HAMMER STARTS SOMETHING
The American was at a loss to make out what had happened to Potbelly.
The mission-boy had arrived grinningly, almost insolently, and after
a look at the ring he had seemed to be transfixed by terror. What
was there about that ring to create such an impression? Certainly it
looked harmless enough, and Herr Krausz would have observed anything
unduly curious about it.
From inside the tent of Professor Helmuth he could hear, as he
waited, Potbelly's voice rising shrilly, though the words were lost.
Then came a softer, deeper voice, which he recognized as that of the
lady in question. He grinned to himself as he remembered her cool
determination of that morning.
"I guess Potbelly's having his troubles about now," he thought. "By
Godfrey, I'll have to get to the bottom of this mystery some way!
And the only way to do it, I guess, is to have a frank explanation
with Professor Sara L. Helmuth--bless her brown eyes! I wonder why I
never liked that name Sara before now!"
Hammer was still cogitating this all-important point when he saw
Potbelly's black visage appear from the tent-flap, and the boy
beckoned hastily. The American, holding the ring in his hand,
stepped to the tent door.
Sara L. Helmuth, professor and mistress of Semitic languages, was
sitting at the table inside, a revolver ready to her hand.
Simply and coolly dressed in white, with her rippling brown hair
coiled loosely on her head, she offered an extremely attractive
picture to Cyrus Hammer, is spite of the circles of weariness and
trouble about her eyes.
He had always felt a weakness for women who were self-reliant without
becoming, as he had phrased it, "short-haired", and that she was such
a woman had been evident from the first. Moreover, the doctor had
said that she was just twenty-three.
She did not rise, but stood looking at him for a moment, and Hammer
felt that to her the situation was, for some reason, very grave.
Instinctively he sympathized with her, and under the thought his face
lost its harder outlines, though it retained to the full all its
rugged, healthy strength. Then she waved her hand toward a
camp-stool just inside the door.
"Sit down, Mr. Hammer. Make sure the boys are watching, Potbelly."
The mission-boy disappeared. Hammer felt unaccountably at a loss, as
though all his assurance were ebbing away beneath her steady gaze,
and waited for her to speak.
"Potbelly tells me, Mr. Hammer, that you have come from Mr. Solomon.
If that was true, why did you not speak of it this morning?"
"Eh?" he stammered, utterly bewildered. "Mr. Solomon? You mean John
Solomon?"
"Who else would I mean?"
"Why--Miss Helmuth, I--you can search me! I haven't come from John
Solomon, not that I know of. What's got into that fellow of yours,
anyway? Now please don't look like that"--for she had suddenly
stiffened in her chair, her eyes cold--"but I can't make head or tale
of this thing, professor. That's straight!
"I didn't tell Potbelly that I wanted to see you, and I didn't send
him to you with that message. I wanted him to ask you if you could
read the seal engraving on this ring, for it looks like Arabic. He
jumped off on his own hook and told me to come along."
There was unbelief in the brown eyes that gazed searchingly into his,
but the American's whole attitude betrayed the sincerity behind his
words. Slowly the girl relaxed in her chair, and held out her hand.
"Let me see the ring."
He gave it to her in silence. She bent over it a moment, then rose
with lithe grace and took an enlarging glass from an open suitcase
near by.
She stood by the light of the open flap, scrutinising it closely,
while Hammer's eyes wandered over her slender figure and jerked back
quickly to her face, almost guiltily: for Cyrus Hammer was like most
highly-strung, clean, hard-living men in that he idealized women in
general, and his own women friends in particular.
That, indeed, had contributed largely to his utter demoralization
after the disillusion that had come upon him three years before.
"Where did you get this ring, Mr. Hammer?"
He started, for his thoughts had been far away. She returned to her
seat, having seemingly lost her fear for a moment, and he told her
how the ring had been brought to him an hour before, and how the
messenger had straightway departed without a word of explanation.
While he spoke her eyes searched his face keenly, and at the end she
nodded.
"I suppose your story is true, Mr. Hammer; though it sounds rather
odd, I must admit that there is truth in your face. That is exactly
what I cannot understand."
