Black Box — The Ship of Horror Part 2
"Wait!"
he whispered.
"Wait!
I have an idea."
He hurried off to his stateroom.
The Doctor was poring over a volume of tabulated poisons.
Quest was still watching his tubes.
Lenora sat upon the couch.
Suddenly the Professor reappeared.
He was carrying a small notebook in his hand; his manner betrayed some excitement.
He closed the door carefully behind him.
"I want you all," he begged, "to listen very carefully to me.
You will discover the application of what I am going to read, when I am finished.
Now, if you please."
They looked at him wonderingly.
It was evident that the Professor was very much in earnest.
He held the book a little way away from him and read slowly and distinctly.
"This," he began, "is the diary of a tour made by Craig and myself in Northern Egypt some fourteen years ago.
Here is the first entry of import:-- "_Monday_.
Twenty-nine miles south-east of Port Said.
We have stayed for two days at a little Mongar village.
I have to-day come to the definite conclusion that anthropoid apes were at one time denizens of this country.
"_Tuesday_.
Both Craig and I have been a little uneasy to-day.
These Mongars into whose encampment we have found our way, are one of the strangest and fiercest of the nomad tribes.
They are descended, without a doubt, from the ancient Mongolians, who invaded this country some seven hundred years before Christ.
They have interbred with the Arabs to some extent, but have preserved in a marvellous way their individuality as a race.
They have the narrow eyes and the thick nose base of the pure Oriental; also much of his cunning.
One of their special weaknesses seems to be the invention of the most hideous forms of torture, which they apply remorselessly to their enemies."
"Pleasant sort of people," Quest muttered.
"We escaped with our lives," the Professor explained earnestly, "from these people, only on account of an incident which you will find in this next paragraph:--" "_Wednesday_.
This has been a wonderful day for as, chiefly owing to what I must place on record as an act of great bravery by Craig, my servant.
Early this morning, a man-eating lion found his way into the encampment.
The Mongars behaved like arrant cowards.
They fled right and left, leaving the Chief's little daughter, Feerda, at the brute's mercy.
Craig, who is by no means an adept in the use of firearms, chased the animal as he was making off with the child, and, more by good luck than anything else, managed to wound it mortally.
He brought the child back to the encampment just as the Chief and the warriors of the tribe returned from a hunting expedition.
Our position here is now absolutely secure.
We are treated like gods, and, appreciating my weakness for all matters of science, the Chief has to-day explained to me many of the secret mysteries of the tribe.
Amongst other things, he has shown me a wonderful secret poison, known only to this tribe, which they call Veedemzoo.
It brings almost instant death, and is exceedingly difficult to trace.
The addition of sugar causes a curious condensation and resolves it almost to a white paste.
The only antidote is a substance which they use here freely, and which is exactly equivalent to our camphor."
The Professor closed his book.
Quest promptly rang the bell.
"Some sugar," he ordered, turning to the steward.
They waited in absolute silence.
The suggestion which the Professor's disclosure had brought to them was stupefying, even Quest's fingers, as a moment or two later he rubbed two knobs of sugar together so that the particles should fall into the tubes of bouillon, shook.
The result was magical.
The bouillon turned to a strange shade of grey and began slowly to thicken.
"It is the Mongar poison!"
the Professor cried, with breaking voice.
They all looked at one another.
"Craig must be here amongst us," Quest muttered.
"And the bouillon," Lenora cried, clasping Quest's arm, "the bouillon was meant for you!"
There seemed to be, somehow, amongst all of them, a curious indisposition to discuss this matter.
Suddenly Lenora, who was sitting on the lounge underneath the porthole, put out her hand and picked up a card which was lying by her side.
She glanced at it, at first curiously.
Then she shrieked.
"A message!"
she cried.
"A message from the Hands!
Look!"
They crowded around her.
In that same familiar handwriting was scrawled across the face of the card these few words-- "To Sanford Quest.
"You have escaped this time by a chance of fortune, not because your wits are keen, not because of your own shrewdness; simply because Fate willed it.
It will not be for long."
Underneath was the drawing of the clenched hands.
"There is no longer any doubt," Lenora said calmly.
"Craig is on board.
He must have been on deck a few minutes ago.
It was his hand which placed this card in the porthole....
Listen!
What's that?"
There was a scream from the deck.
They all recognised Laura's voice.
Harris was out of the stateroom first but they were all on deck within ten seconds.
Laura was standing with one hand clasping the rail, her hand fiercely outstretched towards the lower part of the promenade deck.
Through the darkness they heard the sound of angry voices.
"What is it, Laura?"
Lenora cried.
She swung round upon them.
"Craig!"
she cried.
"Craig!
I saw his face as I sat in my chair there, talking to the Captain.
I saw a man's white face--nothing else.
He must have been leaning over the rail.
He heard me call out and he disappeared."
The Captain came slowly out of the shadows, limping a little and followed by his steward, who was murmuring profuse apologies.
"Did you find him?"
Laura demanded eagerly.
"I did not," the Captain replied, a little tersely.
"I ran into Brown here and we both had a shake-up."
"But he was there--a second ago!"
