Maria Corsina, along with a grey-haired man and six younger people, was sitting at the bottom of the U. Wyler was sitting at one of the other two tables, and Simon felt that Was as good a reason as any to choose the remaining one. He and Jenny found places in the center of one side, the other seats were soon taken, and as red-jacketed Negro waiters began serving the soup a young American with a broad face and a crew cut, who was sitting opposite Jenny, initiated introductions.
“I’m Joe Halston,” he said, stretching his hand across the table to Simon. “I guess you folks are from London — last ones to get here.”
“Right,” said Simon. “I’m Sebastian Tombs. This is Jenny Turner.”
A dark, hirsute Frenchman on one side of Halston introduced himself politely, then lowered his beard to the immediate vicinity of his soup and spent the rest of the meal eating. A belligerent Egyptian of uncertain age on the other side of Halston told them his incomprehensible name and spent the rest of the meal talking. The slender, timid, almost frightened-looking middle-aged man on Simon’s left seemed pleased to fulfill his social obligations with no more than a tepid handshake and the words, “Professor Santori,” and to let the Egyptian take over with a lecture on the basic inferiority of Western civilization to the enlightened Middle East.
Simon managed to pacify himself for some time with excellent Bahamian boiled fish and a cool and delicious dry white wine which perfectly balanced the red-peppery broth. When he was at last at the point of making some unkind pro-colonial remarks, Maria Corsina stood up and asked for attention.
“This is the first time all of you prizewinners have been together as a group,” she began, “so I would like to take this opportunity, on behalf of the management of East Island Villas, to welcome you to this lovely island. We would like to do everything possible to make your stay a pleasant one.”
She continued speaking for several minutes on matters such as the availability of sports equipment, outboard motor boats, and laundry services. Then she turned to the grey-haired, sharp-faced man seated beside her.
“And now,” she said, “I would like to introduce you to a gentleman who is associated with the organization which contributed so much to bringing you here — the International Foundation for the Advancement of Psychology. He is a psychiatrist, and appropriately enough he is Viennese. He will say a few words. Dr Paul Edelhof.”
Dr Edelhof was a wiry little man wearing a short-sleeved shirt stenciled with what seemed to be representations of rainbow-hued squid suffocating in a morass of salad. The only thing about his person which could in any way compete with that shirt was his nose, whose magnificent convexity would have been worthy of the imperial eagle of his homeland.
After the usual pleasantries, spoken in a nervous but strong voice, almost without accent, he got down to business.
“Now I must warn you,” he said amiably, cocking his head and giving a sly smile as he raised one finger, “that you have not been given this fine trip entirely for nothing. You extraordinary people, having proven your competitive abilities, represent a kind of elite. The high selectivity of the Death Game brings together here a group more talented in certain ways than any other similar number of people in the world. Therefore, to those who interest themselves in human ability and psychology, you represent a valuable sample for observation. And that is all we ask of you — that you do not object, as you enjoy your happy holiday here, if I and a few of my colleagues watch from the sidelines, so to speak.”
Edelhof took a sip of water from his glass and touched his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Also, if you will permit it, we will from time to time ask a few questions or administer a very brief test.”
He introduced two men as his assistants. One was the Professor Santori seated next to the Saint, and the other, a Dr. Phillips, was strategically located at the third table. It was clear that the observation of the guests mentioned by Edelhof was already well under way.
“A final word,” Edelhof continued. “Often people with unusual abilities find that in spite of their talents they have difficulty gaining the respect and financial rewards which are due them. Perhaps this is due to circumstances, to unfairness on the part of superiors, to shyness or uncertainty, or to a simple lack of knowledge as to how to proceed.”
The psychiatrist’s manner was more intense now, and his bony fingers pressed hard onto the tablecloth as he leaned forward and seemed to fix the whole audience collectively with penetrating black eyes.
“If you are such a person, if you would like to seek counsel on means of putting your powers to profitable use, I cannot urge you too strongly to see me or one of my colleagues for a private interview. I feel sure we can give you helpful guidance which may make a great deal of difference to your future. And with that I thank you for putting up with a boring speech and wish you a most pleasant holiday.”
He sat down amid applause, and any quizzical expressions which had appeared on faces in his audience during the last of his remarks disappeared as baked Alaska was served by the waiters in their resplendent red jackets.
The Egyptian managed to suppress — until he had finished his own serving — his outrage at a civilization which, surrounded by starving victims of its imperialism, could produce warm browned meringue on solidly frozen ice cream. And by that time the Saint was already excusing himself from the table. Jenny, who showed more and more signs of devotedly dogging his every step, left her dessert half finished in order to come with him. She was not overjoyed when Maria Corsina, smiling pleasantly, stopped them at the door.
“I hope you enjoyed your lunch,” she said.
“Very nice,” Simon replied. “If you keep up to that standard I may never want to leave.”
“As I said — if there’s anything I can do to make you happier, don’t hesitate to tell me.”
“We won’t,” Jenny said, managing to sound both sweet and murderous at the same time.
She took Simon’s arm, but before she could apply any guiding pressure Maria Corsina went on speaking.
“I hate very much to interfere with your plans, but Dr. Edelhof would like to see you if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
The eagle-beaked psychiatrist was already coming toward him through the departing groups of diners.
“Ah, Mr Tombs,” he said, shaking hands. “And Miss Turner, isn’t it? How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you,” said Simon.
Edelhof’s face became tinged with respectful sadness.
“I am glad you are here, but sorry about the tragic circumstances.”
“Such things happen,” Simon responded, as Maria left to speak with the headwaiter.
“True,” Edelhof responded, brightening up. “Very true. We must not weep over spilled milk.” He became abruptly more businesslike. “There is just one thing. Since your coming was unexpected, we have no information at all about you. In order for our observations to be effective, and simply for the records of the Foundation, we require a certain amount of background. The dossiers of the other guests were all forwarded in advance by their faculty sponsors. We’re especially interested in the results of certain tests which I’m sure were administered to you at the university. Also a small amount of personal information.”