The Mask of Sumi (13 page)

“I'll get this off at once, Mr. Mannering.”

“Thanks,” Mannering said. “Let me have the reply whatever time of day or night it comes, will you?”

“Even if it means waking you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Right, sir! Are you going ashore again?”

“I thought we were sailing tonight.”

“There's been another delay, sir – something gone wrong in the Canal. We'll be here until tomorrow noon, now.”

Mannering's heart dropped; and he could imagine that Captain Cross's had dropped even further.

He did not go ashore again, but many did.

 

At a quarter to eleven next morning the last stragglers were hurrying from the shore and the cries of the salesmen became more strident and insistent.

Mannering saw Naomi Ransom coming with two men – Mehta the Indian and Corrison the Australian. They were all laughing, as if they had no care in the world.

Naomi looked up, saw Mannering at the rail, and waved.

Then Mannering saw a youth sidling up towards the trio, carrying bouquets of roses. But instead of having his free hand outstretched for money, it was inside his ragged shirt.

“Naomi!” Mannering bellowed. “Naomi – the rose-seller!”

All three of them started. Corrison was the quickest to move, and he grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pushed him away.

A knife clattered to the ground, and the youth wriggled free and raced away.

 

 

Two or three people on deck noticed the incident but most had been too busy with their last-minute bargaining, or too fascinated by the shouting boatmen and the riotous colours of their wares. The youth disappeared among the little boating sheds lining the quay. Corrison started after him and stopped suddenly when he realised the hopelessness of pursuit. Mehta had his right hand on Naomi's arm.

All three came hurrying. None of the ship's officers appeared to have noticed what had happened. Two passengers strolled towards Mannering.

“These chaps won't stop badgering you, will they?”

“It's time it was stopped.”

“Well,” said a third, “you've got to admit the waterfront looks a lot cleaner than it did in our time.”

“Oh, they give it a shine on top.”

Corrison, Naomi, and Mehta reached the deck, and came towards Mannering. He drew back to a spot where no one was within earshot. Corrison began to speak first.

“I say we ought to report that, Mannering, but Naomi doesn't want to kick up a fuss.”

“Also, it would delay the ship even further,” said Mehta. He was more sallow than dark-skinned, and good-looking; his complexion was flawless and he had fine dark eyes. “No one was injured, after all.”

“I still say we ought to report it,” Corrison insisted.

Naomi said: “John, how am I going to thank you?”

“I could see the devil was up to no good, but I doubt whether we'd ever prove it.” Mannering smiled at Corrison. “It would delay us at least another twelve hours – until the noon convoy through the Canal.”

Corrison scowled: “I hadn't thought of that.”

“I tell you, perhaps it was an accident,” Mehta temporised.

“Accident!” snorted Corrison. “That was an attempt at cold-blooded murder.”

“Charles, please keep your voice down,” Naomi pleaded.

“A spade's a spade in any language.”

“It will do no good to make trouble. I am very anxious to arrive at Mombasa in good time. I am sure others are, also,” Mehta added hastily.

“What do you say, Mannering?” Corrison was almost truculent.

“I think we'd find it impossible to prove anything, and we'd better keep quiet.”

“You're as tame as the others,” growled Corrison disgustedly.

But he gave way.

 

At last the
East Africa Star
sailed at the head of the passenger ships in a convoy of nineteen vessels, all steaming slowly, majestically through the desert, past hordes of men labouring to widen the Canal, shifting sand in baskets as they had in the days of Egypt's earlier greatness. The sun glared on the pale sand and reflected a dazzling light. After a while watching the sides of the Canal slide by and reminding himself of the days when he had been here before, Mannering went down to his cabin. A note was on the mat, slipped under the door. He picked it up, feeling a new tension. Could this be another threat?

 

Captain Cross requests the company of Mr. J. Mannering at cocktails in his cabin at 6.50.

 

Mannering laughed, but there was an edge to the laughter. Until this case was over he would read threats in the most simple things, would see the most commonplace action as sinister.

He punched pillows into position and sat on his bed. It was hot and humid, and perspiration beaded his upper lip and his chin. He rang for a whisky and soda.

“With some ice, sir? American way.”

“Please.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was a long, weak drink, but just what he wanted. He lit a cigarette and sat and pondered, going through everything that had happened in his mind for the hundredth time. The most remarkable fact was Kassim's change of heart – or at least his change of mind.

