Delphi collected works o.., p.643
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 643
He walked through the mangrove swamp; splashed through on the bridge of stones. He went into his shack. He sat down at the table; opened the parcel. He spread the jewellery — necklaces, brooches, bracelets, rings — on the table before him. The evening sun, penetrating through clean patches on the filthy window, sparkled on the stones. Inglees thought they were worth a lot of money.
He went to the wooden cupboard in the corner of the shack; rummaged about in the rubbish on the bottom shelf. He found a chocolate box. It was a brightly-ornamented box tied with a pale blue ribbon. Inglees shovelled the jewellery into the box; folded a not-too-clean handkerchief on the top of it; replaced the lid; tied it securely with the ribbon. He put the box in the bottom of the cupboard; covered it with rubbish.
Then he went to a shelf above the bunk. Amongst a pile of old papers and magazines was an ancient copy of The Tatler. He went back to the table; scanned through the dog-eared pages. One, consisting of the usual society photographs taken at some night club in London, pleased him — one group especially. It was a group of men and women dining at a table at a fashionable night club. The faces were sufficiently indistinct to serve his purpose. He tore out the page; folded it; put it in his trouser pocket.
His eyes, wandering round the shack, lighted on the fragments of the broken cachasa bottle which he had thrown in the corner that morning. He grinned. He walked out of the shack, across the swamp on to the path down to the town. He went into the estancia.
The Señora Marandes was cleaning the zinc bar with a dirty dish cloth. She scowled at him. She said: “Well, Inglees... not twice in one day?”
He smiled. “My felicitations, Señora, on your brilliancy. Twice in one day... this day is a celebration.”
She said: “I hope you are bitten by a water snake. They say the head swells, the blood boils. They say the death is horrible.”
Inglees grinned at her. “Believe it or not, my beautiful, I have already been bitten by a water snake. I am still quite well, as you see...”
She spat on the floor. She said: “Of course... it was the snake that died.” She reached for the bottle of cachasa; pushed it towards him.
INGLEES walked past the jail; took the narrow straggling street that led down to the quay. He stood at the quayside for a while, looking at the Quivar, thinking that it would be nice to go for a journey on the ship; to any place, except La Tortuga.
He lighted a cigarette; turned away and went towards the one-storied building at the end of the quay. Inglees kicked open the door and went in. He walked down the short passageway; opened a door on the left; entered the room.
Mendanda, chief of the Bana rurales, sat behind his dusty, littered desk. His brown face was covered with sweat; his olive skin glistened. The black pencil moustache beneath his aquiline nose, his bright eyes and the up pointed eyebrows gave him the appearance of an amiable devil. His dirty shirt was open at the neck. Underneath, his hairy chest gleamed like bronze. His linen trousers were soiled; his feet bare.
Inglees said: “Always to me you present the most charming picture, my Chief of Police!”
Mendanda grinned. He took a thin, straw-spined cigaro from his desk drawer. He threw it across the table to Inglees. He lighted another for himself.
He asked: “What brings you down here, Inglees?” He scrabbled with his long, dirty fingers, amongst the papers on the untidy desk before him. “Somewhere here I have a complaint against you from the police at La Tortuga. They say that last month four barrels of wine were stolen from the Quivar when she was tied up there before returning to Bana. They say that you were concerned with this, with three Caribs to whom you promised to pay five silver bolivars each and to whom you gave nothing.” He grinned. “Which is the reason why they have laid the information against you.”
Inglees sat down on the rickety chair. He said: “It’s a lie. I gave them the five silver bolivars which I promised. It is possible that they were angry because I afterwards won them back at cards.”
Mendanda said amiably: “You admit stealing the wine?”
“No,” said Inglees, “not officially. Unofficially, yes.... You should know. You had a barrel of it.”
Mendanda said: “Of course. I was forgetting. But you told me you only took two barrels. It is deplorable that you should lie to your friends.”
Inglees shrugged his shoulders. “Listen to me, Juan.... You know that I am always loyal and faithful to my friends.”
