The Mask of Sumi (11 page)

 

It was the Mask of Sumi. Mannering had no doubt about that. But the jewels were missing. They had been forced out of their settings, and the mask was just a misshapen piece of battered metal.

“So the jewels are loose,” Cross said. “And we've no way of being sure whether they're on the ship.”

“There's no way of being sure they aren't,” Mannering retorted.

Cross said: “I have just had instructions from my head office to give you what assistance I can. But there will be limits. I suppose I can't blame you for losing the noon convoy through the Canal, but it wouldn't surprise me if the affair you're working on had something to do with it. We have lost half a day. That costs money.”

“I know,” said Mannering humbly. “But someone could have been giving Nares or O'Keefe away, you know. Er—how about shore leave?”

“No point in staying aboard – we won't sail until eleven o'clock at the earliest,” Cross said.

 

 

Mannering was still shaken by the narrowness of his escape. If he had reached his cabin ten minutes later the packets would have been found. He felt tense and on edge because he did not know whether Naomi had got away with it. The discovery of the mask gave him a sick feeling of failure, too.

Lister was on B Deck.

“Everything all right, Mr. Mannering?”

“As good as it can be in the circumstances, I suppose,” Mannering said.

“No ill feelings?”

Mannering had to laugh.

“No. How do I get off?”

“Hand your passport to these gentlemen and they'll give you a receipt.” Two Customs officials stood a few yards away. “We sail at 11 o'clock – 10.30 is the latest time for return.”

“Has Miss Toji gone ashore?”

“If her key's on the board—” Lister turned towards a key-board.

“I saw her go off with a party including Sir Harry Katman and Mr. Nares,” a junior Purser volunteered.

“Mrs. Ransom?”

“I
think
she went off, sir. Her key's on the board,” he confirmed a moment later, and Mannering felt the stirring of relief.

“Do you know Port Said?” Lister asked.

“I knew it during the war.”

“You won't find it changed much,” Lister said. “They've done a bit of rebuilding since Suez and tidied things up a bit. But you still have to be careful. You more than anyone else today.”

“I'll be careful,” Mannering said.

He strolled over the floating bridge, past the boats where eager-voiced and bright-eyed men shouted their wares. Men in long robes came up to him, carrying leather coshes, shoehorns, albums.

“French portrait, sir?”

“Feelthy postcard.”

Mannering walked past, smiling a set smile but not speaking. He had been more shaken by the attempt to frame him than by the attacks on his life and the useless mask. He was worried, too, about Pearl – but Thomas's men would be looking after her.

What about Naomi?

She was having a disturbing effect on him. Her tall, almost languid figure and her beauty would appeal to most men but she had something else – a kind of attitude of mind, a superb poise and the ability to think on the instant and to act on her thoughts.

She seemed too able a woman to be living on her wits.

Was she?

Or had she lied to him?

He reminded himself that he hadn't seen inside those brown paper packets, and that she had appeared to recognise them on sight.

Had they contained hashish? If so, how was it that Naomi had been able to recognise it?

Mannering ignored a bare-footed boy trying to sell him roses, and reached the gate leading out of the docks. No one took any notice of him. He saw two small boys and a man obviously twice their age but not much larger in body. Someone like that had come to knife him, and was now dead, floating unseen in the harbour.

He went along the main street. Here, it was not unlike a European city except that there were very few cars. Small boys came up, their hands outstretched, but they ran at the sight of a policeman. The inside of the shops seemed dark and cool.

A man in a long robe with an aristocratic face stepped in front of him.

“Special exhibition for English gentleman,” he offered.

“No,” said Mannering.

“Beautiful girls, very clever, big bellies.”

“No.” Mannering stepped to one side.

“Very special Oriental lady,” the man said. “From Bangkok.”

Mannering missed a step, but his heart began to thump. He had to shoulder the man aside so as to pass; he needed a few moments to collect his thoughts. Then a car turned the corner, a big black American model. A man was leaning out of the window; Joslyn.

“Mannering!”

Mannering stopped and the car slowed down.

“Mannering,” Joslyn gasped as he got out of the cab, “Thomas has laid on a search for you. Pearl's disappeared.”

