I wandered north and east, fell in for a while with a Canadian named Pinder who was single-handedly drinking his way from the Cape to Cairo, made it to the railhead in Uganda, and took the train all the way to Mombasa on the coast, where I had the bad fortune to run into three different parties I had sold maps to. They failed totally to see the humor in the situation or to realize that their donations had gone to a worthy cause, and discretion being the better part of valor, I took a vigorous stroll to the south and wound up in Dar-es-Salaam, which was the capital of Tanganyika.
Dar-es-Salaam wasn't like any other town in British East. It was on the ocean, but wasn't much of a seaport; it was in Africa, but there was nothing bigger or more ferocious than a goat within thirty miles; it was a capital, but it couldn't have held six buildings that could resist a strong wind. It was composed, in almost equal parts, of East Indians, black Africans, and reprobates from all over the world.
I felt right at home.
I took a room at the only hotel in town, shaved and showered, had a big dinner, and went to Maurice's, a bar down by the waterfront. Sometime around midnight I found myself in the back room, betting on scorpion races, and the Lord being on my side, I wound up the night with about two thousand pounds in winnings.
When I returned to my room I found a man sitting down on one of the chairs there. He was tall, though nowhere near as tall as Rourke, with piercing gray eyes and a neatly trimmed little goatee. He was dressed all in black: hat, shirt, tie, vest, jacket, belt, pants, socks, shoes. In point of fact, he made my preaching clothes look like an outfit of gossamer gaiety.
“Begging your pardon, brother,” I said, “but ain't you in the wrong room?”
“I hardly think so,” he said in a voice so slick and cultured you could have used it for cooking oil. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dobbins, Major Theodore Dobbins, late of His Majesty's armed forces.” He handed me his card, which was just a little frayed around the edges, and was black with white lettering on it.
I extended my hand. “The Right Reverend Doctor Jones at your service,” I said.
“Well, my dear Doctor Jones,” he said, pulling out a cigarette and putting it into a mother-of-pearl holder, “I shan't beat about the bush. I have come to you because I am in need of your help.”
“I'm always happy to help a soul in need, Major,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Of course, you understand that spiritual aid and comfort does get a little expensive at this time of night.”
“It is not spiritual aid that I seek, sir,” he said with a dry chuckle. “Indeed it is not. I am given to understand that you came into possession of a considerable amount of money earlier this evening. Is this not correct?”
“The Good Lord saw fit to smile upon me,” I admitted.
“Excellent!” He was positively beaming now while puffing away at his cigarette. “Then I am in the position to suggest a brief alliance which may work to our mutual benefit, involving as it does a pooling of resources.”
“This money is being held in escrow for the Tabernacle of Saint Luke,” I replied with dignity. Then I thought about it, and added, “However, to be perfectly honest, construction ain't due to begin for another few months when the rainy season ends, and I imagine my parishioners wouldn't be averse to an extremely conservative short-term investment.”
“I understand perfectly, my dear sir,” he said with a smile. Even his teeth looked oily. “I deal in commodities, Doctor Jones. Many of these are in the form of highly perishable goods imported from the fields of far, exotic China. Such a shipment is currently aboard a vessel anchored not five hundred yards from us.” He paused to light another cigarette. “May I presume that you fully comprehend my position?”
“I think we're on the same wave length,” I allowed.
“Well, then, you can imagine my dismay when I discovered that my associate, who was on his way here from Marrakech, was waylaid and murdered by a band of Arab slave traders. My goods are in the harbor, my principals await their delivery in the Mediterranean, my caravan has been hired, yet I am temporarily unable to set the wheels of industry in motion. The entire enterprise has ground to a halt for lack of the necessary capital. Worse yet, my competitors, knowing that something has gone amiss, are waiting like jackals at the kill. In brief, sir, I must have no less than seventeen hundred British pounds. The return on your investment, within a mere matter of days, will be tenfold.”
“What's the nature of your competition?” I asked.
He waved a hand vaguely, as if shooing a fly away. “Men of little breeding and less ethics. Hardly worthy of notice, except for this unfortunate turn of affairs. One of them is actually a trafficker in human flesh.”
“Not God-fearing gentlemen like us?”
