The White Witch of the South Seas

by Dennis Wheatley

  Lacost shrugged. ‘The natives of the South Seas are a lazy, shiftless lot. It is their own fault if they allow the Indians to buy their land, then turn them off it. Anyhow, they will be little worse off in the long run. In fact, they are far luckier than most races. They have an abundance of fruit and fish to live on. Even if they were offered work in industries they wouldn’t take it. To use the money as the Ratu plans would be only to waste it.’

  ‘There I do not agree,’ Gregory said quietly. ‘Even a chance to better the lot of a whole people, or at least a proportion of them, is infinitely preferable to allowing the money to fall into the hands of a small group of unscrupulous adventurers.’

  Lacost’s light blue eyes took on a stony look and, with a sudden change of manner, he cried harshly, ‘Then you refuse to back out of your understanding with the Ratu?’

  ‘I do.’ Gregory’s eyes were equally hard, as he went on: ‘And now I’ll give you a warning. In my time many people have found me a very dangerous enemy. In fact I’ve killed more men than I care to remember, and I’d not scruple to kill again. So it is you and your friends who would be wise to throw in your hand. Given cause and opportunity, I’d not hesitate to stick a knife in you and throw you to the sharks. Good night, Monsieur Lacost.’

  For a moment Lacost glared at him, then, without another word, turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Switching off the light, Gregory replaced his little pistol under his pillow, and for a while lay contemplating this new development. From his early twenties he had lived dangerously, so he found the situation far from upsetting. It titillated his lifelong craving for excitement and offered an opportunity to pit his wits against an unscrupulous enemy. He decided now that, even should the Antigua records provide no evidence that the sunken ship had a cargo of treasure, he would back James just for the fun of the thing.

  Meanwhile, Pierre Lacost had silently slipped into Manon’s room. She had been expecting him and at once switched on her light. ‘Well,’ she asked, ‘I take it you have had a talk with him? How did things go?’

  He shook his head, with its crop of straight fair hair. ‘Not well. He is a tough one, and I fear we will have trouble with him unless you can persuade him to change his mind.’

  ‘I doubt if he will. As I told you in my cable, I tried several times while we were in Rio, but failed. The trouble is that, since his wife died, he has become foot-loose. He is his own master, has any amount of money and has been an adventurer all his life. The Ratu James’s proposal intrigued him because it offered him a temporary escape from doing nothing and simply travelling here and there while brooding about his loss.’

  ‘We must rid ourselves of him somehow, and the sooner the better.’

  Manon remained silent for a moment, then she said, ‘I am not prepared to stand for that. By all means stall him off if you can. But I won’t have him harmed. He is as rich as Croesus and he has fallen for me. Given a little luck, I’ll hook him. Then I’ll be able to live in the luxury that I’ve always longed for.’

  Lacost’s pale blue eyes narrowed. ‘So that is your game. Good luck to you then, but only provided that you can keep him out of this present business. Until we get the gold you will continue to take your orders from me. Understand?’

  Sitting up in bed, she gave him an angry look. ‘Why should I? You couldn’t even start the job until I had half ruined myself to provide you with the money to hire your salvaging equipment. I am still with you as far as getting the gold for ourselves goes. But I’m not such a fool as to allow you to do him some injury that might sabotage my chances of his marrying me.’

  With a toothy smile, Lacost replied, ‘Mon petit chou, be pleased to remember that I still have that bottle. So long as I hold it, you remain in my power, and should I require your help to eliminate him, you will give it.’

  His words caused Manon’s mind to flash back to that fatal, sweltering afternoon when, maddened by the heat, boredom and years of frustration, she had snatched from her husband the bottle containing the drops that would have nullified his heart attack, flung it from the window, then watched him die.

