Mike, Banjo and Tim, Conspirators
IT was something of a joke on Timba that Lee Briscoe washed and changed his clothes before the evening meal, but no one laughed openly about it anymore, not since a man named Hagger had been carried away from a slight altercation, which had been the result of such badgering.
Lee Briscoe’s fists had become very respected things after that.
In a separate hut the natives had built for him, Briscoe was completing his evening cleanup. He had just finished lacing his artillery boots on the side when Mike Goddard thrust his shaggy, unkempt head inside the door.
“Old Swiney wants you right away,” said Mike.
Briscoe looked up and acknowledged the message with a nod which also contained dismissal. But Mike Goddard had something else to say.
“You’re sure hellbent on suicide, Lee. It’s a wonder that old crackpot didn’t drill you then and there.”
“He’s short of men,” said Briscoe.
“Nuts. That ain’t it at all. He knows killing you wouldn’t cure you. He’s going to have a lot of fun with you before he bumps you off.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Oh, I dunno. It’s his way, that’s all. He’s had men kowtowing to him for so long, he’s tired of it. And he’s so damned sure of himself, he don’t even consider it’s dangerous keeping you around.”
“Not very flattering, is it?” commented Briscoe, shrugging into a white jacket.
Mike scratched his nose, looked through the darkness to make certain they were alone, scratched his ribs uncertainly and, with several coughs, said, “If you ever figure on wiping this place up, Briscoe, me and Banjo Edwards and Tim Sullivan would kind of like to tag along. We’ve … we’ve got our bellyful of Schwenk.”
“What could I do?” said Briscoe, carelessly lighting a cigarette.
“I was right behind you last week when those natives went screwy down Zaga River way. You ain’t afraid of nothin’, Lee. Banjo … well, he used to be a pretty good hand at picking locks in Sydney and he’s got an impression of the keyholes in the gun shed. There’s a submachine gun and a couple cases of rifles—”
“Sure you aren’t talking to the wrong man?” said Briscoe.
Mike grinned and scratched his head. “You ain’t got any love for Schwenk, Lee. And you didn’t run out of civilization for picking somebody’s pocket either. A guy like you could do a lot if he wanted to. These natives would follow you to hell and back, and me and Banjo Edwards and Tim Sullivan thought—”
“That isn’t very healthy around here,” said Briscoe.
“Listen, Lee, you don’t know what that old son has got in his safe. Banjo could open it like it was paper. There’s gold and bank notes and a whole bag of pearls. He ain’t runnin’ this copra business for his health, you know. In ten years he’s taken out more than three million dollars. He blackbirds his own black ivory. He keeps us guys here because we’re afraid of him. He makes other owners on other islands pay for his transportation costs. The only overhead he’s got is grease for the Dutch and maybe a payoff for some bird like this one that just showed up. You think plenty about it, Lee.”
“You said Schwenk wanted to see me?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m on my way,” said Briscoe, striding off into the dark.
Josef Schwenk’s big house crouched on a hill overlooking the lagoon. Leading up to it in a wide curve was a white roadway flanked with royal palms, a gleaming ribbon in the dusk.
The house itself was built of coral rock, heavy and squatty like its owner, presenting a stark, brutal front to the world. The sea raked the rocks below it with white phosphorescent fingers which dug into the grottoes and blowholes, making weird and mournful sounds, giving rise to the native belief that the place was haunted.
But Schwenk was the only evil spirit living there. He had, said the natives, driven all the other devils away.
A tunnel led underground from the house to the grottoes by the sea, a means of escape in case a concerted revolt was staged by the natives. So far only a few at a time had attempted to murder Schwenk, but the Prussian lived in constant apprehension of the day when a united uprising would wipe out everything he had. Hence, the tunnel.
Lee Briscoe saw that the place was lighted up more than usual this night in honor of the guests. He paused to study it, and then to look down at his clothing. He saw that a lace was not well fastened on the side of his left boot. To remedy it, he moved to a curb in the shadow of a bush under the porch rail and bent to tidy the loose ends.
He had no more than leaned down when he heard footsteps at the other end of the veranda. Schwenk and the stranger were walking in his direction.
Knowing Schwenk’s disposition, Briscoe stayed down. If Schwenk thought that he had been eavesdropping …
“He’s coming up in a few minutes,” growled Schwenk. “The reason I’ve gotten along in this world, Martin, is because I anticipate difficulties before they happen.”
