Chapter 3: 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 him. My eyes were level with the negligee collar of his blue linen shirt, and abruptly I was galvanized into alertness. Just above the soft collar where his movements had crushed it down I saw unmistakably the loop of a tiny black thread of wire projecting upward! Conclusive proof! This was one of the mysterious enemies! One of the apparitions which had thrown all Bermuda into a turmoil stood materialized here before us.

I think that Don had already seen the wire. The fellow was saying nonchalantly,

“And you, Mr. Livingston--are you also familiar with New York City?”

“Yes,” said Don. He had gone pale and tight-lipped. I caught his warning glance to me. “Yes,” he repeated. “I lived there several years.”

“I would like to know you two better. Much better--but not tonight.”

He moved as though to take his leave of us. Then he added to Don, “That most beautiful young lady with you in the restaurant--did I not see you there? Is that your sister?”

Don made his decision. He said abruptly, “That’s none of your business.”

It took the fellow wholly by surprise. “But listen--”

“I’ve had enough of your insolence,” Don shouted.

The man’s hand made an instinctive movement toward his belt, but I seized his wrist. And I added my loud voice to Don’s. “No, you don’t!”

A group of onlookers was at once collecting around us. The giant tried to cast me off, but I clung to him with all my strength. And suddenly we were struggling to keep the fellow from breaking away from us. He muttered a strange-sounding oath.

“Let me go! You fools!”

“Not such fools,” Don shouted. “Officer! I say--officer!”

Don’s revolver was in his hand; people were pressing around us, but when they saw the revolver they began scattering. The giant made a lunge and broke away from us, heedless that Don might have shot him.

“What’s all this? I say, you three, what are you up to?”

The policeman came on a run. A group of soldiers passing on bicycles, flung the machines aside and came dashing at us. The giant stood suddenly docile.

“Officer, these young men attacked me.”

“He’s a liar!” Don shouted. “Watch him! He might be armed--don’t let him get away from you!”

The law surrounded us. “Here’s my weapon,” said Don. “Bob, give up your revolver.”

In the turmoil Don plucked the policeman aside.

“I’m nephew of the Honorable Arthur Dorrance. Take us to your chief. I made that uproar to catch that big fellow.”

The name of the Honorable Arthur Dorrance was magic. The policeman stared at our giant captive who now was surrounded by the soldiers.

“But I say--”

“Take us all in and send for Mr. Dorrance. He’s at the Government House.”

“But I say--That big blighter--”