Treasure of the Golden Cheetah Read Online Free PDF

went to look for her.”
    “We’ve been talking to the actors instead,” said Beverly. “Their picture sounds wonderful, doesn’t it, Avery?”
    “Certainly dramatic enough. It’s all based on some legend of King Solomon’s son, Menelik, and—”
    Avery’s account was interrupted by a piercing scream. A woman ran into the room from the back door, her expensive gown streaked with blood.
    “That’s Miss Malta!” exclaimed Madeline as the actress collapsed in a heap on the floor.
    The crowd surged forward and surrounded her, shouting incoherently. Jade pushed past them towards the door and the dark grounds beyond.
    “Whatever happened occurred outside,” she said as her friends followed.
    “A leopard attack?” suggested Beverly.
    Jade didn’t reply. She hadn’t heard any screams or snarls from a big cat, and the actress didn’t appear to be hurt. At least, she hadn’t seen any cuts or scratches on the woman’s face or arms.
    The answer lay sprawled on the grass, thirty yards from the door. A man in full evening dress lay on his side, his hands still wrapped tightly around a native’s neck. The African was alive, though barely. Before they could get to him, he pulled a knife from the other body and plunged it into his own naked and horribly scratched chest. The native’s breath caught in one choking gasp before his head fell back, his dead eyes staring into eternity.
    Madeline screamed and buried her face in Neville’s shirt. He put his arms around his wife as the others stared horrified at the scene.
    “My stars!” Neville exclaimed. “What just happened? Who is that?”
    Sam knelt beside the first man and checked his throat for a pulse. Jade stepped to the other side and looked down at the man’s face. “It’s Graham Wheeler. He’s dead.”
    Avery pulled Beverly closer in a protective embrace. “I guess that means he won’t be buying Sam’s motion picture.”

CHAPTER 3
    Distance, or perhaps lack of familiarity, keeps lively parties from skiing and picnicking on Kilimanjaro as they do on God’s other seat.
    —The Traveler

    SAM STOOD BESIDE JADE AND NEVILLE AS THEY GUARDED THE BODIES, keeping the crowd back with repeated cautions and mild threats. Avery telephoned the Nairobi police and rejoined them. Harry followed hot on his heels.
    “Someone is on the way,” said Avery. “At first they told me to ring up the Parklands police station. Said it was closer. Puh!” he scoffed. “I informed them that those chaps are not equipped to handle anything more than a loose dog or a possible prowler. After I repeated the word ‘murder’ several times, I got someone’s attention.”
    “How is Miss Malta?” asked Jade.
    “I just left her,” said Harry. “She appears to have recovered from her faint.”
    “Bev and Madeline are attending her,” added Avery, “in one of the ladies’ parlors.”
    “Did any of you see what happened?” asked Harry.
    “Only the last part,” said Sam, “when this man”—he pointed to the African—“stabbed himself.”
    “Bloody hell!” swore Harry.
    They heard the sound of several motorcars coming up the long drive on the opposite side of the Muthaiga Club. “Harry, maybe you’d better go out front to meet them and bring them here,” suggested Jade.
    Harry agreed and sprinted around the building to avoid the congestion of people. In a few minutes she heard him return the same way. This time a small crowd followed them, having spotted the police. Snippets of “terrible mess,” “blasted natives,” and “you will protect us” mingled with Harry’s oaths. Finally a commanding voice ordered everyone back inside. Jade recognized that voice.
    The group rounded the corner, Harry in the lead, the inspector second, and two constables trailing. “This way, Inspector,” said Harry. He’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned his dinner jacket.
    Inspector Finch stopped abruptly when he spotted Jade, and a constable plowed right into his back.
    “Inspector