Causton's flashlight flickered about his room. "Is he? Put not your faith in brother Dawson -- that's a word to the wise."
"Oh," said Wyatt. "Anyway, I'm in a hell of a jam. I'll have to shepherd this lot to safety somehow, and that means leaving town."
A cane chair creaked as Causton sat down. "Now let me get this straight. You say we're going to be hit by a hurricane. When?"
"Two days," said Wyatt. "Say half a day either way."
"And when it comes, the Base is going to be destroyed."
"For all practical purposes -- yes."
"And so is St. Pierre."
"That's right."
"So you want to take off for the hills, herding along these people downstairs. That's heading smack into trouble, you know."
"It needn't be," said Wyatt. "We need to get about a hundred feet above sea-level and on the northern side of a ridge -- a place like that shouldn't be too difficult to find just outside St. Pierre. Perhaps up the Negrito on the way to St. Michel."
"I wouldn't do that," said Causton definitely. "Favel will be coming down the Negrito. From the sound of those guns he's already in the upper reaches of the valley."
"How do we know those are Pavel's guns?" said Wyatt suddenly. "Serrurier has plenty of artillery of his own."
Causton sounded pained. "I've done my homework. Serrurier was caught flat-footed. The main part of his artillery was causing a devil of a traffic jam just north of the town not two hours ago. If Favel hurries up he'll capture the lot. Listen to it -- he's certainly pouring it on." "That shipment of arms you were talking about must have been a big one."
"Maybe -- but my guess is that he's staking everything on one stroke. If he doesn't come right through and capture St. Pierre he's lost his chips."
"If he does, he'll lose his army," said Wyatt forcibly.
"God, I hadn't thought of that." Causton looked thoughtful. "This is going to be damned interesting. Do you suppose he knows about this hurricane?"
"I shouldn't think so," said Wyatt. "Look, Causton, we're wasting time. I've got to get these people to safety. Will you help? You seem to know more of what's going on out there than anybody."
"Of course I will, old boy. But, remember, I've got my own job to do. I'll back you up in anything you say, and I'll come with you and see them settled out of harm's way. But after that I'll have to push off and go about my master's business -- my editor would never forgive me if I wasn't in the right place at the right time." He chuckled. "I dare say I'll get a good story out of Big Jim Dawson, so it will be worth it."
They went back to the bar and Causton called out, "Wyatt's got something very important to tell you all, so gather round. Where's Dawson?"
"He was here not long ago," said Julie. "He must have gone out."
"Never mind," said Causton. "I'll tell him myself -- I'll look forward to doing that. All right, Mr. Wyatt; get cracking." He sat down and began to thread a spool of tape into the miniature recorder he took from his pocket.
Wyatt was getting very tired of repeating his story. He no longer attempted to justify his reasons but gave it to them straight, and when he had finished there was a dead silence. The Greek showed no alteration of expression -- perhaps he had not understood; Julie was pale, but her chin came up; Mrs. Warmington was white with two red spots burning in her cheeks. She was suddenly voluble. "This is ridiculous," she exploded. "No American Navy Base can be destroyed. I demand that you take me to Cap Sarrat immediately."
"You can demand until you're blue in the face," said Wyatt baldly. "I'm going nowhere near Cap Sarrat." He turned to Julie. "We've got to get out of St. Pierre and on to high ground, and that may be difficult. But I've got the car and we can all cram into it. And we've got to take supplies -- food, water, medical kit and so on. We should find plenty of food in the kitchens here, and we can take soda- and mineral-water from the bar."
Mrs. Warmington choked in fury. "How far is it to the Base?" she demanded, breathing hard.
"Fifteen miles," said Causton. "Right round the bay. And there's an army between here and the Base." He shook his head regretfully. "I wouldn't try it, Mrs. Warmington; I really wouldn't."
"I don't know what's the matter with you all," she snapped. "These natives wouldn't touch us -- the Government knows better than to interfere with Americans. I say we should get to the Base before those rebels come down from the hills."
