The White Witch of the South Seas

by Dennis Wheatley

  Having unpacked, he changed into bathing things and went down to the beach. The best part of a hundred people were sun-bathing, drinking at tables under gay umbrellas, or in the sea. There were pedallos and canoes, a speed boat behind which a pretty girl was waterskiing expertly, a big raft anchored a quarter of a mile out, and several small yachts in the distance.

  On the debit side, the water was neither so clear nor so blue as in the Fijis, and by no means so warm. But Gregory enjoyed his swim and, having changed back into casual clothes, he went down to the restaurant for lunch. The meal he chose proved a revelation. Only in Paris could it have been equalled, and it hallmarked the Château Royal as the finest hotel in the South Seas. Dinner that night confirmed his opinion.

  General Ribaud had told him that if he wished to make some motor trips he had only to ring up and a car would be placed at his disposal. So on the Wednesday he availed himself of the Governor’s kind offer. After a swim, having had two picnic lunches prepared, he picked up James and they set off to see something of the interior.

  The island was more than twice the length of Viti Levu, but not so large, as in no place along its two hundred and fifty miles was it much more than thirty miles wide. A long range of mountains, some rearing up to five thousand feet, divided it into two very different types of country. To the west lay great areas of flat, cultivated land; to the east deep valleys and rocky heights running right down to the coast. The roads crossing the Chaîne Centrale were most picturesque, as they passed through forests with, here and there, lovely vistas of waterfalls, reed-covered hills and rugged mountains.

  Their French-speaking driver spoke proudly of the immense wealth in minerals that the mountains contained—nickel iron, cobalt, chromium and manganese—but sadly of the many rich crops that used to be grown in the lowlands owing to the exceptionally favourable semi-tropical climate, until the repatriation of the Vietnamese settlers who had farmed them.

  Thursday Gregory spent in his room reading in bed, reluctantly supporting the fiction that he was unwell by denying himself the Chef’s superb Terrine Maison. At six o’clock James telephoned him to say that ‘their friends’ had arrived, and he got through the evening with such patience as he could muster. Soon after ten, the office rang him. The Ratu James Omboloku was in the hall asking if he might come up. A few minutes later James reported that Olinda was taking her nightly dip. Together they walked the few yards to de Carvalho’s suite and, without knocking, went in.

  Valentim, in a silk dressing gown, was seated at a table studying some papers. At the sound of the door opening, he turned his head. Amazement and consternation showed on his dark features. Coming to his feet, he exclaimed angrily:

  ‘What the devil are you doing here? How dare you enter my room uninvited!’

  ‘It is for your own peace of mind,’ Gregory replied quietly. ‘That is if you wish to retain your wife’s respect. There is no need to go into details. But you have double-crossed James here, with the intention of getting the Maria Amalia’s treasure all to yourself. Can you deny it?’

  De Carvalho shrugged. ‘Why should I? Business is business. I am simply one move ahead of you, that is all.’

  ‘What story did you tell your wife?’

  ‘That is no concern of yours, but I led her to believe that the Ratu had decided to leave the whole matter in my hands.’

  ‘We will not quarrel with that, or disillusion her—provided you are willing to sign an agreement, as originally proposed, that the Ratu should receive sixty per cent of the value of all treasure salvaged.”

  ‘Why should I?’ Valentim scowled. ‘I hold the licence, so I alone have the right to salvage the treasure, and the authorities in Revika will protect that right for me until I am ready to exercise it. But I am in no hurry to do that. You may recall that while I was in Rio I was threatened, and I do not mean, by going to Tujoa just yet, to run my head into a hornet’s nest. These people, whoever they are, will learn in a week or two that I have outsmarted them, then leave me a clear field. And that already goes for you.’

  ‘You do not care, then, if we let your wife know that you are a crook?’

  De Carvalho shrugged again. ‘She is aware, from other operations that my friends and I have carried through, that in business there are times when one must act somewhat unethically, unless one wishes to lose money. It has been apparent to me that she has rather a soft spot for Ratu James; so I have no doubt that in this instance she will be annoyed with me. But what more can she do than sulk for a few days?’

