A naval patrol happened to be passing by as McCrimmon emerged, in slightly unorthodox fashion, through the closed lattice window of the cafe. It was an unusual method of exit, but not sufficiently so to warrant investigation by any average hardened naval patrol. Pausing only to separate him from the splintered woodwork festooned around his neck, the patrol picked him up and escorted his tottering form to the sanctuary of the docks.
Dragging himself away from the mirror wherein he had been gazing with rapturous admiration for the past ten minutes, McCrimmon adjusted his hat to the correct angle befitting an Active Service A/B, donned his raincoat, checked up on his armoury and prepared to leave the mess-deck.
It was nightfall on the following day, Sunday. During the morning McCrimmon had held a council of war with his cousin, who was that day accumulating an impressive amount of overtime in 'A' Turret. Annoyed as he initially was by McCrimmon's intrusion — for even the most phlegmatic amongst us resents any interruption of a deep and healthful slumber — his cousin was soon cursing luridly and gnashing his teeth in perfect sympathetic unison with McCrimmon as the latter unfolded his sorry tale. But there were no hard feelings — amongst the McCrimmons, recriminations are quite unknown. Another wallet of notes would be forthcoming by evening. The loss, McCrimmon assured his grateful cousin, could be made good by another two or three overtime weekends, even though he was not the man he was, as he had latterly begun to be troubled by insomnia. Many a lesser man, in his circumstances and in the light of recent events, would have categorically refused to venture ashore; but there are no lesser men among the McCrimmons.
He was watch aboard that night, but had easily circumvented that slight technicality by mortgaging his rum for the next three days to a messmate — a practice strictly at variance with Service regulations, and, therefore, all the more dear to the heart of McCrimmon.
Satisfied that all was well, and that his wallet, only to be used as a last resort, was securely stowed in an inner pocket, he climbed briskly up the rope ladder to the upper deck passageway. It is here worth recording that the steel ladder, normally in position, had been removed that morning for the purpose of welding new foot-grips on the worn, shiny steps.
He arrived ashore in the liberty-boat some thirty minutes later, passed out of the dock, strode up through the native quarter, rolled his way along the vast cobbles of the rue Soeurs, turned into Mohammed Ali square, crossed it diagonally and disappeared down the Sherif Pasha.
On arrival at the rendezvous, he exchanged a few genial words with the proprietor — an old acquaintance of his — pressed some genuine Egyptian currency into the hands of the two large Yugoslav waiters and seated himself in the private recess curtained off from the restaurant. Here he patiently awaited the arrival of Mohammed Ali, from time to time smiling with smug self-satisfaction and automatically easing the heavy wrench in his pocket.
Ten minutes passed, and Mohammed Ah arrived. He was not alone. The man who followed him in stood about six foot one in his bare feet and was so broad that he found it necessary to turn sideways in order to pass through the doorway. A large man by any standards, he was puny and stunted when compared to the other two dark-skinned individuals who pressed in behind him. Mohammed Ali's companions appeared to have been chosen with a complete lack of the aesthetic viewpoint.
McCrimmon ground his teeth in black fury and bitterly marvelling at the depravity and depths of distrust of human nature, he smiled broadly and greeted Mohammed Ali with a cordiality that would have embarrassed any but the blackest-hearted. Mohammed Ali remained unmoved.
The wrench was hastily pushed well out of sight and the wallet dragged forth from the more remote fastnesses of McCrimmon's clothing. Mohammed Ali, permitting himself the merest smirk, took out the washleather bag, unloosened the neck and spilled the contents on the table. There were eighteen stones in all, blue moonstones, small but perfectly matched.
McCrimmon, who probably knew less about precious stones than any other man living, produced a magnifying glass which the Navigator had carelessly left lying around his chart table and proceeded to examine the stones with the hawk-like eye of the Hatton Garden expert.
For a long time he examined them, one by one. He picked each new one up hopefully, scrutinized it and cast it away in a disparaging fashion, carefully allowing his expression of disappointment to deepen after each unspoken condemnation. Mohammed Ali fidgeted and fumed. McCrimmon ignored him completely.
Mohammed Ali's patience wore very thin. Clearing his throat after his unpleasant fashion, he stated his price as 800 piastres. McCrimmon, rapidly calculating that, on figures supplied by his cousin, this would give him only 500 per cent profit, cast away another moonstone with an even more marked degree of disgust, and laughed hollowly. He had spent much time in practising and bringing to its present state of perfection that hollow laugh of his and it had served him well more than once in the past.
It effected Mohammed Ali not at all. McCrimmon once more gnashed his teeth and offered 500 — a ridiculously high price, but he, McCrimmon, was not the man to haggle over an odd piastre. Neither, apparently, was Mohammed; he restated his original figure and then the haggling began in earnest. Both called for alcoholic sustenance; not, as the innocent might expect, from a spirit of amity but in the fervid, if unChristian, hope that it might cloud the other's intellect. When McCrimmon left the cafe a brief two hours later, the blue moonstones were his; his wallet, true, had been lightened to the extent of 500 piastres, but he was more than satisfied with the night's work. Granted, there had been a slightly unpleasant scene when McCrimmon, producing a 1938 Currency Quotation book, had endeavoured to pay in Greek money (rate of exchange, in the year '44, due to inflation, being approximately five million drachmas to the penny); but further reflection, coupled with the sight of one of Mohammed Ali's bodyguards absentmindedly tying knots in a small crowbar, had convinced him of the unwisdom of this. Still, as aforesaid, he was satisfied. McCrimmon decided to celebrate.
Some time after midnight, it was borne in upon McCrimmon that, for every twenty paces he took, he was making no more than one yard's direct progress. Rightly calculating that it would thus take him several hours to cover the mile that separated him from the docks, he hailed a gharry. Mounting, he enthroned himself on the collapsible hood and shouted ironic encouragement to the decrepit Jehu, who uselessly belaboured the ancient collection of skin and bones barely supported by the gharry's shafts.
They arrived at № 14 gate in ten minutes. McCrimmon vaulted gracefully over the side of the gharry and collapsed in an inert heap in the gutter. Picked up and revivified by the army guard, he staggered down to the quay and found that the last liberty-boat had departed three hours previously. He hired a felucca, and his powerful, off-key baritone, rendering the 'Skye Boat Song', reverberated among the silent ships as the two natives laboriously rowed out of the windless inner harbour. In the outer harbour, with sail raised, he switched to 'Shenandoah', and so went through his painfully extensive repertoire, craftily changing to 'Rule Britannia' as the felucca came within earshot of the Officer of the Watch of the ILARA.
Making good his escape up the chainladder while the natives searched the bottom of the boat for the handful of carelessly thrown Glasgow Corporation tramway tokens, McCrimmon made his way for'ard. He disappeared into a convenient patch of blackness which enveloped the port side amidships of the ILARA, and tarried there a space while he opened the heavy steel doors of a small compartment and tucked the bag of blue moonstones safely inside. They were completely hidden. He closed the door, tightened the clamps with a tommy bar and departed on his way, smirking widely and fulsomely congratulating himself on his own genius. At no time was McCrimmon's faith in his fellow-man very marked.