The Adventurers

by Robbins, Harold

  The reporter left, and they had hurried down to the car. On the way to the airport Dax had said, "I'm sorry you had to be annoyed like that."

  "Don't apologize. I'm quite used to it by now."

  He hadn't answered. Just lit a cigarette and looked at her thoughtfully. They were almost at the airport before he remembered the letter in his pocket. "This came for you this morning. I'm sorry, I forgot to give it to you."

  She accepted the letter wordlessly. It was from her father, and reading it she learned for the first time about her brother's marriage.

  "Robert's married!"

  "I know."

  She looked at Dax in surprise. "How? Why didn't you tell me?"

  "It was on the diplomatic teletype from Paris. I thought you would prefer to hear about it from Robert or your father."

  "Who is the girl? I can't seem to place the name."

  "Denisonde. She will be very good for Robert."

  "You know her?"

  Dax nodded. "She was in the underground with him. She was the one who saved his life."

  "Oh, then she's the same one he's been living with?"

  He studied her for a moment. Obviously she knew the truth. "Yes, the same one."

  Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she turned her face away. Poor Papa, she thought, there is so little he is getting from either of his children.

  James Hadley was the only one at the table on the terrace when Caroline came down. He got to his feet and held her chair for her. "Good morning, my dear."

  "Bonjour, Monsieur Hadley." She smiled. "Am I too late?" "No, my dear. Everyone else was too early." He raised a hand and a servant appeared.

  "Just coffee, please."

  Hadley looked at her. "What kind of a breakfast is that for a young girl? You should eat more than that."

  She shook her head. "No, thank you. That is all I can eat in the morning. We French do not eat the big breakfasts you Americans do."

  "At least some buttered toast?"

  She laughed. "You remind me of my father. He was always trying to get me to eat more."

  "That's because we both care."

  She glanced at him. Was there more than mere politeness in his voice? He met her eyes steadily and suddenly she found herself flushing. "Just coffee, please."

  Hadley nodded and the servant disappeared. They didn't speak until he had returned with the coffee. Caroline sipped from her cup and looked down at the beach. "Where is everyone?"

  "They've gone sailing." Hadley chuckled and again there was that curious inflection in his voice. "They're like children, always looking for something to do. They can't sit still."

  "Oh." She was silent for a moment. "It's a lovely day for sailing."

  "It is, but I think I will take advantage of their absence and lie on the beach. The rarest thing down here is a day to yourself."

  Caroline smiled. "I was thinking of going in to Palm Beach to do a little shopping."

  Almost casually his hand covered hers on the table, patting it gently. "You can do your shopping any day. Why don't you take advantage of a quiet day on the beach, too?"

  She looked down. His hand was tanned and strong and curiously youthful. She felt the heat come into her face again as she looked up at him. But she made no move to take her hand away. "If you're sure I won't disturb you?"

  She felt his approving eyes as she came out of the cabana. "You're quite lovely."

  Again she found herself blushing. "Not really, not like your American girls. They're really lovely. Tall, long legs. I'm too small." "I like small women," he said. "A man always feels taller when he's with a small woman."

  She took out a tube of sun lotion and began to apply it. "I burn very easily."

  "My skin's like leather. I never get tanned, I merely turn red."

  "I'd feel better if there were a little shade."

  "There's an umbrella in the cabana," he said, "I'll get it."

  Caroline watched him as he got to his feet and went into the cabana. She knew that he was somewhere in his late fifties but it didn't show in the way he moved. Though he was almost her father's age he seemed much younger.

  A moment later he was back, sinking the shaft of the umbrella into the sand beside her. After he had opened it he dropped down next to her. "That better?"

  "Much better." She smiled, and held out the sun lotion. "Another favor? My back. I can't reach."

  His fingers were gentle and Caroline closed her eyes for a moment. The question, when it came, did not altogether surprise her. "Do you love him?"

