He decided to give it to her straight. Maybe she needed some shock to warn her off. He found it hard to analyse why he felt such a desperate urge to protect her, even from herself.
“Have you seen your friend Albright recently?”
He saw that he had her full attention now. Was there anxiety creeping into those grey-green fathomless eyes?
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re friendly with Albright, aren’t you?”
“I know him,” she replied defensively. “I met him here a few days ago. He’s good fun to be with.”
“Did Serafini get his boys to warn him off, too?”
“I don’t think ‘Fredo even knew about Roger.”
She was lying for some reason, he knew.
“But you haven’t seen Albright since yesterday?” he pressed.
“What’s it to do with you?” she was getting irritated.
“Are you warning me off Roger as well Serafini? I suppose he’s another gangster?”
She was rising to her feet in annoyance now.
“I don’t have to warn you off Albright. He’s dead.” His voice was cold and flat.
She froze for a moment and then dropped abruptly back into her seat. Her face had gone white. She was examining Conroy’s face, half fearful, half defiant. Conroy was surprised at the effect of his revelation.
“I saw his body in one of the cabins of your boyfriend’s yacht. He had been killed.”
“No!” The exclamation was drawn out of her rounded mouth involuntarily.
Conroy felt a wave of unease. Her expression betrayed the fact that Albright had meant something more to her than a casual acquaintance.
She held a slim hand to her quivering mouth.
“Roger’s dead!” Her shock made him unaccountably angry and he wondered why that should be. Was it the way the girl had taken the news? Was he jealous?
“Did Serafini send his men to work Albright over as well and did they get a little over enthusiastic? Or was he bumped off because of something else?”
“Have you told the police?” Her voice was sharp and searching.
He found the question odd, unless she was thinking about avoiding a scandal.
“No. I wanted to speak to you first.”
He wondered what was going on in her mind at that moment.
“And are you sure Roger is dead?” She repeated the question again as if she hoped he would suddenly deny it.
“He was shot in the head at close range. What I am saying to you is that you are playing with fire, Lise. Get on the next Pan Am flight out of here. Get off the islands. You don’t want to be mixed up with Serafini. Look how he had his men beat me up last night. Maybe he ordered Albright to be worked on as well.”
She nodded unhappily.
“I’m sorry you were hurt.”
“Do you need money to get back to the American mainland?” asked Conroy. “Is that it?”
She smiled, her mouth trembling, and there was a hint of tears glazing her eyes.
“You’re sweet,” she said. “I appreciate that you want to protect me. But I can’t leave.”
He gazed at her in astonishment. Then his expression hardened.
“You won’t leave?”
“I can’t leave,” she repeated. “Not now.”
“Even though you know what Serafini is? You must know that he is a gangster?
“What has that to do with you, Carson?”
“I happen to care what happens to you.” The truth came out of his mouth abruptly. He found himself surprised by it.
She gave a sad smile and shook her head.
“I have my reasons for staying, Carson.” She stood up. She was back in full control of herself now. “If I were you, I’d try to forget Serafini. Especially, I’d try to forget all about Roger Albright. Don’t go to the police. It’s a small island and Serafini would be able to get to you very easily.”
He felt himself growing chill at the matter of fact way she spoke. He had been giving her the benefit of the doubt that she had been an innocent ensnared by a plausible rogue. But she knew. She must know.
“So, you are going back to Serafini?” he demanded, feeling bewildered. For a while he had thought the girl was shocked enough to take his counsel.
“You have given me some advice,” she cut him short. Her voice was now firm but exasperated. “Let me give you some. Get out of the Bahamas immediately. Forget all about Serafini. Get on with your vacation. But don’t go to the cops. If you do, you’ll be a dead man.”
She turned and swung on her heel.
He rose to his feet to call her back but did not do so. He gazed after her helplessly.
As she reached the entrance of the Bar Montagu he saw a large American car slide to a halt and, without hesitation, she climbed into the back seat. The driver was the big black in the gaudy Hawaiian shirt, who sat grinning inanely behind the wheel.
CHAPTER XIX
Monday, August 26, 1940
The Eleuthera was in darkness when Conroy eventually returned. He had spent an unhappy afternoon in the Nassau library looking through back issues of newspapers in an attempt to discover some background information on Alfredo Serafini. However, his mind kept dwelling on thoughts of Lise Fennell. The girl completely puzzled him. He could not understand her motivation at all. Neither was he able to completely admit his mood of emotional fascination, of sexual infatuation, for the mysterious American girl. At the same time, he experienced a repugnance and disbelief that she could be so insensitive as to allow Serafini to use her in order that she might further a singing career. That made her no more than a high class tramp. And he was unable to believe she was capable of such calculation.
His mind full of such disorienting thoughts, Conroy climbed the gangway. The boat was in darkness and it was obvious that Adams and Jessie were not back yet. He felt exhausted and decided to have a shower and turn in immediately.
He moved through the saloon into the sleeping cabin, discarding his clothes, and went into the shower. For ten minutes he luxuriated in the temperate water, feeling it dispelling the sweat and grime of the day.
