Many people habitually lock the doors of their rooms at night, particularly when in hotels. But Gregory had been told when young that it was better not to do so as, in case of fire, one might half suffocate while still asleep and wake already befuddled by fumes. A locked door would then make any attempt at rescue much more difficult. It would, therefore, have been easy for anyone to get into his room almost noiselessly.
During his secret missions he had always slept with a small automatic beneath his pillow and, as a precaution against sneak-thieves in hotels, he had resumed the habit during his travels.
Now he slid his hand beneath his pillow, withdrew the gun, pointed it towards the door, then suddenly sat up and switched on his bedside light.
At once he recognised the uninvited visitor as the tall, fair man whom James, at dinner, thought he had seen somewhere before.
The intruder had one hand on the light switch beside the door. With the other he swept up his long, fair moustache, smiled disarmingly and said in French, ‘You forestalled me, Monsieur. Pray pardon this visit. I intend you no harm—at least for the moment.’
‘Do you presume to threaten me?’ Gregory snapped. ‘Try it, and I’ll put a bullet through your leg; then say I woke and found you here and took you to be a hotel thief.’
The man gave a low laugh. ‘If you did that, my friend Jules Corbin would call in the police, and you would find yourself under arrest. But your hostile attitude is uncalled for. I have come here only because it is necessary for us to hold a short private conversation.’
For a moment Gregory considered telling him to go to hell but, on second thoughts, decided to hear what he had to say. ‘Very well,’ he snapped. ‘But be brief. I have a rooted objection to being disturbed in the middle of the night.’
Ignoring his remark, the other replied, ‘Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Pierre Lacost. I and several friends of mine are interested in the sunken ship off the coast of Tujoa. It came to our knowledge that Ratu James Omboloku was about to approach the Brazilian financier Valentim Mauá de Carvalho with a view to his financing a company that would attempt to salvage the gold believed to be down in the wreck. We sent an associate of ours to Rio to warn de Carvalho that if he agreed it would be the worse for him. Very wisely, he accepted the warning and declined to play. We then learned that you have now become interested in this project. I am here to give you the same warning. If you value your safety you will forget this matter, Monsieur. Go where you will when you leave here, provided it is not to the South Seas. Your presence there would bring you into grave danger.’
Lowering the barrel of his automatic a little so that it pointed at Lacost’s left knee, Gregory said quietly, ‘And I warned you what would happen to you if you threatened me. Now get out.’
The big man shrugged. ‘I am told, Monsieur Sallust, that you are very far from being a fool, but you would be one if you carried out your threat. In the first place, prisons in countries such as this are not pleasant places. I am unarmed and have robbed you of nothing. If you shot me you would undoubtedly be held, perhaps for months, while a full inquiry was made into your having used a firearm on another hotel guest who only walked into your room in mistake for his own. In the second place, I should so strongly resent a serious injury to my leg that soon after you left prison I should arrange for you to become the victim of a fatal accident.’
Gregory had never had any intention of using his weapon unless he was attacked, and he felt that, in the circumstances, it would be wise to find out all he could about Monsieur Pierre Lacost; so, to encourage him to talk, he replied in a much milder tone:
‘There is certainly something in what you say about the unpleasantness of being held in a Guatemalan prison while an investigation is being carried out; and to be set upon and perhaps seriously injured by one of the thugs you appear to control strikes me as a high price to pay for a trip to the South Seas. But you will permit me to point out that if there is treasure in this ship the only person who has a legal right to it is Ratu James, as the hereditary ruler of the Nakapoa Group; so should you attempt to deprive him of it you will be committing a felony.’
Again Lacost gave a low laugh. ‘Might is right, Monsieur. I and my friends have suffered much. We need money and we mean to get it.’
‘Do you mean that you have suffered at the Ratu’s hands and are taking this way of avenging yourselves upon him?’
‘No, no! From all I have heard, he is a pleasant young man and we have no quarrel with him. I have no objection to telling you my own story, and those of my friends are very similar. In fact, by doing so I may persuade you to retire gracefully from this business. That would save me some trouble and you considerable pain. You must know of the unrest that beset Algeria from the fifties on. I was the owner of a big estate there, but that sale type, de Gaulle, let us Colons down. After Algeria was given independence the Arab Government dispossessed me of my property. Like countless others, from a comparatively wealthy man I was reduced to near poverty, and had to leave my country for France. To escape the trouble that our bitterness would have caused us to make, de Gaulle shipped several thousands of us off to Tahiti, with promises of a bright new future there. But again that unscrupulous traitor let us down. Next to nothing has been done for us. We were left to rot in poverty and idleness. Now do you understand why we feel entitled to mend our fortunes in any way we can, even if it entails taking strong measures against people like yourself who would thwart us?’
