Sword in Sheath Page 6

  Lorens bowed and Kane found himself imitating that gesture clumsily. There was something about the Hadji Abdul which pulled such courtesies out of a man. The Netherlander murmured the proper greeting, then introduced the two Americans.

  “Americans, eh” The bright eyes searched them from scuffed shoes to sweat-dampened hair. “We have had many visits from your countrymen these past few years — but they kept to the air and did not venture closer. Now excuse an old man his thickened wits — this is a most propitious day. Sit, sit, my friends. These are my sons, Mohamet and Kuran. Since I do not sail the seas today they have taken the management of the House interests into their hands — ”

  Kane watched those eyes instead of the gesturing hands or the bearded mouth. “I bet they have!” He returned mentally to that statement — for he noted that both men, although they were well into middle-age, stood at respectful attention until their father motioned them back to their rug seats.

  “And your esteemed grandfather, Tuan van Norreys, how is it with him?”

  “The Jonkheer has been dead these five years, sir. He died on the day of the Nazi occupation of my country — ”

  A brown claw plucked gently at the silver beard. “Ah, so. Well, for Azrael's visits there is no remedy. Do not the Chinese say most truly — ‘Death is a black camel which kneels unbidden at every compound gate'? But for you, my son, I grieve. His loss is one not to be reckoned, save within the heart. Ah, here is refreshment. Drink deep, I beg of you, the day is hot and your path has been a dusty one — ”

  Kuran took the tray from the servant's hands and presented it himself to the guests. Kane tasted the pinkish liquid in the tall rock crystal goblet and found it to be a sweetish syrup, agreeably cool.

  “Is it in your mind, Tuan van Norreys, to reopen once more the Jonkheer's trade?” Abdul's fingers still played with his beard.

  “As far as it lies within my power to do so I shall follow where he led, yes.”

  “And you, my friends.” Hakroun addressed Kane. “You, too, are dealers in gems?”

  The American shook his head. “No. We are hunting for a lost countryman of ours. He was the pilot on one of the bombers sent to raid this island. He and his plane never returned. There may be a chance that some survivor is still alive on an uncharted island — ”

  Now the brown fingers were still for a second before they were hidden again in the soft curls of hair.

  “An adventurous quest surely, and one which will occupy you for long. In these seas are many, many islands — some not on any map.”

  “That is why we asked Mr. van Norreys to bring us to you,” Kane returned boldly. “We heard that you have, sir, many business contacts in the islands and we had hopes that you might be able to aid us with some clue — ”

  Abdul was giving the younger man his full attention now. But when Kane finished Hakroun was only sorrowful to give disappointment.

  “It is true that the House of Hakroun has many contacts and sources of information through the southern seas. Only this dawn did one of my grandsons return from a protracted voyage to Amboina. But among the many tales he heard there were none concerning an American castaway. Land which may not be marked on your western-made maps is fully known to the Sea-Dykes and to my men also. And nowhere is there an unacccounted-for American. I fear your quest to be a fruitless one. Lost airplanes have plunged into the sea many times and, in their passing, left no mark upon the waters. I would that I could help you in this search, but I believe that no man living has the information that will aid you.”

  “Thank you, sir, for your advice.” Kane was polite enough.

  “You expect to follow it?” Were those eyes laughing at him?

  “We cannot abandon our search so soon. There is always hope — ”

  “Always hope, yes. How could we mortals live if it were not for hope — which is also sometimes a deadly demon leading men to full destruction.”

  Kane put down his goblet. Was that a hint of threat? But Abdul had lost interest in him. The old Moro was turning now to Lorens, and something in the set of the Netherlander's shoulders argued that van Norreys had been waiting for just that.

  “You have had a successful trip so far?” was Hakroun's opening move.

  “As good as can be hoped for in the unsettled state of the islands. The Japanese swept the strongboxes bare where they could I sail now to attempt to re-fasten old ties.”

  “And did you tighten such a one when you visited the honorable Lao in Jolo?”

