Treasure of the Golden Cheetah (8 page)

“Jade! Seems we have a couple of stowaways.”

CHAPTER 5

—The Traveler

“STOWAWAYS?” JADE RAN TOWARDS HARRY. HE STOOD IN FRONT OF the baggage car, hands on his narrow hips, glaring at someone as yet hidden from Jade’s sight. She heard a chirp, her first clue to the identities.

“Jelani?” she asked when she beheld the youth. He stood beside the crates, arms folded across his slender chest, face resolute and defiant. Biscuit, a makeshift leather leash tied to his collar, stood beside him. The lad wore the same knee-length shorts as in his teacher’s hut, along with a faded brown long-sleeved shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His feet were strapped into a pair of leather sandals that had been mended so often little remained of the original work. His black eyes locked onto Harry and, without so much as a glance in Jade’s direction, he spoke.

“We are here, Simba Jike, to guard you.”

Harry cut loose in a whoop of laughter, then stifled it when he saw Jade’s serious expression. “The devil,” he said. “And since when does Simba Jike need the protection of a boy? Or anyone, for that matter?”

Jelani did not deign to answer, but turned towards Jade and jumped out of the car. “My teacher sent me,” he said.

Harry pulled his hat off and scratched his head. “I thought I saw one extra body when the gear was transferred at Voi. Rascal must have slipped out of the car unnoticed, carried boxes to the new cars, and just stayed in there, though how he managed to get Biscuit past everyone is beyond me.”

“Jelani, I’m always happy to see you, but you’ll be in trouble again. You don’t have travel permits.” Jade looked him over. “You must be thirsty and starving, too.”

“Do not worry for me, Simba Jike.” He held out the metal canister that contained his
kipande
, or documents. “You signed my paper to work for you, remember? I carried gourds of water and bought fruit at the Voi station. Biscuit hunted for birds when everyone ate in the station. I bought a chicken for him when you stopped today.”

“You used your hut tax money to buy food?” asked Jade.

Jelani grinned for the first time. “No, I used the money that Bwana Nyati paid me for moving the boxes.” He nodded in Harry’s direction.

“The devil,” repeated Harry. “Well, you’re here, so I won’t send you back. But I’m not paying you again.”

Jelani shrugged.

“Leave him alone, Harry,” said Jade. “Jelani works for me. I’ll pay his wages.” She turned back to the youth. “But why does your teacher think I need to be protected? He already warned me about two deaths. That was over when the African man killed the American in Nairobi and then himself.”

Jelani shook his head. “No, Simba Jike. Remember! My teacher saw the graves on this mountain. He also saw a third grave. He said it will open soon and you must not fall into it.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” snapped Harry. “We’ve got enough to handle without him stirring up trouble.”

Jade held up a hand for silence. “Harry, Jelani is my responsibility.”

“Then you can figure out where to put him.”

“I will stay with the
mpishi
,” Jelani declared, pointing to the cook. “Muturi is from my village.”

“Good,” said Jade. “Now, please say nothing more, Jelani. It will only frighten everyone needlessly. Since you brought Biscuit, I’m putting you in charge of him. Now, Harry, what next?”

Harry clamped his hat back on his head. “We sleep here tonight, and tomorrow we get ourselves up the mountain.”

 

 

SAM HAD NEVER felt so much like cursing as he did the afternoon after Jade left on the train. The thought of her on safari with Hascombe was maddening enough, but this feeling went beyond jealousy. Ever since Wheeler’s stabbing, Sam had felt a gnawing worry eating at him. Something about the death felt wrong. He just couldn’t put his finger on what.

Out of fuel for his plane, Sam reviled the ongoing fuel shortage that annoyed the Kenya colony. Unable to sort out his concerns aloft, he did the next best thing and lost himself in something mechanical. An engineer trained at Purdue University, Sam loved machines. He loved the way their parts meshed together and, by their interplay, created a whole greater than expected. He appreciated how they responded predictably to his care. Why weren’t women like that? How could they be so much more complicated? His heart answered him.

And no one, he reminded himself, had a more determined and intricate mind than Jade.

She’s right. You’ll have to learn to trust her.
Unfortunately, trust wasn’t the only issue.

Neville joined Sam at midmorning and together they worked on their invention. The improved coffee washer would be more efficient even at high volumes. Once it was finished, they’d patent it. Neville, who had a surprisingly good head for business despite his many half-baked ideas, such as herding crocodiles for leather, had developed a plan to start up a service of washing coffee raised by other farmers. Madeline, who had an even better head for business, had helped them determine the fees.

Maddy brought them lunch and lemonade at two. Little Cyril tagged along and they enjoyed an impromptu picnic. No one talked about the two events uppermost in their minds: Jade’s safari and Wheeler’s murder.

At sunset, Madeline reminded them of the Dunburys’ invitation to dine with them. The men took turns washing the grease off themselves in the tin tub, put on clean clothes, packed Cyril into the old car, and drove into Parklands, just north of Nairobi.

Lord Dunbury’s stone house made a splendid showing during the day, with its wide veranda, horse stables, and graceful gardens. Beverly had brought roses from England to replenish the ones that had suffered from neglect while they were away, and trained bougainvillea and other vines up wooden trellises.

By evening, most of the estate’s delights were hidden or only hinted at by a perfumed scent or a distant whinny. Neville carried his sleeping son into the nursery to doze next to baby Alice Merrywether, then joined the others in the dining room.

“I hope you don’t mind, Sam, but I don’t have any coffee made,” said Beverly. “Without Jade to insist on it, it slipped my mind. Such a curious American custom, drinking it
with
a meal instead of after.”

