The Mask of Sumi (9 page)

“That's right,” Naomi Ransom said sweetly.

“What do you think you can blackmail me about?” inquired Mannering.

“Your visit to Ralph O'Keefe's cabin, with a skeleton key,” she said. “You wouldn't like to spend the rest of the voyage confined to this room, would you?”

 

 

“No,” Mannering admitted after a moment's reflection. “It's too hot to live in a cabin for so long.”

“I thought you would see reason.”

“I don't think five hundred pounds is reason.”

“I do,” she said.

Mannering smiled amiably.

“But you're wrong,” he said. “Get up and get out.”

She didn't move.

“Naomi, I don't want to ask you again,” Mannering said.

“John,
dear,
you can't bluff me,” she retorted.

“Bluff?” he echoed as if intrigued. “We'll see if it's bluff.” He took her right wrist, pulled it free, and twisted. She gasped, and sat up, breasts strained forward against the shirt blouse, which was small for her. He twisted again, so that her arm was behind her in a hammer lock.

“Legs off the bed,” he ordered.

“You're going to regret this, you know.”

He let her wrist go, but before she could do anything he slid one arm beneath her shoulders and one beneath her knees, lifted her off the bed and carried her to the door. He thrust one arm past her, opened the door, thrust her forward and said: “Next time, Naomi, call only by appointment.”

She recovered her balance in the little hallway outside his room, and twisted round to look at him. She was breathing rather hard, but smiling. She looked quite magnificent, with her head tossed back and her body thrust forward.

“John,” she said, “I'll forgive you just this once.”

She went off.

Mannering closed the door and stood by the bed for a few seconds, vaguely aware of the perfume rising from the pillow. He was hot from the exertion; it was much hotter here than he had realised. He had a sip of iced water from a thermos jug, and stepped to the window.

He heard a rustle of movement, just outside.

He thrust himself forward but the window wasn't open wide enough. He pulled it down, and peered out in time to see a pair of blue shoes and bare ankles disappearing round a gangway. He sprang to the door, but before he reached the passage again, it was empty except for a mother and a tiny tot, coming slowly along.

“Good afternoon,” the mother said to Mannering. She looked exhausted with the heat.

“Hallo,” Mannering beamed at the child. “Did you see anyone coming along here just now?”

“No, I'm afraid I didn't,” the woman said. “I've only just come from the ballroom.”

“Mummy, come on!” the tot urged.

“I've promised to take her in for a swim,” the mother said. “She simply
loves
the water. And she must be hot, poor child.”

She hurried past, brushing back her sweat-damp hair.

Mannering went back to his cabin, very thoughtfully. It was bad enough to have been found out; but to think that someone else may have overheard what he and Naomi Ransom had said made the situation ever more delicate if not dangerous.

Where had she been when he had searched O'Keefe's cabin?

Would he have been wiser to talk to her?

He tried to persuade himself that he had proved that he could not easily be intimidated, and that could only be a good thing. He changed into borrowed swimming trunks, took a borrowed towel, and was about to put on the borrowed sandals when he realised that the woman might have left something here. He ran through the drawers and wardrobe, and his two cases. Everything seemed just as he had left it. He was still uneasy when he left his cabin.

Upstairs, the deck was beginning to fill up again. Several people were in the pool, including the mother and tiny tot. He waited for a chance, and dived in cleanly. He came up at the other side of the little pool, next to a blonde whom he did not know well.

“Isn't it lovely?” she asked in a noticeably South African accent.

“Just right,” he said.

Then he saw Naomi Ransom, poised on the edge of the pool. Several men by the rails were watching her. She looked quite beautiful as she waited until a spot was clear, and then dived in. She made hardly a splash.

Soon, she was treading water by Mannering's side.

“When can I make that appointment?” she asked.

“Shall we have a drink at seven o'clock in the smoking-room?”

“That sounds more amenable!” Immediately she had spoken she swam away from him.

