The Spider Sapphire Mystery Page 10

  “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.”

  “Give me film or I have you arrested!” the man

  said in halting English

  “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!”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A Trick of Memory

  “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 her
self 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.

  “I am glad the old man did such good work,” he said “Did he put in the secret eye sockets?”

  Nancy showed him and he said this custom was still followed by some African blacks. A mask was put over the face of the deceased person and precious belongings inserted into the sockets.

  When the girls reached their taxi, Nancy held up the mask for their guide to see, then slipped it into her large shopping bag. As they continued their tour of the city, she asked him to take them to various shops where wood carvings were sold. The driver looked a little puzzled, having just taken them to the best one. But he merely nodded.

  They returned to the heart of the city and stopped at one shop where a variety of gift items were sold. The girls thoroughly combed the shelves and counters but saw no carved pieces of three gazelles together. The searchers went into several other shops.

  Finally in one George exclaimed, “Nancy, here are three gazelles!”

  The girl detective ran over to look. At almost the same time Bess and Gwen discovered two others. They were exquisite pieces, but there was no artist’s name carved into the bottom.

  Nancy approached a clerk and asked if she might see the store owner. She was taken to a little office at the rear of the shop. The owner was a very pleasant English woman.

  “I am very much interested in these pieces of three gazelles,” Nancy said. “Would you mind telling me who the artist is?”

  The woman said, “I do not remember but I will look it up.”

  She took a ledger from a shelf and began to turn the pages. After checking her list of purchases, she pointed to one entry. “The man’s name is Huay. He is a black and like so many of those people is a very fine wood carver.”

  “I will buy this,” Nancy said, indicating the one in her hand. “Does Mr. Huay have a shop near here?”

  “Right around the corner. There are some old stone buildings. You’ll see an alleyway with a gate. It’s the only one on the block. Mr. Huay’s shop is at the rear.”

  Nancy paid for the figurine and the girls hurried outside. They told their driver they were going to a shop around the corner and would return soon.

  The girls found the gated alleyway easily, let themselves in, and walked to the rear. A fine-looking black sat cross-legged on the floor near the doorway of his shop. He was carving gazelles. At the girls’ approach, he looked up.

  “Mr. Huay?” Nancy asked.

  The man arose and laid down his work. “Yes, miss. May I help you?”

  Nancy was trying not to stare at the man, but instinct told her she had found Tizam, using an assumed name. He looked very much like Madame Bulawaya!

  Many thoughts raced through her mind. Was he hiding because of something he had done? If not, then he must be suffering from amnesia. Could she startle him into a confession or recollection?

  “I have just purchased one of your beautiful pieces, Mr. Tizam,” she said.

  The wood carver looked at her blankly. “Yes, that is one of my pieces, but my name is Huay.”

  The other girls looked at Nancy, wondering how she would proceed. They too were convinced that this man was indeed Tizam and that he had lost his memory.

  “Have you been here long?” Nancy asked him.

  “I am not sure,” the wood carver replied, and a frown crossed his forehead.

  “As you have probably guessed, we girls are from the United States. Just before we flew to Africa, we attended a concert by Madame Lilia Bulawaya.”

  Nancy paused and carefully watched the effect on the man.

  “Oh yes, Lilia,” Huay said. Then again his eyes clouded. There was no mistaking the fact, however, that there had been a slight semblance of recognition in the name.

  Nancy now tried a new tack. Softly she began to hum the Swahili lullaby which Madame Bulawaya had taught her. In a moment Mr. Huay began to hum with her.

  Bess thought excitedly, “I just know something is going to happen!”

  When Nancy finished the tune, she began to sing it again, this time with the words. Mr. Huay smiled and joined her. The light in his eyes became clearer and clearer.

  When the song ended, he said, “Where did you learn those Swahili words?”

  “From your sister, Madame Lilia Bulawaya.”

  “Yes, yes of course,” the man said.

  Bess could not refrain from ask
ing, “You remember her, don’t you, Mr. Huay?”

  The wood carver turned puzzled eyes on the girl. “You called me Mr. Huay? That is not my name. It is Tizam.”

  The girls could have jumped for joy. They had found the guide, long supposed dead but only suffering from amnesia!

  As memory fluttered back to Tizam, he was besieged with questions. But he remembered nothing from the time a lioness began to maul him and he had blacked out.

  “Perhaps you girls can tell me more about my recent life than I can,” he said.

  Nancy told what little she knew, including the fact that a guide named Butubu had saved Tizam’s life by killing the lioness before he had a chance to maul Tizam to death.

  “I shall go to Nairobi someday and find this Butubu to thank him,” the wood carver said. “I am curious to know how I got to Mombasa and rented this shop. Perhaps I can find out from my neighbors. But the most important thing now is to get in touch with my sister. Do you know where she is?”

  Nancy said she did not know exactly, but thought her friend Ned Nickerson could find out through the college where Madame Bulawaya had given a concert.

  “I’ll ask Ned to cable as soon as we get back to out hotel,” she promised. “Mr. Tizam,” Nancy added, “when we visited the tribe that befriended you, they told us that a couple of times you had made a certain remark. It was ‘I must go to Mombasa at once and report those thieves to the police.’ What did you mean?”

  Tizam looked puzzled. To jog his memory, Nancy asked, “Could it have had anything to do with the famous spider sapphire?”

  The wood carver stood up very straight and his eyes blazed.

  CHAPTER XIX

  The Dungeon Trap

  FoR a few moments Nancy began to wonder if she had undone all the good she had accomplished in restoring Tizam’s memory. His eyes continued to stare into space and smolder with anger. The girls glanced at one another and waited in fear for him to speak.

  With a deep breath Tizam finally said, “It all comes back to me now. Just before I was attacked by the lioness I was watching, I heard two men speaking in English. They were evidently spying on me, but thought I did not understand the language.