H. C. McNeile

“ You never know how women, even the best of them, will take things, and as I watched old Jim instructing young Jim in the mysteries of cricket on the tennis lawn, I began to doubt my wisdom in agreeing to anything so foolish.
And then, somehow or other, the Old-World garden outside seemed to fade away. Only Jim's figure remained, clean cut and sinewy with the great shoulder muscles rippling under his coat. In his hip pocket I could see in my mind's eye the outline of his revolver, which he could draw the fraction of a second quicker than any living man. ”

“ Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” said von Tarnin, clicking his heels together. “I will acquaint my principal with what you have said.”
With that he left me to return in ten minutes with the information that the Baron agreed. And then, for a moment or two, he stared at me irresolutely.
“It is most unorthodox, what I am going to say,” he said, with a great deal of hesitation. “I am Baron Stockmar's second, and therefore his interests are mine. But he is a peculiar man; his reputation is notorious. And I think it only fair to tell you that he is probably the finest shot in Germany. ”

“ And it was at that moment that the mess-sergeant flung open the door of the ante-room and ushered in a tall, fair-haired man who held himself stiffly.
“Mr. Maitland,” he said, standing by the door.
“That's me,” remarked Jim.
“I am Count von Tarnin of the 3rd Regiment of the Prussian Guard. I am here on behalf of Baron Stockmar. Is there any gentleman here who is acting for you, and to whom I can speak? ”

“ But, coming up the Red Sea, Jim suddenly decided that Piccadilly would send him insane, so we didn't go to London. There are advantages in being free.
“I want to go to Shepheard's,” announced Jim, “and see all the tourists buying genuine Egyptian scarabs. I own shares in the factory that makes them.”
So we went to Shepheard's, and when the soul of the capitalist was satisfied with what he saw, we adjourned to the bar, to find a chubby-faced youth eating salted almonds and consuming something that tinkled pleasantly in a glass.
“Hullo, Pumpkin,” cried Jim cheerfully from the door. ”

“ Count von Tarnin bowed again, and the suspicion of a smile hovered round his lips.
“I shall find Mr. Leyton—where?” he asked.
“At the hotel,” I answered briefly; and, with another stiff bow that included us all, he left the mess.
“Maitland,” said the Colonel sternly—and Jim grinned at him.
“There's a spot I know of, Colonel,” he remarked, “where the lion-shooting is excellent. I feel sure Baron Stockmar would like some to ease his ruffled temper.” ”

“ In short, the man looked like a huge gorilla dressed in clothes.
Now, as luck would have it, Jim was nearest to him as he came up to the bar. He had his back turned, and was on the point of resuming his conversation with Peddleton, when the newcomer, either by accident or design, shoved into him heavily—so heavily that Jim, who was quite unprepared, lurched forward and spilled his drink. But for our subsequent discoveries of the gentleman's character, I should have been inclined to think it was accidental. ”

“ In fact, the bar was empty except for the four of us.
As I say, it was unfortunate, because I should sooner play tricks with a man-eating tiger than with Jim when he gets angry. His face went white and his eyes blazed ominously; then he turned round slowly. And the newcomer was about to sit down. He did, heavily—on the floor. It is an old trick for which I have distinct recollections of having been severely beaten at my preparatory school. Rumor has it that removing a chair just as a person is about to sit down on it is apt to damage that person's spine. ”

“ This thick-voiced, foul-mouthed brute was not a man—he was a maniac. Many less dangerous cases have been locked up in mad-houses for life. But as to removing Jim, I should as soon have tried to remove a leopard from its kill.
He had put down his drink on the bar beside him and was standing up. ”

“ He has not endeared himself to any one in Cairo. But the funny thing is that the job the Pumpkin was actually speaking to me about before the swine came in this morning is concerned directly with the brute. It is to frustrate—this between ourselves—the very thing he has come out to do. And it must be done—unofficially. Hence—me. I have been told unofficially exactly what the Chief wants officially—and I leave to-night.”
A lazy grin spread over his face. “I gather that Baron Carl Stockmar proposes to visit Khartoum in the near future.”
“Things become clearer,” I murmured. “Jim—the man's mad.” ”

“ And then came the day when we turned and retraced our steps. The job he had been sent to do was done; the results were locked in Jim's brain. He wasn't communicative, and I didn't ask questions—but there was a pleased twinkle in his eye, and I knew that he was satisfied with his work. Only once did he allude to it, and that was the night before we reached Khartoum. “I think, old son,” he remarked, “that we have euchered the dear Baron.”
Next evening we arrived, and dined quietly at the hotel. And after dinner we strolled over to the South Sussex mess. ”

“ It was an official invitation, but he made no attempt at even ordinary politeness, and a general desire to sling the swine out of the mess became prevalent before the soup was finished. One thing the Baron did do with gusto: he punished the excellent South Sussex champagne till even the Colonel—hospitable sportsman though he was—began to look uneasy.
Then came the first unpleasant episode. The cloths were removed; the wine had been passed round, and officers with their glasses untouched were waiting for the toast of “The King.” ”

“ Should that result prove fatal, the survivor, for his own sake, is not likely to talk about it. In addition, both you and I will be in a position to state that the one who loses was mauled and killed by a lion, and the vultures will do the rest. ”

“ The Baron turned in his chair, facing Jim. On his face was the look of a maniac
East of Suez, Jim Maitland Runs into an Adventure that Culminates in
The Killing of Baron Stockmar
By “Sapper” (Major H. C. McNeile)
Author of “Bulldog Drummond”
Illustrations by G. W. Gage
MEN are proverbially idiots where women are concerned. ”