"You can't? Why not, please? You must have a pretty bad opinion of
people!"
"Well, perhaps I have some reason for it, Mr. Hammer. But--well, no
matter. Where is Mr. Solomon? Have you seen him?"
"Not since he left the yacht," and Hammer told what he knew of John
Solomon. It occurred to him that this was a chance to heal the
breach, and accordingly he dilated upon Dr. Sigurd Krausz as a
side-issue, putting in as good a word for the scientist as he could.
He did not see that suspicion was darkening in the girl's brown eyes
as he proceeded, nor did he note that her hand had closed once more
upon the revolver, until she held out the ring and interrupted
bluntly.
"That is enough, thank you. This ring, as you probably know, bears
the Arabic name of Suleiman, or Solomon. There is no use saying any
more in favour of Dr. Krausz, Mr. Hammer. Your story is rather
improbable, to say the least."
"Why, what do you mean?" He was once more startled by her sudden
change of front, comprehending that she had resumed her hostile
attitude. "I wish you would tell me if I can be of any help to you,
Miss Helmuth! I put it up to the doctor flat, and he told me to keep
out of a family row, but----"
"Now, listen, please," she broke in again, her voice cold--almost
desperate, he thought vaguely.
"Your story is not convincing, Mr. Hammer, and I am frankly afraid
that you think me a good deal of a simpleton. That ring may have
come from John Solomon and it may not, but under the circumstances I
prefer to take no chances.
"I never met Mr. Solomon, and I never met you; I am practically
helpless here, except for my four mission boys, and while you and the
doctor may pull the wool over their eyes, I intend to take care of
myself.
"When you can produce Mr. Solomon to vouch for you, then things will
be different. Until then, I must decline to have any further
communication with you."
Poor Hammer stared at her, wondering which of them was crazy. A
moment before she had seemed perfectly amenable to reason, but his
references to Krausz seemed to have flicked her on the raw and turned
her against him again.
"But, Miss Helmuth, can't you see that I am trying to help you? Good
Heavens, girl, I'm not any great friend of the doctor! Things here
look pretty badly for me, and I'm only anxious to help you if I can.
Why are you helpless here? I can't very well go after Krausz with a
shotgun without knowing why!"
"I think you know why, Mr. Hammer, and I don't believe there is any
use in discussing the matter further. There is only one man I can
trust, and if you have been telling the truth I will be glad to
apologize.
"But you are either a great fool or you are very ignorant of
conditions, and if you came from Mr. Solomon I do not think you would
be in either category.
"I can only conclude that you are, as you yourself admitted, in the
pay of Dr. Krausz. If Mr. Solomon comes, as I have prayed he will
come then he may be able to vouch for you. If not--well, I shall not
give up without a fight, that's all."
She rose in dismissal, but Hammer refused to budge.
"Give up what, Miss Helmuth? I'm sorry you don't believe me, but I
don't know what the row is about."
The brown eyes gazed at him steadily, almost contemptuously.
"How did Dr. Krausz know that I had appealed to Mr. Solomon for aid?"
"He didn't, that I know of," retorted the American, losing patience.
"What on earth is all this talk about that little fat man, anyway?
You say you've never met him, then you say that he's the only man you
can trust and to bring him along to vouch for me. If I do, who's
going to vouch for him, I'd like to know?"
Her eyes dilated slowly, and Hammer was under the impression that his
words had had some effect. He was soon undeceived, however.
"Oh, is he a little fat man with big blue eyes?" and there was
amazement in her voice.
"He is," returned Hammer ungraciously. "Also, he's in the employ of
Dr. Krausz as supercargo--same as me, if you please. Also, I think
he's the biggest liar unhung. I can't quite see the connection
between you and him, professor."
"Then--he was the man who came on the _Mombasa_----" she began as if
speaking to herself, stopping abruptly and gazing at Hammer as if he
had surprised her into revealing some secret. He paid slight
attention to her words, for he was trying to find the clue which so
persistently eluded his efforts.