Mannering kept seeing a picture of Pearl in his mind's eye, and remembering her look of virginal purity, as she ‘slept'. There had been Kassim's threats, made more hideous by the presence of the girl. Mannering had taken a chance, and Kassim had caved in.

Had he been warned that Thomas and the others were near?

Thomas had known a lot about Port Said and Kassim. Now that he had time to think, Mannering saw clearly how eager Thomas had been to help. He had made it difficult for Mannering to refuse. How far could he be trusted? What was he really after?

“Thomas,” mused Mannering.

Or Naomi?

 

He heard the bell for luncheon; it was one o'clock. He got off the bed and went along to Pearl's cabin. The stewardess was in the one next door.

“How is Miss Toji?”

“Still asleep, sir.” She had come round but had been given sedation by the ship's doctor.

“Has the doctor seen her again?”

“Oh, yes. He says she will wake up sometime this afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Mannering said. He waited until the stewardess had gone, then slipped into Pearl's room. He saw her lying in a bikini swimsuit a pale lemon-colour, and against it her skin showed as beautiful as a yellow peach. She was on her back, and her breathing was shallow but even. He raised her right arm and examined it, looking for a puncture from a hypodermic needle; he found none. He tried her left arm with the same result. Very carefully he studied her legs, easing her gently over on her side to make sure he missed no tiny red mark.

There was none; except for two small moles, her skin was without blemish.

If she had been given the needle, the puncture would surely have shown.

So – how had she taken the drug? Orally, presumably, but when? It was one thing to jab a needle into someone who was not expecting it, quite another to force anyone to take tablets.

Mannering, now very puzzled, went out.

He went along to Thomas's cabin. Thomas would be at lunch. If he, Mannering, didn't hurry, he would be missed. He opened the door, which wasn't locked. It did not open wide but banged against something – probably the end of the bed. But years of taking care and of being prepared for danger made him look behind the door.

Naomi Ransom stood there.

Mannering went further into the room after closing the door, smiled at Naomi wryly, and remembered how positively Kassim had implicated her.

“Hallo,” he said. “Paying a social call?”

“Just like you,” retorted Naomi. For a moment she had looked alarmed, but her poise seldom deserted her for long. “Looking for something?”

“Just a little trifle,” Mannering said. “And you?”

“Doing my job.”

“What job?”

“John, dear, your memory can't be as bad as all that. You hired me to find out all I could about Major Thomas. I'm finding out.”

Mannering said slowly: “You're good, Naomi, you're very good. What have you found?”

“Nothing of interest yet.”

“What did you expect to find?”

“That Major Thomas isn't exactly what he seems.”

“Ah,” Mannering. “Is Naomi Ransom?”

Naomi laughed.

Mannering was keenly aware of that sense of attraction. Whether she was good or bad, he liked her. She had nearly been knifed, certainly had been within an ace of serious injury, but she had taken it in her stride. Now she was completely self-possessed. Was his feeling simply admiration for her?

“Of course I'm not what I seem,” she said. “I'm Mata Hari in modern dress. Didn't you guess?”

“I guessed. Why were you attacked?”

“Someone doesn't like me.”

“Colonel Kassim?”

She said: “Probably.” Her eyes narrowed as if the remark made her very wary. “Do you know him?”

“He knows you. He told me that you passed on all the instructions to kill me.”

“Oh,” said Naomi, very softly. “Did you believe him?”

“I haven't yet seen any reason not to.”

“Come, John. Use your head.” She moved away and sat on the dressing-table stool. He could see her head and shoulders reflected in the mirror, as well as her face as she looked up at him. “Would I kill the goose which lays my golden eggs?”

“That might depend on whether someone bribed you with bigger eggs.”

“I see what you mean. I did not give Kassim any messages of any kind.”

“Yet you know him.”

“I was in Cairo during the last days of the war.”

“Doing what?”

“Saving the souls of
Wrens, Waafs,
and
Naafis,
” Naomi said.

“How?”

“You do like your t's crossed and your i's dotted, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“I was in Intelligence, and my particular job was to try to make sure that our girls didn't fall victims to drugs and didn't risk becoming involved with Egyptian night clubs. Kassim offered very high bribes to some of our girls. They make the best strip-teasers and bed pals.”

If this story were true it could be checked.

“And you, the soul of purity and probity, rescued them,” Mannering said.

“John, dear,” retorted Naomi, “that wasn't worthy of you. I can't do more than tell you the simple truth.”

“Let's try to keep that up. How many cabins have you searched on board?”

She calculated for a moment and then said calmly: “Fourteen.”

