The Money Stones

by Ian St. James

  'Perhaps we could give your people a hand, sir?' the constable offered. 'We need another look round ourselves.'

  I rang for Jean, glad to get rid of them. The sergeant checked himself as he followed her to the door. 'We'll want a formal statement from you later of course, sir.' I nodded and he half turned away, and then he added, 'By the way, you did say you were alone, didn't you? When you discovered the burglary?'

  'That's right.' I feigned preoccupation with the papers on the desk, anxious for the police to be gone. After a second's pause I looked up, dismissively, and straight into Jean's eyes. There was no escaping the surprised disbelief in her expression. It was written all over her face. She hesitated, as if about to say something, thought better of it, and led them from the room.

  I went to the sideboard in search of a drink. Lies are the refuge of incompetents. Or so I've always believed, priding myself on controlling my affairs so as to have little need of them. But now secrecy was leading to evasion and half-truths turning to downright deceit. Not telling Hallsworth about Sue. Misleading the consortium about the commitment fee. Two lies to the police about the burglary. At least one suspected by Jean. It was beginning to get complicated, one lie inevitably leading to another in the nature of things.

  I was still nursing the drink when the telephone buzzed. 'Mr Townsend? My name's McNeil. Kirk McNeil. Harry Smithers will have mentioned me.'

  I frowned, and was about to contradict him when I realised he must be the geologist. 'I've an appointment with you at two-thirty,' he said. 'But as I'm just round the corner now, and as it's almost lunchtime, I wondered if you were free to join me?'

  I jumped at the chance to escape from the office. 'Where are you?'

  'Right now I'm in the lobby of the Dorchester.'

  Good God, was the Dorchester the only hotel in London? First Pepalasis. With Hallsworth there by now. And now Kirk McNeil. My memory stirred. And Sue's maiden aunt, if you believed fairy stories. Never had my preference for Trader Vic's in the Hilton been greater and after promising McNeil I'd be there in ten minutes, I told Jean and left.

  With a name like Kirk McNeil I half expected a giant Scot in a kilt. But he was three inches shorter than me with something of the Greek's broad shoulders and strong arms about him. A brown weathered face, bright eyes webbed with wrinkles from searching a thousand horizons; wearing a grey suit and a friendly smile.

  He told me about himself over lunch and I enjoyed listening, liking him from the start. His Scot's burr was almost undetectable after a lifetime spent overseas, and if anything his accent sounded more American for most of the time. He was totally without complacency, but exuded the confidence of a man who knows his own worth and doesn't waste time envying others theirs. His business card described him as a mining consultant and from the conversation, I gathered he'd mined anything and everything just about everywhere.

  'How did you become a consultant?' I wanted to know. 'Presumably you're some kind of geologist?'

  'What are my formal qualifications, you mean?' He grinned. 'None really. But I couldn't earn the fees I do without a fair knowledge of geology, petrology, mineralogy and geochemistry, for instance.'

  It was a typical answer. A disarming disclaimer qualified by a whole slab of expertise which left me bewildered. I ran into another surprise when I asked how he became involved in our project.

  'Harry Smithers cabled me. I was in British Columbia when he tracked me down. Then we spoke on the phone and he persuaded me back here to look at your job. Said it wouldn't take more than a month.'

  'You've met Harry before?'

  'Sure. Australia. Kalgoorlie and Boulder in seventy-one. I was retained by Western Mining then and they asked me to take Harry round their nickel interests for a couple of weeks. Nice fellow.'

  I nodded. 'So Harry's briefed you on what's going on?'

  McNeil grinned. 'Better than that. We couldn't get hold of you on Friday and Harry knew where your Greek was staying, so I've been to see him for myself. Just left him when I phoned you as a matter of fact.'

  I began to feel out of touch. 'So now you know as much as I do,' I said, and then I asked, 'What did you make of Pepalasis?'

  'Y'mean do I believe his story?' McNeil frowned. 'It's possible. Just.'

  My hopes soared sky high and it took an effort to keep the excitement out of my voice when I spoke to him. 'But what about this refusal to disclose the location of the island? Doesn't that strike you - as, well - odd?'

