by Basil Copper
“I’m sorry, too,” I said. “But we haven’t been formally introduced. Besides, these walls are too thin.”
She chuckled throatily. “I take back what I said earlier. You have the makings of a gentleman. The offer’s only open for a limited period.”
“I’ll take a rain check on it,” I said. I was standing now, quite close to the bed and she put up her face very quickly and kissed me once, warmly, on the mouth.
“Look after yourself,” she said softly. “There are some nasty characters around this island.”
“Is this the treatment you give to all the customers?” I said lightly.
“Only the special ones,” she said. “And I shouldn’t be warning you like this, but I’ve taken a fancy to you.”
“I thought it was something,” I said. I fingered the place where she’d kissed me. I could feel it still, way down to my shoes. There was a swish as she turned back the bed-clothes. I pretended not to look in the dressing table mirror on the opposite side of the room. She put on the polka-dot bikini that she’d left on a chair on the other side of the bed. A cream silk dressing-gown covered that; I faced round again as she wriggled into a pair of mules. She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and gave me a last smile.
“What do you do for a living when you’re not lying in other people’s beds?” I said.
“I don’t do anything,” she said. “I don’t need to work.”
“That’s nice, too,” I said. I watched her out. She didn’t say good night. After the door shut behind her I locked it but the way this place was run any passing drunk with a toothpick could have made open house with my room. I had just got my pyjama trousers on when there came a tap on the door. I opened it a crack.
Diane Morris peeked in round the edge of the door. She looked my physique over with relish.
“My, you are virile,” she said.
“Correspondence course,” I said. “I get my muscles next week.”
She grinned. “I just came back to tell you I’m in No. 27 down the hall.”
“I know,” I told her. “I looked it up yesterday.” Her smile matched my own. When I heard the door of her own room finally close I locked the door of mine for the night and leaned against it while I finished my cigarette. Before getting into bed I wandered out on to the balcony. A dollar moon was riding high, picking out the fretted edges of the wavelets in front of the hotel.
A hairy-chested ape was still practising high-dives in the pool under an arc-light. As I watched he cut down smoothly from the top-most board and entered the water with the clean-cut action of a door-bolt rammed home; his feet were drawn after him through a slit in the water with hardly a ripple. I sighed and went back into the bedroom.
I stubbed out my cigarette in the tray next to Diane’s and almost regretted my sudden attack of purity. When I got into bed I had a job in sleeping properly; I could smell that damn perfume all night long and when I slept I dreamed that her head was next to mine. I woke in the night. There was no sound but the muffled chumble of the sea; I turned the pillow over to get rid of some of the scent and after that I slept better.
2
Next morning I was stopped in the lobby when I went in to breakfast. The manager called me over to the little cubbyhole on one side of the main reception desk that served him as an office. He handed me a buff-coloured envelope addressed to me in a scrawling inked handwriting that I didn’t recognise.
“This came for you yesterday, Mr. Faraday,” he said. “Sorry, but I forgot to give it to you what with all the rumpus and everything.”
“That’s all right,” I said, pushing it into an inside pocket of my jacket as I went in to meet Stella. I had only time to notice it had been posted in Stanley Bay a couple of days earlier.
I had arranged to go down there to see the Colonel along around mid-morning, so after I got Stella settled under a sun-shade out in front of the hotel, I went around to check on the Caddy. They had a big awning in back specially for guests’ cars and after I had checked the radiator and the state of the gas I went on back up to my bedroom for a wash. I hadn’t seen Diane but I had asked Stella to keep a discreet eye on her and let me know who she met and talked to during the day; but I hadn’t told her why, of course. Clay hadn’t shown for breakfast.
Now, back in the bedroom I put my coat over the back of a chair and indulged in the luxury of dousing my head in semi-cold water from the basin. I combed my hair and went out to the balcony; the railing was too hot for the hands so I stood back in the shade of the awning and looked out to sea. It was a beautiful morning and any other time I should have enjoyed the view but right now I had too much on my mind to be communing with nature.