‘I do,’ Gregory agreed. ‘And I sympathise with you. But there is another side to the matter. Are you aware how the Ratu intends to use this gold, should he secure it?’
‘I neither know nor care.’
‘All the same, I will tell you. The natives of the Nakapoa Group are rapidly becoming dominated by Indian immigrants. Unless something can be done for them they will soon be reduced to poverty and semi-slavery. The Ratu plans to establish industries in the island that will save his people from being exploited and provide them with a means to make a decent living.’
Lacost shrugged. ‘The natives of the South Seas are a lazy, shiftless lot. It is their own fault if they allow the Indians to buy their land, then turn them off it. Anyhow, they will be little worse off in the long run. In fact, they are far luckier than most races. They have an abundance of fruit and fish to live on. Even if they were offered work in industries they wouldn’t take it. To use the money as the Ratu plans would be only to waste it.’
‘There I do not agree,’ Gregory said quietly. ‘Even a chance to better the lot of a whole people, or at least a proportion of them, is infinitely preferable to allowing the money to fall into the hands of a small group of unscrupulous adventurers.’
Lacost’s light blue eyes took on a stony look and, with a sudden change of manner, he cried harshly, ‘Then you refuse to back out of your understanding with the Ratu?’
‘I do.’ Gregory’s eyes were equally hard, as he went on: ‘And now I’ll give you a warning. In my time many people have found me a very dangerous enemy. In fact I’ve killed more men than I care to remember, and I’d not scruple to kill again. So it is you and your friends who would be wise to throw in your hand. Given cause and opportunity, I’d not hesitate to stick a knife in you and throw you to the sharks. Good night, Monsieur Lacost.’
For a moment Lacost glared at him, then, without another word, turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Switching off the light, Gregory replaced his little pistol under his pillow, and for a while lay contemplating this new development. From his early twenties he had lived dangerously, so he found the situation far from upsetting. It titillated his lifelong craving for excitement and offered an opportunity to pit his wits against an unscrupulous enemy. He decided now that, even should the Antigua records provide no evidence that the sunken ship had a cargo of treasure, he would back James just for the fun of the thing.
Meanwhile, Pierre Lacost had silently slipped into Manon’s room. She had been expecting him and at once switched on her light. ‘Well,’ she asked, ‘I take it you have had a talk with him? How did things go?’
He shook his head, with its crop of straight fair hair. ‘Not well. He is a tough one, and I fear we will have trouble with him unless you can persuade him to change his mind.’
‘I doubt if he will. As I told you in my cable, I tried several times while we were in Rio, but failed. The trouble is that, since his wife died, he has become foot-loose. He is his own master, has any amount of money and has been an adventurer all his life. The Ratu James’s proposal intrigued him because it offered him a temporary escape from doing nothing and simply travelling here and there while brooding about his loss.’
‘We must rid ourselves of him somehow, and the sooner the better.’
Manon remained silent for a moment, then she said, ‘I am not prepared to stand for that. By all means stall him off if you can. But I won’t have him harmed. He is as rich as Croesus and he has fallen for me. Given a little luck, I’ll hook him. Then I’ll be able to live in the luxury that I’ve always longed for.’
Lacost’s pale blue eyes narrowed. ‘So that is your game. Good luck to you then, but only provided that you can keep him out of this present business. Until we get the gold you will continue to take your orders from me. Understand?’
Sitting up in bed, she gave him an angry look. ‘Why should I? You couldn’t even start the job until I had half ruined myself to provide you with the money to hire your salvaging equipment. I am still with you as far as getting the gold for ourselves goes. But I’m not such a fool as to allow you to do him some injury that might sabotage my chances of his marrying me.’
With a toothy smile, Lacost replied, ‘Mon petit chou, be pleased to remember that I still have that bottle. So long as I hold it, you remain in my power, and should I require your help to eliminate him, you will give it.’
His words caused Manon’s mind to flash back to that fatal, sweltering afternoon when, maddened by the heat, boredom and years of frustration, she had snatched from her husband the bottle containing the drops that would have nullified his heart attack, flung it from the window, then watched him die.
