The Curious Quests of Brigadier Ffellowes (13 page)

             
"I mentioned the odd look they all had, the rigid
looking skin and the humped backs, and suggested that some obscure form of elephantiasis, added to prolonged inbreeding might be responsible.

             
" 'I believe you've hit it. I'm no anthropologist, but I'll bet that's exactly what's wrong with them.'

             
"His agreement sounded totally hollow to me, and I have a good ear for this. I was sure of one thing, though it made no sense, which was that he had some other theory of his own, concerning which he wished me to remain ignorant. '
Curiouser
and
curiouser
,' I reflected to myself.

             
"When we got to the landing, the
prau
was in plain view, the fog being mostly burned off at sea level, and the small boat came in when I hailed. I went out, got my gear and a change of clothes, and we walked back up through the miasmatic heat to the house on the hill. I told Ali to keep a strict watch on the landing place and to come in at once if he saw or heard me, or if I signaled with my pocket torch during the night. He agreed promptly, and I thought I could rely
on him, so long as he hadn't got to come ashore himself.

             
"Back in the building, Mrs. Strudwick had taken some pains to make up her face and no longer looked so bedraggled and miserable. She would never be lovely, but she at least looked decent, and she seemed to have sobered up as well. I learnt later that she was very wealthy and that they had not been married long. It must have been her money which allowed Strudwick to make this out-of-the-way trip.

             
"He brought out all his letters to officials for me to glance over, and he came well-recommended and was, as I had surmised, more than respectable from the scientific standpoint
.
He had three doctorates, I recall, one being from Yale, and all sorts of 'please aid the bearer' notes, signed by everyone from the American Undersecretary of State down. I solemnly
made notes of it all.

             
"After lunch, which was mostly expensive tinned stuff they had brought with them, plus a little fruit and a lot of gin, I asked Strudwick why he had selected the particular site that he had for the house.

             
" 'The turtles, man, the turtles. There are more of them right here than anywhere else on the island. These hot springs or seeps seem to attract them, and you soon get used to the sulfur smell.'

             
"
'You
do!' The venom in his wife's voice was naked. 'Why can't we get out of here? You've seen every damned turtle and its bloody grandmother that ever was! Why are we staying here any longer?' Her voice rose to a strident pitch that was almost a scream.

             
" 'Look, honey, it won't be much longer. I've told you that. I need to get just a little more information.' His tone was soothing, but I caught a nasty glint in his eye. Whatever was keeping them here, it was important to him, and he did not propose to have it interfered with.

             
" 'Information! On what prowls around this house on dark nights! I'm going crazy ' She got up and stumbled out of the room and disappeared in back somewhere, getting a drink, I expect
.
Her last sentence, unfinished, hung in the steamy air of the room.

             
"I saw Strudwick looking at me in a speculative way and felt bound to make some remark.

             
" 'What was that about something prowling around at night? Your wife seems to have a bad case of the jitters. Is it wise to stay here under the circumstances?'

             
"He took a long swallow of gin before answering, gathering his thoughts to sound convincing, it appeared.

             
" 'There
is
something here I haven't worked out yet, Ffellowes. If it's what I think, well, it will be one of the great zoological finds of the age. Hell, of any age! I can't give you the details. First, it's none of your business. Second, you'd think I was nuts. Christ Almighty, I think I
am
nuts, sometimes. Just bear with us, will you? Ethel isn't used to the tropics or my burying myself in my work either. The natives walk about at night, and this makes her nervous, though they're perfectly harmless.' It was then he told me the story of their recent marriage and mentioned that his wife had been both rich and sheltered.

             
"I retired to the room they had given me for a nap, but I found it hard to sleep. I was turning restlessly, when I caught the sound of voices, not too far away. I pricked up my ears not only because they were talking Malay, but because one voice was
Strudwick's
deep-chested rumble. I slid off the rattan couch and out of my window. I felt no compunction about eavesdropping. I had no great affection for my host, and I had commenced to have a great curiosity about whatever he was doing. I soon found he had told me a thumping lie in one area at least.

             
"Behind some dense undergrowth at the corner of the house he was talking to the strange-looking villager, the old one who had led me up to the house that morning. I caught only a
snatch of conversation before the native turned and walked away, but it was an intriguing item.

             
" 'It must be soon, or we will find another, one of our
own. But the Father likes yours. But it must be soon.'

             
" 'It
will
be soon!'
Strudwick's
answer was low yet intense. 'But this new
Tuan
has changed things. He must go, first.'

             
" 'It must be soon,' was the dull-toned answer. 'The strange
Tuan
is your business, not ours. What do we care for
Tuan
s
? Or the Father, either? Give him to the Father. But he grows impatient. They all do. They
call
.'

             
"With that remark, the man left, drifting away between the steaming muck holes until he had vanished from sight around a corner of the slope.

