To tap in on them was going to be a delicate business because Rex would have felt himself utterly shamed if he had overheard anything which no desire to get even with Richard in the present business could justify his overhearing; and tonight was quite obviously a night of reunion between these two gloriously vital lovers. The bedroom of their suite was next to his stateroom. There was an easy way by which he could listen in to the conference he was certain they would hold. The snag was judging the right time to listen.
Rex had known Richard before Richard knew Marie-Lou. He had spent numerous hectic nights-out in Richard’s company with some highly desirable couples of young women. He remembered Richard’s form perfectly. At a certain stage in the proceedings Richard, like many other men in similar circumstances, developed hunger and thirst. In his bedroom at home, at Cardinal’s Folly, Rex knew that he always kept a tin of biscuits; Petits Beurre, Digestives and Bourbons, of the last of which, like his gluttonous little wife, he was extremely fond.
On those now distant nights out-on-the-tiles Richard, in addition to food, had always had a bottle of champagne sent up in an ice bucket to his room. Rex had heard him declare often that even an indifferent wine tasted good, and that a fair one was nectar, at such times. The leopard does not change his spots, and Rex had no reason to suppose that Richard had changed his customs. At a certain hour which could be calculated with reasonable accuracy from the time of his going to bed, Richard would get up, munch biscuits, and walk about the room with a glass of champagne in his hand entirely oblivious of the fact that our mentors tell us this world is a vale of tears.
On the contrary, it was just at such times that the fundamental simplicity which constituted a part of Richard’s attraction came out. He would wander up and down wondering what on earth the heavenly creature propped up against the pillows could possibly see in him, and with the mental comment that this world was just as perfect as it could be, positively revel in the sensation of having been lifted to the gods for this little hour which transcended all earthly cares.
Rex donned the heavy silk dressing-gown with its abundantly tasselled sash and sat down to wait for the dinner-gong. In due course it sounded but he did not move because he was immersed in a Peter Cheyney thriller and, anyhow, he wanted to give Richard and Marie-Lou five minutes’ clear start.
When he was reasonably certain they had gone along to the dining-room he laid down the Peter Cheyney with considerable reluctance, picked up his pocket-knife from a near-by table, and bored a small hole through the partition wall of the cabin which would not be noticeable to the steward’s eye, owing to the dark patch he chose for it in the toile de jouy covering. He then went smilingly up to dinner and offered apologies, which his ugly, attractive face made appear quite genuine, to Marie-Lou for his tardiness.
The dinner was admirable but none of the three manifested any desire to remain long in the lounge after coffee and liqueurs had been served. Richard remarked that it had been a longish day; Marie-Lou commented that an early bed was good for the complexion, and Rex said he knew them well enough to tell the truth; he was just dying to hit the hay.
Richard paid Rex the compliment of accompanying him to his cabin, but it was the purely formal visit of a good host to see that his guest has fruit, drinks, biscuits, reading-matter, all ready to hand lest he should chance to wake in the night.
As soon as he had gone Rex grabbed the Peter Cheyney. He was enthralled by the seductive powers of Mr. Cheyney’s ‘dames’, who had ‘everything it takes and more’ and the extraordinarily tough methods of that phenomenally fast worker; the attractive, intelligent and muscular ‘G-man’, Lemmy Caution. It was much the swiftest thing Rex had read for a long time and he was extremely glad that Lemmy was not after him. Had he been, Rex felt he would have needed the Duke plus Simon to help him out, with Richard and Marie-Lou thrown in as a make-weight. At that point he remembered that it was long past the time he had allocated to Richard and Marie-Lou for any gambols they might have in mind, heartily damned Mr. Cheyney with a reservation that he would get back to him as soon as he could, and quickly putting down the book applied his outsize ear to the hole he had bored in the partition wall.
The result was disappointing. He could not hear very clearly, but Marie-Lou appeared to be talking about a reconstruction of the pond-garden which she was planning for Cardinal’s Folly, while Richard’s contribution consisted of a series of interested “Yes, darlings” and “Of course, my sweet, how right you ares.”
The ice rattled against the sides of the champagne bucket. Richard evidently had not yet finished his bottle and was still on his feet, which was a good sign. For ten minutes they talked obscurely about matters which Rex could not get the sense of, occasionally going off into peals of stupid laughter.
It seemed that Richard was teasing Marie-Lou about something but Rex could not be sure. They were often apparently crazy when they were together, and only de Richleau was capable of entering with them absolutely fully into that happy madness. Rex considered the Duke to be saner than most people, but that subtle old fox, now lurking in Madrid, who could be so hellishly dangerous when let loose among people he disliked, would behave like a wicked schoolboy at times when he was with these two.
Rex was inclined to think he had missed the boat and was about to throw his hand in for the night when he clearly heard Richard say, “Of course, she’ll collect the gold herself—certain to. After all, it belongs to her and she probably wants to have her say in how they spend it. She’s grand. You’d love her. She.…”
The rest of the sentence was lost but Rex caught another bit. “Lucretia-José Condesa de Cordoba y Coralles. What a name to roll round one’s tongue, eh?”