Mannering's heart seemed to turn over.

“We were in a mosque, first place we stopped,” Joslyn went on. “Everyone thought she was with us. Thomas was keeping a special eye open for her when some shoeshine boy pestered him. Pearl must have slipped away then.”

Mannering said: “Where is Thomas?”

“He's got three cabs – he's out in one and there's this one and another, all on the look-out.”

“Note the name of this street and the robe that chap's wearing,” Mannering said. “And in ten or fifteen minutes try to be back here with Thomas and anyone else who will take a chance.”

“A chance of what?”

“A knife in his back.”

“They'll all come,” Joslyn said. “How about you?”

Mannering said in a louder voice: “I'm all right. You get back to the ship and report that Pearl's missing.”

He winked.

Joslyn glanced at the Arab, and said: “I get you. Be careful.”

Mannering waited until the taxi had gone, and turned back to the Egyptian.

“Where is the Oriental girl?”

“English gentleman come with me, please.” The man turned to one of the doorways, and Mannering thought: “Thomas's chaps won't have any trouble finding this.” It was dark and cool. He followed the man along a narrow passage, and then through a doorway into another street.

“What's this?” Mannering demanded.

“Special exhibition with Oriental lady in different place near Gibson Market,” the man said. “Car waiting.”

It was another of the big old American cars: a Buick. A driver was at the wheel. Mannering hesitated, then got in at the back. The man who had led him here stayed on the pavement. Mannering leaned back in the sweltering heat of the car, with the sun already burning hot.

The car went rattling along, hooting at every corner and at everyone who stepped off the pavement. The streets were crowded. Fruit sellers were serving boys and women, some wearing short-sleeved, knee-length dresses, some wearing black, with their yashmaks showing only their eyes. The stench from some side streets was revolting.

Mannering gave up trying to see where they were going. The vital factor seemed to be that they were taking so much trouble that it was unlikely they planned to kill him.

The car swung round a corner, horn blaring, and jolted to a standstill. The driver got out and opened Mannering's door.

“This way, please.”

The stench of rotting vegetables and a heap of putrefied meat from tiny shops almost made Mannering sick.

Half-a-dozen small boys were kicking at a rotting melon. A silent row of women in black which covered them from head to foot, showing only their eyes, sat on the kerb by a bus stop.

There was a narrow turning between tall, narrow houses, which looked as if the walls would cave in. The windows were shuttered, the pathway of bare earth trodden by countless feet to an uneven, concrete-like hardness. Mannering's guide led him along here. It seemed a perfect place for murder, but such a trail would be too easy for the police to follow.

The man pushed open a door studded with brass which hadn't been cleaned for years, and edged with intricate carving which had dried out to a drab browny-grey. Mannering, heart in mouth, stepped inside. The cool, dark passage beyond was clean and fresh-smelling. An archway led into a small courtyard where a fountain played, the water crystal clear. No one was here but it was blessedly cool.

The man led him through another archway, and into a high ceilinged room. Along one wall was a couch, and on the couch lay Pearl.

 

She was wearing a simple yellow dress, with three-quarter sleeves and a split skirt. She lay at full length on her back, her hands by her sides. She wore no shoes. Mannering went slowly towards her, and stared down. It was a long time before he could be absolutely sure that her bosom was rising and falling.

Mannering looked round for the guide, but he had gone.

The room was beautifully cool, barely furnished, with a Persian carpet in the middle, of rich but subdued colours.

Mannering knelt on one knee beside the girl.

“Pearl,” he whispered.

She did not stir.

“Pearl!” He raised his voice, but she did not stir.

He took her arm and raised it.

“Pearl, wake up!”

Her arm was limp.

He shook her shoulder vigorously.

“Pearl, you must wake up!”

A man said from behind him:”She is sleeping too deeply, Mr. Mannering.”

Mannering stood up and turned round slowly. A small man wearing a red fez but dressed in a pale brown Western suit which was perfectly tailored, was standing in the arched doorway. He had a droll Punch-like face, the full lips turned down at the corners, and heavy eyelids looked so weighed down by wrinkled flesh that he could not open his eyes fully. Even half-closed, they seemed enormous.