“Ah, and how you have gotten along!” replied Martin. “A big jump, Herr Schwenk, from Oberleutnant Kommandant of a microscopic post in German East Africa. Those English fools did you a favor when they ran you out, eh?”
“Keep a civil tongue in your face, Martin,” said Schwenk. “You forget I was decorated with the Iron Cross of the First Class for devising those ambushes.”
“Do not be so mighty, Schwenk. You have also forgotten that I was rewarded in a like manner for my spy work in Australia. It is Captain Wilhelm Martz, after all.”
“The devil with that. What did you say the girl said?”
“She noticed your fine renegade and wanted very much to know who he was.”
“Spotted Briscoe, did she? My strategy will take care of that.”
“Certainly,” said Martin. “Have him shot or buried up to his neck or—”
“Really, Captain, you are very obvious. Pay heed to this. Lee Briscoe has been here but two months. I do not know where he came from. I was a fool to take him in at all. But he had a familiar look about him … but never mind, that was my mistake. I needed a white man and I hired Briscoe. Now, in two months, my dear Captain, he has caught the liking of the natives. They think he is a great man. Bah, little does he know about discipline. The lash is the only thing for discipline. But never mind. They like him. Just today he objected to a well deserved flogging I was handing out. I wanted to shoot him. God, how I wanted to blow his guts through his spine! But did I dare? No. Those natives were standing back there looking at me. I cannot kill this Briscoe like that, no matter how necessary it is. All the more necessary now that the girl has asked after him. He’s a handsome fool, that Briscoe. Lives like a saint. Enough to turn any girl’s head. Well, Captain, no wife of mine can have a thought for another man.”
“Oh, I can handle that, Herr Schwenk. I can tell her—”
“Lily-livered methods don’t go here. You think I go to all this trouble and expense to have this woman look at another man? You are a great fool, Captain, if you think that. No, she would not look at these other derelicts, of course. But Briscoe …!”
“But all you have to do is kill this Briscoe …”
“And have the natives revolt? No, Captain, I have not taken all the money out of Timba that I can take out. I do not intend to wreck carefully laid plans. Now, attend me. You are satisfied with the fifty thousand dollars I have promised you?”
“Of course. The girl is nothing to me. I little thought when I sent you that picture of her …”
“A man gets lonely in such a place, Captain. The picture did not do her justice. She is cheap at fifty thousand. If we remove every cause for trouble she may consent to marrying me. If she refuses then, we still have other ways, eh?”
“Then what will you do about Briscoe?”
Schwenk laughed.
“I discredit him to the girl. I make him chief overseer and then discredit him to the natives. Finally, when he has not a single friend left, I kill him. It is a good plan, eh?”
“Excellent.”
“See what happens to him, my friend. He will be glad to die when I have finished with him. There are many subtle ways, Captain, which even a wonder at sabotage like yourself cannot touch for brilliance. You get your fifty thousand, I get this woman. Everyone is satisfied.… I wonder what the devil is detaining that Briscoe. Come in and have a drink while we wait.”
They disappeared into the house and Briscoe was able to stand up straight.
For the space of a minute he stood staring into the lighted doorway. A bitter smile came to his lips and then faded when he thought about this beast Schwenk marrying a girl like that.
He went back down the road as silently as a shadow. Then, turning, he walked loudly up the drive and up the steps.
Schwenk stepped out on the porch. He was quite at ease, even smiling.
The light struck Briscoe’s face.
Involuntarily, Schwenk stepped back and dropped his hand to a concealed holster. Instantly recovering his poise and his humorless grin, Schwenk gave Briscoe a mock bow.
“All dressed for dinner, Briscoe. Come in, come in, we’ve been waiting.” In a low undertone, he added, “You’ll be on your good behavior. I’ll have no rows tonight.”
Briscoe nodded impassively and let Schwenk enter first. Quite as if dining with Timba’s overlord was a matter of little moment to him, he walked across the veranda and into the wide hall.
Blear-eyed Wong looked at him distrustfully and shuffled out of sight into the kitchen.
Schwenk thrust his guest forward and into the dining room.
The girl and the strange man were already there. The table was set with crystal and brilliant silver. Tall candles were burning, shedding a yellow luster upon the bright, stiff linen.
“Miss Martin, this is my new manager, Lee Briscoe. Martin, Briscoe.”
Calmly, not in the least moved by the sudden elevation in rank, Briscoe bowed slightly over the girl’s hand and shook the limp fingers of her evident father.