Marie-Lou appeared a little peeved at this as she said promptly, “Personally, I think Marie Antoinette Heléne Françoise Aphrodite Louise, Princesse de Catzenane Blanquefort de Schulemoff, somewhat better.”
Rex could almost see Richard’s eyes go round, then wrinkle at the corners. There came a short mutter succeeded by delighted squeals of laughter in the brief intervals of which Marie-Lou’s voice penetrated to him. “Shut up! Stop it, Richard. Do be different, darling! You’ll wake Rex next door. Stop it! All right, I give in but do be quiet about it. Oh, my sweet, my sweet.”
With a sigh Rex withdrew his ear from the hole and lit a cigarette. Not daring to return to Mr. Cheyney for fear of becoming engrossed again, he sat about for a bit doing nothing, but thinking hard.
When he returned to his post a low-voiced, earnest conversation was in progress. He could only catch snatches of it but the pieces he heard interested him exceedingly.
“Malaga harbour … four of them.… Oh! One will be enough.… Your Condesa friend … any number of Fifth Column people lurking all over Government Spain … derelict … but a dredger’s no good. Flat barges with cranes on them, I said, silly … no work being done in the harbour now there’s.… Why should they … not for a night anyway … by a tug, of course. If your Condesa can get men for one she can get men for the other … in the harbour this morning … three hours and a half … I’d buoy them first … before Rex is up—just to make certain. That’s why I decided to remain lying off the bay tonight … Gib.—no, no—Valencia … get it through much quicker that way.… Well, today’s Wednesday. Talbot should receive it through the Embassy and pass … contact the Condesa … Malaga by Tuesday … enough for her to complete her preparations … not enough. Well, Saturday, then.… Must be definite about it.… Write what we like but he’s limited to what he can say in a code cable … because, light of my life, a letter from us will reach him in the Embassy whereas one from him to us might be opened before delivery.… I don’t agree … if he did … whole scheme for him to say yes or no.… You’re right. Sunday would be better. Fewer people about in the harbour … clear eleven days. He’ll let us know that … no point in his risking his neck down here … but if he did that he might find himself shipped off to South America.… Arthur Talbot could arrange it for him …
I don’t think so … easy enough at night in a quiet sector … once he’s through the lines … Lisbon perhaps or up to Corunna. No trouble about taking him off from either on our way home.… Yes … oh, no.… You’re right there … got to get rid of him somehow.… Plenty of ships sailing from Valencia …. But he wouldn’t have to. We could send him across to one by the launch … I know … some plausible excuse so as not to appear inhospitable.… Well, I’m sorry too, naturally … not till the gold is actually on board … back here on Friday night.… Oh, that’s simple. A cork float about a foot under water … with lights on them.… Quite … getting rid of old Rex is the only snag I see.… No, I’m afraid he’ll be pretty sore … I daren’t … must put him off at Valencia before we return to tackle the job of buoying the bombs … not our job … surely he will … that’s entirely the Condesa’s affair.…”
The conversation changed and Rex gathered that his friends were settling down for the night, but he had learnt all he wanted to know. The Condesa was to collect the gold and the Duke would not come down to Malaga. He was to be smuggled through some quiet sector of the battle-line, probably north of Madrid, with the aid of someone named Arthur Talbot, and would make his way to an Insurgent or neutral port where they could pick him up without trouble or subterfuge. Rex sat down to the writing-table in his cabin and commenced a long letter to Simon.
An hour sped by while he told Simon of events at Valmojado, how Richard had tricked him and what he had ascertained of Richard’s future plans. Feeling that the letter would be more likely to receive priority if it were addressed to a well-known Socialist leader, he wrote on the envelope in Spanish: Urgent and important. To Señor Cristoval Ventura, U.G.T. Headquarters, Madrid. To be handed to the Señor Simon Aron for his immediate attention.
Making his clothes up into a bundle wrapped in a towel, he slipped very quietly out of his cabin and stole up on deck. The yacht was at anchor and the after part of the vessel was screened from the watch on the bridge by her deckhouses. Keeping to the shadows he tiptoed with naked feet to her stern, gently lowered one end of a thick hawser that was lying there into the water and peered over the rail at the faint blackness which was the only indication of the night-hidden shore. Rex knew there was no risk of the yacht moving because he had heard Richard say that he intended to go off very early in the morning to see exactly where the golden bombs had fallen before sailing for Valencia to post a letter to the Duke. Stripping off his dressing-gown Rex hid it in a locker, tied his bundle firmly on the top of his head, climbed over the stern rail and slid gently down the rope into the sea.
He then performed one of those feats which only his great strength and endurance made possible. Swimming four miles in to the shore, he dried and dressed himself. Next, he ran most of the five miles along the coast road at a steady trot until he reached the nearest village, slipped his letter into the post-box of the police station there, and walking and running alternately, covered the five miles back. On the shore he undressed again, strapped his clothes on his head and swam off to the yacht. The whole journey of eighteen miles was completed in four and a quarter hours. Before six o’clock he was back in his cabin and nobody on “board had the faintest idea he had ever left it.