“My dear Doctor Jones!” he said, shaking my hand warmly. “We understand one another completely! May I assume that we are partners?”
“I'll have to spend the night in prayer, conferring with the Lord and getting His advice on the subject,” I said. “Suppose I meet you for dinner at Maurice's tomorrow night and give you my decision at that time.”
“Certainly,” he said, rising and walking to the door. Just before he left, he turned and said, “Remember, my dear sir, that God helps those who help themselves.”
“That sentiment ain't never far from my mind,” I assured him.
After he left, I settled down to thinking seriously about the Major's proposal. I felt certain that, understanding my goals as He did, the Lord wouldn't mind my entering into this little enterprise. Just the same, as my Silent Partner, I knew that He'd want me to look into all aspects of it very carefully. For example, it stood to reason that if the goods were still aboard the ship, the Major's competition also lacked the necessary funding, and while a thousand percent profit was a healthy return on my investment, I could build my tabernacle a lot quicker with a two thousand percent return. Therefore, just before I fell asleep, I made up my mind to see if I couldn't hunt up the Major's rivals.
As it turned out, I didn't have to do much in the way of hunting at all. I was sitting at my table on the hotel's veranda the next morning, drinking my coffee and waiting for some ostrich eggs and toast, when a stout gentleman dressed in a soiled white suit walked up and seated himself opposite me. His hair was so thin that his skull shone through in half a hundred places, all red and covered with sweat which ran down his face in little rivulets until it got caught up in his beard.
“Doctor Jones?” he said, pulling out a handkerchief and mopping his forehead. He had an accent I couldn't quite place.
“The Right Reverend Doctor Jones,” I acknowledged, sipping my coffee.
“It has come to my attention that you had a visitor last night.”
“I've nothing to hide, brother,” I said. “I met with Major Theodore Dobbins, late of His Majesty's armed forces.”
He laughed. “Until he was court-martialed for embezzling,” he said. “I assume he put forth a proposition to you?”
“That he did.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I hope you were not so impetuous as to enter into any business agreement with him.”
“Cautious is my middle name, brother,” I said. “I'm still mulling over his offer.”
“Good!” he said. “You had a very narrow escape, Doctor Jones. You cannot begin to know the nature of the man with whom you were speaking.”
“True,” I agreed. “On the other hand, I do know his name.”
“Forgive me,” he said, wiping his head again. “I am known as the Dutchman.”
“Just the Dutchman?”
He nodded. “I do have a large variety of business names,” he added helpfully, “if using one of them would make you more comfortable.”
“Not at all,” I said, pouring another cup of coffee. Then I looked up at him quickly. “You wouldn't happen to be a slave trader, would you?”
He sat up erect and said, “I prefer to think of myself as the director of an international occupational placement service.”
I signaled to the waiter. “Won't you join me for breakfast, Dutchman? I have a feeling that we've got a lot to talk about.”
“Just coffee, thank you,” he said. The waiter brought a large pot and left it on the table. The Dutchman poured himself half a cup, waved away my offer of cream and sugar, and withdrew a small flask from his coat pocket, pouring a generous amount into the cup and stirring it vigorously.
“Doctor Jones,” he said after taking a man-sized swallow and screwing up his face, “may I speak frankly with you?”
“Well, it might make a pleasant change,” I answered.
“I am in need of a certain amount of venture capital: fourteen hundred pounds, to be exact. You won considerably more than that last night. I would like to arrange a short-term loan.”
“Have you considered a bank?” I asked.
“Yes, I have,” he replied. “But the bank at Dar-es-Salaam is well fortified, and would be most difficult to break into.”
“I assume that your credit rating would make a more forthright approach out of the question?”
He nodded vigorously. “There must be a prejudice against Hollanders in Tanganyika. I can conceive of no other reason for it. At any rate, will you consider such a transaction?”
“Jesus only threw the money-lenders out of the Temple,” I said with a smile. “I don't recall the Good Book making any reference to throwing them out of Dar-es-Salaam.”
“Then may I assume that we have a deal?” said the Dutchman.
“Well, now, that's putting the cart just a little bit ahead of the horse,” I said. “What interest would you be expecting to pay?”
