Man on a Rope (2 page)

Lambert walked to the door with Hudson, moving out on the veranda, which stood high off the ground and ran round three sides of the bungalow. When he returned he gave two loud claps of his hands and yelled:

“Albert!”

The man who presently appeared was a huge and ancient Negro whose hair was almost completely gray. Age had rounded and bent the massive shoulders, but the look of latent power was still there as he stood silent and waiting.

Lambert asked if Barry would have whisky, rum, or gin-and-lime. Barry said: “Whisky, please,” and Lambert said: “Two whiskies, Albert. Stiff ones this time, you hear?”

He sat down then, crossing his knobby knees and reaching for his pipe and tobacco tin. “You've done me a very great favor,” he said, “and I'd like to reciprocate in a small way.”

Barry said nothing, but his mind was busy as he considered this man with the lined and weathered face, the gnarled and work-warped fingers, the thinning hair that was still more dark than gray. Rumor had it that he had originally come to British Guiana as a remittance man, having been banished by a family who could no longer tolerate him, and most of his years in the colony had been spent in the savannas of the Rupununi district and along the banks of jungle rivers. Cattle had been his first interest and had remained his chief occupation until he had recently formed a company and sold shares to a local syndicate, retaining only a token interest.

But as his resources grew, so did his activities: a trading company that moved along the rivers to barter with the diamond-divers and the “pork-knockers” who panned and dug for gold, and to provide needed supplies at whatever the traffic would bear. There were timber holdings, a fleet of small boats engaged in river and coastal traffic, a rice brokerage business, all small but all built upon a reputation of sharp trading by a man who was known to take all he could get, giving in return only what the law demanded and, where possible, not even that. All such holdings had been liquidated now in preparation for his coming marriage and return to England; apparently this diamond deal was to be his swan song in the colony, and he spoke of it now.

“This business with Hudson is a private transaction. What he does with the diamonds is his affair; what I do with the dollars is mine; what the authorities don't know can't worry them. If you had been a vengeful man you could have appraised the packet at eighty thousand instead of its true worth and I would have had to accept your evaluation or call off the deal. I gambled on your integrity.”

“Thanks,” Barry said dryly.

“I felt this integrity would keep you honest in spite of the shabby way you were treated on our little diamond venture on the Ireng.”

“Shabby, hell,” Barry said. “It was a swindle. You switched agreements on me. The one I signed was not the one I read.”

“There would have been no swindle if you had not been careless, but no matter. You came in here two or three weeks ago with blood in your eyes. If Albert hadn't appeared you would have given me a thrashing. In spite of that, you came through handsomely this afternoon and, as I said, I'd like to show my appreciation.”

He paused as Albert appeared with a tray and two drinks. He said: “Cheers,” and when Albert had gone he added: “In the old days this wouldn't have occurred to me, but perhaps I'm getting soft. I don't know whether it's age or just the idea of going home; maybe it's because I'm going to get married next Thursday before we sail.”

As he spoke he took a folded diamond-paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Barry. “It has a nice color,” he said as Barry opened the paper and saw the marquise-cut stone. “Ten points over a carat,” Lambert added. “Has a little flaw, but right on the edge. With the proper setting a clasp will hide it. Thought that girl of yours might like it. I understand you're going to marry her.”

“When I get back to the States and get settled,” Barry said, surprised and strangely pleased by the sight of the stone and knowing then that he was going to accept the gift. Nothing had changed in his feeling toward Lambert, but he was not a good man with a grudge and he knew that to refuse would be putting a rather stiff price on his pride, that the one who would lose by such a refusal would be Lynn Sanford, since it was unlikely he could buy her such a stone for some time. “Thanks,” he said.

That was all. He did not embellish the word or make any attempt to shake hands as he refolded the paper. He had just turned toward the front door when steps rapped sharply on the veranda floor and a woman's voice called: “Colin?” and then Muriel Ransom swept into the room.

“Oh,” she said. “Hi, Barry…. Hello, darling. Am I too early? Are you busy?”