“Briscoe,” said Schwenk, fixing his cold, killer eyes upon Briscoe’s lean face, “saved my life this afternoon. I am most liberal with rewards when men’s actions please me.”
“How interesting,” said the girl, looking at Briscoe with frank interest. “How did it happen?”
“I was half-dead with boredom,” said Schwenk, lids dropping halfway down. “I objected to a little flirtation he was having with a native woman and he tried to kill me. I like men with spirit, eh, Briscoe?”
The girl looked away as though ashamed of the friendliness she had displayed a moment before.
Martin laughed in a wheezy way. “Josef, you always were a most amusing fellow.”
Briscoe broadsided Schwenk with a rage-filled glance, but he was unwilling to make a scene in front of the girl. He knew instantly why Schwenk had brought him there.
Schwenk had seen Briscoe’s look on the dock and, with true strategy, was averting any possible friendship which might damage his own case with the girl.
“Sit down,” said Schwenk, pulling back the girl’s chair. “Briscoe, be on your good behavior tonight. Remember we have company. He has a way about him, Miss Martin. A devil with the ladies, but sometimes rather crude, eh, Briscoe? Men get that way when they are in constant association with races other than their own.”
Briscoe took himself in hand. Obviously, Schwenk expected him to bite back. If Schwenk wanted that, it would not happen. Briscoe took his place across from Miss Martin.
Dinner was begun in uncomfortable silence, but soon Martin began to drag Schwenk into conversation.
“Those were the days,” said Martin, with a flabby smile. “It was German East Africa then. You were the best commandant in the district, Josef. Ah, how those devils stepped when you barked at them! That’s what they need. An iron hand! Discipline is good for them. A man can’t maintain any control over the natives unless he has the right to flog. You always said that, Josef. Tell me, how did you get such a wonderful island as this all to yourself? It must be very large.”
“About two hundred square miles,” said Schwenk.
“How did you get it?” persisted Martin.
“I procured it from a chap named Fremont,” said Schwenk.
The girl had been watching Briscoe with puzzled eyes. She saw something like a smile flit across his mouth and disappear when Schwenk said that and she expected Briscoe to voice the remark which was obviously on the tip of his tongue. But he went on eating.
Schwenk crammed a large forkful of meat into his mouth and chewed it with great relish, gazing upon Miss Martin with undisguised admiration as though about to take a forkful of her.
“Tell me, Martin,” said Schwenk, “how is it that you came by such a lovely daughter? You weren’t even married when I last saw you and that was but fifteen years ago, while this young lady is at least twenty.”
“She was my wife’s girl,” said Martin. “My wife was married to an Australian officer who got killed in the war, you know. She died a year after we were married and I’ve raised Diana as she wanted me to. The best schools, the best clothes. Diana goes everywhere with me now. I missed her a great deal while she was with her mother’s people in San Francisco.”
“I imagine you did,” said Schwenk. “But we’ll show her a good time here. Of course, you know, she’ll have to be very careful never to go out unescorted. The natives, you know, are restless, and Briscoe and the rest of the riffraff on the island are never to be trusted, eh, Briscoe?”
“Never,” said Briscoe, as definitely as though he held a revolver in each hand and had just finished shooting Schwenk dead.
“It is very hard,” said Schwenk, “to live like a gentleman in such a place. But I manage to get along.”
“I should think it would be dangerous,” said Diana Martin.
“Oh, they try to kill me quite frequently, in spite of all I’ve done for them,” said Schwenk. “Why, just this afternoon, when I found him with that woman … but then I’ve already told you about Briscoe, haven’t I?”
“Already,” said Briscoe.
“But, Miss Diana,” said Schwenk, “you mustn’t get the wrong idea of my overseer-in-chief. He’s really quite a splendid fellow. You were in the Army, weren’t you, Briscoe? That is, before you bayoneted that sergeant … or was it a sergeant?”
“A sergeant,” said Briscoe, helpfully, small devils in his eyes. “I killed him because he kept telling lies about me. He was about five feet ten inches tall and he had grayish hair and hardly any lips and a very cold pair of eyes and big hands and he talked with a slight German accent.”
“Why,” said Martin in surprise, “he must have looked very like Josef.”
“That’s so,” said Briscoe, as though astonished about it. “Just like Josef Schwenk.”
Diana Martin caught the edge of madness in Briscoe’s voice and she braced herself for a sudden, swift outburst.