Papegaikos, standing behind her, gripped her shoulder. "I t'ink it better you keep your mout' shut," he said. His voice was soft but his grip was hard, and Mrs. Warmington winced. "I t'ink you are fool woman." He looked across at Wyatt. "Go on."
"I was saying we should load up the car with food and water and get out of here," said Wyatt wearily.
"How long must we reckon on?" asked Julie practically.
"At least four days -- better make it a week. This place will be a shambles after Mabel has passed."
"We'll eat before we go," she said. "I think we're all hungry. I'll see what there is in the kitchen -- will sandwiches do?"
"If there are enough of them," said Wyatt with a smile.
Mrs. Warmington sat up straight. "Well, I think you're all crazy, but I'm not going to stay here by myself so I guess I'll have to come along. Come, child, let's make those sandwiches." She took a candle and swept Julie into the inner recesses of the hotel.
Wyatt looked across at Causton who was putting away his tape-recorder. "What about guns?" he said. "We might need them."
"My dear boy," said Causton, "there are more than enough guns out there already. If we're stopped and searched by Serrurier's men and they find a gun we'll be shot on the spot. I've been in some tough places in my time and I've never carried a gun -- I owe my life to that fact."
"That makes sense," said Wyatt slowly. He looked at the Greek standing by the bar. "Are you carrying a gun, Eumenides?"
Papegaikos touched his breast and nodded. He said, "I keep it."
"Then you're not coming with us," said Wyatt deliberately. "You can make your own way -- on foot."
The Greek put his hand inside his jacket and produced the gun, a stubby revolver. "You t'ink you are boss?" he asked with a smile, balancing the gun in his hand.
"Yes, I am," said Wyatt firmly. "You don't know a damn' thing about what a hurricane can do. You don't know the best place to shelter nor how to go about finding it. I do -- I'm the expert -- and that makes me boss."
Papegaikos came to a fast decision. He put the gun down gently on the bar counter and walked away from it, and Wyatt blew out his cheeks with a sigh of relief. Causton chuckled. "You'll do, Wyatt," he said. "You're really the boss now -- if you don't let that Warmington woman get on top of you. I hope you don't regret taking on the job."
Presently Julie came from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches. "This will do for a start. There's more coming." She jerked her head. "We're going to have trouble with that one," she said darkly.
Wyatt suppressed a groan. "What's the matter now?"
"She's an organizer -- you know, the type who gives the orders. She's been running me ragged in there, and she hasn't done a damned thing herself."
"Just ignore her," advised Causton. "She'll give up if no one takes notice of her."
"I'll do that," said Julie. She vanished from the bar again.
"Let's organize the water," said Wyatt.
He walked towards the bar but stopped when Causton said, "Wait! Listen!" He strained his ears and heard a whirring sound. "Someone's trying to start your car," said Causton.
"I'll check on that," said Wyatt and strode into the foyer. He went through the revolving door and saw a dim figure in the driving seat of his car and heard the whine of the starter. When he peered through the window he saw it was Dawson. He jerked the door open and said, "What the devil are you doing?"
Dawson started and turned his he ad with a jerk. "Oh, it's you," he said in relief. "I thought it was that other guy."
"Who was that?"
"One of those cops. He wa
s trying to start the car, but gave up and went away. I thought I'd check it, so I came out. It still won't start."
"You'd better get out and come back into the hotel," said Wyatt. "I thought that might happen so I put the rotor-arm in my pocket."
He stood aside and let Dawson step out. Dawson said, "Pretty smart, aren't you, Wyatt?"
"No sense in losing the car," said Wyatt. He looked past Dawson and stiffened. "Take it easy," he said in a low voice. "That copper is coming back -- with reinforcements."
"We'd better get into the hotel pretty damn' fast," said Dawson.
"Stay where you are and keep your mouth shut," said Wyatt quickly. "They might think we're on the run and follow us in -- we don't want to involve the others in anything."
Dawson tensed and then relaxed, and Wyatt watched the four policemen coming towards them. They did not seem in too much of a hurry and momentarily he wondered about that. They drew abreast and one of them turned. "Blanc, what are you doing?"
"I thought a thief was stealing my car."
