'Jake Barton, mechanic. 'Jake grinned at him. 'Looks like we've got
ourselves a job of work. What I want you to do is pick out some of
your really bright lads. Ones that I can teach to drive a car or men
that Gareth can use as gunners.'
'Yes. I have already discussed that with Major Swales.
He made the same suggestion. I will hand-pick my best for you.'
'Young ones, 'said Jake. 'Who will learn quickly.' The Ras sat
crouched like an ancient vulture in the strip of shade thrown by
Gareth's car, the Hump; his eyes were narrowed like those of a sniper
and he mumbled to himself. drooling a little with excitement.
When Gregorius reached out and tried to view the fan of cards that the
Ras held secretively to his bosom, his hand was slapped away angrily,
and a storm of Amharic burst about him. Gregorius was justly put out
of countenance by this, for he was, after all, his grandfather's
interpreter. He complained to Gareth, who squatted opposite the Ras
holding his own cards carefully against the front of his tweed
jacket.
'He does not want me to help him any more,' protested Gregorius. 'He
says he understands the game now.'
'Tell him he is a natural.' Gareth squinted around the smoke that
spiralled upwards from the cheroot in the corner of his mouth. 'Tell
him he could go straight into the salon priva at Monte Carlo.' The Ras
grinned and nodded happily at the compliment, and then scowled with
concentration as he waited for Gareth to discard.
'Anyone for the ladies?' Gareth asked innocently as he laid the queen
of hearts face up on the inverted ammunition box that stood between
them, and the Ras squawked with delight and snatched it up. Then he
hammered on the box like an auctioneer and began laying out his hand.
'Skunked, by God!' Gareth's face crumpled in a convincing display of
utter dismay and the Ras nodded and twinkled and drooled.
'How do you do?' he asked triumphantly, and Gareth judged that the
Christmas turkey was now sufficiently fattened and ready for
plucking.
'Ask your venerable grandfather if he would like a little interest on
the next game. I suggest a Maria Theresa a point?' and Gareth held up
one of the big silver coins between thumb and forefinger to illustrate
the suggestion.
The Ras's response was positive and gratifying. He summoned one of his
bodyguard, who drew a huge purse of lion skin from out of his
voluminous sham ma and opened it.
'Hallelujah!' breathed Gareth, as he saw the sparkle of golden
sovereigns in the recesses of the purse. 'Your deal, old sport!' The
controlled dignity of the Count's bearing was modelled aristocratically
on that of the Duce himself. It was that of the aristocrat, of the man
born to command. His dark eyes flashed with scorn, and his voice rang
with a deep beauty that sent shivers up his own spine.
'A peasant, reared in the gutters of the street. I am amazed that such
a person can have reached a rank such as Major. A person like
yourself-' and his right arm shot Out with the accusing finger straight