  He shook his head. 'Don't you believe it. In.this business secrecy's everything. Everyone will tell you stories about claim jumping and most of them are true. And it gets worse. You can be a couple of hundred miles deep in Western Australian desert, drop your pants for a crap and some flaming helicopter will buzz over from the next hill to see what's going on.'

  Excitement flickered into alarm as I remembered the missing map and the tongue-lashing Hallsworth had given me earlier. I decided not to mention it, at least until I knew McNeil better, so I settled back in my chair and encouraged him to tell me about the mining business. And I couldn't have found a better teacher.

  'What about Pepalasis?' I asked at one point. 'From the way he talks he's done some mining in his time hasn't he?'

  'Superficial,' McNeil sounded positive. 'Oh, I daresay he's knocked around a few mines. But he's more real estate than prospector.'

  I must have raised my eyebrows because he went on to explain. 'There are lots of guys calling themselves prospectors who are mainly pegging blocks, you'd call it staking claims I imagine. And then selling on. Reckon our friend Aristotle's one of them.'

  'But he told me he wants to mine himself?'

  'Yeah, he told me that too. Damned if I believe him though.'

  We talked for a couple of hours and it was past three-thirty by the time we left the restaurant. McNeil was catching the evening flight to Glasgow and spending a day with relatives, but he promised to call me as soon as he got back to town on Thursday. And on the way back to Hill Street I was more excited than I'd been since I met Hallsworth. Whatever my earlier reservations had been, they weren't shared by the experts. That much was becoming increasingly obvious. Suppose it came off? And we discovered the biggest diamond field in the world? There'd be an absolute fortune on the table. Just waiting to be picked up. Suddenly the prospect of half a million in Zurich stopped being a pipe dream and came a whole lot closer to reality.

  Then I ran into Pepalasis. He was sitting on the chesterfield in my office, worry beads clicking like a demented cricket and looking sadder than a man in a condemned cell. And Hallsworth was doing his pacing bit. Up and down the same stretch of carpet like a ploughman digging the world's deepest furrow.

  'So who's having the baby?' I asked, and wished I hadn't.

  'Ari's worried sick about this burglary,' Hallsworth snapped. 'To the point of calling the whole deal off.'

  I sat down. Ari now, was it? Ari and Rupe no doubt. Very pally. But the threat to kill the deal worried me. Just when I was getting used to the idea of being a millionaire. 'Look, I know it's a hell of a shock,' I said, trying to calm him down. 'But I can't believe the burglary had anything to do with the map. Dammit, hardly anyone knew I had it! Something else must have been taken. I can't think what, but Jean's still checking.'

  'Jean's finished,' Hallsworth shook his head. 'Nothing else is missing.'

  'Oh,' I sagged in the chair. 'Does Jean know?'

  'She thinks you've got Ari's stuff in the flat if that's what you mean. And I suggest she's left thinking that.'

  'Yes. I suppose so. I've been out. Meeting the consortium's geologist.' I wondered why I was making excuses.

  'We know,' Hallsworth said, and to my relief he sat down. But he still looked very angry. 'We've got an ultimatum on our hands. Ari's leaving for the island on Saturday. The deal with the consortium must be wrapped up by then. And you and this McNeil guy have to be on the same plane out of London. Otherwise no deal.'

  'But it's Tuesday now,' I complained. 'May
be Harry Smithers won't agree -'

  'He'll bloody well have to agree,' Hallsworth interrupted hotly. 'And there's something else. A few other conditions. I've made a list of them. It's on your desk. As I said, we're dealing with an ultimatum.'

  I glanced at Pepalasis who scowled back. 'My island's threatened,' he said simply. 'I must get there as quickly as possible.'

  'I've been on to Durbeville's,' Hallsworth interrupted with brisk efficiency. 'Poignton's standing by if you want him. And Jean phoned Smithers and he'll see you at ten in the morning. Meanwhile, I suggest you say nothing to the police and the minimum necessary to Smithers, providing he understands the urgency. And drop everything else until we've put this one together.' He stood up. 'I'm going to walk Ari back to the Dorchester now, but I'll phone you later. Okay?'