It had been bad luck for her that Pierre Lacost had happened to be outside on the veranda and had picked up the bottle when it landed at his feet. He was Georges’ estate manager, and for some months past Manon had been having an affaire with him. Their secret meetings had been infrequent and fraught with danger, owing to her husband’s argus-eyed jealousy. But, since his first heart attack, Georges had frightened himself into impotence. Manon’s sexual craving had led her into letting Pierre have her from time to time in odd corners of the estate, outhouses, where the risk of their being surprised was small. As he had been aware how boredom with her husband had grown into hatred and a longing to be rid of him, no sooner had Pierre read the label on the bottle than he felt sure of the way in which it had come into his hands, and one glance through the window confirmed his belief.
After Georges’ funeral Pierre had confronted Manon with his knowledge of her deed. She could produce no other explanation for the sudden arrival of the bottle of drops on the veranda and after a while sullenly admitted her guilt. Had he disclosed his knowledge to the authorities it could have led to her being charged with murder. As the price of his silence, Pierre had demanded that she should marry him. At that she had rebelled. She liked him well enough, and was even strongly attracted by his animal sexual vigour, but Algeria had become anathema to her. The idea of remaining on that isolated estate tied to another husband when she had rid herself of Georges was, to her, unthinkable. Neither cajolery nor threats could persuade her. In the end Pierre had given way and they had struck a bargain. She made over the estate to him and he left her free to leave Algeria.
As the state of the country had by then rendered the property almost valueless, except to a man long used to running it, Manon had considered parting with it a cheap price to pay for securing her freedom. In consequence, she had felt no rancour against Pierre for getting what he could out of her. On the contrary, her instinct as a Frenchwoman was rather to admire him for playing well the cards that had fallen into his hands; so before she left they again slept together several times and when they did take leave of each other they had parted as good friends.
She had never expected to see him again, but eighteen months later he had turned up in Tahiti. As at that time she had another lover, they had not resumed their affaire, but had met on friendly terms and he was one of the many people to whom, for old times’ sake, she had lent money.
By then she was already planning her move to Fiji, and when she left Tahiti Pierre again passed out of her life for a while. It was not until a few months before that he had reentered it. Knowing that she still had considerable capital, he had sought her out in her remote island home and put to her the project of salvaging the gold from the sunken ship off Tujoa. Already worried by the inroads that the cost of building her house had made in her small fortune, she had fallen for the possibility of recovering her outlay, and had agreed to gamble a sum to finance Pierre’s venture that was greatly in excess of what caution demanded.
One disadvantage to her island retreat that Manon had soon discovered was that while living there the chances of coming into contact with an acceptable lover were almost negligible; and, from her late teens onward, after a few months of chastity she had always been beset by a craving to have a man in her bed again. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that when the virile Pierre had re-appeared on her scene he had found no difficulty in persuading her once more to become his mistress; and during the visits he paid her while making preparations to retrieve the treasure they had enjoyed some very pleasant times together.
Now she cursed her folly in having renewed her association with him. Not only had be glibly persuaded her to jeopardise her financial security but, if she had turned down his proposition the odds were that she would have seen no more of him; so he would not be there in her room threatening to wreck her chances of securing Gregory as a husband. But then, had Pierre not induced her, for the protection of her gamble, to go to Rio, she would not have met Gregory; so he could not altogether be blamed for the situation in which she found herself, or the attitude he had taken up. Swiftly she decided that, while continuing to humour him, she must not allow him to believe that he could browbeat her into doing anything he wished.
Staring up at him, she said in a voice that conveyed more sorrow than anger, ‘Seeing what we have been to one another, Pierre, I feel terribly upset that you should even think of threatening me. After all, it is very far from certain that I can succeed in manoeuvring Sallust into marrying me; and should I fail in that I’ll be ruined unless we can secure the treasure. So I’ll still do everything I can to aid you, short of luring him into a trap. And don’t think I’m influenced by your bringing up that old business of Georges’ death. Had you accused me at the time, I would have been hard put to it to defend myself. But not after all these years. Then, the Arab servants could have been brought as witnesses to give evidence that I had grown to hate my husband. But they can’t now. Having the bottle proves nothing. You might have got it anywhere. If you charged me it would only be thought that you had hatched up this story owing to jealousy, and you’d be laughed out of court.’