“Shall we say one thousand percent for ten days?”
“Well, that's a right round number,” I said. “All them zeroes and everything. A very pretty number indeed.”
“Good!” exclaimed the Dutchman. “Shall we draw up a contract right away?”
“Of course, fifteen hundred is just as pretty,” I continued. “I think there ought to be a five in there somewhere. Always liked fives, ever since I was a toddler. And I suppose two zeroes is just as good as three. Reminds me more of one of Solomon's wives that way.”
“Such a figure is out of the question!” snapped the Dutchman. “I know that our mutual friend couldn't have offered you that much.”
“What he offered me, Dutchman,” I said, “is a matter known only to him, me, and the Lord.”
“I shall have to speak to my investors,” said the Dutchman.
“That's perfectly understandable,” I replied. “I think a short session of prayer might help you to come to a decision.”
“I will meet again with you tonight,” he said, finishing his coffee and rising.
“I'll be at Maurice's most of the evening,” I said. “I'm meeting Major Dobbins there for dinner.”
“Make no commitment until you hear from me,” said the Dutchman. “And remember that I sell merchandise of all colors.”
Well, I didn't know if that was a threat or an offer, so I just smiled at him and watched him waddle away. Then I dug into breakfast with a vengeance, after which I walked to the harbor. I figured the goods would be in a rust-covered seedy-looking scow, but there were so many of them there that I knew right away that I'd never be able to spot the one that had brought Saint Luke's Tabernacle this little windfall.
As I was walking back to my hotel I noticed a small, olive-colored man following me. He was sneaking in and out of shadows just like a real-life spy, except that he was so clumsy about it that he damned near went through a couple of plate-glass windows trying to jump out of my line of vision. Just to make certain it was me he was after, I took a walk through the Arab quarter, and sure enough, he was still about two hundred feet behind me half an hour later.
It being a hot day and the air being as thick as salt water, I finally took pity on him, turned in my tracks, and walked right up to him. As I approached, he looked so scared that I thought he was going to faint dead away, but he settled for gulping twice and sweating a lot.
“Good afternoon, brother,” I said cheerfully. “Would it be easier on you if I just found a nice shady bench and sat down on it?”
He nodded.
“Cat got your tongue?” I asked.
“Most assuredly not,” he said in a high nasal voice. “Or is that an American colloquialism?”
“No, it's just slang,” I said. “Let's rid ourselves of the formalities. The Right Reverend Doctor Jones at your service.” I extended my hand, and he looked so startled that I thought he was going to jump clear up to the moon.
“And I am Henri Pasquard,” he said when he'd stopped shaking.
“Can't say that I've ever heard of you, brother,” I said.
“Oh, nobody has,” he said solemnly. “That is essential to my business. But possibly you have heard of Le Rongeur?”
“Nope.”
He looked disappointed.
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing much. It's just my professional name, sort of like a stage name for an actor.”
I was about to pat him on the shoulder and tell him not to look so unhappy, but I didn't want him to start shaking again, so l settled for offering him a cigar.
“Oh, I don't smoke,” he said. “The smell makes me ill.”
“Then I won't inflict the stench of my tobacco on you,” I said, putting the one I had chosen for myself back into my pocket. His hair was all slicked down with grease, and the grease and sweat were starting to run down his forehead into his eyes, so I offered him a handkerchief. He accepted it with a brief murmur of thanks.
“Would you care to tell me why you were following me, Brother Rongeur?” I said, hoping the use of his professional name would put him more at ease.
“I meant to approach you sooner or later,” he said, staring down at his two-toned shoes, “but is it not reasonable that I should first see if I could determine where you might have hidden the money?”
“Reasonable as all get-out,” I agreed. “And now that you know it's not on me and that I'm not going to lead you to it, what next?”
“Why, I should like to propose a partnership, of course,” he said. “Major Dobbins is a thief of the lowest type, and the Dutchman is even worse. I should think that dealing with such people would be repugnant to a man of your character.”
“Whereas dealing with a man like yourself...?”
“Please do not think that I offer you only honesty and integrity,” he said quickly. “On the contrary, l will return your money threefold in a week's time.”
“I've already had better offers than that,” I said.
