He glowered at the figure that was leaning elegantly against the hole
of the mango tree.
"Jolly good show," said the stranger, and the voice was sufficient to
stir the hair upon the nape of Jake's neck. It was one of those pricey
Limey accents.
The man was dressed in a cream suit of expensive tropical linen and
two-tone shoes of white and brown. On his head he wore a white straw
hat with a wide brim that cast a shadow over his face. But Jake could
see the man had a friendly smile and an easy engaging manner. He was
handsome in a conventional manner, with noble and regular features,
a face that had flustered many a female's emotions and that fitted well
with the voice. He would he a ranking government official probably, or
an officer in one of the regular regiments stationed in Dares Salaam.
Upper class establishment, even to the necktie with its narrow diagonal
stripes by which the British advertised at which seat of learning they
had obtained their education and their place in the social order.
"It didn't take you long to get her going." The man lolled gracefully
against the mango, his ankles crossed and one hand thrust into his coat
pocket. He smiled again, and this time Jake saw the mockery and
challenge in the eyes more clearly. He had judged him wrongly. This
was not one of those cardboard men. They were pirate eyes, mocking and
wolfish, dangerous as the glint of a knife in the shadows.
"I have no doubt the others are in as good a state of repair." It was
an enquiry, not a statement.
"Well, you're wrong, friend. "Jake felt a pang of dismay. It was
absurd that this fancy lad could have a real interest in the five
vehicles but if he did, then Jake had just given him a generous
demonstration of their value. "This is the only one that will run, and
even her guts are blown. Listen to her knock. Sounds like a mad
carpenter." He reached under the cowling and earthed the magneto.
In the sudden silence as the engine died, he said loudly, "Junk!"
and spat on the ground near the front wheel but not on it. He couldn't
bring himself to do that. Then he gathered his tools, flung his jacket
over his shoulder, hefted the carpet bag and, without another glance at
the Englishman, ambled off towards the gates of the works yard.
"You not bidding then, old chap?" The stranger had left his post at
the mango and fallen into step beside him.
"God, no." Jake tried to fill his voice with disdain. "Are you?"
"Now what would I do with five broken-down armoured cars?" The man
laughed silently, and then went on, "Yankee, are you? Texas, what?"
"You've been reading my mail." Engineer?" :1 try, I try."
"Buy you a drink?"
"Give me the money. instead. I've got a train to catch." The elegant
stranger laughed again, a light friendly laugh.
"God speed, then, old chap," he said, and Jake hurried out through the
gates into the dusty heat-dazed streets of noonday Dares Salaam and
walked away without a backward glance, trying to convey with his
determined stride and the set of his shoulders that his departure was
final.
Jake found a canteen around the first corner and within five minutes"
walk of the works yard, where he went into hiding. The Tusker beer he
ordered was blood warm, but he drank it while he worried. The
English, man gave him a very queasy feeling, his interest was too
bright to be mere curiosity. On the other hand, however, Jake might
have to go over the twenty pounds bid that he had calculated and he
took from the inside pocket of his jacket the worn pigskin wallet that
contained his entire worldly wealth and, prudently using the table top
as a screen, he counted the wad of notes.
Five hundred and seventeen pounds in Bank of England notes, three
hundred and twenty-seven dollars in United States currency, and four
hundred and ninety East African shillings was not a great fortune with
which to take on the likes of the elegant Limey. However, Jake drained
his warm beer, set his jaw and inspected his watch once more. It gave
him five minutes to noon.
Major Gareth Swales was mildly dismayed, but not at all surprised to
see the big American entering the works yard gates once more in a
manner which was obviously intended to be unobtrusive but reminded him
of Jack Dempsey sidling furtively into an old ladies" tea party.
Gareth Swales sat in the shade of the mangoes upon an upturned
wheelbarrow, over which he had spread a silk handkerchief to protect
the pristine linen of his suit. He had set aside his straw hat, and
his hair was meticulously trimmed and combed, shining softly in that
rare colour between golden blond and red, and there was just a sparkle
of silver in the wings at his temples. His mustache was the same
colour and carefully moulded to the curve of his upper lip. His face
was deeply tanned by the tropical sun to a dark chestnut brown, so that
the contrasting blue of his eyes was startlingly pale and
penetrating,
as he watched Jake Barton cross the yard to join the gathering of
buyers under the mango trees. He sighed with resignation and returned
