It was still half dark when they drove through London the following morning. A gentle drizzle was falling and the chill half-light disclosed a scene which could hardly have been more depressing. Only about a third of London’s pre-war traffic was now on the streets. Hardly one out of every hundred houses that they passed had actually been destroyed by a bomb but many appeared to have been shut and abandoned by their owners and in the vicinity of each wrecked house a dozen others near it had patched or boarded windows as a result of the explosion. Yet London was carrying on with grim determination, as could be seen from the little crowds of men and girls getting off buses and coming out of tube-stations on their way to work.
At Waterloo they were conducted to a Pullman which had been reserved for passengers travelling on the Lisbon plane, and among the little group of people on the platform they at once picked out Philippa Ricardi. The only other woman there was an elderly lady, so they felt certain that the girl standing a little apart, with a tall, grey-haired man, must be their charge. As they approached the man stepped forward and raised his hat to Marie Lou.
‘I’m sure you must be Mrs. Eaton,’ he said, and as she smiled he went on: ‘It’s most kind of you to take charge of my daughter. As she’s unable to talk it would be terribly difficult for her to make the journey alone, and we’re both awfully grateful to you.’
‘Please,’ Marie Lou protested, ‘I’m delighted to think we shall be able to make things easier for her.’ She turned quickly to the girl and held out her hand.
There was nothing at all about Philippa to indicate her terrible affliction. She was of medium height, with black hair which curled under a smart little hat, and she was dressed in neat, expensive travelling tweeds. Her eyes were large, dark and intelligent, her mouth full-lipped and generous. Her skin, which was particularly good, had a warm, faintly dusky hue and was the only thing about her which betrayed the fact that she had a dash of black blood in her veins. She looked about twenty-three but might have been younger, and if they had not known of her connections with Jamaica they would hardly have suspected her lineage.
It is not the easiest of situations to find oneself suddenly confronted with a deaf-mute but Marie Lou had already made up her mind that the best policy was to ignore the poor girl’s affliction as far as possible, so she proceeded to introduce the others just as though Philippa could hear what she was saying, and the girl bowed to each of them in turn.
Shortly afterwards an official asked them to take their places so Philippa took an affectionate leave of her father and they all got into the train. Two minutes later the whistle blew and it slowly steamed out of the station.
As Philippa sat back from the window they saw that her large dark eyes were half-filled with tears and that she was having great difficulty in controlling her emotions, so for a few moments they looked away from her and busied themselves with their rugs and papers. Then Simon produced from his pocket one of those magic slates consisting of a sheet of celluloid under which, if it is scrawled upon with anything pointed, writing appears but can be wiped out again by pulling the small attachment at the bottom of the pad, which leaves the slate perfectly clean.
On it he wrote: ‘Cheer up! We’re all going to the sunshine.’
Marie Lou, watching him, felt how typical of the gentle, thoughtful Simon it was to have foreseen that although the girl could not talk or hear they would be able to communicate with her in writing, and by some strange means, probably involving considerable trouble, to have procured overnight such an admirable vehicle for the purpose.
Producing a similar magic slate from her bag, Philippa wrote on it: ‘Yes. But I hate leaving London.’
Simon wrote: ‘Why?’
Philippa replied: ‘It seems like running away,’ and added: ‘Why are you writing things down? I can hear perfectly well.’
Simon gave her a startled glance and said: ‘I thought you were—er—deaf and dumb.’
She shook her head and wrote on her pad: ‘Only dumb!’
The others, who had been following this interchange with the greatest interest, could hardly conceal their relief at this good news which would make things so much easier, and they all began to talk at once, telling Philippa how much they hoped that she would enjoy the trip out to the West Indies with them.
Before the train was clear of the murky London suburbs they received another surprise. When Philippa learnt that Rex was a fighter-pilot on indefinite convalescent leave on account of a bad wound in his leg, she wrote: ‘As a V.A.D. I nursed a number of airmen and I specialised in massage so I’ll be able to give your leg treatment.’
De Richleau expressed surprise that, being unable to talk, she had succeeded in qualifying as a V.A.D., upon which it transpired that her affliction was not a natural one. Her hospital had been bombed the previous September and it was only after the rescue squad had dragged her from under the wreckage that she or they realised that she had been struck dumb by the frightful shock of the explosion. Ever since, she had been treated by doctor after doctor, but none of them had been able to restore her speech; the last had suggested that, although her case seemed hopeless, speech might come back to her if she were sent abroad to a place where there was no chance of her hearing further bombs or explosions for many months to come.
