silent.
"That's enough from you. How long have you been here?"
"I just came in, Mr. Hammer. I can prove it by Dr. Krausz; I've been
with him until just now----"
Hammer leaned over and touched Schlak. The second mate was dead, and
had been dead for some time, since the body was set fast in the rigor
mortis. For a moment he looked down, frowning, then swept the cabin
with his gaze.
Evidently here had been a struggle, and a desperate one. A chair was
broken and overturned, clothes and papers were strewn about the
floor, and the clenched fists of the body showed that death had not
found Hans Schlak unawares.
In one hand Hammer saw a fragment of paper, and after a moment's work
got it away intact; it was a torn corner of a letter, probably, for a
few words in German could be made out written in pencil.
Contrary to his own will and even against his first supposition, the
American was forced to the conclusion that the cringing secretary was
innocent. True, he had the man standing over the body, but Schlak
had been dead for an hour at least--in all probability he had
returned from the dining-saloon to find his fate awaiting him.
Therefore, someone must have been in his room during his absence at
mess. Who? Not Jenson, for Jenson had been at the table with them;
and Hammer mentally accounted for every member of the officers' mess
that evening, except John Solomon.
An instant later he remembered that he himself had sent the
supercargo off to make up some accounts which Harcourt desired to
see, and that Solomon had returned a few moments after Schlak had
left the table.
Therefore, it would seem that the pudgy supercargo was cleared; and
at the thought of the little man killing the viking Hans Schlak,
Hammer smiled grimly.
"So you didn't do it, eh?" he said sternly, thinking to make the
secretary cringe for a moment. Hammer had a thorough dislike and
contempt for the man, and made no secret of it. "I find you standing
over this body, and you claim innocence! Do you think that will
stand when you get up before the German Consul at Mombasa?"
For a moment Jenson broke out anew with his frenzied babbling,
weaving his hands in and out, his face ghastly with terror; then he
caught the American's contemptuous smile and shivered into silence.
Hammer was satisfied, but he was to pay dearly for that short moment
of play with Adolf Jenson's nerves.
"Oh, you're cleared all right, Jenson! Now go down and send Captain
Harcourt here, and Dr. Krausz with him. Tell no one else what has
happened."
With which Hammer went forward and investigated among the crew. But
one and all could account for themselves and proved good alibis, even
to the Arabs; so he returned in disgust to the bridge and relieved
Harcourt temporarily.
In ten minutes the captain returned with Krausz, all three men
entering the chart-house gravely enough.
Hammer told his story, exculpating Jenson fully, and produced the
torn scrap of paper taken from Schlak's hand. Dr. Krausz, who had
taken the news with astonishing equanimity, examined the paper and
uttered a cry of surprise.
"It iss the paper I lost that day when I was drank! Mein Gott,
gentlemen, but thiss iss queer! It iss a copy of one of those
Portuguese 'relations', concerning the place to which we going are."
"So?" Harcourt inspected the end of his cigar. "Then whoever took
it from you that day must have been in the cabin with Schlak, and the
row probably started over that paper, by Jove!" He looked up with
sudden excitement. "Is anyone else after this treasure, Dr. Krausz?"
The big German blinked in surprise.
"_Hein_! It would be of no interest to others, but to archaeologists,
yess. No one knows but myself. There iss not any chance of sich a
thing, I am sure."
"Well, here's the knife. It ought to be recognized."
Harcourt laid the weapon on the table--a plain, horn-hafted
sheath-knife, with no scratch on the haft to proclaim ownership.
As Hammer had not revealed the cause of his visit to the forecastle,
it was decided to call in each man on board the ship, from stewards
to stokers, and see if the weapon would be recognized.
"It's a cinch that the murderer is on the ship," declared Hammer
confidently. "If that knife belongs to any of the men it'll probably
be recognized."
"By the way," exclaimed Harcourt, "we ought to have Solomon up here.
I believe that chap has some brains, and he can help us out with the
Arabs. Can you handle their bally talk at all, Hammer?"
"Fairly well, but not for rapid-fire work. Yes, better have John
come up, and then start in with the men. I'd better get the articles
and see that we get hold of every man aboard, hadn't I?"
The captain nodded, and Hammer went below. He went first to his own
cabin, where he dug to the bottom of a ditty-bag full of soiled linen
and fished out an old-style revolver of small size but heavy calibre.
