Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [40]
It was a bedstead of great beauty, having four glittering knobs, one at each corner, and on the headrail were shining medallions that caught the light of the setting sun and sent it back in a thousand gleaming rays.
“Oh, Bosambo, I see you,” said Sanders, and the big man scrambled to his feet.
“Lord,” he said hastily, “these Akasava men are thieves, for they came into my land with their spears to steal my beautiful bed.”
“So I observe,” said Sanders grimly, “but now you will tell your strong men to carry the bed to my ship, for did you not tell the Akasava that by magic you had taken this beautiful bedstead from the House of Ghosts?”
The agitation of Bosambo was pitiful to see. “Lord, I told them this in jest. But this bed I bought from Halli, and, lord, I spent a great fortune, paying with real silver dollars that I had saved.”
“You may have the money back again,” said Sanders, and Bosambo’s eyes lit up, “for if you take a bedstead by magic, you may take money.”
Bosambo spread out his hands in resignation. “It is written,” he said.
He was a good Mohammedan, and most of the silver dollars he had paid were of a dubious quality. Mr Halley discovered this later.
A LOVER OF DOGS
The mail-boat had come into sight, had dropped its letter-bag, and was a smudge on the horizon. Sanders sorted the personal mail, putting the letters beside each plate at the breakfast-table, and Captain Hamilton of the Houssas had read three letters, a balance-sheet, and the circular of a misguided racing tipster (this was sent on from Hamilton’s club), and was re-reading one of the letters for the second time when Sanders asked: “Where on earth is Bones?”
“Bones, sir?”
Hamilton looked round resentfully at the vacant chair.
“Curious,” he said. “He’s usually waiting on the mat for the post. Just now he is learning accountancy through a correspondence course, and that makes him keener.”
Lieutenant Tibbetts, known by all and sundry, from His Excellency the Administrator to the least clerk of the district, as “Bones,” took correspondence courses as a hypochondriac takes physic. They were mostly of American origin, and they emanated from colleges which, although they occupied only one small room on the nineteenth floor of important buildings, did not hesitate to print pictures of the whole of those important buildings on their notepaper. They also awarded diplomas and degrees that were imposing and grand. Bones, after three years of frenzied study, was a Doctor of Law (University of Tuxedo), a Graduate of Science (Ippikosh University), a Fellow of the Incorporated Society of Architects (of Elma, III.), and Master of Dramatic and Cinematographic Art (Spicy’s College of Dramaturgy, Sacramento, Cal.).
“Maybe,” said Hamilton thoughtfully, “this course will teach him to add. The last returns we rendered to HQ have been returned twice because Bones mixed the hundreds with the thousands.”
“Ham! Ham! Dear old officer!”
It was the voice of Lieutenant Tibbetts, alternately shrill with excitement and hoarse with pride, and it came from outside. Hamilton got up and walked to the door, Sanders following.
Bones was standing before the broad steps, an angular figure in white, his big topee pushed back from his streaming forehead, one skinny arm extended stiffly.
“Jumping Moses!” gasped Hamilton. “Where did you get that?”
Straining at a lead wound round and round the extended hand of Bones, was the largest and ugliest bulldog he had ever seen. It was white save for a smear of black that ran across its face. Its teeth were bare, its bow legs planted determinedly, and its stub of tail quivered ecstatically.
“Bought it, old boy! Had it sent out by a jolly old pal of mine. Ah, naughty, naughty Hector!”
Hector had suddenly leapt about and was confronting Bones, his lips curled back, a strange green light in his eyes.
“Hector, Hector!” reproved Bones. “Naughty, naughty old bow-wow. Yes, you is! You’se a naughty old bow-wow!”
The naughty old bow-wow