For a moment 'Johnny' looked surprised, then he got the message and replied, 'I am sorry, sir. But such storms do blow up quite unexpectedly.'
The soldier who had been left with them growled something, which Gregory knew to be an order not to talk; but he had no intention of giving away the fact that he knew even a little Russian, so he went on
`And where are we now, I would like to know? What island is this?
'It must be Yuloga. A solitary island that lies about halfway between the Loyalties and the Nakapoa Group.'
Angrily their guard stamped a heavily booted foot, put one hand over his mouth and with the other waved his machine pistol; so they accepted his demonstration and fell silent.
After a wait of twenty minutes the door was unlocked, the Sergeant reappeared, and they were led along to a larger and much better furnished office. Behind a desk was seated a square jawed Russian who, by his rank badges, Gregory knew to be a Colonel. Beside him stood a French officer wearing the uniform of a Captain of Artillery. Poker faced, the Russian threw the questions and the Frenchman interpreted.
Actually, owing to their hurried flight from Noumea, it was there that the two prisoners had left their passports and other papers, so there was little chance of their being identified; but Gregory took the precaution of choosing a false name for himself, the initials of which would tally with the monogram on his silk shirt. Showing great indignation at the treatment they were receiving, he said that he was George Simonds, a British subject who had come on a winter holiday to Fiji. At home he owned a motor launch, and spent several weeks each summer cruising across the Channel or North Sea. Thinking that it would be pleasant to cruise among the islands, he had hired a launch from a Mr. Olourna in Suva, with his son Johnny to pilot her. They had been caught in a storm, etc. He requested a passage back to Fiji as soon as possible.
James substantiated Gregory's story. But the Russian did not appear interested. He was concerned only with security. At length the French Captain said, 'No one is permitted to land on this island unless he carries a special permit. That you should have been wrecked on it is your misfortune. You will have to remain here during the pleasure of the Commandant.'
At that Gregory blew up, declaiming on the Rights of Nations and the Freedom of Individuals. But he was only making a demonstration which he hoped would lead his captors to regard him as a person of some importance. He knew only too well that, even could he have communicated with Whitehall, the days were gone when the British Government could protect her nationals the world over, and, should they be unjustly imprisoned, send a warship to secure their release. The birthright of Britons had been sold for a few sacks full of dollars and a Socialist mess of pottage, based on liberal fantasies that in the sacred name of Independence all peoples were now entitled to kill their political enemies and imprison foreigners whenever they wished.
As the prisoners, still protesting, were led away, Gregory shouted to the Captain, `We have not fed for over twelve hours; so at least send us food and something passable to drink.'
They were taken a few hundred yards on foot to an enclosure of one storey buildings. There the Sergeant handed them over to a Sergeant of Military Police, who led them across a compound, then locked them in o two adjacent cells, each of which was furnished with a truckle bed, a chair, a slop bucket, a rack that held a tin jug of water and a mug. But at least the prison had been built recently, so the cells were clean and hygienic. Above head level the walls on all four sides consisted of iron grilles covered with fine gauge wire mesh, to provide through currents of air and protect the prisoners from mosquitoes. There were no lights in the cells, but illumination from a great arc lamp in the middle of the compound came through the grilles, giving enough light to see by, yet not sufficient to prevent sleep.
The island being forbidden to ordinary citizens, Gregory felt sure that the prison must be a military detention centre, so it was most unlikely that the cells were `bugged'. Owing to the solid partition that separated them he could not see James, but they were able to talk to each other through the open work iron grille above it. As Gregory did not feel like talking, he called out, `We're in a fine mess, Johnny; but we had best sleep on it and discuss what can be done tomorrow.'
The thin clothes he was wearing had already dried out owing to the warm tropical night air, and were only a little stiff from salt. he was about to take off his trousers and get into bed when the door opened and an orderly thrust in a mess tin holding some pieces of meat, a yam, two banana’s and what Gregory rightly took to be a mug of strong tea. The meat was tough and the yarn unpalatable; but after his long fast he ate the greater part of them and the bananas with pleasure, then drank the dark brew of tea, comforted a little to think that their captors were not altogether inhuman. Partly undressing, he lay down on the bed, pulled the rough blanket over him and, utterly tired out, soon fell asleep.
When he woke the big arc lamp had been switched off and instead the pale light of early morning filtered into the cell. Recalling the events of the past night, he endeavoured to console himself for having been made a prisoner by the fact that he was lucky to be alive at all. His waterproof watch was still going, and a glance at it showed the time to be a little before six.
Both he and James had been frisked for weapons, but not searched, and none of their few belongings had been taken from them. He put that down to their having been imprisoned not for any criminal act, but simply as detainees. His wallet had fallen out of his pocket when he had been thrown from the wrecked launch, but that did not particularly trouble him, as he still had plenty of money on him. During the long spells he had spent on secret missions abroad during the war he had always worn a money belt containing a hundred or more gold coins as well as wads of bank notes of the country in which he was operating. More recently, since he had been travelling further afield, he had resumed his practice of wearing the money belt as a precaution against pick pockets and hotel thieves. Now it had in it a considerable sum in dollar bills and Swiss franc bank notes.
Had he been searched, the money might have been taken from him; and he was still congratulating himself on having the wherewithal to bribe his way out of prison, should an opportunity arise, when his cell door was unlocked and a guard beckoned him out. James had already been released and, as they wished each other a rather gloomy `Good morning', the guard led them along to a wash house.
In it there were already two men who, from their light skins and only slightly crinkly hair, looked to Gregory like Polynesians. Soon afterwards they were joined by two white men and two fuzzy haired Melanesians. The two white men were both fortyish, lanky, fair haired and blue eyed. Surprised and pleased at the sight of Gregory, they introduced themselves as Willy and Frank Robertson, Australians who had long been in the copra trade. Two months earlier their schooner had been driven on to a reef by a hurricane. They and the two Melanesians, who were members of their crew, had succeeded in getting ashore in a boat, only to be promptly arrested and imprisoned. The Polynesians, they said, had been there for considerably longer, but for quite how long was uncertain, as neither of them spoke any English.
The guards, who stood by while the prisoners washed, did not prevent their talking, so `George Simonds' and `Johnny Olourna' duly told their story, then obtained as much information as time allowed from the Robertson brothers about conditions in the prison.