CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WITH THE DOOR nearly closed, it was quite dark in the closet and she stood a moment with breath held and her ear close to the crack. As the seconds dragged on she felt the pressure of her first misgivings and opened the door another inch. There was still no sound but the rapid thumping of her heart, and now there came a disquieting thought: how long would she have to stay here? If nothing happened in the next few minutes, would she be able to tiptoe from the room without alerting Amanti to her presence?
Not touching the knob but pressing lightly on the panel with her fingertips, she eased the door open another inch and put her nose to the crack so that she would get more air. Feeling now the mounting pressure on her nerves, she tried to combat it by telling herself she had made the decision and was stuck with it, that she could outwait Amanti no matter how long it took if she put her mind to the task. She was still working on the silent fight talk when she heard Amanti speak. Coming as it did out of all that silence, the voice frightened her strangely until she realized he was talking on the telephone.
The number he gave the operator meant nothing to her, but what he said next did: “Hello—would you please see if Ian Lambert is in his room?… Yes, if you please.”
She broke up the following silence by counting off what she thought were seconds. She wondered how long it would take Lambert to come to the telephone, and then she faced the awful possibility that he might not come at all. Silently she begged for help. She asked that luck be with her, and after what seemed like an eternity her prayers were answered.
“Ian,” Amanti said. “Louis Amanti. There’s been a rather curious development about the missing diamonds…. No, I can’t tell you over the telephone. I’m not even sure what will happen next, but I think we ought to talk it over.”
There was a moment of silence, then: “In my office, yes. You might bring Chris Holt with you if it doesn’t take too long…. Well, how long? Can you make it in ten minutes?… Excellent… Yes, I’ll expect you.”
She heard the telephone being cradled and asked herself if she could possibly stand ten more minutes in this sweatbox. The answer was quickly affirmative, now that she knew what she had to do and could properly prepare herself.
She did not try to count the minutes. She put her mind on other things, and it helped to know that her suspicion of Amanti was being substantiated, at least to some degree. She did not try to speculate on what might happen next, but clung steadfastly to the hope that she would learn something that would help Barry. As the minutes of silence began to accumulate she forced her thoughts still further afield.
She found herself wondering what New York would be like. She understood that Barry’s job would take him to some other section of the States—he thought it might be in the West or in Canada—and that would be all right too because she would have a chance to see the country. In her imagination she even allowed herself to hope that he would change his mind, that, once cleared of suspicion, he would see how much easier it would be to take her with him rather than go on alone and send for her. Her papers were in order; she had the proper visa. Her uncle had already given his approval and she had the proper clothes because she understood the weather would be reasonably warm by the time she reached New York.
Such thoughts helped to speed the minutes and when she heard the sounds on the outer stairs she was ready. By the time the door opened she had narrowed the crack again. She kept it that way, depending on her ears to tell her what was happening, until she was sure that the two callers were safely inside the inner office.
Now, with the greetings over and the steps gone from the room, she widened the crack a fraction of an inch at a time. She thrust her nose into the opening and breathed deeply. It did not stop the perspiration which had begun to bathe her body, but it helped to steady her and dispel the frightening possibility that she might faint. She did not dare try to remove her jacket, and she had to hold her bag and the letters, but with her free hand she unbuttoned the front of her blouse and shrugged the jacket back from her shoulders. When the voices began she opened the door still more and then she forgot her discomfort.
“Hudson was in to see me this morning,” Amanti was saying.
“He came to us too,” Holt said. “He said he was still willing to buy the diamonds. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“In a sense, yes.”
“He asked us,” Ian Lambert said in his deliberate way, “whether we would rather have the diamonds or the cash.”
“We told him we’d take the dollars if we had a choice,” Holt added.
“By rights, of course,” Amanti said, “if any of us located the diamonds it would be our duty to turn them over to the proper authorities.”
“Meaning the cops,” Holt said.
“Until the court appoints me administrator of the estate—and I’m hoping this will happen—I have no legal right to take any steps whatsoever. But a strange thing happened this afternoon and I thought I ought to get your reaction.”
There was a pause and Amanti continued: “I do not intend to give you any details whatsoever except to say that there is a possibility that the diamonds may be left here outside my office some time tonight.”
“Are you kidding?” Holt said. “Left here? A hundred thousand dollars’ worth of. diamonds? Why the hell—”
“It is my impression,” Amanti cut in, “that the person who now has them is afraid to keep them any longer. If found in his possession he runs the risk of being arrested for murder. He may even be the killer. How would you feel about that?”
“About what?”
“Well, which are you the most interested in, getting the murderer or getting the diamonds?”
“We’ll take the diamonds, won’t we, Ian?… Let the cops worry about the killer.”
“Then let’s carry the assumption a step farther. To turn the stones over to the police—still assuming that they are to be delivered anonymously to me tonight—would mean a great shrinkage in your shares. There would not only be the royalties, taxes, and duties which Lambert never paid, there would also be a share which in all probability would go to Sir Eric Lambert in England.”
