Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (16 page)

Conversations among the filmmakers on the return trip had been sporadic, since it involved calling to someone walking in front of or behind another person. Not the easiest way to exchange confidences. She’d heard Rex Julian wax eloquent to anyone who would listen about the value of today’s footage. The fact that a young Chagga woman had nearly died for it didn’t seem to faze him. At least it kept him from grousing about having his storyteller interrupted.

As if on cue, Julian pushed his way to the front and bad gered Harry. “You should have insisted he tell us the story of Menelik instead of letting him wander like some addled old coot. Bible stories, no less!”

“I told you,” Harry replied calmly, “a storyteller’s merit is lowered if his audience doesn’t want to come back for more. He deliberately held out on us today. He’ll tell us tomorrow.”

“No more gifts!” ordered Mr. Julian. “He’ll milk us for all we’ve got.”

“We need to bring something,” said Harry, “but just not as valuable. It will tell him we still honor him, but let him know that we’re out of fancy goods.”

“You mean we have to traipse all the way back to that village tomorrow?” asked Talmadge. “Fun’s fun, but that wasn’t it.”

“What are you complaining about?” asked Murdock. “You’re at least not lugging cameras and tripods and film.”

“Neither are you,” said Budendorfer, turning around. He had a tripod with the camera attached slung over one shoulder.

“Just speaking up for you,” said Murdock. “And watch when you turn around. You nearly clobbered me with that thing.”

“Wouldn’t want to damage the equipment,” said Budendorfer.

“I don’t think we all need to go up again tomorrow, do we, Rex?” asked Bebe. “You must have enough footage of us sitting around looking intent. And I didn’t have any scenes.”

Pearl echoed the sentiment. “My feet are tired, Rex. I’m going to get a bunion.”

Cynthia let her eyes speak for her, sending an eloquent appeal to Harry. “Of course, I’ll do whatever Mr. Hascombe suggests.”

Julian scrambled across the stacked stones that formed a bridge over the river and stopped on the other side, facing his group like some general addressing his troops. Homerman stood beside him as a faithful minion. “You do not have to return tomorrow. And I’ll only take one camera, just in case.” He didn’t have to finish the statement. Jade knew that he hoped something else dramatic would happen in the village.

“Uh, boss,” said Brown. “Which one of us cameramen gets to stay put tomorrow?”

“We’ll draw straws,” said Julian. “Unless one of you wants to be unemployed. Maybe the lucky one can help Roland set up the equipment for the Menelik scene.”

Harry waved an arm towards the camp. “We need to keep moving, Julian. You can make your arrangements over dinner. Everyone’s tired and a bit on edge.”

Harry stayed on the near side of the stream to see that everyone got across safely. The water ran only a foot deep at the end of the dry season, but the rocks were slippery in spots.

“That’s it. Here. Hand the camera to the porter. There you are,” said Harry. The porter waded into the icy cold snowmelt with the camera slung over one shoulder, just as he’d done on the way up the hill. A second Nyamwezi man followed with the other camera.

“Let me give you a hand there, Cynthia,” said Harry. He picked her up and carried her across the stones. Both Pearl and Bebe insisted on the same fun, squealing with glee as he easily toted each in turn. “You, too, Miss Lwiza.”

Jade noticed that Harry again treated the Swahili woman with the same courtesy he gave to the Americans.
He may be a horse’s patoot, but at least he’s not a snob.

“Need a hand, Jade?” he asked, a huge grin on his face.

“
I
can manage, Harry, but thanks just the same.”

He didn’t press her, which she also appreciated. Jade waited while Biscuit stooped to drink his fill, sneezing once as the cold water tickled his whiskers. Then the cat bounded gracefully over the stones, electing not to wet his feet. Jade stepped onto the rocks. As on the trip up, she tested each rock before planting her booted foot on it.

When she was halfway across the bridge, the sound of rushing water turned into a buzzing hum, like a hive of bees in her ears. Her chest constricted in one sharp gasp when she felt her balance totter as a rock that had seemed secure suddenly shifted. It slid into the cold stream, and Jade heard the plunk and felt the splash as though from a distance. Her vision faltered and she heard voices, but they spoke no dialect she knew. The only creature she saw with any clarity as she struggled to maintain her balance was Biscuit. Yet even now, the cat seemed larger and the spotting on his golden coat resembled a leopard’s more than a cheetah’s.

