Chapter 4
The killing of the friendless old Russian, Michael Sabrov, by his
great trained ape, was a matter for newspaper comment for a few days.
Lord Greystoke read of it, and while taking special precautions
not to permit his name to become connected with the affair, kept
himself well posted as to the police search for the anthropoid.
As was true of the general public, his chief interest in the matter
centered about the mysterious disappearance of the slayer. Or at
least this was true until he learned, several days subsequent to
the tragedy, that his son Jack had not reported at the public school
en route for which they had seen him safely ensconced in a railway
carriage. Even then the father did not connect the disappearance
of his son with the mystery surrounding the whereabouts of the ape.
Nor was it until a month later that careful investigation revealed
the fact that the boy had left the train before it pulled out of
the station at London, and the cab driver had been found who had
driven him to the address of the old Russian, that Tarzan of the
Apes realized that Akut had in some way been connected with the
disappearance of the boy.
Beyond the moment that the cab driver had deposited his fare beside
the curb in front of the house in which the Russian had been quartered
there was no clue. No one had seen either the boy or the ape from
that instant--at least no one who still lived. The proprietor of
the house identified the picture of the lad as that of one who had
been a frequent visitor in the room of the old man. Aside from this
he knew nothing. And there, at the door of a grimy, old building
in the slums of London, the searchers came to a blank wall--baffled.
The day following the death of Alexis Paulvitch a youth accompanying
his invalid grandmother, boarded a steamer at Dover. The old lady
was heavily veiled, and so weakened by age and sickness that she
had to be wheeled aboard the vessel in an invalid chair.
The boy would permit none but himself to wheel her, and with his
own hands assisted her from the chair to the interior of their
stateroom--and that was the last that was seen of the old lady by the
ship's company until the pair disembarked. The boy even insisted
upon doing the work of their cabin steward, since, as he explained,
his grandmother was suffering from a nervous disposition that made
the presence of strangers extremely distasteful to her.
Outside the cabin--and none there was aboard who knew what he
did in the cabin--the lad was just as any other healthy, normal
English boy might have been. He mingled with his fellow passengers,
became a prime favorite with the officers, and struck up numerous
friendships among the common sailors. He was generous and
unaffected, yet carried an air of dignity and strength of character
that inspired his many new friends with admiration as well as
affection for him.
Among the passengers there was an American named Condon, a noted
blackleg and crook who was "wanted" in a half dozen of the larger
cities of the United States. He had paid little attention to the
boy until on one occasion he had seen him accidentally display a
roll of bank notes. From then on Condon cultivated the youthful
Briton. He learned, easily, that the boy was traveling alone with
his invalid grandmother, and that their destination was a small
port on the west coast of Africa, a little below the equator; that
their name was Billings, and that they had no friends in the little
settlement for which they were bound. Upon the point of their
purpose in visiting the place Condon found the boy reticent, and
so he did not push the matter--he had learned all that he cared to
know as it was.
Several times Condon attempted to draw the lad into a card game;
but his victim was not interested, and the black looks of several
of the other men passengers decided the American to find other
means of transferring the boy's bank roll to his own pocket.
At last came the day that the steamer dropped anchor in the lee
of a wooded promontory where a score or more of sheet-iron shacks
making an unsightly blot upon the fair face of nature proclaimed
the fact that civilization had set its heel. Straggling upon the
outskirts were the thatched huts of natives, picturesque in their
primeval savagery, harmonizing with the background of tropical
jungle and accentuating the squalid hideousness of the white man's
pioneer architecture.
The boy, leaning over the rail, was looking far beyond the man-made
town deep into the God-made jungle. A little shiver of anticipation
tingled his spine, and then, quite without volition, he found
himself gazing into the loving eyes of his mother and the strong
face of the father which mirrored, beneath its masculine strength,
a love no less than the mother's eyes proclaimed. He felt himself
weakening in his resolve. Nearby one of the ship's officers was
shouting orders to a flotilla of native boats that was approaching
to lighter the consignment of the steamer's cargo destined for this
tiny post.
"When does the next steamer for England touch here?" the boy asked.
"The Emanuel ought to be along most any time now," replied the
officer. "I figgered we'd find her here," and he went on with his
bellowing remarks to the dusty horde drawing close to the steamer's
side.
The task of lowering the boy's grandmother over the side to a waiting
canoe was rather difficult. The lad insisted on being always at
her side, and when at last she was safely ensconced in the bottom
of the craft that was to bear them shoreward her grandson dropped
catlike after her. So interested was he in seeing her comfortably
disposed that he failed to notice the little package that had
worked from his pocket as he assisted in lowering the sling that
contained the old woman over the steamer's side, nor did he notice
it even as it slipped out entirely and dropped into the sea.
Scarcely had the boat containing the boy and the old woman started
for the shore than Condon hailed a canoe upon the other side of
the ship, and after bargaining with its owner finally lowered his
baggage and himself aboard. Once ashore he kept out of sight of the
two-story atrocity that bore the legend "Hotel" to lure unsuspecting
wayfarers to its multitudinous discomforts. It was quite dark
before he ventured to enter and arrange for accommodations.