  “He had some black coral — of fine quality. It is a novelty which may catch the favor of the American market where it is not yet widely known.”

  “Black coral. But do you not find coral less of interest than say — rubies?” prodded AbduL

  “I am a designer as well as a merchant. Much can be done with stones of lesser value. But have you rubies to sell, sir?”

  Abdul appeared lost in thought for a moment, then he clicked his fingers at Kuran. From somewhere within his loose robes the man produced a lacquer box which he handed to his father. Hakroun twisted off the top and dipped out a long chain which supported a gem-set medallion. He handed it over to Lorens and settled back to await the Netherlander's reaction.

  “Where did this come from?” Van Norreys’ voice was colorless and even.

  “In times of war many treasures come to light from old hiding places. This was given to me for sale. Would the House of Norreys be interested? The stones are good — ”

  “They are of oriental cut and would have to be re-cut for our western market. Also the Mani Mala and the Nararatna have no value abroad. Perhaps in India you could drive a good bargain.” Lorens handed back the flashing chain

  Whether this firm refusal of his offering displeased Abdul or not, Kane could not guess. But within a very short time they were ushered out, suavely enough. When they stood in the road again Lorens kicked at a stone viciously.

  “The old devil!” he snorted. “Trying to catch me like that! Did he think that I was so green in the trade? But I’d give quite a lot from a none too full purse to know where he lifted that — fourteenth- century work, every bit of it!”

  “You mean that you think that necklace thing was stolen?” demanded Kane.

  “I don't see how he could have gotten it any other way. Those things are guarded better than some kings’ lives — they mean the good or bad fortune of a whole house or dynasty. And suppose I had bought it, or even accepted it to sell on commission, and the real owner appeared. Phew!” He snapped thumb and finger together. “That would be the end of Norreys right there.”

  Sam looked back at the wall of Abdul Hakroun's stronghold and spat out a sentence in a dialect which Kane had never heard. But Lorens answered with a curt laugh.

  “That is to the point! ‘He is a tiger among young goats.’ Only today I do not wear either horns or hooves, no matter how brightly Hadji Abdul's stripes gleam!”

  6

  “HE WAS FROM THE FORBIDDEN LAND, TUAN!”

  With the uneasy feeling that the old Moro trader had had the best of their encounter, the three from the Sumba trudged back toward the European quarter of Manado. Lorens suggested that it might be well to look up van Bleeker at the Harmonie Club, but Kane disagreed.

  “Sam and I are only tourists. We'll have a reason for poking around in the native town. Hakroun can't be the only pebble on this beach. Maybe we can contact one of those famous turtle hunters who are supposed to know so much about out-of-the-way islands. I’d like to ask some leading questions — and some about the pious Hadji too!”

  “That is my mission also. But I shall do the asking among my own countrymen. We may meet later at the club if you wish.” Lorens turned aside, and the Americans strolled on alone.

  “Cigaretten?”

  The thin pipe came from somewhere about their knees. Kane mechanically felt for the pack in his pocket, and a very small and very thin native boy watched that gesture with hungry and hopeful eyes.

  “Cigarettes, is
it? Okay.” Kane flipped a couple from the package into the dirty little paw.

  Both the boy and his loot vanished as Sam shook his head reprovingly. “Will you never learn, Dutch? In about a half a second that kid'll be back with most of the town mooching for handouts, and they'll hound us the rest of the afternoon Cigarettes are treasures they're not going to allow to escape them.”

  Fearing just such a development they quickened their pace and slid into a narrow lane between two nipathatched huts. Kane almost jostled a man hesitating there in the shadow, a man who dared to touch Sam's coat sleeve, a singularly bold move for a native.

  Only this was no Malay, Moro, or ex-head-hunting Toradja from the interior. At his first hissed word Sam stopped short to face a Japanese.

  “This is a small trader — on his beam ends,” Marusaki translated rapidly for Kane. “Wants to get out of here if he can manage to raise the price of a passage. He wants to show us what he has left for sale — ”

  “What about it? Story ring true to you?”

