Sword in Sheath Read online

  “Oh, we'll tag along.” Kane dropped into the boat. “You have me kind of interested in this Hakroua I don't like Hitlers — tin pot or otherwise.”

  They found van Bleeker in his own cabin, a ledger spread open on his desk, a scowl twisting his sun-bleached eyebrows.

  “Freeing one's self from ghost troubles is a costly business,” he greeted them. “If I find our so humorous stowaway he shall speedily wish that he had never arrived to encumber the earth! Shillings and dollars — !” He slammed shut the ledger and settled back in his chair.

  “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, gentlemen? Has my bosun run amuck or are there leaks below the waterline? For all calamities I am now ready and prepared.”

  “Abdul Hakroun is in business again — and flourishing.” Lorens doubled one long leg under him in what appeared a most uncomfortable position on the settee.

  Van Bleeker did not answer at once. Instead he pulled open a metal-lined box and chose with great care one of the strong black cigars which he delighted in and which his present companions had all refused in turn to try.

  “Perhaps” — he clicked the wheel of an old lighter — “I had better at once declare myself bankrupt. Why, tell me truthfully, should I stand a voyage south and work my weary bones to the grave now? When Hakroun is abroad it is wise for the honest man to take cover. What devilment is he engaged in at present?”

  “I don't know. Lao told me only that he was busy — but it can't be good — ”

  Van Bleeker threw up his hands. “When was Hakroun's business ever good — for the other fellow? But it must be something big — very big — to bring the old man out these days. He must be near to a hundred years old. And he retired — when was it? Back in ‘36 or ‘37 sometime.”

  “Retired? His breed never retire. But you are right, he must have something big in hand, or Lao wouldn't have hinted it to me.”

  “You trust Lao?”

  “I trust Lao because he just engaged the House to do some work for him. If it wasn't for that I don't think he would have spoken — you may depend upon it.”

  The captain drew deeply on his cigar. “Could it be Cooms’ treasure?”

  Lorens laughed. “That will-o'-the-wisp? If Cooms ever had a treasure it was scattered to the four seas long ago. In fact, I think we were looking at a good bit of it not an hour ago. No, I can't picture Hakroun hunting treasure, even in a senile decline — he has a liking for certainties.”

  “I don't know,” van Bleeker disagreed. “Hakroun lost that pearling war with the Datu, and he lost face over it — lost it so badly that half the Indies dared to laugh at him — for a while. If he could produce Cooms’ fabled hoard now — Well, in a way it would be regaining something he wants even more than rupees. ‘Face’ means a lot, more than we can guess.”

  But Lorens still shook his head. “No, I don't believe that it's treasure. But he must have something in line. Conditions in the south are chaotic. Now is the time for a smart man to snap up some choice bits here and there.”

  “Else why would we be sailing there ourselves? Yes, tiger sharks will gather to any kill. And Hakroun is the king shark of them all. If he doesn't fancy visitors — well, that may be just the reason for calling to say ‘good day’. And if he was behind this ghost business, it will give me the greatest of pleasure to show him just how muddling are the agents he now employs.”

  The light in Lorens’ eyes equalled the resolve in the captain's stiff jaw. Kane looked to Sam. Imperceptibly the Nisei nodded. This was going to be fun of the sort for which they had both acquired a taste.

  “You can count us in — “ began Kane.

  Van Bleeker gave his sharp bark of laughter. “I pity Hakroun, I honestly do. The world has changed somewhat, and he may discover that Cooms was not the only specimen of his kind in existence. Yes, I find it in me to pity the Hadji Abdul!”

  “Where is this Hakroun now?” Kane asked.

  “If he is at home, he is in Manado, the northern port of Celebes. He keeps a kind of feudal state there with a dozen sons for bodyguards and an army of retainers. To say nothing of a private navy! Only the Japanese may have disposed of that.”

  “The Sumba sails for Manado, doesn't she?” Lorens inquired innocently.