Mendanda nodded. He began to laugh. “Oh... hear me laugh! Of the people on Bana, ninety-nine out of each hundred would pay good money to see you garrotted. But continue. You were saying that you are always faithful to your friends....”
“As you will presently understand,” said Inglees. “Listen to me.... Yesterday, some woman landed here on Bana. She came from La Tortuga on the Quivar. Pedrillo gave you some information that she had jewellery. You took it and threw her in the can.”
Mendanda said: “All this is true. It is against the law to bring precious stones into Bana without a formal declaration. I have confiscated the jewellery.” He smiled pleasantly.
“There are moments when your brilliance turns into utter stupidity, my friend,” said Inglees. “You don’t know what you did.” He fumbled in his pocket for the folded page of The Tatler. He spread it open on the desk before Mendanda. He tapped with his forefinger on the picture of the supper party in the corner.
“Juan, I would like you to look at that picture. You will recognise — and if you don’t I will tell you that it is so — the lady at the end of the table in the white evening frock. She is the sister of an English duchess. She is a member of a family that is important and rich. Do you think that you can throw such a person into our jail without there being a great deal of trouble?”
Mendanda raised his eyebrows. “Madre de Bios! How am I to know that we are honoured by the presence of the sister of an English duchess? At the same time I am concerned for this lady.” He looked sideways at Inglees. “For once I believe you.”
Inglees said: “You may well believe me. I do not wish to make a profit at your expense, Juan. As I have said, you are my friend, but it is my duty, if you don’t take my advice, to go to La Tortuga on the Quivar tomorrow, and to inform the assistant to the English Vice-Consul that this lady is held here on Bana in the jail. I have no doubt I shall eventually be amply rewarded and there will be a great deal of trouble for you. So, because you are my friend, I hasten here to advise you.”
Mendanda thought for a while. He looked at Inglees, his dark eyes half smiling, half serious. He asked: “What is your advice, my friend?”
Inglees said: “Tomorrow put this woman on the Quivar; send her back to La Tortuga. Tell Pinto to inform her that she has broken the law by bringing undeclared jewellery on to the island but that you are being kind to her because she is a foreign national. You are merely sending her back to La Tortuga; you are not keeping her in the jail for a long time. Let Pinto tell her that you are confiscating the pieces of jewellery on behalf of the Government.”
Mendanda shrugged his shoulders. “So...?”
“Precisely,” Inglees went on. “Take it from me, the woman will be glad to go. She is probably very scared. She will go and that is the end of the matter. Then, in a few days’ time, I will go to the mainland. I will sell the two or three pieces of jewellery which you have confiscated. We shall divide the proceeds. Everybody will be happy.”
Mendanda drew some cigaro smoke down into his lungs; then he spat artistically through the open frame window. He said: “Very often, my friend, your advice is right. I think perhaps it will save a lot of eventual trouble if I do what you suggest.”
He opened the bottom drawer of the desk. In the drawer was an ammunition belt, a heavy revolver and a cardboard box. Mendanda took out the cardboard box; opened it; shot the objects inside on to the table. There were two rings and a diamond brooch. Mendanda picked them up; looked at them. Then he threw them across the table towards Inglees.
He said: “For me the diamond brooch and the ring with the two rubies. For you the other ring. Are you content?”
Inglees picked up the jewellery; looked at it. “I am content....”
Mendanda said: “What you do with the ring that is yours I do not mind. But you will tell me the name of the person to whom you sell the ring and the brooch which are mine. If I find you have kept for yourself anything off the price you have received I shall take action against you.” He sat back, an expression on his face which was supposed to be one of authority and dignity.
Inglees asked: “What action?”
Mendanda grinned. “You have been blackmailing the husband of Garbuza, our Customs’ searcher, for a long time. He came to me and told me about it. I have done nothing about this. I have taken no steps against you because you are my friend.”
Inglees laughed. “My Juan, Garbuza told me that after her husband had told you of my offence you began to blackmail him yourself. So... I put business in your way and get no thanks.”