“I have no doubt of it,” said the little man, almost apologetically. “But what good are their offers once they have their hands on the material? I, without false modesty, can give you a list of references which will satisfy even a man of the cloth. I can—” He broke off suddenly. “Excuse me,” he said, withdrawing an impressive-looking pistol from a shoulder holster and tucking it into his belt. “I tend to sweat under my arms, and moisture ruins the mechanism. Where were we?”
“I believe you were about to list your references,” I said.
“That would perhaps be indiscreet, until such time as I know you are interested in a partnership,” he said.
“Perfectly understandable,” I said. “Just out of curiosity, Brother Rongeur, what exactly do you do when you're not striking up partnerships?”
“Oh, I try to keep busy at one thing or another,” he said, lowering his eyes again.
“And what does Le Rongeur mean?”
“The Rodent,” he said, blushing under his olive skin. “Originally I was the Weasel, but there is no masculine form of it in French. It is always La Belette. It became very embarrassing, and attracted an inferior sort of person, if you understand my meaning.”
“But why rodent or weasel or any kind of animal at all?” I asked.
“It's kind of a private joke,” he said, still blushing furiously.
“Care to let me in on it, Brother Rongeur?”
“Then it wouldn't be private any longer, would it?” he replied. “Besides, it really has very little to do with the business at hand. Have you reached a decision?”
“I'll have to spend some time weighing all my offers very carefully,” I said. “I should be able to come to a decision by tonight. I can meet you at—”
“Oh, we needn't make any arrangements, Doctor Jones,” he interrupted. “I don't intend to let you out of my sight for the rest of the day.”
“Oh?”
“I don't mean to disturb you, but you must understand my position. Just go on about your business as if I weren't here. I shall try to be as unobtrusive as possible.”
I thanked him and began walking back to the hotel. Every now and again I'd turn back and, sure enough, there he'd be, ducking in and out of shadows about fifty feet behind me. He was such a skinny little man and I got to feeling so sorry for him that once or twice, when I got too far ahead of him, I'd browse at a vendor's table and give him a chance to catch up, for which he shot me a couple of very grateful smiles.
I finally got to my room, relaxed in the cast-iron tub for an hour, shaved, and lay down for a little nap. When I woke up it was getting on toward sunset, so I changed into my Sunday preaching clothes and decided it was time to stroll over to Maurice's. The Rodent was waiting for me on the hotel veranda, and began following me at a respectful distance.
Maurice's was exotic and dirty, with about a three-to-one ratio in favor of the dirt. There were a number of rooms with pretty farfetched doorframes, all separated by rows of hanging beads. The lighting throughout the place was dim, the air was circulated by a couple of very large and slow-turning overhead fans, and the walls were covered with animal heads, tapestries, and paintings of very naked ladies. I paused in the bar just long enough to stuff a couple of bills in the brassiere of a belly dancer and then walked into one of the smaller back rooms, where I found Major Dobbins, late of His Majesty's armed forces, sitting at a table and puffing away at his cigarette holder.
“Ah!” he exclaimed as his gaze fell upon me. “My dear Doctor Jones! l trust your day went well.”
“So far, so good,” I assured him. “Of course, it ain't over yet.”
“True,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “But any day that begins with a visit from the Dutchman can't fail but to get better, eh?” He chortled and poured half a flask of gin into his water glass. Then, stirring it up a little with a dirty coffee spoon, he drank it down in a single swallow. “I know it irritates Maurice,” he confided, “but I simply cannot tolerate his bar stock. And as for his wine cellar...” He gave a man-of-the-world shrug, and I nodded in my most sophisticated manner.
At this moment the Rodent walked into our room and sat down at an adjoining table. He gave us a nervous little smile and immediately buried his nose in the menu, which was kind of strange since the only thing Maurice ever served was impala steak.
“You know him, I presume?” said the Major, nodding in the Rodent's direction.
“Met him this afternoon,” I said.
“He made you an offer?”
“He did.”
“You turned him down, naturally,” said the Major.
“Why naturally?”
“Anyone could tell just by looking at him that he's a man of weak moral character,” said the Major. “Hardly the kind of person you'd care to enter into business with. See how he keeps peeking at us over the top of his menu. No, my dear sir, we Englishmen have to stick together.”
