Читать книгу Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 114

“You can call this fairyland, if you want,” Laura remarked, gazing around her; “I call it a nasty, damp, oozy spot.”

“It seemed very beautiful when we first came,” Lenora sighed, “but that was after the heat and glare of the desert. There does seem something a little unhealthy about it.”

“I’m just about fed up with Mongars,” Quest declared.

“We do nothing but lie about, and they won’t even let us fire a gun off.”

“Personally,” the Professor confessed, holding up a glass bottle in front of him from which a yellow beetle was making frantic efforts to escape, “I find this little patch of country unusually interesting. The specimen which I have here—I spare you the scientific name for him—belongs to a class of beetle which has for long eluded me.”

Laura regarded the specimen with disfavour.

“So far as I am concerned,” she observed, “I shouldn’t have cared if he’d eluded you a little longer. Don’t you dare let him out, Professor.”

“My dear young lady,” the Professor assured her, “the insect is perfectly secure. Through the cork, as you see, I have bored a couple of holes, hoping to keep him alive until we reach Port Said, when I can prepare him as a specimen.”

“Port Said!” Lenora murmured. “It sounds like heaven.”

Quest motioned them to sit a little nearer.

“Well,” he said, “I fancy we are all feeling about the same except the Professor, and even he wants to get some powder for his beetle. I had a moment’s talk with Craig this morning, and from what he says I fancy they mean to make a move a little further in before long. It’ll be all the more difficult to escape then.”

“You think we could get away?” Lenora whispered eagerly.

Quest glanced cautiously around. They were surrounded by thick vegetation, but they were only a very short distance from the camp.

“Seems to me,” he continued, “we shall have to try it some day or other and I’m all for trying it soon. Even if they caught us, I don’t believe they’d dare to kill us, with the English soldiers so close behind. I am going to get hold of two or three rifles and some ammunition. That’s easy, because they leave them about all the time. And what you girls want to do is to hide some food and get a bottle of water.”

“What about Craig?” the Professor asked.

“We are going to take him along,” Quest declared grimly. “He’s had the devil’s own luck so far, but it can’t last forever. I’ll see to that part of the business, if you others get ready and wait for me to give the signal…. What’s that?”

They all looked around. There had been a little rustling amongst the canopy of bushes. Quest peered through and returned, frowning.

“Feerda again,” he muttered. “She hangs around all the time, trying to listen to what we are saying. She couldn’t have heard this, though. Now, girls, remember. When the food is about this evening, see how much you can get hold of. I know just where to find the guns and the horses. Let’s separate now. The Professor and I will go on a beetle hunt.”

They dispersed in various directions. It was not until late in the evening, when the Mongars had withdrawn a little to indulge in their customary orgy of crooning songs, that they were absolutely alone. Quest looked out of the tent in which they had been sitting and came back again.

“Well?”

Laura lifted her skirt and showed an unusual projection underneath.

“Lenora and I have pinned up our petticoats,” she announced. “We’ve got plenty of food and a bottle of water.”

Quest threw open the white Arab cloak which he had been wearing. He had three rifles strapped around him.

“The Professor’s got the ammunition,” he said, “and we’ve five horses tethered a hundred paces along the track we came by, just behind the second tree turning to the left. I want you all to go there now at once and take the rifles. There isn’t a soul in the camp and you can carry them wrapped in this cloak. I’ll join you in ten minutes.”

“What about Craig?” the Professor enquired.

“I am seeing to him,” Quest replied.

Lenora hesitated.

“Isn’t it rather a risk?” she whispered fearfully.

Quest’s face was suddenly stern.

“Craig is going back with us,” he said. “I’ll be careful, Lenora. Don’t worry.”

He strolled out of the tent and came back again.

“The coast’s clear,” he announced. “Off you go…. One moment,” he added, “there are some papers in this little box of mine which one of you ought to take care of.”

He bent hastily over the little wallet, which never left him. Suddenly a little exclamation broke from his lips. The Professor peered over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

Quest never said a word. From one of the spaces of the wallet he drew out a small black box, removed the lid and held out the card. They read it together:

“Fools, all of you! The cunning of the ages defeats your puny efforts at every turn.

“The Hands!”

Even the Professor’s lips blanched a little as he read. Quest, however, seemed suddenly furious. He tore the card and the box to pieces, flung them into a corner of the tent and drew a revolver from his pocket.

