The first and possibly the most difficult part of the job was done. They had the carving in their possession. Now the next job was to get it into the States past Customs without losing it. He carefully reviewed his plans while they plowed steadily back toward Barbados, then suddenly sat erect.
If Ralph Jamison managed to convince the army and the police of Ile Rocheux that he was, indeed, the innocent victim of some unfunny jokester — which should scarcely be difficult, since a search of the man as well as the premises would prove fruitless — then where would Ralph make his next appearance? If I were a betting man, Kek thought, I would lay rather good odds that it would be the MV Andropolis, if only for a visit to see if that naughty man, Kek Huuygens, had possibly rejoined the ship during his absence. Ah, well, Kek thought with a faint smile, if Jamison does show up, maybe we can continue to make his trip an interesting one. Although, if the man does show up again, it might well require a slight change in plans.
Possibly it was just as well that André was booked on the Andropolis. Kek leaned back again, reviewing the changes in his original scheme that would give an added bit of insurance to his plan. He reached up and turned off the lamp, lying in the darkness, listening to the steady growling of Beachcomber’s engines as they drove the boat back toward Barbados.
Their sound made him think of the corporal’s voice.
11
Ralph Jamison, late of Worcester, Mass. and Fort Lauderdale, Florida, but most recently of Washington, D.C., sat on the edge of his bed in his room at the Barbados Hilton, nursing a swollen jaw which four hours of ice pack had done little to reduce in size; his other hand held a telephone receiver to a puffy and painful ear, waiting for the completion of a call he had been advised was coming in. As he waited he looked back in time. It was his fond hope that that idiot corporal from the museum be taken out and shot, following which Jamison hoped he be given the lash, reduced in rank, and put to work on the roads for the rest of his life. It would serve him right, and the roads could probably stand it, too. The affair with the crazed, freckled-faced maniac in Fort Lauderdale, which had permitted Huuygens to get out of sight in the first place, was explainable at least; the man was simply insane. But the corporal had been under orders and supposedly used to discipline. Why he had suddenly gone berserk and started to hit him was something Jamison simply could not understand. Maybe if he had been able to understand all that gibberish in French or Spanish or whatever language everyone had been shouting at the time—
His bitter thoughts were interrupted by the telephone operator, informing him that his party was on the line. Jamison wet his lips and closed his eyes, imagining the conversation that was about to commence. He opened his eyes suddenly; it would probably be even worse in the dark.
“Hello, sir,” he said weakly.
“Jamison!” The ice-cold voice managed to emphasize the name without being raised one decibel above normal. Jamison could almost see the narrowed flintlike eyes, the jutting jaw, the thin bloodless lips, the Hoover collar, and the twiglike fingers restlessly twiddling a pencil.
“Sir?”
“What happened?” Jamison could also see the pencil being tossed aside and the hatchet face brought closer to the mouthpiece. “The morning newspapers report there was a burglary at the Ile Rocheux museum last night, and that a valuable carving was stolen. Is that the carving you’ve been raving about ever since this business began?”
“That was the one, yes, sir. It was a Chang Tzu T’sien—”
“I don’t care what it was! I thought according to your latest orders you were supposed to have Wilkinson there precisely to prevent the robbery! Were those or were they not your orders?”
“Yes, sir, they were, but—”
“Then where was Wilkinson?”
“He... he got sick in San Juan.”
“He what?”
“Yes, sir. Lobster thermidor. So I took his place.”
“So where were you, then, during the robbery?”
“I—” Jamison swallowed. “I—”
“Well, man, speak up!”
“I was there, sir...”
There was a moment’s silence. Then a Gargantuan sigh came across two thousand miles of cable. “You are telling me that a museum was robbed under your very nose? With two guards there, as well? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“What happened, sir—”
“Just answer the question! Is it true that a museum was robbed while you were there, and a carving stolen you were supposed to protect? With two guards there as well? Yes or no!”
“Well, yes, sir, but—”
“And you want me to believe it was just an accident?”
“Oh, no, sir,” Jamison answered fervently. “It wasn’t an accident. It was a gang, sir—”
“A gang?”
“Yes, sir.” Jamison felt his confidence returning as he pictured the events of the previous evening and went on to explain them, sure he could convince his superior. “You see, sir, the lights suddenly went out; we later found the fuse box in the basement had been tampered with, knocking out the floor alarm system as well. And we found where we think the gang went out, too, sir. It was downstairs, in the rear. There must have been three or four of them, from all the yelling. No, sir!” Jamison said positively, now almost recovered. “It was this man Huuygens, sir, without a doubt.”
Disbelief marked every word of his superior. “I thought the poop sheet on Huuygens says he always works alone?”
“Well, sir, it’s true that’s what the sheet says, but he must have changed his modus operandi—”
“Will you stop using those words! Ever since you were stationed in Port Everglades and caught that one single woman with heroin in her earrings, you consider yourself a detective! You also know the sheet says that Huuygens does not resort to burglary. Or to violence.”
“There’s always got to be that first burglary for every crook,” Jamison said stubbornly, and thought with bitterness that so far the only violence that had occurred had occurred to him, which wasn’t fair. “This has all the earmarks of Huuygens, sir. It—”
“What earmarks?”
“Well, sir, the whole gang spoke French. I think—”
“Eighty million Frenchmen speak French,” the cold voice pointed out and considered. “Probably a lot more, now. I was thinking of a few years back.”
“Yes, sir.” Jamison plowed bravely on. “But in Port Everglades Huuygens didn’t come back to the ship, and the things in his cabin had been left intact. He didn’t take anything, not even his toothbrush, which you have to admit looks suspicious—”
His superior snorted. “He missed the ship, is all.”
“Yes, sir. I know he did. But he did it on purpose, I’m sure. And he didn’t catch it again in San Juan, like I did—”
The voice at the other end of the line was totally unbelieving. “You missed the ship in Port Everglades, too?”
Jamison mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to admit that fact.
“What happened, sir, is I came back to the ship and looked all over for Huuygens, and I couldn’t find him. The man at the gangplank didn’t remember him coming back aboard and it started to get dark, so I went back down to the pier to see if maybe he was coming—”
“And the ship sailed out from under you!” The sigh came again, a bit despairingly. “You know, Jamison, I think you’d better come home. To face departmental charges, probably.”