“Coppers behind you and all?”
“Coppers behind me and all.” It was said flatly.
Diana didn’t pursue the subject. “And after they pick them up?”
He grinned again. “After that, you let me worry about it, honey. We’ll be off and gone, and the two of the ugly bostards will still be there on the islands. Lepers, the both of them.”
Diana frowned. “Why lepers? They have boats running there for supplies, I imagine. They’ll be off on the first one.”
“So let them, but just being on that island will make them lepers. They say not, but I know better.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Diana looked up. Her voice was steady and quiet.
“And where are the stones on the island?”
He became serious, leaning forward.
“You’ll be with them, of course, because I don’t even know if either of the ugly sods ever saw a boat before. The charts are in the roundhouse. You can’t miss the island; just hold two degrees north of due east. About fifty miles; you’ll raise sight of it fifteen miles short of it, if it’s clear. You’ll come up on it and you’ll see a hill, a cliff like, looks like a big wave about to break; it’s got a rock overhang, see? It’s the highest hill on the island, the one farthest south of the three that are there, and there’s a cove nearly under it where you tie up.”
He waited until this much had been absorbed before going on.
“Now, about halfway up the hill, they’ll see a small cave. Opening bigger on top than on the bottom, about five feet high, five feet wide. Brush in front but not enough to hide it, or there wasn’t fifteen years ago. Between the cave and the coves there used to be a stand of palm, then a swamp, and. then another stand of trees leading up the cliff, but what them lepers did on the island I can’t say.”
“And in the cave?” Her voice was expressionless.
“Inside, at the end — it’s maybe fifteen feet deep, no deeper — there’s a ledge and it looks like it’s all stone, but it’s just rock slabs I laid in clay. And behind it—” He looked at her.
“Fifty miles, two degrees north of east, southernmost hill, halfway up a cave bigger top than bottom, package behind rocks at far end.” She nodded.
“And the chaps are in that camper on the beach, remember?”
“I remember.” Her eyes came up to his face, warm at last. “And you?”
“Don’t worry about me, honey. I’ll be about, when the time comes.” He looked at the clock ticking quietly away on the nightstand. “It’s late. I’ve got to go. Turn off your lamp and get some sleep, honey. I’ll let myself out.”
“All right, Bill.” Diana looked at him with a smile. He bent down and pressed a kiss on her lips, even while his hand moved over to turn off the light switch. She expected to feel his hands on her in the dark but instead felt the bedsprings rise as he withdrew his weight from them, coming to his feet. “Good night, Bill.”
“Good night, honey.”
She heard his steps going down the bare corridor, could picture his hand groping along the wall, and then there was the sound of the front door opening and closing. She smiled to herself contentedly. So at long last Mr. William T. McNeil had revealed the secret of his hiding place. Tomorrow she would look up Da Silva and Wilson — early, before they were gone from the beach — and tell them the whole story. Fifteen years, and she was the one to take credit for digging out the secret. Well, tomorrow would be another big day, even as today had been. She closed her eyes, preparing to rest, the smile still on her lips.
Wilson yawned and stared at the radium dial of his watch. -His eyes went up the hill to the house on top; it had been darkened for several minutes now, but McNeil had still not appeared. The sedan still waited patiently at the foot of the rise.
“Do you suppose he plans to stay the night?”
“I hope not.”
“I’m sure you hope not,” Wilson said. “For several good reasons. Still, what would they be doing in a house with all the lights out?” He answered himself. “Of course, they might be holding a seance.”
“They could be.” Da Silva didn’t sound amused. He glanced at his watch and frowned. “He should have been down here long ago.”
“If, as I said, he isn’t spending the night. Maybe they have a spare room. After all, his own shack was pretty messed up when we left it, as I recall.”
Da Silva was deep in thought; he finally came to a decision, putting his hand on the door handle preparatory to getting out of the car when he saw a dim figure stumbling down the hill in the direction of the road.
“About time!”
“Except I have a cold feeling that was Pierce,” Wilson said — in an odd voice. He climbed down from the car followed instantly by Da Silva; the two men trotted toward the police sedan. Pierce was leaning wearily against the side of the car. Jamison looked up in surprise to see the two men.
“Captain Da Silva. Mr. Wilson.” He looked about. “Were you here?”
Da Silva dismissed the question. “What happened?”
Pierce straightened up a bit, looking abashed.
“He came out of the house after the lights went out, and he walks up to me bold as brass and he says, ‘Hey, chandler’s clerk, we going down to the same place, might as well go down together, eh, mon? You ain’t too proud to walk with me, are you?’ I didn’t answer him, but” — he stared at the ground — “I guess I must have turned, because he hit me, and the next thing I know—” His voice trailed off.
Da Silva stared up the hill. Jamison shook his head.
“Five minutes or more, sir — he could be anywhere. Lucky Pierce has a hard head; he could have been out an hour.” He looked at Pierce sternly. “You maybe got me in a lot of trouble, mon. He was my responsibility. That’s the second time we lost him.” He sighed. “Well, have to call it in, I expect.” He reached for the microphone dispiritedly as Da Silva turned abruptly in the direction of the house on the hill; they both paused as the radio suddenly spoke.
“Jamison?” The voice was that of Inspector Storrs. Nobody sleeps anymore, Wilson thought, and moved closer to the car.
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you?”
“Queensland, sir. Down below Miss Cogswell’s house.”
“You followed McNeil there?”
“Yes, sir. Only—”
“Do you know where Captain Da Silva parks his camper on the beach?”
“Yes, sir. Only Captain Da Silva is here with me right now, sir.”
“He is? Good. Lucky. Captain? Storrs here. I think we have McNeil right where we want him.” The four men in and around the sedan looked at each other, but nobody interrupted. “We found out who his partner was. The banker.”
“This is me, Inspector. How did you find out?”
“The telex passenger list from Varig finally came in, Captain. There was one—”
“At this hour?” Da Silva frowned at the speaker.
“It was sent by Varig at eight this evening, and it laid in the communications room until now because it was addressed to you, Captain. If I hadn’t stopped by there to check before going home, it would have been there until tomorrow. At any rate, there was one name on it that I recognized from a long time ago. Glencannon. Thomas Glencannon. Do you remember?”
Da Silva wrinkled his brow, trying to recall it. “No, sir.”
Wilson interrupted. “This is Mr. Wilson, Inspector. Glencannon was the Scottish engineer of the SS Porto Alegre at the time of the robbery, wasn’t he? The one that talked the deck officer into letting McNeil and others come aboard?”