by Andrew Garve
Martin made his way along the beach like a man in a dream, not noticing that he was ecstatically hugging the vacuum flask. At least she’d let him kiss her! Had seemed to like it! Surely he could get up the courage to ask her to marry him.
“Susan’s just coming,” he announced as he joined the party on the sand. He began to take the glasses from the picnic basket, self-consciously aware of interested glances. In a few moments Susan came serenely toward them, looking very smart in a well-cut beach wrap.
“Come on, Susan,” called Garland, “our tongues are hanging out.” He looked at the flask with a smile, but the smile froze on his lips. Susan’s beach wrap was white, with an intricate design of purple arabesques.
Chapter Twenty-two
Everyone had gone to bed, and the house was silent. Garland sat sweating in his darkened room. Though the doors leading to the veranda were wide open, the mosquito wire seemed to keep out all the air. The steamy heat was stifling. He wondered if other people were sleeping—if Susan were sleeping. He felt that he would never sleep again until he had made up his mind what to do about her.
Even now, hours after the shock on the beach, he had not accustomed his mind to the discovery that Susan had been the woman at the Blue Pool. She was venturesome enough, he knew—the type to try most things at least once. But would she have behaved as that woman had behaved at the Pool? Would she have deliberately flaunted her nudity?
Garland stared blankly into the darkness. When it came to deciding what a woman might or might not do, he knew that he was out of his depth. He could have sworn that Susan, of all people, wouldn’t have behaved like that, but what did he really know about her? Nothing, in point of fact, that wasn’t on the surface. All he knew was that she behaved decorously in public and that he’d never heard any unpleasant gossip about her, but that didn’t mean much. As the Colonial Secretary’s daughter, she’d naturally watch her step. And wasn’t a woman who had to be so careful in public just the sort of person to have a wild fling when a safe opportunity occurred?
Anyhow, it must have been she. Everything pointed the same way. Nothing could be more distinctive man that beach wrap. She was about the right height, and her figure was about right too. Put a kerchief over her hair and a red mask over her face, and she’d completely fill the bill. She’d been at the Pool that night—she’d said so herself. Garland remembered Celeste telling him. She’d been there with young West. She’d pretended she hadn’t gone inside, of course, but why should anyone believe that?
Naturally, she’d kept her own counsel all this time. Probably she hadn’t even told West that she’d recognised the murderer. She couldn’t have done; Garland felt sure he would have known if West had had anything like that on his mind. She had kept the secret to herself.
That made sense, but why had she worn the wrap again? She must have known that Garland would recognise it. She must have wanted him to do so. And wearing the wrap wasn’t all. Garland recalled the conversation which had annoyed him so much the other day. Her reference to Dubois must have been calculated. What was it she’d said? “Perhaps you prefer being without him.” And something about Dubois having been a thorn in the flesh. At the time, Garland hadn’t attached any deep significance to the remark, but he could see now that it must have been carefully premeditated. It was Susan who was being a thorn in his flesh. Why? What was she up to?
She must want something pretty badly to come out into the open like this. The whole thing smelled of blackmail—the quiet start of the campaign, the innocent-sounding remarks directed at him, the wearing of the wrap as a warning of what might follow. Garland frowned into the darkness. Susan Anstruther and blackmail! It didn’t sound right. Could she need money so badly? One could never tell, of course. In any case, how could she blackmail him when, if he wished, he could tell so much about her? Hadn’t he decided long ago that the certainty of scandal was his safeguard? And yet was he so safe? If it came to a battle of bluff, and the calling of bluff, where did he stand? Her reputation against his life. How could he afford to take the risk? And there was only his word as evidence of her actual behaviour. She might insist that she’d gone to the Blue Pool solely because Dr. West, an interested newcomer, had been anxious to see the sights—a sort of sociological visit. There’d be a few more raised eyebrows, but probably she’d get away with it. With such a story in mind she might well think that her position was strong enough to make blackmail safe.