“
What!
”

“Fourteen,” Naomi repeated. “Including yours.”

“And who else's?”

“Pearl Toji's, Mehta's, Corrison's, Nares', O'Keefe's, young Joslyn's—” Naomi listed all of the people on Captain Cross's list, and some others. “Satisfied?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “What were you looking for?”

“Packets like you had in your drawer this morning.”

“Hashish?”

“Yes – or anything to suggest that anyone on board might be carrying hashish. Did you know that drug-running was now an occupation way ahead of gun-running?”

“I read it somewhere but didn't believe it,” Mannering said.

“You should have believed it; it's true. One of the chief drug-runners in the Middle East is Colonel Akbar Kassim. He knows I'm trying to prove it. If he could silence me by killing me or getting me involved in your problems it would help him a great deal.” Naomi glanced at her watch. “John, it's turned half past one. We'll be missed.”

“People will probably think the worst of us,” said Mannering drily. “Are you working in an official capacity?”

“I'm working like you – as a consultant. Provided I do what I'm paid for, I can do what I like with my private life.”

“Such as?”

“A little blackmail,” said Naomi lightly.

“That I can believe. Who do you work for?”

“I can't tell you,” Naomi said. “You'll have to take my word for it, but I'll be able to satisfy you later. Meanwhile I've looked for the Mask of Sumi and the jewels at the same time as I've looked for drugs, John. Two birds with one stone. Do you still think that they're on the ship?”

 

 

“So you know about the jewels,” Mannering said softly. “How?”

“I read the newspapers and put two and two together. It wasn't difficult.”

“No, I suppose not,” Mannering agreed. “Why not tell me that you knew?”

“And spoil your fun?”

“Fun!” exclaimed Mannering. “Was it fun when the knife was nearly buried in your back?”

“No,” agreed Naomi more soberly. “It isn't really my idea of fun, either.”

“Did you talk to Kassim today?”

“No.”

“Not even by telephone?”

“No. John, I'm sure we should get out of here. Mick might come up at any time.”

“All right, let's go down to lunch.” Mannering opened the door, glanced up and down the passage, saw no one and stepped out with Naomi on his heels. She closed the door. “Naomi.”

“Yes?”

“Did you find anything in Thomas's cabin?”

“No.”

“Why did you suspect him?”

Naomi laughed.

“When you know as much about Mick Thomas as I do you suspect him of everything from gun-running to smuggling, piracy to highway robbery. I'm exaggerating,” she added in that half flippant, half mocking way of hers. “But Mick is one on his own. Any tricky job, even if it isn't strictly honest, and he's ready for it. He's one of the last of the great adventurers. A kind of Drake to Kassim's Long John Silver.”

“Do you know if Kassim deals in jewels?” asked Mannering.

“He is supposed to be very knowledgeable about them,” answered Naomi. “He's reputed to have rifled some of the ancient Egyptian tombs and sold the jewels found there at fabulous prices.”

“Oh, is he,” said Mannering. After a moment he asked: “Why search Thomas's cabin today?”

“I knew he'd been to Kassim's house and he might have brought something on board with him.”

“Did you see him at Kassim's house?”

“I've got a lot of informants in Port Said,” said Naomi.

The door of the dining-room was opened for them by the head waiter.

“I'm so sorry we're late,” Mannering said. “Do you think we could have a table together?”

“Yes, Mr. Mannering, of course. Mr. Carter and his family have finished, I can have that table laid for you.” The table was in a corner. A dozen people waved, grinned, winked, or leered as Mannering led Naomi to it.

“Thanks,” Mannering said. “Just right.”

“Have you found anything on the ship at all?” Mannering asked when the waiter had taken their order.

“Yes,” Naomi said.

“Where?”

“In your cabin.”

“I know about that lot.”

Naomi leaned across and smiled at him; she was undoubtedly quite lovely and as certainly she was clever and shrewd. “What I don't know is whether the hashish was really planted on you or whether you had it with you knowingly. After all, you went to see Kassim, you spent a long time with him and he drove you back in his Cadillac. You can't deny that that's V.I.P. treatment, can you?”

After a pause, Mannering said: “And are you going to use that against me, as well as my visit to O'Keefe?”

“If necessary,” said Naomi brightly. “After all, I found you in O'Keefe's cabin and you bribed me to say nothing. You must have a guilty conscience. How much is it worth for me to say nothing about the drugs, either?”

Her eyes were sparkling with good humour but there was something else, too; a hint of seriousness, an intentness which made him doubt whether she was joking.