Mendanda said: “I consider you to be the most impossible person in these parts. I will tell Pinto at the jail to tell this woman what you have advised. Tomorrow I will send her back to La Tortuga. Go in peace. May the saints preserve you.”
“Adios, my Juan,” said Inglees. “When you die I shall see that the flowers on your grave are ever beautiful.”
He went towards the door. Mendanda spat this time even more artistically through the window.
AT eleven o’clock the Quivar blew her whistle; announced to the world that she was about to leave Bana. At the end of the quay, in the shadow of a disused Customs shed, Inglees, the chocolate box securely tied with twine and more ribbons under his arm, spoke to the Mestizo boy.
He said: “Little snake, observe the lady standing under the awning on the after deck of the Quivar. Do you see her?”
“Yes, Señor Inglees... I see her. She is very pale. Perhaps she comes from some place where there is no sun.”
Inglees nodded. “Take this box; get on to the boat by the loading plank over the stern. Give her the box. Tell her not to open it until she is on La Tortuga. Tell her there is no Customs examination for people who are leaving the Quivar from Bana to La Tortuga. Tell her to go in peace.”
He gave the boy the box; watched him as he ran with the long, easy lope of the Caribs towards the boat; saw him as he wriggled across the stern loading plank; as he handed the chocolate box to the woman.
The Quivar blew her whistle for the second time. The boy jumped quickly from the rail on to the quayside. The boat began to move out of the tiny harbour towards the open sea.
The Mestizo boy came back to Inglees. He said: “The Señora said to me thank you. She shook the box and then she asked me to convey her thanks to Señor Pedrillo.”
“That will be unnecessary,” said Inglees. He gave the boy a Spanish dollar. The boy looked at it, his brown eyes wide with amazement.
He said: “Señor... today will be a fiesta...!”
Inglees grinned at him. “For me too...!”
He turned away; began to walk towards the estancia of the Señora Marandes.
The boy ran after him. “Señor Inglees... yesterday, when you were asleep, I brought a newspaper. I threw it into your shack. There was a letter with it.”
Inglees nodded. “I will find it.”
He continued on his way towards the estancia.
It was late in the afternoon when he came out. He was very drunk. From his hip pocket protruded a new half bottle of cachasa. He walked unsteadily along the path that led towards the mangrove swamp. Every now and then he stumbled and fell; picked himself up with difficulty. Eventually, he splashed through the swamp, through the thick belt of trees on the other side.
He kicked open the rotting door of the shack. Inside, in the hot, half darkness, his eyes wandered over the floor; saw the newspaper. He opened it. Inside was a letter.
He sat down on the stool by the rickety table; tore open the envelope; read the letter. When he had done this he took a match from his pocket; struck it on his trouser leg; lighted the edge of the paper. He held the letter in his hand until it was burned.
He put his elbows on the table; covered his face with his hands. He sat there for a long time; then he reached for the cachasa bottle in his hip pocket; pulled out the cork with his teeth; put the neck of the bottle in his mouth; took a long swig. He began to cough.
When he had finished he produced from his trouser pocket the diamond brooch and the two rings. He thought that Mendanda should get a good price for the brooch and the ruby ring. He threw them on to the table. He picked up the second ring.
He slipped it over the top of his little finger. It was too small to go further than the finger-nail. He looked at the amethyst and diamond stones in the platinum band.
He thought it was an attractive ring. He remembered the day he had bought it for her in the Rue de la Paix.
THE CALLAGHAN TOUCH
CALLAGHAN — SOLE occupant of the grey and black cocktail bar just off Berkeley Square — finished his whisky and soda; took the bulky registered envelope from his pocket; split the seal; read the letter inside. It said:
Dear Mr. Callaghan,
It is quite impossible for me to thank you for what you’ve done for me. I feel I owe you a great deal. Perhaps one day we may meet again. I hope we shall.