  “That was my intention, yes. Most convenient. You will be able to pay your respects to Hakroun — he was an acquaintance of your grandfather, was he not?”

  “Yes. The Jonkheer had a liking for the rogue. If you can get Hakroun to pledge his word he will hold to it — come what disasters there may. Only — ”

  “Only he does that but once or twice in a lifetime,” the captain pointed out. “But in any case you have an excellent reason for making a formal call. And so have these gentlemen For who knows more of the southern islands than Hakroun with his private intelligence system? So a visit to him would be a logical move for you to make, Mr. Kane. I think that we shall all look forward to Manado. But I wish I knew just what old Abdul now conceals up that very wide sleeve of his!”

  “It means money — whatever it is.” Lorens turned the wide silver band he wore on his right wrist around and around. “Big money. Oil?”

  The captain shook his head. “No. The government would be on to that at once. He wouldn't have a chance to exploit it. My guess is — pearls!”

  The silver band was still.

  “Pearls!” Lorens’ voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper.

  “They have always been Hakroun's first love. You know the stories they tell about his fabulous collection. Suppose — just suppose — he has a clue to a new fishery — one untouched before. Or maybe he has just caught up with Cooms again after all these years. No one ever did find out where the Datu got those five beauties he sold to Hakroun. Yes, pearls it must be.”

  “I want very much to visit Manado!” Lorens uncurled his legs.

  “So do we all, I think. We sail tonight.”

  5

  “HE IS AS A TIGER AMONG YOUNG GOATS!”

  “What in this wide and beautiful world — !”

  Kane stopped just within the door of the wardroom and stared at the sparkling bits of light heaped upon a linen square. Lorens’ brown fingers were busy there, selecting and rejecting almost as if they had some wizardry of their own to distinguish best from better.

  The Netherlander glanced up. “Just a few of my well-gotten gains. Don't believe too much in their value. Were this one an emerald now” — the right forefinger pushed a dark green stone well away from its fellows — “were this an emerald, I might be able to retire to a country villa and spend the rest of my days in idle luxury. Indeed a pleasing prospect. Unfortunately it is only a peridot — good enough but hardly in the emerald class.”

  “I see. All are not diamonds which glitter.” But the fascinating pile of color drew the American to the table as it had earlier pulled Sam. For the Nisei was sitting across from Lorens as intent upon the collection as was its owner.

  “At least even I can identify that one.” The ex-sergeant indicated a carved drop which might once have been part of an earring. “Precious coral from Japan, isn't it? Mother has a charm like that — we used to play with it when we were kids.”

  “Yes. Excellent piece too. I think it can be re-set in a clip. Now here we have cat's-eyes, which are coming back into fashion again. And there is a bit of carved amber from Burma Now this one” — he held a dark stone up to the light — “ought to sell well in China. It's a bloodstone, and the design carved on it is that of a conventionalized bat — such a combination means that it is an amulet which gives its wearer sure power over night demons.”

  “Hmmm — “ Kane touched the gem. “Quite a handy pocket piece, I must say. Any idea of the number and quality of demons accompanying it — are they in good working order? You ought to be able to give some sort of guarantee with it, you know — ”

  “I am sorry, but I have not yet put it to the test. You may if you wish.”

  “Fei-ts'ui-yu!” Sam's cry broke th
rough their banter. He was cupping in his palm what seemed to be a bit of frozen green light.

  “The kingfisher jade — yes. That is the only piece I have. The best jade rarely leaves China. What we in the West receive is inferior to that. There you have a butterfly amulet, symbol of successful love, considered the proper gift to send to one's beloved. Only you'd have to have rather a deep purse to send that particular butterfly.”

  “Aren't you worried about the risk of carrying all this around with you?” Kane wanted to know.

  “Oh, I keep it locked up in the ship's safe most of the time. I only took it out now to catalogue my most recent purchases — and to do some gloating. You understand — to be successful in gem trading you must love jewels for themselves — more than for the prices they will bring. I am afraid that that is just what I do —”

  “Afraid?”