  Matters had turned out as Gregory had half expected. De Carvalho’s admission that he had been involved in other shady deals, and that Olinda knew about some of them, obviously robbed of any potency the threat to expose him. He preferred to have a scene with her rather than forgo a share of the treasure. Their little plot to force his hand had failed. There seemed no more to be said.

  Suddenly the door opened and Olinda came into the room. She was wearing a white swim suit that set off her dark beauty to perfection. In a casual voice she got as far as saying, ‘I left my cigarettes behind….’ Then she caught sight of James, smiled and exclaimed. ‘This is a pleasant surprise! What are you and Mr. Sallust doing here?’

  James bowed. ‘Senhora, this is not a social visit. We have come … we have come….’

  While Gregory had done all the talking, James had contained his rage, but now he suddenly gave full vent to it.

  ‘We have come to unmask your husband for the filthy crook he is. Like an innocent I placed myself in his hands, believing him to be a friend. And now, now, see what he has done! In Rio he lied to us, he said there was no evidence that the Maria Amalia carried treasure; yet he had already been up to Antigua and seen the records showing that she had a great sum in gold on board. He pretended that he was no longer interested. But what does he do? He comes to Noumea like a thief in the night and secures a licence to salvage from the wreck. That means the authorities will stop anyone else from attempting to do so. Behind my back he means to take all. He cannot deny it. He is a swindler! A cheat, a dirty cheat!’

  As he flung out these accusations, James’ long arm stretched out, indignantly pointing at de Carvalho. His dark eyes had gone black with rage and his great quiff of hair quivered as his head jerked backwards and forwards.

  With distended eyes Olinda stared at him: then, as he ceased, she turned to her husband and cried in a shrill voice, ‘Valentim, is this true?’

  ‘More or less,’ he admitted sullenly. ‘But it is I who am going to risk the money, isn’t it? Not him. He produced the idea. All right. I’ll give him the price of his journey to Rio and a bit over. But cut him in for sixty per cent? Why should I? I’ll be damned if I will.’

  ‘But, Valentim,’ Olinda’s voice had become hoarse and earnest, ‘you cannot do this. It is robbery. It is as bad as going to his island and stealing valuables while you were a guest in his house. He trusted you. And you lied to me about it. You said he had left everything to you and that you were going to pay him his share when the salvaging was completed. I insist that you give James a fair deal. I insist! I insist!’

  Glowering at her with half-closed eyes, her thick-set husband snarled, ‘This is none of your business. Go and have your swim! Get out of here!’

  ‘I won’t!’ she cried. ‘I’ll not stand by and see you cheat a simple honest man who is worth ten of you.’

  De Carvalho ran his tongue over his thick lips then began to bellow at her in Portuguese.

  Her beautiful face livid with rage, she screamed insults back at him in the same language.

  Suddenly he lost his temper completely. Taking a swift step forward, he smacked her hard across the face with his open hand.

  There fell a deathly silence in the room. Olinda stood with her mouth half open, a look of shocked surprise on her face. De Carvalho, his jaw thrust forward, was staring at her. Gregory, his eyes narrowed, waited tensely to see which of them would prevail. For a moment in time they all remained as rigid as
statues. Then James erupted.

  With the speed and savagery of his forbears, the brown-skinned giant launched himself at de Carvalho. In one movement he grasped him by the neck and under one knee, then swung him high over his head. Before Gregory had the least chance to stop him, he burst through the flimsy mosquito screens, bounded out on to the balcony and hurled the Brazilian over it.

  There came one thin, wailing cry, the sound of a heavy thump from below, then again silence.

  Wiping the back of one big brown hand across his eyes, James staggered back into the room.

  ‘My God, man!’ Gregory cried. ‘Are you mad? You may have killed him.’

  James gave a gasping sob. ‘The swine! He hit her. I could not bear it. I love her! I love her!’

  Olinda’s face suddenly lit up and a spate of words poured from her. ‘So it is true! I hardly dared hope; yet in my heart I knew it. Yes, from the very first moment. But you are so honourable. I feared you would despise me if I confessed my illicit passion for you. Oh, I love you! My wonderful one! I love you too.’