‘Perhaps, but, as the saying goes, there is no smoke without fire, and to be accused would be most unpleasant for you. Besides, I wouldn’t need to do that. Instead I could give Sallust chapter and verse about the whole affair. Even if he did not entirely believe me it is pretty certain that he would decide against marrying a woman accused of murdering her former husband.’
Instantly Manon realised how fatal this new threat could prove to her plans. Her mind flashed back to the Macumba priest. To him she had admitted in front of Gregory that she had killed a man. She had given no explanation of her act, except to say that she had killed in self-defence, and left it to be supposed that she had probably been saving herself from rape. But if Pierre told Gregory how Georges had died it was certain that he would put two and two together, and all hope of her marrying him would be gone.
While these shattering thoughts were rushing through her mind, Pierre was going on, ‘But please believe that I have no intention of doing anything of the kind. After our long friendship the last thing I would do is to queer your chances of securing a wealthy husband. I mentioned it only to show you that I could be nasty were I that sort of man. You have already said you will continue to give me your help and do your best to persuade Sallust to throw in his hand. That is all I ask. Now, my sweet chicken, it is over a month since I caressed that lovely body of yours; so take off your pretty nightie.’
As he spoke he was getting out of his jacket, but she checked him with a swift, low cry. ‘No, Pierre, no! You have already been here much too long. Since you woke Sallust up, if he can’t get off to sleep again he may decide to pay me a visit.’
His eyes narrowed again. ‘So you have already trompé me with him?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, what did you expect?’
‘I’ve always supposed that when a woman wants a man to marry her, her best policy is to keep him wanting her until he does.’
‘Not a woman like myself. You should know how good I can be in bed. That is my strongest card. When a man has spent a few nights with me he realises that he’s got something that he would be very reluctant to give up. But Sallust must not find you here and he might come in at any moment; so, for God’s sake, get out.’
Suddenly he grinned at her. ‘Well, I don’t mind his having you as long as I continue to do so. And from the moment I set eyes on you again this evening I’ve been feeling as randy as an old goat. I tell you what. Slip out of bed, put on a coat and come along with me to my room. If in the morning he tells you that he came to your room and you weren’t here, you can say that you couldn’t get to sleep, so went for a walk round the garden.’
For a moment Manon hesitated. Gregory made a delightful lover, but he was no longer young and he had been far from sustaining the prowess he had displayed during their first night together; whereas Pierre was nearly as insatiable as herself, and it would be good to feel his weight on her again. With a low laugh she threw back the bedclothes and jumped out of bed.
In the morning Gregory told Manon and James about his midnight visitor. Both showed grave concern and Manon took the opportunity to plead long and earnestly with him to abandon the quest for treasure and, instead, go straight to Fiji with her. But finally he said:
‘No, my dear. Naturally I am hoping that in the records here we will find confirmation that there was a cargo of gold in the ship. But even should we not, I’ve a mind to go through with this thing now. You see, this man Lacost’s threat was more or less a challenge to me, and it is not in my nature to refuse a challenge. In fact, pitting my wits against his will be rather fun.’
Being eager to learn as soon as possible what the records held, they had agreed the night before to breakfast together in the dining room at nine o’clock. As soon as they had finished their meal they walked the short distance to the main square of the town.
They already knew that in 1773 Antigua, then a city of fifty thousand people, had been totally destroyed by a terrible volcanic eruption. The two volcanoes that had wiped it out stood grimly beautiful in the near distance against an azure sky. One was called the Mountain of Fire and the other the Mountain of Water—the latter because it had an underground lake inside it. When they had erupted simultaneously, the city had not only been swept by fire, but also deluged by torrents of boiling water and mud.
For twenty years the site had been deserted, but was then rebuilt in the Spanish style of the late eighteenth century. As no additions or alterations had since been made, it contained not a single glass and concrete building so remained a remarkable and charming example of the architecture of that period.
One side of the main square was occupied by the arcaded Captain General’s Palace; opposite was another long, arcaded building that held the Library. On a third side stood the imposing Cathedral. Few of the buildings were more than one storey high, their sides facing on to the streets, with small windows protected by grilles of fine, scrolled ironwork. Through the arched entrances of the larger buildings could be seen sunny patios, gay with flowering trees and shrubs, on to which the principal rooms of these one-storey mansions looked out.
The old capital was made even more romantic and a thing apart from the modern world by the fact that here and there among the houses rose the roofless ruins of big churches, the lower parts alone of which had escaped destruction. The Cathedral was so vast that only one-third of it had been restored, yet that could accommodate a congregation of several hundred.