  Caroline's eyes flew open. For a moment she did not know what to say. "Who?" she asked almost stupidly.

  "Dax," he replied gruffly, "your husband."

  After a moment she said accusingly, "You wanted to get me alone, that's why you didn't go sailing with the others."

  "Of course," he answered without hesitation, "but you still haven't answered my question."

  "It's a question I do not have to answer."

  Hadley again put his hand over hers. "That's answer enough." He looked steadily into her eyes. "How long do you intend letting it go on like this?"

  Caroline looked down at her hand. "Until it's over," she whispered.

  "It's been over a long time. It's just that neither of you is grown up enough to admit it."

  "It's not his fault," Caroline said quickly, "it's mine. There's something wrong with me."

  "There's nothing wrong with you."

  "Yes, there is. During the war the Nazis did something to me, inside. I'm not a woman any more."

  Hadley put his hand under her chin. "Look at me."

  Slowly she raised her head. His face was set, almost impassive. "What you mean is that you're not a woman for him. That doesn't mean you couldn't be a woman for the right man."

  She began to cry. The tears rolled silently down her cheeks. "I tried to be a woman for him. Really, I tried. But I couldn't." She turned her face away. "I'm afraid I never could for any man."

  Once again Hadley turned her face back to his. "How do you know? Have you ever tried?"

  Caroline looked at him steadily. Her tears had stopped. Somehow she felt like a very young girl, as if he could see into her mind and into her heart and that she had no secrets from him.

  "Do you have to make that stupid trip to Hollywood with him?" he asked, almost harshly.

  She felt as if she were being turned inside out. "I—I promised."

  "Do you have to?" he repeated.

  "What are you asking me?"

  "Tomorrow I'm going back north. I want you to meet me there."

  Caroline took a deep breath. "If you want to have an affair with me I'm afraid you will find me a disappointment."

  He didn't speak.

  "And if you're asking me to become your mistress," she added, "it wouldn't work. I was never any good at intrigue."

  "Before I could ask you that I should first have to prove to you that you are a woman."

  Then he drew her face to his and she felt the softness of his lips. There was a warmth inside her that she hadn't been aware of for a long time. When Hadley let her go there was a troubled look in her eyes. "I don't know."

  But she did know. That evening she told Dax that she was returning to New York, and that he would have to go to the Coast alone.

  CHAPTER 7

  "I have enough ships," Abidijan said emphatically. "If you think they're such a good thing, you buy them. And you pay the storage too; there ain't all that much business."

  Marcel studied his father-in-law. The old man glared back belligerently. "I might just do that."

  "You do that, but tell me one thing. What are you going to use for money?"

  Marcel didn't answer.

  "Well, don't come to me for it. I had one good sample of your half-assed schemes. It was me had to bail you out of that sugar deal."

  Marcel got to his feet. There was a burning sensation in his chest. "You didn't lose by it," he said tightly. It was true, neither of them lost. In fa
ct they had ended up making a lot of money.

  "But it took how long?" the old man asked. "I got better things to do with money than tie it up in worthless ships I might someday find a use for."

  "O.K., but remember I came to you first!"

  "I'll remember," Abidijan said. A sudden smile came over his face. "If you don't mind a little advice, why not ask your partner, Hadley? He can afford to finance you out of the profits you made him on that Corteguayan franchise. I wouldn't feel too bad if you lost him a little money."

  In spite of himself Marcel found himself smiling. The bad blood existing between Hadley and the old man was well known. Hadley was Amos' greatest competitor. He had been able to reach a rating agreement with the Greeks but Hadley couldn't have cared less. He underbid them time after time.

  Abidijan saw Marcel's smile and immediately his mood changed. He got to his feet and came around the desk. "I'm talking to you like a father. What do you need more money for? You got enough money. You got a wife, three beautiful children. And someday when I'm gone, all this." He made an expansive gesture around the office.