Laura cried out.
"I beg your pardon, miss," Brown ventured, "but the deck's closed at the end, as you can see, with sail-cloth, and I was leaning over the rail myself when you shrieked.
There wasn't any one else near me, and no one can possibly have passed round the deck, as you can see plainly for yourself."
Laura stood quite still.
"What doors are there on the side?"
she asked.
"The doors of my room only," the Captain replied, a little shortly.
"It was Brown you saw, of course.
He was standing exactly where you thought you saw Craig."
Laura walked to the end of the deck and back.
"Very well, then," she said, "you people had better get a strait-waistcoat ready for me.
If I didn't see Craig there, I'm going off my head."
Quest had disappeared some seconds ago.
He came thoughtfully back, a little later.
"Captain," he asked, "what shall you say if I tell you that I have proof that Craig is on board?"
The Captain glanced at Laura and restrained himself.
"I should probably say a great many things which I should regret afterwards," he replied grimly.
"Sit down and we'll tell you what has happened in my room," Quest continued.
He told the story, calmly and without remark.
The Captain held his head.
"Of course, I'm convinced that I am a sane man," he said, "but this sounds more like a Munchausen story than anything I've ever heard.
I suppose you people are all real?
You are in earnest about this, aren't you?
It isn't a gigantic joke?"
"We are in deadly earnest," the Professor pronounced gravely.
"I have been down to the pantry," Quest went on.
"The porthole has been open all day.
It was just possible for a man to have reached the cups of bouillon as they were prepared.
That isn't the point, however.
Craig is cunning and clever enough for any devilish scheme on earth, and that card proves that he is on board."
"The ship shall be searched," the Captain declared, "once more.
We'll look into every crack and every cupboard."
Lenora turned away with a little shiver.
It was one of her rare moments of weakness.
"You won't find him!
You won't ever find him!"
she murmured.
"And I am afraid!"
Lenora grasped the rails of the steamer and glanced downwards at the great barge full of Arab sailors and merchandise.
In the near background were the docks of Port Said.
It was their first glimpse of Eastern atmosphere and colour.
"I can't tell you how happy I am," she declared to Quest, "to think that this voyage is over.
Every night I have gone to bed terrified."
He smiled grimly.
"Things have been quiet enough the last few days," he said.
"There's Harris on this barge.
Look at Laura waving to him!"
The Scotland Yard man only glanced up at them.
He was occupied in leaning over towards Laura, who was on the deck below.
"If you said the word," he called out, "I wouldn't be going back, Miss Laura.
I'd stick to the ship fast enough."
She laughed at him gaily.
"Not you!
You're longing for your smoky old London already.
You cut it out, my friend.
You're a good sort, and I hope we'll meet again some day.
But--" She shook her head at him good-humouredly.
He turned away, disappointed, and waved his hand to Lenora and Quest on the upper deck.
"Coming on shore, any of you?"
he enquired.
"We may when the boat moves up," Quest replied.
"The Professor went off on the first barge.
Here he is, coming back."
A little boat had shot out from the docks, manned by a couple of Arabs.
They could see the Professor seated in the stern.
He was poring over a small document which he held in his hand.
He waved to them excitedly.
"He's got news!"
Quest muttered.
With much shouting the boat was brought to the side of the barge.
The Professor was hauled up.
He stumbled blindly across towards the gangway and came up the steps with amazing speed.
He came straight to Quest and Lenora and gripped the former by the arm.
"Look!"
he cried.
"Look!"
He held out a card.
Quest read it aloud:-- "There is not one amongst you with the wit of a Mongar child.
Good-bye!"
"THE HANDS!"
"Where did you get it?"
Quest demanded.
"That's the point--the whole point!"
the Professor exclaimed excitedly.
"He's done us!
He's landed!
That paper was pushed into my hand by a tall Arab, who mumbled something and hurried off across the docks.
On the landing-stage, mind!"
The Captain came and put his head out of the door.
"Mr. Quest," he said, "can you spare me a moment?
You can all come, if you like."
They moved up towards him.
The Captain closed the door of his cabin.
He pointed to a carpet-sweeper which lay against the wall.
"Look at that," he invited.
They lifted the top.
Inside were several sandwiches and a small can of tea.
"What on earth is this?"
Quest demanded.
The Captain, without a word, led them into his inner room.
A huge lounge stood in one corner.
He lifted the valance.
Underneath were some crumbs.
"You see," he pointed out, "there's room there for a man to have hidden, especially if he could crawl out on deck at night.
I couldn't make out why the dickens Brown was always sweeping out my room, and I took up this thing a little time ago and looked at it.
This is what I found."
"Where's Brown?"
Quest asked quickly.
"I rang down for the chief steward," the Captain continued, "and ordered Brown to be sent up at once.
The chief steward came himself instead.
It seems Brown went off without his wages but with a huge parcel of bedding, on the first barge this morning, before any one was about."
Quest groaned as he turned away.
"Captain," he declared, "I am ashamed.
He has been here all the time and we've let him slip through our fingers.
Girls," he went on briskly, turning towards Laura, who had just come up, "India's off.