"Not that I want to shoot her any," he grinned to himself, "but she
feels comforting with murderers aboard! Guess I'd have to have a man
within a yard of me to hit him with this mule of a gun, anyhow."
Visiting Harcourt's cabin, he procured the ship's papers, sent
Roberts to ask John Solomon to step to the chart-house and to follow
himself, and returned. At anyrate, he thought grimly, this cruise
bade fair to beat cattle-boats as far as excitement was concerned.
He found the others as he had left them, Harcourt smoking and Krausz
staring glumly at the knife, which lay on the table before them. A
moment later the supercargo arrived, puffing after his climb, and at
Harcourt's invitation dropped into the fourth deck-chair.
"Do you know that knife, Mr. Solomon?"
"Why, cap'n, I can't say that I do--no, sir; I never laid eyes on it
afore, not as I knows of. I--why, dang it! There's blood----"
"Yes," cut in Harcourt grimly. "Mr. Schlak was murdered this
evening. Oh, hello, Roberts! Tell the men to come up here one by
one--come in here first. Ever see this knife before?"
Roberts approached the table and replied in the negative, after which
Harcourt waved him away. John Solomon said no more, but stared from
one to the other of the three, silent with the horror of the thing.
Taking pity on him, Hammer explained the affair, and had barely
finished when the men began to come in, wondering greatly at the time
and place of the summons.
One by one they passed through, each denying any knowledge of the
knife, and Hammer pricked off the names. The four Arabs had not yet
appeared when Adolf Jenson came to seek his master on some trivial
errand and stopped, pale-faced and with a virulent glance at the
American, as he noted what was going on.
Solomon's eyes turned to him, remaining in a fixed stare; and after a
moment the secretary evidently became uneasy, for he passed out into
the night again after returning a brief negative to Harcourt's formal
question.
There were only five men left--the four Arabs and the German
boatswain, Hugo Baumgardner. Two of the Arabs, the only ones who
knew English, came through, and after them the boatswain. Then for
the first time things began to look interesting.
"Yes, sir," replied Baumgardner slowly, scratching his mop of black
hair reflectively and speaking excellent English, "it seems to me
I've seen that knife before; there's a funny twist to the handle if
you notice, sir."
An electric-charged silence settled down, while Baumgardner scratched
his head and stared at the table. From outside came a murmur of
voices from the waiting men; then very quietly John Solomon rose and
stepped to the door.
No one except Hammer paid any attention to the movement, and the
American, after noting that Solomon was saying something to some
person out of sight, centred his thoughts on the stalwart boatswain.
"Well, tell us where you saw it," spoke up Krausz encouragingly, as
Solomon resumed his chair. Baumgardner frowned heavily, then his
face cleared.
"Why, sir, it was the day after we left Malta--I remember that Mr.
Solomon was breaking out a case of champagne and I was helping him
with it. Yes, that's it. I asked him for a knife--I'd left mine in
my bunk--and he passed me that one to cut away the straw around the
case. Just let me hold it a minute." Harcourt passed over the knife
and the German folded his great hand around it, nodding. "Yes, I
could swear to it, Mr. Harcourt. I hope there's nothing wrong, sir?"
"Nothing, Baumgardner. You have seen the knife at no other time, I
suppose?"
"No, sir. I only remembered it because it had that little hitch at
the end of the handle, but it's the same one."
"Very well. That will do."
No one said anything for a moment. Hammer's eyes went to Solomon,
and he surprised a peculiar look in the other's face--a peculiar look
which he could not fathom. It was as if John Solomon's faith in
human nature had suddenly received a shock, and if it was acting,
then it was cleverly done.
A second later the third Arab entered, replied to Harcourt's
question, which Solomon translated with a curt negative, and passed
on. The fourth Arab, however, glanced at the knife, and before a
word had been uttered his eyes lit up. Harcourt caught the gleam and
checked Solomon.
"Wait a moment, Mr. Solomon. Hammer, I think you'd better ask him,
to avoid any suspicion against Solomon's question; not that we
suspect you, Solomon, but under the circumstances it might be better."
"Quite so, sir," rejoined the supercargo humbly. "I'm werry sorry,
o' course, sir."
Hammer put the question in faltering Arabic, and the man nodded at
once.
"Yes, _effendi_, I have seen the knife. Has it a small nick near the
end of the blade?"
The American translated and Harcourt picked up the weapon.
"Correct. Ask him where he saw it."
Then Hammer received a surprise.
