A sharp climb out on the
opposite side and I plunged into rampant jungle, half expecting
snake-bites on my exposed ankles--another pre-conceived notion--
and at length falling into a narrow jungle trail that pitched down
through a dense-grown gully, came upon a fenced compound with
several Zone buildings on the banks of the Chagres, down to which
sloped a broad green lawn.
Here dwells hale and ruddy "Old Fritz," for long years keeper of
the fluviograph that measures and gives warning of the rampages of
the Chagres. Fritz will talk to you in almost any tongue you may
choose, as he can tell you of adventures in almost any land, all
with a captivating accent and in the vocabulary of a man who has
lived long among men and nature. Nor are Fritz' opinions those
gleaned from other men or the printed page. So we fell to fanning
ourselves this January afternoon on the screened and shaded
veranda above the Chagres, and "Old Fritz," lighting his pipe,
raised his slippered feet to the screen railing and, tossing away
the charred remnant of a match, began:--
"Vidout var dere iss no brogress. Ven all der vorld iss at peace,
all der vorld goes to shleep."
Police headquarters looked all but deserted on Friday morning.
There had been "something doing" in Zone criminal annals the night
before, and not only "the Captain" but both "the Chief" and the
Inspector were "somewhere out along the line.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25