‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
‘What happened next?’
‘I told Kostos I hadn’t been able to get the documents’, and he got angry and called me a liar. Then you came in.’
‘Did Wade mention these documents to you?’
‘I told you, Wade didn’t talk about his affairs.’
He was trying to hide something. I could sense it. ‘Kostos described them as the deeds of Kasbah Foum.’ He stared at me sullenly, not saying anything. I went over and sat on the bed. ‘Now look here,’ I said. ‘You’re getting yourself mixed up in something dangerous. I know this town. I’ve been part of it — that was what turned me into a missionary. Kostos is not a man to play around with. And if you’re mixed up with Ali d’ Es-Skhira as well…’
‘But I’m not,’ he protested. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Oh yes, you do. You know all about this place Kasbah Foum. When you regained consciousness in this room last night, one of the first things you asked me — ‘
‘All right. I do know about Kasbah Foum. But it’s nothing to do with you, Latham.’ He was sitting up again and his voice was angry. We stared at each other for a moment and the atmosphere between us had grown suddenly tense. Then he gradually relaxed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘Maybe later, when we’re out of this place, I’ll explain….’ He lay back and closed his eyes. There was an obstinate set to his mouth.
I hesitated. Maybe I could shock the truth out of him.
‘Tell me one thing,’ I said. ‘Did you get possession of those deeds after Wade went overboard — or before?’
His eyes flicked open and there was a surprised look on his face. ‘You mean — ‘ His mouth stayed open slightly, and then he rolled over in the bed so that he faced me. ‘Now listen, Latham. I didn’t kill Wade, if that’s what you’re getting at. It happened just as I told you.’
‘It was the deeds I asked about.’
‘The deeds?’ He stared at me.
‘When did you get them out of him?’
‘I didn’t get them out of him.’ His voice was angry. ‘How could I? He never had them.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he shouted at me. ‘Leave it at that, will you? Wade didn’t have them.’
‘All right,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘But it’s a pity you didn’t bother to convince Kostos of that.’ I stubbed out my cigarette. It was no good worrying about it. The thing to do was to get out of Tangier as quickly as possible. ‘How do you feel?’ I asked him. ‘I see you ate the steak I brought you.’
‘Yes.’ He smiled and added quickly, ‘It was the most wonderful steak I have ever eaten.’
‘And you weren’t sick?’
‘No.’
‘How do you feel then?’
‘Not too bad. A little tired, and my body’s still sore. Otherwise, I’m all right. I think I’ll try and get some sleep.’
‘Do you think you’ll be fit enough to travel tonight? There’s a train at nine thirty-five. We could be in Casablanca tomorrow morning in time to catch the day train to Marrakech.’
‘Is there a sleeper on the train tonight?’
‘Yes. I’ll try and book berths.’
There was a knock at the door. It was one of the hotel boys. The patrone had sent him up for Kavan’s passport. ‘What’s he want the passport for?’ Kavan asked. I explained that it was the custom in Tangier for the hotelier to hold visitors’ passports and he let the boy have it. ‘And bring the senor’s clothes up, will you?’ I told him.
‘Si, si, senor.’
When he had gone, Kavan began rummaging in the oilskin bag and produced a rather battered book that looked something like a ledger. ‘Do you think you could dispose of that for me?‘He held it out to me.
‘What is it?‘I asked.
‘It’s the Jog of the Gay Juliet. I brought it ashore with me as evidence of what happened to Wade. It should be burned now. Do you think you can manage that?’
‘Are you sure you want it destroyed?’ I asked him. ‘I could leave it with a friend of mine — just in case.’
‘No. I’m sure your friend is reliable, but — ‘ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘And I daren’t take it with me, just in case the douane decide to search me. Burn it, will you?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ I said. ‘What else did you bring ashore with you?’
‘My own papers and visas. There’s some money, too.’
‘How much?’
He glanced at me quickly. ‘Quite a lot.’
I explained to him then that the regulations only permitted him to take so much in cash into French Morocco. I suggested that I bank the excess for transfer to the Banque d’Etat at Marrakech and he agreed. Altogether there was over four hundred pounds, mainly in English notes. ‘Is this Wade’s or yours?’ I asked., He looked at me hard. ‘Does it matter? Wade wasn’t the sort to have dependants.’
There was a knock at the door and the boy came in with his clothes and my jacket. I slipped the notes into my hip pocket. The boy paused as he was arranging the clothes on a chair. He was staring at the oilskin bag which Kavan still held in his hands. The dark, Arab eyes met mine and then he turned abruptly and hurried out. “You said you’d lived in Tangier,’ Kavan said as the door dosed. ‘You know it well?’
‘Well enough to want to get out of it,’ I answered.
‘Can you find Karen for me then?’ His voice was suddenly urgent. ‘I must get in touch with her before we leave. I must tell her where I’m going. Can you do that for me?’
‘I don’t know.’ Tangier wasn’t a big place, not the European section of it. But there wasn’t much time. ‘The best chance would be through the immigration authorities.’
‘No, no. Don’t do that. Not the authorities. But you must know people here — somebody would know about her in a place like this. Please. Find out where she’s living and give her the address of the Mission. Tell her to write to me there as soon as she’s convinced that she’s not being watched. No, not to me. Tell her to write to you. That would be safer. Will you do that?’
‘I’ll try.’ I got my hat. ‘Better lock the door behind me,’ I said, and left him and went down the stairs and out into the bright sunlight of the streets.
I went first to Cook’s in the rue de Statut and was lucky enough to get two wagon-lit berths on the night train. Then I crossed the Zocco Grande to the British bank in the Siaghines where I arranged for Kavan’s money to be changed into Moroccan francs and transferred to the Mission’s account in Marrakech. It was then past midday and I cut up a side street to a small Italian cafe, and there I sat over my lunch and read Gay Juliet’s log.
Until then I think Wade had appeared to me as an almost mythical character. But he was real enough by the time I had finished his record of that winter voyage out from Falmouth. As a kid I had done a lot of sailing — that was back in the days when my father was alive, before he’d gone bankrupt. I knew enough about the sea to be able to interpret, in terms of physical conditions, such laconic statements as: ‘Wind Force 7, gusting 8. Direction S.W. Waves 20 feet, breaking heavily. Lay to under bare sticks, everything battened down. Jan very sick. Pumping every half hour.’ This was off Ushant and continued for fifteen hours. Sometimes he was less factual, more descriptive, as in the entry for November 30: ‘Light S.E. breeze off the land. Heavy swell with sea oily and black. Moon just lipping horizon. Ghosting along under Genoa — no sound except the grunt of porpoises. They have been with us all night, their movements visible on account of the phosphorescence, which is unusual at this time of the year. Jan fit now and has the makings of a good seaman. Pray God it doesn’t;tart to blow again. Both of us very tired.’
The log was something more than a bare record of speed, course and conditions. It was Wade’s personal record, entered up daily from the chart table data and going back over several voyages: Cannes to Naples,and back — Cannes to Palermo and on to the Piraeus, across to Alexandria and back to Nice by way of Valetta — Nice to Gibraltar. The yachts were all different, so were the crews. Sometimes he sailed single-handed. But always the same flowing, easy handwriting, the same graphic descriptive details running through the Mediterranean voyages and on to the final trip out from England. And then, suddenly, two pages from the last entry, the writing changed, became finer, neater, more exact. ‘Dec. 12 — 0245: Course 195°. Wind S.S.E. Force 3–4. Speed 5 knots. A terrible thing has happened. Roland lost overboard shortly after I relieved him. Time 0205 approx. Heavy swell running. Threw lifebelt to him and gybed to bring ship round…’