Evening Star Newspaper, June 16, 1935, Page 82

2 Magazine Section Hlustration by George Brehm HROUGH the netting- covered windows of the hut that served as temporary headquar- ters came thesoft, distinguishable flutter of a huge moth seeking the light. Major Rapert, at his improvised desk. moved uneasily. *‘Serve them right,”” he muttered. * Damned mutiny!” Again he took mental stock of the situation. Five white officers, half a battalion of natives come on a punitive expedition and bottled up ignominiously like so many specimens in a jar, ringed around by wild tribesmen, who had harried Rapert's native troops into attempted desertion. What could one do but make an example of the ring-leaders? “Of all ill-equipped expeditions,” growled the Major. ‘““No planes. No proper commu- nication.”” The relief force would get here God knew when. If one could only get some word ;.. . Major Rapert raised his voice. ‘‘You there, Winfleet?”’ From an inner apartment a young lieutenant appeared. ‘‘Where's Gorham?" demanded the Major. “Sleeping, sir.” His voice was slightly hesitant. “Drunk?” “I think he's had something, Major. Needed a bracer, he said, after the — the hanging, sir.” “‘Green about the gills yourself, aren’t you? I suppose you think I did wrong to string those two beggars up?”’ “It's not my province to speak, sir.” “‘So you just think it. And that goes for all of you — Gorham, Penny, Harnack, yourself. We've got to keep discipline intact, haven’t we? Do you know what it'd mean if even half our crowd went over to the tribesmen? Mas- sacre — ang, worse still, our prestige gone plump to hell.” He broke off. “What’s that ?"’ The slightest rustling emphasized an in- tense silence. Rapert sprang to the door, snatched up a paper that had been pushed under it, and finally handed the message to his lieutenant. “Damned swine,” breathed the Major. “They think they’'ve got us.”’ But his glance went to a chair by the netted window. From outside, that window would be a yellow ob- long of light. “It’s devilish, Winfleet. We've THIS WEEK June 16, 1935 ‘ “All so simple,” said Gorham. “One of us just sits out there by the window, and — ping — death comes out of the dark’ Expediency LESLIE GORII)?(])N BARNARD got to confer on the situation here together.” In the rough dormitory behind, five men listened silently to the news; Gorham leaning heavily against the door, his face flushed overmuch, his eyes heavy with more than liquor or sleep, rather with a haunting some- thing that might be found in the eyes of a man who has rendered ghastly obedience against his will. It was he who spoke first. “‘Damned ironical, Major. And faintly gen- erous, don't you think? One white officer for two native non-coms. Don’t want to cut down headquarters staff too much. Very consider- ate.” He staggered over and picked up the paper. “All so simple, Major. One of us just sits out there by the window, and — ping — death comes out of the dark — with nobody the wiser who did it. Everything O.K. then. The scales balanced. Native honor satisfied. Otherwise — mutiny. Otherwise — desertion. Damned humorous, Major. Who're you pick- ing for the job?”’ The Major choked. ‘‘You're insolent, Gor- ham. And beastly drunk.” Penny cut in sharply: “No, Major, he's just putting it in plain words. One of us —"’ His voice faltered a little. Harnack said in a low tone: ‘‘They could pick off one or all of us any time, but this — this, of course, is an execution.” He straightened himself. “‘Is it to be a — a vol- unteer affair, Major?”’ ““No."” snapped Rapert. “I'll shoot the guts out of the whole insolent pack before I'll agree. I'll call their bluff.” He paused, and Gorham gave a throaty laugh, that sank the word in some profound depth of sinister humor. A girl "had given young Penny a traveling clock, and it now chimed ten. “They give us two hours,” said Rapert, shrugging. ‘‘Better leave this with me for a while.” He went out, but Winfleet followed for a word. “Major, not you! You're not thinking — because, you see, I have no family — and —and you'll be needed to see this thing through.” Their eyes met. and Winfleet came back quickly, lips compressed. Rapert was alone. For a long time he sat with the ironical ultimatum before him, his eyes straying at intervals from it to the seat at the window. Bluff? It was no bluff, he knew, though didn't the beggars know they couldn’t get away with it — eventually? The Major shifted his feet. Implacable, waiting eyes seemed to be focussing in from the outer darkness. Then he started. A scratching sound came from the door, sending a chill up his spine. He sprang up. Something khaki and human, on which he instantly shut the door, crawled in, and from the mud floor a face looked up at him, with a twisted sort of grin. The khaki shirt was shredded and revealed the bloodied skin beneath. . ‘“Worbeck !"" breathed the Major. The man fumbled and brought forth a small bit cf paper. “From the Colonel, sir. Got here all right.” He grinned his triumph. “Not even challenged by any of your fellows.” He crumpled. Rapert lifted him to the built-in bunk, put on the half naked torso a spare tunic of his own, then called for help. ‘“The messenger’s got through,” announced the Major excitedly. “Brandy, Winfleet — quick! And have this decoded at once.” The message, he noted, was brief. Marching orders, he thought; now they'd get under way. Then his eyes grew glum. His men would not march until. . . . Brooding, he forgot the wounded mes- senger. ‘“‘Air, sir. More air, please!" The voice came faintly from the bunk. Rape:t leaned over. Good fellow, this Worbeck; could have been an officer, but always preferred to re- main in the ranks. But promise of death was already in his eyes. He couldn't last long, thought the Major, and in that instant his face hardened. Inside, Penny's gift clock chimed ‘another hour away. The purplish veins under the Major's skin lost color. ‘‘Military expediency,’” hemuttered. * We've got the message — and he'd not last — half an hour — anyway."” He'd deal with the natives finally — later. Just now. . . . His throat was intolerably dry. ““There's more air over here,’’ he said. His pulses beat fast. In the end he drew back from the awful enterprise, and it was unaided that a private in an officer’s tunic staggered the last three steps, and sat down heavily in the chair, breathing deeply. ‘“That’s better, sir,”” Worbeck smiled. The sound of two shots cracked wide open the silence of the night. Winfleet and the others came stumbling, anxiously. From the slumped figure in the chair their eyes went to the Major. His face was grim, voice curt. ‘‘Blame providence — or what you will,” he rasped. ‘‘He wanted air -— and before I could stop him —"’ The lie lay heavy in the room. Glance met glance and fell evasively. In Winfleet's hand a piece of paper shook quite violently. It seemed to rivet the Major's attention. “‘Well, Winfleet, what of the code? Speak, man. Snap out of it!"” Winfleet's voice was stiff, mechanical, mili- tary. ‘“The code, sir, was just the —the mes- senger’s credential. The message is: ‘Worbeck brings full oral instructions. He is sure he can get through. Obey implicitly. It is a matter of life or death. All hangs in the balance.’ Winfleet's voice ceased. Major Rapert stood like a man turned to stone. A moth fluttered against the netting by the dead man's ear. From the inner doorway Gorham, teetering unsteadily, broke out into sudden and ironical laughter. Copvright. 1935, United Newspapers Magazine Corporation RN T T