inert beisa. His hands were shaking so violently that some of the
shots missed the body and came perilously close to where Gino still
lay, producing a fresh outburst of wails and more mole-like efforts to
become subterranean.
Satisfied that the beisa was at last dead, the Count descended and
walked slowly towards a nearby clump of thorn scrub, but his gait was
bow-legged and stiff, for he had lightly soiled his magnificently
monogrammed silk underwear.
In the cool of the evening, the slightly crumpled Rolls returned to the
battalion bivouac. Draped over the bonnet and across the wide
mudguards lay the bleeding carcasses of the antelopes. The Count stood
to acknowledge the cheers of his troops, a veritable triumphant
Nimrod.
A radio message from General De Bono awaited him. It was not a
reprimand, the General would not go that far, but it pointed out that
although the General was grateful for the Count's efforts up to the
present time, and for his fine sentiments and loyal messages,
nevertheless the General would be very grateful if the Count could find
some way in which to speed up his advance.
The Count sent him a five-hundred-word reply ending, 'Ours is the
Victory,' and then went to feast on barbecued antelope livers and iced
chianti with his officers.
Leaving the sailing and handling of the HirondeUe to his
Mohammedan mate and his raggedy crew, Captain Papadopoulos had spent
the preceding five days sitting at the table in his low-roofed poop
cabin playing two-handed gin rummy with Major Gareth Swales. Gareth
had suggested the diversion and it had occurred to the Captain by this
time that there was something unnatural in the consistent run of
winning cards which had distinguished Gareth's play.
The agreed fare for transporting the cars and the four passengers had
totalled two hundred and fifty of sterling.
The Captain's losses had just exceeded that figure, and Gareth smiled
winningly at Papadopoulos and smoothed the golden moustaches.
'What do you say we give it a break now, Papa old sport, go up on deck
and stretch the legs, what?' Having recovered the passage money,
Gareth had accomplished the task he had set himself, and he was now
anxious to return to the open deck where Vicky Camberwell and Jake were
becoming much too friendly for his peace of mind.
Every time Gareth had been forced by nature to make a brief journey to
the poop rail, he had seen the two of them together and they seemed to
be laughing a great deal, which was always a bad sign. Vicky was in
the forefront of any action,
passing tools to Jake and offering general encouragement, as he worked
at fine-tuning the cars and making last minute preparations for the
desert crossing or the two of them sat with Gregorius while amidst
great hilarity he gave them basic lessons in the Amharic language. He
wondered distractedly what else they were up to.
However, Gareth was a man sure of his priorities and his first concern
was to recover his money from Papadopoulos.
Having done so, he could now return to sheep-dogging Vicky