It was still raining when they arrived at the south-coast port which, as the secret war-time terminus of the flying-boats making the daily run to and from Lisbon, must remain nameless. As is usual with air travel, owing to the comparatively small number of passengers, the formalities with the customs and emigration authorities were got through quickly, and half an hour later a fast launch took them out to the big Empire flying-boat which was rocking gently at its moorings in the grey-green, choppy waters.
They were no sooner safely installed on board than the launch backed away, the moorings were cast off and the engines began to turn over. The flying-boat taxied for about a mile and a half across the bay, turned right round into the wind, and suddenly rushed forward. The passengers could hear the spray sheeting up past the cabin windows but they could not see it, as the windows were blacked out. Abruptly it ceased and the engines eased down as though the plane was about to stop; but they suddenly realised that they had left the water and were soaring up into the air.
De Richleau knew that even if they met enemy planes there was little likelihood of their being attacked, since the Lisbon plane carries all the English papers upon which the enemy rely for a considerable portion of their intelligence. On arrival in Portugal they are immediately dispatched to Germany and Italy; while the returning plane carries back from Lisbon to England copies of all the German and Italian papers for British Intelligence. The outward journey is, therefore, always a reasonably safe one as the Nazis are anxious not to interrupt the flow of information through this neutral channel.
The windows having been blacked out to prevent travellers learning military secrets, the journey was a dull one. As the weather was good none of them were air-sick. They read or dozed most of the way until at half past four the plane banked steeply and two minutes later came down with a splash in the mouth of the Tagus.
On leaving the seaplane for a launch they were all struck by the difference in the climate, and it seemed quite miraculous that such a change could be brought about by a five-hour journey. Instead of the grey, wintry skies of England, the Portuguese capital lay basking in the sunshine, and after half-empty London the bustle of Lisbon streets, teeming with traffic, filled them with a strange exhilaration. They drove past the crowded cafés facing on to the famous Rolling Stone Square and pulled up at a big luxury hotel, the Aviz, in the Avenida, where rooms had been reserved for passengers in the Clipper.
As they had all heard, Lisbon was packed with war escapists. Great numbers of wealthy French people had fled there after the collapse of France. There were also many Jewish refugees from Germany and Italy and a certain number of English, most of whom—to their shame— were skulking there after having been driven from their safe retreats in the South of France.
In Lisbon the only evidence of the war, apart from the unusual fullness of the great hotels and cafés, was a serious shortage of food, as Portugal, although a neutral and not officially blockaded by either of the belligerents, was feeling the pinch through the Nazis’ ruthless sinking of shipping.
Having rested after their journey they came downstairs to get as good a dinner as could be procured, and then went out to see what for them, after nearly a year and a half of black-out, was an incredible sight—a great city in all the glory of its lights and sky-signs.
After they had walked through the crowded main streets for a while de Richleau, who knew Lisbon well, took them to the Metropole, the star night-club, and his friends were amazed at its palatial dimensions.
The great tiled entrance-hall was built like a Moorish colonnade. Under each archway was a separate shop; flowers, chocolates, scent, handbags, fans, jewellery, and so on, could all be purchased on the spot by the male patrons of the place who felt generously disposed towards their fair companions. Upstairs there were gaming rooms on one side and on the other a restaurant with a big dance-floor, where they later witnessed a most elaborate cabaret.
To Rex’s fury, he found that his leg still pained him too much to dance; and the Duke—even if the wound in his foot, which was now healing well, had not still to be treated with care—never danced. But Richard, Marie Lou, Philippa and Simon all thoroughly enjoyed themselves and for a time forgot the war as they mingled with the crowd on the dance-floor.
Leaving them to it after the cabaret, the Duke and Rex made for the tables. Laughing, wisecracking and grumbling to his neighbours, Rex dropped quite a packet at Roulette; but de Richleau, playing Baccarat with the impassivity of a professional, managed to pick up over fifty pounds in a couple of hours.
They had set out with the intention of getting back to their hotel soon after midnight, as they had to be up by half past four in the morning, but they all enjoyed themselves so much that they stayed on at the Metropole until three, having decided that they would only go back to the hotel for a hot bath and breakfast before starting out to the Clipper.
