“Gotcha, pal.”
Kek hung up and squeezed himself from the booth, making his way back to the table. A waiter was coming across from the bar, while another was setting drinks before Jamison. The tall gangling man was putting a bill down on the small tray.
“You ought to at least let me pay for the drinks,” Kek said, sliding into his chair.
“No, no! My treat. My pleasure. You can buy me a couple back on board.” His small, dry hand was raised with his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Kek said pleasantly, and saw the waiter bearing his note approaching the table with Anita and her escort. He saw the man hand the note over, and hid a smile behind his glass as he drank. If Jamison was truly only an innocent passenger attempting friendliness, then Huuygens would have to buy him a great many drinks in compensation for what Kek figured was about to happen.
At the other table the red-headed, freckle-faced young man was frowning as he read the note that had just been given him:
Honey: You look like a girl that likes fun. Why don’t you duck that red-headed muscle-bound farmer and let me show you a real good time. I’m the man in the flowered shirt and striped pants sitting near the piano. We’ve got a long time before sailing and I have a friend with an apartment. How about it?
Anita was looking at her escort with curiosity.
“It’s nothing,” he said, his jaw clenched. He jammed the note into his pocket and came to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”
He started across the room, his face redder than ever. Mr. Jamison was in the process of lowering the drink he was enjoying so much, when he felt himself being lifted bodily from his chair and swung about to stare into two ice-cold, very angry blue eyes.
“You and me, buster,” said the owner of the eyes, “are going into the washroom and have a little discussion.”
Jamison squeaked and tried to pull loose. “What’s the matter with you? What are you doing? Let go of my arm!”
“I said, let’s go!”
“Hey, that hurts!”
“Does it, indeed! This way, lover boy!” the young man said fiercely, and walked Jamison roughly from the table. Several waiters stood back, unwilling to tangle with anyone as obviously destructive as the large young man with freckles. Kek watched interestedly. Jamison tried to turn around.
“Stop! Waiters! Huuygens! This man is crazy! Help me!”
“I never mix in anything violent,” Kek said piously, and came to his feet.
Across the room Anita watched her escort shove the perfect stranger through the washroom door. Kek winked at her and headed quickly for the elevator. It was one fifteen, which was cutting it fine, but fortunately, Jamison had been thoughtful enough to have a cab waiting below.
7
Kek Huuygens was in an expansive mood. He had landed at Seawall Airport late the afternoon before, assured that any pursuit — had it ever existed and not merely been a figment of his imagination — had been diverted, at least until he joined the ship again; and he wouldn’t worry about that until it happened. He sincerely hoped that Jamison hadn’t been chastised too severely, but even if the man was innocent, he still deserved something for being the biggest bore in the world. And Kek had had to pay twenty-five dollars for a short cab ride, because of Jamison’s penuriousness. Still, Jamison never got his receipt, which would probably hurt the man more than the punishment he suffered in the washroom.
Now, with a good night’s rest at the Barbados Hilton behind him, a long and vigorous swim in the warm and unpolluted Caribbean, and weather that, contrary to Anita, was far more pleasant for the month of July than New York City, Kek felt good. He emerged from his taxi before Harrison’s in the Broad Street in Bridgetown, determined not to be cheap in his selection of a gift for Girard’s professional thief. The man could well have a wife or girlfriend; even a mother somewhere in his history was a possibility.
Harrison’s, as usual, was crowded to capacity, for three cruise ships were in Bridgetown harbor at the same time, and the passengers had formed lines, like ants, to and from their respective ships, seemingly determined to leave Bridgetown Wedgwoodless or know the reason why. For a moment he studied the melee from the protection of the doorway and then plunged bravely in. His target was a large table in the center of the room, covered with blue and green boxes. He managed to get enough elbow room to study the pieces laid out, each on top of a stack of boxes, and knew at once what he wanted. It was a candy dish of the proper size, something Kek felt not every professional thief would probably buy for himself. He even managed to get the attention of a clerk, and to his complete but pleasant surprise, found himself out in the street again, his brightly colored package tucked under his arm, in a remarkably short forty-five minutes.
For Harrison’s, this was close to miraculous; Kek hoped it was an augury for a quick and successful completion of his mission. He glanced at his wristwatch. Ten twenty, which left forty minutes to get to Sam Lord’s Castle. Taking the direct road east through Windsor and Marchfield rather than the more picturesque but longer route along the beach front would get him to his appointment in ample time, and still get him back to his hotel in time for lunch. In fact—
He paused, frowning. In fact — now that he thought about it — why was it necessary, or even wise, to await the arrival of the MV Andropolis in Barbados? And his not having even thought of rejoining the ship earlier was the most disturbing aspect of the affair; he wondered if perhaps in planning the matter he had overlooked some other equally simple thing. With the package in his possession he could check out of the Hilton and be at Seawall by one o’clock at the latest. There certainly had to be an afternoon plane to San Juan, and he could catch up with the ship at least two days ahead of schedule. And surprise Anita. It would also seem much more natural to the purser and/or any interested passenger if he were to rejoin the ship after only one port, rather than waiting four days to catch up with it in Barbados.
The thought wiped away his former irritation with himself. Checking the precious package at the airport would handle any matter of Customs, and he would pick it up when the ship docked in Bridgetown. With a smile at how easily things worked out for the righteous, he walked out of the shade of the Harrison’s awning into the sun of the narrow and crowded road, shouldered through to the curb, and flagged down a cab.
The trip to Sam Lord’s Castle was taken at the usual island speed, but Kek, who normally disliked being driven at all, let alone being driven at maniacal speeds, sat back quite relaxed and beamed cordially at the people his taxi almost struck at each intersection or bus stop. Certainly Providence would not permit an accident when everything was going so nicely. The huge sugar cane that towered above them reduced all vision of what might lie beyond the next curve of the winding road, but the driver was not at all intimidated, possibly feeling that with enough velocity he could overcome any unexpected obstacle that presented itself to him and his fifteen-year-old Juggernaut.
They pulled into the wide graveled drive before the white twin-porched building at eleven o’clock exactly, and the driver drew up at the bottom of the steps. In the waiting lot for taxis a cab of equal vintage was parked, its driver dozing at the wheel. Kek felt it was a further indication that all was well. The chances were strong that the cab belonged to Girard’s professional thief, and all was rolling along on schedule. He stepped down, feeling on top of the world.
The driver smiled at him through the open window, white teeth gleaming against black skin. “You wish that I wait, mon?”