I could see Stella lying partly under a striped umbrella; she had on a white two-piece. As I went to go back in I saw a familiar tawny-yellow mane on a girl just about to go in off the top diving board down at the pool. She had on an emerald-green one-piece sharkskin swimsuit and she streaked through the air in a perfect dive before easing herself almost gently into the water. It was Diane, but I hadn’t noticed her before because I was looking for the wrong components.
She swam to the side of the pool in a couple of lazy strokes and shook the water from her hair in a casual movement which sent a shower of sparkling droplets in a wide circle about her. I looked from her to Stella and then back again. Nice as Diane was, Stella had the definite edge on her, I decided. Largely because she was unexplored territory, I suspected. I went on back into my room and was about to pick up my coat when I remembered the envelope.
I took it out and crackled it in my hand before opening it. I didn’t know anyone here. It was decidedly curious. There wasn’t any percentage in standing there so I tore the thing open. There was another enclosure inside, addressed to a woman in Chicago. I’ll get to that in a moment. The letter, or note was written in crudely inked capitals in the same hand as the address on the main envelope. What made it memorable for me, though, was the wrapping on the message. I pulled out five C notes. In American currency too. This was nice payment for the fatigue of reading what was written on it. I hoped this was the beginning of a regular correspondence.
The letter was short and to the point. It said: MR. FARADAY, YOU WON’T KNOW ME BUT I READ YOUR NAME IN THE PAPERS. WHEN YOU GET BACK TO THE STATES PLEASE HAVE THE ENCLOSED LETTER DELIVERED PERSONALLY. I HOPE THE 5OO DOLLARS WILL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE. J.M.
I sat down and lit a cigarette. I sat and smoked and looked at the note and the currency and the enclosure and it seemed to get hotter than ever.
“If this means what I think it does, you’re a mean old bastard,” I said to no-one in particular. But I was thinking of the man in the white drill suit and the red tie who was now lying in the down-town morgue. If he had posted the letter in Stanley Bay two afternoons ago someone might remember him. And he must have been picked up by the two friends in the row-boat a short while after. Something else for Colonel Clay to think about. The Ancient Mariner might remember something too.
After a little further thought I tore open the enclosure. It was addressed to a Mrs. J. Melissa at an address in West Side Chicago. I sat until my cigarette burned down nearly to my fingers. Things were beginning to add up. I thought I had what Diane’s friends were looking for. It was time to see Colonel Clay. I went downstairs, had a few words with Stella before I came away and drove off down the coast to Stanley Bay.
For once I didn’t notice the heat; the white dust of the road settled on the bonnet and drifted into the seats but I was so pre-occupied that I didn’t even blast out a coloured man on an ancient green bicycle who shot out of a side road as I was getting near the town. Barney’s call was due in around midday and it wasn’t yet eleven, but my news would take a bit of chewing over. And I wanted to settle one or two things with Clay before I spoke to Barney.
I slid into a vacant lot outside the Stanley Bay Police Office, next to Clay’s scarlet sports job and one of the big police trucks. I went on into the office.
The same bored-looking sergeant was fly-swatting at his desk, another constable manned the telephone switchboard. The sergeant smiled and waved me on in. I knocked at Clay’s door and when I heard him call out I walked through. Clay was sitting at his desk with Inspector Phillips by his side. They were looking at a map spread out in front of them. Clay got up as I came through the door.
“Sorry about breakfast,” he said. “Something came up. Take a seat, Michael,” he added cheerfully. “We were just closing shop on the deep-freeze plants.”
Phillips got up with a smile and seemed about to excuse himself but Colonel Clay stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I want you to stay, Ian,” he said. “This concerns us all.”
Phillips sat down again. Clay turned back to me. He buzzed for the sergeant and presently a constable brought in three coffees in plastic cups. The coffee was hot and tasted pretty good, judged by British standards.