“So?”
“Yet to withhold the stones or make any deal—say with Hudson—would subject all of us to certain penalties if we were caught.”
“What you’re saying,” Holt said, “is that if we hold out on the cops and make a private deal we’re liable to wind up in the can.”
“If not that, certainly a conviction and a stiff fine…. Now, are we willing to take such a risk?”
There was another pause, during which Holt apparently found a silent agreement from Lambert.
“We are,” he said. “Neither of us liked the old man and we’ve got just enough larceny in us to take a chance.”
“It will be more difficult for me,” Amanti said. “If I should have to stand trial I would be ruined in this colony. I would have no more practice and I would be publicly disgraced. I would not care to risk such a thing unless the payment for success was substantial.”
“How do we know you haven’t already got the diamonds?”
“I’m not sure I like your attitude,” Amanti said coldly. “I’m not sure I want to be associated with you at all. Perhaps we’d better forget what’s been said. If the stones should turn up I’ll simply call the police and—”
“Take it easy,” Holt said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. If you want an apology, say so and I’ll make one.”
For a few seconds nothing more was said and Lynn stood there, her moist young face half out of the door and her ears straining. With all this new excitement churning inside her it was hard to stand still, to remember where she was. During the past few minutes she had been too interested to be afraid, but now, as her thoughts digressed to remind her of her position, she felt the tension come again when she realized the door was open six inches or more. She closed it slightly, her fingers on its edge so she could close it still more if she had t
o without touching the knob. When she heard Amanti’s voice again she turned her head to listen better and kept her breathing shallow.
“There is no point in continuing,” he said, “unless we stand ready to trust one another. It is imperative that we do so.”
“Okay,” Holt said. “We trust you.”
“After all,” Amanti said as though slow to accept the admission, “if I had the diamonds and was as greedy as you imply, I would simply make a private trade with Hudson and say nothing.”
“Sure,” said Holt. “We understand that. If I hurt your feelings I’m sorry. You haven’t got the stones but you just might get hold of them. You want to get paid something for your trouble. That’s fair enough. We agree. So what, exactly, is the pitch?”
Amanti cleared his throat and when he replied he seemed to be measuring his words.
“Let’s not be hasty,” he cautioned. “Let’s be specific and see just what the values are in the case…. Lambert,” he said, “never paid a penny of taxes on those diamonds. One hundred thousand dollars’ worth.”
“A hundred and ten, the way I heard it.”
“I was assuming that they were to be sold to Hudson. The amount in that case would be an even hundred thousand.”
“Right,” Holt said. “I forgot about that…. So?”
“I doubt if those diamonds would net the estate the equivalent of sixty thousand American dollars, though what you would actually get would be pounds sterling or ‘Biwi’ dollars. There would also be death taxes. In addition there would be the share reserved for Sir Eric…. In other words,” he said, “the very most you could hope for would be twenty thousand each.”
“And what do you suggest?” Holt said.
“First,” said Amanti, “I want to state again that nothing may come of this. My information may be false. In which case”—he hesitated, as if for effect, and in her mind’s eye Lynn could almost see the plump hands gesture—“there can be no deal and our time will have been wasted.”
He paused again and said: “On the other hand, if I am successful in getting the diamonds I suggest that we make an immediate sale to Mr. Hudson. I think we are agreed that for our purposes dollars are more desirable than diamonds, and we can count on his silence since his position will then become precarious.”
“Okay,” Holt said. “We’re agreed.”
“For my services and the risk I am taking I shall want thirty thousand dollars. That will leave seventy to be divided between you and Ian—thirty-five thousand American dollars as against twenty you might get the other way…. There it is,” he said on a note of finality. “What do you say?… Ian?”
“I say yes,” Lambert said in his stolid way.
“Count me in,” Holt said. “You come high, Amanti,” he added. “But maybe you’re worth it.”
“Good. Now one word of caution. Should we be successfull, it is essential that you be careful what you do with those dollars. I mean, you can hardly take that amount to a bank and deposit it without arousing suspicion.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Holt said. “Once we get that cash aboard the schooner, nobody will find it. And don’t forget I call at many ports.”
Lynn drew the door almost shut as she heard the chairs scrape and the men get to their feet. As she shrank back in the semi-darkness she spoke to herself, using a phrase that was un-English, un-ladylike, and had as its genesis some American story she had once read. “Why, the dirty crook!” she said, and the man she had in mind was Louis Amanti.
Her luck held as they came into the outer office. She could picture their movements as they passed.
“Call me here at eleven o’clock,” Amanti was saying. “I should know by then whether my information is right. If so, there is no reason why our transaction cannot be completed tonight.”
The door opened and steps moved out. The door closed and still Lynn waited. She could hear, faintly, the descending steps outside,’ and now she began to count, hoping that Amanti had left with the others but knowing she must be sure.
