He swam out and moved further along the corridor to where it disintegrated into a twisted mass of metal, electric wires draped from the roof and, most poignant sight of all, the broken remnants of a human skeleton crushed beneath a girder.
He moved back along the corridor quickly and, the moment he emerged from the companionway, struck up towards the reef. At twenty feet he paused to decompress for several minutes, aware of the current tugging at his body. He surfaced a few yards from the rock and found Anne Grant waist-deep on the edge of the reef, adjusting her equipment.
“We’ll have to get moving,” she shouted, as he approached and pushed up his mask. “It must be later than I thought. I can feel the tide moving already.”
“Is that bad?” he said.
She nodded. “Even the aquamobiles aren’t going to do us much good with a five-knot current flowing the other way.”
She moved off at once and he went after her. Behind them the entire length of the reef was surging into breakers and he could feel the relentless pressure of the current. He started to flutter-kick with all his strength, and gradually the point grew nearer. Anne turned, gave him a quick wave and they went down.
He could see the weeds on the sea-bed beneath him leaning over on one side, pointing back towards the reef, and the pressure was now a solid wall that he was trying to break through. He kicked again, was dimly aware of the black rocks passing beneath him and then they were round into calm water and his aquamobile seemed to leap forward with a surge of power.
He surfaced and saw Anne at once, over to the right and some distance in front of him. He raised a hand, urging her on, and followed. When he rounded the final point of rock she was perhaps fifty yards in front of him and moving strongly towards Foxhunter.
A speedboat was moored beside the ladder, the sunlight gleaming on its scarlet trim, and someone sat in a canvas chair next to General Grant, a tall, distinguished-looking man in dark glasses and linen jacket who stood up and moved to the rail, shading his eyes as Anne approached.
She reached the ladder and he moved to give her a hand. When she climbed up on deck Mallory was still twenty or thirty yards away and he reduced speed.
As he came in under the counter of the speedboat the man who was sitting at the wheel turned to look down at him. He was a large, dangerous-looking individual with a hard face, a jagged scar bisecting the right cheek. Mallory recognised him at once from the photograph he had been shown at his briefing.
He pushed up his mask. “Hello there.”
Jacaud looked down at him calmly, nodded, then turned away. Mallory pulled himself to the bottom of the ladder where Raoul Guyon was already waiting, a hand outstretched for the aquamobile.
Mallory went over the rail, squatted on deck and took off his aqualung. Anne Grant was standing a yard or two away, an attractive figure in her yellow diving suit as she talked to the man in the linen jacket.
There was little doubt who he was. The handsome aristocratic face, the easy poise, spoke of a man who was supremely aware of the fact that God had created the de Beaumonts first.
“Such a nice surprise,” she was saying.
“Pure luck that I passed, I assure you. I was trying out my new speedboat.” De Beaumont raised her hand to his mouth. “My dear Anne, you grow more delightful each time I see you.”
She coloured charmingly and the General cut in: “And now that we’ve got you won’t get away so easily. You must come to dinner tonight. It’s been far too long.”
“Please do,” Anne said.
He shrugged, still holding her hand. “How can I refuse?”
Raoul Guyon was standing with Fiona beside the deckhouse and Anne turned towards him. “Have you met Monsieur Guyon?”
“I have indeed,” de Beaumont said. “I’ve been looking at these delightful sketches he’s done of the General. If he can spare the time perhaps you could persuade him to come across to St. Pierre one day and sketch me?”
“A pleasure,” Guyon said.
Anne turned towards Mallory. “And this is Mr. Neil Mallory. He’s running the boat for us for a month or two till Fiona and I get used to things.”
De Beaumont stood for a moment, looking towards Mallory, and then he slowly removed his sun-glasses. His eyes were a strange, metallic blue and very cold, no warmth in them at all, and yet something moved there, something that instantly put Mallory on the alert.
“Mr. Mallory.” De Beaumont held out his hand.
Mallory took it and the grip tightened. The Frenchman looked into his eyes for a long moment, then turned back to Anne.
“And now I must go. At what time this evening?”
“Seven,” she said. “We’ll look forward to seeing you.”
He went down the ladder into the speedboat and nodded to Jacaud. The engine roared into life and the boat turned away in a surge of power.
De Beaumont raised his hand in farewell, took a gold cigarette case from an inner pocket, selected a cigarette and lit it.
“Shall I tell Marcel to be ready to run you across tonight?” Jacaud said.
De Beaumont nodded. “And Pierre, but I shall also require you, Jacaud.”
“Something interesting?”
“I have just seen a ghost,” de Beaumont said calmly. “A ghost from the past, and ghosts are always interesting.”
He settled back in the seat and Jacaud spun the wheel in his hands and took the speedboat round the point, his face quite expressionless.
Mallory stood at the wheel of Foxhunter thinking about de Beaumont. There had been something there, of that he was sure, but what could it possibly be? They had certainly never met.
The door clicked open behind him and Raoul Guyon came in and leaned against the chart table, lighting a cigarette.
“What did you think of him?”
Mallory shrugged. “Very charming, very elegant. Seems soft until you look in his eyes. Are you dining with them tonight?”
Guyon shook his head. “I’ve been invited for drinks afterwards. What was it like on the reef? Anything interesting?”
Mallory told him everything that had happened. When he had finished Guyon nodded. “From the sound of it, this cavern under the island would seem like an adequate hiding place for L’Alouette.”
“That’s what we’ll have to/find out.”
“And how do we do that?”
“We’ll use the aquamobiles. Try the Middle Passage approach I told you about.”
“Straight into the cavern. Do you think they’ll let us?”
“That’s what we’ll have to find out. We’ll go in sometime tonight. The forecast’s good and there’s a moon. If the weather holds it shouldn’t be too difficult. We’ll go round the point in the dinghy. That should give us a good start.”
Guyon sighed. “Legrande told me this one would be interesting. Little did he know. I’ll see you later.”
The door closed behind him and Mallory increased speed. The strange thing was that as Foxhunter ran back towards the jetty he wasn’t thinking of the danger that lay ahead, of the long swim through the dark night. He was thinking of two metallic blue eyes and wondering what it was that he had seen in them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
through the French windows the lawn shimmered palely and the great beeches were silhouetted against the evening sky. Beyond was the timeless sad sough of the sea.
Inside, the room was warm and comfortable, the light softly diffused and a log hissed and spluttered on the hearthstone. There was a grand piano in one corner, two old comfortable couches drawn to the fire and a print or two on the walls.
It was a room that was lived in, a quiet, comfortable place, and the five people gathered loosely about the fire talked quietly to each other, Fiona Grant’s occasional laugh breaking to the surface like a bubble of air in a quiet pool.
De Beaumont and his host wore dinner jackets and the Frenchman looked elegant, completely at his ease as he talked to Anne Grant and the General.
Fiona was wearing a simple green dress in some heavy silk material and sat on the arm of an old tapestry chair. Guyon stood beside her smoking a cigarette, one hand on the high mantelpiece. He was not in evening dress, but a well-cut suit of dark blue fitted his wiry figure to perfection, giving him a touch of distinction.