When they reached the Library they met with disappointment. As it was a Saturday, it was closed. Crossing the square to the Palace, a part of which was now occupied by the local tourist agency, they enquired there how best to spend the week-end. A most helpful little man who spoke good English told them that they must not fail to visit Lake Atitlan and Chichicastenango. And to see the latter at its most interesting they must go there that day, because the market was held on Saturdays. It was a fifty-mile drive, but he said that if they were prepared to leave at once they could get there by lunch-time. Deciding to go, a car, with a driver who spoke a little English, was summoned from a rank in the square and they at once set off.
Within a few minutes they were out of the town and soon enjoying some of the finest mountain scenery they had ever seen. In the distance there were whole chains of volcanoes, many of them still active, with plumes of smoke drifting up into the sky. A considerable part of the land on either side of the road was well cultivated, with crops of sugar cane, maize and barley. Now and then they passed groups of paw-paw, apricot, cherry and apple trees. The villages were well kept and the little people who lived in them, all of whom were of pure Indian stock with no trace of Negro blood, were better dressed and more prosperous-looking than those they had seen in Brazil, Peru or Panama. At times they ran through patches of woodland in which they were amused to see every few hundred yards, nailed to a tree trunk, an advertisement for Andrews Liver Salts. This considerable advertising expenditure in sparsely-populated districts, innocent of all other advertisements, implied such large sales as could be explained only by the Indians having given up their local distilled liquor because they had found Mr. Andrews’ health-giving tonic more to their taste, and a drink for all occasions.
They saw evidence on the last ten miles of the road to Chichicastenango that the stamina of the Indians was quite extraordinary. In single file little groups of small brown-skinned men and women were making their way to market. On the heads and shoulders of all of them were balanced enormous loads of fruit, vegetables, woven cloth or pottery, some of the men carrying as many as forty or fifty weighty, hand-made pots; but they were trudging along quite happily and, as the car passed, invariably turned to grin at the occupants and call friendly greetings.
As they neared their destination, the way became frighteningly twisty and precipitous. The car plunged down into valleys, skidded round hairpin bends and roared up slopes with steeper gradients than any Gregory could recall having previously encountered in a motor vehicle.
Chichicastenango stood on a plateau seven thousand feet above sea level and from its outskirts there were splendid views of the surrounding country. It consisted solely of one-storey buildings, mostly constructed of wattle and daub, but the inhabitants numbered many thousands.
After Planter’s Punches and a very satisfactory lunch at the pleasant little hotel, they went out to see the famous market in the large central square. The stalls were so numerous that it would have taken hours to inspect them all, and the variety of goods offered showed the strangest contrasts. Jackets, skirts and aprons, beautifully embroidered in the gayest colours, such as the peasants had made for many hundred years, were displayed alongside radio sets; palm-leaf hats beside electrical appliances; native musical instruments of a long-past age beside up-to-date arrays of patent medicines, and hand-made crockery pots beside aluminium cooking utensils. There were buckets and bags, bead necklaces and raw tobacco, sandals and patent leather shoes, wonderful arrays of tropical fruit and revolting-looking lumps of meat, nuts by the million and gaudy sweets, chewing gum, underclothes, formidable knives, fountain pens and scores of other items; while here and there among the stalls tables had been set up at which little parties of Indians were joyfully guzzling hot messes and swigging down draughts of raw red wine.
At one side of the square there stood a fine church, and on the flight of steps that led to it several Indians were swinging bunches of burning leaves. Their driver had accompanied them as guide. Leading them towards the church he said:
‘We make visit. Very interesting. Mornings seven o’clock priest he say Mass. Then go home. Rest of day church place for worship of old gods. Men on steps go up very slow. Reach top and families allowed in with them. Inside all burn candles. Pray to ancestors for good crops or bad luck to enemies. With each group you see magic man. He take money to see prayers answered. Inside church you look only at saints, carvings, altar. Not to look at people. They not like, might make trouble for us.’
Greatly intrigued, they followed him into the church by a side entrance. There were no pews and nearly the whole of the stone floor was occupied by many small groups of Indians, most of whom were kneeling. While pretending to admire the architecture of the church, the visitors covertly observed the pagan rites that were in progress. The kneeling Indians had lit hundreds of short candles, among which were scattered rose petals and many small, unidentifiable objects. From each group a constant mutter went up and, evidencing the strong double faith resulting from the Spaniards having imposed a veneer of Christianity on the natives, many of them were frequently crossing themselves.