Certainly his own statements were a good deal more lucid than hers,
and were not so conflicting by half. Yet she seemed to think that he
and Krausz were leagued against her in some way and that the ring was
some kind of a trick.
She claimed never to have met Solomon, yet described him and seemed
to trust him implicitly! Small wonder that the American groaned to
himself in despair.
Sara Helmuth was still standing, however, and now she looked down at
him with angry eyes; but Hammer thought that seldom had he seen so
magnificent a girl even though her mind might be a trifle unbalanced.
"You seem to be insensible to my invitation to depart, Mr. Hammer,"
and there was cold rage in her voice; "and since you have been clever
enough to worm most of the secret out of me, I'll tell you the rest
in order to get rid of you.
"Mr. Solomon came aboard the _Mombasa_ at London, stating that he was
a messenger from John Solomon and proving it quite efficiently.
Naturally I did not recognize him, but I turned over to him the
papers, and received them in duplicate when I reached Mombasa from
the hands of Potbelly.
"They must have been cabled out, but in any case Potbelly has shown
himself worthy of trust, except in this one instance of your
fraudulent ring. That is all I know, and you can take it back to
your master and share the knowledge with him. Now will you go?"
Hammer began to see light for the first time since the conversation
began. John Solomon's hurried trip aboard the _Mombasa_ was
explained, it seemed; also the conflicting statements of Miss Helmuth
began to straighten themselves out.
And yet the thing sounded so incredible! John Solomon, a fat little
cockney supercargo, in league with this girl he had only seen once----
"I'll go," he said helplessly, "but I'm going to have this thing out
with Krausz and see what screw is loose, Miss Helmuth. I still can't
understand your connection with that little rat Solomon--but I'll go."
So he went, without a word more from her, back to the other tent,
where he filled his pipe and tried to get the affair into more lucid
shape within his own mind. The effort was vain, however.
The one thing that stood out above all others was that Potbelly's
recognition of the ring had been in vain, that Sara Helmuth had
absolutely no confidence in it, and had a very lively suspicion that
he and Krausz were attempting to trick her.
But what about? It was no longer a question of this woman being a
prig--Hammer saw deeper than that, at least. There was something
underlying it all that vitally affected her.
This much he knew: Krausz had sent her certain papers in a black
wallet from the hotel in London, and she had given those papers to
Solomon five minutes later, doubtless without reading them. Then
Solomon had lied to him about the black wallet, and he had done it
artistically, too. The American began to consider Solomon seriously.
"I'll bet a dollar I was right about Schlak's murder," he thought
suddenly. "John Solomon put that Arab up to testifying as he did,
and whether Jenson worked the same game with Baumgardner--say, I'll
run a bluff on that big Dutchman!"
As the idea occurred to him he looked up and saw Baumgardner himself
approaching the tent, evidently having been sent for something by the
scientist.
Hammer laid down his pipe and waited until the other came up to the
entrance, when he quickly brought out his revolver and covered the
surprised German.
"Sit down, Baumgardner," and he made his voice as cold and menacing
as possible. "I've a word to say to you, my man."
Anger flitted over the other's heavy countenance, but Hammer was in
no mood to be trifled with and showed it plainly. The boatswain sat
down.
"Now bear in mind that you're under my authority, bos'n, and not
under that of the doctor. No, shut your head! I've got you to
rights, Baumgardner. Thought you were pretty smooth, didn't you,
when you pulled off that play aboard the yacht? But I'm on to you,
and you go back before the German Consul, you and Jenson, and before
the British authorities.
"I'm going to open up the case of Schlak's death with a vengeance,
and you'll get about two years breaking stone on the Mombasa roads
for perjury, you and Jenson. How does that strike you, my man?"
It struck, plain enough, and struck heavily. Baumgardner, who was a
big, black-haired type like the doctor, stared at first in blank
amazement, but when Hammer finished, his jaw had dropped and dismay
sat in his eyes. The American, at heart terribly doubtful as to the
outcome of his bluff, pressed the advantage instantly.
"Now, look here, Baumgardner. You're a good seaman, and I'd sooner
put Jenson over the road than you. Besides, Mr. Solomon and his Arab
friend are going the same way, so there'll be company, and to spare.
