“I see.” Da Silva nodded. “What about the other two men?”
“Just a second.” Inspector Storrs returned to the telephone; information was traded. The receiver was cupped once again. “Jamison says the plainclothesman went off duty when McNeil went into the shack, but Pierce is lying up on the dunes above the place to the north. He has the back and the side away from Jamison covered. McNeil won’t be moving from that house without being seen.” He turned back to the phone. “Jamison? We think there’s a good chance McNeil is just lying doggo at the moment, that he might well try to slip out of there later tonight, or even anytime up to early in the morning. Don’t take any naps, hear? And keep your eyes open. What? That’s right.” He hung up and turned to Da Silva. “Well, I suppose all we can do is wait.”
“We can do a bit more than that,” Wilson said thoughtfully. “We can try to find out who he rented that shack from, or who rented it for him. That might be interesting.”
Da Silva nodded. “It might even be more interesting to see the passenger lists on the planes he took from Recife to Port-of-Spain and from Port-of-Spain here. Somebody slipped him money, and that sounds like a clever place to do it. Leave it in the washroom, for example, just before he used it.”
Wilson lit a cigarette and grinned.
“It’s a pity Diana wasn’t working for Varig that day, instead of already being established as a barmaid at the Badger. She might have seen something.” He shook his head. “Bad planning...”
In the dimness of the moonless night the huge black figure in its black swimming trunks merged with the tall shadowless palms around the unlit cottage. He took a step closer to the building, then one more, and then froze as his foot inadvertently stepped on a branch. Inside the building a lamp was switched on and almost as quickly switched off again. The sound of a door could be heard softly opening and closing. There was the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked. From the darkness of the porch a voice spoke softly.
“Talk up, mon, and talk up quick or you’re dead whoever you are.”
“It’s me. McNeil.” It was little more than a whisper, scarcely audible across the tiny glade.
“McNeil? Billy?” The other man’s voice was raised; he lowered it instantly. “What are you doing here, mon? I—” There was a sudden pause. “Don’t move mister, if you know what’s good for you. Let’s just see—” The porch light was turned on and instantly turned off again. The voice was tense. “Billy! What are you doing here, mon? Come on up here. Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
“I wasn’t followed.”
The big man made his way to the porch and seated himself on a lower step. Above him he could hear the click as the rifle was uncocked and set aside, followed by the creak of a chair as a body was lowered into it. The man on the porch was silent for several seconds; when he spoke he sounded as if he were barely concealing anger.
“I don’t like it, Billy; I don’t like it a bit. Mon, mon! How would it have been if they had spotted you tonight, eh? And followed you? They remember me, too, and don’t you forget it — and then the fat would have been in the fire for fair! All for a needless chance. We agreed no meeting until you were ready to go, next month. I don’t like playing games, Billy.”
“I’m not playing games.” The big man’s voice was flat. “I’m not waiting a month or a week or a day. I’m going tonight.”
“Tonight?” The other man was shocked. “You’re daft, Bill McNeil, that’s what you are. I haven’t even figured out how to get the scuba gear, let alone actually buy it. I don’t want to be seen in Bridgetown, certainly not just after you come home. And—”
“I’ll do without the scuba gear. Is the boat where it’s been?”
“It is, but it’s too far to swim without gear. And if you took the dinghy, you might just be seen or heard. Besides, it’s not fully provisioned yet.”
“I can swim it, I tell you. My word! One mile! There’s no moon tonight, and I’m off tonight. Does it have enough petrol?”
“There’s petrol.”
“There’s rum, too, I’ll bet!”
“There’s rum.” There was a brief pause. “Why the big rush? We agreed to wait another month, at least until some of the heat was off, or until—”
“The heat won’t be off me for a month or a year or another fifteen years more!” McNeil said savagely. “The heat ain’t never going to be off as long as I stick around this place!”
“Keep your voice down! And of course the heat will be off. Don’t be a damned fool, mon.” The man on the porch tried to inject some reason into the discussion. “They aren’t going to keep two coppers and a radio car tied up forever in a crossroads like Brighton, mon. It’s ridiculous. They don’t have the staff of Scotland Yard, you know.”
“It’s more than two men and a radio car. They have a plainclothes chap makes himself seen often enough — and they also have a clerk in the chandler’s place you can smell copper five miles away.” McNeil laughed shortly and grimly. “Fifteen years and they think I can’t smell copper?” The laugh disappeared, replaced by implacable determination. “Anyway, there’s no sense arguing. I go tonight.”
“I tell you it’s a mistake. Wait the month, Billy. You’ve plenty of money—”
“And that’s another thing,” McNeil said quietly. “I’ll need some more when I get back.”
“More? More money? I gave you nearly a thousand biwi a week ago — what happened to it?”
“Happened to it?” McNeil shrugged. “I got robbed.” His deep voice suddenly hardened in anger. “Some bostard dipped my purse! I ever get him it’s the last purse he dips, my word!”
There was silence except for the heavy breathing of the man on the lower step. When the other spoke from the porch his voice was expressionless.
“Robbed. Of almost all the cash we had. We? Me! You’re a bloody fool, Bill McNeil. If you’d have told me where you put the bloody stuff before they packed you away in quod I’d have had all the time in the world to peddle the stones about and at proper prices, too. And have a nice stack of cash waiting for you when you got out, anyplace you wanted to pick it up in the world. But no! You know your trouble, Billy? You don’t trust a soul.”
“That’s really touching; you’ll have me in tears soon. Well, I don’t trust you, and that’s the bloody truth,” McNeil said flatly. “You’d have been halfway round the world long since, and probably dead or broke or both by now, if I’d ever been fool enough to tell you. You know damned well I’ll see you get your share, same as I’d have given the other chaps their share if they’d made it out.” He sneered. “Just the same as I know I’d never see a groat if I’d blabbed to you. Mon, you have to be crazy to think I spent fifteen years in that hellhole just for the pleasure of it!”
“I didn’t think you did. It’s just — well, there just isn’t that much money left, is all.”
“Then all the more reason to move now,” McNeil said coldly, and came to his feet.
“I still like to stick with plans. It’s what made the job work the first time. I don’t like it. And, worse yet, I don’t understand it. I’m sure it isn’t because somebody dipped your purse. Fifteen years and now suddenly you can’t wait another month.” The man on the porch nodded to himself as he saw light. “Mon, mon! A girl, eh?”
McNeil swung about, staring upward in the blackness.
“Yes, a girl! She works at the Badger.” His voice was savage. “And what’s it to you? You were free these last fifteen years; you sure didn’t lack for girls! Well, I wasn’t free, and that’s the fact! My word! Anyway, what’s it your bloody business? You’ll get your cut plus the money you’ve put up, and what more do you want? And I’m off this place and her with me, and you can take your share and go to the Devil for all I care!” He brought himself under control with an effort, lowering his voice. “Well, I’m off. I’ll be back tomorrow night, late. Have some cash ready for me. We’ll split and that’ll be that.”