“I'm an American,” I pointed out.
“Same thing,” he said. “Shall we get down to details now?”
At just that moment the Dutchman walked in and came over to our table. “I'm sure you don't mind if I join you,” he said, pulling up a chair. He had a different white suit on, but it was, if anything, even more soiled than the last one.
“Personally, I have no objections whatsoever,” said the Major. “However, my good friend Doctor Jones is in a hurry to conclude our business. It might be best if you returned in an hour or so.”
The Dutchman cracked his knuckles and sank even deeper into the tiny wooden chair. “My friend Doctor Jones seems to have fallen into a pit of vipers,” he said at last. “Once I extricate him, he will know who his real friends are.” He paused to light a very bent cigarette. “By the way, what is Le Rongeur doing at the next table?”
“I am trying to decide what to order,” said the little man with some haughtiness.
“Well, that takes care of him for the next forty-five minutes,” said the Dutchman. “What has this phony offered you, Doctor Jones?” he said, jerking a thumb in the Major's face.
I thought the Major might take a swing at him, but instead he just laughed jovially and turned to me. “You've spoken to both of us, my good sir,” he said. “I put it to you: Which of us is the more trustworthy?”
I looked from one to the other, and to tell the truth, I had considerable difficulty making up my mind. Then, suddenly, the Rodent hissed between his teeth, and all eyes turned to the doorway, through which stepped a tall, well-groomed white man wearing a police uniform.
“Well, well, what have we here?” he said with a smile. “I really should get a photograph of this, and title it Thieves’ Carnival.” He turned to me. “You wouldn't happen to be Lucifer Jones, would you?”
“The Right Reverend Doctor Jones,” I replied.
“I thought as much,” he said. “I am Captain Peter Clarke, at your service, sir—and the biggest service I can offer you is to urge you not to enter into any transactions with your current companions.”
“What makes you think I was considering such a thing, Brother Clarke?” I asked.
“When you're out in the bush and you see vultures circling in the sky, what makes you think there's a carcass on the ground?” he replied with a smile. “I assure you, Doctor Jones, that the mere presence of these three swindlers is ample proof to anyone who knows them that you are in possession of a tidy piece of change. I can only urge you to hang on to it for dear life.”
“I did not come here to have my character impugned,” said the Major.
“I can do more than impugn it,” laughed Captain Clarke. “I can document it. Major Theodore Dobbins, age forty-six, dishonorably discharged for embezzlement, served three terms for fraud in England, one for robbery in Australia. Currently on probation from Johannesburg. Wanted in Ethiopia, Morocco, and Egypt for drug dealing.”
He turned to the Dutchman. “And this one's another treasure: Caesare Tobur, alias Winston Riles, alias Hans Gerber, alias Horst Brokow, alias the Dutchman. Wanted in seven countries for slave trading and in three more for the illegal sale of firearms.”
“Then why haven't you arrested them?” I asked, more out of politeness than a fervent desire to see any potential meal tickets locked away.
“Inefficient extradition laws,” said Captain Clarke. “Tanganyika was a German protectorate until a few years ago. It still takes an enormous amount of paperwork to get things done here. Besides, we don't know which ship is carrying the opium, but we do know that someone is going to have to make a move in the next day or so. I hope you'll forgive my frankness, Doctor Jones, but I'd hate to see you get mixed up with these characters. And that little weasel sitting at the next table is the worst of the lot.”
“I beg your pardon!” said the Rodent, rising to his feet.
“Worst butcher in all of British East,” said Captain Clarke. “He's killed something like thirty-five men.”
“That's a lie!” screamed the Rodent. He turned to me. “I put it to you, my dear friend. I have killed only sixteen men, all in self-defense. I have never been convicted of murder. There are no warrants for my arrest anywhere in Africa. And yet this ... this fou tries to make me sound like a mad-dog killer. Me, Le Rongeur, who wouldn't harm a fly unless provoked!” He sneered at Clarke. “Thirty-five men indeed!”
“Well, what do you say, Doctor Jones?” said Captain Clarke. “Would you care to have me escort you back to your hotel, or possibly put you into protective custody until the deadline for the deal has passed?”
