“Ay, within him,” Bim interrupted. “For he did claw at himself, and leap about over the ice like a playful puppy, save from the way he growled and squealed it was plain it was not play but pain. Never did I see such a sight!”
“Nay, never was such a sight seen,” Bawn took up the strain. “And, furthermore, it was such a large bear.”
“Witchcraft,” Ugh-Gluk suggested.
“I know not,” Bawn replied. “I tell only of what my eyes beheld. And after a while the bear grew weak and tired, for he was very heavy and he had jumped about with exceeding violence, and he went off along the shore ice, shaking his head slowly from side to side and sitting down ever and again to squeal and cry. And Keesh followed after the bear, and we followed after Keesh, and for that day and three days more we followed. The bear grew weak, and never ceased crying from his pain.”
“It was a charm!” Ugh-Gluk exclaimed. “Surely it was a charm!”
“It may well be.”
And Bim relieved Bawn. “The bear wandered, now this way and now that, doubling back and forth and crossing his trail in circles, so that at the end he was near where Keesh had first come upon him. By this time he was quite sick, the bear, and could crawl no farther, so Keesh came up close and speared him to death.”
“And then?” Klosh-Kwan demanded.
“Then we left Keesh skinning the bear, and came running that the news of the killing might be told.”
And in the afternoon of that day the women hauled in the meat of the bear while the men sat in council assembled. When Keesh arrived a messenger was sent to him, bidding him come to the council. But he sent reply, saying that he was hungry and tired; also that his igloo was large and comfortable and could hold many men.
And curiosity was so strong on the men that the whole council, Klosh-Kwan to the fore, rose up and went to the igloo of Keesh. He was eating, but he received them with respect and seated them according to their rank. Ikeega was proud and embarrassed by turns, but Keesh was quite composed.
Klosh-Kwan recited the information brought by Bim and Bawn, and at its close said in a stern voice: “So explanation is wanted, O Keesh, of thy manner of hunting. Is there witchcraft in it?”
Keesh looked up and smiled. “Nay, O Klosh-Kwan. It is not for a boy to know aught of witches, and of witches I know nothing. I have but devised a means whereby I may kill the ice-bear with ease, that is all. It be headcraft, not witchcraft.”
“And may any man?”
“Any man.”
There was a long silence. The men looked in one another’s faces, and Keesh went on eating.
“And... and... and wilt thou tell us, O Keesh?” Klosh-Kwan finally asked in a tremulous voice.
“Yeah, I will tell thee.” Keesh finished sucking a marrow-bone and rose to his feet. “It is quite simple. Behold!”
Editors’ Query: How did Keesh cut his ice-bears down to size? What was the secret of his hunting method? The clues are all in Jack London’s story, either given or implicit in the background.
Keesh picked up a thin strip of whalebone and showed it to them. The ends were sharp as needle points. The strip he coiled carefully, till it disappeared in his hand. Then, suddenly releasing it, it sprang straight again. He picked up a piece of blubber.
“So,” he said, “one takes a small chunk of blubber, thus, and thus makes it hollow. Then into the hollow goes the whalebone, so, tightly coiled, and another piece of blubber is fitted over the whalebone. After that it is put outside where it freezes into a little round ball. The bear swallows the little round ball, the blubber melts, the whalebone with its sharp ends stands out straight, the bear gets sick, and when the bear is very sick, why, you kill him with a spear. It is quite simple.”
And Ugh-Gluk said “Oh!” and Klosh-Kwan said “Ah!” And each said something after his own manner, and all understood.
And this is the story of Keesh, who lived long ago on the rim of the polar sea. Because he exercised headcraft and not witchcraft, he rose from the meanest igloo to be headman of his village, and through all the years that he lived, it is related, his tribe was prosperous, and. neither widow nor weak one cried aloud in the night because there was no meat.
Merlini and the Vanished Diamonds
by Clayton Rawson
Here is the second in our new series of reader-participation Prize Contests. Again we bring you an unfinished mystery by Clayton Raw son, featuring his magician-detective, the Great Merlini. For the benefit of those who may not have seen or read the first of this series, let us recapitulate the rules: at the big moment in Mr. Rawson’s story — when the Great Merlini has indicated he knows the answer and is toying with his adversary — we halt the tale and give you the opportunity to figure out the solution for yourself. But this need not be mere academic ratiocination: if you wish — and we cordially invite you to do so — you may write out your answer, on typewriter or in longhand, and submit it for a cash prize... For the best solution — in, say, 50-to-100 words — we offer a First Prize of $100, and for the 30 next best solutions, prizes of $5 each; in case of ties, duplicate prizes will of course be awarded.
The judges are the members of EQMM’s editorial staff, and it is agreed that their decisions are final. While we guarantee that every contestant has an equal chance to win and that every submission will be given personal consideration by the judges, we cannot undertake to return any of the entries. The awards will be made solely on the basis of merit — that is (1) on the accuracy of your solution, and (2) on the simplicity, clarity, and soundness of your answer to the question at the end of Mr. Rawson’s unfinished story.
In order to announce the names of the winners as soon as possible, your answers must reach Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, 471 Park Avenue, New York 22, New York, no later than October 21,1955. This will permit us to publish the names of the winners in our January 1936 issue (on sale early in December 1955).
Now, join the Great Merlini... and the best of luck to you all!
The black police car hesitated briefly on 42nd Street near Times Square. A tall, lean figure stepped in and the car catapulted forward like a scared jackrabbit, its siren rising in a banshee howl.
“Merlini,” Inspector Gavigan said, “the gentleman whose lap you just landed in is George Hurley. He’s chief of the Division of Investigation and Patrol of the Customs Service, and he wants to ask you a question.”
The gnome-like little man who appeared as Merlini moved over had a neat military moustache, a mild pleasant voice, and cold blue eyes. “I want to know,” he said flatly, “how you would go about making nearly half a million dollars disappear?”
It is no easy matter to startle a magician, but that did it. The Great Merlini blinked, hesitated, then said, “That sounds like fun. Where do I get—”
“It’s not cash,” Gavigan put in. “It’s ice.”
“Nearly half a million? Did somebody steal the North Pole?”
“No jokes, please. To the crooks George and I associate with, ice means jewels — and you know it.”
“In this case,” Hurley explained, “diamonds. An Amsterdam dealer gave us the tip-off and we’ve had the suspect under observation ever since. A Customs Agent came across on the same boat. Last night he searched the man’s cabin and the stones were there then. The suspect had no visitors after that and didn’t leave his cabin until the boat docked this morning. Three agents went up the gangplank the moment it hit the pier and covered him right from his cabin door to the customs inspection. No diamonds were listed on his declaration form, so we grabbed him. He got the A-One treatment — and there were no stones in his bags or on his person.”