As they left the church, Manon said, ‘Well! I should never have believed it. The higher clergy in Guatemala must know about this, and Mass is celebrated here every morning. How can they possibly permit its being turned over to witch-doctors for the remainder of the day?’
‘That is their policy,’ Gregory replied with a cynical little laugh. ‘They know jolly well that unless they closed their eyes to the fact that a majority of the people are still fundamentally pagan they wouldn’t get them to come to Mass at all. And I suppose they vaguely hope to get a genuine convert now and then.’
‘As many people go to Mass as worship old gods,’ their guide remarked. ‘Good thing to “hedge”, as you have expression. Then when dead you win either way. But in real trouble people think old gods best. From here they go up mountain to old sacred stone. Sacrifice chickens, goat, pig. If man’s vigour lost he smear blood on private part. They say certain remedy. Better much than burning candles to Virgin. That not logical, I think. But me very modern man. Better I think to spend money at drugstore.’
Gregory grinned at him. ‘I’m sure you are right. I must bear your tip in mind.’
Manon drew him back a pace and whispered in his ear. ‘No, darling. You might do yourself harm if you stimulate yourself beyond your normal powers. Please don’t. I’m perfectly content with the loving you can give me. As things are you are wonderful and you satisfy me completely.’
Nevertheless, she spent a good part of the night in big Pierre’s bed. Before she left him the previous night he had made her promise to report to him what success she had had in dissuading Gregory from financing James, and she had felt that she must do that.
Soon after dinner they had all retired and about ten o’clock Gregory had come to her room, but he had spent only an hour making love to her. As they lay embraced, she had again done her utmost on Pierre’s behalf. This time she took the line of endeavouring to convince Gregory that he would be running into really grave danger. Had she known her man better that was the last thing she would have done.
He listened patiently while she talked of the Colons of Algeria: how for years they had had to defend their properties, then engaged in a vicious hit-and-run war with the Arabs; how they had come to hold life cheap and killed without mercy. She pointed out that he would not be up against only Lacost and his companion, the swarthy Corbin. There could be little doubt that Lacost was the leader of a gang of unscrupulous toughs. They knew the South Seas and Gregory did not, so he would stand no chance against them.
Gregory was far from rash by nature. To the contrary, on a score of occasions only the exercise of great caution had saved him from his enemies. But the decisive factor in this present matter was that he had become bored with life. Manon provided him with a new and delightful interest, but a love affaire was not enough. Another side of his mentality craved exciting situations in which he would have to use his good brain, and this quest for treasure had unexpectedly developed into just that sort of thing. Moreover, if the gamble did cost him his life—what of it? He had hopes that death would reunite him with Erika.
Gently but firmly he told Manon that his mind was made up. He had become very fond of young James, so would not disappoint him. In fact, should the treasure after all prove a myth, he had decided to use part of his wealth to enable James to establish industries on Tujoa that would save his people from exploitation. Then he fondly kissed Manon good night, and left her.
Soon afterwards she joined Pierre in his room. To have attempted to deceive him would have been pointless, as he must soon have discovered that she was doing so. In consequence, when he asked her whether she had been successful, she replied:
‘No, and for that you have only yourself to blame. To have threatened Sallust is the worst thing you could have done. He is a very brave man and a born adventurer. Your threats put his back up and he has taken them as a challenge. He is now determined to go through with this business, and nothing I can say will deter him.’
Lacost shrugged. ‘Then the more fool him. But we’ll talk further about it later. I could hardly wait for you. Get your things off and jump into bed.’
Three hours slipped by, then as she was about to leave him she asked, ‘What do you intend to do about Sallust?’
Pierre gave an ugly laugh. ‘I must put him out of the ring and the sooner the better.’
‘No!’ she pleaded. ‘No! Please do nothing here. Wait till we get to Fiji or one of the other islands. Out there I may be able to turn him into a lotus-eater who will become content to laze in the sun and let everything else go hang.’
‘That would not ensure our coming out on top,’ Pierre argued. ‘By then he will have provided the Ratu with the money to get on with the job. While you are playing Circe to Sallust, young James will be working and may forestall me.’
Suddenly inspiration came to Manon and she said, ‘James is the king-pin in this whole business. Why concern yourself with Sallust? Get rid of James and you will have a free field. Why not do that?’
