And then two men fell in beside him, matching their steps with his.
‘So you finally got here, Charles,’ Smith said. ‘We was getting fed up with waiting. We began to think you might be drowned.’
Rains laughed. ‘And we wouldn’t want you drowned, Keeton. We think a lot of you.’
Rains was sun-tanned. He was wearing light grey trousers and an open-necked shirt that revealed the black hair on his chest. His belt was of crocodile leather and had a silver buckle. Smith’s skin was yellow; he had a sickly, jaundiced look.
‘How did you get here?’ Keeton’s voice was bitter. He thought he had got rid of these two, and here they were, just waiting for him. It was enough to make any man feel bitter.
‘By sea,’ Rains said, and laughed again. ‘How else would a pair of seamen travel from England to Australia?’
‘What do you want?’
‘A drink. That’s what we all want. It’s hot.’
‘I’m not drinking with you. I don’t want anything to do with either of you.’
Smith gave a lop-sided grin. ‘No? But we want something to do with you, Charles, and that’s the truth. Why else would we be here? It’s a long way to come for half a dozen words. And we’ve been waiting the devil of a time too. You made a slow passage. That’s the worst of sail. It’s out of date.’
‘Now come along, boy,’ Rains urged. ‘A drink won’t hurt you. And what harm can it do to listen to what we have to say?’
Keeton saw the logic of that; no harm could come from listening. He could still keep his own counsel.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll have that drink.’
Rains nodded. ‘That’s more like it. Now you’re beginning to play.’
‘I’m not playing. I’m just going to listen.’
‘You’re a tough kid, Charles,’ Smith said. ‘I don’t know how you got to be so tough.’
‘Maybe it was dealing with people like you.’
‘Come along,’ Rains said impatiently. ‘I’m thirsty.’
Later, with a glass of beer in his hand, he said to Keeton ‘So you were fooling all the time.’
‘I don’t follow,’ Keeton said, and stared into Rains’s slightly bloodshot eyes.
Rains wiped sweat off his forehead with a grimy handkerchief. ‘Ah, come off it, boy. You know what I mean well enough. About that loss of memory game. You never lost your memory any more than I did.’
‘No?’
‘No, Keeton, no. You were sly though. No sailing away to foreign parts while we were in sight. But as soon as our backs were turned you were up and away. Well, that’s how we figured it’d be. But we kept in touch; we had our spies. And when we heard you’d weighed anchor we knew just where you were headed; so we got here first.’
‘You’re clever,’ Keeton said.
‘Oh, we’re clever right enough. That’s why you’d better change your mind and let us in on the deal.’
‘What deal?’
Rains’s patience began to wear a little thin. ‘Now, don’t act dumb. We know you’re heading for the Valparaiso, so you’d better take that as read. If you don’t let us in at the front door we may sneak in at the back. There wouldn’t be any half-share for you then. You might even meet with a nasty accident; maybe a fatal one.’
‘You’re threatening me again.’
Smith nodded emphatically, his sharp nose prodding. ‘You bet your sweet life we’re threatening you. So you’d better co-operate.’
Keeton looked at him contemptuously. ‘Do you think you can frighten me, you little rat?’ He turned suddenly on Rains. ‘And you; what kind of man are you? What kind of man would abandon a ship and leave his own captain on board — helpless? Tell me that.’
Rains was taken aback by the unexpected attack. He looked uneasy.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about Captain Peterson.’
‘He was dead. He was dead before we left the ship. Smithie can vouch for that. That’s so, isn’t it, Smithie?’
‘You said he was dead,’ Smith answered. ‘That’s what you told everybody. I ain’t no doctor. I don’t know about things like that.’
Rains’s thick, rubbery lips were moving as though in a snarl; but he kept his voice low. ‘Of course he was dead. He was stone cold; no doubt about it.’
‘He lived two days after you took off,’ Keeton said. ‘There was a cat too. But I don’t suppose you could be expected to worry about a cat’s life when you didn’t care two pins for a man’s.’
Rains was silent for a few moments; then he began to laugh softly, his chin quivering. ‘So you’ve found your memory, Keeton. So you finally admit that the Valparaiso didn’t sink. Well, that’s something.’
‘It won’t do you any good,’ Keeton said. ‘You’re not going to make anything out of it. And if you’re thinking of causing trouble, just bear in mind what I said — Peterson lived for two days. He was alive when you took to the boats to save your own lousy skin. Remember that. And I’m warning you here and now, keep out of my way. That goes for you too, Smith. Stay clear of me.’
He set down his empty glass and walked out of the bar and into the street. The sunlight hit him like a spear but he scarcely noticed it. He was wondering what Rains and Smith would do now. What he had revealed to them made little difference; they simply knew for certain now what they had guessed before. They could not use the information to force his hand, since to reveal it to others would be to spoil their own chances of laying hands on the gold. And Rains would certainly not wish to revive any official interest in the loss of the Valparaiso.
So what could they do? To prevent his sailing would not serve their purpose. They could of course hunt for the ship themselves, but without knowledge of how long the derelict had been adrift they could have little hope of finding her. He gave a laugh: Rains and Smith were helpless and he could dismiss them from his mind.
‘Let them do what they like,’ he muttered. ‘They’ll get none of my gold.’
When he returned to the yawl he found a man waiting for him on deck, a lean, sinewy Australian whose face was as bony as his own.
‘Name’s Ferguson. I represent the Star.’
Keeton ignored the proffered hand and asked coldly: ‘What do you want?’
‘A talk.’
‘What about?’
Ferguson looked down into the cockpit of the yawl. ‘Why don’t we go inside? I’d like to take a look at your living quarters. It’s my job to be inquisitive.’
‘I don’t like reporters,’ Keeton said; but he went into the saloon and did not try to prevent Ferguson from following.
Ferguson looked round the saloon with interest. He sat down on the settee on the starboard side, fanned himself with his hat and nodded slowly, as though approving what he saw.
‘Pretty snug. Galley through the doorway there. Fine. I understand you sailed from England single-handed. Quite an achievement.’
‘It’s been done before. It will be again. I don’t claim to be unique.’
‘You are in one way,’ Ferguson said.
‘How’s that?’
‘Picked up from a ship’s boat in November 1945, suffering from loss of memory. Survivor from the S.S. Valparaiso which was sunk by a Jap submarine nine months previously. Not every man can say that.’
Keeton took a cigarette from the packet Ferguson offered. ‘Seems you know a lot about me.’
‘We check up. Especially when there might be a story.’
‘What story would you get out of this?’ Keeton asked warily.
Ferguson drew smoke from his own cigarette and allowed it to drift slowly from the corner of his mouth. He had bright, keen eyes that seemed to be trying to probe into Keeton’s mind. His voice had a metallic quality.