Clay laughed, expecting that he had been made the goat to escort a dog while Tony latched onto the dear, but when he met Janet Neal and Anne Gardner he changed his mind. Janet, a dramatic brunette, and Tony had already begun what was to be a torrid shipboard romance. Anne Gardner was a vivacious honey blonde, and had green eyes. Somewhat to Clay’s surprise, she was also intelligent. Anne seemed embarrassed at falling into the blind date category, but he quickly found himself liking her very much.
Then he glanced up and received a terrifying shock. The redhaired woman from the Zeedjik, her fat, sinister companion, and the two darksuited musclemen were on board as passengers, probably in one of the expensive staterooms which the students couldn’t afford. They walked slowly through the bar, looking people over, glancing from side to side.
The days quickly fell into a pattern, with sunning, swimming, eating, dancing, drinking beer, and at night making whatever amorous arrangements the cramped, crowded quarters of the ship permitted.
Clay permitted Tony and Janet to throw him and Anne together. It would not do to be too much the lone wolf, to behave in any way suspiciously. He took Anne swimming and dancing, played shuffleboard with her, flirted with her, kissed her casually on the moonlit deck, flattered her in an offhand, absentminded way. What he was really thinking about — night and day — was the voluptuous redhead and her companions and, above all, how to stay out of their way.
They were thorough and methodical, those four, circulating, scrutinizing everybody, eliminating the possibilities. The red-haired woman was their bird dog. She had a disconcerting way of moving quietly into circles of people and listening to conversation, straining to recognize a certain voice she had heard in the Zeedjik.
Clay was evasive and managed to stay out of their way, but surreptitiously, he kept following the spectacular figure in tight green stretch pants. His wandering eyes did not escape Anne’s alert notice.
“Who’s the redhead?” Clay arched an eyebrow toward the girl he had unexpectedly met that fateful night in the Zeedjik. Anne knew everybody on board. She made it her business to know. She was that kind of girl.
“She’s French. Her name is Francoise Bourdon. You seem to find her quite fascinating.”
“Who’s the fat guy with her?”
“He’s her uncle,” Tony McKenzie broke in, with a meaningful smirk. “His name is De Jongh, and they say he’s loaded; in the diamond business.”
“Everybody who believes he’s really her uncle go stand in the corner on his pointed head.” Anne was jealous of Clay’s sudden interest in the Frenchwoman. “I suppose she’s pretty — if you like the hard type.”
Clay grinned. “I prefer honey blondes with green eyes myself.” Then he added, “Soft and cuddly.”
“You’re maddening, Clay.”
“Why?”
“You keep saying things like that to me — and then you never do anything about it.”
It took Francoise Bourdon and De Jongh exactly five days, fourteen hours, and thirty-five minutes to find him out. There was a bull session around the postage-stamp-sized swimming pool. Clay was flirting in an absentminded way with Anne Gardner, and they were all talking and laughing. He had not even noticed Francoise, in her sexy scarlet bikini, standing behind him, carefully listening.
Then he turned suddenly and, looking straight into Francoise’s blue eyes, realized at once that she recognized him.
After that, it was just a matter of time before Francoise skillfully maneuvered him alone. He was standing by the railing when she quietly moved beside him. “Hello, Mr. Felton.”
Startled, Clay turned to see the redhaired Francoise smiling pleasantly at him. “Remember me?”
Clay recovered as quickly as he could. “Of course — from the pool.”
The scarlet mouth continued smiling. “And also from the Zeedjik, Mr. Felton. You told me — what were your words? — that I was beautiful. How unflattering to be forgotten so soon.”
Clay was too startled to deny it. Besides, denials were obviously useless.
Francoise was gay and cheery about giving him the bad news. “There is little time to waste in idle conversation, chéri. I remember your voice quite well. I must compliment you. You have — how do you say it? — a bedroom voice.”
“What happens next, Francoise?”
“Ah, you have taken the trouble to learn my name! How gallant.”
“I remember you very well, of course.”
Clay saw a flicker of interest flash across her eyes. It would do no harm to flatter her a little. He was in a very tough spot.
Abruptly, Francoise’s manner changed to great seriousness. “What a charming boy! How sad that you must soon die, unless you are very clever and do exactly what Klaas asks you to do. You must realize that you are in grave danger. You have put us to a very great deal of trouble.” There was no hint of the former light mockery.
Speculatively, Francoise’s blue eyes gazed at him, almost with affection. “You are lucky, cheri, very lucky. More lucky than any man I have ever known.”
Clay shrugged. He didn’t feel lucky. “Why?”
She turned light and gay again. “First, because, quite by accident, you happen to remind me of a sweet boy I once loved. That was very long ago, before many things happened.” For the briefest of moments a shadow of unutterable sadness flickered over Francoise Bourdon’s face. “Because of that, I have interceded with Klaas on your behalf. Second, and more important, you are now in a position to be useful to Klaas. But do not push your luck too far. Klaas is in the bar. He wishes to speak with you. Agree to do exactly what he says if you wish to live.”
Francoise slipped her arm through his. They walked into the bar, smiling and chatting like old friends. Anne Gardner saw them and turned her face away.
Klaas De Jongh rose to greet him. They shook hands quite cordially. Clay saw the fat underworld figure eyeing him with interest. The two darksuited strongmen were also sitting at the table. De Jongh ordered a round of martinis, and then got right to the point.
“The diamonds, Mr. Felton. I want them back. Most ingenious of you to have murdered the late Mr. Eric Phelan and taken his place. But, of course, you can’t possibly get away with it. I have business associates in New York. I assure you, you won’t live a day after we reach port — unless you wish to come to an arrangement with me.”
Klaas De Jongh purred the words in a soft, barely audible whisper. The menace was the more terrifying for its matter-of-fact tone.
Clay shook his head. “I didn’t murder Phelan. That was somebody else.”
De Jongh mopped his fat face with a fine linen handkerchief, and smiled through yellowed teeth. “Perhaps so. I have business rivals.”
“I didn’t do it.”
Klaas raised a fat hand. “It’s immaterial — to everyone except poor Eric, of course. And to the police. What is important now is that I had a business arrangement with Eric. I should like to persuade you to carry it out.”
“What was the arrangement?”
“Ten thousand American dollars, Mr. Felton. Simply take the stones through Customs, then turn them over to me. You will receive ten thousand dollars in cash.”
Clay Felton felt flushed and his pulse pounded. “No. That’s not very generous, Mr. De Jongh. The diamonds must be worth half a million.”
De Jongh smiled. “Let’s not quibble over price, Mr. Felton. Make it twenty thousand.”
Clay took a deep breath, then gulped down the rest of his martini. “Mr. De Jongh, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Splendid.” The fat man beamed expansively. Clay imagined that he could have asked for more and gotten it.
“One thing, Mr. De Jongh. Let’s not do anything foolish like having me thrown overboard tonight, huh? The diamonds are hidden — and you still need me to get them through Customs for you — unless you want to do that little job yourself.”