Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (29 page)

Lwiza ducked her head shyly. “I only showed what I saw in a picture once before,” she said. “In a book. I wanted to be of help.”

“Well, you’ve been a jim-dandy big help,” said Talmadge, reaching over and patting her hand. “She’s the one who finally found old Homerman’s keys today.” He laughed. “You can tell that man is Rex’s brother-in-law. Sure didn’t get his job being qualified.”

“Did he mix up the ammunition?” asked Jade. “Is that why Miss Porter’s rifle had live rounds?”

The men all shrugged. “Beats the dickens out of me,” said Wells. “It’s a sad mess and that’s the truth. I heard one of those hired chaps talking before. Couldn’t make out what he said, but I heard him say, ‘Porter.’ ”

Murdock’s head jerked up. “What?”

Wells nodded. “It made me wonder if someone had mixed up Cynthia’s name with their job. You know? Porter, porter? Maybe they thought that was a gun for a gun bearer to carry.”

“I can’t believe that’s what they meant,” argued Jade.

“Well, Rex thinks it explains everything,” said Wells. “As far as he’s concerned, the matter’s settled.”

Wonderful. Of course he wouldn’t dwell on it. Just another native man killed.
Jade’s disgust put a dank taste in her mouth. She pushed her plate away. “I want to thank you again, Woody, for coming to my rescue. I hope you didn’t come up with blanks in your rifle, though.”

“My pleasure, Jade. McAvy and I had live rounds in our gear in case we went hunting. Just took us a while to load those rifles.” Just then Julian called for everyone’s attention by clanking his spoon on his tin cup.

“Everyone needs a good night’s sleep tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow we’re going to break camp and climb up the mountain. We’re going to the crater!”

What little appetite Jade had fled as a sudden cold, stabbing fear gripped her stomach.

 

 

“YOU RECOGNIZE HIM, sir?” asked Sam.

“Of course. Used to work for me.” Lord Colridge handed the photograph off to Bertram. “Hired him to replace my other Somali. The one your Miss del Cameron stole away.”

“Pili?” exclaimed Beverly.

“Precisely,” said Colridge. “After she sent my best lad off to some university somewhere, I had to find another, you know. Somali are generally quite good with horses, so, naturally, when Bahdoon came looking for work, I hired him.”

“But you didn’t report him missing?” asked Madeline.

“No, for the simple fact that I’d
fired
him a month ago. Never actually caught the man stealing, but when missing articles coincide with a man’s addition to the household . . . well, it’s simple. Told him to collect his possessions and cut out.”

“Did he have references, this Bahdoon?” asked Bertram.

“Yes, forged, I should imagine,” said Colridge. “But to answer the question as to why he had no
kipande
, most Somali are not required to have them.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Sam. “I’ll tell Inspector Finch to morrow.”

Colridge waved his hand in dismissal. “Think nothing of it, son. Very glad to help. Should be happier if I had Pili back. Is there, er, any chance . . . ?” He looked to Beverly, his brows arched, the picture of hope.

Beverly cocked her head and smiled. “I think not, my Lord Colridge. After an intensive tutoring in the basic sciences, he’s deeply invested in his studies of animal husbandry. It’s possible that we’ll see him some holiday, and we’re hoping he’ll come to work for us when he’s completed his courses. He has some hope of eventually earning a veterinary degree.”

Colridge pulled back in surprise. His eyes widened and his lower jaw dropped. “The devil,” he said, then hastened to add, “My apologies for such language, Lady Dunbury. I was . . . I mean to say . . . Well, he always was a clever lad.” The old man puffed his chest out and preened his brushy mustache with his fingertips. “Taught him everything I knew about horses.”

“And he couldn’t have had a better teacher, sir,” said Avery, feeding the man’s pride.

“At what university is he studying?” asked Colridge. “Edinburgh, I should imagine.”

