The door opened and they came in. It was the same sergeant and he had with him one of the Customs officers. I glanced back at the bed, wishing that I’d told them to wait. I’d have to wake him now and he’d be suddenly confronted with them. I hoped he’d be clear in his mind what he was going to tell them. He ought to have mentioned Wade’s death to them the night before.
‘Muy buenas, senor.’
‘Muy buenas.’ I gave the sergeant a chair. The Customs officer sat on the couch. They both stared at Kavan. I felt uneasy and only half awake.
‘So, he is still sleeping, eh?’ The sergeant clicked his tongue sympathetically. ‘I am sorry to disturb him, but it is the formalities, you understand.’ He shrugged his shoulders to make it clear that he was not responsible for drawing up the regulations.
‘You want me to wake him?’
‘Si, si — if you please. He is all right, eh?’
‘Yes, he’s all right,’ I said. ‘He was just exhausted. He had a bad trip.’
The sergeant nodded. ‘Of course. And to wreck the ship — terrible. We will be very quick. Then he can sleep again.’
I went over to the bed and shook Kavan gently. His eyelids flicked back almost immediately. ‘What is it?’ And then he saw the police and there was instant panic in his eyes. ‘What do they want? Why are they here?’
‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘It’s about the immigration details. They said they’d come this morning. Remember?’
He nodded, but all the blood seemed to have drained out of his face so that it looked as white as it had done the previous night.
‘Senor Wade.’ The sergeant had got to his feet.
I started to explain that he wasn’t Wade, but Kavan checked me, gripping hold of my arm. I could feel him trembling. His eyes switched from the police sergeant to the door and then back again to the sergeant. ‘What do you want?’ he asked in fair Spanish and his voice shook slightly and I could feel him trying desperately to get control of himself.
The sergeant was standing at the foot of the bed now. ‘You are captain of the boat that is wrecked last night in the Baie des Juifs?’
Kavan hesitated, glancing up at me, and his tongue licked along the sore edges of his lips. ‘Yes.’ His voice was little more than a whisper. But then he added in a firmer tone, ‘Yes, I’m the captain of the boat.’
‘What is the name of the boat please?’
“Gay Juliet.’
The sergeant had his notebook out now. He was leaning over the end of the bed, his round, rather chubby face with its blue jowls puckered in a frown of concentration as he licked his pencil and wrote down the name of the boat. ‘And you are from where?’
‘Falmouth.’
‘You come direct, senor?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your name is Senor Roland Wade?’
Again Kavan hesitated and then he nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Just a moment,’ I said, speaking to him in English. ‘This is absurd, you know. You can’t go on trying to pretend you’re Wade.’
‘Why not? Are you going to stop me? Listen.’ He grabbed hold of my arm again. ‘You want a doctor for your Mission, don’t you? It’s important to you. It must be or you wouldn’t be taking somebody you know nothing about.’
‘Yes, it’s important to me.’
‘Well then, you tell these men the truth and you won’t get your doctor. Not me anyway. So you’d better choose. If you want your doctor, don’t interfere. If you do, I’ll get sent back to England and you’ll never see me again.’ Though he was blackmailing me, his face had a desperate, pleading look. ‘It’s only until we get out of Tangier.’ He stared up into my face for a moment and then turned back to the, sergeant. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, reverting to Spanish.
‘You sail here alone?’ the sergeant asked.
‘Yes.’
‘There is nobody with you?’
‘No.’
He looked up from his notebook then and stared at Kavan. ‘Do you know a man called Dr Jan Kavan?’
I heard the slight hissing intake of Kavan’s breath and felt the muscles of his hand tense. ‘Yes.’
‘We were told that he was sailing with you.’
‘Who told you?’ The sergeant didn’t answer, but his small, brown eyes stared at Kavan watchfully. ‘No, he didn’t sail with me,’ Kavan added quickly. ‘He — changed his mind.’
I felt sure that slight hesitation must have been as noticeable to the sergeant as it was to me. But all he said was, ‘Can you tell me, senor, why he changed his mind?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me,’ Kavan said. ‘He came on board the night before I was due to sail. I was leaving with the tide at 4 a.m. and when I woke him, he said he had changed his mind and wanted to be put ashore.’
The sergeant nodded and wrote it all down. ‘So you sailed alone, senor?’
Kavan nodded. His eyes were fixed on the sergeant and little beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead.
‘That was very dangerous, surely, senor — to sail alone? It is a big ship for one man.’
‘I have sailed a great deal — often single-handed.’
The sergeant turned to me ‘Twice last night you asked the senor here about another man. You thought there were two of them on the yacht.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s correct.’
‘Who was the second man? Was it Dr Kavan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why were you so sure that Dr Kavan was on board the boat?’
‘He wrote to me to tell me he was sailing with Mr Wade.’
‘I see. Do you know of any reason why he should have changed his mind?’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘No, but there are easier methods of reaching Tangier than by sailing in a yacht.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded towards the bed. ‘Can you confirm the identity of the senor here?’
‘No. I had never seen him before last night.’
‘Si, si, it is understood. So you think Dr Kavan changed his mind?’
I glanced down at Kavan. His eyes were watching me, very blue and with the same expression in them that they’d had when he’d implored me not to take him to a hospital. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think he must have changed his mind.’
I felt the grip of Kavan’s fingers on my arm relax. ‘Bueno!’ The sergeant closed his notebook. ‘You have the papers for this boat?’ he asked.
Kavan nodded.
‘I would like to have the papers. What is the port of registration?’
‘Southampton.’ Kavan’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
‘Also we would like to have your passport, senor. And if you have the record of the voyage …’ He stopped then, for Kavan had suddenly closed his eyes. He leaned over, clutching at me and retching violently. His hand reached out automatically for the pot, gripped it and the retching sound went on and on — dry, rasping and foodless, a horrible sound in the sullen stillness of the room. And then he dropped the pot and keeled over, his body suddenly limp.
I got hold of him and pushed him back into the bed. He was sweating and his face was ashen. I wiped his lips with my handkerchief. His eyes opened and he stared past me at the sergeant. ‘I’ll bring the papers later,’ he whispered, and then he closed his eyes again and seemed to pass into unconciousness.
I glanced at the sergeant. He was shaking his head and making little clicking sounds with his tongue. ‘He is bad, very bad. I am sorry, senor.’
Til get a doctor,’ I said.
‘Si, si. That is what he need — a doctor.’ He turned to the Customs officer and they began talking quickly, shrugging their shoulders and gesticulating. Several limes they glanced at the man’s body lying there on the bed, and their expressions were sympathetic. At length the sergeant turned to me. ‘Senor. Do you know if he has his passport?’