But he could probably think of a lie to cover that.
It was too dangerous. Harry had no expertise in the field. If he tried to cash the bonds, he would be caught. Reluctantly, he put them aside.
The other hidden item was a tan leather folder like a man’s pocketbook but somewhat larger. Harry detached it.
It looked like a jewelry wallet.
The soft leather was fastened with a zipper. He opened it.
There, lying on the black velvet lining, was the Delhi Suite.
It seemed to glow in the gloom of the baggage hold like stained glass in a cathedral. The profound red of the rubies alternated with the rainbow sparkle of the diamonds. The stones were huge, perfectly matched and exquisitely cut, each one set on a gold base and surrounded by delicate gold petals. Harry was awestruck.
He picked up the necklace solemnly and let the gems run through his fingers like colored water. How strange, he thought bemusedly, that something should look so warm and feel so cold. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry he had ever handled, perhaps the most beautiful ever made.
And it would change his life.
After a minute or two he set down the necklace and examined the rest of the set. The bracelet was like the necklace, with alternating rubies and diamonds, although the stones were proportionately smaller. The earrings were particularly dainty: each had a ruby stud with a drop of alternating small diamonds and rubies on a gold chain, each stone on a tiny version of the same gold petal setting.
Harry imagined the suite on Margaret. The red and gold would look stunning on her pale skin. I’d like to see her wearing nothing but this, he thought, and the vision gave him an erection.
He was not sure how long he had sat on the floor, gazing at the precious stones, when he heard someone coming.
The first thought that flashed through his mind was that it was the assistant engineer; but the footsteps sounded different: intrusive, aggressive, authoritarian ... official.
Suddenly he was taut with fear, his stomach tight, his teeth clenched, his fists balled.
The steps came rapidly closer. In a sudden frenzy of activity Harry replaced the drawers, threw in the envelope containing the bonds and closed up the trunk. He was stuffing the Delhi Suite into his pocket when the door to the hold opened.
He ducked behind the trunk.
There was a long moment of silence. He had a dreadful feeling he had not got down fast enough, and the guy had seen him. He heard moderately hard breathing, like that of a fat man who has hurried upstairs. Was the fellow going to come right inside and look around, or what? Harry held his breath. The door closed.
Had the man gone out? Harry listened hard. He could no longer hear breathing. He stood and looked out. The man had gone.
He sighed with relief.
But what was going on?
He had a notion those heavy footsteps and hard breathing belonged to a policeman. Or maybe a customs officer? Perhaps this had only been a routine check.
He went to the door and cracked it. He could hear muffled voices from way off in the flight cabin, but there seemed to be no one right outside. He stepped out and stood by the door to the flight cabin. It was ajar, and he could hear two male voices.
“The guy ain’t on the plane.”
“He has to be. He didn’t get off.”
The accents were a muted American that Harry recognized as Canadian. But who were they talking about?
“Maybe he sneaked off after everyone else.”
“So where has he gone? He’s nowhere around.”
Had Frankie Gordino made his escape? Harry wondered.
“Who is he, anyway?”
“They say he’s an ‘associate’ of this hoodlum they got on the plane.”
So Gordino himself had not got away; but one of his gang had been on board, had been discovered and had made his escape. Which of the respectable-looking passengers could it have been?
“It ain’t a crime to be an associate, is it?”
“No, but he’s traveling on a false passport.”
A chill struck Harry. He was traveling on a false passport himself. Surely they could not be looking for him?
“Well, what do we do now?” he heard.
“Report back to Sergeant Morris.”
After a moment the scary thought dawned on Harry that he could be the one they were looking for. If the police had learned, or guessed, that someone on board was going to try to rescue Gordino, they would naturally run a check on the passenger list; and they would soon discover that Harry Vandenpost had reported his passport stolen in London two years ago; and then they would only have to call at his home to learn that he was not on the Pan American Clipper but sitting in the kitchen eating his cornflakes and reading the morning paper, or something. Knowing that Harry was an impostor, they would naturally assume he was the one who was going to try to rescue Gordino.
No, he told himself, don’t jump to conclusions. There could be some other explanation.
A third voice joined in the conversation. “Who are you guys looking for?” It sounded like the assistant engineer, Mickey Finn.
“Guy’s using the name of Harry Vandenpost, but he ain’t him.”
That settled it. Harry felt stunned with shock. He had been found out. The vision of the country house with the tennis court faded like an aging photograph, and instead he saw a blacked-out London, a court, a prison cell, and then, eventually, an army barracks. This was the worst luck he had ever heard of.
The assistant engineer was saying: “You know, I found him sneaking around here while we were at Botwood!”
“Well, he ain’t up here now.”
“Are you sure?”
Shut up, Mickey, Harry thought.
“We looked all over.”
“Did you check the mechanics’ stations?”
“Where are they?”
“In the wings.”
“Yeah, we looked in the wings.”
“But did you crawl along? There are places to hide in there that you couldn’t see from here in the cabin.”
“We better look again.”
These two policemen sounded kind of dumb, Harry thought.
He doubted whether their sergeant would trust them very far. If he had any sense he would order one more search of the plane. And next time they would surely look behind the steamer trunk. Where could Harry hide?
There were several little hiding places, but the crew would know them all. A thorough search was bound to take in the bow compartment, the toilets, the wings and the shallow void in the tail. Any other place Harry could find would surely be known to the crew.
He was stuck.
Could he leave? He might sneak off the plane and get away along the beach. It was a slim chance, but better than giving himself up. But even if he could get out of this little village undetected, where could he go? He could talk his way out of anything in a city, but he had a feeling he was an awfully long way from any cities. In the countryside he was a dead loss. He needed crowds, alleyways, railway stations and shops. He had an idea that Canada was a pretty big country, most of it trees.
He would be all right if only he could get to New York.
