Читать книгу Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 125

The Professor laid down his book and gazed with an amiable smile towards Quest and Lenora.

“I fear,” he remarked dolefully, “that my little treatise on the fauna of the Northern Orinoco scarcely appeals to you, Mr. Quest.”

Quest, whose arm was in a sling but who was otherwise none the worse for his recent adventure, pointed out of the tent.

“Don’t you believe it, Professor,” he begged. “I’ve been listening to every word. But say, Lenora, just look at Laura and French!”

They all three peered anxiously out of the opening of the tent. Laura and the Inspector were very slowly approaching the cook wagon. Laura was carrying a large bunch of wild flowers, one of which she was in the act of fastening in French’s buttonhole.

“That fellow French has got grit,” Quest declared. “He sticks to it all the time. He’ll win out with Laura in the end, you mark my words.”

“I hope he will,” Lenora said. “She’s a dear girl, although she has got an idea into her head that she hates men and love-making. I think the Inspector’s just the man for her.”

The two had paused outside the cook wagon. Laura held out the flowers to the Chinaman.

“Can’t you find me a bowl for these?” she asked.

He looked slowly up at her.

“No bowlee for flowers,” he answered. “All want for eatee.”

Laura leaned over and shook him by the shoulder.

“Well, I’ll eatee off the ground,” she said. “Give me a bowl, you slant-eyed old idiot.”

“Why don’t you obey the lady?” French intervened.

Very slowly the Chinaman rose to his feet, disappeared inside the cook wagon and reappeared with a basin, which he handed to Laura. She thanked him carelessly, and they passed on. From where they stood, both Quest and Lenora saw the look which for a moment flashed from the Chinaman’s eyes. Lenora shivered.

“I’ll be glad when we get away from here,” she declared, clinging to Quest’s arm. “That Chinaman hates Laura like poison, and I’m afraid of him.”

Quest nodded.

“She does seem to have put his back up,” he agreed. “As to going on, I think we might just as well move tomorrow. My arm’s all right.”

“And I’m quite well,” Lenora asserted eagerly.

“We’ve wired for them to meet Craig,” Quest said. “I only hope they don’t let him slip through their fingers. I haven’t much faith in his promise to turn up at the Professor’s. Let’s see what Laura and French have to say.”

“Can’t see any sense in staying on here any longer,” was French’s immediate decision, “so long as you two invalids feel that you can stand the journey. Besides, we’re using up these fellows’ hospitality.”

“We’ll get everything in order to-night,” Laura decided, “and start first thing to-morrow.”

They busied themselves for the next hour or two in making preparations. After their evening meal, the two men walked with Lenora and Laura to their tent.

“I think you girls had better go to bed,” Quest suggested. “Try and get a long night’s sleep.”

“That’s all very well,” French remarked, “but it’s only eight o’clock. What about a stroll, Miss Laura, just up to the ridge?”

Laura hesitated for a moment and glanced towards Lenora.

“Please go,” the latter begged. “I really don’t feel like going to sleep just yet.”

“I’ll look after Lenora,” Quest promised. “You have your walk. There’s the Professor sitting outside his tent. Wouldn’t you like to take him with you?”

Laura glanced indignantly at him as they strolled out, and Lenora laughed softly.

“How dared you suggest such a thing!” she murmured to Quest. “Do look at them. The Inspector wants her to take his watch, and she can’t quite make up her mind about it. Why, Laura’s getting positively frivolous.”

“Guess we’d better not watch them any longer,” Quest decided. “What about a game of bezique?”

“I should love it!” Lenora assented. “You’ll find the cards in that satchel.”

They sat and played for half an hour by the light of a lantern. Suddenly Quest paused in the act of dealing and glanced over his shoulder.

“What the mischief was that?” he muttered.

“Sounded as though the tent flapped,” Lenora replied.

Quest rose, and with the lantern in his hand walked to the other side of the tent. The flap was open, but there was no sign of any one in sight. He looked around and came back.

“Queer thing!” he exclaimed. “It sounded just as though some one had pulled the flap of the tent back. The flap’s open, but there isn’t a soul in sight.”

“I expect it was fancy,” Lenora remarked. “Still, there isn’t a breath of wind, is there?”

Quest returned to his place, and they recommenced the game. Just at that moment the entrance to the tent was lifted and Laura ran in. She plumped down upon her bed with her hands on either side of her.

“If that man—” she began.

Suddenly she sprang up with a little cry which turned almost into a scream. From a look of humorous indignation, her face suddenly assumed an expression of absolute terror. She shrank away.