  It had been bad luck for her that Pierre Lacost had happened to be outside on the veranda and had picked up the bottle when it landed at his feet. He was Georges’ estate manager, and for some months past Manon had been having an affaire with him. Their secret meetings had been infrequent and fraught with danger, owing to her husband’s argus-eyed jealousy. But, since his first heart attack, Georges had frightened himself into impotence. Manon’s sexual craving had led her into letting Pierre have her from time to time in odd corners of the estate, outhouses, where the risk of their being surprised was small. As he had been aware how boredom with her husband had grown into hatred and a longing to be rid of him, no sooner had Pierre read the label on the bottle than he felt sure of the way in which it had come into his hands, and one glance through the window confirmed his belief.

  After Georges’ funeral Pierre had confronted Manon with his knowledge of her deed. She could produce no other explanation for the sudden arrival of the bottle of drops on the veranda and after a while sullenly admitted her guilt. Had he disclosed his knowledge to the authorities it could have led to her being charged with murder. As the price of his silence, Pierre had demanded that she should marry him. At that she had rebelled. She liked him well enough, and was even strongly attracted by his animal sexual vigour, but Algeria had become anathema to her. The idea of remaining on that isolated estate tied to another husband when she had rid herself of Georges was, to her, unthinkable. Neither cajolery nor threats could persuade her. In the end Pierre had given way and they had struck a bargain. She made over the estate to him and he left her free to leave Algeria.

  As the state of the country had by then rendered the property almost valueless, except to a man long used to running it, Manon had considered parting with it a cheap price to pay for securing her freedom. In consequence, she had felt no rancour against Pierre for getting what he could out of her. On the contrary, her instinct as a Frenchwoman was rather to admire him for playing well the cards that had fallen into his hands; so before she left they again slept together several times and when they did take leave of each other they had parted as good friends.

  She had never expected to see him again, but eighteen months later he had turned up in Tahiti. As at that time she had another lover, they had not resumed their affaire, but had met on friendly terms and he was one of the many people to whom, for old times’ sake, she had lent money.

  By then she was already planning her move to Fiji, and when she left Tahiti Pierre again passed out of her life for a while. It was not until a few months before that he had reentered it. Knowing that she still had considerable capital, he had sought her out in her remote island home and put to her the project of salvaging the gold from the sunken ship off Tujoa. Already worried by the inroads that the cost of building her house had made in her small fortune, she had fallen for the possibility of recovering her outlay, and had agreed to gamble a sum to finance Pierre’s venture that was greatly in excess of what caution demanded.

  One disadvantage to her island retreat that Manon had soon discovered was that while living there the chances of coming into contact with an acceptable lover were almost negligible; and, from her late teens onward, after a few months of chastity she had always been beset by a craving to have a man in her bed again. It was not, therefore, to be wondered at that when the virile Pierre had re-appeared on her scene he had found no difficulty in persuading her once more to become his mistress; and during the visits he paid her while making preparations to retrieve the treasure they had enjoyed some very pleasant times together.

  Now she cursed her folly in having renewed her association with him. Not only had be glibly persuaded her to jeopardise her financial security but, if she had turned down his proposition the odds were that she would have seen no more of him; so he would not be there in her room threatening to wreck her chances
of securing Gregory as a husband. But then, had Pierre not induced her, for the protection of her gamble, to go to Rio, she would not have met Gregory; so he could not altogether be blamed for the situation in which she found herself, or the attitude he had taken up. Swiftly she decided that, while continuing to humour him, she must not allow him to believe that he could browbeat her into doing anything he wished.

  Staring up at him, she said in a voice that conveyed more sorrow than anger, ‘Seeing what we have been to one another, Pierre, I feel terribly upset that you should even think of threatening me. After all, it is very far from certain that I can succeed in manoeuvring Sallust into marrying me; and should I fail in that I’ll be ruined unless we can secure the treasure. So I’ll still do everything I can to aid you, short of luring him into a trap. And don’t think I’m influenced by your bringing up that old business of Georges’ death. Had you accused me at the time, I would have been hard put to it to defend myself. But not after all these years. Then, the Arab servants could have been brought as witnesses to give evidence that I had grown to hate my husband. But they can’t now. Having the bottle proves nothing. You might have got it anywhere. If you charged me it would only be thought that you had hatched up this story owing to jealousy, and you’d be laughed out of court.’

