The American's dreams of spectacles and blue pagaris was swept away, for standing facing him with expectant eyes was—a girl or a woman, Hammer could not tell which.
There was some mistake, of course; self-possessed, cool, deliberate in word and look as she was, this slender, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl could not be the austere mistress of Semitic tongues——
"I beg your pardon," he found himself stammering weakly. "I didn't mean that message for you; I wanted to see Miss Helmuth, the scientific person who doesn't like my Arabic cuss-words."
A trace of red crept through her cheeks, but her eyes held his with no response to the whimsical laugh of him.
"I am Miss Helmuth," she said coldly enough, not moving that he might enter the tent, and appraising him keenly as she spoke.
Hammer stared at her in open disbelief, but not for long. Something in the curve of the dark eyebrows and the set of the girlish mouth, something in the poise of the small head, gave a hint of resolution and firmness—and Hammer took the hint.
"Ah," and he bowed with his fine smile, "I trust you will pardon my surprise. I was looking for a spectacled, gaunt lady of uncertain age, and never expected to find——"
"I am not interested in your expectations, Mr. Hammer," her reply came coldly. "What is your business with me?"
Again Hammer was taken all aback and could not quite readjust himself.
"Why—er——" It struck him that she would think that he was attempting to flirt with her, and the thought sent him floundering deeper. "You see, Miss—Professor, I mean—Professor Helmuth, I'm first officer of the Daphne, and—— Oh, blame it all! Honest, Miss Helmuth, get that look off your face or I'll run!"
A flicker of amusement came into her brown eyes, then it passed, and her look hardened strangely. Hammer could almost have imagined that she had been crying not so very long ago.
"Really, Mr. Hammer, I think that would be the best thing you could do. I have no desire to have any dealings with you whatever. Kindly state your business and go."
"Well, that's flat enough, anyhow." Hammer's eyes flashed for a second. "But I must say that such downright discourtesy doesn't go with your looks, professor, though anything might be expected of this outfit.
"Still, as an American, you ought logically to be a little more human and a little less priggish. If we were on Fifth Avenue I wouldn't blame you, but here in Africa I should think you'd have more sense."
She gazed at him, her eyes widening, as if this direct attack startled and surprised her. Hammer was instantly contrite.
"Well, I apologize again, professor. You certainly riled me up for a minute, and I'm sorry I expressed myself so bluntly. I guess Krausz wasn't to blame so much as I thought he was, if you handled him like that. You see, I came over to ask you if you wouldn't show up at——"
"So you dare to carry out that bet made in a drinking bout with that man Krausz and his associates?" Poor Hammer's jaw dropped as she straightened up, anger in every feature, and fairly flung the words at him.
"Haven't I been put to enough shame without having my name bandied about over the wine and cigars? For a moment you nearly deluded me into thinking you a man of another kind, Mr. Hammer."
"Eh? Say, professor, I don't think I'm wise to all this business by a long shot! Look here—— No, don't fire up yet for a minute—— Tell me how you knew about that affair? It's true, of course——"
There was scorn in her eyes as the American stopped, embarrassed.
"If you want to know, I heard of it through one of my boys, who got it from your own boys. Now, Mr. Hammer, you know the penalty attached to entering this tent. If you dare to attempt it, either you or your associates, I shall carry out my threat to the letter. You may carry back that report. Good day."
With that she turned inside, but before she could lower the flap Hammer sprang forward. His mind was in a swirl, and he only realized the one great fact that this woman had a very wrong idea of him and of his intentions. Catching the flap from the outside, he paused as she whirled on him indignantly.
"Just a minute, Miss Helmuth! Look here! I'm not an associate of Dr. Krausz, in the first place, and in the next I don't intend to carry back any report. But I do want to square myself with you, honest, and I think you might give me a chance."
He found himself, for the second time within twenty-four hours, looking squarely into the muzzle of a revolver which she had plucked from the table behind her.
"You step inside this tent, Mr. Hammer, and I fire."
"But, confound it!" he cried, astounded, "I haven't done——"
"Let go that flap and get out of here!"
Helplessly, Hammer stared into her brown eyes and read determination there. He made one more attempt, however.
"Please listen to reason, professor! I'm not trying to put anything over on you; all I want is to get out of this accursed place and to make you look at the thing straight before I go. I didn't know I'd got in so bad——"
"Let go that flap or I'll have my boys force you out of here bodily!"
The brown eyes were blazing with fury, but Hammer thought that never had he seen a woman look so beautiful, so capable of taking care of herself, so thoroughly efficient.
