air-conditioner made the room pleasantly cool.
My one thought was to take a cold shower and then go to bed, but it wasn’t to be. As I parted the curtains and moved into the bedroom, I saw the bedside lamp was on.
I saw a woman lying on the bed. It was Stella Enright. She had on a gold and black cocktail dress. She had kicked off her shoes that were lying by the bed.
The sight of her gave me a shock. For a moment I thought she was dead, then I saw she was breathing by the rise and fall of her breasts. I stood there, staring at her, aware of the pain in my head and wondering what the hell she was doing here and how she got in. Then I remembered the grinning night boy and guessed she had bribed her way in.
As I watched her, she slowly opened her eyes and looked at me, then she lifted her head. Sitting up, she swung her long legs off the bed.
“I’m sorry,” she said and smiled. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just got bored waiting for you.”
“Have you been waiting long?” I asked, more for something to say. I sat down in an armchair, watching her as she slipped into her shoes. She patted her hair and then stood up
and came into the sitting-room.
“I’ve been here since ten o’clock,” she said. “I was worrying about you. I hope you don’t mind me coming here.” She hurried on before I could say anything. “What happened to you? I nearly missed the ferry. Why weren’t you waiting for me?”
“I was delayed,” I said, thinking of the thin Chinese with his knife and the squat Chinese with his rifle. “Now I’ll ask you something. Was it your idea that you and I should go to Silver Mine Bay?”
She sat on the arm of the armchair facing me,
“My idea? What do you mean?”
“It’s not so hard, surely? When you suggested I should see the waterfall . . . was it your idea or did someone else suggest it to you?”
She frowned, staring at me for a moment, then she said, “I don’t know why you ask, but my brother told me to invite you. He said you were lonely and would be glad of company.”
“Is he your brother?” I asked.
She stiffened, stared at me and then quickly looked away.
As she said nothing, I repeated the question.
“You’re asking the most extraordinary questions,” she said, still looking away from me. “What makes you ask that?”
“There’s no likeness between you,” I said, “and it seems odd to me that a girl like you should want to live with her brother.”
I watched her hesitate, then she shrugged.
“No, he isn’t my brother. I’ve only known him a couple of months. Now, I’m sorry I ever met him.”
I gave up the thought of going to bed. I took out my pack of cigarettes and we both lit up. She slid off the arm of the chair into the chair itself and leaning back, she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.
“Where did you meet him?” I asked.
“In Singapore. I was doing a strip act at a night club there,” she told me. “I’d come all the
way from New York . . . like the dope I am. The night club was raided and I never got my money and I was strapped. Harry turned up. He had seen my act several times and he propositioned me. He had plenty of money, certain charm and . . . well, I went to live with him in a bungalow near the MacRitchie reservoir. It was nice out there. I had a good time with him until people began to talk, then it wasn’t so good.” She opened her eyes to stare at the burning tip of her cigarette. “I decided to go home, but Harry wouldn’t give me the fare. Then suddenly he had to come here. He got me a false passport. We came here as brother and sister.” She looked at me. “I still want to go home. Could you lend me the money? I’ll pay you back in a couple of months.”
“How did he get you a false passport?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know . . I didn’t ask. Will you lend me the money?”
“I never lend that kind of money.”
“If it would make any difference, we could travel together.” She smiled stiffly at me. I had a sudden idea she was frightened. There was a bleak, scared expression in her eyes. “You know what I mean . . . value for money.”
“I want a drink,” I said. “Will you have one?”
She sat bolt upright, her eyes widening.
“Don’t let anyone in here,” she said, her voice going shrill. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”
“The boy knows. He let you in, didn’t he?”
“No. I got the number of your room and took the key off the board. There were two keys. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
I wished my head would stop aching.
“What are you scared about?”
She relaxed back in the chair, looking away from me.
“I’m not scared. I just want to get away from here. I want to go home.”
“Why the sudden urgency?” “Must you ask so many questions? Will you lend me the money? I’ll sleep with you now it you’ll promise to give me the money.”
“I’ll give you the money if you’ll tell me all you know about Harry Enright.”
I saw her hesitate, then she said, “I know very little about him really. He’s just a playboy having himself a good time.”
I was too tired to be patient.
“Well, if that’s all you know I’ll keep my money,” I said and getting to my feet I crossed to the telephone. “I’m going to order a drink and then I’m going to bed . . . alone. You’d better get out before the waiter comes.”
“No . . . wait.”
I called room service and asked for a bottle of Scotch and ice. As I replaced the receiver, she got to her feet.
“Will you really give me the money if I tell you what I know about him?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I think he is a drug smuggler,” she said, clenching and unclenching her hands.
“Why do you think that?”
“People come to see him at night. When we were in Singapore he used to go down to the docks and meet sailors. The police once raided our bungalow in Singapore and they searched the place, but they didn’t find anything. Here, we get night visitors. They are always Chinese. He goes out in the early hours in his boat.”
“Jefferson did live in your villa before you came?”
“Yes. Harry told me not to tell you. When Jefferson was killed, Harry was sent from Singapore to replace him. The villa is conveniently situated for receiving drugs.”
There came a gentle tap on the door.
“That’s the waiter,” I said. “Get into the bathroom and stay quiet.”
As soon as she was in the bathroom and had shut the door, I went across the room to let the waiter in.
Just outside ‘the door, smiling, was Harry Enright. He had a .38 automatic in his hand which he pointed at me.
“Don’t start anything smart, pal,” he said. “Just back in and keep your hands still.”
I backed in, keeping my hands still.
“Don’t look so hopeful,” Enright said, closing the door and leaning against it. “I told the waiter you had changed your mind . . . he’s gone away.”
“Okay for me to sit down?” I said. “The excitement is getting too much for me.”
I sat down, keeping my hands on my knees and I studied him. The smile was fixed. There was a cold, vicious expression in his eyes that warned me to be careful. The gun was steady in his hand and the sight was centred on a spot just between my eyes.