  Sam eyed the cringing man “Maybe eighty percent of it's okay. He's scared, clean through. I’d trust him as far as I could keep an eye on him. Says he just got in from the south and wants to get out of here — but quick. He's got the right idea at that — these islands are no place for his sort now — not if they want to keep their heads and their skins.”

  “Let's see what he's got to offer then.”

  The Japanese ducked into the least attractive of the two huts as if he had little liking for the open air of Manado. Once inside he made a great show of hospitality, tugging out two boxes to serve as seats, then opening up a wicker hamper.

  What he had to see was mostly worthless trash, odds and ends of island goods, tawdry and useless. But Sam made a sudden swoop into a muddle of small bits and came up with a large silver coin. He went to the doorway of the hut to inspect his find in the light.

  “Hey, what year was it that our American tea clippers first blew into these islands, Dutch?”

  “I don't know — back in the 1820s or ‘30s, I think Why?”

  “Looks like I'm holding a little memento of those days. U.S. silver dollar — date 1840. Wonder where our friend picked this up?” The Nisei loosed a flood of Japanese on the trader while Kane took the coin.

  Sam was right, it was a silver dollar from their own country, and fairly unworn too. How long had it been knocking around the islands? Ever since some Yankee skipper had parted with it perhaps a hundred years before?

  “Where'd he say he got it?”

  “He doesn't know. Was passed to him in trade somewhere south. He may be lying.” Sam shrugged. “It'd make a good lucky piece. I'm buying it.”

  “Did you ask him about the southern islands?”

  “That's a thought!” Again Sam launched into the hissing crackle of his ancestors’ native tongue, and his questions loosed a floodgate in reply. Kane caught the name ‘Hakroun’ repeated several times and never with either reverence or liking. Sam listened intently, interrupting now and again with other questions which acted upon the trader as might goads upon a maddened bull. But when the man seemed to be actually talked out, Sam took his wallet and counted out several bills. So in the end they left the little man bowing and hissing as if he had been wound up by clockwork to perform only those two functions.

  “What did he have to say?”

  “Plenty. This Hakroun gent is practically running the trading hereabouts. Our friend back there did fairly well as long as the Japs were in power. But when they pulled out the old Moro took over — but good. The Hadji's frozen out most of the small traders now and has everything pretty much his own way. For one thing, he doesn't encourage any exploring expeditions to nose around south of Besi in the Soelas — ”

  “Now I wonder why?”

  “So do a lot of other people apparently. The consensus of opinion at present is that the old gentleman is onto something pretty big and intends to keep it in his own pocket.”

  “Any suggestion as to what that something big might be?”

  “Oh, there are several different ones, ranging from buried treasure to oil. But everyone is certain it is a rich find. Hakroun doesn't trouble to deal in anything less than millions. Anyway, he and his agents discourage southern travel. Where does that leave us?”

  “If I know van Bleeker it leaves us preparing for a fight. I don't think the captain is going to honor any ‘No Trespassing’ signs if they interfere with his own plans — he's as much as said that already. But what about our own little problem of the missing man? That trader have any bright ideas on the subject?”

  “He said that hundreds could be hiding out down there, there's room enough — ”

  “Hiding out voluntarily, yes. But marooned involuntarily, I wonder. Hiding out — Does that expression give you any ideas now? Did he use just that term?”

  “He did!”

  Kane grinned. “Ironjaw might be amused atthat. ‘Hiding out’, a very thought-provoking term. We had better do a little poking around down south too.”

  “Haven't you always intended to?”

  “Naturally. And now we have such a good excuse for being stubborn about it too!”

  Beaming contentedly upon the world, as represented by the dust, smells and heat of Manado, they turned back toward the Harmonie Club and the company of Lorens, whom they discovered seated by himself at a table in the bar.

  “Where's all the population?” Kane surveyed the somewhat bare room.