“This time,” he exclaimed, “we are going to make an end of the Hands! Out you go now, girls. You can leave me to finish things up.”

One by one they stole along the path. Quest came out and watched them disappear. Then he gripped his revolver firmly in his hand and turned towards Craig’s tent. There was something in the breathless stillness of the place, at that moment, which seemed almost a presage of coming disaster. Without knowing exactly why, Quest’s fingers tightened on the butt of his weapon. Then, from the thick growth by the side of the clearing, he saw a dark shape steal out and vanish in the direction of Craig’s tent. He came to a standstill, puzzled. There had been rumours of lions all day, but the Professor had been incredulous. The nature of the country, he thought, scarcely favoured the probability of their presence. Then the still, heavy air was suddenly rent by a wild scream of horror. Across the narrow opening the creature had reappeared, carrying something in its mouth, something which gave vent all the time to the most awful yells. Quest fired his revolver on chance and broke into a run. Already the Mongars, disturbed in their evening amusement, were breaking into the undergrowth in chase. Quest came to a standstill. It was from Craig’s tent that the beast had issued!

He turned slowly around. If Craig had indeed paid for his crimes by so horrible a death, there was all the more reason why they should make their escape in the general confusion, and make it quickly. He retraced his steps. The sound of shouting voices grew less and less distinct. When he reached the meeting place, he found the Professor standing at the corner with the rest. His face showed signs of the most lively curiosity.

“From the commotion,” he announced, “I believe that, after all, a lion has visited the camp. The cries which we have heard were distinctly the cries of a native.”

Quest shook his head.

“A lion’s been here all right,” he said, “and he has finished our little job for us. That was Craig. I saw him come out of Craig’s tent.”

The Professor was dubious.

“My friend,” he said, “you are mistaken. There is nothing more characteristic and distinct than the Mongar cry of fear. They seldom use it except in the face of death. That was the cry of a native Mongar. As for Craig, well, you see that tree that looks like a dwarfed aloe?”

Quest nodded.

“What about it?”

“Craig was lying there ten minutes ago. He sprang up when he heard the yells from the encampment, but I believe he is there now.”

“Got the horses all right?” Quest enquired.

“Everything is waiting,” the Professor replied.

“I’ll have one more try, then,” Quest declared.

He made his way slowly through the undergrowth to the spot which the Professor had indicated. Close to the trunk of a tree Craig was standing. Feerda was on her knees before him. She was speaking to him in broken English.

“Dear master, you shall listen to your slave. These people are your enemies. It would be all over in a few minutes. You have but to say the word. My father is eager for it. No one would ever know.”

Craig patted her head. His tone was filled with the deepest despondency.

“It is impossible, Feerda,” he said. “You do not understand. I cannot tell you everything. Sometimes I almost think that the best thing I could do would be to return with them to the countries you know nothing of.”

“That’s what you are going to do, any way,” Quest declared, suddenly making his appearance. “Hands up!”

He covered Craig with his revolver, but his arm was scarcely extended before Feerda sprang at him like a little wild-cat. He gripped her with his left arm and held her away with difficulty.

“Craig,” he continued, “you’re coming with us. You know the way to Port Said and we want you—you know why. Untie that sash from your waist. Quickly!”

Craig obeyed. He had the stupefied air of a man who has lost for the time his volition.

“Tie it to the tree,” Quest ordered. “Leave room enough.”

Craig did as he was told. Then he turned and held the loose ends up. Quest lowered his revolver for a moment as he pushed Feerda toward it. Craig, with a wonderful spring, reached his side and kicked the revolver away. Before Quest could even stoop to recover it, he saw the glitter of the other’s knife pressed against his chest.

“Listen,” Craig declared. “I’ve made up my mind. I won’t go back to America. I’ve had enough of being hunted all over the world. This time I think I’ll rid myself of one of you, at any rate.”

“Will you?”

The interruption was so unexpected that Craig lost his nerve. Through an opening in the trees, only a few feet away, Lenora had suddenly appeared. She, too, held a revolver; her hand was as steady as a rock.

“Drop your knife,” she ordered Craig.

He obeyed without hesitation.

“Now tie the sash around the girl.”

