In the morning of the third day I saw a low-lying coastline appear to starboard. The color of the seawater changed to brown, as it does off the delta of a river. Where were we heading?
When Mr. Wilkins brought me my breakfast roll he also had a colorful piece of fabric over his arm. He put the dish with the bread down on the floor and threw the fabric on the bunk. He kept his eyes and his revolver on me the whole time.
The fabric turned out to be a sort of smock, and with it went a small cylindrical hat with a tassel.
“Get changed,” Mr. Wilkins said. “I’ll take your overalls and cap. You’ve no more use for those rags.”
I remained where I was sitting on the bunk and shook my head slowly. I had the envelope and money hidden in my cap and I had no intention of handing it over.
“Don’t cause trouble, now,” Mr. Wilkins said in an irritated voice. “You are soon going to meet Mr. Thursgood, and I want you to look clean and tidy. So hurry up and change! At once!”
I shook my head again.
An angry red flush colored Mr. Wilkins’s pale cheeks. He was under strain, that much was obvious. He was probably worried that Mr. Thursgood wouldn’t be satisfied with me.
“What is the matter with you?” he snarled. “Is it that you don’t want to change in front of me? Is that what the problem is?”
I thought for a moment, and then I nodded.
Mr. Wilkins gave a hoarse, joyless laugh.
“For God’s sake,” he said, “I’m a zoologist! I’ve seen a naked gorilla before! All right, I’ll come back in ten minutes, by which time you’ll have changed. Understood?”
As soon as Mr. Wilkins left the cabin I investigated the new clothes. I was lucky: the cylindrical hat was made of two stiffened strips of material with paper between them. By turning the hat inside out I could slip the envelope and the notes in between the paper and the fabric lining. The hat looked a little dented but I managed to straighten it out and to change into the smock before Mr. Wilkins came back.
When the Malabar Star came alongside a quay that afternoon I still had no idea where we were. I couldn’t see any sign of a town, just a flat harbor district with cranes, railway tracks, low warehouses and wide wooden wharves.
Hours passed without anything happening, and it had begun to grow dark by the time Mr. Wilkins came to fetch me. He handcuffed me and led me out to a car waiting on the quayside. We sat in the backseats. Mr. Wilkins stank of sour sweat and was constantly having to slide his glasses back up on his nose.
We drove along a wide country road that followed the railway line. Damp warm air poured in through the open windows. After a little while we passed one or two houses by the roadside, and soon there were more of them, and they were bigger. There were fires burning at the street corners, and we could see street sleepers in the shadows, their eyes glinting in the beam of the car’s headlights.
The car stopped at a railway station and two porters immediately leapt out to carry Mr. Wilkins’s baggage. On the wall above the entrance to the station I read the words KARACHI CANTONMENT RAILWAY STATION. We were still in India, then, in the city of Karachi.
There was a train standing at the platform, and a young man with a ginger mustache and tropical helmet raised his hand in greeting when he caught sight of us. He shook hands with Mr. Wilkins and studied me with a look of amusement and superiority.
“Ah, so this is the present for the maharaja, is it? This is what the diamond mining project depends on?” he said. “Mr. Thursgood is waiting for you. I do hope this gorilla lives up to what you promised, Wilkins! For your sake, old boy!”
I discovered later that the man with the ginger mustache was called Slycombe and he was Mr. Thursgood’s secretary.
“The director has reserved three whole coaches for the company,” Mr. Slycombe said in a smug voice. “One for himself and me, one for the rest of the staff, and one where we can all work and hold meetings. You will be in a compartment of your own with the gorilla, Wilkins. That will be nice for you, won’t it?”
Mr. Wilkins didn’t seem to be listening to him. He was shaking with nervousness and merely muttered something inaudible in reply.
Mr. Slycombe walked ahead of us to one of the coaches, opened the door and beckoned us to get in first.
The coach was furnished with big, shiny leather armchairs and oriental carpets. Mr. Thursgood, the company director, was sitting in one of the armchairs. He was dressed in a silk smoking jacket and slippers with small tassels. In one hand he was holding a brandy glass and in the other a cigar, from which smoke spiraled up to the fans that, with a quiet hum, were slowly turning on the ceiling. The director only had eyes for me, and he hardly seemed to notice Mr. Wilkins. We looked at one another, and there was doubt in his eyes.
“I can’t say I’m particularly impressed so far, Wilkins,” he said. “Looks like an ordinary gorilla to me. Apart from the ridiculous clothes, that is.”
“Indeed, forgive me, sir. They were the best I could come up with for her to wear. We were in rather a rush in Bombay as you—”
Thursgood silenced Mr. Wilkins with a gesture.
“Slycombe,” he said. “The chessboard.”
Mr. Slycombe disappeared out of the door at the end of the coach and immediately returned with a small table that had a chessboard inlaid in its surface. He put the table in front of Mr. Thursgood’s armchair and placed all the chess pieces in their starting positions.
“Right then, Wilkins,” Mr. Thursgood said. “Now we shall see!”
Mr. Wilkins, his hands sweaty and fumbling, unlocked the handcuffs and led me over to the chessboard. He also whispered in my ear: “Don’t you dare let me down now!”
Mr. Thursgood gestured for me to make the first move. I was very tempted to pretend that I didn’t understand, but it would probably have been the last thing I ever did. So I started with an ordinary pawn opening, and Mr. Thursgood responded by moving his knight.
After each of us had made ten moves or so Mr. Thursgood stood up, gave me a pleased look and took a puff on his cigar. Then he turned to Mr. Wilkins.
“That’s quite sufficient. I’m satisfied that the gorilla is a uniquely remarkable beast and the maharaja will be quite overwhelmed. You’ve done well, Mr. Wilkins! Well done!”
Mr. Wilkins’s spectacles had steamed up again with the tension. He looked as if he was about to collapse from relief.