At one side of the square there stood a fine church, and on the flight of steps that led to it several Indians were swinging bunches of burning leaves. Their driver had accompanied them as guide. Leading them towards the church he said:
‘We make visit. Very interesting. Mornings seven o’clock priest he say Mass. Then go home. Rest of day church place for worship of old gods. Men on steps go up very slow. Reach top and families allowed in with them. Inside all burn candles. Pray to ancestors for good crops or bad luck to enemies. With each group you see magic man. He take money to see prayers answered. Inside church you look only at saints, carvings, altar. Not to look at people. They not like, might make trouble for us.’
Greatly intrigued, they followed him into the church by a side entrance. There were no pews and nearly the whole of the stone floor was occupied by many small groups of Indians, most of whom were kneeling. While pretending to admire the architecture of the church, the visitors covertly observed the pagan rites that were in progress. The kneeling Indians had lit hundreds of short candles, among which were scattered rose petals and many small, unidentifiable objects. From each group a constant mutter went up and, evidencing the strong double faith resulting from the Spaniards having imposed a veneer of Christianity on the natives, many of them were frequently crossing themselves.
As they left the church, Manon said, ‘Well! I should never have believed it. The higher clergy in Guatemala must know about this, and Mass is celebrated here every morning. How can they possibly permit its being turned over to witch-doctors for the remainder of the day?’
‘That is their policy,’ Gregory replied with a cynical little laugh. ‘They know jolly well that unless they closed their eyes to the fact that a majority of the people are still fundamentally pagan they wouldn’t get them to come to Mass at all. And I suppose they vaguely hope to get a genuine convert now and then.’
‘As many people go to Mass as worship old gods,’ their guide remarked. ‘Good thing to “hedge”, as you have expression. Then when dead you win either way. But in real trouble people think old gods best. From here they go up mountain to old sacred stone. Sacrifice chickens, goat, pig. If man’s vigour lost he smear blood on private part. They say certain remedy. Better much than burning candles to Virgin. That not logical, I think. But me very modern man. Better I think to spend money at drugstore.’
Gregory grinned at him. ‘I’m sure you are right. I must bear your tip in mind.’
Manon drew him back a pace and whispered in his ear. ‘No, darling. You might do yourself harm if you stimulate yourself beyond your normal powers. Please don’t. I’m perfectly content with the loving you can give me. As things are you are wonderful and you satisfy me completely.’
Nevertheless, she spent a good part of the night in big Pierre’s bed. Before she left him the previous night he had made her promise to report to him what success she had had in dissuading Gregory from financing James, and she had felt that she must do that.
Soon after dinner they had all retired and about ten o’clock Gregory had come to her room, but he had spent only an hour making love to her. As they lay embraced, she had again done her utmost on Pierre’s behalf. This time she took the line of endeavouring to convince Gregory that he would be running into really grave danger. Had she known her man better that was the last thing she would have done.
He listened patiently while she talked of the Colons of Algeria: how for years they had had to defend their properties, then engaged in a vicious hit-and-run war with the Arabs; how they had come to hold life cheap and killed without mercy. She pointed out that he would not be up against only Lacost and his companion, the swarthy Corbin. There could be little doubt that Lacost was the leader of a gang of unscrupulous toughs. They knew the South Seas and Gregory did not, so he would stand no chance against them.
Gregory was far from rash by nature. To the contrary, on a score of occasions only the exercise of great caution had saved him from his enemies. But the decisive factor in this present matter was that he had become bored with life. Manon provided him with a new and delightful interest, but a love affaire was not enough. Another side of his mentality craved exciting situations in which he would have to use his good brain, and this quest for treasure had unexpectedly developed into just that sort of thing. Moreover, if the gamble did cost him his life—what of it? He had hopes that death would reunite him with Erika.
Gently but firmly he told Manon that his mind was made up. He had become very fond of young James, so would not disappoint him. In fact, should the treasure after all prove a myth, he had decided to use part of his wealth to enable James to establish industries on Tujoa that would save his people from exploitation. Then he fondly kissed Manon good night, and left her.
Soon afterwards she joined Pierre in his room. To have attempted to deceive him would have been pointless, as he must soon have discovered that she was doing so. In consequence, when he asked her whether she had been successful, she replied:
‘No, and for that you have only yourself to blame. To have threatened Sallust is the worst thing you could have done. He is a very brave man and a born adventurer. Your threats put his back up and he has taken them as a challenge. He is now determined to go through with this business, and nothing I can say will deter him.’
Lacost shrugged. ‘Then the more fool him. But we’ll talk further about it later. I could hardly wait for you. Get your things off and jump into bed.’
Three hours slipped by, then as she was about to leave him she asked, ‘What do you intend to do about Sallust?’
Pierre gave an ugly laugh. ‘I must put him out of the ring and the sooner the better.’
‘No!’ she pleaded. ‘No! Please do nothing here. Wait till we get to Fiji or one of the other islands. Out there I may be able to turn him into a lotus-eater who will become content to laze in the sun and let everything else go hang.’