When she reached sixty she widened the crack. She put her nose out and then her face. She slipped out into the welcome coolness of the room and went quickly through to Amanti’s office, where the windows overlooked the street. When she saw his car drive off she expelled her breath in a noisy blast. She took off her jacket and removed her blouse. At the washbowl behind the curtain, she sponged off her face and arms and shoulders. By the time she was ready to leave, her plans had been made and she thought no more about Amanti’s scheme but only about Barry and what would be best for him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BY NINE O’CLOCK THAT NIGHT Lynn was ready. There had been a call from Barry shortly after six, but she had offered the universal excuse of all women who are indisposed, indifferent, or sulking. She had a headache. She was going to have a cold bite and a shower and go to bed. Grateful that he had not persisted, she now glanced about the room before snapping off the light.
She wore a dark dress and a snug-fitting dark hat to hide her hair. She carried a small straw shopping bag—she had no idea how large the pouch would be, but hoped it would not be too bulky—and in it were her wallet, a good-sized kitchen spoon which was to be her trowel, and, as a lastminute concession to her growing uncertainty, the little automatic her uncle had left for her.
She had six blocks to go, she intended to walk it, and she started out with her chest up and her stride determined as she headed for Main Street. Here the pavement was divided by a wide grassy mall shaded by wide-spreading tamarinds, and she chose this because it was darker here and there were no bicycles.
Up ahead she saw the lights of the Windsor and as she approached it her courage faltered and her steps began to lag. All sorts of objections that had not yet occurred to her began to rear up in her mind and make silent protests. When she came to the corner on which the hotel stood she glanced down the darkened intersecting street, aware that her only approach must lead through the archway beneath the lounge which opened on the rectangular grounds.
For another second or so she hesitated to inspect the railed lounge and its odd, dome-like roof. From where she stood she could see no more than four or five men sitting at the small tables, and so, pride spurring her on now, she continued past the lighted entrance to the hotel proper, still keeping to the mall. Not until she had drawn even with the far end of the structure did she cut across the pavement.
There were others abroad at that hour, so she waited until the immediate area was relatively empty before she took her place on the sidewalk, hurrying now as she slanted in under the lounge without looking up. A single bulb relieved the darkness of the tunnel and she saw no one as she came out the other side and turned to follow the line of the building as closely as she could, coming first to the corner of the rectangle with its shrubs and bushes and then skirting them as she started along the side.
Light which came from three or four windows and spilled out on the lawn to block her progress made her hesitate, but when she realized she had no choice she plunged boldly across these, her gaze fixed upon Barry’s windows and noting with relief that they were dark.
She had no trouble finding the frangipani tree, and knelt at once near its base to survey the area and get her tingling nerves in hand. She saw that the shutters of Barry’s center window had been opened, but when her inspection was complete she also knew that the light from the other windows helped to make this spot where she would have to work an island of darkness. No one moved; within the rectangle. Far away there came the familiar barking of the prowling dogs, who had started their nightly forays early; here, as she reached into her bag for the kitchen spoon, there was no sound but the muted strains of an orchestral recording.
With no way of knowing just where to dig, she began by making sample probes around the perimeter with the handle of the spoon. Almost at once she found a spot that seemed to resist the pressure and so she began to scoop the dirt away, making a pile at one side. The clinking of small stones against the
metal spoon made disquieting sounds, bringing now the beginning of some strange and shapeless fear. But she knew of no other way to work, and presently her fingers found the oilskin pouch.
She put this on the grass beside her and began to fill the hole. There did not seem to be dirt enough, but she graded the area as best she could with the edge of the spoon. She was still working when she heard the heavy thud close by and the crackle of bushes.
It was a terrifying sound, and the movement that made her jump to her feet was pure reflex. She saw the onrushing figure and braced herself to meet it, understanding that she had been discovered but otherwise paralyzed in mind and body.
Hands reached for her in the darkness and she opened her mouth to scream. She felt the hard pressure of the fingers on her arms, but her throat had tightened soundlessly in her terror. In that moment the muscles in her legs suddenly failed her and she might have fallen had not the hands supported her. Then, even as she tried to pull away, she heard the hoarse whisper of amazement and knew she was safe.
“Lynn!” Barry said. “For God’s sake, Lynn. What are you—”
He did not finish the sentence, but drew her close with one arm, and now her body began to shake. She could not help it. She wanted to laugh, to cry out in her relief, but some intuitive pressure told her she must be quiet. If only that silly shaking would stop—
“Easy now,” Barry whispered, his lips touching her hair. “That’s the girl. It’s okay…. You’re all right now, aren’t you?”
She was grateful that he did not stop to question her then. He seemed to know what had happened, and now he picked up the pouch she had dropped and put it into the straw bag.
“There’s a spoon too,” she said.
He found it and put it with the pouch. She felt him turn her toward his window and then his hands were at her waist, boosting her to the opening while she reached out and helped to pull herself inside. She scrambled across the window seat to get out of the way, and when she looked back she saw that he was finishing the job of smoothing out the dirt encircling the tree trunk.
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