the preceding five days sitting at the table in his low-roofed poop
cabin playing two-handed gin rummy with Major Gareth Swales. Gareth
had suggested the diversion and it had occurred to the Captain by this
time that there was something unnatural in the consistent run of
winning cards which had distinguished Gareth's play.
The agreed fare for transporting the cars and the four passengers had
totalled two hundred and fifty of sterling.
The Captain's losses had just exceeded that figure, and Gareth smiled
winningly at Papadopoulos and smoothed the golden moustaches.
"What do you say we give it a break now, Papa old sport, go up on deck
and stretch the legs, what?" Having recovered the passage money,
Gareth had accomplished the task he had set himself, and he was now
anxious to return to the open deck where Vicky Camberwell and Jake were
becoming much too friendly for his peace of mind.
Every time Gareth had been forced by nature to make a brief journey to
the poop rail, he had seen the two of them together and they seemed to
be laughing a great deal, which was always a bad sign. Vicky was in
the forefront of any action,
passing tools to Jake and offering general encouragement, as he worked
at fine-tuning the cars and making last minute preparations for the
desert crossing or the two of them sat with Gregorius while amidst
great hilarity he gave them basic lessons in the Amharic language. He
wondered distractedly what else they were up to.
However, Gareth was a man sure of his priorities and his first concern
was to recover his money from Papadopoulos.
Having done so, he could now return to sheep-dogging Vicky
Camberwell.
"It's been a lot of fun, Papa." He half rose from the table,
folding the grimy wad of banknotes into his back pocket and gathering
the pile of coins with his free hand.
Captain Papadopoulos reached into the depths of the Arabic gown he wore
and produced a knife with an ornately carved handle and a viciously
curved blade. He balanced it lightly in the palm of his hand and his
single eye glittered coldly at Gareth.
"Deal!" he said, and Gareth smiled blandly and sank back into his
seat. He picked up the cards and cut them with a ripping sound and the
knife disappeared into Papadopoulos's gown once more as he watched the
shuffle intently.
"Actually, I do feel like a few more hands," Gareth murmured.
"Just getting warmed up, hey?" The slaver altered course as she
cleared the tip of the great horn of Africa and rounded Cape Guardafui.
Before her lay the long gut of the Gulf of Aden and a run of five
hundred miles westwards to French Somaliland.
The Hindu mate came down and whispered fearfully to his Captain.
"What troubles the fellow?" Gareth asked.
"He worries about the English blockade."
"A "So do I" Gareth answered. "Shouldn't we go up on deck? Deal,"said
Papadopoulos.
Below them they heard the steady thumping beat of the big diesel engine
begin, and the vibration of the propeller shaft spinning in its bed.
The mate had her under sail and power now, and the motion of the ship
changed immediately, the thrust of the propeller combining with the
push of the full spread of her canvas, and she flew towards the vivid
purple and pink flush of sky and piled cumulus cloud behind which the
sun was beginning to set.
The mate had set a course which would take him swiftly down the middle
of the Gulf, out of sight of Africa on his port side and Arabia on the
starboard. The HirondeUe was making twenty-five knots, for the sea
breeze was on her best point of sailing and a day and two nights would
see them in and out again. He sent one of his best men -to the
masthead with a telescope and he wondered which the English viewed more
sternly young black girls in chains or Vickers machine guns in wooden
cases. Mournfully he concluded that either of them would be lethal and
he shrilled at his masthead to keep a strict watch.
The sun was sinking with agonizing slowness, almost dead ahead and the
wind rose steadily, driving the Hirondelle on deeper into the gut.
Jake Barton wriggled out of the engine hatch of Miss Wobbly and grinned
at Vicky Camberwell who sat on the sponson above him swinging her long
legs idly, with the wind in her hair and the tan she had picked up in
the last few days gilding her arms and flushing at her cheeks. She had
lost the dark rings of worry and the paleness of fatigue, and looked
now like a schoolgirl, young and carefree and gay.
"That's the best I can do," said Jake, beginning to scour the black
grease from his arms with Scrubbs Ammonia.
"She's running so sweetly, I could take her out at Le Mans." Her knees
were at the level of Jake's eyes and her skirts had tucked up high. He
felt his heart stop as he glanced down the smooth length of her thigh.
Her skin had a lustre and sheen, as though made of some precious and
rare substance.
Vicky saw the direction of his gaze and brought her knees together
sharply, although a smile touched her lips. She jumped down lightly on
to the deck, steadying herself against the Hirondelle's rolling action
