"What're you looking so smug about, Peter?"
"I'm not looking smug, just pleased with myself. I was just telling him we thought his girl was pretty."
"Yes! She's a doll! How about asking her to join us for coffee?"
"For the love of God." Peter tried to keep his voice calm. "You don't come out and make a date just like that. You've got to take time, build up to it."
"Hell, that's not the American way. You meet a broad, you like her and she likes you, you hit the sack."
"You've no finesse."
"Maybe. But I've a lot of broads."
They laughed and Cheng San asked what the joke was and Peter Marlowe told them that the King had said, "We should set up shop in the village and not bother to go back to camp."
After they had drunk their coffee, Cheng San made the first overture.
"I would have thought it risky to come from the camp by night. Riskier than my coming here to the village."
First round to us, thought Peter Marlowe. Now, Oriental style, Cheng San was at a disadvantage, for he had lost face by making the opening. He turned to the King. "All right, Rajah. You can start. We've made a point so far."
"We have?"
"Yes. What do you want me to tell him?"
"Tell him I've a big deal. A diamond. Four carats. Set in platinum.
Flawless, blue-white. I want thirty-five thousand dollars for it. Five thousand British Malay Straits dollars, the rest in Jap counterfeit money."
Peter Marlowe's eyes widened. He was facing the King, so his surprise was hidden from the Chinese. But Sutra marked it. Since he was no part of the deal, but merely collected a percentage as a go-between, he settled back to enjoy the parry and thrust. No need to worry about Cheng San —
Sutra knew to his cost that the Chinese could handle himself as well as anyone.
Peter Marlowe translated. The enormousness of the deal would cover any lapse of manners. And he wanted to rock the Chinese.
Cheng San brightened palpably, caught off his guard. He asked to see the diamond.
"Tell him I haven't got it with me. Tell him I'll make delivery in ten days.
Tell him I have to have the money three days before I make delivery because the owner won't let it out of his possession until he has the money."
Cheng San knew that the King was an honest trader. If he said he had the ring and would hand it over, then he would. He always had. But to get such an amount of money and pass it into the camp, where he could never keep track of the King — well, that was quite a risk.
"When can I see the ring?" he asked.
"Tell him if he likes he can come into the camp, in seven days."
So I must hand over the money before I even see the diamond! thought Cheng San. Impossible, and Tuan Rajah knows it. Very bad business. If it really is four carats, I can get fifty — a hundred thousand dollars for it.
After all, I know the Chinese who owns the machine that prints the money.
But the five thousand in Malay Straits dollars — that is another thing. This he would have to buy black-market. And what rate? Six to one would be expensive, twenty to one cheap.
"Tell my friend the Rajah," he said, "that this is a strange business arrangement. Consequently I must think, longer than a man of business should need to think."
He wandered over to the window and gazed out.
Cheng San was tired of the war and tired of the undercover machinations that a businessman had to endure to make a profit. He thought of the night and the stars and the stupidity of man, fighting and dying for things which would have no lasting value. At the same time, he knew that the strong survive and the weak perish. He thought of his wife and his children, three sons and a daughter, and the things he would like to buy them to make them comfortable. He thought also of the second wife he would like to buy.
Somehow or another he must make this deal. And it was worth the risk to trust the King.
The price is fair, he reasoned. But how to safeguard the money? Find a go-between whom he could trust. It would have to be one of the guards.
The guard could see the ring. He could hand over the money if the ring was real and the weight right. Then the Tuan Rajah could make delivery, here at the village. No need to trust the guard to take the ring and turn it over. How to trust a guard?
Perhaps we could concoct a story — that the money was a loan to the camp from Chinese in Singapore — no, that would be no good, for the guard would have to see the ring. So the guard would have to be completely in the know. And would expect a substantial fee.
Cheng San turned back to the King. He noticed how the King was sweating. Ah, he thought, you want to sell badly! But perhaps you know I want to buy badly. You and I are the only ones who can handle such a deal. No one has the honest name for trading like you — and no one but I, of all the Chinese who deal with the camp, is capable of delivering so much money.
"So, Tuan Marlowe. I have a plan which perhaps would cover both my friend the Rajah and myself. First, we agree to a price. The price mentioned is too high, but unimportant at the moment. Second, we agree to a go-between, a guard whom we both can trust. In ten days I will give half the money to the guard. The guard can examine the ring. If it is truly as the owner claims, he can pass over the money to my friend the Rajah.
The Rajah will make delivery here to me. I will bring an expert to weigh the stone. Then I will pay the other half of the money and take the stone."
The King listened intently as Peter Marlowe translated.
"Tell him it's okay. But I've got to have the full price. The guy won't turn it over without the dough in his hands."
"Then tell my friend the Rajah I will give the guard three-quarters of the agreed price to help him negotiate with the owner."
Cheng San felt that seveny-five percent would certainly cover the amount of money paid to the owner. The King would merely be gambling his profit, for surely he was a good enough businessman to obtain a twenty-five percent fee!
The King had figured on three-quarters. That gave him plenty to maneuver with. Maybe he could knock a few bucks off the owner's asking price, nineteen-five. Yep, so far so good. Now we get down to the meat.
"Tell him okay. Who does he suggest as the go-between?"
"Torusumi."
The King shook his head. He thought a moment, then said direct to Cheng San, "How 'bout Immuri?"
"Tell my friend that I would prefer another. Perhaps Kimina?"
The King whistled. A corporal yet! He had never done business with him.
Too dangerous. Got to be someone I know. "Shagata-san?"
Cheng San nodded in agreement. This was the man he wanted, but he did not want to suggest it. He wanted to see who the King wanted — a last check on the King's honesty.
Yes, Shagata was a good choice. Not too bright, but bright enough. He had dealt with bun before. Good.
"Now, about the price," said Cheng San. "I suggest we discuss this. Per carat four thousand counterfeit dollars. Total sixteen thousand. Four thousand in Malay dollars at the rate of fifteen to one."