He found that he had a good view of the bungalow, and he was confident that he could not be seen. He waited, his hand gripping the whip, his heart fluttering against his side. He heard the sound of feet moving through the long grass. Then round the corner of the bungalow came four people: the Hebrew barman, the two Greeks and the woman with the blonde, untidy hair.
They looked odd and somehow sinister against the background of the peace and fertility of the garden.
The Hebrew wore a double-breasted, navy-blue suit, shiny at the elbows and knees; on his head was a howler hat. The woman had on a shapeless cotton dress; its pattern of flowers had faded with constant washing. Her thick legs were hare, and blue-black veins crawled up the backs of her calves. Her feet were squeezed into a pair of high-heeled court shoes. The two Greeks were in their black suits and cloth caps. They carried spades on their shoulders, and their boots were heavy with yellow clay.
A cigarette dangled from the blonde woman's lips. Her fat, loose face was expressionless, but the Hebrew was weeping. He did not make a fuss about his grief. Tears welled out of his eyes and ran down the wrinkles in his leathery skin. He made no attempt to wipe them away.
The woman looked at the bungalow, her eyes bleak. 'Was he expecting anyone?' she asked.
The Hebrew lifted his shoulders in despair. 'I know nothing,' he said. 'He didn't confide in me. I told him it was dangerous to have a lonely place like this. I told him many times.'
The woman sat down abruptly on the grass. She was only a few yards from where George was hiding. She plucked a long piece of coarse grass and began to chew it.
'Sit down. The sun will do you good.'
The Hebrew and the two Greeks sat down near her. They looked self-conscious, worried. The Hebrew still wept.
'The way you go on!' the woman said impatiently. 'I'm his mother. Shouldn't I be the one to weep?'
The Hebrew took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
'You're hard, Emily,' he said. 'What a burial to give a son!'
The woman, Emily, snapped her thick forgers. 'He wouldn't mind. He didn't believe in God. Is that what's worrying you?' She brooded, tearing the blade of grass with her sharp teeth. 'What did you expect me to do? Leave him there for the police to find? They would be crawling over us like flies on bad meat in no time. Haven't they done enough harm?'
When he didn't say anything, she went on. 'Who do you think did it?'
'Vengeance is mine, said the Lord,' the Hebrew said, pulling at his long, straggly moustache.
'You don't fool me,' Emily said. 'I know what you're thinking, don't I, Max?'
'Do You?'
The two Greeks had lit cigarettes. They were not listening to this conversation. They lolled back on their elbows, their dark faces raised to the sun, their eyes closed.
But Max listened. He sat bolt upright, his long, thin legs crossed like a working tailor, his bowler hat very straight on his pear-shaped head.
'We don't have to worry about the police,' Emily went on. 'He wouldn't have liked it. We can find out who did it, and we can settle the score, can't we?'
Max looked across the garden. 'There's the money,' he said. 'He should never have brought it here. Seven hundred pounds!'
'Stop worrying about the money,' Emily said sharply. 'Is that what you're crying about?'
'The gun worries me,' Max said, not listening to her. 'A razor, yes, but a gun! . . . It's someone we don't know.'
'Well, we can find out, can't we?' Emily persisted.
'Does the whip mean anything?'
'It must do. It's new. Crispin wouldn't buy a thing like that.'
There was a long pause. A bee droned across the hot garden and lighted on a hollyhock.
'Who was that girl? The one Crispin thrashed?' Emily said, plucking another blade of grass and chewing it.
'I was thinking about her, too,' Max said. 'The whip might tie up with her. Do you mean that?'
'It could do. And the big man. Who was he?'
Max shook his head. 'I don't know. I've never seen either before. There was something odd about the way that girl behaved. She wasn't drunk. She was faking.'
'Crispin was a fool to have touched her. She might have complained to the police.'
'Why didn't she?'
'Yes, why?'
There was another long pause while they brooded.
'Maybe they came down here for revenge; found the money and killed Crispin to steal it,' Emily said at last.
'How could they know Crispin had this place? No one knew that he came here.'
'Sydney Brant knew,' Emily said thoughtfully.