Avery shook his head. “Sorry, sir, but we keep that a very tight secret. When Pili inherited part of his father, Gil Worthy’s, estate . . . How shall I put this? Worthy’s widow made an attempt on Pili’s life. Lilith might try again. We’ve already moved him once. And after finding some letters opened, we take extra steps. She may yet have a spy in Nairobi.”

“Indeed? Hmph, well.” Colridge pursed his lips and his gaze shifted from side to side as he looked to the others for confirmation or refutation. But any further commentary was brushed aside as Bertram, who’d been leafing through the other photographs, remarked on them.

“I say, these are very interesting photographs. Did you take these, Mr. Featherstone?”

“Please call me Sam, and no, I only developed them. I’d hoped to spot our erstwhile Somali friend in them.” He thought about explaining why, then decided against it. At this point, his theory sounded far-fetched even to him.

“The photographer did a marvelous job,” declared Bertram. “Look how well he captured this Abyssinian woman.”

“The photographer is a young American lady,” corrected Madeline. “She’s on safari on Mount Kilimanjaro with these very people, but you’re mistaken. There are no Abyssinians in her group.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “A British hunter, his Nyamwezi man, American actors, and their Swahili maid.”

“I assure you, Mrs. Thompson, I’m not mistaken. The Swahili—the
pure
Swahili, mind you—are mostly transplanted Arabs. There’s a distinctive cast to their noses and faces. This woman has the look of one of the Abyssinian nobility. I can see it in her cheekbones and the hairstyle, the way she’s parted it in the middle and rolled up each side.”

He turned the picture to better catch the room’s light. “Of course, in the blacks and whites of a photograph, one misses the buttery walnut skin tones so characteristic of the upper class.” He tapped the arm in the picture. “But even if I
was
mistaken about the face, this armband would decide the issue. I’ve seen these before. The highborn ladies who serve as ladies-in-waiting wear them. Design represents either the ark or the temple.” He set the photograph on the table atop the others. “Most curious. I can’t imagine one of these ladies leaving court.”

While the others exclaimed amongst themselves, Sam sat quietly trying to recollect something he’d heard the woman say.
Bun? A bun?
Bunna! “Major Bertram,” he said, trying to keep his voice even as he fought the gnawing anxiety that grew within him, “what is the Abyssinian word for coffee?”

“
Bunna
. Why do you ask?”

CHAPTER 18

—The Traveler

“IS THIS A GOOD IDEA, HARRY?” JADE ASKED. “TAKING THIS LOT UP the mountain?”

“I don’t have a choice, Jade. It’s what I was hired to do. And the sooner we get up there, the sooner Julian will finish his motion picture, and”—he poked his chest for emphasis—“the sooner
I
can get them on the train and back to Nairobi. But Julian’s mistaken. We’re
not
going to the crater. I’m engaged to take them as far as the saddle, that heath at the edge of the ice field.”

He looked around at his own men standing in a cluster talking in low tones. “Nakuru’s all right, but the rest of the men are getting nervous. They’re starting to take this whole tale of a lost, buried king seriously. Think we’re jinxed.”

“Jinxed?” echoed Jade. Behind her, Lwiza passed by on some errand.

Harry pushed up his hat brim. “That’s right. First you slip on that little bridge, then some bloody boomslang appears in a box. Next Zakayo gets killed and your rifle jams as you try to shoot a leopard that left no prints. Add to it that bloody Chagga curse on you, and they’re starting to
invent
mishaps. Scorched posho at breakfast, a box that slipped and hit someone’s arm, it’s all evidence to them right now. It might do them good to move up higher and find out that we left our troubles behind us. If we turn tail and leave, that will only reinforce their superstitions, and I’ll never get men to work for me here again.”

Jade pondered that idea for a moment. “You’re probably right, Harry. But are we ready to go up? Don’t we need to pick up more supplies in Moshi?”

“Don’t worry yourself on that score, Jade. We have enough of the staples: flour, meal, jerked meat, that sort of thing. I’ll hunt. Or you. Game’s good up higher, especially above the forest in that heath they call the saddle.”