“How did you make out?” I asked Clay. I was referring to the case in general terms but he got my message. 1 looked out of the window at the big yacht riding in the bay. He shook his head.
“No movement there for the moment. We haven’t disturbed them—yet.”
“Anything on the deep-freeze angle?” I asked.
Phillips nodded. “We found very slight traces of frozen blood on the floor under the ice. It was so minute the men who committed the murder—and Dr. Griffith has conclusively proved that—overlooked it. On analysis it matches up with Grosvenor’s group.”
“That just about sews it up,” I said. “Except for Henaway.” I was referring to the labourer at the Cucumber Cay deep-freeze plant.
Clay shook his head again. “We haven’t turned him up yet. It may take a few days.”
I looked out again to where The Gay Lady swung with the tide.
“It must be getting pretty crowded aboard there,” I said. The Colonel smiled thinly.
“An assumption but a fairly logical one,” he said. “We hadn’t overlooked that possibility.”
“Did you question Long John Silver?” I asked.
Clay knotted his brows and then broke into a short laugh.
“You mean the dockside philosopher?” he said. “That’s Stan Travis. He’s a local character. Garrulous and a perfect pest but pretty harmless. He thinks he might be able to identify one of the two men who took Grosvenor out fishing.”
“What about the boat-hire people?” I asked.
It was Phillips’ turn to smile. “The boat was hired by phone in the name of Jones,” he said.
“Not very inventive, are they?” I said. “So?”
“They picked the boat up in the lunch-hour when the operator had closed up and gone for a meal,” said Phillips. “They came back late and left the hire-money with Travis. Apparently he looks after things for the odd tip when the owner is away.”
“So the boat-hire people didn’t see the two men at all,” I said. “Convenient.”
“Fortunately,” said the Colonel, “the boat hadn’t been used since. We went for a ride this morning.”
I said nothing. Clay went on, “Ian had a bright idea. He measured the fuel in the tank. Then we filled up and took a trip out to Cucumber Cay and back. The amount of fuel used just about matched that in the tank when the two men brought the boat back. And it had been full when the hire-period began.”
I looked admiringly at Clay and then back to Phillips.
“It’s a pleasure to work with you gentlemen,” I said.
Then it was my play. I threw down the envelope and the enclosure on Clay’s desk.
“From a Mr. Melissa,” I said. “It’s my belief that he and Grosvenor add up to the same party.”
Clay looked surprised. He read the note, examined the envelope and the money, passed them to Phillips and then took up the second envelope and the enclosure. He put it on one side and paused long enough to ask me a question.
“As a matter of interest where would he have heard your name?”
I lit a cigarette. Clay leaned across the desk to light it for me. I stared out of the window across at The Gay Lady.
“He comes from Chicago,” I said. “The papers were full of this Washington espionage business a month or two ago. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous at that time.”
The Colonel nodded. “I see. He may well have seen your photograph.”
“And anyone could have read my name in the hotel register,” I said. “We didn’t come incognito. And he had a room only one flight above us.”
The Colonel spread out the single sheet of paper the second stamped envelope had contained. On the uppermost side was written in the same capitals as the message to me: JANET-PUT THIS IN A SAFE PLACE.
There was no signature, nothing else. On the reverse of the sheet was a drawing; it consisted of little else but grid lines. Across the surface of the sheet were scattered small groups of figures; 7, 14, 12, 10 and so on. Near the bottom of the sheet was a number of groups of figures and letters.
“What do you make of this, Michael?” said the Colonel. “Looks like some sort of map-reference,” I said guardedly. “This isn’t really my strong point.”
The Colonel stroked his chin. “Shouldn’t be too difficult,” he said. “It’s obviously a map tracing of an area somewhere near this island. The small figures representing soundings in fathoms. The other groups are the bearing of something in latitude and longitude.”
Phillips grinned. “Hidden treasure, sir?”