He got out, towelled gently to avoid sweating too much and ordered a whisky and soda. Pearl was sitting just outside the bar, with Nares.

“Hallo,” Mannering said. “So you two know each other.”

“We certainly do,” Nares said. He winked.

“Have you been swimming?” asked Pearl.

“Just a dip. Now I have to go and play deck tennis,” Mannering said. He disappeared into the blazing white sunlight, but did not go to the next deck for the sports; he hurried down to B Deck.

Nares had a small, inside room – the kind of room a man without much money would have. The door was unlocked. Mannering stepped inside, knowing that a bath-boy and a cabin boy had seen him; but three doors led off here.

The room was a shambles. At first, Mannering thought that someone must have searched here and turned it upside down. Soon he realised that this was normal for Nares. Shirts, trousers, swimsuits, and ties littered the bed, dressing-table, and chairs. Oddments of creams, tanning lotions and pomades cluttered the dressing-table, too; this was more like a woman's room than a man's.

There were only three cases and a brief case. All were unlocked and each except the brief case was empty. He looked through the brief case. Inside were some letters from a tea planter in Nyasaland, confirming the offer of a post of overseer at two thousand pounds a year ‘all found'. Earlier letters referred to Nares' lack of experience.

Mannering put these all back.

Nares was obviously hard up or he wouldn't have taken such a job. A man in financial difficulties might do a lot of peculiar things for money.

Mannering opened the only section of the brief case he hadn't yet inspected. He unfolded a letter, and as he ran his eye down it, saw a paragraph which read:

 

“You owe over three years' alimony to your ex-wife, and unless you find a substantial sum shortly you will be put into the bankruptcy court by your tailors and your shoemakers.

You must get a job, and I strongly advise you to try to get one out of England. Carole won't be patient forever.”

 

Mannering folded the letter and put it back.

As he always did in such moments he felt as if he were a heel to invade another man's privacy in such a way – even a man like Nares. Then he reminded himself that Nares might easily have been approached to carry that mask, yet there was no sign of it here.

Mannering went back to his cabin and changed. There was the usual flurry of young and old in the passages. He went up to the smoking-room, and the Indian Mehta came across and said: ”Oh, Mr. Mannering.”

”Hallo.” Mannering smiled.

“I believe we have to do battle together.”

“Have we?” Mannering didn't know what the man meant: it was almost as if Mehta was challenging him before he, Mannering, searched his room.

“I have just won my round of deck quoits. We are in the semi-finals.”

“Oh,” said Mannering. “Congratulations. Shall we play tomorrow?”

“Any time you wish.”

They settled for ten o'clock. Mannering walked on. A few people, also changed for dinner, were in the smoking-room, but there was no sign of Naomi Ransom. Nares was in the smoking-room, changed, a drink in front of him. He waved.

“Come and have one.”

“Another time, thanks,” Mannering said.

Then he saw Naomi Ransom.

She was stunningly beautiful in a short cocktail dress, high on one shoulder, off the other. Her hair was beautifully done, and she wore a single camellia in it, the same red as her dress. She looked as sleek and faultlessly turned out as if she had come from a Paris or Mayfair salon. Every man in sight turned his head. One, a deep-tanned, handsome man was approaching Mannering; he stopped.

Naomi drew near Mannering and touched his hand lightly.

“Hallo.”

“You look ravishing.”

“Always the gallant.”

“Not always, but certainly now.”

“Mr. Mannering—” The deep-tanned man was Major Mick Thomas, the chairman of the Sports Committee; young Joslyn was his chief
aide.

“Hallo, Mick,” Naomi said.

“Beautiful as ever, sweetheart,” Thomas said. “Come and join my party.”

“I think John has designs on me,” Naomi said. Her eyes seemed to laugh at Mannering; honey-coloured eyes with beautiful lashes.

“Can't say I blame him,” said Thomas. “Er—Mr.—John—would you do me a very great favour?”

“Be careful of him,” said Naomi. “He probably wants you to judge the fancy dress competition.”