Realizing that she was in no mood to be argued with, however, he obeyed her command; and as he turned on his heel a single word broke from him with uncontrolled emphasis:
"Damn!"
The grinning face of Potbelly peered at him from a corner of the tent, and he strode back to the other canvas with his ears burning. It would have been a bad moment for any who had interfered with him just then, and perhaps the cunning Kiswahili recognized the fact, for they kept well out of his way.
The humiliation of the interview was maddening to him; and when he called the boys who had been loaned him by the planter and found that they had slipped home early that morning, he was in savage humour.
For a moment he determined to return to the tent of Professor Helmuth and dare her to carry out her threat, but second thought decided him against it.
She had been in earnest beyond any doubt—but why? From the very face of her, she had too much good hard sense to be the prig Krausz had painted her; and why should she be willing to carry out so desperate a threat?
At this he recalled her words: "You know the penalty attached to entering this tent." Why had this girl set such a penalty? That she had done so, publicly, was evident from her words, nor did she bear Dr. Sigurd Krausz any great love; yet she was his assistant; she had come out from Dresden in charge of the preliminary work; she must have known him well before she started; and, above all, Krausz was an eminent man in his line of work.
Yet Hammer knew only too well how a man, once away from his natural environment, may do things he never would have dreamed of doing otherwise. Could it be that Dr. Krausz, or others of the party, had insulted the girl?
"By Godfrey! That name Sara isn't so bad after all, come to think of it," and Hammer rose, frowning. "I guess I'll go up and see that chap. If he's been cutting any didoes around here I'll show him a few things. I wish Harcourt was here; I'm blessed if I know what to make of it all!"
He passed the she-professor's tent and strode up the hill; for if there was to be trouble with the doctor, he wanted to have it over with at once.
And as he went he patted the side-pocket of his coat, where his old-style revolver still reposed; he remembered the way Krausz had whipped out his weapon the evening before, and the thought was hardly reassuring.
He found the doctor as he had left him, and under the direction of the Germans the natives were beginning to make the dirt fly. Krausz looked up, his heavy eyes narrowing slightly at sight of the American's face; then he smiled cordially.
"Well, Mr. Hammer? And how did you find the fräulein!"
"A darned sight worse than I expected," returned Hammer frankly. "See here, doctor: I'd like to know why she won't let a man enter her tent under pain of firing at him, and why she's holding a grudge against you?"
The ribbon of muscle began to beat under the skin of the other's brow, though Krausz's expression never changed. Jenson apparently, paid no attention.
"Pouf!" The big Saxon spread his hands with a Continental shrug. "My dear fellow, it iss her fancy. What can you expect? She hass never been here in Africa before, and she iss nervous. Ass to dissliking me, why should she? Wass I not her father's friend before he died?"
"How the devil do I know? It's a cinch she hasn't any love for you, doctor; and I'd like to know why that girl has to barricade herself in her tent, that's all. What's more, she isn't the sort to be nervous."
Hammer looked down at the other, hands on his hips, his brown face determined. He realized that he was beginning to dislike the sight hissing accent of his employer, no less than that curious muscle in the forehead, and the aggressive note in his voice was thinly veiled.
Krausz seemed surprised at the change in his first officer, and once more his eyes narrowed; but this time they were menacing—so menacing that Hammer felt uneasy.
"Are you her guardian, Mr. Hammer?"
"No; but I'm an American, and I used to be a gentleman."
"Then you will please not interfere in a family affair, my friend. I am her guardian, the executor of her father's estate——"
"Now, see here, doctor. I'm not hunting trouble, understand; but I'm fairly competent to handle any that comes my way. To know Semitic languages and be curator in a big Dresden library takes time and work; besides, I can tell from that girl's face that she's of age. You're not her guardian any more than I am, if you want it straight."
"My dear sir, you missunderstand! Yess, she iss twenty-three years of age, but I wass her guardian, ass she will tell you. I wass her father's best friend, and in my arms he died, yess. It wass I who got her that library position. Ah, come!" Krausz rose quickly and patted Hammer on the shoulder, smilingly. "You and I, we are too big men, yess, to be losing good humour over a little girl! Lieber Gott! Iss she not to me like a daughter, no? Come down to luncheon, my friend, and over a bottle will we forget all thiss——"
"No more bottles, I guess," said Hammer decidedly. None the less, the scientist's words had their effect. "However, I don't want to butt in, doctor, and I'm sorry I made a mistake. I go back to-night, I suppose?"