The waiter brought two trout, nicely cooked in butter.

“I don't think I'll play or pay, this time,” Mannering said.

“I think you'll have to,” said Naomi. “If you don't I shall tell Captain Cross exactly what I know. He would radio his head office for instructions and they would have to refer to Scotland Yard. There is a lot of activity in the anti-drugs field these days, and a clearing house for information. The Yard would have to take some action. Would you like that? The great John Mannering under suspicion of trafficking.”

Naomi broke off, looking towards the door. A man came in, and as the waiters stood aside Mannering recognised O'Keefe. He stood there for a few seconds, glaring. His fists were clenched, he was red-faced as if with rage.

He caught sight of Mannering and Naomi and came striding across. Before he reached the table he demanded in a carrying voice: “You swine, you gave me away,” he said hoarsely. “They took four thousand pounds from me thanks to your bloody meddling. I'll break your neck if you don't give me it back.”

 

The dozen or so passengers still in the dining-room stared at the trio. The head waiter took two steps forward, but stopped. The waiters went about their jobs, glancing at O'Keefe as they did so. O'Keefe was now standing by Mannering's side, one clenched fist drawn back as if he was about to attack.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Mannering said curtly. “Sit down and stop shouting.”

“Cash or your I.O.U. has got to be in my cabin in ten minutes or I'll report to Captain Cross. Understand? Ten minutes!”

“I still don't know what you're talking about,” Mannering said. He did not like the glitter in O'Keefe's eyes, and pushed back his chair for greater freedom of movement. “I haven't touched your money.”

“Why, you treacherous swine!” O'Keefe roared.

He swung his right fist in a powerful blow at Mannering's chin. Mannering pushed his chair back and jumped up. O'Keefe followed with another blow which Mannering couldn't avoid; it caught him on the mouth, painfully. He felt all his pent-up anger and the frustrations of the day erupt. He sent his chair flying behind him, rode another haymaker from O'Keefe and then hit his assailant savagely, one-two to the stomach followed by a jab to the jaw. O'Keefe went back into the arms of the head waiter who came rushing up. Two European stewards moved up in support.

Naomi took Mannering's arm.

“Don't lose your head, John.”

He said savagely: “Did you tell O'Keefe I'd seen his money?”

“Of course I didn't!”

“How do I know you're not a born liar as well as a born blackmailer?”

“John, don't make it worse.”

O'Keefe, very dazed, was dabbing at his lips, where blood trickled slowly, over his chin. More people were looking curiously, accusingly at Mannering. Mannering squeezed Naomi's arm, the spasm of rage past.

“All right,” he said
sotto voce.
Then he raised his voice. “O'Keefe, what makes you think I knew about your money?”

O'Keefe muttered: “I know you did.”

“
Is
there a thief on board?” a woman asked nervously.

“You can't make accusations like that without a full explanation,” Mannering said.

“Mr. Mannering, this is a matter for the Captain,” the head waiter put in.

“It's a matter for the whole ship – the story will be everywhere in half-an-hour. How much money is involved, O'Keefe?”

“You know.”

“How
much?
Come on, let's have it.”

“A lot too much to lose,” O'Keefe muttered. He still seemed dazed. “You were in my cabin half-an-hour ago.”

Relief began to trickle into Mannering's mind.

“I wasn't. I was with Mrs. Ransom.”

“She's up to her neck in this with you,” O'Keefe said in a stronger voice; there was a hard note of defiance in it, and a glitter in his eyes, as if he was feeling well enough to be aggressive again. “I had over a thousand pounds in English money in my cabin, and it's gone too.”

“Did you indeed,” said Mannering. “Why did you keep a thousand pounds in your cabin? Why not hand it to the Purser for safe keeping?”

“That's my business,” O'Keefe caught his breath. “Mannering, I'm warning you. I know you went down to my cabin. That's why you were late for lunch. That bitch was keeping watch in the passage.” O'Keefe glared at Naomi.

“Now, sir, I must ask—” began the head waiter.

“To hell with you! You're all in Mannering's pocket.”

The swing doors opened and Captain Cross strode in. Mannering noticed a metamorphosis in him as there had been once in Thomas. He took on a greater stature. The smile on his weather-bronzed face was gone, his voice was clipped and assertive – as Mannering had heard it before, although few other passengers had.

“What's going on here, Griggs?” he asked the head waiter.