“This sergeant,” said Briscoe, “was very conceited and boorish. He made the mistake of underestimating everyone about him. But one night he aimed too high. He tried to make love to a girl a thousand times too good for him. I told him not to go on with the affair. I gave him ample warning. I told him to let the girl alone and stick to beating soldiers. But he would never listen to anyone. He had already made the mistake of taking something which did not belong to him, and when he was about to steal this girl as well and when he refused to listen to reason, I went into his tent one night and I took a bayonet and I stuck it squarely between the third and fourth ribs.”
“What a ghastly story,” gaped Martin, completely missing the point. “And then you ran away, of course.”
“No,” said Briscoe.
“But how … why? …” said Martin.
“They gave me a medal for it,” said Briscoe.
Schwenk was amused. He laughed loudly and delightedly. “You’re a great one, Briscoe. This is certainly a streak of luck, having somebody here to entertain my guests. You must pardon him, Miss Diana. He’s really quite a good fellow. Of course, when he is drunk he is rather bad, but you’re not always drunk, are you, Briscoe? By the way, you had better go down to the stables tonight and tell them to have a couple horses ready in the morning.”
“Now?” said Briscoe.
“Yes, now. Martin is here to look after that blight that’s been hitting along the Zaga bottoms. Can’t have the crop injured, you know.”
Briscoe stood up and went to the door.
Schwenk called, “And leave that native woman alone, Briscoe. I won’t have you getting drunk and making a fool of yourself while Miss Diana is here.”
“Good night,” said Briscoe with an easy smile.
The girl did not answer him. She did not even look at him. Her eyes were cast down and she had a disappointed air about her.
Briscoe tramped down the curving road by the light of a new moon. He went straight to the stables and relayed Schwenk’s orders. Then he rapped upon a thatched hut nearby and stood with his back to the door.
Shaggy Mike Goddard shuffled forth. A moment later Tim Sullivan came out, followed by Banjo Edwards.
Briscoe led off toward a dark clump of bamboo trees. The three single-filed after him.
Tim Sullivan, lanky, awkward and ever morose, nudged Banjo Edwards. Banjo had a face like a full moon, white as lard, in which two round eyes sat in permanent amazement. Banjo grinned in a satisfied manner.
Briscoe stopped, slowly applied a match to a smoke and looked carefully at the three before him.
“You fellows want to start something?” said Briscoe.
“I already told you, Lee,” said Mike, scratching his stomach.
“You remember what he did to Stoddard?”
“Hung him,” said Tim, creakily. “Just like he’ll probably hang us.”
“You think after what happened on the Zaga that any of the natives will stand in with me?” said Briscoe.
“Sure, Lee. You been helping them with food and medicine,” said Banjo.
“How long do you think we could hold out if he called in a Dutch gunboat?” said Briscoe.
“Not very long,” said Tim, gloomily. “The only reason you’re throwing in with us is because of that girl.”
“Maybe,” said Briscoe. “What of it?”
“Nothin’,” said Tim. “If you ain’t got anything against sudden death, we ain’t neither.”
“Worse livin’ here than dyin’,” said Mike.
“What can you do, Mike?” said Briscoe.
“I was a pretty good steam engineer once,” said Mike.
“And you, Banjo?” said Briscoe.
“Ain’t any lock made I can’t pick. Ain’t any safe ever built I can’t crack. And I was a sailor once. I used to be a pretty good machinist, but that was before I took to studying photography so I could counterfeit five-pound notes. Then of course there’s the time I was in the French Army as a cook. Come to think of it, I was a steeplejack about twenty years ago. That was before I—”
“Plenty,” said Briscoe. “And you, Sullivan?”
“I never amounted to much, I guess,” said Sullivan, “but I could navigate a boat pretty well if I didn’t run it on the rocks or something or get sunk by a typhoon or—”
“Looks like it’s the sea,” said Briscoe. “When does that steamer leave here?”
“Schwenk won’t send it for another ten days,” said Mike. “We can throw that old devil Gunarson to the sharks and knife those Kanakas and—”
“You let me do the planning,” said Briscoe. “In the meantime, look dumb and stay dumb. I’ll pick the natives.”
“We’ll probably get drunk and talk,” gloomed Sullivan. “Or somebody may spill it to Old Swiney. He’d string us all up if he couldn’t think of anything worse. He keeps a machine gun in his bedroom and I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned it on us the next time we get near.…”
“And outside of all of us dropping dead from heart failure,” said Briscoe, “everything’s fine. Good night, gentlemen.”