‘You’ve got something there,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll consider it. Perhaps there will occur a chance to throw a spanner in his works tomorrow. Have you made any plans to go sightseeing?’
‘Yes, we are going up to Lake Atitlan and making a trip in a motor boat across the lake to the village of San Antonio Palopo to see some wonderful carvings in the church there.’
Pierre fingered one end of his long moustache thoughtfully for a moment, then he said, ‘There are plenty of lonely places on the way there. Perhaps Jules Corbin and I might stage a hold-up and put the Ratu out of the running.’
‘You won’t harm Sallust, will you?’ she exclaimed in sudden alarm.
‘No, my little one; no,’ he assured her with a smile. ‘If we can render young James hors de combat for a few months his backer will be stymied too. Besides,’ Pierre’s smile became a grin, ‘I would hate to deprive you of the embraces of your Casanova.’
Manon shrugged off the jibe at Gregory’s now limited sexual activities and soon afterwards she returned to her room.
When she woke in the morning she felt extremely worried. She knew from long experience that Pierre never hesitated to lie to her when it suited his book. She knew, too, that he was completely unscrupulous and had a malicious streak in him. If he did hold up the party on their way to Lake Atitlan she felt certain that Gregory would not stand by and see his friend injured without endeavouring to prevent it. That would be excuse enough for Pierre to shoot him, too. And, although he had said that he had no objection to sharing her with Gregory, that might not be true. Quite possibly he would be delighted at the chance to put her other lover out of the way. Again, he might not hold up the car but, concealed in the bushes along the roadside, shoot into it. She knew him to be an excellent shot, but would he be able to obtain a rifle? If not, his aim with a pistol at a moving target twenty or more feet away must prove uncertain. He might miss James and hit Gregory—or her.
Instead of breakfasting with the others at nine o’clock, as they had arranged, she remained in bed. When Gregory arrived to enquire why she had failed to join them she had almost made up her mind to tell him about Pierre and warn him of his danger. But at the last moment she was deterred by the awful thought that if Pierre found out what she had done he might tell Gregory about her having killed her husband.
As an excuse for still being in bed, she said that she was suffering from an appalling migraine. Then she asked Gregory to postpone the expedition to Lake Atitlan and remain with her.
To her distress he said that he did not think that would be a good idea. ‘If I could help to get rid of your migraine quicker,’ he declared, ‘I’d willingly stay with you. But I know from experience that doesn’t help. Talking to anyone only makes things worse, and the best cure is to lie silent here in a semi-darkened room. That being so, it would be absurd for James and me to kick our heels about the hotel all day; so we’ll adhere to our plan of going up to the lake, and I’m only sorry that you can’t come with us.’
She then pretended a fit of temper, and abused him as an unfeeling lover. But that got her nowhere. She was already aware that once he had made up his mind about a thing he was as stubborn as a mule. With gentle mockery he told her that she was behaving like a spoilt child; then he saw to it that she had everything she might want, kissed her and departed.
The first half of the way to Lake Atitlan was the same as that to Chichicastenango, then the road branched off to the north. Again they drove through magnificent scenery with ranges of volcanoes outlined against the blue sky, forming a backdrop in the distance. Soon after midday, at a place high up in the mountains, their driver pulled up and they got out to enjoy, from the edge of the cliff on which they stood, one of the finest panoramas in Central America. Far below them the great inland lake shimmered in the sunshine. It was ringed with six volcanoes—one of which was eleven thousand six hundred feet in height—descending steeply to its shores. Here and there along the lake edge there were clusters of seemingly tiny white houses and, leaving furrows on the still surface of the lake, a few boats that looked no larger than beetles.
Having gazed their fill they returned to the car, and for another half-hour it wound its way down into a lovely valley where lay the pretty little town of Panajachel. Two miles further on they came to the lake shore on which stood the Hotel Tzanjuya. There they lunched off freshly-caught lake fish that tasted like bream.
James was in great heart. Until that morning he had been far from happy, because he feared that, should the records in Antigua fail to provide definite evidence that the sunken ship had carried a cargo of gold, Gregory would decline to finance him. But on the way to the lake Gregory had told him that he meant to do so in any case. Over the meal they talked of the gear that would be needed to raise the heavy beams that blocked the way to the cabin in which were the chests that, it was hoped, contained the treasure.
