“You expected to find me here at this hour?”
“I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t feel like going to bed after what happened tonight, so I thought I’d take a ride. What happened to you?”
Louis Amanti still wore his three-piece white drill suit, and now as he came round the desk and moved to the water-cooler, he removed a clean handkerchief, soaked it, and held it against his forehead. When water began to trickle down his round face he squeezed the handkerchief a bit and made a pad of it. He went back behind the desk and sat down heavily, his bespectacled dark eyes peering suspiciously through the lenses that distorted them, his free hand beginning to stroke the nape of his neck.
“Somebody slugged you,” Barry said, “is that it?”
“Not here.” Amanti touched the bruise. “This must have come when I fell. I was paralyzed. I could hear and I knew what was happening, but I could not move.
“It was here,” he said, indicating the back of his neck. “I had come in and was feeling for the switch when it happened. I heard him and tried to grapple with him, but he. spun me aside and then I was hit. By the stiff edge of his hand, I think. It was like my head was coming off.”
“What do you think he wanted?”
“Who knows?” Amanti waved a pudgy hand to indicate the rifled cabinets. “He broke into my files. It is likely that he searched them as he did my desk in the other room.”
“Was there anything valuable in them?”
“If you mean intrinsic value, no.” He stood up and opened a wall cabinet, disclosing a small safe. “Such currency and things of value that I have are locked in here. It has not been touched.”
“What about the will?” Barry said, following a hunch.
“The will?”
“You said you had drawn up a rough copy.”
Amanti’s gaze moved to the filing cabinet and he put aside his makeshift compress. Without a word he rose and began to paw through the folders in the second cabinet. Apparently satisfied, he went into his private office and turned on the light. Barry stayed where he was, but he could hear drawers being opened and closed.
“The original of that draft is gone,” Amanti said when he came back, “as is the only carbon copy. What else is missing I will find out in the morning. Now perhaps you will tell me why you thought the will would be missing.”
“I didn’t,” Barry said. “It was just a thought.”
“Also,” Amanti said, as though he had not heard, “I am still confused as to your reasons for coming here tonight at all.”
Barry thought it over because it was not an easy question to answer. It wasn’t enough to repeat that he was restless and that he had come here on nothing more than a hunch. Put simply, he wanted all the information from Amanti he could get and he intended to keep talking and asking questions as long as he could.
“I wanted to talk to you because I figured you knew more about Lambert and the background of this case than anyone else. Until the diamonds are found, or until the police make an arrest, I’ll probably be under some suspicion.”
“Knowing Superintendent Kerby,” Amanti said, “I would say anyone connected with the case would be under some suspicion.”
“With me it’s a little different,” Barry said. “I’ve got a flight ticket to New York by way of Trinidad next Wednesday. I want to get back and get on the job. Unless I’m in the clear by that time, Kerby may decide to ground me.” He sat down on the edge of a chair and put his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward. “The way it looks, someone killed Lambert to get at the diamonds. But it doesn’t have to be that way, does it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, with no will, how will the estate be divided?”
Amanti considered this. “I would not care to be quoted,” he said, “but in my opinion Ian might receive one third after debts and taxes; a third will go to his sister, Jessie, in Barbados; a third to Lambert’s brother in England.”
“So as things stand, Ian’s future is considerably brighter than it would have been if his father had lived to sign the will. The same goes for his sister and this guy Holt, who happens to have his schooner in port.”
“I suppose that’s true. But—”
Barry cut him off. “Tell me,” he said. “Who else could have known about those diamonds? You knew—”
“Only that he had them.”
“I knew,” Barry continued. “Hudson knew. How about Muriel Ransom?”
“It is quite possible Lambert may have told her. If so, she might even have told McBride, since the two of them were something more than friendly at one time.” He paused and his voice thinned out. “I’m not at all sure they are not still quite friendly…. Also,” he said, “it would not surprise me if the authorities were at least suspicious that some such horde existed. In my opinion, that was why Lambert was so eager to sell them to an outsider.”
“Oh?”
Barry spoke the word quietly and waited, sensing a change in the lawyer’s attitude and hoping that if he did not break the spell Amanti would explain himself. Presently he did, his tone reminiscent as his thoughts focused inward.
“Anyone who knew Lambert would know that he would rebel at such things as royalties, taxes, and duties. It was his nature to evade the law when he could. He has traded in diamonds—quite aside from his own mining activities—for years and yet only a modest amount were ever properly declared. As you know, it is a simple matter to smuggle diamonds across the boundary rivers into either Brazil or Venezuela. The police force at Lethem can do no more than make a token effort at patrolling the boundaries. Even the Commissioner knows that smuggling is not difficult. But you also know that the price of diamonds is about the same here as it is there.”
He settled down in his chair and said: “At one time there was a man in Brazil, on the Río Branco—some said he was a Russian—who would pay more, particularly for good industrials. Unfortunately for Lambert, he paid in cash—but in cruzeiros, and you know what happened to them when inflation hit Brazil. So Lambert built up his collection and trained Albert to polish them. After that he could only wait until he could unload them because he must have known that when he left here, as he planned to do next week, his baggage and all personal effects would be searched with great thoroughness. I understood he was making this transaction for American dollars. How he intended to handle them I do not pretend to know, though I understand he had made arrangements to hire McBride and his plane on Monday.”