In any event, because I would hate you to forget the Vendayne case and — I hope — me, please accept the enclosed as a memento of something which might have been interesting to you but which was almost a matter of life or death to me.
Sincerely,
Audrey Vendayne.
Callaghan took the package from the envelope; opened it; examined the red and white gold cigarette ease; read the inscription inside. He put the case in his pocket; yawned.
Windemere Nikolls, Callaghan’s Canadian assistant, came into the bar. He ordered a large whisky and soda from the bored bar-tender, carried it to Callaghan’s table; sat down.
He asked: “Are you comin’ back to the office tonight?”
“No,” said Callaghan. “It’s six o’clock. I’m through. Why?”
Nikolls said: “Effie thinks you ought to come back. There’s some mug waitin’ to see you. She’s put him in your room.”
Callaghan raised his eyebrows. He asked: “Who told her to do that? The office closes at six.”
“I know, but she thought this was different, see...? This fella’s name is Rupert Maninway.”
Callaghan said: “So what?”
Nikolls shrugged his shoulders. “Effie’s got the dope on this mug. Maybe you don’t remember the case? There was a lot about it in the papers five-six months ago — a divorce case. It caused quite a sensation. He’s got a lotta money.”
“I see,” Callaghan signalled to the bar-tender to bring him another whisky and soda. He said to Nikolls: “Go back and tell him to wait. I’ll be along when I’ve finished my drink.”
RUPERT MANINWAY looked at Callaghan as he stood framed in the doorway between the general office and his own room. Maninway was tall, thin, well-dressed. His face was aquiline. Callaghan thought that his eyes were shifty and that there was something about his well-groomed appearance that was vaguely repulsive. He thought he didn’t like Maninway very much.
He said: “Good evening. I believe you want to see me.” He threw his hat on to the hat-rail; walked over to his desk; sat in the big chair behind it.
“Yes, I did want to see you,” said Maninway. “I waited half an hour for the purpose.”
Callaghan said softly: “Too bad! You didn’t have to.”
“Precisely,” said Maninway. “I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.” He went on: “I’ll make this interview as short as possible, Mr. Callaghan. I take it that you’re not a moralist?”
Callaghan said: “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Maninway. “My motive in coming to see you is, quite frankly, revenge, and I’m prepared to pay quite a considerable sum of money to get it. Do you understand?”
Callaghan nodded. He asked: “What is it you want me to do?”
Maninway said: “The story is briefly as follows: Just over a year ago my wife decided to divorce me. We won’t go into her reasons. I’ve no doubt she considered them adequate, but I didn’t. She brought her divorce suit at a very bad time. Things hadn’t gone well with me. Financially, I was embarrassed.”
Callaghan grinned. “I hope the embarrassment was temporary.”
Maninway said: “Don’t worry, Mr. Callaghan... it was.” He went on: “For some reasons best known to herself, my wife considered that I hadn’t treated her very well in the matter of money. When she married me she had a certain amount of money of her own, but as is usual in these cases it got mixed up with mine. There had been some argument about her allowance, and finance generally. You understand?”
“I understand,” said Callaghan. “But you can’t get a divorce for that.”
“I’m not suggesting that you can. However, when she decided to bring the action for divorce she felt that she needed some money to do it. She got this money in a rather peculiar way. Two or three weeks after she left me I went to a wall safe in the library in which I had kept a sum of money — three hundred and fifty pounds. It was in new five-pound notes. Unfortunately, I hadn’t taken a note of the numbers. I discovered the money was gone.”
Callaghan said: “And you suspected your wife?”
Maninway shook his head. “I didn’t suspect anybody at the time. But I made enquiries. It was only when the servants began to be vaguely uncomfortable about it that the house-maid — who’s been in my employ for some time — told me the truth. She knew that the money had been stolen from the safe by my wife’s brother — a young ne’er-do-well — about four or five days after Mrs. Maninway left me.”
Callaghan said: “I see. And you thought that he handed the money over to his sister in order that she might have funds to live on and to bring this action for divorce against you?”