In a back room upon the second floor the lad was explaining,
not without considerable difficulty, to his grandmother that he
had decided to return to England upon the next steamer. He was
endeavoring to make it plain to the old lady that she might remain
in Africa if she wished but that for his part his conscience demanded
that he return to his father and mother, who doubtless were even
now suffering untold sorrow because of his absence; from which it
may be assumed that his parents had not been acquainted with the
plans that he and the old lady had made for their adventure into
African wilds.
Having come to a decision the lad felt a sense of relief from the
worry that had haunted him for many sleepless nights. When he
closed his eyes in sleep it was to dream of a happy reunion with
those at home. And as he dreamed, Fate, cruel and inexorable,
crept stealthily upon him through the dark corridor of the squalid
building in which he slept--Fate in the form of the American crook,
Condon.
Cautiously the man approached the door of the lad's room. There
he crouched listening until assured by the regular breathing of
those within that both slept. Quietly he inserted a slim, skeleton
key in the lock of the door. With deft fingers, long accustomed
to the silent manipulation of the bars and bolts that guarded other
men's property, Condon turned the key and the knob simultaneously.
Gentle pressure upon the door swung it slowly inward upon its hinges.
The man entered the room, closing the door behind him. The moon
was temporarily overcast by heavy clouds. The interior of the
apartment was shrouded in gloom. Condon groped his way toward the
bed. In the far corner of the room something moved--moved with a
silent stealthiness which transcended even the trained silence of
the burglar. Condon heard nothing. His attention was riveted upon
the bed in which he thought to find a young boy and his helpless,
invalid grandmother.
The American sought only the bank roll. If he could possess
himself of this without detection, well and good; but were he to
meet resistance he was prepared for that too. The lad's clothes
lay across a chair beside the bed. The American's fingers felt
swiftly through them--the pockets contained no roll of crisp, new
notes. Doubtless they were beneath the pillows of the bed. He
stepped closer toward the sleeper; his hand was already half way
beneath the pillow when the thick cloud that had obscured the moon
rolled aside and the room was flooded with light. At the same
instant the boy opened his eyes and looked straight into those of
Condon. The man was suddenly conscious that the boy was alone in
the bed. Then he clutched for his victim's throat. As the lad rose
to meet him Condon heard a low growl at his back, then he felt his
wrists seized by the boy, and realized that beneath those tapering,
white fingers played muscles of steel.
He felt other hands at his throat, rough hairy hands that reached
over his shoulders from behind. He cast a terrified glance backward,
and the hairs of his head stiffened at the sight his eyes revealed,
for grasping him from the rear was a huge, man-like ape. The bared
fighting fangs of the anthropoid were close to his throat. The
lad pinioned his wrists. Neither uttered a sound. Where was the
grandmother? Condon's eyes swept the room in a single all-inclusive
glance. His eyes bulged in horror at the realization of the truth
which that glance revealed. In the power of what creatures of
hideous mystery had he placed himself! Frantically he fought to
beat off the lad that he might turn upon the fearsome thing at his
back. Freeing one hand he struck a savage blow at the lad's face.
His act seemed to unloose a thousand devils in the hairy creature
clinging to his throat. Condon heard a low and savage snarl. It
was the last thing that the American ever heard in this life. Then
he was dragged backward upon the floor, a heavy body fell upon
him, powerful teeth fastened themselves in his jugular, his head
whirled in the sudden blackness which rims eternity--a moment later
the ape rose from his prostrate form; but Condon did not know--he
was quite dead.
The lad, horrified, sprang from the bed to lean over the body of
the man. He knew that Akut had killed in his defense, as he had
killed Michael Sabrov; but here, in savage Africa, far from home
and friends what would they do to him and his faithful ape? The
lad knew that the penalty of murder was death. He even knew that
an accomplice might suffer the death penalty with the principal.
Who was there who would plead for them? All would be against them.
It was little more than a half-civilized community, and the chances
were that they would drag Akut and him forth in the morning and
hang them both to the nearest tree--he had read of such things
being done in America, and Africa was worse even and wilder than
the great West of his mother's native land. Yes, they would both
be hanged in the morning!
Was there no escape? He thought in silence for a few moments, and
then, with an exclamation of relief, he struck his palms together
and turned toward his clothing upon the chair. Money would do
anything! Money would save him and Akut! He felt for the bank
roll in the pocket in which he had been accustomed to carry it. It
was not there! Slowly at first and at last frantically he searched
through the remaining pockets of his clothing. Then he dropped
upon his hands and knees and examined the floor. Lighting the
lamp he moved the bed to one side and, inch by inch, he felt over
the entire floor. Beside the body of Condon he hesitated, but
at last he nerved himself to touch it. Rolling it over he sought
beneath it for the money. Nor was it there. He guessed that
Condon had entered their room to rob; but he did not believe that
the man had had time to possess himself of the money; however,
as it was nowhere else, it must be upon the body of the dead man.
Again and again he went over the room, only to return each time to
the corpse; but no where could he find the money.
