“Terrible people,” Anita murmured and looked at him wonderingly. “But what can I possibly do to help?”
“It is necessary to have their cabins searched—”
“You are suggesting that I—”
“No, no!” Jamison wished he could remember exactly how he had practiced this conversation. “What I mean is,” he said patiently (after all, this was just a young woman who had little experience of life), “we need someone to keep these two men occupied while the security officer of the ship, together with myself, go through their things.” He hastened to correct any possible misapprehension. “It isn’t that I have any physical fears of the consequences of being interrupted, but we have gone to great lengths to prevent these men from knowing we suspect them at all, and we don’t want their suspicions aroused at this stage of the game. Do you understand?”
“I... I think so. You wish me — to act — how do you say? As a decoy for these men?” If Jamison could speak in fits and starts, so could she, Anita thought.
“Not a decoy,” Jamison explained, trying not to sound testy. “All you would have to do would be to allow one or both of them — both of them, preferably — to buy you drinks. Would that be so hard?”
“If they were decent, upright people, no,” Anita said, and looked him evenly in the eye. “But what you are suggesting is not nice. You have already told me these are hardened criminals.”
Jamison bit his lip. “They are not hardened criminals! They are—” A thought came. “Well, actually you know one of them. He’s the man whom you stumbled against the second day out, remember? The day we were passing Cape Hatteras? The one who bought you a drink.”
Anita’s finely chiseled nostrils flared with contempt. “That one! The things he said!”
“Then all the more reason for helping us put the man in prison, where he belongs,” Jamison said reasonably, pleased with his argument and already phrasing it in his mind for his final report together with his other acts of brilliance.
The captain felt he ought to say something; he wanted to get the whole silly matter finished and done with. “It’s for the government,” he added simply. He had a sudden feeling that if he explained to Anita about the green peppers and the tomatoes, she would understand and be only too willing to help, but it was doubtful if Jamison would have considered the argument consistent with governmental dignity.
Anita considered the matter carefully, a slight frown on her face.
“But you see,” she said, “I slapped him. Very, very hard. And with good reason. How could I now explain to him why I would allow him to buy me a drink?” She suddenly smiled and clapped her hands. “I know! I will tell him I am very sorry I lost my temper. I will tell him a pleasure cruise is no place to carry a grudge.” Her newly acquired animation faded; she looked at Jamison anxiously. “Do you think he’ll believe me?”
“He’ll believe you,” Jamison said confidently, and poured himself a carefully measured brandy.
The captain remained silent, his large hand twisting his empty brandy glass against the smoothness of the table linen. He was not overly pleased that a lovely young lady such as this should be involved in the first place, but once this objection was overcome, he had to admit that Jamison’s choice of a decoy was excellent. Anyone refusing to spend time with Anita had to be very sick, indeed.
“And this other one,” Anita went on brightly. “This—”
“Martins. André Martins.”
“If you point him out to me I will stumble into him, too. But this time on purpose.” Anita suddenly giggled. Jamison was pleased to see her getting into the spirit of the adventure. Suddenly the girl looked anxious again. “But wouldn’t it be better if I handled them one at a time? After all, two men...” She smiled modestly. “One of them might feel chivalrous and leave...”
“True,” Jamison admitted. This girl had brains as well as beauty; it was a pity that whoever hired the Department’s personnel in Washington never seemed to hire anyone like her. “On the other hand,” he went on, considering the matter from every angle, “if the two men are confederates, as I feel sure they are, one might come visiting the other’s cabin while we were searching it. No, I think it best that you keep the two of them hors de combat at the same time.” His French pronunciation was terrible. “Can you do it?”
Anita looked at him earnestly. “I can try.”
“Good!” Jamison said heartily. He had no doubt of success. “Shall we say just before lunch tomorrow? Eleven o’clock? You see” — he dropped his voice conspiratorially, although the orderly had long since gone down to watch the movie — “I’ve made a study of my cabin to detect the possible hiding places for an object the size of the one our man stole. There are remarkably few, so that I should say thirty minutes per cabin should be ample.” He glanced at his watch; for a moment Anita thought he was going to ask her to synchronize hers with his. “I shall take the Martins cabin first; say, from eleven to eleven thirty; then this Huuygens’ from eleven thirty until noon. If you can keep them occupied for that hour?”
“I’ll do my best,” Anita promised.
“I’m sure your best will be more than ample. Well, we’re all set, then. Captain, thank you for your cooperation. I’ll be in touch with your security officer in the morning.” He glanced at his watch again. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go down and study my cabin once more. In my line of work, one leaves nothing to chance.” He smiled at them both paternally, and rose to his feet.
André Martins was far from unfamiliar with cruise ships and their general characteristics; he had carried thousands of pieces of luggage aboard, delivering them to hundreds of staterooms, in his days as a porter on the Barcelona and Lisbon docks. Nor was he unfamiliar with the other niceties of shipboard life. True, this was the first time he had been on the stool side of a shipboard bar, and the night before had been the first time he had pulled down a bedspread for the end purpose of climbing between the sheets and going to sleep in all that luxury. But in his day he had made enough of those beds and served enough of those drinks. And as for tips, that ever-present bugaboo of the traveler, André could have taught the most experienced. He had received the smallest and the largest in his time, and was prepared to outstare any shipboard employee who doubted his judgment.
His large fingers dwarfing the glass in his hand, he sat swiveled about, looking out at an extraordinarily calm sea, glistening peacefully beneath an azure and cloudless sky. Beneath his feet the steady faint vibrations of the engines driving them steadily forward felt comfortable and familiar. He smiled to himself, pleased with life, and raised his glass to his lips; then choked as someone bumped into him, dashing brandy up his nose. He sneezed mightily and then turned, prepared to deal with this rudeness in the only way, he felt, some people understood. And found himself facing an extremely apologetic young lady.
“I’m terribly sorry!” Anita said, and picked up a napkin, dabbing it at the damp red face before her. André took it away from her and completed the job of drying himself. The girl looked at him solicitously. “You must let me buy you another drink to take its place.”
André merely stared at her. She knew very well she shouldn’t be speaking to him, and Anita usually knew what she was doing. Bumping into him like that on a day as calm as this one certainly was no accident. Anita accepted his silence as agreement, and nodded to the waiting bar steward.
“Another one for the gentleman, whatever he was drinking. And an orange juice with vodka for me.” She smiled apologetically at the speechless André. “I’m going to take my drink at a table. Perhaps you would like to join me there?”