“You mean she is drugged,” Mannering said.

The man spread his arms.

“That is so.”

“Who drugged her?”

“I did.”

“Kidnapping and administering drugs,” Mannering said. “The police will like that.”

“Mr. Mannering, even in the New Egypt there are ways to satisfy the police.”

“Not for long,” Mannering said.

“For long enough,” declared the small man.

“Mr. Mannering, you have caused a great deal of trouble, and you have been very lucky. Your luck cannot last forever.”

“But the trouble I cause might last for long enough,” said Mannering tartly.

“I doubt that very much. However, I am here to make an arrangement with you – a sensible arrangement by which there need be no more trouble.”

“I don't think I want to come to an arrangement with you.”

“For that young woman's sake you would be wise to listen,” the man insisted. “It is very simple. Take her back to England, Mr. Mannering. The
Himalaya
of the P&O line is in the Canal now and will be calling here to take on water. There is ample accommodation on her for you and Miss Toji. Take her on it and forget the Mask of Sumi and the other jewels. That is all I ask.”

Mannering said: “I don't think we can work together.”

“I do not understand you.”

“I don't react well to threats at the best of times,” Mannering said. “And I don't like being attacked and being framed without making the bad man pay for his sins.”

“The attacks would have saved us much trouble had one of them been successful,” the man said bluntly. “However, we are discussing the situation as it is now. I will give you your ticket, two hundred and fifty pounds for your expenses on board, and promise you a safe return to England. They are very attractive terms, Mr. Mannering, and should enable you to swallow your pride.”

“Yes, shouldn't they?” Mannering conceded.

If this man really meant what he said, and there was no reason to doubt it, he was saying that the jewels were still aboard the
East Africa Star.
Mannering's mind began to work quickly. He could accept the offer, take Pearl on the
Himalaya
, and fly on to Aden to rejoin the
East Africa Star
there. There should just be time. Or he could pretend to accept the offer, but he did not think this little man would be easily deceived.

He said: “No thanks.”

“Mr. Mannering, she is a very lovely young woman.”

Something in the tone carried menace. So did the glance he gave to Pearl. Mannering looked towards her. The word which came to his mind was
virginal.

“Don't harm her,” Mannering said levelly.

“You have her future in your hands,” the Egyptian declared. “You know the North African coast, I am sure. You know what distractions sailors and tourists need. You know how quickly a beautiful young woman can age in such circumstances.”

Mannering's fists were clenching.

There was something unspeakably evil in the implication of what this man was saying; it was like a spit of malevolence coming out of a bygone age. Mannering could have broken his neck.

The man went on: “Don't be rash, Mr. Mannering. You would never live to get back to the
East Africa Star
if you attacked me. Look towards your right.”

Mannering said: “You won't kill me now, or you wouldn't have gone to this trouble to get me here.”

“Don't deceive yourself,” the Egyptian said softly. “Don't lay a hand upon me, Mannering. If it is necessary I will kill you.”

Alarm rang in his voice, and he shot a glance towards his left. Mannering saw another man standing there, an Arab in a long pearl-grey robe, with his right hand raised and a knife in it.

Mannering said: “You've forgotten the age we live in.” Yet he felt both frustration and fear. All he knew was that he must not give way to threats, that he must conquer his own fear. He turned his back on both men and went to Pearl. He thought her eyes flickered as he bent over her.

“Mannering!” The small man called.

Mannering said: “I'm going to take her back to the ship.” He thrust an arm beneath her knees and another beneath her shoulders, and lifted her. He swung round. “Get out of the way.”

“Mannering!”

Mannering said: “I'm going to take her back to the
Africa Star
until we find the mask and everything connected with it. Get out of the way.”

Over the small man's head he could see the Arab, a strangely immobile figure with the knife in his hand, eagerly awaiting the order to attack. The small man backed away. His voice rose, and became shrill. He looked more like Punch than ever.

“Mannering, I give you one more chance to put her down and do what I say.”

Mannering said: “And I give you one more chance to get out of my way.”

He did not know what would happen if he thrust himself any further forward. He was acting blindly, and at the back of his mind was the fear that he was acting like a fool, and asking for trouble. But he could not back down now.