“I would prefer that Mr. Branch be given a room,” Temble said.
“That has already been discussed with Mr. Dolan,” De Beauharnais said, “and it was decided that Mr. Branch is in better condition to withstand a... primitive environment. My work crews are helping rebuild the huts now. The day after tomorrow they can begin the construction of huts for your crew. Until that time the crew and you too... gentlemen can sleep out of doors.”
“Where?” Branch asked sullenly.
“That brings up a most serious question. You will forgive me for speaking this way in your presence, Madame Temble. Mr. Dolan, you must keep crew members away from the village women. I would not have thought that men who had so recently been close to death would have had the spirit for amorous adventure. There was one incident last night. I have spoken to the girl. She is quite certain that she inflicted at least one deep scratch on the face of the stranger.”
The crew stood stolidly, not having been able to follow the conversation in English. Mal looked and saw one heavy man with three parallel scratches down the left side of his face to the corner of his mouth. The man slowly grew conscious of all the eyes on him.
“Mr. Dolan, please explain to them what happened. Mrs. Temble, please go inside the house immediately.”
As Dolan explained, the other men moved nervously away from the scratched one. He lifted his fingertips to the scratches on his face. Dolan’s voice was rough and angry.
“Please explain to him that here on Dakeet we do not have time for all the judicial niceties.”
Dolan gave de Beauharnais an odd look, and did as requested. Mal felt the tension in the air, felt it grow to a quivering edge.
De Beauharnais said, almost shyly, “You see, these are my people and they love me and they also expect certain things of me.” With these words he took a small automatic from his side pocket and fired once, seemingly without aim. The man with the scratched face took one unsteady sidestep and stood, legs spread for a moment, before going down. Two drops of blood appeared at the rim of the small hole over his right eye.
The man shuddered against the wide board floor and lay still. De Beauharnais said, “The evidence was sufficient. I pronounce the man dead. If I had not done this thing they would have taken him tonight and death might not have been as pleasant. Mr. Dolan, you will take your crew and Mr. Branch to the east end of the island. Take the body along and bury it there and put up any marker you think advisable. My boys will bring food to you. Report to me on the progress of your salvage operations.”
Temble, Mal and Gopala stood beside de Beauharnais on the porch and watched the group of nine walk down through the village. Four of them carried the body. All the way through the village they were watched by the populace. There was no sound, no jeers, no laughter.
De Beauharnais sighed. “My table is set for five. Will you give me the pleasure of joining me. I have opened the last tin of good coffee.”
While Sara napped, two women sitting on the floor outside her door, Mal walked east down the beach. The tide was high, almost covering the Bjornsan Star. When he reached a small patch of high ground set back from the beach he saw that Dolan had set the men to work cutting bamboo, tying the lengths with vines. The men were stripped to the waist. Branch, with sullen face, was working and sweating with them.
Dolan smiled at Mal, walked and met him sixty feet from where the men were at work. They sat on their heels on the beach. Dolan drew meaningless lines in the sand with a bit of shell.
He said, “You see how I did that? I wanted Branch and Temble split up. The girl doesn’t matter. She’s against it and against Temble anyhow, isn’t she?”
The big red beard was crisp in the sunlight. “Maybe I’m not quick enough,” Mal said, “but I don’t see what you’re driving at.”
Dolan cuffed him roughly on the shoulder. “Use the sense God gave little animals. Count off who knows about the six million dollars out there. The Tembles, you, Branch, Gopala and me. MacLane and the mess boy knew and Torgeson. They’re out of it now. The Farrow woman is out of it. Now, just for the hell of it, try to imagine what would happen if you and me and Gopala were dead. Mrs. Temble is gutless enough so that the doctor could make her keep her mouth shut. The island ship comes. By then Temble has gotten his specimens, the right one anyway, out of the hold. Away he goes. Thank you for your kindness, M’sieur. I’ll send you a Christmas card. But we’re alive. You and Gopala and Sara Temble are witnesses to his agreeing to a one quarter split. The fool know’s he’s got to buy you and Gopala off, too. He must realize that.” He cuffed Mal again, so hard that Mal sprawled over onto the sand. “Can’t you see it? This is a big chess game from here on in. I made a move. I split Branch and Temble. And I’m the boy who takes charge of salvage.”
Mal stood up. “What do you expect to get out of it?”
Dolan towered over him. He scowled. “My full quarter share. I’m going to sleep with both eyes open and my back against a wall, Mal. And, by God, you’re going to do the same. You’re my witness.”
“What makes you think I won’t tell the whole dirty story when I get to customs at Los Angeles or wherever we dock?”
Dolan laughed so hard that he staggered. “Mal, you’re a funny lad. Ye are, Mal. I don’t care what you say to customs. I’m taking my split right here, my full quarter, and I’m staying in the Pacific. I know where I can buy an island. I’ll stock it. I’ll build a teak house on it and I’ll have the best liquor and the fairest women for a thousand miles around. This is my way out, the one I’ve been waiting for. They broke me and they spit on me, on Bob Dolan. I’ve been waiting. Now it’s going to be my turn to spit. They better all stand back. If you’ve got the brains God gave geese you’ll come in with me, pry all you can out of Temble by threatening to tell de Beauharnais. That little Frenchy, if he knew about it, would find some law where he could grab the whole pile. The Temble woman likes you. Bring her along if you go for that sort. We’ll all take what we can get and let Temble, Branch and Gopala figure out what to do with what’s left.”
Mal looked out to sea. He took a long time answering. “Maybe, Bob, you’ve figured it all out a way that looks good to you. Hell, that much money would start anybody’s heart thumping. But there’s one factor you’ve overlooked.”
“And what would that be?” Dolan asked scornfully.
“Gina Farrow. She wasn’t washed overboard. At least not alive. Her throat was cut. So you have to know who did that, because whoever did it wants the whole works for himself. And did Welling fall, or was he pushed? Could be the same person. And if anybody has already gone that far, a few more aren't going to bother him.”
After Mal was a hundred yards down the beach he looked back. Bob Dolan was still standing in the same position, scratching the back of his head with one big hand.
Sara lay in a patch of shade wearing the cheap print dress which had come out of the smiling A. Hayaka’s stock. Mal sat a few feet from her, his back against a palm trunk, his hands locked around his knees. Through an opening in the brush he could look out across the bay to where, at low tide, the outrigger canoes were clustered around the hulk of the Star like insects around a bit of food.
Bob Dolan stood atop the wreck, his beard a pinpoint glint of fire at that distance. The sailors had rigged a makeshift block and tackle hoist, using a weighted canvas hatch cover for a sling. The native boys would dive down into the water in the hold and transfer cases to the sling. The sailors would haul away until the sling was above the deck level and then the cases, one by one, would be transferred to a canoe. Each loaded canoe was paddled to the village beach where the native women waited to carry the cases up to the residency.