“Yes, sir!”
“Don’t let him near that case with the carving, understand?”
“No, sir!”
“I’ll be back with lights and reinforcements. You wait.”
“Yes, sir—” Triumph suddenly competed with growling in the corporal’s voice. “I have him, Major!”
“Hey!” Jamison yelped, outraged at the sudden hands upon him.
“You cut that out,” the corporal said. There was the sound of a heavy slap.
“Hey!” Jamison responded, and that was the last intelligible sound Kek heard. He trotted silently down the steps, holding the railing, counting the stairs down as he had on the way up. No stumble at this point! He felt the landing underfoot, turned, and went down the balance of the steps to the corridor. Behind him muffled protests and growls alternated as he felt his way along the smooth walls into the storage room.
He closed the door behind him, risked a second’s flash from his light for direction, and then felt his way in darkness to the outer door. He pushed it open carefully to find a tense André waiting. André instantly shut the door and turned the key. As he pulled the key from the lock he looked at Kek.
“How did it go?”
“Fine.”
“You got it?”
“I have it.”
“Then what took you so long!” André’s relief almost caused him to raise his voice in that anger that so often comes when danger is past. “I was about to go back in and see what the trouble was!”
“No trouble,” Kek told him with a grin, and peeked over the edge of the areaway. All was clear. “It was just that I was having such a good time I hated to leave.…”
They were through town and on the edge of the deep woods where the dinghy was stored when the first long, baying siren vibrated the night air, drowning out the sounds coming faintly from the bars along Sucker Street. Kek glanced over his shoulder without stopping his even pace, or hurrying it, either. In his mind’s eye he could picture the uproar back at the museum and in the barracks. Unless, of course, the siren was in response to some fire in some part of town, but Kek did not believe it for a moment. Not even the most match-conscious corporal could be expected to stick around in darkness forever when all he had to do was to march up to the front door and open it. The siren was repeated, and then joined by a second. They seemed to be echoing from different parts of the town. Kek glanced up at André.
“Now do you understand why we couldn’t stop for a beer?”
“I knew it all along,” André said, and grinned. The success of their mission was as exhilarating as it was surprising. “All I’m saying is that it’s a shame.”
“True,” Kek admitted. “Burglary is thirsty work.”
“Walking is thirsty work,” André said, and glanced back over his shoulder. The siren had paused in Sucker Street; he could picture the soldiers pouring from their trucks, starting the search of the bars and the ships at the pier.
“What surprises me,” Kek went on, “is that you were able to manage the burglary of the Louvre without an assistant standing by with a keg of beer.”
“It was a sacrifice,” André said with a grin, and dropped from the road to the small incline leading down into the woods where the dinghy awaited them. It was a well-timed move; they had barely made the protection of the trees when a police car, siren wide open, rounded the corner, its spotlight sweeping the area. They watched the lights from the car disappear around a curve and then made their way to the small boat. To Kek’s relief it was still there, and moments later they had launched it and were pulling for Beachcomber.
A fringe of waning moon had arisen and was trying to edge its way through the wisps of cloud that had crept up; it tipped the slowly rising and falling surf with touches of silver. André leaned into the oars with a will. Behind them the central siren rose and fell, coming, Kek assumed, from the barracks, while the whoop-whoop of speeding police cars angled in to them from various parts of the town.
“Busy little bees,” Kek commented, and pressed one arm against the carving inside his shirt.
André merely grunted and pulled harder. Beachcomber seemed to arise from the night like an apparition, a blacker shadow in the gloom, swaying evenly on the sea. André did not seem at all surprised at the ease with which he had located the boat; he pulled alongside, held the dinghy in place until Kek was aboard, and then came up the ladder lightly. One mighty heave and the dinghy was dripping on board. André went forward, raised the anchor, and dropped it against a deck stanchion; there was little time for customary shipboard neatness. He came back and looked at Huuygens.
“The engines are going to make noise.”
“Have you ever been in a car with a siren going in your ear?” Huuygens shook his head. “With that racket nobody will hear.”
“Right.” André nodded and started first one and then the second of the large diesels. He swung the wheel and headed away from the glow that marked Cap Antoine. Somewhere on shore a powerful beacon started to criss-cross the sky, but whether this new activity was supposed to help solve the robbery at the museum was difficult to say. Kek had a feeling that in the excitement the people at the barracks had probably turned on everything they had. The boom of cannon would not have surprised him greatly.
He dropped down to the small cabin, made sure the blackout curtains were tautly in place, and then turned on the lamp over one of the bunks. He sat down and brought the carving from his shirt, turning it in his hands, marveling that he had actually gotten away with burglary—or, at least, so far. Then, with a sigh, he put the activity of the evening behind him and bent to study his acquisition more closely.
His first attention was directed to determining the authenticity of the work, for it would have been truly tragic to have gone through all they had experienced—not to mention the beer André had not gone through—and discover they had picked up a substitute. But there was little doubt he was indeed holding a genuine Chang Tzu T’sien, and an excellent one, at that. The smooth patina of the ivory, still amazingly white after the centuries, the exactness of the artistry, left little question. This matter settled, Kek finally got down to considering the piece itself and had to admit at once that Victor Girard, whatever his other failings, was a man of excellent taste.