Dawn found them, tired but happy, installed on board the giant American seaplane in the Cabo Ruiva airport, and as the first red streaks coloured the eastern sky over the lines of Torres Vedras, where long ago Wellington had held Napoleon’s armies at bay, the great flying-boat took off on its long journey across the Atlantic.
The weather was good, and, having adjusted to an almost prone position the comfortable ‘dentist’s chairs’ with which the plane was fitted, lulled by the steady hum of the engines they soon dropped off to sleep. However, when they had been in the air for some three hours the weather changed for the worse. They were wakened by the plane bumping badly, and Marie Lou and Simon were both air-sick.
For what seemed a long time they flew on through rough weather and they were all heartily glad when at last the plane circled and came down in the harbour of Horta, the capital of the Azores.
The navigator told them that the weather was too bad to attempt a further ‘hop’ that day, so they were taken ashore to an hotel, and as they had had only a few hours’ sleep since leaving England they all went to bed for the afternoon.
When they met again for dinner they found that the shortage of food caused by the Nazis’ massacre of shipping was having its effect far beyond war-torn Europe. After a somewhat meagre meal they went into the lounge for liqueurs and coffee, and Philippa, who had already learnt that the others were going to Haiti, wrote a question on her tablet asking if they knew anything about the Black Republic.
It was de Richleau who replied. ‘I know only the rough outline of its troubled history. It was, of course, one of the first islands to be colonised by the Spaniards under Columbus, but the French turned the Spaniards out, and for the best part of two hundred years it was rich and prosperous. Then, inspired by the French Revolution, the population rose and, having butchered the wealthy planters, succeeded in getting some sort of independent constitution for themselves from the National Assembly in Paris.
‘The French aristocrats who had escaped the massacre called in the English to their assistance but a slave named Toussaint l’Ouverture led another revolt in which most of the Whites were murdered. Napoleon made a half-hearted attempt to bring the island back under French rule and l’Ouverture was arrested and taken to France; but I suppose the Emperor was too busy in Europe to bother much about his West Indian possessions, and the Revolution had already played the devil with all law and order in the island. Anyhow, in 1804 the slaves rose again and the Europeans were finally slaughtered or driven out. Ever since it has been a Negro Republic.’
‘I had no idea that the slaves had had their freedom there for so long,’ remarked Richard. ‘It’ll be interesting to see what they’ve made of the place in the best part of a hundred and fifty years of self-government.’
Rex grinned. ‘If you’re looking for innovations you’ll be mighty disappointed. As the Duke says, when the French had it that island was one of the richest in the Indies, and it’s still got all its natural capacities for producing wealth, but the Haitians have just let the place go to rack and ruin.’
‘Have you ever been there?’ asked Marie Lou.
‘No. But a friend of mine in our Marines was stationed there for some years and he told me a heap about it. Their presidents made our crook politicians look like kindergarten kids at the graft game. Not one of them held down his office for a four-year term, and with every buckaroo who elected himself with a knife gang it was a race as to whether he could grab enough dough in six months to get out to Jamaica or if he got his throat cut by a would-be successor first. That’s why the States took it over for a while and put in the Marines.’
‘And what were we doing to let you?’ inquired Richard with a smile. ‘I thought it was Britain’s exclusive privilege to do that sort of thing. I’m afraid the old country must be losing its grip after all.’
Rex laughed. ‘It so happens that you had a war on your hands; it was in 1915 that we went into Haiti; but, in any case, you land-grabbing Britons wouldn’t have been allowed to muscle in there. Maybe you’ve heard of the Monroe Doctrine? And, as a matter of fact, you were glad enough for us to intervene. For years past the Germans had been lending these Black four-flushers money in the hope of getting a grip on the island and being able to play bailiff one day, but the United States scotched that idea and gave British interests a fair deal—which is a darned-sight more than the Germans would have done. For nineteen years we kept the peace among our poor black brothers, then we handed them back self-government and sailed away.’
‘It was only quite recently you cleared out, then?’
‘Yep. During Roosevelt’s first administration, as a part of his good-neighbour policy.
Philippa had written something on her tablet and showed it to Simon, who read out her question: ‘Do any of you speak Creole?’
The others looked hopefully at the Duke, who was a linguist of quite exceptional powers, but he shook his head.
‘No. I’m afraid Creole is beyond me; it’s a kind of bastard French; but I imagine there must be plenty of people in the island who speak proper French or English.’
Philippa wrote another sentence, ‘Very few. Only a year or two before the Americans took over they had a President who couldn’t even read or write.’