  Sure, Marcel thought ironically, all mine. But it would belong to Anna and her sisters. Even to my children. But not to me. He forced a warmth into his voice that he did not feel. "I know, Father. But you were young once. You know how I feel."

  "I understand." His father-in-law placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "But you're young yet. Don't be in such a hurry. There's plenty of time."

  Marcel left his father-in-law, and walked down the corridor to his own office. His secretary looked up as he came in. "Mr. Rainey called while you were out. I have the operator's number in Dallas."

  "Call him back." Marcel continued on into his office. He sank into the chair behind the desk and stared thoughtfully down at the papers. Presently he picked up one and studied it. "Government Surplus" was the heading, a mimeographed form on poor-quality paper listing items the government was putting up for sale. Halfway down the sheet there was a blue circle around one of them: 20 liberty-ship class-two oil tankers.

  He put down that sheet and picked up another. Much the same, even the heading. Only the district where the sale was to be held was different. This time the blue circle was around an item consisting of five tankers. Quickly he riffled the papers and made a neat stack of them. One hundred and thirty tankers in all were up for sale.

  Already this was the third offer. An asterisk next to each of the items stated that. If the tankers were not sold this time around they would be junked. The government already had enough such ships in mothballs.

  Marcel placed his hand angrily on the stack of reports. His father-in-law was a fool. So were the Greeks. All they were interested in was freighters. They had enough tankers. Now that the war was over there would not be the same demand for oil, and if there ever was they could always add to their fleets. For now there were much more profitable cargoes to carry.

  The telephone rang and Marcel picked it up. "Campion here."

  "Cal Rainey." There was an undercurrent of excitement in the flat Texas drawl. "You were right. I managed to get a hold of the geological surveys. There's an oil shelf off Venezuela, and it looks as if it might run down the whole continent."

  "Corteguay too?"

  "The best chance of all."

  "What about the other thing?"

  'They're interested," Rainey said, "but they won't talk until they are positive you can guarantee transportation. Abidijan and the Greeks tell them the costs will run too high."

  "I see." Marcel took a deep breath. Once again he stood in the pit at the gambling house in Macao watching the cards turn over. One at a time, with a fortune riding on each one, and never knowing whether the next one would be the one that broke you. But the fascination was there, the dangers that drew him like an irresistible magnet.

  Perhaps his father-in-law was right. Maybe he didn't need the money. But he could no more help himself than he could stop breathing. "Go back and tell them I will guarantee the transportation."

  "But they will want to know how you can guarantee that."

  "I'll bring them a list of available ships when I come down there the day after tomorrow." He put down the telephone.

  Marcel waited a moment, then pressed the buzzer for his secretary. When she came in he held the stack of papers out to her. "Get me the war-surplus agent in each of those areas on the phone."

  "Yes, Mr. Campion."

  "Wait a minute. Before you do that get me the Corteguayan consulate. I want to speak to Mr. Xenos."

  His secretary went out and a moment later the telephone on his desk buzzed. "Mr. Xenos is not in New York. They don't know where he is."

  Marcel thought for a moment. Dax must be around somewhere. He had seen Caroline only last night, at El Morocco with a group of people including James Hadley. He had meant to go over and speak to her but something had interfered. "Start on that list. I'll try to locate him on the other phone."

  He changed telephones and dialed Dax's apartment in the De Coyne town house. After a moment a servant answered.

  "Is Mr. Xenos there?"

  "No, sir."

  "Madame Xenos then?"

  "Madame Xenos left for Boston last night, sir."

  "Is Mr. Xenos with her?"

  "No, sir, he's in Hollywood. Mrs. Xenos can be reached in Boston at the Ritz."

  The light on the telephone indicated that his secretary was still putting through the first call, so he phoned the Ritz in Boston himself. "Mrs. Xenos, please."

  A man's voice answered.

  "Mrs. Xenos, please."

  "Who's calling?"

  "Mr. Campion."

  Marcel heard the phone being put down. In the distance he could hear the faint sound of two voices, a man's and a woman's.