The carving was truly exquisite. Kek stared in wonder, appreciating the delicate nuances with which the artist had managed his intricate subject, the warmth he had been able to impart to the cold medium, the humor he had been genius enough to instill in the ivory scene. Each figure in the relaxed yet ritualistic village dance had his own posture, and although there were easily fifty men and women involved, carved with infinite detail on a plaque no larger than six by eight inches, and possibly three inches in thickness, there was no sense of crowding. One could allow himself to be drawn into the carving, Kek felt; to almost imagine movement or to hear the flutes. He sighed and then wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief and then in the paper he had brought with him from his candy dish. He put it down on the small table beside the bunk for the time being; then he lay back and studied the ceiling.
The first and possibly the most difficult part of the job was done. They had the carving in their possession. Now the next job was to get it into the States past Customs without losing it. He carefully reviewed his plans while they plowed steadily back toward Barbados, then suddenly sat erect.
If Ralph Jamison managed to convince the army and the police of Ile Rocheux that he was, indeed, the innocent victim of some unfunny jokester—which should scarcely be difficult, since a search of the man as well as the premises would prove fruitless—then where would Ralph make his next appearance? If I were a betting man, Kek thought, I would lay rather good odds that it would be the MV Andropolis, if only for a visit to see if that naughty man, Kek Huuygens, had possibly rejoined the ship during his absence. Ah, well, Kek thought with a faint smile, if Jamison does show up, maybe we can continue to make his trip an interesting one. Although, if the man does show up ag
ain, it might well require a slight change in plans.
Possibly it was just as well that André was booked on the Andropolis. Kek leaned back again, reviewing the changes in his original scheme that would give an added bit of insurance to his plan. He reached up and turned off the lamp, lying in the darkness, listening to the steady growling of Beachcomber’s engines as they drove the boat back toward Barbados.
Their sound made him think of the corporal’s voice.
11
Ralph Jamison, late of Worcester, Mass. and Fort Lauderdale, Florida, but most recently of Washington, D.C., sat on the edge of his bed in his room at the Barbados Hilton, nursing a swollen jaw which four hours of ice pack had done little to reduce in size; his other hand held a telephone receiver to a puffy and painful ear, waiting for the completion of a call he had been advised was coming in. As he waited he looked back in time. It was his fond hope that that idiot corporal from the museum be taken out and shot, following which Jamison hoped he be given the lash, reduced in rank, and put to work on the roads for the rest of his life. It would serve him right, and the roads could probably stand it, too. The affair with the crazed, freckled-faced maniac in Fort Lauderdale, which had permitted Huuygens to get out of sight in the first place, was explainable at least; the man was simply insane. But the corporal had been under orders and supposedly used to discipline. Why he had suddenly gone berserk and started to hit him was something Jamison simply could not understand. Maybe if he had been able to understand all that gibberish in French or Spanish or whatever language everyone had been shouting at the time—
His bitter thoughts were interrupted by the telephone operator, informing him that his party was on the line. Jamison wet his lips and closed his eyes, imagining the conversation that was about to commence. He opened his eyes suddenly; it would probably be even worse in the dark.
“Hello, sir,” he said weakly.
“Jamison!” The ice-cold voice managed to emphasize the name without being raised one decibel above normal. Jamison could almost see the narrowed flintlike eyes, the jutting jaw, the thin bloodless lips, the Hoover collar, and the twiglike fingers restlessly twiddling a pencil.
“Sir?”
“What happened?” Jamison could also see the pencil being tossed aside and the hatchet face brought closer to the mouthpiece. “The morning newspapers report there was a burglary at the Ile Rocheux museum last night, and that a valuable carving was stolen. Is that the carving you’ve been raving about ever since this business began?”
“That was the one, yes, sir. It was a Chang Tzu T’sien—”
“I don’t care what it was! I thought according to your latest orders you were supposed to have Wilkinson there precisely to prevent the robbery! Were those or were they not your orders?”
“Yes, sir, they were, but—”
“Then where was Wilkinson?”
“He—he got sick in San Juan.”
“He what?”
“Yes, sir. Lobster thermidor. So I took his place.”
“So where were you, then, during the robbery?”
“I—” Jamison swallowed. “I—”
“Well, man, speak up!”
“I was there, sir.…”
There was a moment’s silence. Then a Gargantuan sigh came across two thousand miles of cable. “You are telling me that a museum was robbed under your very nose? With two guards there, as well? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“What happened, sir—”
“Just answer the question! Is it true that a museum was robbed while you were there, and a carving stolen you were supposed to protect? With two guards there as well? Yes or no!”
“Well, yes, sir, but—”
“And you want me to believe it was just an accident?”
“Oh, no, sir,” Jamison answered fervently. “It wasn’t an accident. It was a gang, sir—”
“A gang?”
