AT THE GUN'S MOUTH

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 155, 2 July 1937, Page 15

AT THE GUN'S MOUTH

By KIRKE ALLAN

THE overnight storm had long since blown itself down the scale, but on Pekote—the show island of the Fraeer Group—it still swayed the tops! of the grey-barked gin trees and soughed moodily in the interior of the greenwalled forest. From the lagoon, where the yacht Pocahontas dragged and dipped at her anchors, came the yelping of brownwinged tern, the deeper bark of blue reef-heron; and ashore, drawn by the sun, there began to swell a pot-pourri of island scents —languorous jasmine, the velvet sweetness of stephanotis, and impregnating everything the heady incense of the meleleuca. On the verandah of the white-painted hotel that fronted the lagoon, Charlie Dent, the manager, rubbed his hands expectantly as a pinnace chugged smoothly from the yacht. The visitors were Americans. Their leader, a hatchet-faced man. owner of the Poeahontas, introduced them. "My wife—Mrs. Palmer. My daughter—Rhoda. My son—Claud, and Mr. Oilier, my secretary. JWid my name's Perryman Palmer. Convey anything?"

Charlie Dent tried to keep gloating anticipation from his smile. Did he know Perryman Palmer? He'd say he did! Old Palmer was umpteen times a millionaire! "And now, Mr. Palmer, what can I do for you?" His quick eye caught the cine cameras the two youngsters carried. "If it's films —there's a native village in the forest, and I've got the nigs well trained. For a. . . ." He hesitated modestly. "For a consideration, I'll fix you up something spectacular. What d'ye nay to a hula?" Then as Mrs. Palmer frowned: "Well, maybe a mock battle?" j "Xuth'n doing," was Palmer's drawled response. "If we buy anything in this darned mud-heap, you c'n bet'n come again it'll be the real Mackay! Xo fake stuff for Perryman Palmer!"

Charlie grimaced sourly. The weather was already breaking up and these were the last visitors he could expect for a few months at least. He was planning a new approach when a cry of delight from Palmer's daughter made him turn. She had picked up a handinirror lying, on a table, a battered old brass- backed affair, its glass fuec criss-crossed with cracks.

".Say dad—just look at this! It must be centuries old!" '•Where d"ya get this?" "Slug o' the Beach," elucidated Charlie. "He"s an old beachcomber w>lo lives native ill the village. And a dirtier, lousier-lookin' —beggin' your pardon, ladies! —old skunk you couldn't clap eyes on!" "But where did he get this?" asked Palmer, still examining the minor. "That!" scowled Charlie. "I wish the old swab wouldn't litter liiy hotel with his junk. But he'll be coining along in a minute —bumming for a drink, so you c'n ask him yourself." A3 lie disappeared into the kitchen, Palmer turned eagerly to his secretary. "What d'you make of it, Oilier? Any good ?" "This is a find, Mr. Palmer! See the date. . . . Kio7! And this looks like the fleur de lys! Obviously made for someone special . . . French Royalty, I guess." "Royalty! You don't say!" Palmer's eyes were shining as lie reached out his hand for the mirror. He surveyed it, ecstatically. "I'll make him an offer. Royalty .". . ! An' to think this little hand-glass may've been kicking around here for years." His daughter's voice interrupted him. She was squinting through the sights of her camera. "Here's a picture, Dad!" she laughed. It certainly was, for anything more uncouth than, the ragged .scarecrow of a man stumbling towards them would have been difficult to imagine. Palmer made no effort to conceal his disgust. "This yours?" he asked abruptly.

Slug snatched the mirror from liim and hugged it between his dirty brown hands as though it were sacred. " 'Course it's mine!" "And where d'vou find it*'" pursued the American. The old beachcomber eved him shrewdly. ""You're mighty free with your questions, mister. " Mind if I asks you one?" He smiled. "Ever hear o , Henry Morgan—Sir Harry Morgan the buccaneer? Ye did? Waal .. . this lookin'-glaas came aff one o' his ships." Palmer, hi.s business instincts uppermost, shook his head sceptically. "Harry Morgan the pirate has been dead a heck of a long time, fellow." "I ain't dcuyin' it." returned the Sl:iy calmly. "Time enough. I reck'u, for ills boi-es to be. picked jist about a* clean as the timbers av his old ship.

(SHORT STORY.)

"See here," Palmer drawled, clutching the Slug firmly by the elbow, "do you want to do yourself a spot of good?" He pulled out a wallet that bulged with greenbacks. "If so ... take me to that wreck." Charlie made one last despairing effort. "You're only wasting your time, Mr. Palmer." And then, as the party followed the Slug into the forest he stalked angrily after them. Through the village the Slug stopped at a creek on the far eide of the island and pointed to a spot a few cablelengths from the shore. "She's thaar." The Slug started wading into the sea. Twenty yards out, with the water up to his waist, he stopped, cupped his hands and shouted to a native on the beach. "Sina Kwao —catch'm big i rope!" j With 40 blacks hauling on the rope something heavy was elowly dragged from the surf, and ae it broke water they saw it was the muzzle of a cannon, glinting brassily under the blazing sun. "It's a culverin . . . Seventeenth Century! And our friend of the beach was right when he said it was Henry Morgan'e ship—for look here, Mr. Palmer. . . ." Stooping, Gilier pointed to a nameplate chased in old-fashioned lettering. "'H. Morgan, 1661!'" Tho Slug grinned. "There's another one within reach," he offered softly. "You want to buy?" asked the Slug, shaking the water from hie hair. Palincr had already taker! out his wallet. "Sure. How much?" While the Slug hesitated, pulling thoughtfully at a greasy ee.r, Charlie Dent stepped quickly forward. "They ain't his to sell, Mr. Palmer. What floate up on this beach belongs to me!" "I don't give two hoots who they belong to," Palmer barked, "and I've no time to find out. I guess the best way out of the difficulty will be to name a price and split it fifty-fifty between you. Now, how mucli?" Charlie's reply was pat.

"Five thousand dollars." And then, seeing Palmer didn't jib, "An' five thousand for the Slug, o' course.' , "Ten thousand buekrs. . . !" i An hour later the two culverins were I being hoisted aboard the s.y. Pocahontas, and ten minutes afterwards the yacht, Panama bound, had disappeared round the point. • • • • In the bar of the hotel Charlie checked over the greenbacks. ! '•Your share, Slug." He passed a | small wad acrow* the table. "Makes a | bad season a good 'mi! An' now, I reck'n. we'll have a drink! "That reminds me," said Charlie. "Has that new consignment arrived.from Birmingham, and did they send them brass name-plates I ordered? Waal, screw a couple on and dump two more gune in the creek. Y«'.u never know, we may get another belated Yank millionaire on the lookout for a bargain!" '•Sure," said the Slug, taking a brassbacked mirror from a drawer and laying it on a table. He looked up, puzzled. "But them new name-plates . . . 'Walter Raleigh. ].">9o' . ■ • wlmfn heck's the idea,"" guv'nor ? What's gone wrong with Henry Morgan?" "Henry Morgan had a bad name." said his* boss. ' "Them buccaneers was no good. Thieves V filibusters. An' •rcttTii' mixed up with a crowd like that won't do my name any good. HonestyV what I like*. Slug . . . an' you mil t be too careful—in business."