"I saw it two days ago, _effendi_--no, it was four days ago, two days
after _effendi_ was drunk and you hit him very hard. I was cleaning
the brasswork. I saw the little black man come near me, and there
was a bad place in the brass. I asked him if he had a knife, for I
had none, and he lent me this one. I remember the nick in the blade,
for Allah willed that it scratch my thumb."
Startled, Hammer made the man repeat his statement to make sure there
was no mistake and that he had understood correctly; then he
translated for the others. He saw Krausz dart a single flaming
glance at Solomon, which the latter seemed not to note, and then
Harcourt spoke up:
"Ask him who he means by the little black man."
The Arab could not say, except that he would know the man again; but
Hammer felt no doubt in his own mind that Jenson was indicated, and
summoned the latter. Upon his arrival the Arab identified him at
once.
"That is the man, _effendi_. If he says that the knife is not his,
then he is a----"
The Arab's opinion of Jenson coincided more or less with that of
Hammer, but the American cut short the Hood of expletives and ordered
the man to stand aside.
"Gentlemen," said Harcourt gravely, "this situation would be
laughable were it not so deuced serious. One man states that Mr.
Solomon had the knife when he left Malta; Solomon denies having ever
seen it before; another man states that Mr. Jenson had it since that
time. You will have noted that the Arab recognized the blade by its
slight nick, of which he could have had no previous knowledge. In my
opinion neither witness is to be doubted."
Not until then did the unhappy secretary realize what had transpired,
or why he had been sent for. Comprehending the drift of things at
Harcourt's words, transfixed by his master's gloomy eye, poor Jenson
shrank back, trembling, an agony of fear in his livid features.
"I--I never had it!" he cried in a strangled voice. "Heir
Doctor--gentlemen--I swear before God and the Virgin--I never had the
thing, never saw it----"
"Don't cry before you're hurt, Jenson," said Harcourt coldly. "Then
you deny having had the knife in your possession, eh?"
"Yes! My God, yes!" With a sudden snarl that brought out his
rat-like teeth he whirled on Hammer, "It's you who framed this thing
up--you always hated me; you accused me of doing it in the first
place----"
"Shut up!" The heavy voice of Krausz silenced his frenzied words.
"Captain Harcourt, you are in command here; but if you please I would
like a word to say, yess?"
"Certainly, doctor."
"Then I can witness that thiss man, Adolf Jenson, wass with me from
the time I went to my cabin after mess until five minutes before I
wass called up here. Also, I left the dining-saloon before Schlak
did. If poor Schlak wass killed after then thiss must surely absolve
Jenson."
"It would certainly seem to, by Jove!" exclaimed Harcourt, frankly
puzzled. "Mr. Solomon, kindly explain to us why you denied all
knowledge of the knife when we first asked you about it. Do you
stick to that denial?"
"No, sir," and the wide blue eyes, which had rested on Jenson with a
wondering look, shifted to Harcourt. "You see, sir, I don't carry
weapons, not as a rule. Everything in its place, I says, and a
supercargo 'e don't rightly 'ave no use for knives. When so be as I
wants a knife I gets one from the steward, or borries one anywhere.
It may be werry well be as the bos'n says----"
"Then why did you deny it in the first place?" shot out Harcourt
sternly.
Solomon hesitated, his eyes shifting from face to face appealingly.
"Well, sir, I suspicioned as summat was wrong. I don't 'old to
gettin' shipmates into 'ot water, sir, beggin' your pardon, and I
says to myself, 'John Solomon, tell a lie,' just like that, sir.
'Tell a lie,' I says, 'and don't be a-gettin' of a poor shipmate into
'ot water. Do as you would be done by,' I says----"
"Confound it," exclaimed Harcourt, "tell me who you borrowed that
knife from or I'll put you in irons!"
"Well, sir," sighed the supercargo, "I must say as I remembers it
werry well, and werry sorry I am to 'ave to say it, Mr. Jenson; but
you----"
"You lie!" screamed Jenson terribly, flinging himself forward. With
unexpected agility Dr. Krausz leaped up and gripped him. "You lie!
You lie! You lie!" Over and over the words were shrieked out until
a torrent of German from the scientist quieted the livid-faced
secretary.
It was a scene that lingered long in the mind of Hammer--stolid,
pudgy Solomon sitting quietly with something like sadness in his
eyes, while Jenson, an agony of dumb horror in his face, panted in
the grip of the Teuton, Harcourt watching with a troubled frown, and
the Arab standing back in silence.