Or perhaps it wasn’t money she wanted. Perhaps it was something else that had made her show her hand. Could it be anything to do with West? She and West were obviously interested in each other. Perhaps West had told her of the quarrel over Tacri, and this was her contribution to the battle. Blackmail of a different sort.
Anyway, her motives were of only secondary importance. Whatever they were, they could spell no good for Garland. Now that she had revealed herself, his peace of mind was shattered. He had been hurled out of his fool’s paradise, right back to where he had started. His danger was now greater than ever, for he had to deal, not with black men, but with a clever, subtle, and determined white woman.
His mouth sagged into bitter lines. He had killed two men to win safety, so why stop short of safety? He hadn’t wanted to kill them, particularly Johnson. He’d been forced to; he’d had no choice. Had he a choice now? Could he carry on from day to day, knowing that Susan Anstruther had him in the hollow of her hand and could crush him whenever she felt like it? He knew it was impossible. Much better to get her out of the way before she could carry her plans any farther.
Killing Susan, he reflected, would be much more unpleasant even than killing Johnson. He hadn’t the least desire to kill her. He had always rather admired her, in a detached impersonal way; she was certainly one of the nicest women in the Colony. At least, he’d believed so. Now that he knew what kind of a woman she was, of course, the position was altered. A whited sepulcher!
He gave an unpleasant laugh in the darkness. What nonsense he was telling himself. He’d always tried to face facts, and he’d face them now. It was her neck or his—that was the root of the matter. There were no other considerations whatever. He‘d just have to be callous.
He got up and went quietly out on to the veranda. From the beach came the low roar of the surf. Away in the “bush” a monkey was raising its ugly voice. The moon was just sinking. Sweat rolled down Garland’s bare chest. A man couldn’t think in this heat.
Suddenly he had a desperate desire to get the job done and finished with. If only by morning he could feel free again! He listened. Everything was still around him. Two rooms away, Susan slept, and her doors to the veranda stood open. A dozen steps! With his strong hands he could choke her as she lay, quickly, noiselessly—in the dark, where he couldn’t see her face. He rubbed his moist palms together. To get it over, and let morning do its worst! One of the medical officers had the room between them, and appeared to be sleeping like a log. On the other side was West. That wasn’t so good. West was as likely to be awake as not—probably thinking about his damned leprosarium. Or about Susan.
Garland drew back. No, it would be madness. He’d been lucky twice, but his luck would fail if he killed Susan here in this house. The choice of suspects would be too limited. Himself or West, that was what it would amount to. There was always a possibility that a coloured man might assault a white woman, but to make that seem likely here, the stage would have to be set. It would need more thought. He must wait for his opportunity—or make it.
Garland crept back to his room. He would think of a way. If necessary, it shouldn’t be difficult to contrive a chance meeting with Susan in some quiet spot. She was always moving about the Colony on her own, and he had his car. If he could come upon her in a lonely place he could kill her and hide her body in the sugar cane. No one ever went into the grown cane except for the reaping, and by the time the next “crop” came round there’d be nothing left of her but unidentifiable bones. The ants would see to that. She’d simply have disappeared, an
d that would be all. The only thing was that it might take a little time to arrange. In the meantime he must be on the watch for any opportunity.
He lay on the bed, sweating. Not much chance of sleep! He could see that woman now, so plainly, across the gap between the two tables at the Pool—her wrap falling apart, the white gleam of her body. The thought excited him. God, how he wanted to be back with Celeste!
Chapter Twenty-three
Sounds in the big dining-room soon after dawn roused Garland from a fitful doze. He had expected that the field crew would sleep late, now that the pressure of work was relaxed, but someone was evidently stirring. He rose, his head heavy and his eyelids pricking, and took a shower. As he dressed, his thoughts turned again to Susan. The decision he had come to in the heat of the night seemed just as valid now. His course was set. He went into the kitchen to get some orange juice from the icebox, and found one of the maids, Evelyn, at work there.
“Is someone up already?” he asked her. “Or was it you in the dining-room?”
“Dat wah Miss Susan, sah,” said Evelyn. “She bin go wid Obadiah fo’ to see de gaters.”
