common.”
Jerry was genuinely puzzled. “There aren’t any head-hunters in Sandakan. All that sort of thing’s much further south. You’re thinking of the Dyaks and their bloody oil-fields.”
Bishop Beesley waddled in. “What a lovely home. I’ll just leave the boys outside, shall I? Mitzi! You don’t mind if my daughter joins us?”
Mitzi Beesley was wearing a rather cheap rayon ensemble, loose sailor blouse and wide, baggy trousers, almost certainly a bad Schiaparelli copy of the sort obtainable from any second-rate tailor’s shop in Bombay or Calcutta. Even the shade of pink was slightly off. Her golden hair was waved tightly against her mean little skull. She placed her small tongue on her thin lower lip and smiled at Una. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
Una released Jerry’s arm. “I don’t think I’d be likely to remember,” she said innocently. “How do you do, Miss Beesley?”
Mitzi sniffed. “Not bad. Not now. But times have been a bit chaotic until recently, when Daddy got this new job.” She removed her Remington from her shoulder and looked around for somewhere to put it.
“I’ll take it,” said Una hospitably.
Mitzi handed her the gun and Una crossed the mosaic to the large Ming ceramic umbrella stand, dropping the rifle, barrel first, among the walking sticks, sunshades and riding crops. “It’ll be all right there, will it?”
“Fine,” said Mitzi absently.
Bishop Beesley raised beringed fingers to his rosebud lips and uttered a little wind. “I hear they do a very pleasant dish in these parts. A local version of the baklava, eh?”
“I think there are a few cold ones in the storeroom,” Jerry looked towards the door under the staircase. “Shall I show you where it is?”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr Cornelius. You seem, rather cleverly, to have adopted the manners as well as the style of a gentleman. Congratulations!”
“You’re too kind.”
“Standards are slipping everywhere. Credit where credit’s due, sir. And, of course, I bear no grudges.” His breathing became deeper. He was almost snoring by the time he had waddled to the door to the lower regions. “This is deliciously opulent, isn’t it? The barbaric splendour of the East. You must feel much more at home.”
“I can’t complain, bishop.”
“Is Miss Brunner with you?” asked Una suddenly of Mitzi Beesley. It was as if she had remembered a name and nothing else.
“Not this trip.” Mitzi moved closer to her. “That’s a nice dressing gown. Is it a man’s?”
“I’m not sure.” The two women followed Jerry and Bishop Beesley through the door and down stone steps cut from the living rock. It was suddenly much cooler.
“And as for Frank,” continued Mitzi intimately, “Jerry’s brother, you know—we couldn’t get him to do a thing. It’s as if there’s a spell on everybody. Almost. You’ve met Doktor von Krupp, too, have you?”
“I think I might have…”
“She’s almost completely retired, now. Gave herself to the cause body and soul. Bishop Beesley has had to continue the work virtually single-handed. I help as best I can, of course, but he complains that I don’t really understand the importance of it all. He thinks my loyalties are sometimes divided.” They were quite a long way behind the men. Mitzi smirked. “Of course, that’s impossible. I haven’t any loyalties at all.”
“What a relief.” Spasmodically, Una smiled down on the minx. She found that she was lying and enjoying the sensation. “How refreshing.”
The minx began to stroke her exposed ribs.
The party descended still deeper into the darkness. From the gloom ahead Una could hear the sound of Bishop Beesley’s awful breath.
“It’s high time you were back in harness, Mr C.”
4. CROSS COUNTRY RAPE AND SLAY SPREE OF THE FRUSTRATED BONDAGE FREAK
“There’s still a touch of vulgarity about you which I like,” said Bishop Beesley. His marines had taken up permanent positions
Jerry was genuinely puzzled. “There aren’t any head-hunters in Sandakan. All that sort of thing’s much further south. You’re thinking of the Dyaks and their bloody oil-fields.”
Bishop Beesley waddled in. “What a lovely home. I’ll just leave the boys outside, shall I? Mitzi! You don’t mind if my daughter joins us?”
Mitzi Beesley was wearing a rather cheap rayon ensemble, loose sailor blouse and wide, baggy trousers, almost certainly a bad Schiaparelli copy of the sort obtainable from any second-rate tailor’s shop in Bombay or Calcutta. Even the shade of pink was slightly off. Her golden hair was waved tightly against her mean little skull. She placed her small tongue on her thin lower lip and smiled at Una. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
Una released Jerry’s arm. “I don’t think I’d be likely to remember,” she said innocently. “How do you do, Miss Beesley?”
Mitzi sniffed. “Not bad. Not now. But times have been a bit chaotic until recently, when Daddy got this new job.” She removed her Remington from her shoulder and looked around for somewhere to put it.
“I’ll take it,” said Una hospitably.
Mitzi handed her the gun and Una crossed the mosaic to the large Ming ceramic umbrella stand, dropping the rifle, barrel first, among the walking sticks, sunshades and riding crops. “It’ll be all right there, will it?”
“Fine,” said Mitzi absently.
Bishop Beesley raised beringed fingers to his rosebud lips and uttered a little wind. “I hear they do a very pleasant dish in these parts. A local version of the baklava, eh?”
“I think there are a few cold ones in the storeroom,” Jerry looked towards the door under the staircase. “Shall I show you where it is?”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr Cornelius. You seem, rather cleverly, to have adopted the manners as well as the style of a gentleman. Congratulations!”
“You’re too kind.”
“Standards are slipping everywhere. Credit where credit’s due, sir. And, of course, I bear no grudges.” His breathing became deeper. He was almost snoring by the time he had waddled to the door to the lower regions. “This is deliciously opulent, isn’t it? The barbaric splendour of the East. You must feel much more at home.”
“I can’t complain, bishop.”
“Is Miss Brunner with you?” asked Una suddenly of Mitzi Beesley. It was as if she had remembered a name and nothing else.
“Not this trip.” Mitzi moved closer to her. “That’s a nice dressing gown. Is it a man’s?”
“I’m not sure.” The two women followed Jerry and Bishop Beesley through the door and down stone steps cut from the living rock. It was suddenly much cooler.
“And as for Frank,” continued Mitzi intimately, “Jerry’s brother, you know—we couldn’t get him to do a thing. It’s as if there’s a spell on everybody. Almost. You’ve met Doktor von Krupp, too, have you?”
“I think I might have…”
“She’s almost completely retired, now. Gave herself to the cause body and soul. Bishop Beesley has had to continue the work virtually single-handed. I help as best I can, of course, but he complains that I don’t really understand the importance of it all. He thinks my loyalties are sometimes divided.” They were quite a long way behind the men. Mitzi smirked. “Of course, that’s impossible. I haven’t any loyalties at all.”
“What a relief.” Spasmodically, Una smiled down on the minx. She found that she was lying and enjoying the sensation. “How refreshing.”
The minx began to stroke her exposed ribs.
The party descended still deeper into the darkness. From the gloom ahead Una could hear the sound of Bishop Beesley’s awful breath.
“It’s high time you were back in harness, Mr C.”
4. CROSS COUNTRY RAPE AND SLAY SPREE OF THE FRUSTRATED BONDAGE FREAK
“There’s still a touch of vulgarity about you which I like,” said Bishop Beesley. His marines had taken up permanent positions
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