Advancing as she spoke, and not waiting for an answer, she marched right up to Lambert and kissed him soundly, a striking-looking woman nearly as tall as Lambert, amply rounded but not yet fat. Her skin was milk-white and seldom exposed to the sun, her eyes were dark and luminous, and her dark hair, smartly coifed now and shiny with its upturned bob, had, in certain lights, an auburn sheen.

The effect of her presence was at once apparent in Lambert. His quick smile was broad and genuine and his eyes were bright with approval as he stepped back to inspect her.

“No, we're not busy,” he said. “How pretty you look.”

“Do I?” She smiled and touched her hair. “Well, beauty parlors are wonderful institutions…. Or do you mean my frock? It's new. Do you like it?”

It was a print dress, the pattern dark and reminding Barry of a Paisley shawl. The neckline was rounded and nicely filled and she displayed it with obvious delight, pirouetting with skirts swirling and well-shaped knees exposed. Then, once more aware of Barry, she stopped.

“You're not going?”

Barry said he was afraid he had to, and when he glanced over his shoulder as he passed through the front door he could tell by the way they were looking at each other that he had already been forgotten.

CHAPTER TWO

B
ARRY
D
AWSON
did not show the diamond to Lynn Sanford at dinner that evening. He had fully intended to do so and had purposely not mentioned it over cocktails because he wanted to save the news. Now he could tell by the small furrows at the bridge of her nose and the sudden cloudiness of her hazel eyes that she disapproved of this thing he had done.

They were sitting in the dining-room of the Windsor and a soft night breeze had begun to filter through the three open sides, one of which gave on the enormous lounge, itself open on three sides and two stories high. They were waiting for ices and coffee, and because he was so much in love with her and wanted to share all experiences, he had told of his afternoon's work. Her reaction was disquieting, and, it seemed to him, a bit unreasonable.

“But I thought you hated Colin Lambert,” she said.

“I don't hate anybody.”

“He tricked you out of several hundred dollars,” she said as though she had not heard. “‘Gypped' was the word you used.”

“But I didn't work for Lambert today, I worked for Hudson.”

“I wouldn't trust him either. He looks like one of your dressed-up American gangsters I've seen in the films. The way he talks, and always wearing those dark glasses. And why,” she asked, wound up now, “should he hire you in the first place? Why not go to Clarke & Company and get one of their diamond experts?”

“I told you,” Barry said as reasonably as he could. “I spent six months diving for diamonds and sorting them and sending them out. I even bought a few here and there from the natives. Before that I spent two weeks with Clarke & Company watching the cutters work and even trying my hand at polishing. I asked a million questions and I found out something about how diamonds are graded and evaluated. I'm not exactly a beginner.” He took a breath and said: “Hudson found out all about me. He said he had a chance to make a private deal. It would have to be confidential, but—”

“That's just it,” Lynn said. “Doesn't the fact that it's a private deal suggest that it's not exactly according to Hoyle? That it might be illegal?”

“But I don't know that,” Barry said, a little irritated by her logic and annoyed with himself that this should be so. “I don't know what Hudson's going to do with the diamonds, and I don't give a—Look,” he said. “If a man is hired to appraise a used car, does he ask if it has been stolen? If he appraises a piece of property—”

“All right, darling.” And suddenly the frown was gone and a smile dispelled the cloudiness in her glance. She reached out to cover his hand with her own. “I didn't mean to suggest that you did anything wrong. It's just that—”

The arrival of the waiter with coffee terminated the thought, and she quickly withdrew her hand while the man poured and went away.

“I'm sorry you don't approve,” Barry said, unable so quickly to recover his normal good humor. “Your womanly intuition says both Hudson and Lambert are crooks, but all I know is that I did a job of work this afternoon and I've got a hundred bucks, American, in my pocket to prove it. I'll get another hundred tomorrow when Hudson closes the deal. I can use those dollars and you know it.”

He paused, but there was no argument, nor would she look at him as she stirred her coffee.

