At three he went down and chartered a taxi for the rest of the day and headed out for Ratmalana again. The man driving the taxi was so cautious and conservative, that the plane had already discharged its few passengers by the time they arrived at the strip. Bill rushed into the administration building, and was relieved to find Casey still in the process of clearing his flight. The customs men were fumbling and gabbling over the luggage of the passengers.
Casey looked up as Bill walked over to him, and for a second, Bill thought he saw a look of faint dismay in Casey’s eyes. “Hi, Case! Think you can take another night of debauchery and sudden death?”
“You again, Bill! If I had any griff at all I’d never get weaving with you again. It’s dicing with death to fly out of here the way I felt the other morning.”
“You made it, didn’t you? What you kicking about?” Bill said, trying to sound as gay, casual and inviting as he could.
“Right, then. We’ll do it again, but this time I’m not going to take another square bashing. I didn’t know my right hand from an erk in the cold light of dawn. I’ll be through here in a minute.”
Bill waited outside and finally Casey walked out. He lifted his eyebrows at the sight of the taxi. “Where’s your bus?” he asked.
Bill thought for a second of telling him about the disappearing job, but decided that it might sidetrack the conversation too much. “Laid up. The motor or something dropped out of it.”
What was left of the afternoon went much the same way as the previous day. They talked and drank and talked again. Casey shied away from the arrak, but Bill had no trouble in convincing him that the Indian scotch, Solon Number One, was as weak as water. With a little careful attention to the problem, he drank half as much as Casey did, while appearing to drink as much, of even more. While doing it, he felt qualms of conscience, but he disregarded them. He entered into the spirit of the problem to such an extent, that it was with a thrill of accomplishment that he noticed Casey’s speech beginning to blur and his eyes to roll vacantly in his head. Solon Number One is a dangerous whisky. It tastes weak and reacts like a sledge hammer. Bill was faintly surprised that Casey wasn’t acquainted with its properties.
At ten o’clock Casey was slumped in his chair and Bill was looking anxiously toward the door for Doctor Purayana. The hotel was quieter than it had been the previous night. There was a smaller band playing and only about half the tables were occupied. Casey was carrying on a vague mumbling commentary on the charms of the Burgher girls and Singhalese girls at the other tables.
“Look at the popsie over there. Scruffy neck, ropey ankles. Don’t know why her boy friend dares show her in public. Bloody brave bloke, I’d say.”
Bill was peering over his shoulder trying to see the one Casey was talking about when he heard a faint scraping noise at his elbow. He turned back and saw that the sad doctor had arrived and had pulled up a chair. He had on the same clothes as at the previous meeting, and he looked and acted exactly the same. He didn’t speak. He merely nodded at Bill and then inspected Casey. He looked troubled. Casey goggled back at him in a foolish imitation of the doctor’s mournful look. Finally the doctor placed the usual parcel on the table and left. Bill noticed that as he glided out he looked back at Casey a few times with an undecided expression, as though he was debating whether or not the befuddled pilot should be trusted with the package. Bill was relieved to see him finally disappear.
For the next hour Bill alternated between glancing at his wrist-watch and sticking more liquor into the semi-conscious pilot. Casey was soon beyond all repair. Bill realized that it was a mute question as to whether or not the tall, sallow man could stand upright.
At eleven o’clock, as Casey was staring down into his glass telling a long joke of which Bill could understand very little, he decided that it was time. So he stood up quickly, snatched the package and walked quickly out of the ballroom. He heard a hoarse shout from Casey, but he paid no attention. He walked through the lobby and out onto the dim street. He walked in the darkest shadows near the wall of the hotel to the corner. He glanced back and saw a figure slip out of the front door of the hotel and into the shadows after him. As he got to the corner, a small figure slipped up to him and handed him a package. He gave the package he had grabbed off the table to the faithful Ramasinghe, and hissed, “Run!” The little figure melted away toward the black mouth of a nearby alley. Bill tucked the duplicate of the package he had stolen under his arm, and walked noisily back to the door of the hotel, whistling loudly, not looking over into the darkness by the edge of the building where he knew his pursuer was standing. As he turned his back to the suspicious spot all his shoulder muscles were tensed. He felt danger, but he couldn’t imagine what kind. Images of all types of cruel oriental knives sped through his mind. His mouth felt dry and he could hear in his ears the loud thudding of his heart. But he made it back into the lobby without incident. He wondered if the quiet form he had glimpsed had sped after Ramasinghe, and felt a sudden surge of responsibility for the boy.
As he entered the lobby, Casey came staggering across to him, reaching out unsteady hands for the package. “Whas a idea? Hey?” he asked, glaring at Bill.
Bill tried to be breezy as he said, “Oh, I needed some air and I didn’t know if you’d fall asleep at the table and somebody would take the package.”
Casey snatched it away from him, turned and weaved back into the ballroom, mumbling and patting the brown paper package. Bill followed him into the table, and breathed a huge sigh of immediate relief. But he was still fretting inwardly about the safety of Ramasinghe.
Casey had lapsed into sullen silence, but he seemed more sober, as though he had been shocked out of some of the foggy trance of Solon Number One. Bill happened to be glancing toward the door when he saw Doctor Purayana come in and head quickly toward their table. As the doctor got close to them, Bill smiled up at him and said, “Hello again!” The doctor ignored him, and reached for the package. He peeled the paper back from the head of the elephant and stared at it for a few silent seconds. Then he glanced at Bill with his dark eyes so full of silent vicious venom that the look was like the striking of a snake. Bill flinched involuntarily. The doctor turned and walked out. Casey undid the rest of the package and found his hundred rupees. He tucked it away. Bill sat thinking. So the doctor had been suspicious and stayed around. He must have been the figure in the shadows. Evidently he didn’t follow Ramasinghe. Probably didn’t even see the boy, but now he knows that a switch has been made. He certainly can look rough. He’ll probably follow me. Have to do what I can to give him the slip. Better get Case into another cab and send him back to the airport.
After he had stuck the half-conscious figure of Casey into a waiting taxi, Bill hopped quickly into his own vehicle and told the driver to head for the Victoria Bridge. It was a high square taxi with a large back window. The streets were nearly deserted. None of the other vehicles seemed to be following them as they rattled through the dark avenues. As they rounded a traffic circle, Bill told the driver to head back to the Galle Face Hotel. The driver threw one puzzled look over his shoulder, and continued completely around the circle and headed back. Bill looked frequently out of the big window, and relaxed as he could see nothing suspicious. As they approached the hotel, Bill ordered the driver to continue past it and stop by the big public green about a block away. The taxi stopped and Bill asked what the charges were. As the man was figuring out his mileage, Bill continued to stare through the back window. There was no other vehicle or pedestrian in sight. He paid off the driver and stepped out, walking briskly back toward the hotel. As he passed the rear of his cab he heard a soft scraping sound. The driver had killed his motor while figuring out the charges. Bill stopped in his tracks and looked quickly at the back end of the cab. He caught a vague glimpse of something disappearing around the side of the car. He realized how he had been tricked. Either Doctor Purayana or some other member of the unknown group had been clinging to the back of the taxi. He thought for an instant of getting back into the cab and ordering the driver to roar off, but realized at the same time that in the end he would have the same problem. To run away now would only delay it. He cursed his own stupidity at not directing Ramasinghe to meet him inside the hotel to turn over the stolen elephant.