The Singing Monkey/Chapter 12

I GLANCED up from cutting the sleeve of Carnell's coat.

“But didn't Mr. Selwyn tell you?” she queried.

“Mr. Selwyn?” repeated the stranger. “Who's Mr. Selwyn?”

“Why,” exclaimed Vi, “that young man with whom you— Oh!”

She paused, knife in the air, aware of the difference between the man before her and the giggling, singing idiot in the saloon.

“You don't remember that young man who was fighting with Mr. Carnell here?”

“Never saw the man in my life!”

The stranger passed his hand over his bald head perplexedly.

“I can't make out what has happened since—since”

“Since what?” demanded Vi.

The old man gave signs of intense agitation, plucking at his wispy beard and stuttering.

“I c-can't make out who—who you are,” he said at length querulously. “I— Where did you c-come from? Where are the others—and what has become of them?”

“Who?”

“Them.”

He glanced around nervously and added—

“Are they really dead—or did I imagine it?”

“Listen,” said Carnell, quietly gathering something of the truth. “We belonged to the Hesperus of Cardiff, which struck a derelict and went down in five minutes. We took to the boats and came across the Monsoon the next day.

“She appeared to be abandoned. But we found on board passengers and all officers except the Second, dead. The rest of the crew had taken to the boats—bolted. Since then we've lost the captain and half of our men in the same way. Who are you and what does it all mean?”

The quiet tones seemed to reassure the man, who was obviously suffering from some extreme nervous shock. He blinked and snuffed absurdly like a child and then fell to staring absently at the flecked sea. Chi Loo appeared-with hot water and lint.

“Oh, my God!” remarked the man solemnly and, turning his head, gravely watched Vi washing the wounds.

“You know something went wrong here. I'll tell you. I joined the Monsoon at Singapore. This is the Monsoon, isn't it?” he added anxiously.

“Yes, yes,” assented Vi.

“Yes,” he said. “I recollect that distinctly. We left Calcutta and reached Colombo all right. Oh, yes. Then I took to letting Datto loose.”

“Datto? Who's Datto?” queried the second,

“Why, don't you know Datto Tuan?” demanded the man surprizedly.

“He means the ape—orang-outan—don't you?” suggested Vi.

“Why, yes!” The man nodded gratefully.

“You see,” he added gravely, “he's a great friend of mine. We've been together now for years and”

“What are you by profession?” interposed Carnell.

“I? Naturalist. Why, I've spent fifteen years in Borneo and the Archipelago. My name's Lamberteau, George Lamberteau.”

Carnell, forgetting the ache of his wound, stared at him. Then, feeling that he was addressing a child, he said indulgently:

“I see. Well, go on, Mr. Lamberteau.”

Suddenly Mr. Lamberteau threw out his hands in excitement.

“Then I saw him throwing it and found myself running up the companion stairs and”

“One moment, Mr. Lamberteau,” interrupted Vi. “What happened before that?”

“Eh?” bewilderedly.

“You said you left Colombo and let loose the—Datto Tuan, and then?”

George Lamberteau placed his hands to his head again.

“You know I'm not right yet,” he remarked at large. “Something—” he waved one hand in a circle—“something goes round. Those people— Oh, my God!”

“You let loose Datto Tuan after you left Colombo,” repeated Vi remorselessly. “And then?”

He gazed at her like a schoolboy confronted by the head, to whom he is forced to confess a peccadillo,

“I couldn't help it,” he said. “I never thought for a moment that he could know where they were. You see, we were all at breakfast, and then Datto rushed in and threw one and I leaped. I remember holding my nose and rushing across the table and—and”

He paused, staring at them as if asking for asistance [sic].

“The footprint on the table-cloth,” commented Vi to Carnell, “and the overset egg. Well, and what then, Mr. Lamberteau?”

“Then he threw it again and—and I ran up the stairs, and”

“Found us here; is that it?”

“Why, yes! But where do you come— Oh, I remember you told me, didn't you? Or did I dream it?”

“What is he talking about?” queried Carnell.

“I've got an idea,” replied Vi, stripping lint. “Tell me if I hurt too much. Let me talk to him. Mr. Lamberteau, don't you recollect meeting that young man down below?”

“What young man?”

“The man who shot Mr. Carnell?”

“Why, no! He's with you, isn't he?”

“Yes, yes,” assured Vi, and whispered to Carnell:

“He's had a sort of shell-shock, you know; I've seen 'em. Now he's getting his memory. Wait. Mr. Lamberteau,” she began again, “what was the thing that Datto saw?”

“I couldn't help it!” wailed the man excitedly. “I couldn't! It wasn't my fault! I didn't know that he knew where they were! I”

“Of course you're not to blame, Mr. Lamberteau,” said Vi reassuringly. “That's all right; we know that. But tell me now what was it that Datto threw?”

“Why, the ether bombs.”

“The what!” exclaimed Carnell.

“Bombs! Lumme!” ejaculated the men.

“Be quiet!” commanded Vi. “Mr. Lamberteau, what were the bombs for?”

Again his hands flew out protestingly.

“I couldn't help it! I didn't know he could know where they were. Oh, God, why didn't I destroy them! Oh, my God, my God!”

“That's all right, Mr. Lamberteau. We know it wasn't your fault.”

“You do know that? You do?” he demanded anxiously. “You'll swear to that?”

“Yes, yes. But you must tell us what they were for.”

“Why, certainly.”

There was a note of relief in his voice.

“You see, always in getting specimens the bones or at least the hide is destroyed or damaged in shooting them and if you poison them you never know where you can find them again. I got an idea when they began using bombs at the beginning of the war and I experimented.

“You see,” he added with an incongruous touch of pride, “I'm a professor of physics too; and I perfected this bomb—compound of ether and cyanogen, you know. Well, at first it didn't work. Often they would not explode.

“They had to be a contact bomb because the ground is so soft—it's swampy where the orang-outan lives—and then I hit on the idea of blowing an egg and inserting the compound.”

“But what about Datto?”

“Oh, I took Datto as a baby and trained him with ordinary eggs. I used to punish him if he broke one. He could stalk right up to the apes and then throw the egg. They were instantly asphyxiated.

“On board he stole eggs from the steward and bombarded the passengers, who thought he was a great joke. Then one day when I had been examining the few egg-bombs I had I was called away and carelessly left them on the cabin-seat and Datto stole them. I could not find them nor make him give them up. Oh, God!”

Yet his eyes opened wide as he began to forget the tragedy in the excitement of the successful chemist. “I've got the finest specimens ever secured—not a muscle bruised or a hair disarranged!”