“You know I do!”
“Here is a present for you, Peter. No, don’t turn on the light to look at it. It is a ring with a star sapphire. Does it fit?”
It fit perfectly.
She said, “The ring is in part for being sweet and in part for doing me a favor.”
“Anything, Lynda.”
“When you leave me I will give you a box of K ration. You will take it back with you. You will carry it with other boxes of ration, but you will mark it in some way so you can tell which is the one I gave you. When you get to the States, you will wrap it up and send it by parcel post to this address, which you will memorize. Say it after me: Gerald Rhine, P. O. Box 812, Jersey City, New Jersey.”
He repeated it after her and said, “But I don’t understand? What’s in—”
“Part of the favor is in not asking questions, my darling... It’s a full ten minutes since I’ve been kissed.”
Down the river from Calcutta to the sea and down to Trincomalee and over to Perth; then to Pearl and L.A. The box was with him. With every tossing mile of open sea that widened between the fantail of the APA and the Calcutta dock, the spell of Lynda Stanley grew less. And the curiosity about the package increased. Gems? Possibly.
Two days out of Los Angeles, he sat on the edge of his bunk and carefully undid the waxed ends of the package. It was filled with a fine, white, crystaline powder. He removed a pinch of it, heated the wax with his cigarette lighter and resealed the package.
He tasted one grain of the powder. It had no particular taste. He remembered stories he had read and, taking the slightest pinch on the back of his hand, sniffed it up his nostrils. After several minutes, a great warm wave of comfort and exhilaration swelled over him. He wanted to sing. He felt three times life size and capable of putting his naked fist through the steel hull next to his bunk.
He could remember the funniest stories he had ever heard, and could make up even funnier ones. He could write a great novel, or a wonderful song. Then all things swam away from him, and he seemed to be growing to an enormous size. He stretched out in the bunk and he could not tell when thought stopped and dreams started.
He didn’t awaken until the next morning. He felt washed out and jaded. There was a cottony taste in his mouth.
He did a lot of thinking the rest of the trip. He thought of Lynda and how she had led him on, and he thought of the stuff he was supposed to smuggle in. He lay awake cursing her for the way she had used him.
After debarkation he asked to talk to the Port Commander. He annoyed a lieutenant, a captain and an elderly major by refusing to discuss his business with them. After a six hour wait, he was permitted to see the colonel.
After listening to the first three sentences, the colonel stopped him and made two phone calls. Twenty minutes later, two brisk young men in well-tailored suits showed up and Peter Hume was permitted to tell the entire story. A stenotype was brought in and finally, at midnight, the complete statement was ready for Peter’s sworn signature.
They took the box and took his fingerprints. They put him up at a good hotel and assigned a man to stay with him. The next morning they told him that he could rejoin his shipment for discharge.
No, it will not be necessary for you to appear at the trial, Captain. We appreciate your informing us. You have done a very fine thing, Captain. Yes, we will keep your name out of it if possible. Thank you very much. Yes, we have mailed the box. Good-by and good luck, Captain.
During the three years since his discharge, memories of Lynda had faded. He forgot exactly what she looked like. But he could remember her smile and the smell of her dark, shoulder-length hair.
And he could remember the perfume with which the blue note had been scented.
Your Lynda!
His office door opened and Robina stood in the doorway. “Trouble, boss?”
He nodded. She pursed her lips. “The past is rearing its ugly head?”
“Something like that.”
“From the smell of the billy doo, chum, she is something spectacular. And, as I told you some time ago, thees Fon du Lac, she ver’ small town, Musseer. Better stick the fair Annaly’s head in a sack until the ex does a dust.”
Peter smiled grimly. “It’s not so simple, Robby.”
“Then, my boy, you’ve had it.”
“I wish I could tell somebody about it.”
Robina walked in, sat down in the visitor’s chair, crossed very lovely legs and said, “Try me.”
“I can put it in one sentence: While I was overseas I made an ass of myself over an American gal seven years older than me who, when we parted, gave me this ring and a box to smuggle into the states — but I opened the box, found narcotics and turned her in when I arrived in L.A.”
Robina Bray’s sea green eyes widened and her eyebrows climbed up toward her rusty hair. “And this is the dish? The note came from her?”
He nodded. Robina whistled softly. “She wants to see you, no doubt.”
“At three. At the Sayreton House.”
Robina tilted her head on one side and stared at Peter with a speculative look. “She has a legitimate gripe, you know.”
“How so?”
“If you didn’t want to get your little fingers all dirtied up with smuggling, you could have dropped the nasty old box over the side.”
Peter nodded. “I thought of that. Then I remembered how I thought all the time I knew her that she was laughing at me. And I thought of all the other suckers who would be used to bring the stuff in...
“I’ve seen snowbirds, you know. I’ve seen them when they couldn’t stop yawning and when they batted at the empty air in front of their noses, trying to chase away flies that weren’t there. I’ve seen them sweat and moan and shake when they’re off the stuff. Not pretty, Robby. Not pretty at all, at all. And if I had chucked the box over the side, she would have angled somebody else into bringing the next package.”
“So you turned her in,” Robby said.
Peter stood up, flushed and angry. “Damn it, Robby, she was playing me for a sucker! Depending on her charm to keep me from messing with that box she gave me.”
“And especially you didn’t like being laughed at?”
His anger faded. He managed to grin at her. “Maybe that’s closer, lady.”
Robina stood up. “I still love you, Peter my lad. Be on your guard. One would suspect that she means you no good.”
She closed the door behind her and Peter put his head on the desk, his cheek on the back of his right hand. The light came through the blinds, and the six points of the perfect star in the sapphire ring sparkled. He yanked the ring off and dropped it into his desk drawer.
Chapter Two
Hot Eyes of Hate
Room 414 was at the end of the corridor. His footsteps made no sound on the thick corridor rug. His mouth felt tight and dry.
He lifted his hand, took a deep breath and knocked on the dark door. It was two minutes after three. A familiar, throaty voice said, “Come in, Peter darling.”
His hand was cold and wet on the knob. He opened the door. It opened into a small sitting room. Beyond was the bedroom. Lynda Stanley stood at the window, looking down into the court. She wore a house coat of pale blue taffeta. She was much thinner than she had been in Calcutta.
She turned away from the window. For a moment she was silhouetted against the light and he couldn’t see her face. She walked toward him, hands outstretched.
“How nice to see you, Peter,” she said softly.
“Nice to see you, Lynda,” he mumbled.
She took his hands and turned so that the light struck her face. An ugly puckered scar started by the lobe of her left ear and slashed down across her cheek. It disappeared and then reappeared low on her throat, disappearing into the top of the house dress.