Minutes that seemed an eternity dragged by; then, blinded and half suffocated, Gregory could bear it no longer. Ducking down, he came up outside but still clinging to their cover. Staring apprehensively across the choppy waves he drew in a succession of deep breaths. To his infinite relief, the launch was not in sight. Cautiously he peered round the side of the roof and there she was, obviously still hunting them as she circled slowly not more than a hundred yards away. He had been lucky to surface with the roof between him and her, otherwise he would certainly have been seen. But how much longer could his luck last? Even as he wondered, the launch turned in his direction.
At that moment James came up beside him and gasped, `The roof served us well but… but it's no good any longer. Too low in the water.'
`Only chance left is to make a dash for it,' Gregory muttered. `But with luck they won't get us both. You strike out in one direction, I'll take the other.'
As he spoke there sounded a drumming on the roof, but both of them were so concerned about what might happen in the next few minutes that neither of them took any notice of it.
James put a hand an Gregory's shoulder. `No, I'm a much stronger swimmer than you. Stay here behind the cover the roof still provides, while I give them a run for their money. Then, when you see them going after me, you'll have a much better chance of getting away.'
Before Gregory could protest, his young friend had submerged and was swiftly swimming off under water. In an agony of apprehension he awaited the outcome. His eyes only just above water level, between each wave crest he snatched anxious glimpses of the oncoming launch. As the seconds
passed, he began to breathe a trifle more freely. Suddenly a cry went up and the launch swerved in the direction that James had taken. But no shots were fired. Having come up for air, James must have dived again, and they had temporarily lost sight of him.
Only then did Gregory realise that the drumming on the roof had been rain. A minute passed, two, three… Still no shots and the rain had increased to one of those unexpected downpours that are frequent in tropical countries. Another minute and he could no longer see the launch. With a great sigh of thankfulness, he realised that, now she was no longer visible, it was quite certain that the men. in her would not be able to spot James' dark head in the tossing waters.
A great surge of joy flooded through Gregory. He was seized with an impulse to shout aloud at this triumph of the brave young Ratu over their Anemies, and cheer him on. But his elation was short lived. Like a douche of icy water, awareness of the desperateness of his own situation returned to him. For the past quarter of an hour his thoughts had been so engrossed with keeping out of sight of the two murderous Colons, and anxiously awaiting the result of James' gallant attempt to leave him a free field, that he had forgotten that he was a mile from the shore and, pulled down by his waterlogged clothes, would almost certainly drown before he could reach it.
The idea that he and James should strike out in different directions for the coast had seemed sound when they had exchanged their few hurried words. But to risk putting it into practice was a very different matter. As long as he hung on to the cabin roof he could keep afloat, but once he abandoned it his chances of survival seemed terrifyingly slender.
Yet even to remain there was fraught with peril. Tropical storms were usually of short duration and ceased as abruptly as they started. In another few minutes the protective curtain of rain might dissolve and the sun break through. It seemed certain that the Colons would then return for a last look round the wreck to make sure that he was not clinging to it. So far, it was only by sheer luck that they had overlooked the possibility that one of their intended victims might have taken cover beneath the cabin roof. On their return, the luck might turn against him. Then he could expect a bullet fired
at close quarters.
The rain was already easing. Inaction being abhorrent to him, he forced himself to make up his mind. But his decision was a compromise. Instead of abandoning the roof, he would endeavour to get it as far as possible away from the danger area of the wreck. Still clinging to it, he kicked out with his legs, pushing it before him.
As it was quite light and the downpour had rendered the lake calmer, he made good progress. By the time the rain ceased altogether, he had covered some two hundred yards. Peering round the side he could again see the launch. She was slowly patrolling about halfway between the wreck and the shore, evidently still searching for James.
Slightly altering his direction to keep well away from her, Gregory kept going for a further five minutes. Then he saw the launch turn towards the wreck and suddenly increase her speed. His heart lifted, for this new move indicated that the hunt had been given up and James had got away. But in a few moments now he would be in deadly danger. The launch must pass within a hundred yards of him. Unless he could keep his head under water for several minutes he would be spotted. Or they might alter direction slightly to find out if he was clinging to the roof. In either case the game would be up.
With bated breath he watched her approach while preparing to duck under the roof. Just as he was about to do so, to his amazement and relief she suddenly altered course again, heading across the lake in the direction of the hotel.
For a moment he was completely puzzled by this swift change of intent. Then, as he pushed the roof round a little, so as to head for the nearest beach, a sideways glance gave him the explanation. The wreck had disappeared. It must have sunk only a few moments before and, seeing it go down, Lacost had decided that there was no point in returning to it.
The best part of half an hour had elapsed since Lacost had thrown his bomb. During this time Gregory's mind had been constantly occupied with the urgent question of what next to do that would give him the best chance of escaping with his life; so he had given little heed to his physical condition.
But, now that immediate peril of being murdered was past, he was again beset by acute anxiety about his staying powers.
In spite of the distance he had pushed the roof it was little nearer the shore, as a current had swept it in a sideways direction. His water filled shoes felt like lumps of lead, the muscles of his legs were aching badly and, most menacing of all, the lake water was very cold.
Even if he ceased thrusting with his legs, sooner or later the roof must drift ashore, provided he could continue to keep his hold on it. But his hands were becoming numb and the explosion had thrown a film of oil on to the roof, making it slightly slippery. So could he cling on for an hour, two hours, three perhaps? That was the awful question.
For what seemed an endless time he struggled on, alternately pushing the roof before him for some fifty yards, then resting. From time to time he let go of it, trod water and clapped his hands vigorously to restore their circulation. But now each breath he drew pained his chest, and by the time he was halfway to the shore he decided that he had little chance of setting foot on it.
When he had lost Erika he had himself narrowly escaped drowning in the Pacific. Just over a fortnight ago in Rio he had been saved from drowning only by a miracle. Now he was again faced with drowning. It seemed that he was fated to die that way. In his case it would not be `third time lucky'.
Then an idea came to him. If he stopped swimming, and instead used the roof as a raft, there was just a chance that it might have sufficient buoyancy to bear his weight until it was washed up.
After two unsuccessful attempts he managed to turn the roof over so that it formed a shallow, oblong shaped boat, one end of which was missing. He then had to get into it. As soon as he put his full weight on one side that side went under. Four times it overturned completely, so that he gulped in water and came up beneath it. But persistence was second nature to Gregory. At the fifth attempt he managed to spread eagle himself upon it, half submerged in the water with which it was filled. Only the broken edges of the three sides now showed above the surface, but at least it kept him afloat. Near the end of his tether, he lay there face down, fighting to keep conscious, as he knew that if he passed out, even for a moment, the least shifting of his weight would cause the roof to overbalance.