duty that tormented his weakness.
'You should kill Schiebel,' she said.
'I can't,' said Sherif.
'It would be better for you, and for what you believe, if Schiebel died.' Sherif nodded. Selina said: 'I want you to help me find a man called Craig.'
« · «
Loomis stuck his thumb on the bell-push and held on. After ten seconds he began to jab at it as if it were a face he disliked. After twenty-five seconds Craig's voice said: 'Yes?' and Loomis said: 'It's me, dammit.' The door opened slightly then, and Loomis saw no one. He pushed the door open, and went inside, and found Craig was behind him, the Smith and Wesson a weight in his hand.
'You take a hell of a time to open a door,' Loomis snarled, then he noticed that Craig wore no coat or tie, one shirt button was undone. In the secrecy of his mind, he scored a point to Craig. When the doorbell rang, Craig dressed, because clothes were armor; he put on shoes, because shoes were weapons, and he waited by the door with a gun. Craig was the best he had, because his thoroughness was absolute. If only he weren't so bloody sentimental. He looked at the bedroom door and frowned.
'Company?' he said.
'Board meeting,' said Craig. 'You'd better take the
chair.'
'The Busoni person?'
Craig nodded, went inside the bedroom door, whispered for a while, then came out and locked the door from the outside.
'I don't think she'd better see you,' said Craig. 'She's sensitive.'
He glowered at Loomis, then grinned, reluctantly. 'You bastard,' he said.
Loomis chose the biggest chair and sat, cautiously. The chair groaned, but held.
'You found out we planted her, did you? I had to be sure about this one, son. It's important, d'you see? I couldn't leave it to a boozer.' He leaned back in the chair and clasped his great hands over his paunch.
'Big excitement at AZ Enterprises,' he said. 'Looks as if the Sehna person may have escaped.'
'She went back to the Haram,' said Craig. T put her on the plane.'
'No,' Loomis said. 'She got as far as Aden, we know that. Then she reached Zaarb. There was a bit of a disturbance at her hotel, I gather. People killed, that sort of thing. There was a very British sort of chap involved in it too, so I hear.'
'Schiebel?'
Loomis nodded.
'I think he's here, too, Craig. He has to be. He can't just let Naxos go.'
'But how did he get in?' Craig asked. 'Couldn't you have had a watch out for him?'
Loomis cocked his head on one side, and grinned round his beak of a nose. He looked like a monstrous, world-weary parrakeet.
T did, son,' he said. T knew it wouldn't do any good but I did it anyway. Just in case he changed his technique. But he hasn't. The Zaarb Embassy had a packing case dehvered last week. Bloody big one. Hundred- and-forty-four-piece dinner service. Sent from East Germany via Zaarb. That's the third this year. They must eat the bloody plates. I think they were both inside it. After that they'd send her to the AZ place.'
'And now she's escaped?'
'We think so, son. We've had the place watched, d'you see? Chap coming off duty spotted a couple of Arabs in the tube station. Tall, thin man called Sherif—we know
him. Had an Arab-looking girl with him. Beautiful. Wore slacks and a sweater. Scared stiff of the tube.' 'Did he foUow them?'
'Of course not,' said Loomis. 'He'd had no instructions and he'd finished his shift.' He scowled. 'Policemen,' he said. 'But, anyway, he heard where they were going— Wapping. I got a search out now, Craig. We got to find her.'
'Why the hell didn't you tell me this before?' said
Craig.
The answer was as fast as a reflex.
'Because it's none of your bloody business. You work for the department; you know what I want you to know and that's all, son. Besides'—he raised his voice effortlessly as Craig tried to speak again—'you're a sentimentalist. I have to watch that. It slows you up.' He looked at the door Craig had locked.
'Why tell me now?' Craig asked, and thought how smug Loomis could appear. That was his size of course. Whatever expression Loomis chose it was inevitably bigger than anyone else's.
'I want her back, son,' said Loomis, 'and so do you. Got any ideas?'
'I thought she'd have tried to contact me anyway.'
'Maybe she can't,' Loomis said. 'She's got Sherif with her. And even if she's free, where does she start looking? You're not in the telephone book—and even if she went to the police—they wouldn't help her. They can't. Only Special Branch knows we exist, and they aren't allowed to tell where we are. If she did get that far they'd hold on to her of course, but it's dicey, son. And anyway, the only coppers she knows are the ones in Zaarb. And they arrested her. She just might not fancy the police.'
'East End?' said Craig. 'That where the tube went?'
Loomis nodded. 'Down by the docks. Know anybody
there?'
'It's possible,' Craig said. 'If he's still in business. Chap I met years ago, as a matter of fact. Versatile sort of fellow but a little bit shy. Not at all keen on policemen. They'd like to arrest him, you see. He's a criminal.'
'I don't care if he writes rude words in ladies' toilets,' said Loomis. 'All I want him to do is find Selina.'
Craig unlocked the bedroom door, and went in.
When he came out he wore a coat and tie, and the gun was no longer visible. Loomis came out of his chair like a rhino leaving a mudbath, and they went down to his car.
The sign outside the door said: 'Arthur Candlish, Boats.' It was an elegant handmade sign of teak, with neat, precise lettering. It looked considerably more valuable than the building it adorned. Loomis stared at the sagging door, the low, grimy wall of unpainted brick.
'You sure this feller's any good?' he asked.
'I'm sure,' said Craig, and pulled on a rusty bell chain. It screamed its lack of oil, extended a foot and a half, then contracted back to normal in a series of convulsive jerks as its bell clattered. Loomis liked it. A man in a white apron opened the door. In his hand was a chisel. He looked at Craig, and the chisel's cutting edge no longer faced them.
'John,' he said. 'Nice to see you. Arthur will be pleased—he's in the office.'
He led the way along an alley of worn brick, moving down to a workshed filled with boats of every kind: punts, canoes, outriggers, skiffs, prams, and sailboats, too, including the most beautiful cutter Loomis had ever seen. The men who worked on them were slow yet sure in their movements, and Loomis could sense at once the pleasure their work gave them.
At the bottom of the shed a tiny slipway led to a dock, and beyond that was the river. Near the slipway was a glass cage of an office, and here Craig led the way.
The man inside wore a blue-serge suit and a bowler hat of antique cut that Loomis found endearing. He was a lean, big-boned man of fifty, who remained unimpressed by Loomis, who was piqued, and addressed Craig in a dialect Loomis found unintelligible.
'Arthur's a Geordie,' Craig explained, then began making similar noises himself. Candlish produced rum from an unlabeled bottle, and poured three generous tots.
'You want a girl?' he said to Loomis, and Craig snorted. 'Got a picture?'
'You'll get one tonight,' said Loomis.
'Arab. Not many Arabs round here. Not like back home.' He winked at Craig. 'Still, we'll do what we can. I'll ask around. Put the lads on to it. We do a lot of work round the river.'
T believe you,' said Loomis, and looked at the unlabeled bottle.
'I'm a Free Trader,' said Candlish. 'Always have been. Voted Liberal all me life.'
