Anita had forgone breakfast to be on deck for the arrival. She scanned the dock closely for some sign of Kek, but the bare concrete held only a lineup of minibuses, the only passenger vehicles allowed on the dock, waiting patiently to carry shoregoing passengers to the customs shed and the long queue of waiting taxis beyond. Her young red-haired companion, for a welcome change, was not along; a physique such as his required refueling at regular intervals, and he was in the dining room just completing his third helping of breakfast.
A minibus had detached itself from the distant shed and was approaching the ship. It slowed to a stop at the foot of the Andropolis gangplank and Anita bent over to see who might emerge, certain it would be Kek. He had definitely promised to rejoin the ship here, and she would have thought he would have been as anxious to see her as she was to see him; and if there had been any change in his plans, there would have been a cable in some form or other she would have understood. But only one man emerged, dragging a heavy suitcase behind him while his other hand, with an iron grip, clutched papers that could only be passport and passage. It obviously was not Kek, and Anita was about to turn away in disappointment, when the man happened to look up. Anita’s eyes widened in surprise. It was impossible! But there he was, as large as ever, his face as battered as ever, and looking as good to her as ever. She leaned over the rail and screamed.
The face looking up found the source of the scream and frowned in complete nonrecognition. Then, the huge shoulders raised in a Gallic shrug of incomprehension and the large man lumbered up the gangplank with practiced ease. Anita turned and bumped into the red-haired youth. He grinned at her.
“What were you screaming about?”
“I thought I saw an old friend, but I was mistaken.”
“Well, don’t look so sad about it,” said the youth, pleased that no new friends were to be added at Barbados, the last stop before four lovely days of sailing home. He tilted his red thatch toward the shore. “How about going into town?”
“No,” Anita said slowly. “You go ahead, Billy. I think I’ll stay on board today.”
“Then I’ll stay here, too. Pool’s open. We’ll go swimming.”
Anita smiled; it was a smile that made Billy her slave. “You go ashore, the way you were planning. You’ve been talking about the lenses you wanted to buy here.” She put her hand on his arm. “You go get them.”
“Well... All right. But I’ll see you when I get back?”
“I’ll be here.”
“We’ll have dinner together? Separate table? I can arrange it with the dining room steward before I go—”
“If you want.”
“I want,” Billy told her, and disappeared, in a hurry to do his shopping and return as quickly as possible. Anita went back to the railing, pondering. Below, the minibuses were being crowded with shoregoing passengers, intent on spending money. A pity, Anita thought, that the beauties of the island would pass unnoticed by the huge majority, and that they would later proudly point to a bit of crockery as proof they had visited Barbados and were experts on its problems. She saw Billy join the others; he looked up, grinned, and waved. She smiled back and watched him climb inside.
Anita’s smile disappeared at once. She glanced down at the dock once more and then made her way inside. She walked down the steps to the dock below and the purser’s square, determination in her movements. There was no sign of the large man and his suitcase, but Anita had not expected there would be. Nor did she intend to ask the assistant purser, busy with papers as always in port, for any information. Instead, she walked to the bulletin board, noted the single name under the legend “Embarking At Barbados,” also noted the cabin number, and went back to the stairwell.
Deck B, Cabin 48. She walked down the corridor, but now in casual fashion, and paused outside Cabin 48 to search her purse for a cigarette. She pulled one out and then looked about as if to ask any approaching person for a match. There was no one in sight. Anita moved quickly to the door and rapped. There was no answer. She glanced about once again, still found herself alone, and rapped again. Again there was no answer. She paused to light her cigarette from her lighter and then walked on.
One deck above she turned into the starboard corridor, came to her cabin, and dug out her key. She unlocked the door and went in, not at all surprised to find the room occupied. André was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking a bit apprehensive.
Anita closed the door behind her, locked it, and went to sit on the small chair before the vanity. She crushed out her cigarette and crossed her arms, a danger signal to anyone who knew her well.
“If you want my honest opinion,” she said quietly, “both you and Kek have been reading too many spy stories lately. A little bit of intrigue goes a long way with me. And when I can’t even say hello to an old friend without getting the ‘cheese-it-the-cops’ sign-off, then I think we ought to rewrite the script.”
André looked unhappy. “Kek didn’t want us—”
“And, by the way, where is our friend Kek?”
“Oh, he’ll be here, don’t worry. When we came to the shed back there, he said he wanted to stay back for awhile. He said he wanted to wait and meet somebody.”
“Who?”
“All he said was it was a man in a white suit.”
“Someday,” Anita predicted grimly, “he’s going to meet two men in white suits and they’ll also have white jackets and they’ll take him and put him away. And I’ll visit him on weekends and look at him through a little window.” She sounded half-angry, half-hurt. “Why didn’t he tell me he was going to meet you?”
“Because he didn’t know,” André said honestly. “He’ll explain it to you.”
“How? If we musn’t look at each other and musn’t touch? He’s a terrible correspondent.”
“Maybe when we get back to New York,” André suggested. “He just said he didn’t want us to know each other on board.”
“Great!” Anita said in disgust. “So you calmly walk down the corridor and pick the lock of my cabin!”
“Nobody saw me.” André sounded hurt. “These cabin locks can be opened with a limp piece of spaghetti.”
“Well, all I can say,” Anita said bitterly, “is this is by far the worst cruise I’ve been on!”
André looked contrite. “I’m sorry.”
Anita felt remorse. “Look. It isn’t your fault. You’re as taken with that character Kek as I am. What does he do? Hypnotize us?” She shook her head woefully. “It’s just that I’d like to spend some time with some friend on this trip.”
“We’ll be able to in New York,” André promised confidently. “I have a three-month visa.” He looked around the room, wetting his lips, smiling. “These reunions are thirsty work, aren’t they?”
Anita smiled despite herself. “In the drawer next to you.” She shook her head half-humorously. “That Kek! You might as well pour one for me, too...”
Mr. Ralph Jamison of the United States Customs Service sat in his cab while being driven from his hotel to the docks, and went over the scheme he had brilliantly concocted all in the space of a day. His superior hadn’t really been convinced that Huuygens had robbed the museum, but before Jamison was through, he’d have proof enough! This Huuygens may have been able to fool some of the other men in the Department — Jamison had to sadly admit that a few of the boys could be brighter than they were — but Huuygens had never been up against a first-class opponent before.