Pontoons and a crane could, James thought, be hired in Suva. If not, they might have to be brought from San Francisco. But nothing could be gained by writing to the harbour authorities to ask if they had such equipment, as if they left for Fiji within the next week they would arrive there sooner than a letter.
When Gregory enquired about divers and labour, James assured him that there would be no difficulty about that; his people would willingly co-operate. But it was certain that a professional diver would have to be employed, as moving the beams would be a tricky operation.
After the meal they went aboard a small motor launch to make the trip across the lake. The crew consisted solely of the owner. Smilingly he welcomed them aboard but, looking at his wrist watch, conveyed to them in broken English that he wished they had made an earlier start, instead of lingering over lunch. Apparently, while the lake was always as placid as a mill pond in the mornings, a change of temperature in the afternoons caused winds to come rushing down the valley between the volcanoes, and disturb it to such an extent that at times the waves could become twelve feet high.
Chugging away from the hotel, for a while they hugged the shore, on which there were a few pleasant villas scattered along a bathing beach, then they turned out and crossed an arc of the lake, to arrive an hour later at the rickety landing stage that served the village of San Antonio Palopo. Going ashore, they made their way up a narrow, winding, potholed track to the church. It was an empty, barn-like structure and proved disappointing. The carvings which had been so cracked up turned out to be eight or ten wooden figures obviously intended to represent saints. In a group they leaned disconsolately against one wall, with no altars or candles burning before them. They were unquestionably old, but no-one could honestly have considered them fine works of art.
After a glance at these dusty, neglected relics, as the village was no more than a cluster of hovels, they returned to the boat.
The surface of the lake had already become choppy and the boatman, anxious to get back before it became really rough, set a direct course for the hotel, which could be picked out as a white blob several miles distant. Between it and San Antonio lay three wide bays, separated by two rocky-capes that projected a good way out into the lake.
For a while the nearest cape gave them some protection, but when they had passed it the launch caught the full force of the wind. The waves did not rise to dangerous heights, but were large enough to lift the little boat so that every other minute her bottom boards smacked down on to the water and clouds of spray hissed up on either side of her.
They were about a third of the way across the middle bay when they noticed another launch coming towards them. Two minutes later it looked as if it would pass within ten feet of them. Instead its engine was abruptly cut. Apparently the only person in it was the man at the wheel, but as it drifted past another man, who must have been crouching behind the gunwale, suddenly bobbed up. With a swift movement he lobbed what looked like a small tin of soup across the few feet that separated the two boats.
At that moment, through a gap in the flying spray, Gregory got a clear view of the men in the other launch. Corbin was at the wheel and it was Lacost who had thrown the missile. Only seconds later it landed in James’s lap.
He and Gregory were sitting one either side of the boatman in the fore part of the boat. Instantly guessing that the missile was a home-made bomb, Gregory threw himself across the boatman and snatched it up. As his fingers closed on the tin his heart seemed to come up into his throat. At any instant it might explode. Unless there was just time for him to throw it overboard all three of them would be torn to ribbons.
Gregory was sprawled right across the astonished boatman, so to pitch the bomb clear meant an awkward movement. With all his force he jerked up his hand. But in plunging sideways he had knocked the man’s hands from the wheel and the boat was already beginning to veer off course. The boatman made a grab at the wheel to bring her back on to it. Just as Gregory was about to release his grip on the tin, their arms came into sharp contact. Instead of going over the side, the tin shot up into the air. It landed with a thud on the roof of the cabin behind them, then rolled away to the stern of the boat.
Springing to his feet, Gregory yelled, ‘It’s a bomb! Over you go!’ Still shouting to the others to save themselves, he threw himself into the water. Next moment there was a shattering explosion.
The water heaved and he was thrown half out of it. Falling back, his weight carried him deep down. As he became conscious of the coldness of the lake water, it added to his fears for himself. They were in the middle of the bay and must be a good mile from the shore. If the boat had been wrecked there was small likelihood that Lacost would take them aboard his and there had been no other in sight. He was a good swimmer, but in cold, rough water he greatly doubted if he could cover such a distance.
As he came gasping to the surface, he saw that the bomb had blown the stern of the launch away and that the boat was sinking. Grimly, he turned on his side to strike out for the shore. Suddenly a shot rang out, another, another and another. Bitterly he realised that he was to be given little chance to reach the shore. Without even glancing over his shoulder, he knew that both Lacost and Corbin were shooting at him—and shooting to kill.