He obeyed mechanically. Feerda, who had been fiercely resisting Quest’s efforts to hold her, yielded without a struggle as soon as Craig touched her. She looked at him, however, with bitter reproach.

“You would tie me here?” she murmured. “You would leave me?”

FEERDA, THE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER, LISTENS ENRAPTURED TO CRAIG’S TALES OF FARAWAY AMERICA.

CRAIG FRANTICALLY ASSISTED IN DRAGGING PEOPLE FROM THE BURNING CAR.

“It is Fate,” Craig muttered. “I am worn out with trying to escape, Feerda. They will come soon and release you.”

She opened her lips to shriek, but Quest, who had made a gag of her linen head-dress, thrust it suddenly into her mouth. He took Craig by the collar and led him to the spot where the others were waiting. They hoisted him on to a horse. Already behind them they could see the flare of the torches from the returning Mongars.

“You know the way to Port Said,” Quest whispered. “See that you lead us there. There will be trouble, mind, if you don’t.”

Craig made no reply. He rode off in front of the little troop, covered all the time by Quest’s revolver. Very soon they were out of the jungle and in the open desert. Quest looked behind him uneasily.

“To judge by the row those fellows are making,” he remarked, “I should think that they’ve found Feerda already.”

“In that case,” the Professor said gravely, “let me recommend you to push on as fast as possible. We have had one escape from them, but nothing in the world can save us now that you have laid hands upon Feerda. The Chief would never forgive that.”

“We’ve got a start, any way,” Quest observed, “and these are the five best horses in the camp. Girls, a little faster. We’ve got to trust Craig for the direction but I believe he is right.”

“So far as my instinct tells me,” the Professor agreed, “I believe that we are heading in precisely the right direction.”

They galloped steadily on. The moon rose higher and higher until it became almost as light as day. Often the Professor raised himself in his saddle and peered forward.

“This column of soldiers would march at night,” he remarked. “I am hoping all the time that we may meet them.”

Quest fell a little behind to his side, although he never left off watching Craig.

“Look behind you, Professor,” he whispered.

In the far distance were a number of little black specks, growing every moment larger. Even at that moment they heard the low, long call of the Mongars.

“They are gaining on us,” Quest muttered.

The two girls, white though they were, bent over their horses.

“We’ll stick to it till the last moment,” Quest continued, “then we’ll turn and let them have it.”

They raced on for another mile or more. A bullet whistled over their heads. Quest tightened his reins.

“No good,” he sighed. “We’d better stay and fight it out, Professor. Stick close to me, Lenora.”

They drew up and hastily dismounted. The Mongars closed in around them. A cloud had drifted in front of the moon, and in the darkness it was almost impossible to see their whereabouts. They heard the Chief’s voice.

“Shoot first that dog of a Craig!”

There was a shriek. Suddenly Feerda, breaking loose from the others, raced across the little division. She flung herself from her horse.

“Tell my father that you were not faithless,” she pleaded. “They shall not kill you!”

She clung to Craig’s neck. The bullets were beginning to whistle around them now. All of a sudden she threw up her arms. Craig, in a fury, turned around and fired into the darkness. Then suddenly, as though on the bidding of some unspoken word, there was a queer silence. Every one was distinctly conscious of an alien sound—the soft thud of many horses’ feet galloping from the right; then a sharp, English voice of command.

“Hold your fire, men. Close into the left there. Steady!”

The cloud suddenly rolled away from the moon. A long line of horsemen were immediately visible. The officer in front rode forward.

“Drop your arms and surrender,” he ordered sternly.

The Mongars, who were outnumbered by twenty to one, obeyed without hesitation. Their Chief seemed unconscious, even, of what had happened. He was on his knees, bending over the body of Feerda, half supported in Craig’s arms. The officer turned to Quest.

“Are you the party who left Port Said for the Mongar Camp?” he asked.

Quest nodded.

“They took us into the jungle—just escaped. They’d caught us here, though, and I’m afraid we were about finished if you hadn’t come along. We are not English—we’re American.”

“Same thing,” the officer replied, as he held out his hand. “Stack up their arms, men,” he ordered, turning around. “Tie them in twos. Dennis, take the young ladies back to the commissariat camels.”

The Professor drew a little sigh.

“Commissariat!” he murmured. “That sounds most inviting.”