Jade frowned as she listened to the others prattle away at their private conversations. Most were subdued, but Julian waxed ecstatic. “Look at him,” she said. “A man died today, shot by their rifle, and he acts as if nothing happened. He probably considers himself lucky to have a genuine death scene caught on film.” She noticed Pearl and Bebe staying close to Cynthia and was glad to see the other women make an effort to support her.

Harry took hold of her right elbow. “I’m as disgusted as you are, Jade. But we
are
heading up the mountain tomorrow. We need
all
our strength.
I
need you to be at your peak. One sign of hesitation from you would send the new men into a superstitious panic.”

“New men?” she asked. “You hired some Chagga porters? Is that wise, considering what just happened? We could go into Moshi and hire more if we waited two more days.”

“I might have, but you did an excellent job of placating the Chagga. Elsewise we could have had a hornet’s nest descending on us. Giving these men jobs will smooth differences even further.”

Jade let out a deep breath. “You’re the boss, Harry. I just hope these men weren’t related to Zakayo.”

“Jade,” he said softly, stepping closer to her. “You don’t have to take it that way.
You’re
my right-hand man, in a manner of speaking,” he added, running his gaze over her body. “I trust you. I’d rather hoped you felt you could trust me.” His voice held a note of hurt.

“Harry, I’m the last one to question your ability to run a safari,” said Jade, stepping back. “But another day’s notice would have helped. You underestimate the amount of time it takes to get these actresses together. That’s one of the reasons you hired me, remember? Now, what’s your plan?”

He studied her face and hair for a moment and released a deep breath. “Right! On to business. We roust everyone up an hour before dawn. My men will take down the tents and start up the trail ahead of us with Nakuru leading. When our lot has had their breakfast, we’ll start up for Bismark’s hut. It’s only four hours’ walk, not difficult. Hell, our men will make it in three. We’ll stay the night there. Give them a chance to acclimate to the higher elevation. But Nakuru and some of the men will continue on to Peter’s hut after dropping off a few supplies.”

“They can make that in one day?”

“They have before. It’s another six hours at most. And it gives them a full day’s rest before they set up camp on the other edge of the saddle. We’ll be there a day after them.”

“What about the supplies? Are they all going to be a day away from us, too?”

“Not all of them. Nakuru will leave our essentials and enough food stores at the first hut along with a few men to carry everything the next day. But the Americans will have to carry their most personal gear themselves.”

“This group thinks
everything
is essential, Harry. Especially these women. They’ll have Lwiza running ragged, sorting. I’d better give her a hand.” She turned to go.

He snatched at her sleeve. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “When you’re done, why don’t you join me at my tent for a cup of coffee? We can plan together.”

“A little late for that,” she said, brushing his hand aside. “Besides, if we’ve got the watch from two until dawn, I’ll need a few hours’ sleep.” She walked away.

 

 

“DON’T YOU SEE? That’s it!”

It was all Sam could do to stand still. Any attempt by Beverly or Avery to get him in a chair was pointless. He’d sat long enough, holding back his revelation until Colridge’s son, Edmunde, came for his father. But even then, he couldn’t spill out his discovery. Instead they had to endure another twenty minutes of Edmunde. And now that the father and son had gone, no one believed him.

“Look,” Sam said, holding his hands out in front of him. “It’s very simple.” He made a fist with his left hand and extended the index finger. “First off, the native that stabbed Wheeler was not only intoxicated, but drugged to the point of mania with datura. Mixing datura seeds in alcohol is done in Abyssinia.”

He looked to Major Bertram for confirmation and received it in the form of a perfunctory nod. A second finger extended. “This movie is about an early Abyssinian emperor. And lastly,” Sam said, punctuating his statement with his ring finger, “Major Bertram has just pointed out that the woman everyone thinks is some simple Swahili maidservant is from Abyssinia.” He spread his arms like some performer waiting for the applause after a performance. His audience stared at him with tilted heads and upraised eyebrows.