  “Most of them are not back from captivity yet, I gather.” The Netherlander shut the notebook in which he had been scribbling. “The plantations have not begun to produce again, and the Sumba is one of the first privately owned vessels to touch this port since the war ended. Did you get a good look at the town?”

  “We did some shopping. Show him your new luck piece, Sam.”

  The Nisei rang the dollar on the table, and Lorens picked it up.

  “We think it's a remainder from the clipper ship days — when the tea trade was on with China — lots of our ships in these waters then,” Kane explained.

  But the Netherlander had taken out a jeweler's glass and was now examining one side of the coin closely.

  “What is it? Secret writing or something?” asked Sam.

  To their surprise Lorens was sober enough when he answered. “Almost that. In the first place this has been someone else's lucky piece. See this tiny hole — that was made for a ring — perhaps to suspend the coin from a watch chain. And there is something scratched on it — ”

  “What?”

  “The letters ‘R’ and ‘S’ and the numerals ‘1944’.”

  “R and S — Rodney Safield!”

  “Or maybe Rudolph Schmidt,” returned Sam to his companion's jubilation. “More than one man in this world has those two initials. Did his father say anything about his having such a luck charm?”

  Kane tried to remember the details on that sheet of identification particulars they had received from Col. Thurston. But he was sure there had been no mention of such a coin.

  “Coincidence is a strange thing,” commented Lorens. “You may not be right about this dollar — and then again it may be a real clue. Where did you get it?”

  But Sam was already on his feet. “Clue or not, I’m going back and have another talk with that trader. If he thinks we mean business about this he may open up — ”

  With Kane and Lorens at his heels, the ex-sergeant wove back through the hut maze to the shelter which had been a squatting place for the Japanese merchant. But now no one came in answer to Sam's hail, and when the three crowded into the dusky room it was to find it empty of both occupant and trade goods.

  “Hi!” Kane jumped through the door and clamped hands on a small naked figure who wriggled as desperately as a fish for an instant, then hung limp and shivering in the American's grip. “He was peeking around the corner at us,” explained the captor. “Where has the trader gone?” he asked his captive in Coast-Malay.

  Yellow-w
hite half moons showed in the corners of wide frightened eyes as the small boy kept his attention on Kane's face. But he remained steadfastly dumb to all the urging of both Americans and even to the less excited coaxing of the Netherlander.

  “Please — you wish to know something? I might help — ”

  Braced by one hand against the wall of the deserted hut stood a straight-backed native. He wore drill trousers as white and spotless as their own, but the side arch of his brown chest and the breadth of his shoulders were bare. There was no turban covering his close-clipped black hair, and he spoke in English, clearly but slowly, as if dragging the necessary words from the depths of memory.

  “There was a trader here a little while ago,” Kane begaa He was trying to guess which island claimed this man for its own. The fellow was neither Arab nor Chinese, and with that height and build he was unlike any Filipino the American had seen so far. On the other hand he did not resemble a Moro or Solomon Islander. His wide, pleasantly smiling mouth with its unfiled white teeth was not stained the scarlet of a betel chewer, and his standard of personal cleanliness was manifestly high.

  “A trader — here?” The stranger managed to suggest polite incredulity in an inoffensive fashion. “But this hut has been deserted for weeks. It has a bad name among the townspeople — they say that it has housed a demon.”

  The small boy still in Kane's grasp spat out a frenzied string of words, then tore free from the American's relaxed hold, diving between the two huts and so out of reach. His screech left the tall native frowning.

  “What did he say just then?” Kane wanted to know.

  “That the demon returned but has gone again. So there has been someone here.” He slid into the hut, and Kane saw him making a thorough search of the one musty room.

  “What was this trader, please? Moro, Arab, Chinese?” he asked as he came out with empty hands.

  “He was Japanese and in a big hurry to get home,” Sam returned shortly.

  Again those white teeth showed in a quick flash of smile. “If he was Japanese, it is easy to believe that he wished to return home. The islanders do not greatly love their late masters. But this man is necessary to you now — yes?”