“I've got all the local money I need to get me through next week,” he said, “and my plane ticket is paid for. But I've only got a few hundred in my account in New York, and this two hundred means we can get married just that much sooner. Once I'm sure about the job and—”

“You've already had a cable saying you could have it back.” She glanced up, no censure in her eyes and her small smile wistful. “If I had my way I'd go with you.”

The look she gave him melted him instantly and he swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, “I'd like it too, baby. It's just that—well, I'm not going to take you back and stick you in some two-by-four hotel room. I want to get set first—I don't even know where they'll send me—and find a place to live, and some furniture. I want it to be right.”

“I'm not arguing, darling. It's your country I'm coming to and you should know—” She broke off as her glance went beyond Barry, and he saw now that a bellboy had stopped beside him.

“Telephone, Mr. Dawson.”

He took the call in the lobby and he thought then that Colin Lambert's voice seemed upset as he asked if Barry could stop by that evening. Barry said yes, and what time, and Lambert said nine thirty.

He told Lynn about it as he walked with her to the house where she lived—alone except for a daytime maid now that her uncle was on one of his periodic trips to his logging camp upcountry. When she had unlocked the door and he had gone in to turn on the lights and glance round, he kissed her and her arms came tightly around his neck as she kissed him back. There was no reference to their near-argument and when he left it was with her promise to have lunch with him tomorrow.

Because it was early he went back to the hotel and sipped a brandy in the downstairs bar, thinking of the things that had happened and wondering what Lambert could want. When he glanced at his watch and saw that it was nine twenty-seven, he left the bar and started walking toward the Lambert bungalow, which was only a little more than two blocks away.

He almost made it. He had gone slightly more than half the distance along the quiet tree-lined street when the heavens opened without warning and the rain came down. There had been other showers the past few days now that the rainy season was at hand, and this one followed the pattern in its abruptness and violence.

With the first drops he looked for shelter, knowing that even if he sprinted the remaining block he would be drenched before he could reach the bungalow. But luckily there stood at his right hand and but a few feet from the sidewalk a sanctuary of sorts, a decaying and darkened house, apparently abandoned but still supporting the characteristically high veranda. Four steps through the tangled and matted grass gave him the shelter he sought, for the rain came straight down as though from some enormous fire hose, and there was no breeze to whip it under the overhead cover.

He knew the shower would stop as suddenly as it began, that it might last a half-hour or ten minutes. He would be late for his appointment, but since there was no help for it, he lit a cigarette, hearing nothing at all but the pounding of the rain. A reckless cyclist, already drenched and pedaling furiously, sped past as he watched. A luckless woman followed, her dress plastered to her body and her dark hair matted and dripping as she hunched protectively over the bundle she hugged to her chest.

A car whipped round the corner, its motor soundless in the downpour and its headlights blinding him as they swept past. The taillight vanished almost immediately and he flipped the cigarette away as his impatience mounted. Then, suddenly, it was over. There was no slackening. The watery violence simply stopped as though someone had closed the giant valve, and instantly the night was quiet and only the puddles and the dripping trees remained to bear testimony to the shower.

As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he saw a darkskinned couple emerge from behind the trunk of a giant tamarind tree and start toward the lights of Main Street. A little farther on a dark-suited Negro wheeled his bicycle from under a near-by veranda; then Barry was turning in toward Lambert's bungalow, aware of the extensive puddle at the edge of the pavement that glistened darkly with reflected light.

The Demerara shutters at the front of the bungalow had been closed, but some illumination showed in the slanted cracks, and as Barry went up the high steps he saw that the front door stood open. Hesitating here as he knocked, he stepped inside and called ahead to ask if anyone was home. It was when he took the second step and his glance cleared the wall cabinet in front of him that he saw Colin Lambert.

He lay near the desk, his face hidden and his body resting on one side, the knees flexed slightly and one arm doubled under him. Clad now in slacks and a blue flannel blazer, he had somehow a limp and crumpled look, but in those first quick seconds Barry felt more startled than alarmed.