  "Alio, Marcel?" Caroline's voice sounded strained.

  Marcel slipped into French. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but it is necessary that I contact Dax. Could you tell me where he is?"

  "He's at Monsieur Speidel's home in Beverly Hills, Marcel. Is anything wrong?" Her voice still sounded strained.

  "It is only business. But I do have to talk to him."

  They exchanged a few more polite words and then he hung up. It wasn't until almost ten minutes later, in the midst of his first telephone conversation with the Philadelphia war-surplus office, that it came to him. For a moment he was so startled he lost the thread of his own conversation. The man's voice. There was no mistake about it. There was no one else with that particular Irish-sounding Bostonian brogue. It had to be James Hadley.

  When the conversation was completed he had made a deal for the first five ships. He told his secretary to hold the next call for a few minutes while he placed a call to a private detective who had done some very personal work for him in the past. By six o'clock that evening he had the whole story.

  They had to be fools. They had made almost no attempt to cover their tracks. Hadley had even installed her in the company suite his office maintained in the hotel.

  But that wasn't all he had. Marcel now owned one hundred and thirty liberty-ship class-two oil tankers. At an average price of one hundred thousand dollars, this meant that he would have to come up with a minimum fifty percent of the purchase price, six and a half million dollars, by tomorrow evening.

  Marcel was waiting in James Hadley's office in Boston the next morning when Hadley came in. Hadley didn't act surprised. "I half expected you."

  There was something about the man that Marcel admired. Suddenly he knew what it was. Hadley was as much a gambler as himself. "You did? Why?"

  "Mrs. Xenos went back to New York last night."

  "This morning, you mean," Marcel said, calling the bluff. He was nothing if not a Frenchman. He knew the ways of an affair, and that nothing could ever interfere with an evening.

  Hadley sat down behind his desk. A curious paleness showed under the sunburn on his face. "She is still in the hotel."

  "That is your business," Marcel said quietly. "I have come
here to discuss mine."

  CHAPTER 8

  Cal Rainey was waiting at the airport when Marcel came through the gate. The thin Texan walked toward him with an outstretched hand. "Welcome to Dallas, Mr. Campion."

  Marcel smiled as he took his hand. "It is good to see you again, Mr. Rainey. I apologize for arriving so late but unfortunately I was detained on other business in Boston."

  "That's O.K., Mr. Campion. All the arrangements have been made. As soon as you get your luggage we'll leave for the ranch. Mr. Horgan has placed his private plane at our disposal."

  Marcel looked at him in surprise. "I thought we were to meet here in Dallas. I have asked a friend to fly down from Los Angeles to meet me."

  "No problem, Mr. Campion. Mr. Horgan has said that any friend of yours is welcome at the ranch. We'll just send the plane back for him. When is he expected?"

  "About midnight." Marcel looked at his watch. "That’s only about two hours; perhaps we could wait for him?"

  "As you wish, Mr. Campion. In that case let's head for the bar."

  The headwaiter bowed. "Good evening, Mr. Rainey." He led them to a small table. "The usual?"

  "Right," Rainey said, then looked at Marcel.

  "Pastis," Marcel answered automatically. Then he noticed the confused look on their faces. "Pernod and water."

  He looked at the Texan after the waiter had brought the drinks. "Now, tell me exactly what arrangements have been made."

  Rainey took an appreciative sip at his bourbon. "Mr. Horgan thought that the meetings had better be held at his ranch over the weekend. He's already invited the other interested parties. Dallas is still very much a small town, and word gets around."

  Marcel smiled. One of the first things he had learned was that there were no secrets that could be kept if someone was really interested enough in discovering them. Still, the precaution was a good one. The less people knew about it the better. He sipped at his pastis and leaned back. It was good to be able to stretch after the long hours on the plane. He glanced around the room. "Is there a telephone here? I'd like to call home."

  "There's a row of booths just outside the door."