Bones of the River - Edgar Wallace [74]
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“You who are chiefs shall be chiefs no longer,” said Sanders, sitting in the palaver-house an hour later, and addressing a confused and miserable assembly. “This is the order of the Government. As to the young man who is a foreigner amongst you and speaks English and teaches you cunning ways of fighting, he shall hang before you all. This, too, is the word of my lords.” He paused a moment. “Come to me, Lolango.”
The tall native who was called “The Desired” came forward in trepidation.
“O Lolango,” mocked Sanders, “because you put upon the ground red berries which have a great magic, you are pardoned.”
“Lord, I did this because of a woman,” stammered Lolango.
“That I know,” replied Sanders grimly, and well he knew it, for it was by those red berries dropped at intervals that he had found his way across the swamp.
He turned to the white-faced girl by his side. “I think, Miss Brent, that this is no job for you. I have decided views about the employment of women for Secret Service work.”
“I didn’t expect I should have to come so far,” said the girl ruefully. “I – I did my best to make him talk on the ship, but he was very reticent.”
“Now he is more reticent than ever,” said Sanders.
THE WOMAN WHO SPOKE TO BIRDS
There was a man named Pinto Fernandez who was called, by courtesy and right, “Portuguese.” He possessed an indubitable title to that description, for he was born a native of Angola, being the consequence of a union between a minor official of Sao Paul de Loanda and the half-coloured maid to the wife of His Excellency the Governor of Bonguella. Even by Portuguese standards, Pinto was “dark.” It is not necessary to trace his career from Loanda to Sierra Leone, nor to mention more than this fact, that he took a school certificate at one of Marriott Brothers’ educational establishments.
His wife was indubitably white. She had been a Miss Hermione de Vere-Biddiford, and at one time was partner to Professor Zoobola, the famous hypnotist and illusionist, who “travelled” the coast from Dakfur to Cape Town. She spoke with a strong Cockney accent, and her father’s name was Juggs, so that the balance of probability is weighted toward the supposition that Vere-Biddiford was a nom-de-guerre adopted to meet the exigencies of a profession which demands classiness.
Pinto knew the coast backwards. Before he met his wife, left derelict at Grand Bassam by a bankrupt professor, he had served terms of imprisonment in French, German, Portuguese, and British West African gaols, for divers petty larcenies, impersonations, and trickeries. His wife, on the other hand, had only twice appeared before a magistrate, on each occasion charged with attempting to obtain money by threats.
Mr and Mrs Pinto Fernandez met in the waiting-room of the magistrate’s court at Lagos, and were expelled from the country together. At Funchal, in the island of Madeira, they were legally married, and rented a small house in one of those steep streets down which it is the delight of the visiting tourist to toboggan. And there, combining their separate understandings of the people and atmosphere of the coast, and aided largely by Pinto’s command of English, they began operations…
Nearly twelve months later: “It seems to me, dear old centurion,” said Lieutenant Tibbetts, glaring up from the company clothing accounts, “that either I’m a jolly bad old accountant–”
“I wouldn’t say that, Bones,” said Hamilton soothingly. “Maybe, as usual, you’ve added the day of the month and subtracted the year. Or perhaps you’ve put the pounds in the pence column – try again.”
Bones sighed wearily and passed his hand before his eyes. Hamilton could not guess what black despair lay in the heart of his subordinate.
The day was swelteringly hot and the breeze that crawled through the open window of Bones’ hut came from landward and had the fragrance and comfort of a large wood fire.
With an effort Bones hunched his shoulders, jabbed the pen into the ink, dropped a large black splodge on his white overalls and began again.
“Nine an’ seven’s