‘Dear me,’ murmured de Richleau, ‘what a bore; but I’ve no doubt we’ll be able to hire a French-speaking Mulatto as our interpreter.’
They went to bed early that night as, if the weather improved, the Clipper would be making an early start again the following morning. As they went upstairs Marie Lou asked the Duke if they ought to take any precautions against being attacked on the astral while they slept, but he shook his head.
‘No. As I told you in London, since we left Cardinals Folly in daylight it is a million to one that the enemy has lost track of us. Doubtless he’s wondering where we’ve got to and he may by now have traced us as far as my flat; but there’s nothing there which would give him any clue as to our intentions so he might roam the world for a hundred thousand nights and still be no nearer finding us. We should continue wearing our charged amulets, but I’m confident that we haven’t the least cause to worry.’
They were called at half past four so knew that their journey was to be resumed, and soon after dawn they were on their way once more. Hours later they came down at Bermuda, where they were glad of the opportunity of stretching their legs for half an hour while they went ashore to have their passports examined and the usual formalities seen to. That evening without any untoward incident they arrived safely in New York harbour.
Rex had cabled his father from Lisbon to expect them, and when they were still two hundred yards from the dock they could easily make out the huge, white-haired figure of old Channock Van Ryn towering head and shoulders above the rest of the little group who were waiting to meet passengers from the Clipper. He and the Duke were friends of many years’ standing and they greeted each other with the enthusiasm of long-lost brothers. Rex introduced the rest of the party to his father, then the banker drove them all off to his great mansion on Riverside Drive.
When Rex broke the news that they were only passing through New York on a mission connected with the war and would have to leave on the next day’s plane for Miami, the old man’s face fell. He told them that he had arranged a big party for the following night to celebrate Rex’s having been awarded the D.F.C. for his gallantry in the Royal Air Force; but de Richleau explained that, sorry as he was, their visit could only be a flying one; it was of the utmost importance that they got down to the West Indies without an hour’s unavoidable delay.
With that immediate resilience to circumstances for which the Americans are justly famous, the old man said at once: ‘All right, then; seems we’ll have to hold the party tonight,’ and directly they arrived at his house he got his two secretaries and his butler busy on the telephones ringing up all his friends to gather in as many of them as possible for an informal occasion after dinner.
Rex tried to stop him. He pleaded that he would only feel an embarrassed fool if he were lionised, and that it was the very last thing he wanted. But the huge old man, who was even taller than his giant son, turned round and said in a voice which had made Secretaries of State quail:
‘Listen, son; no nonsense. I know that no decent man wants to talk about what he’s done; but in this case you’ve darned-well got to. It’s no matter of showing off, but aid for Britain. By half past ten we’ll have half a hundred really influential folk here, most of ’em as pro-British as we are, but some who’re waverers. You can do more tonight than shooting down half a dozen Messerschmitts if you’ll just tell these people in your own simple way, without any frills, what’s happening on the other side: how you’ve seen it all, been right in the thick of it, and know how those splendid English folk are carrying on—and mean to carry on whatever hellish tricks those darned Nazis bring against them. Maybe you noticed the Statue of Liberty standing up there out of the water, south of Manhattan, as you flew over Ellis Island an hour ago. Forget it, son. That statue doesn’t stand there any longer; it stands today in the Straits of Dover; and it’s up to you to bring that home to our friends in a way that only a man who’s been fighting for Liberty on the other side can do.’
Rex squeezed his father’s arm. ‘Sure, Dad; I get the idea and I’ll do just as you say.’
Since she had been stricken dumb Philippa had naturally avoided even such parties as were going in wartime London, and after they had dined she asked to be excused. But Simon pleaded with her to reconsider her decision.
‘Look here,’ he said earnestly, having got her to himself in a corner; ‘I think you’re being wonderfully brave about what’s happened to you. You must feel it like hell, but you never complain; and if there’s really no way in which you can get your speech back you’ll have to try to be even braver. I mean—you thoroughly enjoyed yourself with us the other night at the Metropole in Lisbon—didn’t you? So what’s it matter if there are a few more people? Surely you don’t mean to cut all parties for the rest of your life? You’ll have to face a crowd some time—why not start now?’
She wrote on her tablet: ‘With friends who know about me I’m all right, but I couldn’t bear to be stared at and pitied by a crowd; I might break down.’
