She said Jaffe wanted to talk to Blackie. Would Blackie meet him at the old temple on the Bien Hoa road? Blackie hesitated for a moment or so.
“Where is he hiding?” he asked.
“That is the message he gave me,” Nhan said firmly. “I have nothing else to tell you.”
Blackie shrugged.
“I will meet him. Now go away and keep away.”
A few minutes after she had left, the door pushed open and Yo-Yo came into the office. He told Blackie of the events of the afternoon and how he had seen an American in the upstairs room of the little villa.
“This place belongs to the girl’s grandfather,” he said. “She left on the seven o’clock bus and then she came here.”
Blackie nodded. He took from his wallet five ten-piastre notes which he tossed over the desk to Yo-Yo.
“When I want you again,” he said, waving to the door, “I will send for you.”
“Do I continue to watch the girl?” Yo-Yo asked.
“No. I am satisfied with what you have told me. The matter is now closed.”
Yo-Yo nodded and went down into the darkening street.
The matter was certainly not closed so far as he was concerned. Why had the girl seen Blackie? What had they talked about to make Blackie Lee lose interest in having her watched?
Yo-Yo bought another bowl of Chinese soup. While he was eating it, he decided he would watch Blackie Lee.
For some time now, he had had an idea that a number of Blackie’s activities could bear investigation. If he could get something on him, he knew Blackie Lee would make a much more profitable subject for extortion than the few miserable pousse-pousse boys on whom Yo-Yo had to rely for his extra income.
A more profitable but also a much more dangerous subject, he warned himself. He would have to be very careful.
Chapter Eight
1
Just after midnight, Jaffe left his room and groped his way down the stairs to the front door. Behind a closed door nearby, he could hear Nhan’s grandfather snoring. He stood for a moment listening, making sure he hadn’t disturbed the old man, then he groped for the bolt, and slid it back.
The door made a faint creaking sound as he opened it. He peered out into the darkness. The moon was behind a haze of cloud. He could only see the dim outline of trees, and in the distance, the roof of the lacquer factory against the night sky.
He moved cautiously along the path that led to the shed where the old man kept his bicycle. Nhan had given him careful instructions. He had no difficulty in finding the bicycle which he wheeled onto the road, and mounting it, set off for his rendezvous with Blackie Lee.
When Nhan had left him, Jaffe had remembered to clean his gun. The gun gave him a strong feeling of security to know he had it and that it worked.
He had taken two of the smaller diamonds from the tin box and had screwed them up in a scrap of newspaper, putting the screw of paper in his shirt pocket. He hesitated whether to leave the other diamonds in the room, but decided it was too risky, so he put the box back into his hip pocket.
As he pedalled along the main road to Bien Hoa, he rehearsed the story he planned to tell Blackie. He was sure that there would be no mention in the papers of the diamonds. He wished he knew just what the story would be, and how much the police had already found out or had guessed. He would have to be careful with Blackie. He mustn’t let him think he didn’t trust him, but at the same time, he couldn’t tell him the truth.
For the first quarter of a mile, he had the road to himself. He kept a look out for any approaching car and any movement in the forest either side of him.
He had one bad scare when a buffalo, lying in the swamp mud, snorted and struggled to its feet at his approach. And later, he had seen the headlights of a car and had quickly jumped off his machine and had got off the road, lying down in the damp grass until the car had rattled past him.
Apart from the buffalo and the car, the ride to the temple was uneventful, and he arrived there at twenty minutes to one o’clock.
The temple stood in a courtyard, surrounded by high ruined walls. It was some two hundred yards from the main road. The narrow road that led to the temple was full of potholes and partly concealed by weeds and grass. It was a convenient meeting place, for Blackie Lee could drive his car into the courtyard and it would be concealed from the main road.
Jaffe walked his bicycle up the narrow road and when he was close to the temple gates, he laid the machine in the long grass where it was safely concealed. He walked to the temple and peered into the courtyard. It was too dark in there to see anything. He decided he would wait outside for Blackie. He had no wish to go into that hot darkness and possibly tread on a snake.
He found a clump of shrubs behind which he could hide and yet have an uninterrupted view of the main road and the road to the temple.
Punctually at one o’clock, he saw the headlights of a car coming. Blackie Lee’s big American car jolted and bounced slowly up the narrow road.
Jaffe could see he was alone and he relaxed, suddenly aware that as the car had been approaching, his hand had been gripping the butt of his gun.
He watched the car drive through the gateway into the courtyard, then he got to his feet and walked across the grass and joined Blackie as he was getting out of the car.
“We’ll talk in the car,” Jaffe said and walking around to the far side, he got into the passenger’s seat while Blackie, after a moment’s hesitation, got back under the driving wheel.
Blackie had decided to listen and not talk too much. He wouldn’t let the American know he already had some knowledge of this affair. It would be more interesting and possibly more profitable to hear what the American had to say and to find out if he was going to lie or not.
He said, “Mr. Jaffe I don’t understand what is happening. Nhan came to me this evening and said you wanted to talk to me here. Why could we not have met at the club or at your villa? This is all very mysterious and puzzling. I would be glad if you would explain.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Jaffe returned. “I’m in trouble. I’m the guy who wants a false passport. I have to get out of the country, and fast.”
“I hope I am not a stupid man,” Blackie said smoothly. “I guessed the passport was for you. I think I can help you. It will cost money, but providing you haven’t committed a capital or a political crime, the matter won’t be difficult to range.”
Jaffe took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He offered a cigarette to Blackie who shook his head. He lit one for him-elf and Blackie who was watching him saw his hand was steady as he held the match flame to his cigarette.
“I have accidentally killed my houseboy,” Jaffe said.
This came as a shock to Blackie. It was the last thing he had expected to hear.
He remembered what Tung Whu had told him. Both the Vietnam and the American police believed the houseboy had been murdered by bandits. Now here was the American saying he had killed the boy.
He managed to say calmly, “I don’t understand, Mr. Jaffe. What you are telling me is very serious. How does anyone accidentally kill a man?”
“I caught him stealing from my wallet. He tried to get away. He was in panic. I guess I don’t know my own strength. While he was struggling, I somehow broke his damn neck.”
Blackie looked directly at Jaffe, his eyes running over his muscular frame.