Having towelled himself vigorously, he drew on his shorts and went into the galley where he poured himself a cold drink.
He was about to climb onto his bunk when his eye registered something curious. There was an odd-shaped bump in the berth, shrouded by a sheet. Frowning, he reached forward and touched it. It was soft and responded with violence, moving under the clothes in an unusual motion.
Intrigued, Conroy reached forward and took hold of the sheet and drew it back.
The sight that met his eyes caused him to start backwards a pace and freeze.
It was as well that he did so for the reaction saved his life.
There, curled on the centre of the sheets, was a wicked looking snake, the head raised, the mouth open displaying its fangs. A long black tongue flickered in the grinning slit. Little black beads of eyes stared unblinkingly at him. It struck out as he started back, the fangs missing his forearm by inches.
Conroy did not have to ask whether the reptile was poisonous or not.
He took another slow step backwards towards the galley door.
There came a sound behind him. He could not bring himself to turn. The reptile was watching his every move as if waiting for the opportunity to strike at him again.
“Easy, Conroy,” came Adams’ voice, his tone was taut as if he had trouble with his vocal cords. “You are looking at the most poisonous snake in this part of the world.”
Conroy already felt the perspiration standing out on his brow.
“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said slowly, his tongue rasping in his dry mouth.
“Take a step backwards, very slowly,” instructed Adams. “Come back slowly into the galley. Then give me room to move.”
“If I just back out of the cabin we can slam the door on it.”
“And leave it free to roam about in there? No, I have to try to cap
ture it.”
Conroy frowned.
“Capture it? How?”
“Just take the step backwards,” insisted the Bermudan.
Conroy obeyed. Slowing inching his right foot backwards. The snake opened its fangs again, swaying from side to side.
Its head began to draw back.
It was purely instinct that made Conroy jerk the tumbler of cold beer, which he still held in his shaky hand, in the direction of the beast.
The next second was a jumbled blur of motion.
The contents of the tumbler hit the snake by pure chance across the head, disorientating its strike. Behind him, Adams pulled him aside and moved forward, grabbing the sheet on which the creature lay and scooping it up so that it covered the writhing reptile like a sack. It took some courage, for Conroy was sure that the fangs could pierce the thin sheet. But Adams managed to twist the sheet securely around the snake. Another second or two and he was moving fast, through the galley and saloon, up into the cockpit, and, without pausing, Adams heaved the sheet and its murderous contents into the harbour waters.
He stood looking down into the darkness, his chest heaving from the fearful exertion. Conroy moved up from the cabin to join him on deck. He was still clad in his shorts but his body was glistening in sweat from the ordeal.
“I presume it can’t swim?” Conroy tried to sound jocular but succeeded only in expressing a nervous croaking sound.
“You can be sure of that,” grunted Adams sourly. He turned into the cabin and emerged a moment or so later with two tumblers of whisky. Silently, he handed one to Conroy while he drained the other in one swallow.
“What the hell was it?” asked Conroy as he sipped eagerly at the drink.
Adams grimaced.
“If you want to be precise, it was a member of the Crotalidae family, a pit viper. Locally, it’s called a fer de lance. It’s the most poisonous snake around the West Indies. And that particular species has a special heat receiving organ or pits — hence pit viper — which helps it sense warm-blooded animals.”
Conroy shivered and sipped again at his drink. “A bit out of its territory, isn’t it?” he asked. “I mean, they don’t usually go exploring on boats, do they?”
Adams smiled wryly.
“Well, I think you can be sure that it didn’t get into your bunk by itself. Besides that, the fer de lance is not native to the Bahamas. In fact, there are no poisonous snakes on the islands. The fer de lance is found further south. No, it’s clear that someone doesn’t like you, Conroy.” Conroy nodded. “Well, there are plenty of candidates. Our German opposition, for starters.”
“I wouldn’t have thought putting snakes into beds was a Nazi trick.”
“Well, they are probably recruiting local talent,” grunted Conroy. “You don’t think there are any brothers and sisters of that little thing tucked away elsewhere, do you?” he added as a sudden horrified afterthought.
“I shouldn’t think so. You don’t exactly trip over the fer de lance on every street corner, even in its native habitat. Still, I’ll slip below and check.”
“Need help?” Conroy’s offer was made unwillingly. Adams grinned.
“You’ll hear me yelling if I do.”
He had just disappeared below when Jessie came aboard. She frowned at the sight of Conroy sitting in the cockpit clad in his shorts and looking white and exhausted.
“It’s a hot night,” she observed, “but it ain’t that hot. You’re shivering, Jimmy.”
“Just had a visitor, Jess,” Conroy replied with a sardonic grin. “A thing which Adams calls a fer de lance.”
The girl’s face went grey.
“Harry! Is he…?”
“He’s okay,” Conroy reassured her. “He’s just checking around now. But don’t worry. He tossed the little beastie over the side of the ship.”
Jessie sighed with relief. Then her eyes narrowed. Her mouth opened slightly. Her expression became one of near consternation.
“What is it?” demanded Conroy.
Silently, she pointed to the wheel of the yacht.
Conroy turned to follow her gaze.