Now tell me exactly what Jenson said to you outside the chart-house
that night."
Baumgardner, whose heavy wits failed to come up to the scratch,
blinked.
"Why, Mr. Hammer," he responded humbly, "he just fixed up the story
with me, that was all, and said he'd stand by me. How did you know
about it, sir?"
"None of your business," snapped Hammer, unutterably relieved. "So
it was a frame-up, eh? And Solomon never had the knife to your
knowledge?"
"No, sir. It belonged to Mr. Schlak."
"Good Lord! Is that so?"
"Yes, sir. The sheath was hanging on his wall, but Mr. Jenson said
to say nothing about it. The hands didn't know because they'd never
been in his cabin and he generally carried another."
"Then we'll land Solomon--but why did he admit having had it?"
The other only stared dully at him, his face pale. The American had
almost forgotten about Sara Helmuth in the light of this amazing
revelation which his bluff had forced out of a clear sky.
He thought swiftly. Solomon must have admitted having had the knife
in order to give better colour to the Arab's testimony, and the
cleverness of it appalled Hammer, who had scarcely expected such
astuteness from the fat supercargo.
Now, however, he determined to carry out the affair to the limit. He
would take Baumgardner and Jenson back to Mombasa, get hold of
Solomon and the Arab, which could easily be done, and set the whole
group breaking stone with the possible exception of the boatswain,
who had been a mere tool in Jenson's hands.
Moreover, the pallid-faced secretary was turning out to be a
dangerous character. The American's dislike of him was being well
verified, and he would have to keep a good watch on the viperish
little black-clad man on the trip to Melindi, where the district
commissioner could take him in charge.
But while he was turning the matter over in his mind, Baumgardner,
perhaps suspecting that the American had bluffed the truth out of
him, was regaining his lost self-control, and now spoke out with
startling boldness.
"You'll have to see Dr. Krausz, Mr. Hammer, before taking us back.
I'm working for him----"
"You shut your head!" Hammer shoved the revolver back into his
pocket, for he much preferred to use his fists, and his face,
dangerously alight, shot forward almost into the German's.
"Don't give me any of your lip or I'll show you who you're working
for, you pie-faced Dutchman! Now stay where you are while I fetch
Jenson, and we'll be off for Melindi in ten minutes. You leave this
affair to me and I'll pull you out of it; but start any monkey-work
and I'll make it hot for you. Don't forget that."
Baumgardner was thoroughly subdued and showed no sign of giving
further trouble. So Hammer, determining to get off in the launch
before the afternoon grew old, called one of the boys who was in
sight.
"You talk English? Good. Break out two chop-boxes and put them
aboard the launch--where is she, Baumgardner?"
"Anchored a quarter-mile off shore, sir. The boat's on the beach.
It's too shallow to run her in closer, sir."
"Very good. Boy, what's your name?"
"Mohammed Bari, sar."
"Then get a couple of boys down to the boat with the boxes and stay
here. Be ready to lead me down there. That's all. How far is the
shore from here, bos'n?"
"Straight down, sir, about three hundred yards. But we come by a
path, sir, which goes down to the boat. It's a matter of a
half-mile."
"All right. You stay where you are."
So, having no more fears that the boatswain would prove
insubordinate, Hammer rummaged around in the effects of Dr. Krausz
until he found a length of very serviceable wire-twisted cord which
would make a good substitute for handcuffs. He was going to take no
chances with Adolf Jenson. A moment later he started for the hill.
With one of the sailors to accompany them and fetch back the launch
from Melindi, he could take care of Jenson. He found Krausz and the
secretary at their table beneath the sun-shelter, and perhaps
something in his eye warned the latter, for Jenson started to his
feet as Hammer came up.
"You're coming back to Mombasa with me, Jenson," said the American,
reaching forward and dragging the fellow out bodily by the collar.
"Stick out your hands, you little beast!"
"_Was ist?_" The doctor's voice was very gentle, but Hammer felt a
little rim of steel touching his neck. "Let that man go please,
yess?"