I understand how you felt," said Gareth. "But then "I surely
understood you did tell me you weren't bidding. If only you had told
me the truth, we could have worked out an arrangement." Jake reached
out with a soap-frothed hand and lifted the Tusker bottle to his lips.
He swallowed twice, sighed and belched softly.
"Bless you," said Gareth, and then went on. "As soon as I "Ble
realized that you were bidding seriously, I backed out. I knew that
you and I could make a mutually beneficial deal later. And so here I
am now, drinking beer with you and talking a deal."
"You are talking I'm just listening, "Jake pointed out.
"Rite so." Gareth took out his cheroot case, carefully selected one
and leaned forward to place it tenderly between
Jake's willing lips. He struck a match off the sole of his boot and
cupped the match for Jake.
"It seems clear to me that you have a buyer for the cars, right?"
"I'm still listening." Jake exhaled a long feather of cheroot smoke
with evident pleasure.
"You must have a price already set, and I am prepared to better that
price." Jake took the cheroot out of his mouth and for the first time
regarded Gareth levelly.
"You want all five cars at that price in their present condition?"
"Right," said Gareth.
What if I tell you that only three are runners two are "shot all to
hell."
"That wouldn't affect my offer." Jake reached out and drained the
Tusker bottle. Gareth opened another for him and placed it in his
hand.
Swiftly Jake ran over the offer. He had an open contract with
Anglo-Tanganyika Sugar Company to supply gasoline powered sugar-cane
crushers at a fixed price of 110 pounds each.
From the three cars he could make up three units maximum of
330pounds.
The Limey's offer was for all five units, at a price to be
determined.
"I've done one hell of a lot of work on them," Jake softened him a
little.
"I can see that."
"One hundred and fifty pounds each for all five. That's seven hundred
and fifty."
"You would replace the engines and make them look all ship-shape."
"Sure."
"Done," said Gareth. "I
knew we could work something out," and they beamed at each other.
"I'll make out a deed of sale right away," Gareth produced a cheque
book, "and then I'll give you my cheque for the full amount."
"Your what? "The beam on Jake's face faded.
"My personal cheque on Courts of Piccadilly." It was true that
Gareth Swales did have a chequing account with Courts. According to
his last statement, the account was in debit to the sum of eighteen
pounds seventeen and sixpence. The manager had written him a spicy
little letter in red ink.
"Safe as the Bank of England." Gareth flourished his cheque book.
It would take three weeks for the cheque to be presented in London and
bounce through the roof. By that time, he hoped to be on his way to
Madrid. There looked to be a very profitable little piece of business
brewing up satisfactorily in that area, and by then Gareth
Swales would have the capital to exploit it.
"Funny thing about cheques." Jake removed the cheroot from his mouth.
"They bring me out in a rash. If it's all the same to you,
I'll just take the seven fifty in cash money."
Ok Gareth pursed his lips. Very well, so it wasn't going to be that
easy either.
"Dear me," he said. "It will take a little while to clear."
"No hurry, "Jake grinned at him. "Any time before noon tomorrow.
That's the delivery date I have for my original buyer. You be here
with the money before that, and they are all yours." He rose abruptly
from the bath, cascading soapy water, and his black servant handed him
a towel.
"What plans have you for dinner?" Gareth asked.
"I think Abou here has cooked up a pot of his lion-killing stew."
"Won't you be my guest at the Royal?"
"I drank your beer for free why shouldn't I eat your food?" asked Jake
reasonably.
The dining room of the Royal Hotel had high ceilings and tall
insect-screened sash windows. The mechanical fans set in the roof
stirred the warm humid air sluggishly "into a substitute for
coolness,
and Gareth Swales was a splendid host.
His engaging charm was irresistible, and his choice of food and wine
induced in Jake a sense of such well-being that they laughed together
like old friends, and were delighted to find that they had mutual
acquaintances mostly harm en and brothel-keepers in various parts of
the world and that they had parallel experience.
Gareth had been doing business with a revolutionary leader in
Venezuela while Jake was helping build the railroad in that same
country. Jake had been chief engineer on a Blake Line coaster on the
China run when Gareth had been making contact with the Chinese
Communists on Yellow River.
They had been in France at the same time, and on that terrible day at
Amiens, when the German machine guns had accelerated Gareth Swales's
promotion from subaltern to major in the space of six hours, Jake had
been four miles down the line, a sergeant driver in the Royal Tank
Corps seconded from the American Third Army.
They discovered that they were almost of an age, neither of them yet