“I thank you for your concern, Brother Clarke,” I said, “but surrounded as I am by the scum of the earth, what better place could I find to do the Lord's bidding? Why don't you check back in on me in a couple of hours?”
“If you're still alive,” said Clarke grimly.
“I'll have ’em singing hosannahs in half that time,” I said with a confident smile.
“Well, I can't force you to use your brain,” said Captain Clarke with a shrug. He turned and left the room.
“I hope you will accept what he said with a grain of salt,” said the Major.
“Obviously misinformed,” said the Dutchman.
“I wonder who killed the other nineteen men?” mused the Rodent.
A waiter approached us just then, and we all ordered impala, except the Rodent, who insisted on having fish. The waiter, after some argument, finally agreed, provided that the Rodent wouldn't object if his fish looked and tasted like impala. The little man finally nodded, the waiter left, and I was alone with my confederates once again.
“As I was saying,” began the Major, “you must by now realize what kind of social untouchables have joined us in our repast. We have a demented dwarf who can't remember how many men he's killed, and a slave trader called the Dutchman who's probably never been within two hundred miles of Holland.”
“Hah!” snapped the Dutchman. “I grew up in Rakovnik!”
“Which happens to be in Czechoslovakia,” said the Rodent softly from the next table.
“Amsterdam!” amended the Dutchman quickly. “I grew up in Amsterdam. It's been such a long time that I get confused.”
“And what about yourself, Major?” I asked. “Did you really serve time in all those prisons?”
“A series of unfortunate misunderstandings,” he said smoothly. “But let us come back to the point, sir. I have made you a very generous proposition. Are we to be partners?”
“And I have made him an even better one!” said the Dutchman.
“At any rate,” said the Major. “I feel certain that we may at least eliminate Le Rongeur from consideration. You cannot possibly entertain the notion of entering into an agreement with such a man.”
As the Major finished speaking, the Rodent made a sudden move with his right hand, and I found myself alone at the table, both my companions having dropped to the floor with a swiftness born of terror. The Rodent merely smiled, picked his napkin from his lap, and dabbed himself about the lips.
“That was a thoroughly uncivil thing to do,” complained the Major, getting back onto his chair.
“You would prefer that I let my wine trickle down my chin?” asked the Rodent gently.
“We would prefer that you not make any sudden movements in the direction of your belt,” said the Dutchman, huffing and puffing as he regained his feet.
“My apologies, gentlemen,” said the Rodent. “Next time I feel the need to reach for anything below the line of your vision, I shall first announce what I am reaching for.”
The Major nodded vigorously. “It's only good manners.”
“I must add,” said the Rodent, “that if you make any further attempt to convince my good friend Doctor Jones that I am unable to fulfill my word as an independent businessman, the next thing I reach for will not be my napkin. I wish you no ill will, but...” He let the sentence die with an apologetic little smile.
“Back to business,” said the Dutchman. “Doctor Jones, I am prepared to offer you double anything the Major offers.”
“Rubbish!” said the Major. “I'll match whatever that gross peddler of human flesh offers. We Englishmen must stick together.”
“And you, Rongeur?” I asked, turning to the little man. “What do you have to say?”
“My offer is unchanged since this morning,” said the Rodent. “But there is one thing I must add to it.”
“Please do so,” I said.
“I am willing to guarantee that none of my rivals will take, shall we say, unsavory means to show you his displeasure at not becoming your partner. I do not think they can make the same guarantee.”
I must confess that it was a contract stipulation that hadn't occurred to me, and the more I thought about it, the better the Rodent's offer began to look. Founding the Tabernacle of Saint Luke was all well and good, but not if the founder was to be buried beneath a cornerstone. I suppose I wasn't upholding my poker face very well, because the Major laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“My dear Doctor Jones,” he said, “I assure you that my principals will not allow any harm to come to you, if that's all that is worrying you.”
“I make you the same guarantee,” said the Dutchman, “with the further stipulation that should my guarantee not, for some unforeseen reason, be fulfilled, you will be brutally and thoroughly avenged.”