  “Yes, afraid. It is because this sort of thing is in my blood — as you Americans say. My earliest memories were of sitting with the Jonkheer while he classified and examined his collection. I knew the feel of a diamond, the look of a sapphire, the beauty of an emerald before I could spell out my own name. And that was how my grandfather had learned the trade before me, and his father before him — back to the first van Norreys who pioneered these waters and set up for an island Raja in the days of the spice trade. And with many of us of the House this interest took the place of more human ties — it did with the Jonkheer. There may come a day when I shall have to choose between such as these and what is a real part of most men's lives — a home and family. When and if that time comes this hunger bred into me may decide my choice. But perhaps that won't be such an evil thing after all. I have learned to follow a lonely path these past few years — ”

  “Gems before people,” Sam mused. “Maybe they won't ever let you down, but me, I'd take people. And so would you, Dutch.” He turned to Kane. “We're made that way. But when I look at this stuff, I can see your point — ”

  “Now we're getting morbid, which is not good at all. And I assure you that a gem buyer in the field has no chance to forget the world. It is only when one retires to an ivory tower to gather one's treasure about one that the danger is present.”

  “Is there a good market for jewels now? I should think with all the war loot flying about it would be rather risky to do any buying — ”

  “Not much war loot still flies about — in Europe. Much is being identified and returned to the proper owners — if they are still above ground. For a year I worked upon that very job. We possessed in the records of the House many descriptions of famous jewels which we had bought or sold fifty, a hundred, even two hundred years ago. With those to aid them the Allied Commission was able to trace many pieces.”

  “Regular detective work!” exclaimed Kane.

  “Very much detective work — the kind which when written about in books makes ‘thrillers’. I found it most useful to keep me busy — and from thinking too much on other matters. Then I made one very big fool of myself, letting some kind of a bug bite me. And the doctor said, ‘No more of this tramping about the continent, young man. Get away, forget the past. Go for six months or a year.’ So I came out here to see what I could salvage from the House holdings. Thus I end up on the Sumba, and my luck turns from bad to good at last.”

  “Has it been all bad then?” Kane dared to ask.

  Lorens’ attention was all for the silver band on his wrist. When he did answer, his voice was both brusque and harsh. “I am not as poorly off as are many of my countrymen I was caught by the Gestapo — before the liberation. But they had no proof against me — only suspicion. So I did not end against a wall — lucky to do so. Instead I went to a camp. I lived, when others” — he hesitated and turned the band — “did not. Afterwards I had many affairs to settle, and one forgets things — if you can close your mind against memory. That is the best way. Only none of us are the same persons we were five years ago — we never shall be again. Tell me — is that good luck or bad?”

  “Luck is what you make it,” countered Sam.

  “Fortunam facio, eh? Others must have reached that same conclusion long ago. ‘I make my luck’ was engraved on a sword hilt I saw once, a sword hilt out of Rome. Well, I have not yet had to invert Ganesha to bring him to terms — that is true.”

  “Invert Ganesha?” asked Sam.

  “I know that one,” Kane chuckled. “You turn the Indian god of luck upside down to make him treat you properly. You once did that in Sumatra, didn't you, Lorens?”

  “No, I discovered him in that undignified position, left so by some angry householder, and turned him right again. That should have brought us his smiles afterward. Perhaps it did — we escaped successfully.”

  “Pardon, mijnheer.” The steward came soft-footed to the table. “Capt. van Bleeker says Manado is now sighted — ”

  “Thank you, Akim. Here, if you wish to make yourselves useful” — Lorens pushed toward the Americans rolls of flannel in which innumerable small pockets had been sewn — “help me pack these — one piece to a pocket.”

  Once his teasure had been locked away all three climbed to the bridge of the Sumba. Celebes lay before them, her broken backbone of mountains blue and misty across the sky, her ragged coastline still only a black smudge against the sea On the map the great island sprawled like an octopus with arms flung questingly to three points of the compass. But what Kane saw now was not on a map. It was so much larger than he had pictured it —

  Manado lay at the far tip of the longest arm — the one which pointed from west to east out into the Molucca Strait Perhaps a mile out from the breakwater which sheltered the town was the island volcano of Manado Tua, and, back of the widely sprawled city itself, was Klabat, a second threatening mountain whose flaming heart was not yet dead.