The policeman gestured. "This man?"
Wyatt shook his head. "No, another man. This is my friend."
"Where do you live?"
Wyatt nodded towards the hotel. "The Imperiale."
"A rich man," the policeman commented. "And your friend?"
"Also in the hotel."
Dawson tugged at Wyatt's sleeve. "What the hell's going on?"
"What does your friend say?" asked the policeman.
"He does not understand this language," said Wyatt. "He was asking me what you were saying."
The policeman laughed. "We ask the same things, then." He stared at them. "It is not a good time to be on the streets, blanc. You would do well to stay in your rich hotel."
He turned away and Wyatt breathed softly in relief, but one of the other men muttered something and he turned back. "What is your country?" he asked.
"You would call me English," said Wyatt. "But I come from Grenada. My friend is American."
"An American 1" The policeman spat on the ground. "But you are English -- do you know an Englishman called Manning?"
Wyatt shook his head. "No." The name rang a faint bell but he could not connect it.
"Or Fuller?"
Something clicked. Wyatt said, "I think I've heard of them. Don't they live on the North Coast?"
"Have you ever met them?"
"I've never seen them in my life," said Wyatt truthfully.
One of the other policemen stepped forward and pointed at Wyatt. "This man works for the Americans at Cap Sarrat."
"Ah, Englishman; you told me you lived in the hotel. Why did you lie?"
"I didn't lie," said Wyatt. "I moved in there tonight; it's impossible to get to Cap Sarrat -- you know that."
The man seemed unconvinced. "And you still say you do not know the men, Fuller and Manning?"
"I don't know them," said Wyatt patiently.
The policeman said abruptly, "I'm sorry, blanc, but I must search you." He gestured to his colleagues who stepped forward quickly.
"Hey!" said Dawson in alarm. "What are these idiots doing?"
"Just keep still," said Wyatt through his teeth. "They want to search us. Let them do it -- the sooner it's over the better."
For the second time that day lie suffered the indignity of a rough search, but this time it was more thorough. The palace guards had been looking for weapons but these men were interested in more than that. All Wyatt's pockets were stripped and the contents handed to the senior policeman.
He looked with interest through Wyatt's wallet, checking very thoroughly. "It is true you work at Cap Sarrat," he said. "You have an American pass. What military work do you do there?"
"None," said Wyatt. "I'm a civilian scientist sent by the British Government. My work is with the weather."
The policeman smiled. "Or perhaps you are an American spy?"
"Nonsense!"
"Your friend is American. We must search him, too."
Hands were laid on Dawson and he struggled. "Take your filthy hands off me, you goddam black bastard," he shouted. The words meant nothing to the man searching him, but the tone of voice certainly did. A revolver jumped into his hand as though by magic and Dawson found himself staring into the muzzle.
"You damn' fool," said Wyatt. "Keep still and let them search you. They'll turn us loose when they don't find anything."
He almost regretted saying that when the policeman searching Dawson gave a cry of triumph and pulled an automatic from a holster concealed beneath Dawson's jacket. His senior said, "Ah, we have armed Americans wandering the streets of St. Pierre at a time like this. You will come with me -- both of you."
"Now, look here--" began Wyatt, and stopped as he felt the muzzle of a gun poke into the small of his back. He bit his lip as the senior policeman waved them forward. "You bloody fool I" he raged at Dawson. "Why the hell were you carrying a gun? Now we're going to land in one of Serrurier's gaols."
II
Causton came out of the deep shadows very slowly and stared up the street to where the little group was hurrying away, then he turned and hurried back into the hotel and across the foyer. Mrs. Warmington and Julie had just come in from the kitchen bearing more sandwiches and a pot of coffee, and Papegaikos was busy stacking bottles of soda-water on top of the bar counter.
"Wyatt and Dawson have been nabbed by the police," he announced. "Dawson was carrying a gun and the coppers didn't like it." He looked across at the Greek, who dropped his eyes.
Julie put down the coffee-pot with a clatter. "Where have they been taken?"
"I don't know," said Causton. "Probably to the local lock-up -- wherever that is. Do you know, Eumenides?"