“Oh?” Garland looked interested. “And where are the alligators?”
“Dey down close by de bridge, sah, thru dey trees.” She pointed across the cocoa plantation. “Mis Susan say she nebber see gaters an’ Obadiah ’e know wey de lil baby gaters is an’ ’e say ’ e show ah.”
“H’m,” said Garland. “I’ll follow them down. I’ve never seen any baby alligators either.”
He walked thoughtfully out of the house. It was hardly likely, he realised, that an opportunity would present itself so soon, but now that Susan knew his secret he felt he wanted to be where she was. He wanted to keep an eye on her.
Though it was not yet seven o’clock, the sun was already too hot for comfort, and Garland plunged with relief into the gloom of the cocoa plantation. Narrow overgrown paths ran between the thickly massed immortelles and banana trees which gave shade to the cocoa bushes. The ground was wet after the rains, the paths sticky, the drainage gullies full of water. Walking was difficult. Sometimes the paths were obstructed by coffee branches, heavy with their load of green berries. The undergrowth stirred with life, the air hummed with myriads of winged creatures, the plantation gave off a rich and heavy perfume. Garland began to feel the sweat gathering again under his white shirt, and walked more slowly. There was no hurry, he told himself. He mustn’t be carried away. Impetuosity could ruin him, as it might so easily have ruined him during the night. He must wait for the right moment.
The stream seemed a good deal further away than Evelyn had led him to believe. Not just at the bottom of the first hill, but up another rise and down another hill. A good mile from the house. The paths were becoming less clearly defined. Garland wasn’t sure of the way, and began to wish he had stayed at the house and kept cool. He stopped and shouted a “Hello, there!” but no one answered. Presently, deep among the trees, he spotted a gang of workers clearing the undergrowth ready for new planting, and he got directions from them. A few minutes later, as the ground fell away, he saw an open space ahead of him and the little wooden bridge that he had been seeking. Susan was there, leaning over the railing. Obadiah, standing beside her, was pointing with his cutlass.
Susan looked up as Garland approached. She waved, showing no great surprise at seeing him, but as he walked up she gave a warning “Sh!” Garland made his way quietly to the bridge, and for a moment or two watched a large alligator and a small one sunning themselves on a patch of grassy bank beside the water. They looked unpleasant and sinister with their gleaming teeth and staring eyes, but they were easily scared and presently waddled one after the other into the water.
“Sorry,” said Garland. “I’m afraid I did that.”
“We’d been watching them for quite a while,” said Susan. “Ugh! Now I can believe in the evil eye!” She gave Garland a friendly smile. “You’re up early.”
“I heard you moving about,” said Garland. “And in any case, I always think the first two hours of the day are the least unbearable.” He wiped his forehead and neck with a damp handkerchief.
“I think some coconut water would be a good idea,” said Susan. “What about it, Obadiah? Do you feel like a climb?”
“Ah try, missee,” said Obadiah, proud to have shown off his alligators and by now more devoted than ever. He took his cutlass and set off up the hill toward a cluster of tall palms.
Susan spread a dry banana leaf on a fallen log and sat down carefully, as though she suspected alligators of lurking in its shadow. Garland was wondering what she was thinking, and wishing that she would put all her cards on the table. Again, he had difficulty in believing that she was really the woman who was hiding so much. It just showed how mistaken one could be. There must be a devil in her, concealed behind that frank and friendly expression. He stared at her, seeing her again in the beach wrap and the mask, wantonly displaying herself. His eyes dropped to her bosom, exploring its contours. Incredible, and yet it must have been she. He kept coming back to that. It must have been. She was just playing with him.
Susan had begun to stir uneasily under Garland’s uninhibited gaze. She had always felt comfortable in his company until now, but this morning he certainly had a disturbing look in his eye. She hoped he wasn’t going to start anything. He wasn’t her type at all.
Her suspicions appeared to be confirmed when he sat down beside her on the log and said with a nervous huskiness quite unusual in him, “I thought that was a very attractive robe you wore last night, Susan.”
