“I am looking for a friend of mine.” Intentionally Shaw slurred his speech a little as he addressed the bartender. “A man named Domingo Felipe.” This was after the time taken to drink four glasses of the rough vino had failed to produce his contact; the wine, and the stink of stale tobacco-smoke and frying-oil, had made Shaw feel a little sick, and he gave an involuntary belch as he slouched at the bar — but it was in character with his act.
The barman’s eyes flickered, and the swarthy face seemed to lose some of its colour. He said, “I know of no such man.”
Oh, yes, you do, Shaw thought, watching closely. Looks as though Don Jaime was right. He asked, “He has not been in lately?”
He could see the sweat of fear on the bartender’s forehead. The man said, “I tell you, hombre, I know of no one by that name.”
Shaw stared at him, realized that he would get no cooperation, and shrugged. Another avenue would have to be found, that was all. He couldn’t risk a scene. He tilted the glass of vino, sent the remains of the red liquid down his throat in a gulp. As he turned to go he caught the eye of the man sitting by the bar quite near where he had been. The man looked away quickly, but Shaw had seen the expression, the interest. Something told him to watch out.
Leaving the bar, he walked out into a little square and up an alley towards the main road. Half-way along the alley he stopped to light a cigarette, and he glanced back. A figure had sunk into a doorway, a figure who was noiseless in alpargatas, the canvas, rope-soled shoes worn by the hombres. As he came to the main Malaga road Shaw turned to the left, headed in the opposite direction from Don Jaime’s villa. The man kept well behind him. Shaw didn’t hurry; he walked casually, calmly along the dusty road as though he was simply going home, and was in no particular hurry. It could be that his shadow was Felipe’s go-between, anxious to give Shaw news of his contact in secrecy; time would tell, and the man would choose his own time. Once outside the village, Shaw turned off sharply into some trees, a grove of orange and eucalyptus. As still and silent as death, he sunk into the dark and watched and waited.
The other man stopped too. Clearly he was uncertain, then after a while he came on, the alpargatas making no sound. He began to edge along very slowly; and in a shaft of moonlight Shaw caught the glint of steel from a knife in the man’s hand. Evidently he was no friend of Felipe’s after all. Shaw stiffened against the trunk of a big eucalyptus, where the ground-scrub helped to hide him, sweated into his shirt, and felt it stick to him clammily. The man was not far off now;
Shaw could hear his strained breathing as he evidently tried to make no sound. He was light enough on those rope-soled feet; only very faintly the dry crackles of twigs and brushwood came to the naval officer’s ears.
Slowly, carefully, the man came up to Shaw’s tree. With infinite caution Shaw edged round, keeping his silhouette out of sight as the man moved slowly past; and then, when he had the man in front of him and unsuspecting, Shaw moved quickly. He came out from the tree’s shelter in one bound, got a grip round the man’s throat, choked back the scream which his fingers told him was coming up. So close to the main Malaga road and the village, Shaw wouldn’t risk using his revolver. But the unknown man was slippery enough. He twisted his body right round, lashed out at Shaw with the knife. Shaw felt his shirt-sleeve rip, felt the prick of the steel just nicking his elbow. Cursing, he brought his knee up with a sharp jerk; the man seemed to expect that, and squirmed his body backward so that Shaw’s knee slid up into his chest, losing its force of impact, but making the man give a choked grunt and fall away a little.
Shaw closed in, smashed the edge of his open hand across a vital spot in the man’s unprotected neck, using a quick, chopping movement. The hombre’s breath rattled in his throat, and he staggered, slumped to the ground, lay very still. Shaw, breathing heavily, fell back against the tree. He felt sick, horrified at what he had done; but such things had to be. When so much was at stake one couldn’t be squeamish. That, however, made things no easier for the man who had to do them.
Overcoming his nausea, Shaw bent and searched the body. He found nothing of any interest. After dragging the corpse behind the scrub where, with any luck, it would not be found for quite a while, he turned away, pale and shaking, made his way back to the road into Torremolinos, glad to be in the gay night crowds again, hoping they would banish the stain of death from him. He was worried now, too, for it was clear that suspicions about him had been aroused in Torremolinos, that he’d been expected in that bar. But all he could do for now was to get back to the villa, avoiding the road and see what the Gibraltar courier brought in the morning.
He was still worrying about that night’s work during a late breakfast next morning when the courier came in from Gibraltar, a big car with a GBZ plate denoting its Gibraltar registration sweeping into the drive and pulling up with a swagger and a cloud of dust at the front door.
Don Jaime, who had already breakfasted, was himself outside, and through the open window Shaw could hear him talking briefly to the courier and his escort; then he heard the car driving away, and a moment later he caught sight of a girl. As Shaw incredulously recognized those long legs and the trim figure he gave a gasp of sheer surprise and went out at the rush to the porch.
“Deb!”
She ran to him. “Darling!” After they’d kissed she said, “My God, but I’ve been worried about you, you just can’t imagine.”
“Not half so worried as I’ve been about you.” He held her away from him, looked at her. “You’ll never know just how glad I am to see you, but for Heaven’s sake why and how — I mean—”
“They asked me to bring a letter.” Gently she left his arms, stood back and set her hair straight and flickered her eyes sideways towards Don Jaime, who was standing there with an almost paternal smirk on his face. “I was coming anyway—”
Smiling now with delight, Don Jaime interrupted. He took Shaw aside and spoke quietly. “Commander Shaw, I am in possession of a little information, and therefore I used some family influence, which was of course very wicked of me… but because I have put two and two together, I arranged with my sister that the young lady should come to stay with me. I told my sister that I would like to show her a little of our country, as a friend of hers was already staying with me. I wished you to be no longer worried for her safety, so that you could the better put your mind to work! You see,” he added gently, “I knew you could not do it for yourself. That I understood.”
Shaw felt overwhelming gratitude towards the Spaniard. He tried to thank him, but Don Jaime cut him short. He asked, “But — what about Lady Hammersley? You must be worried about her.”