‘That would not ensure our coming out on top,’ Pierre argued. ‘By then he will have provided the Ratu with the money to get on with the job. While you are playing Circe to Sallust, young James will be working and may forestall me.’
Suddenly inspiration came to Manon and she said, ‘James is the king-pin in this whole business. Why concern yourself with Sallust? Get rid of James and you will have a free field. Why not do that?’
‘You’ve got something there,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll consider it. Perhaps there will occur a chance to throw a spanner in his works tomorrow. Have you made any plans to go sightseeing?’
‘Yes, we are going up to Lake Atitlan and making a trip in a motor boat across the lake to the village of San Antonio Palopo to see some wonderful carvings in the church there.’
Pierre fingered one end of his long moustache thoughtfully for a moment, then he said, ‘There are plenty of lonely places on the way there. Perhaps Jules Corbin and I might stage a hold-up and put the Ratu out of the running.’
‘You won’t harm Sallust, will you?’ she exclaimed in sudden alarm.
‘No, my little one; no,’ he assured her with a smile. ‘If we can render young James hors de combat for a few months his backer will be stymied too. Besides,’ Pierre’s smile became a grin, ‘I would hate to deprive you of the embraces of your Casanova.’
Manon shrugged off the jibe at Gregory’s now limited sexual activities and soon afterwards she returned to her room.
When she woke in the morning she felt extremely worried. She knew from long experience that Pierre never hesitated to lie to her when it suited his book. She knew, too, that he was completely unscrupulous and had a malicious streak in him. If he did hold up the party on their way to Lake Atitlan she felt certain that Gregory would not stand by and see his friend injured without endeavouring to prevent it. That would be excuse enough for Pierre to shoot him, too. And, although he had said that he had no objection to sharing her with Gregory, that might not be true. Quite possibly he would be delighted at the chance to put her other lover out of the way. Again, he might not hold up t
he car but, concealed in the bushes along the roadside, shoot into it. She knew him to be an excellent shot, but would he be able to obtain a rifle? If not, his aim with a pistol at a moving target twenty or more feet away must prove uncertain. He might miss James and hit Gregory—or her.
Instead of breakfasting with the others at nine o’clock, as they had arranged, she remained in bed. When Gregory arrived to enquire why she had failed to join them she had almost made up her mind to tell him about Pierre and warn him of his danger. But at the last moment she was deterred by the awful thought that if Pierre found out what she had done he might tell Gregory about her having killed her husband.
As an excuse for still being in bed, she said that she was suffering from an appalling migraine. Then she asked Gregory to postpone the expedition to Lake Atitlan and remain with her.
To her distress he said that he did not think that would be a good idea. ‘If I could help to get rid of your migraine quicker,’ he declared, ‘I’d willingly stay with you. But I know from experience that doesn’t help. Talking to anyone only makes things worse, and the best cure is to lie silent here in a semi-darkened room. That being so, it would be absurd for James and me to kick our heels about the hotel all day; so we’ll adhere to our plan of going up to the lake, and I’m only sorry that you can’t come with us.’
She then pretended a fit of temper, and abused him as an unfeeling lover. But that got her nowhere. She was already aware that once he had made up his mind about a thing he was as stubborn as a mule. With gentle mockery he told her that she was behaving like a spoilt child; then he saw to it that she had everything she might want, kissed her and departed.
The first half of the way to Lake Atitlan was the same as that to Chichicastenango, then the road branched off to the north. Again they drove through magnificent scenery with ranges of volcanoes outlined against the blue sky, forming a backdrop in the distance. Soon after midday, at a place high up in the mountains, their driver pulled up and they got out to enjoy, from the edge of the cliff on which they stood, one of the finest panoramas in Central America. Far below them the great inland lake shimmered in the sunshine. It was ringed with six volcanoes—one of which was eleven thousand six hundred feet in height—descending steeply to its shores. Here and there along the lake edge there were clusters of seemingly tiny white houses and, leaving furrows on the still surface of the lake, a few boats that looked no larger than beetles.
Having gazed their fill they returned to the car, and for another half-hour it wound its way down into a lovely valley where lay the pretty little town of Panajachel. Two miles further on they came to the lake shore on which stood the Hotel Tzanjuya. There they lunched off freshly-caught lake fish that tasted like bream.
James was in great heart. Until that morning he had been far from happy, because he feared that, should the records in Antigua fail to provide definite evidence that the sunken ship had carried a cargo of gold, Gregory would decline to finance him. But on the way to the lake Gregory had told him that he meant to do so in any case. Over the meal they talked of the gear that would be needed to raise the heavy beams that blocked the way to the cabin in which were the chests that, it was hoped, contained the treasure.
Pontoons and a crane could, James thought, be hired in Suva. If not, they might have to be brought from San Francisco. But nothing could be gained by writing to the harbour authorities to ask if they had such equipment, as if they left for Fiji within the next week they would arrive there sooner than a letter.