  The Sumba wore in and anchored before a trading post as old as the spice trade itself, though nowadays the principal cargo to be found on the water-rotted wharves was not the ‘black rose’ of the clove or the aromatic cinnamon but awkward bundles of rattan.

  “Well, gentlemen.” Capt. van Bleeker came back from his polite meeting with port authorities. “What are your plans for today?”

  Kane settled his sunhelmet more firmly. “We're playing the inquiring tourist on shore. Any suggestions, captain?”

  “None — unless it is to visit the Hadji Abdul Hakroun.”

  “He is here then?” A light frown deepened a line between Sam's widely spaced brows, a sign that the ex-sergeant was engaged in serious thinking.

  “Oh, yes, he is here. See that tidy little coaster across the harbor there? She is the Drinker of the Wind — and closer to the old man than the blood in his veins. When she is in port, then you will find His Excellency in residence.”

  “That being so,” observed Lorens, “I must preserve my reputation for good manners. A duty call upon the person of my grandfather's old acquaintance is clearly indicated — especially when I am traveling for the sole purpose of re-establishing old ties.”

  “You won't care if we tag along on this dutiful mission?” asked Kane.

  “Not at all. After all, your business would lead you there sooner or later anyway. Hakroun knows more about your islands than any other living man But I suggest that we dress more formally. The Hadji affects a state which nowadays even minor royalty would find difficult to maintain It is well to match his standards when possible.”

  So in white suits, tormented by the collars of civilization fastened to the last button, they went ashore some time later.

  Manado was a wide-flung town of native thatched huts set far apart There was a European quarter, of course, consisting of the hotel and the Harmonie Club, built and garnished by homesick Netherlands exiles, and one of western style houses. But Lorens skirted these evidences of their own civilization and led them along a way which was more dirt lane than city street until they came to a white wall. Following this they found a pair of gates — broad enough to admit a marching regiment — barred with greenish
metal.

  As they hesitated, a small postern in the larger barrier swung open, and a pure-blood Malay, a man of some position judging by his silk turban, stood watching them. When Lorens inquired in the native tongue for the master of the villa, the guard stood aside and motioned them into a courtyard where Malays, Sea-Dykes, and a Moro or two lounged at ease. None of these raised their eyes or gave any sign that they saw the three.

  Sam moved up beside Kane until their shoulders were almost brushing; his dark eyes flashed from one of those elaborately blank-faced guards to another. There was something of the spider's parlor about this stronghold of a Moro trader.

  The Malay doorkeeper pulled aside a leather curtain, the smooth surface of which was stamped with colored designs. He did not enter with them or even announce their coming, only waved them through to an inner court.

  This was a much smaller one and rugs of silken luxuriance were heaped to serve as seats of a kind. On three such mats were three men. Two arose as Lorens and the Americans entered, but the third only looked up.

  Live eyes shone from a face which might have been pictured in wild fantasy. In the first place — to say that the man was old was an understatement The head beneath the band of the emerald green turban was that of a patriarch who might have witnessed the march of the great Alexander. For it was no face — it was a skull with ivory velum stretched paper-thin over handsome bones. A point of white beard masked chin and jaw, but the proudly hooked nose was a bird's beak — a hawk's beak. Brows sprouted thickly above the shrunken caverns which sheltered those eyes of fire — young and vigorous fire. Abdul Hakroun was an old, old man, but those eyes testified that he had lost none of his interest in the world.

  “May the Peace of Allah, the Compassionate, the Ever-Understanding, be upon you, son of my friend's son. Welcome to the House of Hakroun — ”

  The voice which issued from between those dried and sunken lips was even more startling than the alive eyes. It was not the shrill cackle of extreme age, but a rich, lilting chant.