“There’s something soft in the bed!” she shrieked. “I felt it with my hand!”

They all looked towards the cot. Quest held up the lantern. They distinctly saw a movement under the bedclothes. The Inspector, stooping down, suddenly entered the tent.

“Say, what’s wrong here?” he demanded.

“There’s something in Laura’s bed,” Quest muttered. “Here, give me the camp-stool.”

He stole towards the bed, gripping the camp-stool firmly with his right hand, and slowly turning down the bedclothes with the feet of the chair. Suddenly there was a piercing scream. A huge snake, coiled and quivering for the spring, lifted its head. Even Quest seemed for the moment nerveless. Then from the doorway came the sharp report of a revolver, and the snake fell, a limp, inert thing. They all looked at the Professor as though fascinated. He came a step farther into the tent, the revolver still smoking in his hand. Standing over the snake, he deliberately fired again and again into the body.

“I think,” he remarked, in his usual calm tones, “that we may consider the creature now beyond any power of doing harm. You will be interested to hear,” he continued, bending over the remains of the creature, “that this is an exceedingly rare species, a sort of second cousin to the rattlesnake found only in this part of the world and fatally poisonous.”

“But how could it have got there?” Lenora faltered.

The Professor shook his head gravely.

“I am afraid,” he said, “that there can be no doubt about that. I saw the Chinaman whom Laura is so fond of sneaking away from this tent a few minutes ago, and I suspected some devilry. That is why I went and fetched my revolver.”

There was a roar of anger from French. He snatched the weapon from the Professor’s hand.

“I’ll kill that yellow dog!” he shouted. “Where is he?”

He dashed across the open space towards the camp wagon. His teeth were set, and there was murder in his blazing eyes.

“Where’s that Chinaman?” he yelled at the top of his voice.

The cowboys struggled to their feet. The Chinaman, who was sitting inside the cook wagon, poring over a book by the light of a lantern, recognised the note of fury in French’s tone and raised his head, startled. A paroxysm of fear seized him. The very moment that French threw open the door of the wagon, he kicked the lantern across the floor and plunged at the canvas sides of the vehicle, slipping underneath until he reached the ground. French, left in darkness, groped around for a moment and then emerged. The cowboys had gathered together outside.

“Say, Mr. Inspector French,” one of them demanded, “what’s wrong with John Chinaman? You folks seem to have a sort of grudge against our cooks. What’s the Oriental been doing, eh?”

“Tried to commit a filthy murder,” French shouted. “Brought a snake and put it into the bed of one of the young women.”

They hesitated no longer.

“Come on, boys,” one of them cried. “We’ll have to see this matter through.”

They found the spot where the Chinaman had escaped from the wagon, but even at that moment they heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs and saw a flying figure in the distance.

“Said he couldn’t ride!” French shouted. “Told the young lady so when she wanted him to go and warn us of the fire. Look at him now!”

“Come on, all of you,” one of the cowboys yelled, as they rushed for the horse. “Bring your lariats. We’ll have him, sure.”

French, with his start, was the first to reach a horse. The cowboys galloped off through the shadows. Dimly visible, they now and then caught a glimpse of their quarry; sometimes he faded out of sight altogether.

“We’ll have him through that patch of brush,” Long Jim shouted. “He won’t dare to ride the pace there.”

They saw him for a moment bending low over his horse, but they did not see him slip easily from its back, roll over into the brushwood, and lie there concealed. They heard the thunder of hoofs ahead, and they galloped by. When they were out of sight, the Chinaman stole away into the darkness. Nearly an hour later, the little party caught up with the riderless horse. The language of the cowboys was picturesque.

“Spread out, boys. We’ll round him up going back, if we can,” Long Jim directed. “If he was spilled off, we’ll get him, sure. But if the dirty coyote has tricked us and slipped off into the brush, it’s good night. We’ll never find him.”

French’s hand tightened upon his revolver, and his eyes pierced the darkness to right and to left as he rode slowly back.

“There’ll be no trial if I can get the drop on him,” he muttered.

Away in the distance, John Chinaman was reaching Allguez, and the little party of cowboys rode into the camp without having seen a sign of him. French was narrating his failure to the three others, when Quest in silence handed him a cablegram, a messenger had just brought.

To Inspector French, Allguez, N.M.

Very sorry. Craig gave us slip after leaving depot. Niece disappeared from address given. No clues at present. When are you returning?

French swore softly for a moment. Then he dropped into a chair, exhausted.

“This,” he declared, “is our unlucky evening.”