             
"I
eeled
back into my room, taking care to make no noise. So the locals never spoke about anything, eh? And who was the Father and what was he waiting for and why was I supposed to leave, or possibly be 'given' to him, whoever he was? With all these things chasing themselves through my head, I finally did drift off into an uneasy doze. But my hand gripped my pistol under the pillow. The Island of the Turtle seemed to have sinister overtones all of a sudden.

             
"Supper, or rather tiffin, that evening was strained. Strudwick was very silent, and I caught him more than once looking at me in an unpleasant and calculating way. He seemed to be suppressing an air of intense excitement. His wife again was two-thirds blotto, and at intervals would rouse herself to relate some incoherent tale of her past, usually involving a dance at Bar Harbor or a society scandal of her dead youth in some exclusive enclave in Pennsylvania; Pittsburgh, I think. The whole thing was both depressing and eerie. I excused myself as soon as I decently could and retired. But I did not undress, and I never had my hand far from the gun. A little nocturnal prowling on my own account seemed to be more than called for.

             
"The light, such as there was under the sulfurous vapors of the place, became suddenly absent. Tropic sunsets didn't last long, but here there was a dim light one moment, nothing the next. I frankly preferred it to the smoky haze of the
day, and I can get about in full dark as well as most so-called savage people that I have met. In addition to my gun, I had a 4-inch, single-bladed, clasp knife, a tool I have often found to be more useful in the dark than any firearm.

             
"I went out through my open window again. I could hear nothing in the night but water drip and the sound of a faraway frog croaking. I placed my feet carefully, whole foot at a time, testing wherever I set it down before placing my full weight on the foot. I had my torch, but I kept it in my pocket for emergencies. The pallid ghost of a full moon appeared up over the fogs and reeks, and I found I could see quite well, if I concentrated. Eyes need training to see in dim light, and I had had more than just a trifle, since it is a sense I cultivate.

             
"Around the front of the house I moved, and even with care, I almost trod on a small turtle more than once. They appeared to be even thicker on the ground than at the morning hours, and after a while, I could hear them moving in the silence as my ears also grew attuned, the scrape of
tiny claws on the rock path and an occasional squelch as they moved into one of the damper areas.

             
"Nothing happened to stir my interest for a very long time. I ignored the mosquitoes, which is also a trick and a necessary one, if one is to do any proper stalking. I just kept moving slowly about, resting under a tree at intervals, then going on again. The house was silent
.
There were no lights, and I gathered my host and hostess were abed. She had taken on enough gin to keep her insensible until morning.

             
"Once I heard a vast, heaving, sucking noise over to the far side of the clearing, as if a hippo were lurching out of some mud, but it soon ceased. I felt sure it was an internal gas bubble in one of the warm springs, erupting to the surface and throwing the sand about. I have seen the same thing in New Zealand, where such mud geysers are common.

             
"I must have been spooking around for several hours, with no incident of any kind, when the quiet came to an abrupt end. The house was still silent, and I had reached the lower end of the clearing in front of it, near the base of the path, when I heard a woman scream. The cry was short in length, and I felt sure it had been smothered. There was only one woman on this hill, and without thinking, I drew my gun from my belt and ran straight for where I knew the house to lie, though it was invisible through the mist.

             
"Now I had forgot those stinking pools of sand and water, and simply ran dead ahead in a straight line. I had cleared only a few yards when my right foot went smack into one and myself after it in a spiral curve, head over heels. But I kept hold of the gun, which, by the way, was heavily oiled and was loaded with greased cartridges. My other arm flailed about and hooked on something hard, the edge of the rock path. I was immersed, for the sand was in suspension, like quicksand, and seemed to have no bottom, but I had a good grip and began to haul myself out. There was no pull such as one finds in genuine quicksand, and I was soon halfway to the solid ground with only my legs from the knee down in the muck.

             
"Then my ankles were seized. There was no mistaking the feeling. Something warm, muscular and very powerful had two death grips on my legs and was exerting a steady pressure to drag me back down into that slop from which I had almost succeeded in freeing myself! I swear that not only was I being gripped but that I could feel
fingers
!"

-

             
We all sat silent, while Ffellowes took a long pull on his cigar. In passing, I noticed that Williams had his mouth open and was just as enthralled as the rest of us.

             
"I froze, but only for a second," resumed Ffellowes. "My first reaction was to try and get up, in other words a panicked one, simply to keep struggling out the same way I had been pulling. My waist was well up on the solid rock, and I dropped the gun and used both hands to try and haul myself forward on my stomach. But it was no go. Whatever had me
was at least as strong as I and from the feel probably stronger. I couldn't move an inch, and the pressure to haul, that is to haul
me
back down, never slackened an inch. Then I got the use of my brain back, and tried to twist, so that I was now on my side. This got me a little ground, though not much, and I tried it again, gaining a
few more inches. Now I could see the pool, or rather I could see my legs, sunk in something. The fog was so dense that the pool's surface was invisible. I never thought of yelling, you know. Something told me it would be useless, and so the silent struggle continued.