'Mr. Victor, you must confide in me. Has it to do with S.M.U.T.?'
'Then he must be following you because he thinks you have discovered a lead to the whereabouts of Dr. Nyet.'
'You know about Dr. Nyet?'
'I know that you are searching for her, and I know that she is important. I was told no more than that. Nor are you obliged to tell me any more than that. But if I am to help you, I should know why your quest has brought you to Salisbury.'
I opened up a little then. I told Lagula that I had narrowed the identification of Dr. Nyet down to three girls and that one of the girls was now in Salisbury. I told him that I planned to shake Vlankov the next day and arrange a private meeting with Ilona Tabori.
'A good plan – if you live until tomorrow,' he told me calmly.
What a happy little man! 'I'll do my best,' I told him. 'And if that's all for now, I'd like to get some sleep.'
'It is not all, but the rest can wait until morning. You go on and sleep. I shall remain here and do my best to see that you remain alive.'
'Suit yourself.' I pulled of my shoes, socks and shirt, doused the light, and crawled under the covers. In the moonlight I could barely make out the pigmy still sitting in the chair and fondling his blowpipe. I thought drowsily that his silhouette looked somehow lewd, and then I drifted into a deep sleep.
I was awakened by a body falling across me. An instant later the overhead light went on. A machete was buried in the pillow an inch from my skull.
'What the hell!' I pushed out from under the body, turning it over as I did so. There was a dart neatly embedded in the exact center of the throat. I watched, dazed, as Lagula crossed the room to retrieve it.
When he'd done so without comment, I gathered my wits together and took a good look at the dead man. He was a large Caucasian in his late twenties or early thirties. He had the leather-skinned look of an outdoorsman. His clothing was the rough corduroy favored by white men who work in the Rhodesian bush country. I'd never seen him before in my life.
'Who is he?' I turned back to Lagula.
'I do not know. But I can guess who he serves.'
'Who?'
'T.U.M.S.'
'No thanks. Never use them,' I told him. 'I've got a cast-iron stomach.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'That's quite all right. Go right ahead. Never squelch a belch. That's my motto.'
'Mr. Victor, I seem to have lost the thread of this discussion. T.U.M.S. -'
'- for the tummy. I know all about it,' I told him. 'It's very popular back in the States. Pregnant women live on them.'
'Somehow, Mr. Victor, I begin to suspect that we are talking about two different things. The T.U.M.S. to which I refer has nothing to do with abdominal complaints.'
'Not Tums for the tummy?'
'No. Whatever that is, no.'
'Oh.' I puzzled over it for a moment. 'Then what -?'
'T.U.M.S. – T-U-M-S,' Lagula spelled it out, 'are the initials of the organization which I believe sent this man to kill you. They stand for Tactical Underground Masters' Society.'
'Ours is an age of initials,' I observed. 'They permeate our whole society and wreak havoc with conversation. It's a master agent indeed who can keep them all straight. But in any case, I never heard of this outfit. What's their game?'
'It's complicated. T.U.M.S. is a group of white men who banded together to try to restore a sort of company rule to Rhodesia. You see, from 1889 through 1923, the country was ruled by the British South Africa Company. Cecil Rhodes, for whom Rhodesia is named, was general manager of that company, and the stockholders gave him a free hand in ruling the country. It was very profitable for them, and under his rule the native population was completely enslaved. T.U.M.S. wants to set up a similar corporation along the same lines. Only this one wouldn't be subject to English control. It would be run from right here in Salisbury.'
'But why should they want to kill me? I have nothing to do with Rhodesian politics.'
'They are a peculiar organization – somewhat like your Ku Klux Klan back in America, only far more influential.'
'Not
'Your pardon. The implication was unintentional. I only meant to say that they are not only political terrorists, but that they also set themselves up as violent enforcers of a strict morality of their own devising. They have been known to whip a man for drinking too much. They have tarred and feathered certain 'loose women' who may or may not have been actual prostitutes. They burned down a book store because it was selling copies of
'I begin to see a connection,' I said. 'T.U.M.S. spelled backwards is -'
'S.M.U.T. Exactly! British Intelligence has indeed traced an undercover relationship between the two. We can't prove it, but we believe that T.U.M.S. has been smuggling gold out of Rhodesia to help finance S.M.U.T.'s operations around the world.'
'And S.M.U.T. wants me killed. It figures,' I mused. 'Is this what you meant when you said I was in danger?' I asked Lagula. 'Is this what you were protecting me against?'
'Yes. This and the Russians. And anybody else you may have antagonized.'
'Well, thanks. But I'm afraid you've bitten off quite a hunk of trouble.'
'Perhaps even more than you realize, Mr. Victor. T.U.M.S. has powerful connections in the Rhodesian government established yesterday. It is at odds with that government because it wishes it to go further than even Ian Smith dares. Still, it will support Smith until the British are completely out of the picture. After that, nobody knows. But there's always the chance they may try to seize control themselves. Meanwhile, they engage in terrorist activities – mainly against blacks, but also against whites – which the government can't condone, but finds it convenient not to stop.'
'It's a hodgepodge all right,' I yawned. 'But I'm too tired to think about it now. I'd like to get back to bed. I'm damned if I'll sleep with a strange stiff, though. Any ideas about what we can do with him?'
'If you'll give me a hand, I suggest we just drop him out of the window to the gutter below.'
'Isn't that likely to cause a fuss?'
'Not if we make sure nobody observes his descent. The way things are in Salisbury tonight, one more corpse should cause little concern.'
After first making sure the street was clear of patrols, we did as Lagula suggested. The corpse didn't make too much noise when it hit the pavement; just a sort of soft squish. We drew the window curtains on its exit.
'I shall have to be leaving now, Mr. Victor,' Lagula told me. 'I think you will be relatively out of danger for a little while.'
'Thanks for saving my life,' I answered sincerely. 'Thanks for everything.'
'What are your plans for the afternoon?' he asked.
I told him I intended to contact Ilona Tabori.
'Don't do it by phone,' he cautioned. 'Your wire may be tapped, or hers, or both.'
'I won't,' I promised. 'I'll go to her hotel.'
'When you are through there, come and see me.'
He handed me a card. 'I may have further information for you.'
I looked at the card. It identified Lagula as a tourist guide and gave his address. 'Business can't be very good,' I remarked.
'It's at a standstill,' he admitted. 'Good night, Mr. Victor. I will see you tomorrow.'
'Good night.'
