Jamison had reddened at the mention of Pierce, but he turned his head to stare straight ahead, partially because it was the way he saw his duty, but mainly to avoid the stale odor, of rum on McNeil’s breath.
“Can’t be done.”
“Sure it can be done! Of course it can be done. All you have to do is do it, mon.” McNeil leaned closer in confidence. Jamison tried to stop breathing. “Look, Constable — my girl’s had a tough night; I’m sure you’ve heard. I have to see her, and I haven’t a bloody farthing to my name — not a sou.”
“Against regulations.”
“What, to ride in this heap? Taxpayer’s wagon, isn’t it? Anyway, if I put a brick through a window, I’m sure I could ride in it fast enough.” He saw the look on the other’s face and grinned. “I’m joking, mon. A ride like that would be in the wrong direction. Come on.”
“I said, no.”
McNeil sighed. It simply proved that politeness was a complete waste of time; what he really should do was to slap this stupid copper unconscious and take the domned car, and the devil with them all! Still, why borrow trouble without need? The worst of the refusal would be another long hike, his second of the night. Then, in the distance, he saw the lights of the yellow bus approaching around a curve. He bent back into the sedan.
“Look, mon, don’t be cruel. It’s not your nature. If you won’t give me a lift, the least you can do is loan me the price of the fare on the bus, eh? That can’t be against your precious regulations, can it? Of course not! What say, eh?”
Constable Jamison sighed and reached into his pocket. He handed over a coin, and then put out his hand, detaining the man. He reached into his blouse and brought out a packet, also handing it over.
“If you’re visiting your girl, you’d best use these. They’re mints...”
“Mints?” McNeil licked his lips and nodded, smiling. “I gather I need them at that. Thanks, mate.”
Constable Jamison watched as the big man walked unsteadily out into the road and flagged down the yellow bus. He had to admit that it really didn’t make much sense to pay out good money — and from his pocket, too — just for transportation when the police car was, indeed, going to the same destination. Still, it was also true that Regulation 14-C Paragraph 2 Section 6 (or was it 7?) covering the Use of Police Vehicles, clearly stated that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES were they to be used for personal or unofficial business. Still, couldn’t it be called official business in this case? Jamison frowned. It was all very confusing. He tooted his horn lightly, waited while Pierce trotted down the alley and climbed into the car, and then took off, following the jouncing omnibus toward Queensland.
McNeil descended at the small lane as scheduled. From their hiding place in the grove Da Silva and Wilson watched as the big man crossed the road before the bus, disregarding the possible consequences, and disappeared into the darkness. A wedge of light eventually showed him in silhouette; then the door to the house was closed. Jamison pulled up in that instant; the shadow of Pierce could be discerned descending and moving up the hill to take his belated position behind the house.
“See? I told you,” Wilson said smugly, and settled back to wait, a silent Da Silva at his side.
In the house Diana’s Aunt Margaret silently closed the door behind McNeil. She was an old woman, a wizened, wrinkled mulatta wrapped in a shawl over her floor-length dress, despite the heat of the night. She tilted her head in the direction of the girl’s room without saying a word, and shuffled off toward her own. McNeil walked on tiptoe down the narrow bare corridor, trying to make as little noise as necessary, peering into the room at the end. Diana Cogswell was propped up in bed, a lamp beside her throwing its light across the thin sheet that covered her, outlining the fullness of her figure; her hands lay still before her. Her face remained in shadow. She looked up.
“Bill! I—”
“I know all about it, honey. You don’t have to talk about it.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his injured jaw turned away from her, and reached over and took one of her hands in his. It felt cold. “How do you feel?”
“I’m all right. It’s just—” She paused, staring dully down at her hand locked in his. “Oh, Bill! If you’d have done all the things you promised when you promised them, we’d have been out of here and nothing like this would have happened.”
“I know, honey.” McNeil took a deep breath. “I went after those stones last night.”
Her eyes came up swiftly. “You got them!”
“No.” He turned away a moment and then turned back. “I hid them on a place called Green Hell Island. Do you know it?”
“I remember it faintly. It’s the closest, isn’t it? One of the Abandoned group?”
“Yes, but the domned place isn’t abandoned now, my word!” His voice was bitter. “I was there last night and today. They’ve made it into a leper place, you know...” The girl said nothing, waiting. McNeil took a deep breath. “I found out by pure accident, or I might have got off the boat and really been in trouble. This way I didn’t touch one, or even touch anything they touched.” And if Tommy was lying about not catching it from their breathing on me, he thought, maybe I still didn’t catch it. Maybe the breeze was offshore and I breathed on them.
Diana withdrew her hand; her voice chilled perceptibly.
“So you didn’t get them. If they exist at all. And we’re right back where we were last night.”
“They exist, honey. After what happened to you, you should believe it. And I know how to get them, my word!” He turned to face her more squarely.
“You do? How? If you’re afraid to go, and won’t tell anyone else?” She looked up and then gasped. “Bill! What happened to your face?”
“This?” His hand came up and stroked the bruise gently. There was a grim smile on his lips, but his yellowish eyes were deadly. “A blessing, that’s what it’ll turn out to be, you’ll see.”
“But, how—?”
“Two chaps, one held a gun on me and the other took advantage to give me the boot. Three times!” He took a deep breath, remembering. “One a big pockmarked ugly bostard mulatto with a thick soup-strainer; the other a white mon, the little bostard that dipped my purse.” He didn’t notice the tenseness that suddenly crossed the girl’s face; he was looking at the wall without seeing it, seeing instead the beautiful details of his revenge for the beating he had taken. When he turned back to her, she looked as before, waiting. He stared into her eyes.
“But they’ll be the sorriest chaps you ever saw, honey. Because they’re going to get those stones for me from the island.” He didn’t wait for any comment from the girl but bent toward her, his eyes holding hers, sparkling at the brilliance of his idea. “They’ve a camper on the beach, down Bathsheba direction in sight of Brighton dock if the big bostard is to be believed, and I think he was giving the straight on that. He was looking for trouble, and I’d have given him his fill and to spare, except this way we use him to do our chores and laugh in his bloody ugly face when he’s done.”
Diana didn’t seem to understand; she frowned at him.
“And how do we get them to pick up the stones for us? And how do they get to Green Hell Island, even if we ever do? And how do we get the stones away from them once they’ve got them?”
“Look, honey — they’re just the thieving type would go for a story about picking up some loot, especially if it was fed them by you. They’re crooks, that’s their bloody business, I tell you! And they’re strangers, probably don’t know about the lepers or anything. And with your looks giving them the gen? Jam on toast, my word!” He smiled at her and then became serious again. “As for getting there, I’ll have the boat at the end of the pier before dawn.”