We'll catch this barge, if there's time.
Our luggage can be put on shore when the boat docks."
The Captain walked gloomily with them to the gangway.
"I shall miss you all," he told Laura.
She laughed in his face.
"If you ask me, I think you'll be glad to be rid of us."
"Not of you, Miss Laura," he insisted.
She made a little grimace.
"You're as bad as Mr. Harris," she declared.
"We'll come for another trip with you some day."
They left him leaning disconsolately over the rails.
The Professor and Quest sat side by side on one of the trunks which was piled up on the barge.
"Professor," Quest asked, "how long would it take us to get to this Mongar village you spoke about?"
"Two or three days, if we can get camels," the other replied.
"I see you agree with me, then, as to Craig's probable destination?"
Quest nodded.
"What sort of fellows are they, any way?"
he asked.
"Will it be safe for us to push on alone?"
"With me," the Professor assured him, "you will be safe anywhere.
I speak a little of their language.
I have lived with them.
They are far more civilized than some of the interior tribes."
"We'll find a comfortable hotel where we can leave the girls--" Quest began.
"You can cut that out," Laura interrupted.
"I don't know about the kid here, but if you think I'm going to miss a camel ride across the desert, you're dead wrong, so that's all there is to it."
Quest glanced towards Lenora.
She leaned over and took his arm.
"I simply couldn't be left behind," she pleaded.
"I've had quite enough of that."
"The journey will not be an unpleasant one," the Professor declared amiably, "and the riding of a camel is an accomplishment easily acquired.
So far as I am aware, too, the district which we shall have to traverse is entirely peaceable."
They disembarked and were driven to the hotel, still discussing their project.
Afterwards they all wandered into the bazaars, along the narrow streets, where dusky children pulled at their clothes and ran by their side, where every now and then a brown-skinned Arab, on a slow-moving camel, made his way through the throngs of veiled Turkish women, Syrians, Arabs, and Egyptians.
Laura and Lenora, at any rate, attracted by the curious novelty of the scene, forgot the heat, the street smells, and the filthy clothes of the mendicants and loafers who pressed against them.
They bought strange jewellery, shawls, beads and perfumes.
The Professor had disappeared for some time but rejoined them later.
"It is all arranged," he announced.
"I found a dragoman whom I know.
We shall have four of the best camels and a small escort ready to start to-morrow morning.
Furthermore, I have news.
An Englishman whose description precisely tallies with Craig's, started off, only an hour ago, in the same direction.
This time, at any rate, Craig cannot escape us."
"He might go on past the Mongar camp," Quest suggested.
The Professor shook his head.
"The Mongar village," he explained, "is placed practically at a cul-de-sac so far as regards further progress southwards without making a detour.
It is flanked by a strip of jungle and desert on either side, in which there are no wells for many miles.
We shall find Craig with the Mongars."
They made their way back to the hotel, dined in a cool, bare room, and sauntered out again into the streets.
The Professor led the way to a little building, outside which a man was volubly inviting all to enter.
"You shall see one of the sights of Port Said," he promised.
"This is a real Egyptian dancing girl."
They took their seats in the front row of a dimly-lit, bare-looking room.
The stage was dark and empty.
From some unseen place came the monotonous rhythm of a single instrument.
They waited for some time in vain.
At last one or two lights in front were lit, the music grew more insistent.
A girl who seemed to be dressed in little more than a winding veil, glided on to the stage, swaying and moving slowly to the rhythm of the monotonous music.
She danced a measure which none of them except the Professor had ever seen before, coming now and then so close that they could almost feel her hot breath, and Lenora felt somehow vaguely disturbed by the glitter of her eyes.
An odd perfume was shaken into the air around them from her one flowing garment, through which her limbs continually flashed.
Lenora looked away.
"I don't like it," she said to Quest simply.
Suddenly Laura leaned forward.
"Look at the Professor," she whispered.
They all turned their heads.
A queer change seemed to have come into the Professor's face.
His teeth were gleaming between his parted lips, his head was a little thrust forward, his eyes were filled with a strange, hard light.
He was a transformed being, unrecognisable, perturbing.
Even while they watched, the girl floated close to where he sat and leaned towards him with a queer, mocking smile.
His hand suddenly descended upon her foot.
She laughed still more.
There was a little exclamation from Lenora.
The Professor's whole frame quivered, he snatched the anklet from the girl's ankle and bent over it.
She leaned towards him, a torrent of words streaming from her lips.
The Professor answered her in her own language.
She listened to him in amazement.
The anger passed.
She held out both her hands.
The Professor still argued.
She shook her head.
Finally he placed some gold in her palms.
She patted him on the cheek, laughed into his eyes, pointed behind and resumed her dancing.
The anklet remained in the Professor's hand.
"Say, we'll get out of this," Quest said.
"The girls have had enough."
The Professor made no objection.
He led the way, holding the anklet all the time close to his eyes, and turning it round.
They none of them spoke to him, yet they were all conscious of an immense sense of relief when, after they had passed into the street, he commenced to talk in his natural voice.
"Congratulate me," he said.
"I have been a collector of Assyrian gold ornaments all my life.