  ‘Perhaps, but, as the saying goes, there is no smoke without fire, and to be accused would be most unpleasant for you. Besides, I wouldn’t need to do that. Instead I could give Sallust chapter and verse about the whole affair. Even if he did not entirely believe me it is pretty certain that he would decide against marrying a woman accused of murdering her former husband.’

  Instantly Manon realised how fatal this new threat could prove to her plans. Her mind flashed back to the Macumba priest. To him she had admitted in front of Gregory that she had killed a man. She had given no explanation of her act, except to say that she had killed in self-defence, and left it to be supposed that she had probably been saving herself from rape. But if Pierre told Gregory how Georges had died it was certain that he would put two and two together, and all hope of her marrying him would be gone.

  While these shattering thoughts were rushing through her mind, Pierre was going on, ‘But please believe that I have no intention of doing anything of the kind. After our long friendship the last thing I would do is to queer your chances of securing a wealthy husband. I mentioned it only to show you that I could be nasty were I that sort of man. You have already said you will continue to give me your help and do your best to persuade Sallust to throw in his hand. That is all I ask. Now, my sweet chicken, it is over a month since I caressed that lovely body of yours; so take off your pretty nightie.’

  As he spoke he was getting out of his jacket, but she checked him with a swift, low cry. ‘No, Pierre, no! You have already been here much too long. Since you woke Sallust up, if he can’t get off to sleep again he may decide to pay me a visit.’

  His eyes narrowed again. ‘So you have already trompé me with him?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, what did you expect?’

  ‘I’ve always supposed that when a woman wants a man to marry her, her best policy is to keep him wanting her until he does.’

  ‘Not a woman like myself. You should know how good I can be in bed. That is my strongest card. When a man has spent a few nights with me he realises that he’s got something that he would be very reluctant to give up. But Sallust must not find you here and he might come in at any moment; so, for God’s sake, get out.’

  Suddenly he grinned at her. ‘Well, I don’t mind his having you as long as I continue to do so. And from the moment I set eyes on you again this evening I’ve been feeling as randy as an old goat. I tell you what. Slip out of bed, put on a coat and come along with me to my room. If in the morning he tells you that he came to your room and you weren’t here, you can say that you couldn’t get to sleep, so went for a walk round the garden.’

  For a moment Manon hesitated. Gregory made a delightful lover, but he was no longer young and he had been far from sustaining the prowess he had displayed during their first night together; whereas Pierre was nearly as insatiable as herself, and it would be good to feel his weight on her again. With a low laugh she threw back the bedclothes and jumped out of bed.

  In the morning Gregory told Manon and James about his midnight visitor. Both showed grave concern and Manon took the opportunity to plead long and earnestly with him to abandon the quest for treasure and, instead, go straight to Fiji with her. But finally he said:

  ‘No, my dear. Naturally I am hoping that in the records here we will find confirmation that there was a cargo of gold in the ship. But even should we not, I’ve a mind to go through with this thing now. You see, this man Lacost’s threat was more or less a challenge to me, and it is not in my nature to refuse a challenge. In fact, pitting my wits against his will be rather fun.’

  Being eager to learn as soon as possible what the records held, they had agreed the night before to breakfast together in the dining room at nine o’clock. As soon as they had finished their meal they walked the short distance to the main square of the town.

  They already knew that in 1773 Antigua, then a city of fifty thousand people, had been totally destroyed by a terrible volcanic eruption. The two volcanoes that had wiped it out stood grimly beautiful in the near distance against an azure sky. One was called the Mountain of Fire and the other the Mountain of Water—the latter because it had an underground lake inside it. When they had erupted simultaneously, the city had not only been swept by fire, but also deluged by torrents of boiling water and mud.

  For twenty years the site had been deserted, but was then rebuilt in the Spanish style of the late eighteenth century. As no additions or alterations had since been made, it contained not a single glass and concrete building so remained a remarkable and charming example of the architecture of that period.