“Yes, sir.” Jamison felt his confidence returning as he pictured the events of the previous evening and went on to explain them, sure he could convince his superior. “You see, sir, the lights suddenly went out; we later found the fuse box in the basement had been tampered with, knocking out the floor alarm system as well. And we found where we think the gang went out, too, sir. It was downstairs, in the rear. There must have been three or four of them, from all the yelling. No, sir!” Jamison said positively, now almost recovered. “It was this man Huuygens, sir, without a doubt.”
Disbelief marked every word of his superior. “I thought the poop sheet on Huuygens says he always works alone?”
“Well, sir, it’s true that’s what the sheet says, but he must have changed his modus operandi—”
“Will you stop using those words! Ever since you were stationed in Port Everglades and caught that one single woman with heroin in her earrings, you consider yourself a detective! You also know the sheet says that Huuygens does not resort to burglary. Or to violence.”
“There’s always got to be that first burglary for every crook,” Jamison said stubbornly, and thought with bitterness that so far the only violence that had occurred had occurred to him, which wasn’t fair. “This has all the earmarks of Huuygens, sir. It—”
“What earmarks?”
“Well, sir, the whole gang spoke French. I think—”
“Eighty million Frenchmen speak French,” the cold voice pointed out and considered. “Probably a lot more, now. I was thinking of a few years back.”
“Yes, sir.” Jamison plowed bravely on. “But in Port Everglades Huuygens didn’t come back to the ship, and the things in his cabin had been left intact. He didn’t take anything, not even his toothbrush, which you have to admit looks suspicious—”
His superior snorted. “He missed the ship, is all.”
“Yes, sir. I know he did. But he did it on purpose, I’m sure. And he didn’t catch it again in San Juan, like I did—”
The voice at the other end of the line was totally unbelieving. “You missed the ship in Port Everglades, too?”
Jamison mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to admit that fact.
“What happened, sir, is I came back to the ship and looked all over for Huuygens, and I couldn’t find him. The man at the gangplank didn’t remember him coming back aboard and it started to get dark, so I went back down to the pier to see if maybe he was coming—”
“And the ship sailed out from under you!” The sigh came again, a bit despairingly. “You know, Jamison, I think you’d better come home. To face departmental charges, probably.”
“Charges, sir?”
“Exactly. Let me tell you what I think really happened.” There was a brief pause as the owner of the cold voice marshaled his facts. Jamison waited, miserable. Damn that Huuygens; this was all his fault! “All right, then, Jamison,” the cold voice said, “let me refresh your memory. One month ago our department received a tip from a man who needed some money, a man who worked for Victor Girard as a bodyguard. Correct?”
“Yes, sir. He went broke in a gin rummy game. We paid him fifty dollars—”
“Don’t interrupt! I know what he got paid; you signed the voucher. If anything untoward happens in this case, that amount comes off your next paycheck. Now, according to your report, that tip told you that this Kek Huuygens was planning on bringing a stolen carving through Customs. Correct?”
“The informant said he thought that was what was being arranged—”
“He thought?” It was unbelievable! “What kind of informants do you have, anyway? Don’t they even listen to the information they’re trying to sell?”
“He said he was still thinking about the gin rummy game, sir—”
“What about the second time Girard met with Huuygens?”
Jamison swallowed. “My informant was reading a magazine, sir—”
“Good God! Well, in any event, you’ve told me repeatedly you believed Huuygens meant to smuggle the carving into the States, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Jamis
on said firmly. “I still do. More than ever.”
“We’ll come to that later. And at the time you received this so-called tip, I believe you were in favor of the burglary being allowed to take place, so you could catch this Huuygens in the act of smuggling and be rid of him once and for all. Right?”
“Yes, sir!”
“And I told you at that time that the Department does not operate that way. To begin with, it would have been entrapment, and in the second place—”
“But, sir,” Jamison said pleadingly, “it wouldn’t have been entrapment at all! We didn’t ask Huuygens to bring stolen merchandise into the country through Customs, Girard did—”
“I don’t want to warn you about interruptions again, Jamison! As I was saying, I told you at that time the Department does not condone burglary, just to be able to catch the thief trying to smuggle something in later. I explained to you that it would be immoral, and probably wouldn’t work in the first place. I then instructed you to use Wilkinson on the case with you. I told you, if you insisted, that you could follow Huuygens and keep an eye on him, but that Wilkinson was to go to Ile Rocheux and warn the authorities there of the plot—or of what you conceived to be the plot—and to make damn sure nobody stole the carving. Or anything else.” The voice, if possible grew even colder. “And now you tell me Wilkinson, quite by accident, happened to get sick on fish in San Juan and that you had to take his place!”
“It was lobster thermidor, and it’s the truth, sir! Honest! Wilkinson will verify it. Ask him if I didn’t tell him to have the shrimp—”
“And as a result of these changes in my instructions,” the cold voice went on accusingly, “the carving has been stolen and in my estimation you think you can satisfy your overweening ambition by catching this man Huuygens trying to bring it through Customs.” The sniff from Washington was audible on the line. “And you want me to believe you did not purposely allow that robbery to take place? You must take me for a fool.”
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