The White Invaders | Page 8

smiled. "Thank you. But didn't you forget that last coffee?"
The colored girl added the extra sixpence, and left us.
"You think that's the same--I say, good Lord--"
* * * * *
Don was speechless. Jane had gone white. The fellow moved to the other window, and Jane had a swift look at him. We all recognized him, or thought we did. What necromancy was this? Had one of the apparitions materialized? Was that ghost we saw, this gigantic fellow in doeskins and blazer who looked like a tourist standing out there at the window? Were these ghosts merely human enemies after all?
The idea was at once terrifying, and yet reassuring. This was a man with whom we could cope with normal tactics. My hand went to the pocket of my blazer where I had a little revolver. Both Don and I were armed--permits for the carrying of concealed weapons had been issued to us this same day.
I murmured, "Jane! There are the Blakinsons over there. Go join them. We'll be back presently."
"What are you going to do?" Don demanded.
"Go out and tackle him--shall we? Have a talk. Find out who he is."
"No!" Jane protested.
"Why not? Don't you worry, Jane. Right here in the public street--and we're both armed. He's only a man."
But was he only a man?
"We'll have a go at it," said Don abruptly. He rose from his seat. "Come on, Jane, I'll take you to the Blakinsons."
"Hurry it up!" I said. "He's leaving! We'll lose him!"
The fellow seemed about to wander on along the street. Don brought Jane over to the Blakinsons' table which was at the back of the restaurant. We left our check with her and dashed for the street.
"Where is he? Do you see him?" Don demanded.
He had gone. But in a moment we saw him, his white cap towering above the crowd down by the drugstore at the corner.
"Come on, Don! There he is!"
We half ran through the crowd. We caught the fellow as he was diagonally crossing the street. We rushed up, one on each side of him, and seized him by the arms.
CHAPTER III
Tako, the Mysterious
The fellow towered head and shoulders over Don, and almost that over me. He stared down at us, his jaw dropping with surprise. My heart was pounding; to me there was no doubt about it now; this heavy-featured handsome, but evil face was the face of the apparition at whom Don had fired as it hung in the air over the Fort Beach path. But this was a man. His arm, as I clutched it, was muscularly solid beneath the sleeve of his flannel jacket.
"I say," Don panted. "Just a minute."
With a sweep of his arms the stranger angrily flung off our hold.
"What do you want?"
I saw, within twenty feet of us, a policeman standing in the street intersection.
"I beg your pardon," Don stammered. We had had no time to plan anything. I put in:
"We thought you were a friend of ours. This night--so much excitement--let's get back to the curb."
We drew the man to the sidewalk as a physician's little automobile with two soldiers in it waded its way slowly through the crowd.
The man laughed. "It is an exciting night. I never have seen Bermuda like this before."
Swift impressions flooded me. The fellow surely must recognize us as we did him. He was pretending friendliness. I noticed that though he seemed not over forty, his close-clipped hair beneath the white linen cap was silver white. His face had a strange pallor, not the pallor of ill health, but seemingly a natural lack of color. And his voice, speaking good English, nevertheless marked him for a foreigner--though of what nation certainly I could not say.
"We're mistaken," said Don. "But you look like someone we know."
"Do I, indeed? That is interesting."
"Only you're taller," I said. "You're not a Bermudian, are you?"
His eyes, beneath the heavy black brows shot me a look. "No. I am a stranger; a visitor. My name----"
* * * * *
He hesitated briefly; then he smiled with what seemed an amused irony. "My name is Tako. Robert Tako. I am living at the Hamiltonia Hotel. Does that satisfy you?"
I could think of nothing to say. Nor could Don. The fellow added, "Bermuda is like a little ship. I understand your inquisitiveness--one must know everyone else. And who are you?"
Don told him.
"Ah, yes," he smiled. "And so you are a native Bermudian?"
"Yes."
"And you," he said to me, "you are American?"
"From New York, yes."
"That is more interesting. Never have I known an American. You are familiar with New York City?"
"Of course. I was born there."
His contemplative gaze made me shiver. I wondered what Don was planning as an outcome to this. The fellow seemed wholly at ease now. He was lounging against the drug store window with us before