There was no trouble, except that the boat had three inches of water in the bottom and I had to grope in it to find the rowlock pegs.
I went out, rowing only a few strokes to give me way and needing only an occasional dip to take me down towards the Komira. The whole thing was pretty neat considering my limited Serpentine training. As I got near the Komira I could hear music, thumping beat stuff, and there was a blaze of light forward from one of the deck saloons.
Lancing was there as I came under the stern. He took one large draw on his cigarette to show me his face and as I came under the counter he dropped a small parcel to me, and then I was away on the current and suddenly aware that whereas it had helped me out I had to row like a maniac against it to get back. I came ashore, a quarter of a mile down from the village, in a small cove and drew the boat up almost clear of the water and stuck a thousand dinar note under a stone in the bows. I faced the climb up the hill, blown and thinking of beer. I resisted my whisky flask because I knew it would be no help. Over the hill was the lake, a bit brackish, maybe, but I wasn’t in any mood to be fussy.
By the time I got to the top of the bluff, a small slip of pale moon had appeared. I paused for a rest and looking back saw the lights of the Komira moving away.... Venice bound, and no need for me, I knew, to wish Katerina bon voyage.
I went on, down through the trees and scrub to the lake. At the water’s edge, I squatted and drank, lots of water and then a swig at the whisky flask. Then I sat down and lit a cigarette. I’d had a hard day. Between my legs was the string bag. I reached in and pulled out the little parcel which Lancing had dropped to me. It was a neat job, wrapped in oilskin and, tied to it by twine, a cork float in case he should have muffed his throw.
I had the parcel in one hand, and the whisky flask in the other, when I heard a noise behind me. I jerked my head round just as Herr Spiegel stepped out into the starlight from the cover of some tamarisk bushes and said, “Just keep your hands where I can see them.”
CHAPTER TEN
A CONTRACT DISHONOURED
Apart from the fact that he was breathing rather heavily and there was a gleam of sweat on his forehead, he looked as neat and trim as though he were on his way to a band concert on the sea front, panama precisely levelled on his head, not a fold in his cravat out of place. In his right hand he held his sword cane, but now it was unsheathed and the bright Toledo blade trembled a little as he held it towards me.
“Just throw me the parcel,” he said. “But keep your hands well up in the open.”
If the Le Chasseur hadn’t been tucked alongside my pullover in the bag I might have disputed the order. I tossed the parcel at his feet. He half crouched and picked it up, keeping his eyes and his blade on me.
“Is this necessary?” I asked. “We’ve got a contract.”
He put the parcel in his jacket pocket and smiled. “You climb hills much too fast for me. I just missed you as you came back from the Komira. You knew she was coming there. Pomina, not Babino Polje.”
“It was a hunch. I followed Madame Vadarci and the girl. Look, do I have to go on sitting here like an Indian fakir asking for alms?”
“You went off before them.” He came a step nearer as I let my hands waver and then brought them back.
“That’s the way I follow people. I like to be ahead. Anyway, if it comes to following, what were you doing trotting after me? That’s no way for a partner to act. Or did you know that the Komira was coming into Pomina?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“Well, then,” I gave him a big comforting well-it-has-allbeen-a-mistake smile, “that makes us quits. What I suggest is that we write a completely new contract. Complete honesty on both sides.”
I glanced up at him, along the length of the blade. He shook his head.
“The contract is finished.”
The blade was steady now. For an elderly man he had a hand like a rock, no nerves. I didn’t wait for all the legal formalities of breaking a contract to be completed. I rolled quickly aside a second before the blade came in. The roll took me down to the water’s edge, and I had my right hand groping in the net bag for my gun. As I came to my feet, Herr Spiegel swung round and I saw the starlight flash down the blade as it came at me. I jerked at the gun but it caught in the nylon mesh of the net. I threw myself sideways but he got me through the fat of my inner left arm. In and back again, and me sprawling towards the ground, and the blade whipping over my face with a fancy flourish, hissing through the air, and then the point levelled, sighted, and suddenly coming at me. His arm and blade were in perfect line. His shadowed face showed a thin line of bared teeth as he anticipated the shock of the steel driving home into me. I got my hand round the Le Chasseur and I fired with the gun still in the net bag.
The night exploded. Echoes