It was half-past seven before Richard reluctantly made his appearance, cursing the fact that the necessity of assuring himself the bombs could be recovered without difficulty prevented his remaining in bed until ten; but the satisfaction he derived from the trip was worth it. Half an hour in the launch was sufficient for him to locate all twenty bombs. They lay about fifty yards from each other in a regular line which was quite easy to follow as it ran parallel with the curve of the shore. Most of them were half-buried in the sand; the tail of one was within two feet of the surface; the deepest was only about seven feet down. Providing the proper tackle could be secured, it would be easy enough to haul them up.
While returning to the yacht he saw that contrary to his expectations the Flying Sow had not entirely disappeared. The bay was so shallow that although she had sunk nearly three miles out, about three feet of her tail was still visible above the water. She had evidently gone down nose first and the weight of her great engines was holding her firm on the bottom. Directly he was on board again he told his captain to make for Valencia with all speed.
Rex woke about eleven and immediately noticed that the Golden Gull was in motion. A glance from his port assured him, as he expected, that they were heading east; he could see the coast and the yacht was steadily cleaving the water with all the power of her engines. He smiled to himself at the recollection of his good night’s work, rang for a late breakfast and settled down to finish the hair-raising thriller by the remarkable Mr. Cheyney.
Unless she was going to swim, Marie-Lou never put in an appearance before lunch; and as Richard spent the morning with her, Rex did not see either of them until the meal. He thought she was looking radiant and ten years younger than when he had come aboard the previous evening. She was always an admirable hostess but she showed such solicitude for Rex’s welfare on the present occasion that he was secretly much amused; knowing her extreme amiability to be partly inspired by some sort of proposition she and Richard meant to put to him.
When coffee and Kummel had been served the stewards withdrew and Marie-Lou proceeded, with sugared words, to spin her silken web.
“Rex, darling,” she opened up, “I suppose you know where we’re making for?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t given it a thought. Marseilles, maybe?”
“No, Valencia. Richard’s got to send a letter from there to Madrid telling Grey-Eyes that the gold isn’t at Valmojado and that we’re going home.”
“Fine. That just suits me because I’ve got to do the very same thing to Simon.”
“But after that,” Marie-Lou went on, “you’ll naturally be wanting to get back to London or across to New York as quickly as you can.”
“I’ll certainly be glad to be quit of this business for good and all.”
“Exactly. That’s just what’s worrying us. Richard and I have been discussing it all the morning; trying to think out the most pleasant arrangement we can make for you.”
“For me?” Rex echoed with well-assumed surprise. “But I’m so happy here with you two I wouldn’t call God my uncle. There’s not a thing need cause you to bat an eyelid about me.”
“That’s lovely,” cooed Marie-Lou. “It’s simply heavenly having you with us. But the trouble is that we can’t take you back to England because we shall be cruising in Spanish waters for some time to come.”
“Well, that’s O.K. by me. When I said I wanted to get home I only meant to be finished with all the fighting. What could be nicer at this time of year than a little cruising in the Mediterranean?”
“But, Rex darling, it will be so dull for you just alone with us two like this.”
“Dull?” he exclaimed. “Not on your life! There’s nothing in the world I’d like better than a real restful time same as we three have so often had in the Golden Gull. But just a minute. Having been parted for so long you and Richard want to be alone together. You don’t want me sticking around. I’ll be in the way. Now why ever didn’t you say so straight off? Of course I’ll quit the ship wherever you like to land me.”
It was Marie-Lou’s big chance but she could not possibly take it, and Rex knew too that he had put his apparently innocent desire to remain on board in such a way that she could not get rid of him on those lines.
“Oh, Rex,” she laughed, “what nonsense! It was only you we were thinking of. We’d planned to arrange a passage to Marseilles for you in one of the ships leaving Valencia, That could have been done without your having to land at the port. But if you want to stay we’d simply love to have you.”
“Of course,’ Richard chimed in. “But it’s impossible to say how long we’ll have to hang about here. You see, a friend of mine in Madrid got me out through Government territory but I had to chance going all the way to South America. The Duke won
’t want to risk anything like that so he’ll probably leave Madrid in disguise and we’ll have to cruise about till we know where to pick him up.”
“You reckon he’ll chuck his hand in now, then?” Rex asked.
“Yes. I think he’ll realise there’s no point in his staying any longer in Madrid.”
“When’ll we make Valencia?”
“Early tomorrow morning all being well.”
“That’s fine. Maybe when Simon knows what’s happened he’ll consider quitting too.”
“I doubt it, since the hunt for the Coralles fortune was only a big side-line in the work he’s doing. Still, when you write, tell him from me that he’s welcome to a trip home in the yacht if he’s sick of the business and wants to clear out.”
“O.K. But better still, write him a line yourself. You can enclose it in mine.”
There seemed no more to be said, and they spent a pleasant afternoon running up the coast towards Cartagena.
On the Friday morning they were lying off Valencia harbour when Rex brought a fat letter to Richard. The envelope was still open and he said, “Here’s my report to Simon. You can push your invitation in it. And er.…” he paused, feigning embarrassment.
The Golden Spaniard Page 46