A tiny little doll was tied onto one of the wheel spokes. It was a roughly made, white doll in white shirt and shorts. A large pin was stuck through its tiny body.
“Now what in hell is that?”
“Voodoo,” whispered Jessie, her eyes so wide that the whites stood out all around them.
Harry Adams poked his head out of the saloon.
“What’s that, Jess?”
She pointed.
He climbed into the cockpit and picked up the doll, frowning and shaking his head as he turned it over in his hands.
“What’s all this?” demanded Conroy, looking from one to the other of them.
“Voodoo,” repeated Adams slowly, holding out the doll.
“Black magic, you mean?” asked Conroy incredulously.
“Some would say it is just religious practices and rituals,” Adams responded as he examined the doll carefully.
“But no one believes in that rubbish these days.” Conroy’s voice mirrored his scepticism.
“Church and government have opposed voodoo in the West Indies for years but it still flourishes. Haiti is the main centre but it’s found all over the islands and even on the American mainland.”
“You are not saying that someone is trying to put a black magic curse on us?” Conroy’s voice was full of ridicule.
Jessie was looking worried.
“When I was a young girl, there was a voodoo priestess on Eleuthera and we heard tell of rituals on Cat Island…”
“Cat Island?” Conroy’s expression suddenly broadened into a smile of knowledge. “Cat Island, eh? Now you are talking.”
“I wouldn’t mock it,” protested Jessie.
“No,” replied Conroy, “but that damned snake was no spirit or curse. I think our Bundist friends have caught up with us again, except that this time they are trying to be a little imaginative.”
Adams threw the little doll into the water and exhaled deeply.
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Conroy. And in future, we’d better not leave the yacht unguarded.”
Both Adams and Jess jumped when Conroy suddenly banged his first on the handrail of the yacht and swore loudly.
“Guard! That’s it!”
“What is?” demanded Adams, looking startled.
“Serafini has a bodyguard. A tall, big-built, ugly-looking character who dresses in an Hawaiian shirt and white pants.”
“I’ve seen him,” Adams said. “So?”
“Seralini lives on Cat Island. So must this character. And I’ve just remembered what the others called our Hawaiian-shirted friend. They called him Sneque.”
Jessie shivered violently.
“That’s a voodoo priest name.”
Conroy nodded in satisfaction.
“And it means “snake”. I think we now know who brought our visitor on board.”
Even as he spoke, thinking about Serafini, his mind turned immediately to Lise Fennell. Was she involved in this business? It was one puzzle of which he could not even begin to identify some of the pieces, let alone fit them together.
Could she have told Serafini that Conroy had identified Albright’s body in the cabin of his yacht? Had Serafini sent Sneque to eliminate Conroy for that reason? But why would Serafini kill Albright if, as Conroy was certain, the man was the Nazi agent Olbricht? If Serafini was the link man who was going to smuggle the Duke and Duchess back to Germany, killing Albright didn’t make sense unless it was simply some accident. Could Sneque have been responsible for that accident?
But it all came back to Lise Fennell.
Why had the girl got under his skin? Why did he feel this helpless attraction? Why did he keep comparing her to Rebecca? And Rebecca? He suddenly realised that Rebecca was becoming a dim and distant shadow.
What stuck in his throat was the fact that, if he accepted the situation on face value, Lise Fenne
ll was little more than a better class of whore. She knew who and what Serafini was. She made no pretence of having any wide-eyed infatuation for him. She was part of his paid entourage. That made her a hustler, and a prostitute at best.
Why, then, if she was just a gold-digging hustler, had she been so upset when he had told her of Albright’s death? And what was Albright to her? If he were just a casual acquaintance, as she implied, then why had she been so shaken? Of course, the violent death of a person one knew, even slightly, was enough to shake any man or woman. But Conroy still had the uncomfortable feeling that Lise Fennell knew Albright better than she claimed to.
Had he been completely misled and was she really working for the opposition? It didn’t make sense. Nothing seemed to make sense about this business anymore.
He was aware that Harry Adams had been saying something.
He shook his head, as if to clear his mind of the riot of questions that kept pouring through it.
“Sorry,” he muttered, “my mind was elsewhere.”
“I was saying that now that the opposition is beginning to play rough, we ought to have one person on guard through the night and we ought to be armed.”
Conroy nodded agreement.
“I’ll take the first watch then.” He needed time to sit up and think, to try to figure out the curious tangled web.
“Okay. I’ll take the middle watch and Jess can do the early morning one.”
By the time Conroy went to his bunk at two in the morning, he had been unable to answer any of the questions which rioted in his mind. He lay uncomfortably in his bunk for a long while and when he dropped off he was soon awakened by nightmarish dreams in which the snake was still in the bunk with him. It was only when he heard Jessie turn out for her early morning watch that he finally fell into a dreamless sleep of sheer exhaustion.
CHAPTER XX
Tuesday, August 27, 1940
“Wake up, Conroy!”
He came reluctantly awake with Adams bending over him and tugging at his arm.
“What the hell…?” he began, fighting the engulfing hands of sleep which were reluctant to part with him.
The Windsor Protocol Page 20