When Gregory enquired about divers and labour, James assured him that there would be no difficulty about that; his people would willingly co-operate. But it was certain that a professional diver would have to be employed, as moving the beams would be a tricky operation.
After the meal they went aboard a small motor launch to make the trip across the lake. The crew consisted solely of the owner. Smilingly he welcomed them aboard but, looking at his wrist watch, conveyed to them in broken English that he wished they had made an earlier start, instead of lingering over lunch. Apparently, while the lake was always as placid as a mill pond in the mornings, a change of temperature in the afternoons caused winds to come rushing down the valley between the volcanoes, and disturb it to such an extent that at times the waves could become twelve feet high.
Chugging away from the hotel, for a while they hugged the shore, on which there were a few pleasant villas scattered along a bathing beach, then they turned out and crossed an arc of the lake, to arrive an hour later at the rickety landing stage that served the village of San Antonio Palopo. Going ashore, they made their way up a narrow, winding, potholed track to the church. It was an empty, barn-like structure and proved disappointing. The carvings which had been so cracked up turned out to be eight or ten wooden figures obviously intended to represent saints. In a group they leaned disconsolately against one wall, with no altars or candles burning before them. They were unquestionably old, but no-one could honestly have considered them fine works of art.
After a glance at these dusty, neglected relics, as the village was no more than a cluster of hovels, they returned to the boat.
The surface of the lake had already become choppy and the boatman, anxious to get back before it became really rough, set a direct course for the hotel, which could be picked out as a white blob several miles distant. Between it and San Antonio lay three wide bays, separated by two rocky-capes that projected a good way out into the lake.
For a while the nearest cape gave them some protection, but when they had passed it the launch caught the full force of the wind. The waves did not rise to dangerous heights, but were large enough to lift the little boat so that every other minute her bottom boards smacked down on to the water and clouds of spray hissed up on either side of her.
They were about a third of the way across the middle bay when they noticed another launch coming towards them. Two minutes later it looked as if it would pass within ten feet of them. Instead its engine was abruptly cut. Apparently the only person in it was the man at the wheel, but as it drifted past another man, who must have been crouching behind the gunwale, suddenly bobbed up. With a swift movement he lobbed what looked like a small tin of soup across the few feet that separated the two boats.
At that moment, through a gap in the flying spray, Gregory got a clear view of the men in the other launch. Corbin was at the wheel and it was Lacost who had thrown the missile. Only seconds later it landed in James’s lap.
He and Gregory were sitting one either side of the boatman in the fore part of the boat. Instantly guessing that the missile was a home-made bomb, Gregory threw himself across the boatman and snatched it up. As his fingers closed on the tin his heart seemed to come up into his throat. At any instant it might explode. Unless there was just time for him to throw it overboard all three of them would be torn to ribbons.
Gregory was sprawled right across the astonished boatman, so to pitch the bomb clear meant an awkward movement. With all his force he jerked up his hand. But in plunging sideways he had knocked the man’s hands from the wheel and the boat was already beginning to veer off course. The boatman made a grab at the wheel to bring her back on to it. Just as Gregory was about to release his grip on the tin, their arms came into sharp contact. Instead of going over the side, the tin shot up into the air. It landed with a thud on the roof of the cabin behind them, then rolled away to the stern of the boat.
Springing to his feet, Gregory yelled, ‘It’s a bomb! Over you go!’ Still shouting to the others to save themselves, he threw himself into the water. Next moment there was a shattering explosion.
The water heaved and he was thrown half out of it. Falling back, his weight carried him deep down. As he became conscious of the coldness of the lake water, it added to his fears for himself. They were in the middle of the bay and must be a good mile from the shore. If the boat had been wrecked there was small likelihood that Lacost would take them aboard his and there had been no other in sight. He was a good swimmer, but in co
ld, rough water he greatly doubted if he could cover such a distance.
As he came gasping to the surface, he saw that the bomb had blown the stern of the launch away and that the boat was sinking. Grimly, he turned on his side to strike out for the shore. Suddenly a shot rang out, another, another and another. Bitterly he realised that he was to be given little chance to reach the shore. Without even glancing over his shoulder, he knew that both Lacost and Corbin were shooting at him—and shooting to kill.
7
Death on the Lake
Gregory needed no telling then that his situation was desperate. Lacost’s threats had not been idle ones. He clearly meant to rid himself of any rival seekers of the treasure, even if it meant committing murder. And he had been not only swift to act, but clever. Here, out on the broad lake, there were no witnesses to what had taken place. Even if the explosion had been seen from the distant shore it would be thought that some carelessness, perhaps the throwing away of a cigarette butt, had caused the petrol tank to blow up. In due course the bodies of the victims would be washed ashore, but in that sparsely populated area it could be days or weeks before they were found. It would naturally be assumed that they had drowned, and any wound inflicted by a bullet would be thought to be a gash caused by the body having been hurled against a jagged rock. In any case all the odds were that, by the time Gregory and his companions were washed up, Lacost and Corbin would long since have left Guatemala.
The White Witch of the South Seas Page 10
