Noble House

Dunross was cramped in a small space not far away at the bottom of the twisting passage, hating the closeness, his claustrophobia nauseating, a chill cold sweat soaking him because of it. He could see no sign of Bartlett but he had noted his voice sounded strong and confident. Hooks had asked him to keep Bartlett talking while they rested, in case the gas was enveloping him. "You never know, tai-pan, gas can sneak up on you. We need him alert. We'll be needing his help soon now."
The tai-pan squirmed around uneasily, sensing danger. Someone was climbing down, rubble cascading with him. It was Hooks. He stopped a few feet above.
"All right, tai-pan. Best come out now, we'll get some of my lads back in."
"Right away. Line! Stay awake. We're starting again." "Okay, no sweat. Say, Ian, would you consider being a best man?"
"Certainly," he said at once, his brain shouting, Which one? "It'd be an honor."
"Thanks," he heard Bartlett say and as much as he wanted to know, he knew he could never ask. He was sure Bartlett would volunteer the who. But all Bartlett said was, "Thanks. Yes, thanks very much." He smiled, surprised. Line's learning, he told himself. It'll be good to have him as a partner—and a voting member of the Turf Club. Casey too— "We'll have you out in a jiify!"
Just as he was leaving he heard: "Wouldn't it be great if they could be friends? Guess that's too much to hope for?"
Dunross was not sure if it had been meant for him. "What?" he called out.
"Nothing," Bartlett replied. "Say, Ian, we've got lots to do this week! Hey, I'm glad you won over Gornt!" Yes, he told himself happily. It'll be good maneuvering with you, watching you carefully, building our Noble House.
About eight yards away, a few feet up, Dunross turned awkwardly and began to climb back.
Sixteen feet above him, Gornt and the others were waiting beside the greatly widened mouth of the pit. Dawn was lightening the east, a patch of sky now among the enveloping clouds. All over the slope tired men were still digging, searching, calling and listening. Wearily Hooks clambered out of the deepening pit. At that moment there was a tremendous noise from up near Po Shan Road. All heads jerked around. Then far above and to the left they saw part of the slope moving. The noise increased, then a wall of water and mud surged from behind the curve of the hillside up Kotewall Road and, gathering speed, rushed at them. Men began to flee as the sludge crest swept down to where the foyer had been and poured over the slope and wreckage, inundating it, the enormous mass of the sludge pressing the crest forward and down. Gornt saw it coming and hung on to an H-beam, the others hanging on as best they could. The foul, stinking murk swept up to them and passed, Gornt buried to his knees but his grip firm against the suction. The wave surged onward leaving inches of slush over everything, Hooks and the others pulling themselves out, everything else momentarily forgotten.
Gornt had not forgotten.
From where he was he could see down into the pit. He saw Dunross's hands and head appear out of the sludge. The hands grabbed a hold. More sludge was sweeping downward into the pit, finding a level, filling it. Dunross's grip slipped and he was sucked under but he fought out again and hung on precariously.
Gornt watched. And waited. And did not move. The mud poured down. The level rose more.
Dunross felt himself falling, the suction very great. He was choking in the slime, but his fingers held, he forced his toes into a crevice and began to climb. Somehow he tore himself out of the suction and now he was safe, hugging the side, half out of the mud, his chest heaving, heart pounding, retching. Still half in shock, his knees trembling, he wiped the mud from his eyes and mouth and stared around blankly. Then he saw Gornt ten feet above, watching him, resting easily against an outcrop . . .
For an instant his whole being concentrated, seeing the sardonic twisted smile, the hate open and disappointment vast, and he knew that if he had been above and Gornt trapped as he had been trapped, he would have watched and waited too.
Would I?
I'd've watched and waited equally and never never a helping hand. Not for Gornt. And then, at long last, Dirk Struan's curse would be ended, be laid to rest, and those who follow me never bedeviled again.
Then the instant was over. His head cleared. He remembered Bartlett and he stared downward in horror. Where the crawlspace had been was now only a slimy pool.
"Oh Christ! Helllp!" he cried out. Then there was sudden pandemonium and others were in the pit, Hooks and firemen and soldiers, and they hurled themselves impotently at the slime with shovels and with hands.
Dunross pulled himself out. Shakily he stood on the edge. In anguish. Gornt had already gone. In a little while all attempts ceased. The puddle remained.
TUESDAY
89
5:39 P.M. :
Dunross stood at the bay window of his penthouse atop the Struan Building, watching the harbor. The sunset was wonderful, visibility unlimited, the sky clear except for a few tinged cumulus westward over Mainland China, reddish there, darkness touching the eastern horizon. Below, the harbor was busy as usual, ordinary as usual, Kowloon glowing in the falling sun.
Claudia knocked and opened the door. Casey came in. Her face was stark, her tawny hair like the sunset. Her grief made her ethereal.
"Hello, Casey."
"Hello, Ian."
There was no need to say any more. Everything about Bartlett had been said already. It had taken until late last night to get his body out. Casey had waited on the slope for him. Then she had gone back to the hotel. This morning she had called and now she was here.
"Drink? Tea? Coffee? There's wine. I made martinis."
"A martini. Thanks, Ian," she said, her voice flat, the hurt in it tearing him. "Yes, I'd like that."
She sat on the sofa. He poured and put in an olive. "Everything can wait, Casey," he said compassionately. "There's no hurry."
"Yes, yes I know. But we agreed. Thanks." She accepted the chilled glass and raised it. "Joss."
"Joss."
She sipped the ice-cold liquor, all her movements studied, almost apart from herself, then opened her briefcase and put a manila envelope on his desk. "This contains all the John Chen papers about Struan's and everything he offered or told us. These're all the copies
I have here. The ones in the States I'll shred." Casey hesitated. "You're sure to have made changes by now but, well, it's all there." "Thanks. Did Line give anything to Gornt?" "No, I don't think so." Again the hesitation. "For safety I'd consider part of the information leaked." "Yes."
"Next, our Par-Con-Struan deal." The sheaf of documents she gave him was quite thick. "All six copies are signed and sealed with the corporate seal. I've the executive power to sign." She hesitated. "We had a deal, Line and I. I willed him voting power of all my stock for ten years, he did the same for me. So I'm head of Par-Con."
Dunross's eyes widened slightly. "For ten years?" "Yes," she said without emotion, feeling nothing, wanting nothing except to weep and to die.
Later I can be weak, she thought. Now I must be strong and wise. "For ten years. Line . . . Line had voting control. I'll send you a formal verification when it's official."
Dunross nodded. From the lacquer desk he brought back an equivalent set of papers. "These are the same. I've chopped them formally. This"—he put an envelope onto the pile—"this's our private agreement giving Par-Con title to my ships as collateral." "Thanks. But with your revolving fund that's not necessary." "Even so, it was part of our agreement." Dunross watched her, admiring her courage. There had been no tears at the new beginning on the slope, just a numbed nod and, "I'll wait. I'll wait until . . . I'll wait." Orlanda had broken at once. He had sent her to a hotel and, later, a doctor to succor her. "It was part of our deal." "All right. Thanks. But it's not necessary." "Next: Here is the letter of agreement on our deal on General Stores. I'll get you the formal documents within ten days. I'll nee—