  As she spoke, she held out her arms. James seized her in his and began to smother her face with kisses.

  Gregory swore and ran out on to the balcony. It was not yet half past ten. Many people were still dining in the restaurant on the ground floor of the main block; strains of music came up from it. Others were strolling in the garden that ran down to the beach. A little crowd of men and women had run over to de Carvalho. They were now grouped round him. One man was half-supporting his limp body.

  As Gregory peered over, the voice of an American woman came excitedly from only a few yards away on his right. ‘There he is! Help! Help! Murder!’

  Almost immediately a man’s voice followed, ‘No, that’s not him. It was a huge guy.’

  Glancing round, Gregory saw two figures beyond the partition that screened off the balcony from its neighbour. Evidently the American couple next door had been sitting there enjoying the cool of the evening, and had seen James throw de Carvalho over.

  Ignoring them, he again leaned over the rail. He had to know whether the Brazilian was alive or dead. The crowd round him were exclaiming in several languages, ‘Get a doctor!’ ‘Stand back!’ ‘Give him air!’ ‘We must carry him inside.’ ‘Lucky that he fell on his back and not on his head.’ ‘His right arm’s broken.’ ‘His heart’s all right.’ ‘Just unconscious, eh; don’t wonder the fall knocked him out.’

  Turning about, Gregory dashed back into the room. James and Olinda were still embraced and murmuring incoherently to each other between kisses. Seizing them each by an arm, Gregory dragged them apart and snarled at James:

  ‘You lunatic! This is no time for lovemaking. Thank God he didn’t break his neck. He’s alive, but he may well die from internal injuries. Then you’ll be had for murder. At best you’ll be charged with attempted murder and get four or five years in prison. We’ve got to get out of here. And quick!’

  His angry tirade acted like a douche of cold water on the lovers. ‘He’s right,’ Olinda said in a frightened whisper. ‘Oh, my darling, my heart bleeds that you should be in such danger on my account. But you must go. At once. Have you money?’

  Gregory nodded. ‘I’ve plenty in my wallet.’

  ‘This way then.’ She ran to the door. ‘I’ll go down with you and engage anyone we meet in conversation.’

  They followed her out into the open corridor that served all the rooms on the upper floor of the block, and down the stairs. At the bottom they came face to face with a waiter. He was wheeling a trolley holding a cold supper for four—evidently a meal ordered by a party that intended to make merry in a private sitting room. At the sight of them running towards him, the man’s mouth opened to give a shout. Before he could utter it, James darted past Olinda and struck him a single blow. He went down like a pole-axed ox.

  As the other two ran on, Gregory pulled up short beside the trolley. Already he was thinking ahead. To escape arrest they would have to go into hiding and food might be difficult to obtain. Flinging a bowl of fruit salad and an orange jelly on the floor, he gathered up the four corners of the small tablecloth that covered the trolley, so that all the other food cascaded into the middle, heaved the bundle up and swung it over his shoulder.

  At the circular drive outside the front entrance to the hotel, the others had halted to wait for him. Olinda had wrenched a ruby cross from a necklace she was wearing and thrust it into his hand as she said, still breathlessly, ‘Go to the harbour. Go aboard our yacht, the Boa Viagem. Show this to Captain Amedo. Tell him it is my order that he should take you where you wish.’

  She did not hear Gregory’s words of thanks, for she had turned away and was again in James’ arms, crushing his mouth with violent kisses. Suddenly she pushed him from her and cried, ‘Go now, go! Tomorrow I will burn a thousand candles. May the Holy Virgin protect you.’

  In the drive stood several parked cars. Among them was a tradesman’s Citroen van which had probably made a late delivery. No-one was about. Running to it, Gregory wrenched open the near door and jumped into the driver’s seat. James ran round and scrambled in on the other side. The self-starter whirred, the clutch slid in and they were off.

  There came a tense moment as they drove out through the arched entrance to the hotel grounds, but no-one attempted to stop them. James then relaxed, lay back in his seat and sighed ecstatically, ‘She loves me. She loves me.’