  Okay or not, they were going, Pepalasis rising to his feet as if controlled by a string from Hallsworth's pocket. At the door, Hallsworth hesitated, let Pepalasis walk ahead into the. lobby, half closed the door between them and whispered to me, 'He's more frightened than a virgin at a gang bang. I think I can calm him down, if you can swing the consortium into line. But Christ, Mike, we've got to deliver. And fast!'

  He was gone before I could reply. I settled behind the desk to read the handwritten list of new conditions, knowing I wouldn't like any of them and expecting the consortium to like them even less. And by the time I reached the last one, the optimism I'd felt earlier had vanished. As far as I could see, the deal was as dead as a lost island.

  Six

  Wednesday passed in a flurry of meetings. Harry Smithers first, then round to Durbeville's, and finally a six hour marathon back at the A. W.F. offices as Poignton, Harry and I tried to reconcile ourselves to the Greek's extra demands. Harry didn't like them and I can't say I blamed him. But he didn't turn them down out of hand the way I imagined he would, and by six o'clock Poignton was dictating the basis of a compromise to an assistant, while Harry and I sipped sherry and listened. The lawyer earned his corn that day, stripping the agreement of the inessentials and simplifying it to a dozen clauses. Most of them gave Pepalasis what he wanted and about all we had salvaged was our right to withdraw if McNeil's report was unfavourable. Still, it was the best we could devise. Harry would have to sell it to his members. McNeil would need to confirm his acceptance. And I had to persuade Pepalasis that it was the nearest anyone in their right minds would go to meeting his terms. If everyone said 'yes' together, the agreement would be signed on Friday and I'd be on a plane to God knows where on Saturday.

  I phoned Pepalasis at the Dorchester. He sounded more relaxed than I had expected and invited me cheerfully enough to join him for dinner, even mentioning that Rupert might be calling in as well. I accepted and said I'd be there by seven-thirty, glad that Hallsworth might be along in support. After that I had another sherry while the draft was typed, caught a cab to Hill Street, had a quick wash and brush up, changed my shirt and walked the two hundred yards to the Dorchester.

  I went directly up to suite two-eleven. Surprisingly there was no answer to my knock, and I stood uncertainly in the corridor for a minute or two. I wondered if Pepalasis might be waiting in the American bar downstairs, then I knocked again, harder this time, hearing music from the other side of the door. But apart from that, nothing. I half turned, thinking to check at the desk in the lobby. A final rap on the door with my knuckles, a quick rattle of the handle. And surprise - as the door opened under the pressure of my hand.

  The sitting room looked much as mine had when I returned from North Wales. Ransacked! I stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind me, half imagining the burglar still in one of the other rooms. Then six paces at a charge to take me through the open door into the dining room. The same chaos. Four quick steps into the bedroom. Music blared full volume from the bedside speakers, wardrobes gaped, drawers hung empty on their runners, clothes piled high on the bed, linings ripped from jackets, laundry scattered. I fumbled with the radio, turning the switch the wrong way, making it worse before killing the noise. I sensed someone. But saw no-one. Only heard the sound of water. Cascading water. Torrents of water. Bath water.

  Pepalasis lay on his back in the bath. Fully dressed except for his jacket. The water around his body was stained red. I looked at the taps, stupidly expecting to see them pouring blood. The level of the bath was chest high and rising. The Greek's eyes were closed, his nose was bruised and swollen, and a deep gash spewed blood from his forehead. There was no chain? A chain to the bath plug? I plunged an arm elbow deep to find the plug and felt only smooth metal, unyielding under my prising fingers. At the other end of the bath I got both hands under Pepalasis's armpits and heaved, not knowing whether he was dead or alive. His body rose a few inches, sliding up the back of the bath, but the weight was too much and I let go, gasping for breath. The level of water lapped his chin. A second's panic: The taps! Turn the bloody taps off! I sat panting on the edge of the bath, water and blood dripping from my clothes. The bath stopper? Of course! Controlled by the lever between the taps. I pushed it, choking with relief as the level fell rapidly, my ears pounding with the sounds of my rasping breath and the escaping rush of water. Pepalasis groaned.