‘Ner,’ he shook his head violently. ‘You’ll be all right. And this is work for Britain. You said you hated running away from England while there was a war on. Now you can prove it, if you want to. The old man asked Rex to do some propaganda for us by telling the people who’re coming what the Nazis have done to London, but you can do much more by staying with us and not saying a word. I hate to be seeming to use the awful thing that’s happened to you, but if only you can stand up to their stares, think what an effect it will have on these Americans! The word will go round: “That beautiful girl over there is English. She was a nurse in a hospital which the Nazis bombed, and when they dug her out of the ruins it was found that she had been struck dumb. That’s what these swine do to women, and they’d be doing it here in New York if they had the chance.” See what I mean?’
Philippa went a shade paler, then she smiled and wrote on her tablet: ‘Thanks for the “beautiful”. I shall hate it but I’m game if you promise not to leave me.’
‘Grand.’ Simon suddenly took her hand and squeezed it. ‘And of course I won’t leave you. Never meant to—not for a second.’
The party proved a huge success. With the Duke’s encouragement Rex soon got over his embarrassment at having to talk about his exploits, and the fact that he was an American made every one of his father’s guests feel something of reflected glory in the thought that one of their own people had shared in that epic defence of Britain and had been decorated for gallantry by England’s King. But Philippa’s presence, as Simon had so shrewdly foreseen, carried even greater weight. He had tipped off Marie Lou, Richard and the Duke so that all three of them told Philippa’s story to the people they met when they were out of her hearing; and what Channock Van Ryn’s guests said they would like to do to Goering’s murder-pilots in consequence was just nobody’s business!
On the following morning their host motored them out to the New York airport, and having taken an affectionate leave of the old man they set out on their journey South in a big American air-liner. The trip was much more interesting than those of the previous days; the plane was not blacked out and for the major portion of the time they were flying over the coastline and could watch the changing scenery through Maryland, Virginia and North and South Carolina, until they crossed the great bay east of Florida and came down at Miami.
Rex had suggested that since they had no idea how long they would have to stay in Haiti it would be better to charter a plane, without a pilot, as he would fly them over and they could then retain the plane there so that they could return in it at any time they wished, and Channock Van Ryn had that morning promised that he would make arrangements for an aircraft at Miami to be placed at their disposal for that purpose.
His father’s agent was waiting to meet them on the airfield and took them at once to inspect a six-seater aircraft that he had hired, on instructions, for the trip to Haiti. Rex spent twenty minutes looking over the engine to make certain that it was in good order and, having satisfied himself on that point, told the mechanic to have it fuelled to capacity and ready for them at nine-thirty the following morning.
After thanking the agent they secured a taxi, and Rex, who knew the American pleasure-coast from end to end, took them all off to the Pancoast Hotel, which lies some way from the town, right out beyond the swamps, among its own palm groves and gardens, on the edge of the beach where the Atlantic rollers are for ever creaming.
It was here, for the first time, that they felt that they had at last passed beyond the limits of the vast territories affected by the war. As usual, in winter, the luxury hotel was crowded with wealthy holiday-making Americans. There was no dearth of food or drink and everyone was concerned only with the pleasure of the moment. Strong-limbed young men and lovely girls in summer raiment or smart beach attire were driving about in high-powered cars unhampered by any petrol ration, canoeing on the lake near the hotel or sun-bathing on the beach under brightly-coloured umbrellas.
For them the war was only a thing of pictures in the illustrated papers that they flicked over with idle fingers. To the Duke and his friends, having come fresh from the stark realities of the Battle for Britain, this pleasure-beach scene of pre-war colour, idleness and gaiety seemed as unreal as a stage set in a musical comedy. But when they had registered, and seen their rooms, they sat for a little in the sunbaked garden, relaxing and trying to realise that this was in fact the same world as that in which during the past eighteen months literally millions of previously free men and women on the Continent of Europe had been enslaved, beaten, imprisoned, tortured, starved, frozen, shot, and burnt or blasted by bombs, through the hideous ferocity and ungovernable lust for conquest of the fanatical Nazi hordes.
After refreshing themselves with iced drinks they decided that it would be a good idea to have a bathe, so they unpacked their swim-suits and spent a jolly hour or more racing one another and romping in the invigorating surf, then they lounged about in the lovely sunshine until cocktail-time.