Sam shrugged. He found most British customs, such as afternoon tea, odd. At home, you went to the well and took a long draw of water or you guzzled cold lemonade, chilled with ice saved from a previous winter. But you didn’t take half an hour to do it. He didn’t want to talk about Jade’s absence either.

“Don’t give it a second thought, Beverly,” he said, and changed the subject. “I suppose the papers have reported on Wheeler’s murder?”

“Yes,” said Avery. “A rather long article in
The Leader
. Mostly writing on the horror of the incident and how the police must do something about the native population lest we all be slain in our beds. That sort of rot.”

“There was a second article on the visiting motion picture company,” added Beverly. “It included a photograph of the principle actors, Miss Malta, Mr. Hall, and Miss Porter. The story related the topic of their picture and gave some of the details as to the plot.”

“What is it about?” asked Sam.

“Very exciting,” said Madeline. “It’s both an adventure and a love story that takes place in two different times. It’s based on a very ancient legend about Menelik the First, the son of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. He ruled Abyssinia, but it seems he went on a campaign through East Africa in his later years, conquering tribes and plundering their gold. While he was busy pillaging from the Maasai, he saw Kilimanjaro and felt induced to climb it. It proved more than a match for the old king and he knew he would soon die. So he called together his retinue and told them he would die as befitted a king. He would be buried at the summit.”

Beverly, fingers wiggling with excitement, jumped in. “The legend says that he wore jewels, gold, and King Solomon’s regalia when he was buried, and that he carried articles of power. Of course, they threw the slaves and concubines in with him.”

“Naturally,” said Avery. “I’d take mine.” Beverly swatted at him playfully.

Madeline took advantage of Beverly’s distraction to continue her tale. “There’s some twaddle about a future heir finding the regalia and restoring Abyssinia to its former glory. But that’s just half of the plot.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Sam. “The actors are the brave explorers searching for the treasure and one of them is a reincarnation of Menelik.”

“Very close,” said Madeline. “One of them is also a reincarnation of Menelik’s lover.”

Sam shook his head. “Sounds like some terrible combination of every H. Rider Haggard book ever written.”

“I forget. Who plays Menelik?” asked Neville. “And who is his lost love?”

“Conrad Hall is Menelik. He’s also the explorer searching for the treasure.”

“Then shouldn’t he already know where to find it?” asked Neville. “I mean to say, if the chap is the reincarnation, he should already know.”

“But he doesn’t know,” said Madeline. “Don’t interrupt me, Neville. Where was I? Oh, Bebe Malta plays Menelik’s lover in the past, but in the present, she’s a hired servant girl who is looking for her lost love. Of course, the present-day Menelik is married, and that’s where Cynthia Porter has her role. She’s the explorer’s long-suffering wife. Then there’s the safari leader, played by Prentiss McAvy. And Henry Wells is a companion who is in love with the explorer’s wife.”

“Of course,” said Avery. “Must have a love triangle. What does that redheaded man do? Woodrow something or other? And there’s another man, a big, bulky fellow.”

“Woodrow Murdock is the redhead. He’s supposed to want the treasure for himself,” said Madeline. “Which should mean he’ll have to die in the end, I suppose. The other man is an extra as well as a stand-in for the dangerous scenes. I don’t know his name.”

“Roland Talmadge,” said Avery.

“What does Miss Zagar do?” asked Beverly. “I should have thought she would be the lusty servant girl.”

“That’s most curious,” said Madeline. “I don’t think she actually has a role. I heard Mr. McAvy explain that they use her body for certain scenes instead of using Miss Malta’s.”

“I think I can understand that,” said Avery. Neville nodded.

“Avery!” scolded Beverly. “You are behaving like a horrid male this evening.” She smiled when she said it, and Avery responded with an answering grin.

Sam removed his napkin from his lap and placed it beside his plate. “Sounds like a picture I will miss. I’ll stick to Hoot Gibson, if you don’t mind. I can tell the bad guys there. But speaking as someone who’s been on the backside of the camera, I can’t see how they’ll manage some of the scenes with Menelik. Shooting everything out-of-doors is very unpredictable.”

“I’m sure some of it will be finished back in the United States,” said Neville.

“That’s right,” said Beverly. “Inside in elaborate settings. That sort of thing is generally staged, I believe.”

Then it hit Sam what was nagging him about Graham Wheeler’s murder. It was all too convenient and dramatically done to be real.

 

 

THE MOSHI STATION was far from lifeless at night. Dozens of African natives lined a wooden barricade. Most carried lanterns and all clamored to carry the luggage. Jade selected one man in a white robe to lead them to what passed for a hotel in Moshi while Harry and Nakuru saw to the baggage. She coaxed and scolded in turn, urging each person to carry his own valise.

The walk there resembled something out of an eerie dream, lit by a swaying lantern that appeared to be detached from the ghostly robe beside it. At times the lantern light caught the swish of Biscuit’s tail or the pulsing of his powerful shoulders as the cheetah padded softly beside Jade. A smiling little Greek man met them at the door of his hotel and welcomed them in Swahili. Jade paid her guide before turning to the room arrangements.

“I need rooms for five women and thirteen men,” she said, mentally adding up all the crew and assorted personnel.

That was the first difficulty. The man exclaimed that he had only ten rooms and two were already taken. The second problem arose when the proprietor discovered that three of the men were natives. He looked askance at Lwiza as well, dressed as she was in non-European clothes.

“They must find rooms somewhere else,” he exclaimed.

“Saint Peter’s bathtub!” muttered Jade. She turned and called for Harry’s headman. “Nakuru. This man says you and Muturi and Jelani may not stay here.”