John Solomon—Supercargo by H. Bedford-Jones - HTML preview

CHAPTER XIX
 THE "DAPHNE" AGAIN

"Er—'pon my word, Mr. Hammer, I'm—er—glad to be able to apologize!"

"Nonsense, commissioner! Then it's all right with Nairobi?"

"Perfectly, my dear chap, perfectly! Had a bit of a ragging from the Germans, but Krausz had misrepresented things fearfully, you know, and that askari business—er—put the governor in a perfectly beastly rage, I'm told. He gave 'em the man's body with his compliments. Ripping morning, isn't it?"

"Couldn't be better," grinned Hammer cheerfully. He was sitting in a deck-chair beneath the Daphne's awning, Sara Helmuth on one side and Commissioner Smith on the other. His throat was swathed in bandages, and he had lost his healthy tan, but he was undeniably happy, and showed it.

"That yarn—er—reminded me of your American tales," went on Smith rather heavily, as the figure of Solomon appeared coming to join the group. "Two bad men, don't you know—er—shooting across a bar, and all that kind of thing. Each one plugs the other—er—double funeral. Rather exciting thing out here, though, 'pon my word! Very usual in America, I understand."

"Oh, yes, very," returned Hammer gravely. "Hello, John! Can I smoke yet?"

"Werry sorry, sir, but against orders. Your servant, Mr. Smith and I 'opes as you're quite well?"

The Commissioner flushed slightly as he shook hands.

"Quite, thanks, very much. Er—narrow escape Mr. Hammer had, by Jove!"

"Quite so, sir. Missed the jugular by a matter of 'airbreadths, the doctor said. Prowidence is a werry mysterious thing, sir, as the old gent said when the 'ousemaid saw a mouse."

"We might show Mr. Smith that reliquary, John," smiled Sara Helmuth, and her hand stole quite shamelessly over the arm of the deck-chair to Hammer's.

The Daphne lay anchored off Melindi. The commissioner's launch lay at the ladder, its crew of two spruce policemen chatting in Kiswahili with the Arabs above, while the oily ground-swell lifted the yacht at her anchor.

It was two weeks since Hammer had left the jungle behind for ever, as he devoutly hoped, and with the commissioner's visit the last weight had been lifted from his mind.

Not only had he been entirely absolved from any complicity in Harcourt's death, but Nairobi had been graciously pleased to overlook entirely the death of Dr. Krausz, and to waive all claims to the treasure in hand—after the cathedral at Mombasa had been presented with the relics.

Hammer had little use for relics, but he had been very careful to say nothing about the reliquaries. Of these, the finest was that containing the reputed hand of St. Thomas—indeed, Commissioner Smith declared it, rather vaguely, to be "perfectly ripping—top hole, don't you know, in such things!"

His judgement proved ultimately to be entirely correct, while the records, historical and otherwise, contained in the cases, were declared by Sara Helmuth to be worth a good round sum to any library in Europe.

As Hammer was not particularly imbued with a love for art, he sold the three smaller reliquaries to Solomon; and also agreed to carry that individual back to Port Said on the yacht.

As Solomon said, the gold had waited two hundred years, and it could wait another few months very well, while he had important business at Port Said. A crew of sorts had been shipped at Mombasa, and with Hammer's recovery the voyage home would begin.

"You'd better stick around, commissioner," smiled the American as his visitor rose. "About a week from now the American Consul is coming up from Mombasa, and there's going to be some doings, as we say in America."

"Eh?" Mr. Smith looked blank for a moment, until Sara Helmuth's blushes proclaimed themselves. Whereupon, being a very observant young man, his face brightened up, and he seized the American's hand.

"Er—by Jove, old chap—I congratulate you both, 'pon my word I do! I say, do let me bring my assistant and the lieutenant, eh what?"

"Bring your whole constabulary force," grinned Hammer, "and we'll do the thing up in style! And come out for dinner Sunday night, Smith."

Quite excited, the commissioner departed. Hand in hand, Hammer and Sara Helmuth watched his launch puff away toward the green-hilled shore, until Solomon cleared his throat nosily, and they saw two Arabs approaching bearing a bulky package.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir and miss," announced Solomon, "but this 'ere's a bit o' summat as aren't to be shown at the weddin', so to speak. If I may make so bold, miss, as to be a giving of a weddin' present before the 'appy moment——"

A cry of delight broke from the girl, for as the package fell apart there was displayed that same fawn-coloured rug, with the blue, white, and gold dragon of five claws, which Hammer had seen when first he wakened in Solomon's house.

"It's a rug as you might not care for, first-off," explained Solomon apologetically, "but it ain't to be bought for money, miss. Where I got it I 'adn't ought to say, but it 'ad best be kept under cover till you get out o' these 'ere waters. That's the imperial dragon o' China, Mr. 'Ammer, and rugs like them ain't made for sale——"

"Oh, it's beautiful!" cried the delighted Sara, Hammer nodding with appreciative eyes, for he knew that John Solomon's words were strictly true.

As he looked about, however, he saw the pudgy little man bending over his little red notebook, writing very carefully with his fountain pen, and forbore to interrupt.

"Are you glad, girl?" he turned to Sara very soberly, motioning the Arabs to take away the rug as he did so.

"Hammer, dear," she whispered, "I'm happy!"

His face had lost the old lines of hardness and bitterness, and as he met her eyes and smiled into them with perfect understanding, he remembered something.

"But—my name isn't Hammer, dear! You'll have to be Mrs. Cyrus Murray——"

"Yes, but you'll be just Hammer, to me!"

"There!" and Solomon clapped his notebook shut with a very complacent air. "I'd been and overlooked that 'ere account wi' Dr. Krausz; but it's all ship-shape and proper now to file away and 'ave done with."

"Oh, your account!" laughed the American. "That's the one you presented to him, eh? Do you always keep your accounts, John?"

"Werry good plan, sir. They come in 'andy, like, mortal often, even if they're filed away. Howsoever, sir and miss, business is all werry well in its place, but its place ain't between two young 'earts, I says—and since this 'ere account is closed, I'll just file it away."

And as he shuffled off in his carpet-slippers toward his own cabin, the two who sat side by side gazed after him for a moment, smiling, and then turned to each other.

THE END