"La Place de la Liberation Noire," said the Greek. He shook his head. "You won't get them out of there."
"We'll see about that," said Causton. "We'll bloody well have to get them out -- Wyatt had the rotor-arm of the car engine in his pocket, and now the cops have got it. The car's useless without it."
Mrs. Warmington said in a hard voice, "There are other cars."
"That's an idea," said Causton. "Do you have a car, Eumenides?"
"I 'ad," said Eumenides. "But the Army took all cars."
"It isn't a matter of a car," said Julie abruptly. "It's a matter of getting Dave and Dawson out of the hands of the police."
"We'll do that, too ; but a car's a useful thing to have right now." Causton rubbed his cheek. "It's a long way to the docks from here -- a bloody long walk."
Eumenides shrugged. "We wan' a car, not a Sheep."
"Not a what?" demanded Causton. "Oh -- a ship! No, I want the British Consul -- he lives down there. Maybe the power of the state allied to the power of the press will be enough to get Wyatt out of the jug -- I doubt if I could do it on my own." He looked regretfully at the sandwiches. "I suppose the sooner I go, the sooner we can spring Wyatt and Dawson."
"You've got time for a quick coffee," said Julie. "And you can take a pocketful of sandwiches."
"Thanks," said Causton, accepting the cup. "Does this place have cellars?"
"No -- no cellars," said Eumenides.
"A pity," said Causton. He looked about the bar. "I think you'd better get out of here. This kind of party always leads to a lot of social disorganization and the first thing looters go for is the booze. This is one of the first places they'll hit. I suggest you move up to the top floor for the time being; and a "barricade on the stairs might be useful."
He measured the Greek with a cold eye. "I trust you'll took after the ladies while I'm gone."
Eumenides smiled. "I see to ever't'ing."
That was no satisfactory answer but Causton had to put up with it. He finished off the hot coffee, stuffed some sandwiches into his pocket and said, "I'll be back as soon as I can -- with Wyatt, I hope."
"Don't forget Mr. Dawson," said Mrs. Warmington.
"I'll try not to," said Causton drily. "Don't leave the hotel; the party's split up enough as it is."
Eumenides said suddenly, "Rawst'orne 'as a car -- I seen it. It got them -- them special signs." He clicked his fingers in annoyance at his lack of English.
"Diplomatic plates?" suggested Causton helpfully.
"Tha's ri'."
"That should come in handy. Okay, I hope to be back in two hours. Cheerio!"
He left the bar and paused before he emerged into the street, carefully looking through the glass panels. Satisfied that there was no danger, he pushed through the revolving doors and set off towards the dock area, keeping well in to the side of the pavement. He checked on his watch and was surprised to find that it was not yet ten o'clock -- he had thought it much later. With a bit of luck he would be back at the Imperiale by midnight.
At first he made good time, flitting through the deserted streets like a ghost. There was not a soul in sight. As he got nearer the docks he soon became aware that he was entering what could only be a military staging area. There were many army trucks moving through the dark streets, headlights blazing, and from the distance came the tramp of marching men.
He stopped and ducked into a convenient doorway and took a folded map from his pocket, inspecting it by the carefully shaded light of his torch. It would be the devil of a job getting to Rawsthorne. Close by was the old fortress of San Juan which Serrurier had chosen to use as his arsenal -- no wonder there were so many troops in the area. It was from here that his units in the Negrito were being supplied with ammunition and that accounted for the stream of trucks.
Causton looked closer at the map and tried to figure out a new route. It would add nearly an hour to his journey, but there was no help for it. As he stood there the faraway thunder of the guns tailed off and there was dead silen ce. He looked up and down the street and then crossed it, the leather soles of his shoes making more noise than he cared for.
He got to the other side and turned a comer, striking away from San Juan fortress and, as he hurried, he wondered what the silence of the guns presaged. He had covered many bush. 79 fire campaigns in his career -- the Congo, Vietnam, Malaysia -- and he had a considerable fund of experience to draw upon in making deductions.
Bagley, Desmond - Wyatts Hurricane Page 8