“Don't spike my guns,” Thomas protested.

“No, what I would like is you to be the announcer and auctioneer at the race meeting tomorrow night,” he went on. “The man who was to do it has got laryngitis. It isn't very much, really.”

“It's a hard evening's work,” said Naomi. “I've heard all about it.”

“You're such a help,” said Thomas, reproachfully.

“I'll be glad to,” Mannering said.

Thomas's face lit up.

“That's jolly decent of you. Everyone will be delighted. Glad to see Naomi hasn't much influence over you.”

He hurried off.

“Where shall we go?” asked Mannering. “This is too public.”

“The quietest place is the drawing-room,” Naomi said.

“And we must be quiet for blackmail.”

“Yes, mustn't we,” she said sweetly. They went along, talking idly, to the almost empty drawing-room, took seats out of earshot of anyone else, and ordered gin and French.

“Now to business,” said Mannering. “You think you saw me go into O'Keefe's cabin.”

“I know I saw you.”

“Where were you?”

“In the cabin opposite.”

“Yours?”

“Yes. I share it with two other women.” She rested a hand on Mannering's arm. “I'm in a generous mood, John.”

“How generous?”

“I'll settle for two hundred and fifty pounds.”

Mannering laughed.

“Generous is one word. Why do you think I went into O'Keefe's cabin?”

“Don't be really silly,” protested Naomi. “He always carries several thousand pounds' worth of cash with him. He buys a lot of goods for hard cash.”

“Ah,” said Mannering. “And what am I to pay you good money for?”

Naomi said lightly: “When the theft is discovered, I won't say a word.”

Mannering smiled gently.

“No deal,” he said.

“It could be very unpleasant for you.”

“Yes, couldn't it?”

Naomi said: “I can't make up my mind whether you really don't care, or whether you think you're calling a bluff which isn't a bluff.”

“You'll find out,” Mannering said. “Tell me something.”

“What is it?”

“Are you hard up?”

She gave a brittle laugh.

“Yes, I am. Desperately hard up.”

“Yet you travel First Class on board.”

“I'm not likely to meet anyone with money if I travel Tourist,” Naomi pointed out. “Such as you, for instance.”

“Would you like to
earn
two hundred and fifty pounds?”

“Mr. Mannering, sir! If you're suggesting that I be yours for the rest of the voyage—”

“Naomi, dear,” said Mannering, “let's get one thing quite clear. I have a wife at home, and I like a clear conscience. This is a proposal of work.”

She looked puzzled.

“On the ship?”

“Yes.”

“I can't imagine what.”

“There are five men and two women on board who might have something I want,” said Mannering. “O'Keefe's one, Corrison, Mehta, Katman, and Nares.”

“Nares,” she echoed.

“Don't you like him?”

“He's a whisky-sodden snake.”

“How much do you know about him?”

“Quite a lot,” she said.

“Will you find out everything you can about him and the other four men?”

“About their love life, do you mean?”

“About their real reasons for coming on the
East Africa Star.
And—” he paused.

“Yes?”

“Whether they've a special hate for me.”

“Oh,” said Naomi, leaning back and looking at him through her lashes. “You're playing detective, are you?”

“Yes.”

“And it's worth two hundred and fifty pounds?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more,” said Naomi. “Have some great art treasures been stolen, or anything like that?”

“I've told you all I'm going to,” Mannering said. “Will you take the job?”

After a long pause, Naomi Ransom said: “Yes, John. What about the two women?”

Mannering laughed. “Leave them to me.”

“I'll bet one is the little Malayan or whatever she is,” Naomi said. “She's the loveliest girl I've ever seen. Don't—” she broke off with a quick smile. “But you're not on the prowl, are you, in view of that wife of yours?”

“I'm not on that kind of prowl.”

“When shall I report my findings?”

“We can always have a drink together, the romantics will leave us alone if we make it obvious we want to be.”

Naomi laughed.

“I always thought I would like you,” she said.