  Gregory could have hit him for the mess he had landed them in, and snarled, ‘You bloody young fool! You should have bided your time and she would have fallen in your lap. As things are, after this little demonstration of your affection for her, you’ll be darned lucky if you ever see her again.’

  ‘That cannot be,’ James declared with fatalistic optimism. ‘The gods made us for one another. It is certain that they will smile upon our love. And owing to her we have little to fear. We shall sail away in the yacht.’

  Tightening his grip on the wheel, Gregory took the bend opposite the Headquarters of the Pacific Commission at forty-five miles an hour. When they had made it he snapped angrily, ‘You poor boob. With a couple like the de Carvalhos, who do you think the Captain takes his orders from? Him or her? Him, of course, unless she happens to be on the yacht without him. If we showed the Captain that trinket she gave me he’d immediately jump to it that we’d stolen it with all her other jewels, and had thought up a clever plan to make use of him for a quick get-away. It’s all Lombard Street to a china orange that he’d have his crew grab us while he sent for the police.’

  Subsiding, James asked dolefully, ‘What then are we to do?’

  ‘I don’t fancy taking to the mountains,’ Gregory replied after a moment. ‘Our best bet would be to try to find another yacht—or, rather, a small cabin cruiser—with no-one aboard. If we could make off in her, and be well out of sight of Noumea before dawn, we’d stand a fair chance of getting away.’

  Five minutes later they turned into Fisherman’s Bay. The waterfront was almost deserted. As they drove past a long line of sheds Gregory noticed one with the doors standing open. Swerving, he drove the van into it. They got out, closed the doors, then walked quickly along to the wharf, to which a number of the smaller boats were tied up. A few of them showed lights, but none of their occupants was on deck. A patrolling gendarme came into view.

  ‘If we try to hide, and he spots us, we’ll be in trouble,’ Gregory whispered. ‘We’ll just stroll casually past him, talking about anything, but stick to French.’ In a louder voice, he added, ‘Have you ever been to Europe?’

  ‘No,’ James replied. ‘But I would like to, particularly to England; oh, and of course France. Paris must be wonderful.’

  They were just under one of the arc lights when they drew level with the gendarme, so they saw that he was a native. He gave them a sharp look, murmured ‘Bon soir’ and walked on. Two minutes later he was hidden from view behind some sheds. Swiftly Gregory ran his eye over the twenty or more launches that were moored along
the quay. Pointing to one about twenty-five feet in length, he said, ‘That looks about our mark. You will make less noise than I should. Slip aboard her and make certain that there is no-one sleeping in the cabin, then check the tanks to see if she has plenty of petrol and water. I’ll keep watch here and give a loud warning cough should the gendarme come back this way. If he does, lie doggo and don’t worry about me.’

  While Gregory hauled in the painter, James took off his shoes, then dropped almost silently into the stern of the launch. Two minutes later he called softly, ‘O.K. Come aboard.’ Gregory untied her and joined James on the deck. Going forward he took the wheel, started the engine, and nosed the launch slowly out. A minute later a figure emerged from the cabin of one of the boats that had lights on further along the row, and a voice called:

  ‘Where are you off to at this hour, Mathieu?’

  It was a nasty moment, as Gregory had no idea how well the man who had hailed him knew ‘Mathieu’, and what type of man Mathieu was. But to have failed to reply would have been certain to arouse suspicion, so he took a chance. Praying that his voice would not give him away as a stranger, he called back facetiously:

  ‘Maybe Marseilles; maybe New York.’

  To his relief a laugh greeted his sally. Switching on the navigation lights, he headed at half-speed for the harbour entrance. When they had cleared it he asked James, ‘How far do you reckon it is from here to Tujoa?’

  ‘About four hundred and fifty miles. As I once told you, it is nearer Fiji than New Caledonia. By rights it should have been included in the Fijis, but it is our misfortune that in 1853 the Nakapoa Group, as well as New Caledonia, came under France.’

  ‘Do you think you could navigate us to Tujoa? If not, we’ll have to head down the coast here and try to hide up in some lonely inlet.’