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The captain did not move his head. But through the stillness everyone could
hear the monotonous putter of the motorboat engine far out in the sweltering
night.
Friede's pebbly stare pored over the Saint from under lowering lids for long
crawling seconds.
Then he turned and rasped fresh orders at his men. Carbines prodded the
Saint, driving him with Karen and Hoppy towards the barred lodge room from
which he had released Gilbeck and Justine. Somebody went in ahead and turned
on the light again as they were herded in. Outside, there was an exclamation
and some throaty muttering as the dead body of the guard was discovered, cut
short by another of the captain's wolfish commands. The storm troopers who had
followed into the prison room cleared the doorway for Friede to march through.
He stood back, but the lane stayed open.
After a very brief pause of intense silence, Patricia and Peter were hustled
through, to be pushed over with Simon and Karen and Hoppy into the back centre
of the room.
Peter said casually: "Hullo, Chief. It's a funny thing. I've never been able
to make out where you collect such an ugly-looking bunch of boils to play
with."
Patricia Holm went straight to the Saint. He kissed her quickly, and his left
arm still lay along her shoulders as he turned back to smile genially at
Captain Friede.
"Well, Heinrich, dear carbuncle," he murmured, "this makes a very cosy little
get-together. Now what shall we do to amuse ourselves? If we only had some old
treaties we could cut paper dolls. Or there's nearly enough of us to form a
glee club and sing the pig trough or Horse Vessel song."
But one more man still had to arrive to make the get-together truly complete,
and he came last through the doorway as two of the seamen moved back to close
it.
Randolph March's weakly handsome face was a little drawn with strain, and his
fair hair was pushed just a lock or two out of its usual clean smooth
grooming. In the same way, his soft white collar was just a little crumpled at
the neck. The symptoms were insignificant in themselves, and yet taken
together with the equally unexaggerated wildness of his eyes they made a
definite picture of a man whose nerves were falling infinitesimally short of
the standard of discipline that circumstances were demanding of them.
"The Gilbecks," he said to Friede; and his voice was roughened to just the
same slight but revealing extent. "If they got away in the motorboat-"
' I know," said the captain.
"Why don't you send someone after them?"
"Who?"
"Well, you've got plenty of men, haven't you? There are two speedboats-"
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"And no pilots. No one here could find his way very far outside of our own
channel. You know what these creeks are like. We chose this place for that
reason."
"Then they're bound to get stuck themselves, and we can catch them."
"I'm afraid," said the captain, "it may not be so easy. Our friend Templar
and his party got here. They must have been guided. Unless Miss Leith . . ."
Both the men looked at Karen; and as if the full force of things that had
been temporarily eclipsed by more immediate alarums rushed back on him as he
studied her, Randolph March took a half step towards her with his mouth
growing tight and ugly.
"You treacherous little bitch!"
"One moment." The captain's intervention had no hint of chivalry-it was
plainly and practically dictated by nothing but cold-rolled efficiency.
Recriminations were a waste of time; therefore he had no time for them. "Let
Miss Leith tell us."
Karen gazed at him with calm contempt.
"It's always so nice to deal with gentlemen," she said satirically. "You
wouldn't be rude, would you? You'd just fetch some hot irons and get on with
it ... Well, as far as this goes I can save you the trouble. I didn't bring
them here. We met accidentally, on the way. And they had a very good guide of
their own."
"Who was it?"
"An Indian."
Simon Templar flicked ashes peacefully on the floor.
"Let me help," he suggested affably. "After all, there should be no more
secrets between any of us. To be exact, he was a bird from the Seminole Escort
Bureau, by the name of Charlie Halwuk. A great hunter, I'm told, and certainly
a wonderful pathfinder. After the way he brought us here, I'd back him against
any homing pigeons you can trot out. So we sent him off with the Gilbecks. He
seemed quite sure he could leave anybody who chased him high and dry on a
sandbank for the mosquitoes and crocodiles to finish; but of course I don't
want to stop you trying."
Friede stared at him for a second longer, and then turned back to Karen. The
mask that he had worn in the first meeting on the March Hare had been dropped
like an old coat. No one could have had any doubt now as to who was in
command. Randolph March, gnawing his moustache by the doorway, had become a
relative nonentity pillared by his captain's emotionless authority.
"Miss Leith, why were you trying to run away from here?"
"I got bored with the company."
"Perhaps," said Friede, "you were not taking yourself seriously enough in the
observation you made just now."
The girl regarded him with unwavering eyes, and her red lips curled.
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"I just don't want you to think you frighten me," she said. "As it happens,
that's another thing I'll be glad to tell you. I was on my way out to tell the
world about this submarine base of yours, and how it hooks up with Randy's
Foreign Investment Pool."
"You are an inquisitive journalist, an ally of Templar, a blackmailing
adventuress, or an agent of the Department of Justice?"
"Guess once more."
"You are some kind of Government agent."
"That's right," she said calmly. "And I mean the British Government."
There was a great silence in the room.
Captain Friede's face did not change. It was like a mould of hard-baked clay,
without feeling or flexibility, behind which cogs and connections turned with [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]