“Easy, Jade,” said Harry. “I’ve got you.”

Jade felt a strong arm around her waist and the dizziness passed. Biscuit was once again on the far side by Jelani, and Harry stood directly beside her.

“I’m fine, Harry. You can let go of me now.”

“Not until you’re across. I can’t risk your twisting an ankle or breaking a leg in a fall.” He let go of her waist and took hold of her left arm instead.

Jade didn’t fight him. The sooner she got off the bridge and onto solid ground, the better. “One of the rocks came loose with all the foot traffic,” she said by way of explanation. “We should shore up the rest.”

“I’ll leave the men to do that,” said Harry, and he directed the Nyamwezi to repair the makeshift bridge. Then in a lower voice he added, “Is that all, Jade? Your face got sort of queer-like. I’d have suspected you were about to faint, but you’re not the type.”

Jade scowled. “I just lost my balance when the rock slipped. That’s all. I’m fine.” She pulled away from him and motioned for him to go on.

Harry watched her face for a moment longer. Then, satisfied that she was in fact all right, he led the way back to their base camp. Jade again took up the rear guard and started down the trail, but not before catching Jelani’s watchful gaze. She read in his eyes that he didn’t believe her for one moment. Curiously, she didn’t either.

 

 

“THIS PIPE STILL isn’t fitting right,” said Sam. He stood up and wiped the sweat and grease from his face with his kerchief. “It needs to be ground down a bit more.”

“Shall I take another go at it?” asked Neville.

“I’ll do it,” said Avery. “You chaps take a break.”

Sam shook his head, his brown hair flopping over one eye. “Thanks, Avery, but I’d just as soon do it myself.”

Neville wiped off a wrench and put it aside. “He’s been that way all day,” he said, nodding towards Sam. “Surprised he’s letting me do anything.”

Avery shrugged and puffed on his pipe. “That’s what comes of being a pilot, Neville. Once you start working on your machine, you’re not going to trust her to anyone else.”

“Naturally,” said Neville. “But your life would depend on that.
This
,” he continued, patting the jumble of metal, “is just a coffee washer.”

“Not
just
a coffee washer, Neville,” said Sam. “This invention is going to make your fortune and revolutionize the coffee industry. Every farmer will want one.”

“
Our
fortune,” corrected Neville. “This was as much your idea as mine. Maybe more so.”

“I presume you are applying for a patent,” said Avery.

“Yes,” said Neville, “and Isherwood and Sons in Nairobi is going to manufacture them.”

“Indeed!” said Avery. “There’s a feather in the colony’s cap.”

A clanging bell interrupted the men’s conversation. “Ah, Maddy has our supper ready. This will have to wait until tomorrow,” said Neville.

Avery accompanied the others to the well pump, where they lathered up their hands and scrubbed the grease from them. Maddy met them with clean towels. “Hello, Avery. I didn’t know you’d stopped by. You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

“Thank you, Maddy. That is, if you don’t mind. Beverly has taken it in her head to attend a meeting of the Ladies’ Pistol Club, of all things. The nanny has the baby in hand, so I’m a bit of a bachelor tonight.” He knocked the ashes out of his pipe and stuck it in his pocket.

“Good for her,” said Madeline. “Beverly, I mean. What fun. Jade should join that club, too, shouldn’t she, Sam?”

He dried his hands and tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Not sure Jade’s interested in pistols as much as rifles.”

“Or roping,” added Avery with a laugh. “I still wish I could have seen when she threw—” He stopped abruptly when Neville elbowed him and shook his head. One glance at Sam’s profile told Avery that Jade’s recent escapades were topics to be avoided.

Madeline helped her friend recover by skipping over the recent time when Jade had captured a murderer by lassoing him, and mentioned one of her earlier, less hazardous adventures. “Sam caught Jade roping that zebra on film, Avery. I thought you saw that.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Indeed. I did see that.”

“There’s no need to pretend in front of me,” said Sam as he sat down at the table. “I’m perfectly aware of all the wild stunts Jade has done.”

Madeline set a platter of steaming ham slices in front of the men and added bowls of boiled potatoes, fresh garden greens, tender boiled corn on the cob, and a loaf of warm bread.