Amanti spoke easily and well, and as the story unfolded Barry listened with part of his brain while the other assessed the things he knew about the lawyer—not the personal idiosyncrasies that came from Lynn Sanford as part of her job, but the background of the man which had evolved from casual conversations over drinks with some who knew him.
He was native born, the color of his skin and the wiry hair suggesting that there was an East Indian strain somewhere in his heritage. He had been educated locally and in Trinidad and had been reasonably successful before the bar, though much of his practice had to do with business affairs. Some years earlier he had married somewhat above him socially and had never quite been allowed to forget it. For his part he had brought solvency to an old but impoverished colonial family, though this was never referred to by his blonde and buxom wife, who had produced no children and apparently existed for the long bi-yearly trips to England which Amanti dutifully provided even when somewhat pressed for cash.
That he was a clever man no one disputed, but to Barry it seemed that there was something else less wholesome. He did not know exactly what it was, but when the word “sly” occurred to him he accepted it as suitable. But if scandal had touched Amanti, Barry had not heard of it; if there was a streak of larceny in his system, it had never been exposed. To this Lynn Sanford had been able to add only that Amanti was a secretive man, but never offensive. Now, aware that the lawyer had finished and was watching him, he spoke quickly.
“What happens to them if they’re found?”
>
“They become part of the estate, subject of course to the taxes and fees Lambert forgot to pay.”
The word “estate” triggered Barry’s thoughts anew and he recalled the list of holdings he had scanned on Lambert’s desk just before Amanti had arrived. Amanti hoped to be the administrator of the estate and, with his background and familiarity with Lambert’s affairs, it seemed likely he would be so appointed. Who, then, could say exactly what belonged in the estate and what did not? Who was there left to check on Amanti? Certainly Lambert would have demanded an accounting before he sailed. Perhaps Lynn Sanford—
“What?” he said, aware that the lawyer had spoken and watching him get to his feet.
“I said it was getting late,” Amanti said. “When I find out what else may be missing in the morning I’ll report this to Kerby.”
Barry stood up and said it might be a good idea. There were other questions he wanted to ask, but time had run out on him and he voiced but one: “How did the guy get in here?”
Amanti pointed. “Through the door. It is the only way he could have entered.”
“You mean, he forced the lock?”
“I could see no sign that he had done so.”
“Wasn’t it locked?”
“Certainly it was locked,” Amanti said. “I distinctly remember locking it when I left earlier.”
Barry did not know whether to believe this or not, but when he saw Amanti turn off the desk light he knew it was time to go.
“How many keys?” he asked.
“Three. This one.” Amanti patted his trousers pocket. “Miss Sanford’s. A spare one I keep at home.”
CHAPTER SIX
BARRY DID NOT START TO WORRY about Lynn Sanford until he was in the taxi, but once started, his uneasiness mushroomed quickly. When Eddie Glynn cut across High Street at the next intersection and started back toward the hotel, Barry said he had changed his mind and gave him Lynn’s address.
The bungalow stood in darkness as the cab stopped, and Barry sat a moment in his uncertainty, listening to the soft throbbing of the motor and aware that Eddie was watching him curiously. He understood that what he was about to do could easily be misunderstood by anyone who might witness it, but his desire to know that Lynn was all right was even stronger than his feeling for convention, and now, because the hotel was within easy walking distance, he took some bills from his pocket and paid what he owed, adding a dollar tip. He made no attempt to explain his actions because he knew appearances were against him. Eddie could think what he wanted, but Eddie would probably keep it to himself.
“Thanks, Eddie,” he said. “I may want you in the morning.”
“I’ll be around, Mr. Dawson,” Eddie said. “Good night, sir.”
Barry stood where he was until the Zephyr turned the corner and was gone. By then he knew that the adjacent houses were also dark, and he hoped the occupants were asleep as he turned into the path and started up the steps.
Lynn’s bedroom, he knew, opened on the veranda at the right, and he started toward this, walking lightly but not on tiptoe. His knock sounded discouragingly loud in the otherwise quiet night and he glanced over his shoulder at the house next door. A high hedge served to screen the lower part of the windows and this fact reassured him somewhat and he knocked again.
“Lynn!” he said in a loud whisper. “Hey, Lynn!”
Once more he knocked and this time he rattled the knob, a curious tension beginning to pluck at his nerve ends as his thoughts expanded and his apprehension grew. Then he heard the rattle of the key in the lock and it was a wonderful sound to hear. He leaned close as the door opened a tiny crack.
“Lynn,” he said. “It’s me.”
The soft “Ohhh” that followed held a connotation of relief and he could hear her catch her breath. “All right,” she whispered. “Just a minute.”
“I have to talk to you,” he said. “You don’t have to turn on the light.”
