“Was I looking solemn? I expect it was only foolishness. Most fools are solemn animals.”
“Don’t be a guffin, Jim,” she commanded, reprovingly.
“What is a guffin?” he asked.
“It is a thing with a big, Roman nose and most abnormal amount of obstinacy, which makes disparaging comments on my Captain Jim.”
“A horrid sort of beast it must be. Well, I won’t, then. Is that Quittah, where all those canoes are?”
“I suppose it is, but I’ve never been there. Yes, it must be. I can see Fort Firminger—that thing like a Martello tower out in the lagoon opposite the landing-place. Mr. Cockeram says it is an awfully strong fort. You couldn’t knock it down with a croquet mallet.”
Osmond looked about him with the interest of a traveller arriving at a place which he has heard of but never seen. Behind and on both sides, the waste of water extended as far as the eye could see. Before them was a line of low land with occasional clumps of coconut palms that marked the position of beach villages. Ahead was a larger mass of palms, before which was a wide ‘hard’ or landing-place, already thronged with market people, towards which numbers of trading canoes were converging from all parts of the lagoon.
As they drew nearer, an opening in the palms revealed a whitewashed fort above which a flag was just being hoisted; and now, over the sandy shore, the masts of two vessels came into view.
“There is the Widgeon,” said Betty, pointing to the masts of a barquentine, “and there is another vessel, a schooner. I wonder who she is.”
Osmond had observed and was also wondering who she was; for he had a suspicion that he had seen her before. Something in the appearance of the tall, slim masts seemed to recall the mysterious yacht-like craft that he had seen one night at Adaffia revealed for a moment in ‘the glimpses of the moon.’
They were now rapidly approaching the landing-place. The other canoe had already arrived, and its disembarked crew could be seen on the hard surrounded by a crowd of natives.
“That looks like a naval officer waiting on the beach,” said Osmond, looking at a white-clad figure which had separated itself from the crowd and appeared to be awaiting their arrival.
“It is,” replied Betty. “I believe it is Captain Darley. And there is a constabulary officer coming down, too. I expect they have heard the news. You’ll get a great reception when they hear Mr. Stockbridge’s story—and mine. But they will be awfully upset about poor Mr. Westall. You are coming up to the fort with me, of course?”
Osmond had intended to go straight on to Adaffia, but he now saw that this would be impossible. Besides, there was the schooner. “Yes,” he replied, “I will see you to your destination.”
“It isn’t my destination,” said she. “I shall rest here for a day—the German deaconesses will give me a bed, I expect—and then I am coming on with you to Adaffia to put a wreath on Captain Hartup’s grave. You can put up either at the fort or with one of the German traders or missionaries. There are no English people here excepting the two officers at the fort.”
Osmond made no comment on this, for they were now close inshore. The canoe slid into the shallows and in a few moments more was hauled up by a crowd of willing natives until her bows were high and dry on the hard.
The officer who had joined Darley turned out to be the doctor, under whose superintendence Stockbridge’s hammock was carefully landed and the rest of the wounded brought ashore. Then the litter containing the body of the dead officer was lifted out and slowly borne away, while Darley and the native soldiers stood at the salute, and the doctor, having mustered the wounded, led the way towards the little hospital. As the melancholy procession moved off, Darley turned to greet Betty and Osmond, who had stepped ashore last.
“How do you do, Miss Burleigh? None the worse for your adventures, I hope. Been having rather a strenuous time, haven’t you?”
“We have rather,” she replied. “Isn’t it a dreadful thing to have lost poor Mr. Westall?”
“Yes,” he replied, as they turned away from the lagoon and began to walk towards the fort. “Shocking affair. Still, fortune of war, you know. Can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs. And here is Mr. Cook, in the thick of the bobbery, as usual. What a fellow you are, Cook! Always in hot water.”
As he shook Osmond’s hand heartily, the latter replied: “Well, the bobbery wasn’t of my making, this time. I found it ready made and just bore a hand. By the way, what schooner is that out in the roads?”
“That,” replied Darley, “is an ancient yacht named the Primula—a lovely old craft—sails like a witch. But she has come down in the world now. We met her coming up from the leeward coast and brought her in here.”
“Brought her in? Is she in custody, then?”
“Well, we brought her in to overhaul her and make some inquiries. There is just a suspicion that she has been concerned in the gun-running that has been going on. But we haven’t found anything up to the present. She seems to be full up with ordinary, legitimate cargo.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Osmond.
“Why ‘ha’?” demanded Darley with a quick look at Osmond. “Do you know anything about her?”
“Let us hear some more,” said Osmond. “Is there a Welshman named Jones on board?”
“There is. He’s the skipper, purser, and super cargo all combined.”
“Have you looked through her manifest?”
“I have; and I’ve jotted down some notes of the items of her lading.”
“Is there any ivory on board?”
“Yes,” replied Darley, with growing excitement.
“Three large crates and a big canvas bag?”
“Yes!”
“Containing in all, thirty-nine large tusks and fifty-one scribellos?”
Darley dragged a pocket-book out of his pocket and feverishly turned over the leaves. “Yes, by Jove!” he fairly shouted. “The very numbers. Now, what have you got to tell us?”
“I think you can take it that the ivory and probably the rest of the lading, too, is stolen property.”
“Why,” exclaimed Betty, “that must be your ivory, Jim.”
Darley flashed an astonished glance at her and then looked inquiringly at Osmond. “Is that so?” he asked.
“I have no doubt that it is,” the latter replied. “But if it should happen that there is a man on board named Sam Winter—”
“There is,” interrupted Darley.
“And another named Simmons and others named Foat, Bradley, and Darker, I think, if you introduce me to them, that we shall get the whole story. And as to the gun-running, I can’t make a voluntary statement, but if you were to put me in the witness-box, I should have to tell you all that I know; and I may say that I know a good deal. Will that do, for the present?”
Darley smiled complacently. “It seems like a pretty straight tip,” said he. “I will just skip on board, now, and take possession of the manifest; and if you will give me that list of names again, I will see if those men are on board, and bring them ashore, if they are. You will be staying at the fort, I suppose? There are only Cockeram and the doctor there.”
“Yes,” said Betty, “I shall ask Mr. Cockeram to put him up, for tonight, at any rate.”
“Very well,” said Darley, “then I shall see you again later. And now I will be off and lay the train.”
He touched his cap, and as they emerged into an open space before the gateway of the fort, he turned and walked away briskly down