“I had it sent from New York,” Susan answered in a tone of studied indifference. “I think it’s rather special myself.” Her eyes travelled up the hill to the palms. Obadiah was already at the top of one of the trees, hacking at a bunch of green coconuts. She hoped he wouldn’t be long. It would be a beastly bore if Garland made a pass at her.
Garland was looking sideways at her, trying to read her thoughts. It wasn’t easy; eyes didn’t really tell much. The sudden sharp glance she had given him when he’d mentioned the wrap might have meant anything—interest, fear, expectation, surprise. It hadn’t been an ordinary glance, he was sure of that. It had meant something. “Rather special,” she had said. The wrap had certainly been that Susan probably knew very well that it was the only one of its sort in the Colony. And she had just got it from New York—perhaps nobody had seen it. That, no doubt, was why she had dared to wear it at a place like the Blue Pool. He turned his face to her, and his eyes probed.
Susan avoided his gaze. “Martin and I are going back to town to-day,” she said. “I suppose you are too. Celeste will be getting lonely without you.”
“I’m not expected until to-morrow,” said Garland, still staring. She had a slim neck, he thought; he could strangle her very easily. But not now. Strangling would leave marks, and the marks might be traced to his fingers. Besides, there was Obadiah.… He mustn’t let his impatience get the better of him.
“West is a pleasant young fellow,” he said, fighting his urge.
“I like him,” said Susan simply.
“So I imagine. I suppose you saw a lot of interesting things at Carnival?”
Susan’s eyebrows went up. Garland was certainly in a very strange mood to-day. She felt now that she didn’t want to talk to him at all, particularly about personal things. “Quite interesting,” she said shortly.
Still secretive, Garland told himself. Still playing him on a hook. He said, “Particularly at the Blue Pool, eh?”
For the first time, Susan looked at him with distaste. “Everywhere,” she answered.
“It’s a great relief to be able to conceal one’s identity for a time. To see without being seen. One learns a great deal.”
“Perhaps,” said Susan. She saw with satisfaction that Obadiah was on his way back.
Garland leaned toward her. “What exactly is this game you’re playing, Susan?” he asked in a thick voice.
Her eyes opened
wide. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
Obadiah came plunging down the hill and poured an armful of green coconuts at Susan’s feet. She thanked him with, a smile, and watched while he skilfully sliced off the top of a nut with the razor-sharp cutlass. When he had trimmed the cup to his satisfaction she took it gratefully and quenched her thirst. Garland took a nut in silence. He was no longer trying to understand Susan or get any sense out of her. He was looking at the cutlass, and he thought he could see a way.
He would have to kill Obadiah as well, of course. He would say that he had walked down to the stream and found Susan struggling in the arms of the black man. As she broke away he had seen Obadiah strike her with the cutlass. He had rushed up, thrown himself at Obadiah, snatched the cutlass away, and beaten the Negro down with it. Two corpses, and a convincing story. Nobody would be left to tell the truth. Attempted rape of a white woman, sudden violence by her attacker after a struggle, and summary punishment. Who would ever dream that Garland himself had killed her? It would be a bloody business, but it would soon be over. In five minutes he would be free of Susan, free of the vague menace that was worse than a spoken threat, and the last danger would have gone. After that, no more worry at all.
He looked round the clearing. There was no one in sight, nor were there any sounds of people nearby. He would have to take the slight risk that someone might be watching, but it was very slight and he was desperate. The sooner it was done the better. The cutlass gleamed at his feet. All that was necessary was to get Obadiah out of his way for a couple of minutes …
Garland said in a peremptory voice, “Obadiah, go and see if the alligators are back. I’d like to have another look at them.”
“Dey no come back, sah,” said the Negro, but he got up from the ground, conscious of Garland’s fierce eye upon him. “Ah go an’ see, sah.” Garland was watching him, willing him to leave the cutlass behind. If he took the cutlass with him … Obadiah seemed to hesitate, then strolled away, leaving the cutlass where it lay.