The Colonel shot him a humorous glance. “And why not, my boy?” he said. “You’re getting too cynical. I think we’ve got something important here.”
“But it isn’t much use without the actual chart,” I said. The Colonel clicked his teeth with the nearest thing to annoyance I had seen since I knew him.
“Simplest thing in the world,” he said. “This is a tracing. We can soon match it up in the standard book of charts. The soundings alone make identification relatively simple. Of course, the actual bearings may be in code or scrambled or otherwise transposed. But we have people who can soon break that down.”
He sat down at his desk again, his eyes shining like a boy who’d found an unattended candy stall.
“Let’s hear your theory, Michael.”
“Grosvenor or Melissa wanted to hide something and chose me as the messenger,” I said. “He posted the letter but the opposition got to him soon afterwards. Sixty-four dollar question is what the prize is. Barney may help there. But ten to one the answer’s on that yacht.”
Colonel Clay’s eyes looked half asleep as he screwed up his face against the sun spilling in at the window.
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” he said. “We shall know soon enough if your Chicago friend is up to his job What’s your idea on all this, Ian?”
Phillips shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I haven’t really given it much thought at the moment, sir. A robbery perhaps. Or thieves fallen out? I’m inclined to think that the hidden object might not be money at all. There’s the practical difficulty of Grosvenor carting currency or securities out here with him. He flew in from the States and the Customs checks are pretty stringent. We’ve heard nothing from that end, remember.”
The Colonel leaned back in his chair. “A good point, Ian,” he said. “I must confess I hadn’t worked that one out myself. The probability seems to point to a document which might give directions to the whereabouts of an item of value.”
“There is another thing, sir,” said Phillips after a short silence. “And that in turn depends on the map reference, as to whether the location of the object is on land—that is, on an island—or whether it’s under the sea.”
The Colonel and I exchanged glances; this was getting entertaining. Clay looked at his watch.
“A quarter to twelve,” he said. “We’d better stand by for your call, Michael.” He nodded to Phillips. “I should get busy on the charts, Ian, if I were you. Make a copy of that drawing first and give me back the original. I’ll put that in the safe and ma
ke sure of it. Let me know if you get stuck.”
Phillips put on his cap and said, “I’ll be up in the Records Office, sir, if you want me.” He smiled at me, saluted and went out.
Clay got up, glanced at his watch again and took me by the arm. I followed him into the outer room. I had a momentary pang. I’d said nothing so far about Diane Morris. I was keeping her in reserve. Whether for myself or for the Colonel’s information I wasn’t quite sure. But if I told him then I had to let Stella in too. And I didn’t want to spoil her holiday. Or mine for that matter. I walked over to the switchboard.
3
I sat and talked into the phone while Barney listened. Colonel Clay stood in front of the switchboard. The sergeant and two constables gathered in a semi-circle while the constable at the switchboard sat with his fingers tensed nervously, worried in case the link might be broken. I told Barney the set-up as we knew it; what we had discovered, what we thought might be behind it. I could feel Clay fidgeting as the minutes ticked by.
When I stopped Barney started. I’d picked a good man. He’d got all the information we wanted. I beckoned to the sergeant and he slid a note-pad across the table to me. I jotted down a few facts as Barney went on.
“Johnny Melissa,” I said, scribbling. “That figures.” I whistled at his next piece of information. That made the whole thing jell. “What about the little guy?” I asked.
“You were right again,” said Barney. “Joe Scarpini. Usually works with a big fellow built like the side of a house.”
“We’ve met,” I said. “Otto mean anything to you?”
“Otto Schultz,” he said. He sounded surprised. “Looks like you got yourself a Chicago Convention out there.”
I got busy with the pad again as he went on. I remembered the little man now; Scarpini. I hadn’t any special reason to recall his name but I figured that quite a lot of people in Chicago had. He was real mean.
“You’ll let us know if you come up with anything, won’t you?” said Barney. “The City of Chicago has a personal interest in most of that money.”