  Then I heard another sound. From the bedroom? I froze. Only my eyes moving, hunting in vain for some kind of weapon. A muffled curse from outside. Chance it. Count on his surprise being greater than mine. I moved quickly back into the bedroom, fists balled and ready. The room was empty. But there had been a noise. I was sure of it. The dining room? The door, closed when I'd left it, was now half open. For the love of God, find a weapon! but I was already throwing the door wide open and charging through. A man with his back to me in the opposite doorway. Tall, my height. He began to turn the instant I decided to hit him and ask questions later. And he was turning fast as I crossed the room. Turning just fast enough to stop me dead in my tracks. Hallsworth!

  'What the bloody hell?' I think we both said it together. I did a quick about face. 'The bathroom. Quickly. Pepalasis -beaten up.'

  A few minutes later we had Pepalasis on the bed, sodden clothing ruining the silk cover. He was conscious now, groaning and swearing in Greek as Hallsworth sponged his face to examine the cut on his forehead. I got the brandy bottle from the sitting room and hurried back with three glasses, not knowing whose need was the greatest.

  We got the whole story fifteen minutes later. Someone had knocked on the door at about seven. Pepalasis opened it, thinking it was me running early. Two men, both wearing stocking masks, had hit him before he could even cry out. After that he couldn't remember much. Except noises music blaring, rushing water, more punches - and then oblivion.

  Hallsworth took over. Using the telephone in the sitting room he made all the arrangements while I helped the Greek to find a suit with a lining to its name. His wound had stopped bleeding and though unsteady on his feet he was strong and recovering fast, helped by the brandy and a hand from me.

  Ten minutes later we left. Crossing the main lobby, experiencing the same sensation as I used to have on Army night patrols. A burning conviction that someone would jump me at any second. But no-one did. And minutes later we were both in a cab heading towards Sloane Square.

  Hallsworth paid for three rooms he had booked at the Carlton Tower, and after showing ourselves around reception for five minutes, we went upstairs. Not that we stayed for long. The bell boy had hardly whistled back down the corridor when Hallsworth was on the phone to the desk, telling them to get a cab down to the underground car park.

  'Order food and drinks for three, Mike,' he said to me. 'And stay in your room all evening.' Suddenly his expression softened into a smile. 'By the way, I forgot to ask, how did your meetings go today ?'

  Wordlessly I fumbled for the draft agreement and handed it to him.

  'I'll phone you later,' he said, turning to Pepalasis. 'Come on Ari, let's get you out of town.'

  'Hang on - ' was about as far as I got, before the door closed. I was fuming! And pretty mixed
up about Hallsworth. His behaviour seemed absurdly melodramatic. He'd even spent the cab ride staring out of the window - in case we were being followed! And now this business? Taking three rooms here when I had a perfectly comfortable flat a mile away. Crazy! All right, two burglaries and a beating up were reasons enough for caution, I'd agreed to that. So call the police. Instead of this cloak-and-dagger nonsense. But he'd taken over so completely, muttering all the time about publicity, that I'd never had time to finish the argument.

  I was still simmering two hours later when the phone rang.

  'Comfortable?' It was Hallsworth.

  'Where the devil are you?'

  'Tell you tomorrow. Any callers?'

  'Oh sure. I'm having a bloody party up here.'

  'It's only for tonight. Anyway I've got some good news for you. Better dust your passport down. Pepalasis has agreed the contract.'

  I tried to hide my exasperation but only succeeded in sounding grumpy. 'Let's hope Harry Smithers talks his people round. And that McNeil buys it.'

  'You'll persuade them.' He sounded full of confidence. 'Well have a good night - and pleasant dreams.'

  But the dreams came later. I was too excited to sleep. Two days and we could be on our way. I could be on my way. To half a million.

  Seven

  'Pepalasis must be stark, staring mad!' McNeil snapped, not even bothering to sit down. 'It's like asking a doctor if you're sick and then refusing an examination. I'm not allowed to take so much as a bucket and spade to this island. You know that, don't you? No instruments! No facilities! Damn all! How the hell does he think I work? Sniff with my bloody nose?'

  I sighed and let him shout at me for half an hour. It was to be expected, and in truth my sympathies were on his side. It would be his name and reputation on that report. He had good reason to be nervous.

  He had telephoned as soon as he had arrived back from Glasgow, and then had come straight round to Hill Street. Well, almost straight round. Unfortunately Harry Smithers had got to him first with news of the added restrictions.