Simon had found out for Philippa that the weekly packet-boat by which she was to sail for Kingston, Jamaica, left Miami two days hence; but the rest of them would be departing for Haiti first thing the following morning so her time with them was drawing to a close, which made them a little subdued at dinner that night. Although they had known her for only four days they had spent the whole of each of those days with her and had therefore got to know her quite well, in spite of the handicap which she suffered in having to write everything that she wished to say to them. They all admired her cheerful, uncomplaining courage under her wretched affliction, and Simon was so unusually silent that evening that when Marie Lou was dancing with him she teased him with having fallen in love with their beautiful speechless companion.
He wriggled his neck, came as near to blushing as she had ever seen him and hotly denied it, but admitted that he found Philippa very attractive. However, when they had all said ‘good night’ and he had reached his room he was conscious of a definite thrill on finding a letter from her propped up on his dressing-table. Opening it, he saw that it was quite a long screed and he ran his eyes swiftly over the neat lines of round, firm writing. It ran:
Dear Simon,
‘Firstly I want to thank you for all your sweetness to me during our journey. The others have all been charming, but for natural, unforced sympathy and thoughtfulness in a thousand little ways you have excelled anything I could ever have thought possible in a man.
I’m used to men being attentive to me, and before the bomb I suppose I rather took it for granted that they should be; but since I’ve lost my tongue I have noticed that sort of thing much more. Not to be able to talk— when one used to be quite an amusing person—is a pretty ghastly handicap. Most people are awfully anxious to be kind, but since I left the nursing-home I’ve found that nearly all my men-friends seem to get tongue-tied themselves when they’re with me and, it has seemed to me— but perhaps I’m being unjust to them—a little bored with a wretched girl who has to write out every remark she makes. So you’ll understand how very grateful I am to you for these last few days.
Now for the second and really more important point of this letter. You’ve all been terribly close about the reason for your trip to Haiti, but I’m not altogether a fool, and within a few hours of having got to know you all I became convinced that five people who feel as you do would never be running away from our dear England while there’s a war on, unless they had some definite object in doing so; and even if they were, why in God’s name choose a benighted spot like Haiti?
Quite definitely you’re going there on some secret mission or other—even a child could guess that. And the fact that none of you understand Creole is going to prove a most frightful hindrance to your plans.
I lived in Jamaica for five years before the war, and during that time I travelled a lot in the West Indies with my uncle, visiting nearly all the islands. His hobby was the study of the natives and I used to help him with his notes, so before the bomb I could speak Creole fluently, and I learnt quite a lot about these unusual, unhappy “high yallers” who are a mixture of the aboriginal Caribs, Negro and European.
As the Duke suggested, you can hire an interpreter, of course, but it’s quite certain that he’ll cheat you and let you down in a score of different ways. So why not take me?
Although I can’t speak, I can listen to what the natives say, write it down for you and write the reply that you are to make. Honestly, I shall be able to look after you and get you what you want better than a dozen paid interpreters. Besides, I should be utterly miserable living on my aunt’s plantation in Jamaica. I can easily cable her that I am staying with friends and shall not be joining her, at all events for the present. Do be a dear and talk this suggestion over with the others.
Yours very gratefully,
Philippa Ricardi.
Having finished the letter Simon hurried along with it to the Duke’s room.
‘What d’you think about her offer?’ he asked when de Richleau had finished reading it.
‘It’s certainly not one to turn down lightly. She’s right, of course, about the fact that she could be much more useful to us than some hireling who speaks French. All the same, I don’t like the idea of involving her in the risks we shall have to run.’
Simon nodded. He was torn between a strong desire to press for acceptance, purely on the selfish grounds of keeping Philippa in their party so that he should see more of her, and reluctance to bring her into danger.
‘We could put it up to her,’ he hedged, ‘but perhaps we ought to decide ourselves. It would be difficult to make her understand the risks in one short talk, and we must settle this thing tonight.’
‘Let’s consult the others,’ said the Duke, and, collecting Rex on the way, they walked along to Marie Lou’s room.
When the situation had been explained, Marie Lou said at once: ‘Of course we’ll take her. Why not? The poor girl is only too anxious to have a chance of doing something for her country, and it would be a shame to refuse her.’
‘Yes,’ added the practical Richard; ‘and if these Haitians are as untrustworthy as she says, before we’re through we may be thundering glad to have someone with us who understands their lingo.’
‘Sure,’ Rex agreed. ‘On a job like this we’d be plumb crazy to turn down such an offer.’