Neville led them in the blessing and everyone tucked into the meal. After a few minutes of silence, Avery broached the forbidden subject again. “Have you heard any word from Jade, Sam?”

His brows furrowed. “No. Should I have?”

“I thought she might have sent a wire back from Moshi saying she’d arrived,” said Avery.

“I doubt there was time,” suggested Madeline. “But I’m sure she’s fine and—”

Sam leaned back in his chair. “May we talk about something else?”

“No, by thunder!” said Avery. “We won’t. Sam Featherstone, you’re not fooling anyone. You’re in some terrible, gloomy mood, and while I normally make it a point to stay out of another man’s business . . . er, this time, I’m breaking my own rule for a friend. You’re not jealous of her being off with Hascombe, are you?”

“No,” said Sam. “Jade’s dislike of him is too strong. And if he tried anything . . .”

Neville laughed. “Our Jade would probably shoot him a right jab to the jaw.”

“Or just shoot him,” added Avery with a chuckle. “Then are you still worried about Jade having a murderer in with her crew?”

Sam folded his napkin and plopped it next to his barely touched meal. “Since you insist on discussing it, yes, I am. I’ve talked with Dr. Mathews and that blasted Finch and they agree that it is odd, but they can’t find any connection to that lot from California. Not that they’re looking for any, either. I’ve asked anyone else who was at the Muthaiga that night if they’d ever seen the native before. Of course, either they don’t want to talk to me or they have no idea what the native looked like.”

“And there’s no other clue to the man’s origin?” asked Madeline.

Sam recounted what he’d learned so far.

“In other words, the man probably came from Mombassa or wandered up from Dar es Salaam, looking for work or trouble,” summarized Avery. “He bought some bad
tembo
from one of the local native brewers and had a murderous fit.”

“You’re leaving out the part about the poison in the native beer,” said Sam. “The natives around here don’t do that. At least, not that I’ve ever heard of.”

“Sam’s right there, Avery,” said Neville. “Maddy and I have lived here since before the war, and I’ve never heard of
tembo
being tainted with . . . what was it again?”

“Datura,” said Sam. “Sort of a morning glory type of flower. Seeds and root are all poisonous. Mathews sent the drink down to a chemist friend of his in Mombassa. Thought he might be able to isolate something from it, but as far as he knows, it’s just ordinary
tembo
.” Sam fidgeted with his napkin for a moment. “I wonder if you’d do me a favor, Avery.”

“Certainly. You need only to name it.”

“Send a telegram to that women’s prison, the one Lilith Worthy is in. See if she’s been up to anything.”

“Sam!” exclaimed Madeline. “Do you think she’s behind this?”

He shrugged. “She’s tried to kill Jade before and she’s got connections in Africa. I’d just like to be certain, that’s all.”

“I’ll send it tomorrow, but chances are, old chap,” continued Avery, “that the man had this brew already with him. Gave him Dutch courage, so to speak. Took too much of it this time. Delicious meal, Maddy.”

Madeline beamed. “It’s so nice to have you here with us, Avery. Even if you were abandoned for a pistol club.”

“Actually, I had another motive for dropping by,” he said. “An old school chum of mine whom I haven’t seen in years has wired me. Fascinating fellow. Traveled all over the Sudan and the Nubian Desert. Actually wandered into Aby—”

“Mummy?” The querulous call came from an adjacent room.

“I’ll get him, my dear,” said Neville, rising. “Little tyke probably wants some water.” He left the room and returned a moment later carrying their recently adopted son. “Look who’s here, Cyril. It’s Uncle Avery.”

“Hello, little man,” said Avery. “I was just about to invite your mummy and dad to come and dine with me and Aunt Beverly this Saturday. You must come, too, and keep little Alice Merrywether company.”

“How delightful,” said Maddy. “We’d love to.”

“And, of course, you too, Sam,” added Avery. “Especially you.”

“Why especially me?”

“Because I want you all to meet this old friend of mine whom I was telling you about. Get your mind off your troubles.”

“You mean off Jade, don’t you?”

Avery laughed. “She’s fine, Sam. A lot of silly playactors are no match for Jade. Any sign of trouble and she’ll be right in there setting it aright.”

“That,” said Sam, “is
precisely
what I’m afraid of.”