The Spider Sapphire Mystery (13 page)

Mr. Albert continued to make pessimistic statements. “That acid could be poisonous and already be going through your system,” he said dolefully.

“I’m sure it hasn‘t,” Nancy said. She took her hands out of the oil. “All the burning has stopped.”

Ned tested his. “Mine seem to be all right.”

By this time Bess and George had come to see what was happening. They were relieved to hear that Nancy and Ned were better and ready to go.

Ned paid the druggist for the mineral oil and Nancy thanked him for his kindness. Once more the group set off.

The main part of Mombasa was situated on a large island and was reached by crossing a causeway. There was a large harbor with ocean liners and cargo vessels from many countries tied up.

The taxi went directly to an ocean-front hotel, with beautiful gardens and a swimming pooL

“Isn’t this attractive?” Bess exclaimed.

Professor and Mrs. Stanley and the rest of the group were waiting for them on the steps of the portico. Nancy and Ned did not mention what had happened.

Burt insisted upon staying behind to take care of the baggage. He wrapped a newspaper around the handle of Nancy’s bag before picking it up and refused to let either the taxi driver or porter touch it. Burt carried the suitcase to his own room and scrubbed the handle thoroughly with soap and water before delivering it to Nancy’s room.

As he came in with the bag, Burt said, “Nancy, who do you think put the acid on the handle?”

“I can’t name any one person,” she answered, “but I’m sure it was one of the people connected with the spider sapphire mystery.”

George spoke up. “It must have been done in Nairobi. Let’s hope the villains have been left behind!”

Nancy was sure they had not been, but she did not intend to let this latest vicious act of her enemies deter her from continuing her detective work.

The Stanleys had arranged that the Emerson safari be given an early lunch so they could have a full afternoon for sightseeing. The incident of the suitcase had not been told to anyone but the Stanleys, who were solicitous and worried. Nancy and Ned assured them their hands felt all right.

“I have arranged separate tours for you young folks,” said the professor.

He explained that several taxis had been hired. Nancy, Bess, George, and Gwen would go in one.

Aunt Millie Stanley smiled. “The professor and I thought that the girls might be interested in different things from the boys. Your drivers have been instructed where to take you.”

In a short time the taxis arrived. The four girls climbed into the first one and the driver set off. He was a pleasant, smiling black, who spoke Swahili and perfect English.

“First I thought you would be interested in seeing our many fruit markets,” he said. “You know Africa is noted for its melons, pineapples, and berries.”

He drove to a wide thoroughfare with fruit stalls on both sides of the street.

“Look!” Bess exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such big oranges in my life!”

Presently Nancy asked the driver if it would be permissible for her to take a couple of snapshots of a street scene. She knew that African blacks often did not like to have their pictures taken.

“I think it will be all right.”

Nancy stepped out of the car and took one picture lengthwise of the street and one of a fruit stand. As she got back into the taxi, a tall, muscular black came racing across the street. He began waving a fist at her and speaking rapidly in Swahili.

“What is he saying?” she asked the driver.

“He is demanding your camera, because you took his picture.”

“But I didn‘t,” Nancy replied. “I snapped the whole fruit stand from way over here.”

The tall man continued to gesticulate and talk rapidly. By this time a crowd had gathered around the car.

“Why does he want the camera?” George asked.

The driver explained that people who belong to certain tribes believe that if their picture is snapped it will take away their soul.

“I see,” said Nancy. “But I didn’t snap this person’s picture.”

The tall man shook his fist at her again and said in halting English, “You give me film or I have you arrested!”

“Don’t you do it, Nancy!” George cried out, but Bess and Gwen were terrified and begged her to turn the film over to him.

At that moment they all noticed a tall, handsome black officer hurrying toward them. He wore a white suit and helmet.

Smiling, he listened to the protestor’s demand, then said to Nancy, “Please tell me your side of the story.”

She explained. Apparently he believed her, for he turned to the tall man, spoke a few sentences in Swahili, and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The fruit dealer was reluctant to give in, but was finally persuaded to go back to his stand. The policeman scattered the crowd and the taxi drove off.

“Oh my!” said Bess. “I was scared silly. I think I’m going to faint!”

George turned to her cousin with a withering look. “Don’t be a ninny,” she said.

As they drove through one street after another, the girls were intrigued by the costumes of the Indian and the Arab citizens. Some men were wearing turbans with feathers stuck in them, others red fezzes. Nearly everyone wore sandals, but many of the blacks were barefoot.

Their guide stopped near a Hindu temple. It was a beautiful white, gold-domed building. A long courtyard led to a high-roofed portico with several steps leading up to it. A sign reminded the visitors to remove their shoes.

“Oh, look ahead!” Bess whispered.

As the four girls walked through the portico, they stopped to admire a large oblong pedestal on which rested the image of a white cow. It was gaily decorated with garlands of flowers and scarfs. Gwen asked the meaning of this.

“I’ve read,” Nancy told her, “that in the Hindu religion the cow is a sacred animal and is never killed or eaten.”

At the end of the portico and down several steps was a small room. Here were priests and worship ers, bowls of what looked like grain, and pots of incense. Since the visitors did not understand the significance, they bowed politely to those inside and turned away.

The next stop was in a commercial area where ivory auctions took place twice a year. Buyers came from all over the world. The warehouse manager showed the girls around. Tusks of elephant and rhino ivory lay on the floor.

“Is this made into jewelry and figurines?” Bess asked him.