“There has been an altercation, sir,” began Griggs, hesitantly. Gradually he warmed to his task and told the whole story. At least forty passengers were in the dining-saloon, most of them standing near, but Cross seemed oblivious of them.

When Griggs finished, Cross said: “I see. Mr. Mannering, have you any objection to having your cabin searched for this 1,000 pounds?”

“None at all.”

“Mrs. Ransom, how about you?”

“I don't relish the idea, but if it must be searched it must.”

“Captain Cross,” Mannering said.

“Yes?”

“Isn't it somewhat arbitrary to search these cabins simply on the unsupported word of one passenger?”

“I must do what I think best in the interests of all passengers and the ship,” Cross said. “We cannot stand on the niceties of the law. Don't you want this cleared up as quickly as possible?”

“Yes.”

Cross raised his voice. “In view of the large number of passengers who have witnessed this dispute and heard the accusations, I shall make a public announcement later in the day.” He turned to Naomi and went on curtly: “This way, please.”

Mannering followed, his heart thumping.

This might be another attempt to frame him and put him out of commission; O'Keefe's missing money might indeed be hidden in his cabin.

“We'll go to your cabin first,” Cross said to him. Neither by word nor deed did the Captain hint that he was well-disposed. He talked with absolute impartiality; he would behave that way, too.

 

Lister and the Number 2 Purser searched Mannering's cabin as thoroughly as any police.

They found nothing.

 

Mannering sensed from Naomi's physical tension that she was as much on edge as he had been, knowing that the money might have been put in her cabin without her knowledge.

No sign of it was found there, either.

O'Keefe looked thunderstruck when he was told.

“You understand, Mr. O'Keefe, that this amounts to a very serious slander and that Mrs. Ransom and Mr. Mannering will have recourse to law if they wish,” said Captain Cross. “I suggest that after dinner tonight, when the passengers will be gathered in the ballroom for tombola, you withdraw your accusations unreservedly.”

O'Keefe muttered: “Yes, all right. I'll do that. But they must have given me away. Someone did. All that money—”

“If you work the market in currency you must take the consequences,” Cross said stonily. “To use my ship in such business is intolerable. While you remain on board you will do exactly what I or my officers request.”

O'Keefe didn't speak. He looked as if he was utterly shocked by what had happened.

 

“John,” Naomi said.

“Yes, blackmailer?”

“O'Keefe thought the money would be in your cabin or mine.”

“I think you're right.”

“So he must have expected someone to put it there.”

“Fair enough,” Mannering admitted.

“It was a deliberate plot to put both of us out of action.”

“I'll tell you one thing,” Mannering said lightly, “we think alike about that.”

They were standing by the A Deck rail as the
East Africa Star
glided through the Canal. On this side there were only earthworks and occasional signs of widening activity; on the other there were market gardens, a rich dark green, some date palms, and beyond the never-ending desert. It was late afternoon, and so hot that a faint beading of perspiration damped Naomi's upper lip and forehead. The air was stifling.

“He was absolutely sure the money would be found, so—” Naomi hesitated.

“He was absolutely sure that someone put it there.”

“After it had been hidden in one cabin or the other, someone else took it out.”

“We've friends aboard,” Mannering said.

“I think it must have been Thomas.”

“Why?”

“He's got the nerve and the ingenuity. John!”

“Yes?”

“He was in the dining-saloon when O'Keefe began to shout, but I don't remember seeing him when the Captain arrived. Do you?”

“No,” admitted Mannering. “But I wasn't in a mood to notice much.”

“I didn't think you were a man ever to lose his temper.”

Mannering said: “I don't like hearing a woman called a bitch in public.”

Naomi's hand touched his lightly.

“Not even if she is one?”

Mannering laughed, squeezed her hand, and let her go. A moment later, Thomas came breezing along the deck, looking a youthful forty although he must be nearer sixty.

“You heard the latest?” he demanded. He slid his arm round Naomi's waist and gave her a squeeze.

“If it's the latest dirty story from Port Said.”

“Nothing to do with a dirty story,” Thomas said. “One of the Egyptian salesmen stayed on board at Port Said. They're hunting for him now. He's been seen twice by members of the crew, now he's disappeared again. Make you happy, ducky?” he asked Naomi, and squeezed her again.

 

The stowaway was curled up in the Indian crew's quarters, covered by a heap of dirty linen. He had crept here after the spot had been searched. He wore a tattered shirt and a pair of patched trousers, was bare-footed, and small. His dark hair curled in tight ringlets, his eyes even in the poor light of the smelly corner seemed very bright.