'Yes.' Then Peter Marlowe made the decision. He put his hand hi his pocket and gave the sergeant the bundle of notes. 'Here you are. Sixty-five dollars.'
'Sir, you're a bloody toff!' He peeled off a five dollar bill and offered it to him. 'I owe you a dollar-fifty.'
'You don't owe me anything.'
'Ten percent's yours. That's legal, an' I'm happy to pay it I'll give you the dollar an' a half soon as I get change.'
Peter Marlowe shoved the note back. 'No,' he said, feeling suddenly guilty. 'Keep it.'
'I insist,' the sergeant said, pushing the note back into his hand.
'Look, Sergeant —'
'Well, at least take the five. I'd feel terrible, sir, if you didn't. Terrible. I can't thank you enough.'
All the way back to the airfield Peter Marlowe was silent. He felt unclean with the monstrous bundle of notes in his pocket, but at the same time he knew that he owed the money to the King and was pleased to have it, for it would buy extras for the unit. The only reason the sergeant had asked him was because he knew the King, and the King, not the sergeant, was his friend. The whole miserable business was still going round and round in his mind when he got back to his hut.
'Grey wants to see you, Peter,' Ewart said.
'What for?'
'I don't know, Peter boy. But he seemed peed off about something.'
Peter Marlowe's tired mind adjusted to the new danger. It had to be something to do with the King. Grey meant trouble. Now, think, think, Peter. The village? The watch? The diamond? Oh my God - the pen? No, that's being foolish. He can't know about that yet. Shall I go to the King?
Maybe he'd know what it's about. Dangerous. Perhaps that's why Grey told Ewart, to force me to make a mistake. He must have known I was on a work party.
No point in going like a lamb to the slaughter when you're hot and dirty. A shower, then I'll stroll up to the jail hut. Take my time.
So he went to the shower. Johnny Hawkins was under one of the spouts.
'Hello, Peter,' Hawkins said.
Sudden guilt flushed Peter Marlowe's face. 'Hello, Johnny.' Hawkins looked ill. 'Say, Johnny, I - I was so sorry—'
'Don't want to talk about it,' Hawkins said. 'I'd be glad if you never mentioned it.'
Does he know, Peter Marlowe asked himself, appalled, that I'm one of the ones who ate? Even now — was it only yesterday? the sudden thought was revolting: cannibalism. He can't, surely, for then he would have tried to kill me. I know if I were in his shoes, I would. Or would I?
My God, what a state we've come to. Everything that seems wrong is right, and vice versa. It's too much to understand. Much too much. Stupid screwed-up world. And the sixty dollars and the pack of Kooas I've earned, and at the same time stolen - or made - which is it? Should I give them back? That would be quite wrong.
'Marlowe!'
He turned and saw Grey standing malevolently at the side of the shower.
'You were told to report to me when you got back!'
'I was told you wanted to see me. As soon as I'd showered I was going to
—'
'I left orders that you were to report to me immediately.' There was a thin smile on Grey's face. 'But it doesn't matter. You're under hut arrest.'
There was a quiet in the showers and all the officers were watching and listening.
'What for?'
Grey rejoiced in the flash of concern he saw. 'For disobeying orders.'
'What orders?'
'You know as well as I do.' That's right, sweat! Your guilty conscience will trouble you a little - if you've got a conscience, which I doubt. 'You're to report to Colonel Smedly-Taylor after supper. And be dressed like an officer, not a bloody tart!'
Peter Marlowe snapped off the shower and slipped into his sarong and made the knot with a deft twist, conscious of the curious stares of the other officers. His mind was in a turmoil wondering what the trouble was, but he tried to hide his anxiety. Why give Grey the satisfaction?
'You're really so ill-bred, Grey. Such a bore,' he said.
'I've learned a lot about breeding today, you bloody sod,' Grey said. 'I'm glad I don't belong to your stinking class, you rotten bugger. All shysters, cheats, thieves—'
'For the last time, Grey, button your mouth, or by God I'll button it for you.'
Grey tried to control himself. He wanted to pit himself against this man, here and now. He could beat him, he knew he could. Any time. Dysentery or no. 'If we ever get out of this mess alive, I'll look for you. The first thing.
The very first thing.'
'It would be a pleasure. But until that time, if you ever insult me again I'll whip you.' Peter Marlowe turned to the other officers. 'You all heard me.
I'm giving him warning. I'm not going to be sworn at by this lower-class ape.' He whipped around on Grey.