“No, Kenya ivory is too soft. Most of it is used for billiard balls. Hard ivory comes from Uganda. It goes to Hong Kong and Japan for carving.”

Nancy stepped among the great tusks. Near the end of the building were two huge elephant’s feet. Nancy felt them and was surprised that they were covered with long bristly hairs.

When she returned to the entrance, George was just saying, “What would a rhino tusk be worth?”

“In an auction the price varies,” the manager replied. “But the last one I sold brought seven hundred dollars.”

“Wheel” George exclaimed. “When I saw those mean rhinos at Treetops Inn, I had no idea they were worth so much money!”

Bess giggled. “You’d have to pay me a lot more than seven hundred dollars to capture one.”

The girls thanked the warehouse manager and returned to the taxi. Their driver took a side road which led to a village of wood carvers.

The natives lived in attractive wooden houses. Beyond them was an open-air, thatched-roof “factory” where carved figures of animals and ceremonial masks were made from mahogany tree trunks.

Groups of men were chipping out the rough statuettes, others were doing the more delicate carving. Some workers were sandpapering and still others doing the final polishing. The results were satin-smooth, graceful figures of wild animals and every type of mask from pleasant-looking to the most grotesque.

Nancy went up to one of the series of small shops where the objects were displayed on rugs on the ground. “My father would love this,” she said to the other girls, picking out a rhino. She also bought a duiker for her Aunt Eloise and an eland for Hannah Gruen.

Nancy paid for the articles. As the shopkeeper gave her change, he suddenly stared at Nancy and said, “You follow me!”

Nancy was startled. She had thought these people friendly. What was going to happen now?

The man, as if sensing her surprise, added, “All girls come! I make you death mask!”

“A death mask!” Bess shrieked. “Nancy, this is another threat! Let’s get away from here as fast as we can!”

It was the shopkeeper’s turn to look startled. “You are afraid of something?” he asked. “I mean no harm. I want to give gift to this nice young lady. She has lovely face. I have special artist to make likeness.”

“But you said death mask,” Bess told him.

The man shrugged. “Our people make them so relatives can enjoy the face after people are dead. Maybe your papa would like to have this if something happen to you? No harm come to you in this village.”

Reassured, Nancy and the other girls followed the man to a tree-shaded area where a lone wood carver sat cross-legged on the ground working. He was an old man with an ingenuous smile.

He requested Nancy to seat herself on the ground, to raise her chin and hold very still. The other girls watched in fascination as the man’s light fingers carefully chipped at a block of wood. In a short time the likeness to Nancy’s features could be seen plainly. Soon he indicated he no longer needed her as a model and she was free to roam about until the mask was finished.

“He’s very talented,” Gwen remarked.

The others thought so too. Now they wandered about the village. The children were very good-looking and grinned most of the time. Nancy inquired if it was all right to take pictures and was told Yes. Once she started, the children crowded around, each one wanting to be in every picture. In a short time Nancy’s film was used up.

The girls walked through the various areas, watching the deft fingers that produced the beautiful handiwork. Several times Nancy asked the workers if they knew a guide named Tizam. Each one shook his head.

Finally the old artist beckoned to them and they hurried over. He said the mask would be ready soon—a worker was giving the piece its final polish.

When Nancy queried him about Tizam, the wood carver’s eyes lit up. “I know Tizam. He is very fine wood carver.”

“Really?” Nancy was surprised that no one had told her this before. Perhaps he was not the same Tizam whom she was trying to find. “Was he also a guide?”

“Yes. Last time I hear of him he take party out from Nairobi.”

“What became of him?” Nancy inquired.

The old man said he did not know. He had not seen or heard of Tizam in a long time.

Nancy was excited by the idea that if Tizam were a wood carver this might be a real clue to his whereabouts. She asked the old man whether Tizam specialized in any type of figures.

“Yes. He always make statue of three gazelles together.”

“That’s unusual,” George spoke up. She thought she knew what was racing through Nancy’s mind.

“You’re going to start hunting for some of Tizam’s work?”

As Nancy nodded, a boy brought her finished mask to the old man. He smiled.

“You like this? You are satisfied?”

“Indeed I am,” Nancy replied. “Of course one never knows what one looks like. What do you girls think?”

“It’s an amazing likeness,” Bess told her.

The elderly wood carver examined his work inside and out very carefully before summoning Nancy to his side. “I want to show you special secret thing I put in.”

He turned the mask over and pointed to the eye sockets. They had been covered with tiny wooden doors. Now the wood carver lifted up each one with a fingernail. A tiny spring with a miniature wooden peg held the doors in place. The sockets were empty.

“This good hiding place,” he said. “You keep money or jewelry in here. Nobody think to look and steal”

Nancy congratulated him on his ingenuity, and expressed her appreciation for the extra effort he had put into making the marvelous mask. Nancy took it from him and asked how much she owed.

A hurt look came over the artist’s face. “I take no money for this. It is gift for you. Enjoy it. Maybe you give it to your papa and tell him I once had daughter like you. She older now. Have eight children.” He pointed toward some whose pictures Nancy had taken.

“You are very fortunate and very kind,” Nancy said. “Since you will not let me pay you for the mask, at least I can send you copies of the pictures I took of your grandchildren.”

He smiled. “That very nice reward.”

The girls said good-by and walked back toward their taxi. When they passed the shop where Nancy had made the purchases, she showed the mask to the owner. The man grinned broadly.