"Yess; Baumgardner shall take you in the launch."
So the matter was closed. The American still felt a trifle uneasy; but Dr. Krausz' words had placed the affair in a new light before him, and he forced himself to the belief that he had interfered in some petty quarrel where he had no concern. Krausz had succeeded in spiking his guns.
With Jenson and Baumgardner, they sat down to a very enjoyable lunch in the doctor's tent; for Krausz seemed to have brought no end of chop-boxes from Mombasa, and the natives had fetched in plenty of fruit, vegetables, and fresh meat.
Even Jenson seemed to attain some semblance of life, almost growing enthusiastic over the work that had been begun; and the American found Krausz cordial and entertaining as he had rarely been before. He had an unfailing supply of his long black panatelas; and while all four of them were sitting smoking and chatting over their coffee, there came a sudden interruption.
"Hodi!"
All turned. There, standing unconcernedly in the doorway, was a native streaked with sweat, his eyes roving from face to face, a heavy fold of skin hanging in the slit lobe of one ear. Several of the camp-boys stood behind him uncertainly. Once more he repeated the Kiswahili greeting.
"Hodi!"
"Karibu," grunted Krausz; and then in English: "Who are you? What is it?"
"Bwana Hammer?" came the laconic query.
"That's me!" exclaimed the American. "What do you want?"
The Kiswahili looked him over for a second, then nodded as if to himself and drew the skin from his ear-lobe. From it he took a small packet and handed it to the American, after which, not deigning to say another word, he turned and stalked away.
"Well, that's a funny proposition!" exclaimed Hammer, staring at the heavy little object in his hand. The others said nothing, but Krausz smoked furiously as he watched. Out of sheer decency Hammer felt that he mast open the thing before them, and proceeded to do so, wondering greatly what it was and why the bearer had not been more loquacious.
Unwrapping a heavy fold of tissue-paper, he caught a little silver ring that leaped out into his hand. It was a cheap thing enough, and he remembered having seen just such things sold to tourists at Port Said, with "Arabic initials engraved while you wait."
Sure enough, looking closer at it, he perceived a thin tracery on the signet side; but his slight knowledge of Arabic did not extend to reading the language, and he passed it over to the doctor with a surprised laugh.
"Can you read Arabic, doctor?"
"Nein. Wass there no writing?"
"Not a scrap," said Hammer. "Let's get that boy back here."
The messenger was sent for, but he proved to have left camp without waiting to so much as be fed—a thing unusual, to provoke comment from the other natives.
"Well"—and Dr. Krausz shrugged his shoulders as he rose—"there iss some misstake, or the letter hass been lost. It iss but a trifle. We must get back to work, my friends, for the afternoon iss getting on."
The others rose with a sigh, and they went off together, Hammer stretching out luxuriously on a cot and wondering afresh where this mysterious little ring could have come from, and what the engraving meant. It was irritating, from its very littleness, while the strange conduct of the messenger refused to be explained away.
If the thing had come from Harcourt it would have had some word with it. In any case, what reason would Harcourt have for sending such a thing?
It had probably come from Melindi, however, and Hammer had not the faintest idea of who could have sent it from there.
The odd part of it was that the worth of the ring itself must be far below the cost of the messenger's services, nor was there any apparent reason for the ending of it.
"By Godfrey," thought Hammer suddenly, "I'll send it over to Miss Helmuth!"
Clapping his hands, he sent a boy for Potbelly. Since the Lady Professor was an adept at Arabic to the extent of understanding certain expressions which would hardly bear adequate translation, Hammer saw no reason why she could not decipher the engraving for him.
After he had sent the boy he hesitated, remembering the humiliation he had already passed through; but a moment later Potbelly appeared at the entrance of the tent.
"Come here," said Hammer curtly, holding out the ring. "You see this? Take it to Professor Helmuth. Ask her to tell what this means—— Why, what the devil's the matter with you?"
Potbelly's grin had faded suddenly; rather, it had been frozen into a ghastly semblance of mirth, and he looked from the ring to Hammer with absolute terror.
"You savvy him, Bwana?" he whimpered. "You savvy Bwana John?"
"What Master John?" repeated the American suspiciously, then grinned. "John Jones or John Solomon?"
To his intense amazement, Potbelly merely whimpered again, then turned, speaking over his shoulder as he went through the door.
"You come, Bwana. I think mebbeso Missy Professor she see you."
"Well, I'll be darned!" murmured Hammer, and followed like a man in a dream.