“Brother Dutchman,” I said, “as much as I appreciate the sentiments behind your statement, I find it a mighty small comfort. Let us leave such dismal considerations aside for the moment and start talking cold hard cash.”
“Excellent,” said the Dutchman. “You know my terms. I will give you a thousand percent return within ten days.”
“How will I find you ten days from now?” I asked.
“You might ask the local constabulary,” said the Major nastily. “He spends more time in jail than out of it.”
“You are hardly the one to make such a statement!” said the Dutchman haughtily.
“Brethren,” I said, “I repeat: My prime concern is making sure that I have some way of collecting all these wondrous profits that are being spoken of. I couldn't love and trust you more if you were my own flesh and blood—but then, my own flesh-and-blood brother is currently serving time in Arizona for trying to rob a restaurant. Therefore, I feel that I need more than verbal assurances, no matter how comforting they may be.” (Actually, my brother was in jail in Montana for doing vile things with a painted woman and her twelve-year-old twin daughters, but I saw no reason to bring his sordid misdeeds to light just to prove a point.)
“I appreciate your concern, my dear sir,” said the Major, “but you must understand that time is of the essence. If the money is not presented by noon tomorrow, the boat will leave for Madagascar, where the goods will be offered to Erich Van Horst.”
“And who is this Von Horst?” I asked.
“A black-hearted scoundrel,” said the Dutchman. “A totally unprincipled swine.”
“But smart,” interposed the Rodent.
“Yes, smart,” said the Dutchman. “No one even knows what he looks like, or if Von Horst is his real name. But he has made enormous inroads on this segment of our business.”
“In other words,” I said, “he is a competitor.”
“An understatement,” said the Major. “The man is a monopolist. Far from being a competitor, he tries to beat down competition at every opportunity. In short, he is an enemy of the free-enterprise system.”
“Well, brothers,” I said, “I certainly agree that we can't allow a man like that to blacken his soul still further. He sounds like he's pretty nearly past redemption right now, and I've certainly got no intention of helping old Satan get his infernal claws on another brother through any action of mine. No, indeed, we certainly can't be the cause of poor Brother Von Horst's downfall.”
“Excellent, my dear Doctor Jones,” said the Major. “We shall at least, so to speak, keep it within the family. Now, with whom do you choose to associate yourself?”
“Brothers,” I said, “I know I said I would announce my decision at dinner tonight, but certain factors have been brought to light by our frank discussion. If each of you will meet me for breakfast at my hotel tomorrow morning and tell me how you intend to protect both my investment and my health, I will choose one of you in ample time for you to purchase your goods before noon.” I paused to borrow a swig of the Major's liquor. “You understand that it's not myself I'm concerned about. But to rob me is to rob the Lord of His tabernacle, and that is just too sinful to contemplate.”
Well, none of them looked too happy about it, but I guess they all saw the wisdom of my position, for they finally agreed, though the Rodent kept playing with his napkin and shooting regretful but meaningful glances at the Major and the Dutchman.
We kept drinking and talking about one thing and another for an hour or so, and then Captain Peter Clarke came back in. I hadn't wanted to offend any of my friends, but the truth of the matter is that I had been waiting for him, just to make sure I got back to the hotel safe and sound, so bidding them all adieu until morning, I began walking back to my hotel in his company.
“How'd you make out with that pack of thieves?” said Captain Clarke. “Still got your wallet?”
“So far so good, Brother Clarke,” I said. “But there is something I've been meaning to discuss with you.” I turned quickly and saw three different but distinctive figures darting in and out amongst the shadows.
“And what might that be, Doctor Jones?” asked Captain Clarke.
“I have a certain amount of cash on hand,” I said.
“I know,” said Captain Clarke.
“And being a God-fearing and moral man, I would never harm my fellow man, so I carry no weapons. Now, you made a statement earlier this evening about protective custody...”
“True,” he said. “But the situation has changed in the past hour. Our prison has only four cells, and thanks to a drunken brawl at the waterfront, I regret to inform you that all four of our accommodations are currently occupied.”
“I wasn't referring to myself, Brother Clarke,” I said quickly. “As a man of the cloth, I have naturally never spent so much as a minute in a jail cell, and I think such an experience would be spiritually shattering.”
