Katherine stood up. 'I'm sorry,' she said.
'It's not your fault,' said Fallon. He turned to me. 'Psychiatry isn't my forte, but that looks like paranoia to me. That man has a king-size persecution complex.'
'It looks very like it.'
'Again I ask you to release me from my promise,' he said.
Katherine was looking very unhappy and disturbed. I said slowly, 'I told you there had been other promises.'
'Maybe,' said Fallon. 'But Paul, being in the mood he is, could endanger at! of us. This isn't a good part of the world for personal conflicts.'
I said slowly, 'Katherine, if you can get Paul to sec sense and come back and apologize, then he can stay. Otherwise he's definitely out -- and I mean it. That puts it entirely in your hands, you understand.'
In a small voice she said, 'I understand.'
She went out and Fallon looked at me. 'I think you're making a mistake. He's not worth it.' He pulled out his pipe and started to fill it. After a moment he said in a low voice, 'And neither is she.'
'I've not fallen for her,' I said. 'I'm just bloody sorry for her. If Halstead gets pushed out now, her life won't be worth living.'
He struck a match and looked at the flame. 'Some people can't tell the difference between love and pity,' he said obscurely.
V
We flew down to the coast and Camp One early next morning. Halstead had slept on it, but not much, because the connubial argument had gone on long into the night. But she had evidently won because he apologized. It wasn't a very convincing apology and came as haltingly as though it were torn from him by hot pincers, but I judged it politic to accept it. After all. it was the first time in my experience that he had apologized for anything, so perhaps, although it came hesitantly, it was because it was an unaccustomed exercise. Anyway, it was a victory of sorts.
We landed at Camp One, which seemed to have grown larger in our absence; there were more huts than I remembered. We were met by Joe Rudetsky who had lost some of his easy imperturbability and looked a bit harried. When Fallon asked him what was the matter, he burst into a minor tirade.
'It's these goddamn poor whites -- these chiclero bastards! They're the biggest lot of thieves I've ever seen. We're losing equipment faster than we can fly it in.'
'Do you have guards set up?'.
'Sure -- but my boys ain't happy. You jump one of those chicleros and he takes a shot at you. They're too goddamn trigger-happy and my boys don't like it; they reckon this isn't the job they're paid for.'
Fallon looked grim. 'Get hold of Pat Harris and tell him to ship in some of his security guards -- the toughest he can find.'
'Sure, Mr. Fallon, I'll do that.' Rudetsky looked relieved because someone had made a decision. He said, 'I didn't know what to do about shooting back. We thought we might wreck things for you if we got into trouble with the local law.'
'There isn't much of that around here,' said Fallon, 'If anyone shoots at you, then you shoot right back.'
'Right!' said Rudetsky. 'Mr. Harris said he'd be coming along today or tomorrow.'
'Did he?' said Fallon. 'I wonder why.'
There was a droning noise in the sky and I looked up. That sounds like a plane. Maybe that's him.'
Rudetsky cocked his head skywards. 'No,' he said. 'That's the plane that's been flying along the coast all week -- it's back and forward all the time.' He pointed. 'See -- there it is.'
A small twin-engined plane came into sight over the sea and banked to turn over the airstrip. It dipped very low and howled over us with the din of small engines being driven hard. We ducked instinctively, and Rudetsky said, 'It's the first time he's done that.'
Fallon watched the plane as it climbed and turned out to sea. 'Have you any idea who it is?'
'No,' said Rudetsky. He paused. 'But I think we're going to find out. It looks as though it's coming in for a landing.'
Die plane had turned again over the sea and was coming in straight and level right at the strip. It landed with a small bounce and rolled to a stop level with us, and a man climbed out and dropped to the ground. He walked towards us and, as he got nearer, I saw he was wearing tropical whites, spotlessly cleaned and pressed, and an incongruous match to the clothing worn by our little party after the weeks at Camp Two.
He approached and raised his Panama hat 'Professor Fallon?' he enquired.
Fallon stepped forward. 'I'm Fallon.'
The man pumped his hand enthusiastically. 'Am I glad to meet you, Professor! I was in these parts and I thought I'd drop in on you. My name is Gatt -- John Gatt.'
Eight
Gatt was a man of about fifty-five and a little overweight. He was as smooth as silk and had the politician's knack of talking a lot and saying nothing. According to him, he had long admired Professor Fallon and had regretted not being able to meet him before. He was in Mexico for the Olympic Games and had taken the opportunity of an excursion to Yucatan to visit the great Mayan cities -- he had been to Uxmal, Chichen Itza and Coba -- and, hearing that the great Professor Fallon was working in the area, he had naturally dropped in to pay his respects and to sit at the feet of genius. He name-dropped like mad -- apparently he knew everyone of consequence in the United States -- and it, soon turned out that he and Fallon had mutual acquaintances.