He was half-frantic with despair. What were they to do? In the
morning they would be discovered and killed. For all his inherited
size and strength he was, after all, only a little boy--a frightened,
homesick little boy--reasoning faultily from the meager experience
of childhood. He could think of but a single glaring fact--they
had killed a fellow man, and they were among savage strangers,
thirsting for the blood of the first victim whom fate cast into
their clutches. This much he had gleaned from penny-dreadfuls.
And they must have money!
Again he approached the corpse. This time resolutely. The
ape squatted in a corner watching his young companion. The youth
commenced to remove the American's clothing piece by piece, and,
piece by piece, he examined each garment minutely. Even to the
shoes he searched with painstaking care, and when the last article
had been removed and scrutinized he dropped back upon the bed with
dilated eyes that saw nothing in the present--only a grim tableau
of the future in which two forms swung silently from the limb of
a great tree.
How long he sat thus he did not know; but finally he was aroused
by a noise coming from the floor below. Springing quickly to his
feet he blew out the lamp, and crossing the floor silently locked
the door. Then he turned toward the ape, his mind made up.
Last evening he had been determined to start for home at the first
opportunity, to beg the forgiveness of his parents for this mad
adventure. Now he knew that he might never return to them. The
blood of a fellow man was upon his hands--in his morbid reflections
he had long since ceased to attribute the death of Condon to the
ape. The hysteria of panic had fastened the guilt upon himself.
With money he might have bought justice; but penniless!--ah, what
hope could there be for strangers without money here?
But what had become of the money? He tried to recall when last
he had seen it. He could not, nor, could he, would he have been
able to account for its disappearance, for he had been entirely
unconscious of the falling of the little package from his pocket
into the sea as he clambered over the ship's side into the waiting
canoe that bore him to shore.
Now he turned toward Akut. "Come!" he said, in the language of
the great apes.
Forgetful of the fact that he wore only a thin pajama suit he led
the way to the open window. Thrusting his head out he listened
attentively. A single tree grew a few feet from the window. Nimbly
the lad sprang to its bole, clinging cat-like for an instant before
he clambered quietly to the ground below. Close behind him came
the great ape. Two hundred yards away a spur of the jungle ran
close to the straggling town. Toward this the lad led the way.
None saw them, and a moment later the jungle swallowed them, and
John Clayton, future Lord Greystoke, passed from the eyes and the
knowledge of men.
It was late the following morning that a native houseman knocked
upon the door of the room that had been assigned to Mrs. Billings
and her grandson. Receiving no response he inserted his pass key
in the lock, only to discover that another key was already there,
but from the inside. He reported the fact to Herr Skopf, the
proprietor, who at once made his way to the second floor where he,
too, pounded vigorously upon the door. Receiving no reply he bent
to the key hole in an attempt to look through into the room beyond.
In so doing, being portly, he lost his balance, which necessitated
putting a palm to the floor to maintain his equilibrium. As he did
so he felt something soft and thick and wet beneath his fingers.
He raised his open palm before his eyes in the dim light of the
corridor and peered at it. Then he gave a little shudder, for
even in the semi-darkness he saw a dark red stain upon his hand.
Leaping to his feet he hurled his shoulder against the door. Herr
Skopf is a heavy man--or at least he was then--I have not seen him
for several years. The frail door collapsed beneath his weight,
and Herr Skopf stumbled precipitately into the room beyond.
Before him lay the greatest mystery of his life. Upon the floor at
his feet was the dead body of a strange man. The neck was broken
and the jugular severed as by the fangs of a wild beast. The body
was entirely naked, the clothing being strewn about the corpse. The
old lady and her grandson were gone. The window was open. They
must have disappeared through the window for the door had been
locked from the inside.
But how could the boy have carried his invalid grandmother from
a second story window to the ground? It was preposterous. Again
Herr Skopf searched the small room. He noticed that the bed was
pulled well away from the wall--why? He looked beneath it again for
the third or fourth time. The two were gone, and yet his judgment
told him that the old lady could not have gone without porters to
carry her down as they had carried her up the previous day.
Further search deepened the mystery. All the clothing of the two
was still in the room--if they had gone then they must have gone
naked or in their night clothes. Herr Skopf shook his head; then
he scratched it. He was baffled. He had never heard of Sherlock
Holmes or he would have lost no time in invoking the aid of that
celebrated sleuth, for here was a real mystery: An old woman--an
invalid who had to be carried from the ship to her room in the
hotel--and a handsome lad, her grandson, had entered a room on the
second floor of his hostelry the day before. They had had their
evening meal served in their room--that was the last that had
been seen of them. At nine the following morning the corpse of a
strange man had been the sole occupant of that room. No boat had
left the harbor in the meantime--there was not a railroad within
hundreds of miles--there was no other white settlement that the
two could reach under several days of arduous marching accompanied
by a well-equipped safari. They had simply vanished into thin
air, for the native he had sent to inspect the ground beneath the
open window had just returned to report that there was no sign of
a footstep there, and what sort of creatures were they who could
have dropped that distance to the soft turf without leaving spoor?
Herr Skopf shuddered. Yes, it was a great mystery--there was
something uncanny about the whole thing--he hated to think about
it, and he dreaded the coming of night.
It was a great mystery to Herr Skopf--and, doubtless, still is.
