Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

Jess nodded. “But this has nothing to do with what I suspect about the American,” he added quickly.

“What is it that you suspect?”

“The night of Paquette’s party,” Jess explained, “it was Tassig who argued that we should do whatever the bandits want. The American said—”

Their conversation was interrupted by a young girl running through the coconut grove to the house.

“Madame Meding,” the girl shouted, “come quick. My brother is very sick and my mother told me to get you.”

The afternoon sun was sinking behind the mountain peaks by the time Meding trudged wearily down the path to her house. She was tired, but it had been a good day — she was satisfied with her work. The sick child was the son of the neighbor of Paquette’s sister. He had been running a fever and had gone into convulsions that morning. Cool water baths had broken the child’s fever, and Meding was sure that her herbal medicines and prayers would cure the little boy of his ailment within a few days.

The first unusual thing she noticed as she approached the house was that her chickens were roosting in the lower branches of the trees and bushes. This was not out of the ordinary after dark — the birds sought the safety of the branches while they slept — but it was still early, the sun not yet down. On the porch she found her two ducks huddled beneath the table. The cat wasn’t in his usual napping spot on the porch rail. Her baby chicks were gathered in a tight group under the house. She counted six chicks — two were missing and the mother hen was nowhere in sight. Perplexed, Meding hurried around the house to the back. To her dismay she saw that the sea heron’s cage had been knocked off its rock foundation. The cage door was ajar and Nick-Nick was gone. For the next Fifteen minutes she took inventory of her animals and searched the surrounding jungle for signs of the missing chickens and Nick-Nick. Nothing. When she had given up her search, the cat bounded out of the jungle, ran to her, and rubbed his body back and forth on her legs, purring softly. She patted his side. I wish you could tell me, she thought.

Meding was still visibly upset, walking around the yard studying the ground, when Paquette came down the path from the road carrying a basket full of soft drinks she had purchased at Antipuluan’s tiny convenience or “Sari-Sari” store.

“What is the matter, Madame Meding?” She set her basket on the porch steps and took Meding’s hands, searching her eyes. Meding told her what had happened.

“There is no sign of who or what did this thing?” Paquette asked. Meding shook her head.

“I have looked, but in the brush and mud it is difficult to tell the marks of my animals from any other, or one person’s footprints from another’s. In fact, in some parts of the yard it looks as if someone tried to brush away any marks or footprints, perhaps with a tree branch.”

“I’m sorry this has happened to you,” Paquette said, “especially losing Nick-Nick.”

Meding nodded. “This kind of thing has been happening to others in the village lately. I should not be surprised that it has happened to me.”

The two women sat on the porch steps. Paquette opened two bottles of orange soda and handed one of them to Meding. The cat jumped into Meding’s lap and resumed his purring. She stroked his fur absently.

“How is the son of my neighbor doing?” Paquette asked. “I know that you spent most of today looking after him. That’s why you weren’t home and—”

“The boy should be well soon,” Meding said, not waiting for Paquette to finish her sentence. “I will check on his condition tomorrow and make more medicine for his treatment. And you, Paquette? Have you and your husband decided to stay in Antipuluan, or will you be returning to the United States soon?”

“It’s almost time for us to go home,” Paquette replied, “if we are going to. We’re undecided. My husband is concerned for our safety here because of the bandits. He wishes he could convince the other men of the threat to everyone that these people represent.”

“Decisions that affect everyone in Antipuluan are not necessarily made only by the men,” Meding said. “Perhaps he should come here and also talk to me about it.”

“I will tell him,” Paquette said. “I must be going now before it’s dark. Would you like to eat with us tonight?”

Meding shook her head. “I am going now to see Jess. I will fish with him tonight if he agrees to take me along, then go to Arena Island to look for another sea heron egg. Nick-Nick, I am afraid, will not be found.”

When Paquette had gone, Meding gathered her orphaned chicks and put them in a covered basket along with a handful of seeds. She put the basket inside the house for the night. They will be safe, she thought, from whatever or whoever is doing these things to us.