‘All three of you are for it, then,’ said the Duke slowly, ‘and I admit that you’re all talking sound common sense. I don’t know why I’m reluctant to take the girl myself, but somehow I have a feeling that if we do she’ll run into some grave trouble from which we shall be unable to protect her.’
‘If you have a premonition of that kind we’d better leave her behind,’ said Marie Lou with a sigh. ‘But it does seem rather silly unless you feel very strongly about it.’
‘No,’ said the Duke; ‘it’s not really a premonition. I think perhaps I’m influenced by the fact that she lacks the power to call for help in an emergency; but between us we ought to be able to look after her.’
Simon grinned. ‘If she does come I’ll never let her out of my sight.’
‘I thought that was the way the wind was blowing,’ smiled the Duke. ‘All right, then. Marie Lou had better go along and talk to her. The really awful things that can happen to an unprotected spirit on the astral should be stressed as heavily as possible. If she shows the least sign of levity I won’t take her, but if she evinces serious understanding and is still willing to take the risk she can come.’
Marie Lou was away for a good hour while the others sat smoking and talking together. When she returned, she said: ‘It’s all fixed up. I gave Philippa as clear an outline as I could of what we’re up against, and she’s read so many books on folklore and theosophy that she has already managed to piece together some sort of muddled version of the Old Wisdom on her own account. She’s obviously ready to receive knowledge, and I think she’s been sent to us for that reason. In any case, all I told her has made her more anxious to come than ever, and she has promised faithfully to obey, without argument, all orders, however fantastic they may seem to her.’
Next morning they drove inland to the airport, where Rex did a quick run over the hired plane, and by half past nine they were off.
He had not flown since he had been wounded and forced to bale out, but he soon found that although his injured leg was not capable of the instant reactions on the rudder-bar essential to a fighter-pilot it was perfectly good for ordinary flying.
Passing out over the Florida cays they flew for an hour above the more western of the thousand islands sprinkled in the blue tropic sea which make up the Bahamas; leaving behind them by twenty minutes to eleven the southernmost tip of Andros, the largest of the widely-scattered group. For a further hour and a half they sighted no land until the easternmost point of Cuba loomed up on the horizon. Crossing it, they flew on and by one o’clock they were approaching Haiti from midway between the two capes that enclose the great bay of Gonave, at the innermost indentation of which lies Port-au-Prince.
As they peered down de Richleau and Marie Lou recognised the unique lobster-claw formation of the coast which they had seen in their astral bodies on the night that they had harried the Black Magician to his home.
Not once on their long journey from England had any of them sensed the presence of Evil, and they felt confident that their enemy could have no knowledge of the fact that they were about to carry the war into his camp. Yet now, when they were flying high over the middle of the vast bay, with both headlands remote points in the far distance, de Richleau felt a sudden presentiment of coming trouble.
He had hardly turned to speak of it to Rex, beside whom he was sitting, when the plane entered an air-pocket and dropped like a stone, several hundred feet.
Rex gave a gasp of surprise. No pilot expects to meet air-pockets over calm, open sea, as they are caused by inequalities of the earth’s surface. The instant they shot out of the air-pocket the plane was pitched sideways by a violent wind, and the amazed Rex had great difficulty in preventing it from turning over. Below them the blue sea sparkled tranquilly in the sunlight. There was no trace of any storm, yet it seemed as though they had been caught up in a hurricane.
De Richleau knew, and the others guessed, that this was no natural phenomenon. Somehow their enemy had learnt of their approach and was exerting all his strange powers to wreck the plane. It was flung from side to side, turned up on end and dashed seaward as though a giant invisible hand was striking at it. Shouting, gasping, they were thrown about until they were bruised, breathless and shaken.
In vain Rex strove and battled at the controls. No brain or nerve could counter that ghastly, unnatural attack. The plane rapidly lost height, rushed into a falling-leaf spin and streaked headlong towards the waters. By a superhuman effort Rex wrenched it out of the spin, but the strain proved too great. One of the wings tore, flapped and crumpled. The plane fell again, sideways this time. There was a frightful moment as they hurtled downward, and it seemed that the water was rushing up to meet them.
Next instant the wrecked plane struck the waves with a great smack and plunged right under. One of the front windows burst from the impact and with a hissing roar the waters came surging into the cabin. De Richleau’s only emotion was one of bitter fury. The enemy outwitted him at the very start by lulling them into a false sense of security and now they were to be drowned like rats in a trap.