“There are three men up there, all armed.”
“Three?”
“That’s right. One of them is an American who was on the same boat as I was. He knows me.”
André glowered. “What’s he doing here?”
“According to the conversation, he’s here to accompany the carving when it leaves — which is at eight o’clock tomorrow morning — except if things work out the way I hope, it’s going to leave here a lot sooner — like in five minutes.” Kek frowned and shook his head. “Let’s forget him for the moment. Here’s the way we handle it. The first thing we do is see to it the back door, the one to the areaway, is on the latch, but not open enough for any light to show. And with the key in the lock from the outside, because we’re going to lock it when we leave, which should hold them up a little, if they catch on. Which I hope they don’t.”
“Catch on? To what?”
Kek disregarded this. “Next, we leave this door here, leading to the corridor, wide open, because I’m going to be coming through here fast. All clear so far?”
“No,” André argued. “That corridor is like a target range. Anyone comes down there will look like a clay pigeon in a shooting gallery. What keeps them from knocking you off?”
“Several things,” Kek said, and forced himself to think positively. “One, with any luck they’ll never think of the basement at all. Leave that part to me. Two, we’re going to do this job in total darkness and be out of here before they have a chance to cast any light on the problem.” He explained the corporal’s aid in saving the institution from destruction by flame. “So they shouldn’t have any means of illumination.”
“What about flashlights?”
“I didn’t see any on them.” He mentally crossed his fingers. “Let’s not think about nasty things like that. You man the fuse box and I’ll do the upstairs bit.”
“No,” André said stubbornly. “I know exactly where the case is upstairs. I can get the carving easier than you; I almost had it once. And if there are any arguments up there, I can handle them better.” His jaw hardened.
“You are going to man the fuse box and I am going to do the upstairs bit,” Kek said firmly, “and if there are any arguments, let them not be between us. The idea isn’t to prove we’re tougher than three armed men; it’s to prove we’re smarter. Besides, you didn’t do your homework on practicing the island accent, and I did. I’ll give you the signal from the stair landing. You pull the light switch in the fuse box. Then get outside and be ready to lock the door when I come through in a rush.”
“If you happen to be the first one through the door,” André said direly.
“If I’m not,” Kek replied, “and it’s a man in a white suit, you have my permission to deal with him as ungently as you wish. He should be getting used to it by now.” In the light of the flash Kek studied André’s sober face. “All clear?”
“Just be careful.”
“Yes,” Kek answered — for there was nothing else to say — and turned off the light, reaching for the knob.
10
The scene on the main floor of the gallery had changed but little when Kek regained the stair landing, slipped into the alcove, and peered through the railing posts to consider the large room. Jamison was still deep in his magazine, the soldier was still hunkered down, suffering the pangs of withdrawal, and the corporal was at the extreme end of the room, studying a full-sized statue that appeared to be bronze and which may or may not have deserved the adulation he seemed to be giving it. The case containing the precious carving was clearly visible in the center of the room, and the path to it was clear of obstacles, but from Kek’s point of view, barely above floor level, it was difficult to properly judge distances. Well, Kek thought philosophically, we’ll just keep walking until we bump into it, and then try to come back the same number of steps without falling down the stairs. He surveyed the scene once more, decided it was too peaceful, and motioned André to pull the switch.
Sudden blackness seemed to explode in the gallery. Kek was trotting lightly up the steps in the shocked moment of silence that followed, but before he had quite reached the top and the main floor, voices seemed to spring up from all sides of the place. Kek was pleased to note that the high-arched room seemed to add a certain echoing resonance that distorted the finer nuances of the various voices.
First, in island French from the corporal at the far end of the room, came a harsh, aggrieved growl. “What in hell happened to the damn lights?” Then in English Jamison said violently, “Damn banana republics, — don’t even know how to run a damn generator! Who the hell has a light?” The startled soldier, scrambling to his feet, merely said, “What—? What—?”
Kek felt it was time to contribute to the conversation. He dropped his voice as low as it would go, rasping it in his best imitation of the corporal, trying to growl to make up any difference.
“Soldier! The fuse box! It’s in the hallway on the second floor! Get up there and see what happened!”
“See what happened?” There was justified resentment in the soldier’s voice “You took my lighter! How can I see inside a fuse box, even if I could find it?”
“Use your hands! Feel! Get upstairs, hear?” Kek growled, and moved steadily toward the case in the center of the room. He was pleased that apparently the thought of an auxiliary power source had not occurred to Paquet et Cie.
“Where are the stairs?”
“Find them! Get up to the second floor!”
“Who’s that talking? Who’s that giving orders?” It was the corporal; from his voice it was obvious he was coming closer. There was a sudden bump and a grunt of pain as the corporal fell over something, but he was on his feet in an instant. Suspicion entered his voice. “I thought the major said you couldn’t speak French!”
Kek felt the smooth glass under his groping hand. As he quietly raised the cover and reached within, he felt a little more confusion could only produce good results. At a time like this one could scarcely have enough of it. Accordingly, he pitched his voice higher, making it nasal and angry.
“I am the major, you fool! It’s fortunate for you that I came back.” He felt the carving, slightly slippery to his touch, and tucked it into his shirt. He lowered the cover of the case carefully, raising his voice again to hide any possible sound. “Why has nobody any matches?”
“Matches?” the corporal repeated, mystified. “But the rules—”
“No cigarette lighters?”
“But Major, the rules—”
“Quiet, Corporal! Rules are made to be broken. Soldier, where are you? Soldier?” Kek started quietly in the direction of the stairs, or in the direction he hoped the stairs were. If Jamison spoke it might help him orient himself — if Jamison hadn’t moved, that is.
The corporal attempted to explain the failure of his subordinate to respond. “I sent him — you sent him—” There was a pause as he considered his words. “Somebody sent him upstairs...”
“Upstairs? In this blackness?” Kek was treading carefully now; Jamison was somewhere in the Stygian night. “What idiot would do that?”
“The fuse box—”
“How could he see?” Where the devil was Jamison? Well, why not ask? “Corporal? Where is the American? This could be a trick! I didn’t like the look of the man in the first place!”
“I don’t know, sir. I... I can’t see.”
“None of us can see, you fool!” Where the devil were those steps? Had he been turned around by the idiotic conversation with the wandering corporal? One thing he certainly didn’t want to do was fall over any statue. He raised his voice, speaking now in a very badly broken English. “Meester Jamey — uh-soon?”