"Ordinarily that would be good evidence enough," stated Harcourt
finally. "However, it is only your word against Jenson's, Solomon,
with the preponderance of evidence in your favour.
"Still, Jenson has an excellent alibi. Where were you while you were
absent from the dining-saloon?"
"In me own cabin, sir," came the prompt answer. "Fixing up them
accounts, sir."
"Anyone see you there?"
"Not as I knows on sir."
"Then your bally alibi's smashed and we're worse tangled up than
ever!"
Silence once more settled over the chart-house. For the life of him
Hammer could not solve the puzzle, and in desperation he suggested
that the remainder of the crew be sent for.
Since two of the forecastle mess had recognized the weapon there was
a chance that some of the engine-room crew might have seen it and so
might corroborate either the Arab or Baumgardner.
Harcourt accordingly summoned every man on board but with no result.
Each and all positively denied ever having seen the knife, and
finally the Arab was dismissed with the rest, Baumgardner being
advanced to acting second mate with orders to prepare the body of
Schlak for burial the next morning.
"I'm bally well stumped, gentlemen," announced Harcourt wearily.
Jenson was now standing beside his master, one of Krausz's big hands
resting on his arm. "What's your opinion, Hammer?"
The American hesitated. Plainly the secretary believed him to have
framed up the charge, and it was next to impossible to believe that
the fellow had really murdered the giant mate. Besides, the alibi
was heavily in the man's favour.
"From the evidence of the Arab and John Solomon," he said slowly, "it
would seem that Jenson is guilty. But the body was stiff, remember,
and there had been a struggle, to say nothing of the alibi. On the
other hand, Solomon cannot prove where he was at the time. I would
suggest entering on the log that Schlak was murdered by persons
unknown, and then put the matter up to the German Consul who would
probably have jurisdiction at Mombasa."
"No," corrected Harcourt. "Extra territorial rights have been
withdrawn in British East Africa. The government would have
jurisdiction. What is your opinion, doctor?"
"I would leave it to you, captain. I say it iss for you to settle."
"And _I_ say," exclaimed Harcourt with sudden harshness, "that no man
is to be murdered in my ship without someone swinging for it, by the
Lord Harry! We'll get into Kilindini, and never a man goes ashore
until this has been ferreted out. John Solomon, and you, Adolf
Jenson, mind that!"
So the matter ended for the present, after affidavits and statements
had been drawn up and signed by all concerned. But, as he paced the
bridge that night, Cyrus Hammer thrashed the matter over and over in
his mind. The strands were twisted a little bit too much to his
manner of thinking.
Solomon's absence in his own cabin was bad, for there was nothing to
prove that he had been there, save his own word. This, however, was
balanced by the fact that the knife seemed to belong to Jenson, whose
flat denial of this evidence looked very bad also. Yet his alibi was
unimpeachable.
What with Baumgardner testifying against Solomon, and the latter
against Jenson, the thing was badly tangled. Yet the evidence was in
favour of the secretary clearly. He would hardly have stolen the
paper from Krausz, over which the struggle would seem to have been
waged, and he could account for his movements.
Despite the ownership of the knife, there would seem to be a much
better case against John Solomon, except for the testimony of the
Arab--and at this the American paused. _What had the supercargo said
there at the door of the chart-house_?
For a long moment Hammer stood staring out at the sea, startled by
this thought which had winged its way into his brain. Was it
possible that in that moment Solomon had given the Arab his cue?
But why? He had not desired to testify against Jenson at first,
beyond doubt. Hammer's mind flashed back again--Jenson also had left
the chart-house shortly before Baumgardner's recognition of the blade.
Was it possible that Jenson had instructed the boatswain what to say,
that Solomon had read his purpose and blocked the move by the counter
testimony of his Arab?
"By Godfrey," thought the American, "that's expecting too much
altogether of Solomon's wits. Besides, Baumgardner doesn't look as
if he'd lie in order to save that little shrimp of a secretary.
Well, I guess it's up to the authorities at Mombasa, and here's
hoping they can find more sense in the whole affair than I can."
With which he patted the side-pocket of his coat reassuringly and
devoted himself to keeping a sharper lookout than usual.
The next morning Schlak was buried, and the _Daphne_ went once more
upon her way with the mystery still unsettled, until in due time she
rounded into Kilindini, the southern harbour of Mombasa, and her
anchors crashed down into the waters of the port.