There was a large verandah there. Despite the late hour, a group of people was congregated there. Some of them were in evening dress, some not. Most of them were familiar to me.
Most familiar was Mavis. With her hair done and wearing an elaborate pale green evening gown, she looked younger and softer than when she’d been playing her school-teacherish widow role aboard the Luzona Maru. She was talking more animatedly than I’d ever seen her talk before.
The man she was talking to was wearing a uniform that had seen better days. I knew him, too. It was the Captain of the Luzona Maru.
The Mate was also there. He looked ill at ease chatting with a vivaciously beautiful redhead. From the fleeting expressions which crossed his face, I guessed that she must be teasing him and he was unsure of how to take the teasing.
The redhead wore a low-cut dress of gold lamé-—very stylish, very expensive. Looking from her to Mavis and back again, I guessed she must be the sister Mavis had mentioned. She was younger, more voluptuous, and generally more alluring than Mavis, but there was a facial resemblance that couldn’t be mistaken.
There were four other people present, all dressed in evening clothes. I only recognized one of them. He was the man I’d seen back in the shed. Youngish and swarthy, he sported a jet-black beard below clean-shaven cheeks which gave his sharp-featured face a Satanic cast.
Of the two men he was talking to, one was also young —no more than thirty, I judged. He was one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen. Tall and slim, his skin was the color of polished black mahogany, and his features were those of some Adonis from an ancient Greek sculpture. When he smiled, as he did now at something that was said, his teeth were as white as the dinner jacket he was wearing and the contrast with his ebony skin was impressive.
The other man was much older than the Negro and the man with the beard. He was quite bald, and his face was round and pudgy. The most noticeable thing about him was the hump on his back which had-trapped him into a perpetual stoop.
Off to one side, by himself, and seemingly content to be alone, the fourth person sat sipping at a tall drink. A man’s tuxedo fit well over bulges that seemed more female than male. The hair was worn long, somewhat reminiscent of the Beatles. But the curved, feminine face featured a thick, dark, well-trimmed moustache. I looked a long time, and I still couldn’t decide whether it was a man or a woman.
Giving up the attempt, I inched right up to the bushes framing the verandah and settled there. From this vantage point I could hear the conversations with no difficulty. One of the first things I heard was the group greeting a familiar face that arrived on the scene.
Color the new face green. It belonged to the Lorre-like steward of the Luzona Maru. He must have ditched his blonde playmate back at the honky-tonk, and now here he was to complete the cast of characters.
“I just left Torres,” he opened. “He assured me that the trucks took the stuff off the boat without a hitch.”
“He was mistaken,” the man with the beard replied, an edge to his voice. “There was a hitch. A big hitch. A hitch named Steve Victor. And he had a girl with him. Local talent, according to what Torres’ man told me.”
“But how--?” the steward turned first to the Captain and then to the Mate for an explanation.
But neither of them answered him. Instead, the man with the beard spoke again, his voice heavy with authority. “How isn’t important,” he said. “What matters is that you fools have contrived to lead him straight to us. Now he’s running around loose here someplace. And he has to be found before he pieces together enough information to destroy S.M.U.T.”
“Darling, don’t get so excited. It isn’t good for your blood pressure.” The redhead crossed over to him and patted his cheek. “He takes his responsibilities so seriously,” she added, turning to Mavis.
“And so he should, Leslie,” replied Mavis. “After all, Hanson has to run the machine. The rest of us are only cogs, but Without him. S.M.U.T.’s ultimate function will never be performed.”
“Such admiration!” Leslie retorted with a tone of mock awe. “You see, Hanson, I always said you married the wrong sister. It should have been Mavis instead of me.”
“Such a delightful choice,” the Negro observed. “You’re a lucky man, Hanson.”
“Thank you, Bruce.” The man called Hanson inclined his head, his beard bobbing ironically. “But this is no time for small talk. This Victor came close to destroying S.M.U.T. before. This time he might succeed.
“The question is, sir,” the Captain said respectfully, “which Victor is it? There seem to be two.”
“Or possibly three,” Mavis chimed in. “There’s the Steve Victor who murdered our man here in Manila. There’s the Steve Victor who turned out to be a Russian agent named Karenkov who was jailed by the British in Malta. And there’s the Steve Victor who disguised himself as a red-bearded Irishman aboard the Luzona Maru. But I suppose we don’t-have to worry about that one. I turned him over to the Manila police myself.”
“Wrong,” Hanson corrected her. “We do have to worry about him. From what Torres’ man told me, he escaped. Indeed, he may be the Steve Victor who’s on the premises right now. He was last seen in an athletic club on Dewey Boulevard not far from the Luzona Maru. Also, the Russian one is still a possibility. There’s a feeling in Malta that the British may have let him escape for some obscure reason of their own. They might even be working with the Russians on this, you know. The British, the Russians, the Americans—they’re all out to destroy S.M.U.T.”
“Perhaps the basic plan should be re-examined.” The hunchbacked man spoke for the first time.
“I don’t think so,” Bruce said firmly. “It would be fatal to start altering things now.”
“But so much has gone wrong. First losing that shipment of contraceptives in Malta. Then the killing here in Manila. And now more trouble from this Steve Victor.”
“It’s been arranged with Torres to load another shipment of contraceptives aboard the Luzona Maru tonight. The right palms have been smeared, and we should be able to sail by afternoon. This time arrangements have been made to insure delivery and subsequent European distribution. The last time was unfortunate, but it won’t happen again. You just keep growing the rubber and processing it and getting it here so Hanson can run our little punctured safety devices off the assembly line, and I’ll see that they get put on the market.”
“But not in Malta,” Hanson reminded him. “Things are too hot there now. Mavis was lucky to be able to get out at all.”
“I wish we didn’t have to deal with Torres,” Bruce interrupted. “I don’t trust him.”
“You can leave Torres to me, sir," the steward said. “He’ll ask no questions as long as he’s paid.”
“I’d feel a lot surer of that,” Bruce told him levelly, “if I knew just exactly how much of a kickback you were getting from the ‘North Dock Gang’.”
“You do me an injustice, sir.” The steward’s green skin took on a red flush. “Like all of us, my concern is only for the welfare of S.M.U.T.” .
“Your concern is for lining your own pockets,” Hanson said. “And S.M.U.T. will go along with that as long as it doesn’t interfere with the operation.” He turned to the Captain. “But I’m holding you responsible for your money-hungry henchman here,” he told him.
“You needn’t worry about him sir,” the Captain answered. “He’s avaricious, but trustworthy.” He got to his feet. “I think now we’d best return to the ship,” he said. “I have some final arrangements to make with Torres, and we want to get an early start tomorrow.”