“Then what did you have in mind, Doctor Jones?” he said.
“I have a certain amount of cash on hand,” I began.
“So you said.”
“I wonder if I might put it in protective custody until, shall we say, ten o'clock tomorrow morning?”
“Well, it's highly irregular...” he said.
“I'd rest much easier knowing it's free from attack by vicious night-prowling bandits and other foul denizens of the city,” I said.
“You'd pick it up no later than ten o'clock?” said Captain Clarke.
“My word as a man of God,” I said, raising my right hand and shooting a glance up toward Heaven.
“And you're willing to trust me?”
“You're a sworn defender of the law, ain't you?” I said.
“All right, Doctor Jones,” he said. “If this is truly your desire, I suppose the city of Dar-es-Salaam can keep your money in custody overnight. Where is it?”
“I'll lead you to it,” I said, “just as soon as we manage to elude my dinner companions.”
“Oh, so you noticed them too?” he said with a smile. “It shouldn't be too difficult to get rid of them.”
We speeded up our pace and began turning this way and that, and within half an hour even the Rodent must have been wondering where we had gone to. Then we doubled back to Maurice's, where we crept around to the back of the building and I removed my money from beneath a large concrete block where I had hidden it the night before.
Captain Clarke counted it briskly, then put it in his pocket and withdrew a pencil and a small notebook.
“Let me give you a receipt for it,” he said, and scrawled laboriously that the Police Department of the city of Dar-es-Salaam owed the Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones the sum of two thousand and forty British pounds, payable upon presentation of this note.
“All nice and official,” he said, signing his name with a flourish. “See you tomorrow morning, Doctor Jones.”
I made my way back to the hotel, where I found Major Dobbins, the Dutchman, and the Rodent waiting for me in the lobby. I bade them all goodnight, and went up to my room.
I was awakened by a pounding at the door. I looked out the window and saw that it was still dark. Using the Lord's name for purposes other than it was intended, I pulled on my pants and walked across the room. When I opened the door all three of them practically fell through it.
“Gentlemen!” I said harshly. “I thought we were to meet at breakfast.”
“Quickly!” said the Major. “What have you done with the money?”
“I hardly consider that a proper request,” I said, pushing my hair back out of my eyes.
The Rodent pulled out his pistol and pushed it into my belly. “Where is the money?” he shrieked.
“Brothers,” I said, “I am truly shocked. I thought we had an understanding.”
“The money!” screamed the Rodent. “Who did you give it to?”
“To Captain Peter Clarke of the Dar-es-Salaam police force,” I replied angrily. “It'll be kept there in safety and security until I make my decision. Although,” I added, “based on this unwarranted intrusion, I wonder if the Lord would wish me to enter into financial dealings with any of you.”
“Fool!” yelled the Dutchman, and the Rodent began crying.
“What's going on here?” I said to the Major, who seemed to be the only one who had retained his composure.
“After you evaded us,” he said, “we got to discussing matters, when suddenly it dawned upon me that all of British East has extradition treaties with its neighboring nations. So we sent Le Rongeur to check with the police, and found that they had no record of a Captain Peter Clarke.”
“I don't understand,” I said with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“You damned imbecile!” shrieked the Rodent, wiping the tears from his face. “You turned the money over to Erich Von Horst!”
I was struck dumb for a minute. Then I raced out the door and ran for the waterfront with the Major, the Rodent, and the Dutchman close on my heels. When we arrived the Dutchman pointed out the pier where the ship was docked, and we got there just in time to see it putting out to sea.
Von Horst, still dressed in his British police uniform, was standing on the deck, and as his eyes fell upon us a broad smile spread over his face. Then he bowed deeply, straightened up, and gave us a snappy German military salute just before the fog obscured him and the boat (and the Tabernacle of Saint Luke) from my vision.
I left my companions weeping and cursing on the pier, silently promised the Lord never to offer my pearls to swine again, gathered up my few worldly possessions, and left quietly so as not to disturb the desk clerk. Then, pausing only long enough to refresh my spirit at Maurice's, I left the sinful city of Dar-es-Salaam behind me and set forth once again to do the Good Lord's bidding.