  One side of the main square was occupied by the arcaded Captain General’s Palace; opposite was another long, arcaded building that held the Library. On a third side stood the imposing Cathedral. Few of the buildings were more than one storey high, their sides facing on to the streets, with small windows protected by grilles of fine, scrolled ironwork. Through the arched entrances of the larger buildings could be seen sunny patios, gay with flowering trees and shrubs, on to which the principal rooms of these one-storey mansions looked out.

  The old capital was made even more romantic and a thing apart from the modern world by the fact that here and there among the houses rose the roofless ruins of big churches, the lower parts alone of which had escaped destruction. The Cathedral was so vast that only one-third of it had been restored, yet that could accommodate a congregation of several hundred.

  When they reached the Library they met with disappointment. As it was a Saturday, it was closed. Crossing the square to the Palace, a part of which was now occupied by the local tourist agency, they enquired there how best to spend the week-end. A most helpful little man who spoke good English told them that they must not fail to visit Lake Atitlan and Chichicastenango. And to see the latter at its most interesting they must go there that day, because the market was held on Saturdays. It was a fifty-mile drive, but he said that if they were prepared to leave at once they could get there by lunch-time. Deciding to go, a car, with a driver who spoke a little English, was summoned from a rank in the square and they at once set off.

  Within a few minutes they were out of the town and soon enjoying some of the finest mountain scenery they had ever seen. In the distance there were whole chains of volcanoes, many of them still active, with plumes of smoke drifting up into the sky. A considerable part of the land on either side of the road was well cultivated, with crops of sugar cane, maize and barley. Now and then they passed groups of paw-paw, apricot, cherry and apple trees. The villages were well kept and the little people who lived in them, all of whom were of pure Indian stock with no trace of Negro blood, were better dressed and more prosperous-looking than those they had seen in Brazil, P
eru or Panama. At times they ran through patches of woodland in which they were amused to see every few hundred yards, nailed to a tree trunk, an advertisement for Andrews Liver Salts. This considerable advertising expenditure in sparsely-populated districts, innocent of all other advertisements, implied such large sales as could be explained only by the Indians having given up their local distilled liquor because they had found Mr. Andrews’ health-giving tonic more to their taste, and a drink for all occasions.

  They saw evidence on the last ten miles of the road to Chichicastenango that the stamina of the Indians was quite extraordinary. In single file little groups of small brown-skinned men and women were making their way to market. On the heads and shoulders of all of them were balanced enormous loads of fruit, vegetables, woven cloth or pottery, some of the men carrying as many as forty or fifty weighty, hand-made pots; but they were trudging along quite happily and, as the car passed, invariably turned to grin at the occupants and call friendly greetings.

  As they neared their destination, the way became frighteningly twisty and precipitous. The car plunged down into valleys, skidded round hairpin bends and roared up slopes with steeper gradients than any Gregory could recall having previously encountered in a motor vehicle.

  Chichicastenango stood on a plateau seven thousand feet above sea level and from its outskirts there were splendid views of the surrounding country. It consisted solely of one-storey buildings, mostly constructed of wattle and daub, but the inhabitants numbered many thousands.

  After Planter’s Punches and a very satisfactory lunch at the pleasant little hotel, they went out to see the famous market in the large central square. The stalls were so numerous that it would have taken hours to inspect them all, and the variety of goods offered showed the strangest contrasts. Jackets, skirts and aprons, beautifully embroidered in the gayest colours, such as the peasants had made for many hundred years, were displayed alongside radio sets; palm-leaf hats beside electrical appliances; native musical instruments of a long-past age beside up-to-date arrays of patent medicines, and hand-made crockery pots beside aluminium cooking utensils. There were buckets and bags, bead necklaces and raw tobacco, sandals and patent leather shoes, wonderful arrays of tropical fruit and revolting-looking lumps of meat, nuts by the million and gaudy sweets, chewing gum, underclothes, formidable knives, fountain pens and scores of other items; while here and there among the stalls tables had been set up at which little parties of Indians were joyfully guzzling hot messes and swigging down draughts of raw red wine.