CHAPTER I.
THE STOLEN DESPATCHES.
Steadily the Cleopatra had traversed the Mediterranean, passed throughthe Suez Canal, plowed the burning waters of the Red Sea, and now, onthis bright, sultry day, Aden was left behind, and with smoking funnelsshe was heading swiftly and boldly for the Indian Ocean.
A smaller steamer, a mere pigmy beside this gigantic Indian liner, hadleft the harbor of Aden at the same time, and was beating in asouthwesterly direction across the gulf with a speed that was rapidlyincreasing the distance between the two vessels.
On the upper deck stood Guy Chutney, straining his eyes through a pairof field-glasses to catch a last glimpse of the Cleopatra, and todistinguish, if possible, the figures grouped under the white awnings.He had only arrived at Aden last night, and now he was bound for thedreary African coast, while all the gay friends he had made on board theCleopatra were steaming merrily off for Calcutta without him.
It was by no means a comforting state of affairs, and Guy's spirits wereat their lowest ebb as the steamer finally faded into the horizon. Heput up the glasses and strode forward. From the lower deck came aconfused babel of sounds, a harsh jabbering of foreign languages thatgrated roughly on his ear.
"This is a remarkably fine day, sir."
It was the captain who spoke, a bluff, hearty man, who looked oddly outof place in white linen and a solar topee.
"It is a grand day," said Guy. "May I ask when we are due at Zaila?"
"At Zaila?" repeated the captain, with a look of sudden surprise. "Ah,yes. Possibly tomorrow, probably not until the following day."
It was now Guy's turn to be surprised.
"Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that it takes two or three days tocross the Gulf of Aden?"
"No," replied the captain briskly. "You are surely aware, my dear sir,that we proceed first to Berbera, and thence up the coast to Zaila."
"Then you have deceived me, sir," cried Guy hotly. "You told me thismorning that this steamer went to Zaila."
"Certainly I did," replied the captain. "You didn't ask for any moreinformation, or I should have told you that we went to Berbera first.The great annual fair has just opened at Berbera, and I have on boardlarge stores of merchandise and trading properties. On other occasions Igo to Zaila first, but during the progress of the fair I always godirect to Berbera and unload. I supposed that fact to be generallyunderstood," and, turning on his heel, the captain walked off to givesome orders to his men.
Guy was half inclined to be angry at first, but on reflection heconcluded he was just as well satisfied. Besides, it would give him achance to see that wonderful African fair, which he now remembered tohave heard about on different occasions.
But one other person was visible on the deck, a short, chunky man, witha dark complexion, and crafty, forbidding features.
A Portuguese or a Spaniard Guy put him down for at once, and heinstantly conceived a deep mistrust of him. The fellow, however, wasinclined to be sociable.
"Ah, an Englishman," he said, coming up to Guy and holding out his hand,an action which Guy professed not to see.
"You are going to Berbera, perhaps," he went on, nowise discomfited bythe rebuff.
"No," said Guy shortly. "To Zaila."
"Ah, yes, Zaila! You have friends there, perhaps? I, too, am acquainted.I know very well Sir Arthur Ashby, the governor at Zaila."
His keen eyes scanned Guy's face closely, and noted the faint gleam ofsurprise at this information.
But Guy was too clever to be thrown off his guard.
"Yes," he said. "I know some people here. I have not the pleasure of SirArthur's acquaintance."
He would have turned away at this point, but the man pulled a card fromhis pocket and presented it to him. Guy glanced it over with interest:
C. MANUEL TORRES, _Trader at Aden and Berbera_.
"A vile Portuguese slave-hunter," he thought to himself.
"Well, Mr. Torres," he said. "I am sorry that I have no cards about me,but my name is Chutney."
The Portuguese softly whispered the name once or twice. Then, withoutfurther questioning, he offered Guy a cigar, and lit one himself.
Manuel Torres proved to be quite an interesting companion, and gave Guya vivid account of the wonders of the fair.
As they went below at dinner time he pointed out on the corner of thedock a great stack of wooden boxes.
"Those are mine," he said. "They contain iron and steel implements forthe natives and Arabs."
"They look like rifle cases," Guy remarked carelessly; and, looking atthe Portuguese as he spoke, he fancied that the dark face actuallyturned gray for an instant. In a moment they were seated at the table,and the brief occurrence was forgotten.
All that afternoon they steamed on across the gulf, overhead the blueand cloudless sky, beneath them waters of even deeper blue, and atsunset the yellow coast line of the African continent loomed up from thepurple distance.
Guy had been dozing under an awning most of the afternoon, but now hecame forward eagerly to get his first glimpse of eastern Africa.
To his great disappointment, the captain refused to land.
It was risky, he said, to make a landing at night, and it would be darkwhen they entered the harbor. They must lie at anchor till morning.
Most of the night Guy paced up and down the deck sleeping at briefintervals, and listening with eager curiosity to the strange sounds thatfloated out on the air from the shore, where the flickering glare ofmany torches could be seen.
Stretched on a mattress, the Portuguese slept like a log, without onceawakening.
Before dawn the anchors were lifted, and at the captain's suggestion Guyhastened down to his cabin to gather up his scanty luggage, for most ofhis traps had gone on to Calcutta in the Cleopatra.
He buckled on his sword, put his revolvers in his pocket, clapped hisbig solar topee on his head, and then reached down for the moroccotraveling case which he had stored away for better security under hisberth.
A cry of horror burst from his lips as he dragged it out. The lock wasbroken, and the sides were flapping apart. For one brief second hestared at it like a madman, and then, with frantic haste, he fell on hisknees, and, plunging his hands inside, began to toss the contentsrecklessly out upon the floor. Toilet articles, linen, cigars,writing-paper, jewelry, and various other things piled up until hisfinger nails scraped the bottom. He turned the case bottom up and shookit savagely, shook it until the silver clasps rattled against the sides,and then he sank back with a groan, while the drops of perspirationchased each other down his haggard cheeks.
The precious despatches were gone.
For the time being Guy was fairly driven out of his senses by the horrorof the calamity. Ruin stared him in the face. What madness it was toleave those papers in his cabin! He had foolishly hesitated to carrythem on his person for fear the perspiration would soak them through andthrough, and now they were hopelessly lost. The cabin door had beenlocked, too. The thief must have had a key.
The first shock over, his manliness asserted itself, and he took acritical view of the situation. He hardly suspected any person as yet.The despatches must be recovered. That was the first step.
He flew up the stairs, three at a time, and rushed panting andbreathless upon deck.
All about him was the hurry and bustle of preparation. The shore wasclose at hand, and the steamer was moving toward the rude wharf. ManuelTorres was leaning over the rail, coolly smoking a cigar. The captainstood near by, gazing intently at the shore. He looked up with wonder asGuy appeared, crying out in hoarse tones:
"I have been robbed, captain, treacherously robbed. Documents of thegreatest importance have been stolen from my cabin, and not a soul shallleave this steamer till every inch of it has been searched. I demandyour assistance, sir!"