Adventures (4 page)

“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.