He did not know whether she heard him or not, but a few seconds later the door opened silently. He pushed in on tiptoe and closed it behind him and then the room was aglow from the bedside lamp and she was standing beside it, her light-brown hair caught in a ribbon like a little girl’s, her slender form wrapped tightly in a figured robe.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Why, yes…. Yes, I’m all right.”
And suddenly he was embarrassed. Grateful, but embarrassed too because he had come busting in here with the wind up, maybe scaring her, and for what? He wanted to take her in his arms, to touch her hair, and he was afraid she might not understand.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he tried to frame some apology. He would have said more if his glance had not strayed to the table and fastened on the little automatic pistol beside the lamp. “What’s that for?” he asked. “Did I frighten you?”
She sat down on the edge of the bed before she replied, huddling slightly over her knees, her bare feet close together. “Someone else did, darling,” she said, and then she was talking fast, the words tumbling out in staccato whispers.
He listened without interrupting, glad now that he had come and a certain pattern shaping up in his mind, so that when she finished he said:
“All he took was your handbag?… Was the office key in it?”
“Why—yes.”
And so it was his turn and he told what had happened at Amanti’s office, forgetting in the beginning that she did not know there had been murder, that Colin Lambert was dead.
She sat very still as his story unfolded, her shadowed eyes wide open, the mobile lips parted. He had never seen her quite like this before, and even as he tried to explain the night’s events a part of his mind was reserved for thoughts of her, and as it came to him once more how much he loved her he marveled again that such good fortune could happen so quickly….
He had met Lynn twice at small parties during the weeks before he started his diamond venture and while he was studying the rudiments of the business at Clarke & Company. He had thought her attractive enough, but at the time the idea of love was farthest from his mind. He had recently been in love and found it a singularly shattering experience from which he had not yet recovered.
He had been familiar with the so-called “Dear John” letters that had come to acquaintances in Korea, and the one he received in Surinam was similar in content. The girl he had planned to marry when he returned to the States from his tour of duty had decided she could never be happy married to a geologist, even one with a new Stateside assignment coming up and the promise of home-office work in the future. She was sorry. She was sure he would understand and she hoped they would always be friends.
Barry had read that letter in the air-conditioned bar of the Palace Hotel in Paramaribo. He was nearing the end of a four-month survey, and he had come out of the bush for a week-end of civilization after forty straight days during which he had worked with an Indian foreman and an eighteen-man native crew, living under a tarpaulin and mosquito net and eating rice and beans and canned goods, fish when it was available, an occasional piece of fresh meat when his men were lucky in their hunting. The thought of that week-end with its clean sheets and showers and quiet drinking had kept him going, and, coming as it did, that letter had disastrous effects on his plans and his hopes.
In retrospect he was ashamed of himself and his inability to cope with his loss in an adult manner. Better men than he had suffered similar disappointments. In his case, anger and resentment crowded out any chance of a more philosophic viewpoint and as his bitterness festered he gave in to his resentment.
Before he left for camp on Monday morning he had cabled his resignation. He had another three weeks’ work to do before the survey could be finished; three weeks in which to brood about the injustice of life and the moral dishonesty of women. He was sick of his job, sick of the country, and indifferent to the future.
Because Georgetown was like a metropolis compared to Paramaribo in Dutch Guiana, he had come here to continue his broo
ding, and the emotional scar was a long time healing. He slept late and drank too much. He borrowed some clubs from a friend and played some golf, a game scorned by the Dutch fathers below the Courantyne River. But such inactivity finally sickened him, and having heard of others who had found the search for diamonds profitable—the exception rather than the rule, since the average price per carat mined was exceedingly low—he made his agreement with Colin Lambert.
In the end he discovered he had worked very cheaply, but by that time the catharsis was complete and he was emotionally sound. Somehow women had again become desirable and he knew it was time for him to knuckle down and get on with the work for which he was trained.
He had met Lynn again at a tennis party and, once more in the proper frame of mind, had persuaded her to have dinner with him. Two days later he learned a “Dear Lynn” letter from a man in the Royal Navy was partly responsible for her being here.
The letter had come at a time shortly after the death of her mother—her father had passed on years earlier—and while she was trying to pick up the pieces that remained of her well-ordered existence she had received a note from her uncle, asking her to come to Guiana and spend some time with him. A check for her passage had been enclosed, and because at the time she wanted most to turn her back on the life she had known, she accepted.
But as with Barry, the enforced idleness, the easy way of living began to pall. Her uncle was often away. The cocktail and tennis parties became too demanding. She was not yet ready to go back to England, but she was an experienced secretary and when the chance came to work for Louis Amanti she took it gratefully—
He was aware that his explanation was finished and that she had spoken. As he brought his mind to focus she repeated her question.
“Why would anyone go to Mr. Amanti’s office? What could he want?”
“Amanti says whoever it was took the rough draft of the will and the carbon. He doesn’t know why. Do you?”
She shook her head slowly, the shadowed eyes still wide. “Do you think it has something to do with—the murder?”
Man on a Rope Page 5
