you are, then. You might have been any of a score of nationalities." He turned as the Chinese boy came in, took the drinks from the tray and handed them to us. "Your excellent health."
I grunted something appropriate and as short as it could decently be and went for that drink like a thirst-stricken camel for the nearest oasis. I insulted a perfectly good Scotch by swallowing half of it at one gulp, but even so it tasted wonderful and I was about to start on the remainder when the old boy said: "Well, preliminaries over, decencies observed. Your story, sir. Let's have it."
It brought me up short and I looked at him cautiously. I could be wrong about him being a hoppity old fusspot. I was wrong. The bright blue eyes were shrewd, and what little of his face was available for expression seemed to indicate a certain carefulness, if not actual wariness. Being a little odd in your behaviour doesn't necessarily mean that you're a little odd in the head.
I gave it to him, short and straight. I said: "My wife and I were en route to Australia, by plane. During an overnight stop at Suva we were taken from our hotel room at three in the morning by a Captain Fleck and two Indians, forced to board his schooner and locked up. Last night we heard them planning to murder us, so we broke out from the hold where they'd put us-it was a bad night and they didn't see us go-jumped over the side and after some time washed up on a coral reef. Your men found us there this morning."
"God bless my soul! What an extraordinary tale. Extraordinary!" He kept on blessing himself and shaking his head for a bit, then looked up at me from under bushy white eyebrows. "If we could have it with a little more detail, perhaps?" So I gave it to him again, telling him everything that had happened since we had arrived in Suva. He peered at me through those tinted glasses all the time I was speaking and when I finished he sighed, did some more headshaking and said: "Incredible. The whole thing's quite incredible!"
"Do you mean that literally?"
"What? What? That I don't believe you? God bless-"
"This might convince you," Marie interrupted. She slipped off her shoe and peeled back the plaster to show the two deep fang marks on her foot. "The rat caused that."
"But I do believe it, young lady! It's just that everything is so bizarre, so-so fantastic. Of course it's true, how else would you be here? But-but why should this villainous fellow, this Captain Fleck kidnap you and talk of killing you? It all seems so purposeless, so mad."
"I've no idea," I said. "The only thing I can think of-and even that is ridiculous-is that I'm a scientist, a specialist in fuel technology and maybe someone wanted to extract some information from me. Why on earth they should want to do that I just can't imagine. And how the skipper of an obscure schooner knew that we should be flying out to Australia via Fiji-well, it doesn't make any kind of sense at all."
"As you say, it makes no sense at all, Mr.-ah-Bless my soul, you must forgive me! I haven't even asked your names yet!"
"Bentall. John Bentall. And this is my wife, Marie." I smiled at him. "And you don't need to tell me who you are. It's just come back to me. Dr. Harold Witherspoon-Professor Witherspoon, I should say. The doyen of British archaeologists."
"You know me then? You recognized me?" The old boy seemed quite bucked about it.
"Well, you do get a good deal of newspaper space," I said tactfully. Professor Witherspoon's love of the public limelight was a byword. "And I saw your series of lectures on television, about a year ago."
He didn't look so pleased any longer. He suddenly looked downright suspicious, and his eyes narrowed as he said: "You interested in archaeology, Mr. Bentall? Know anything about it, I mean?"
"I'm like a million others, professor. I know about this Egyptian tomb and this lad Tutenkhamon who was in it. But I couldn't begin to spell his name, I doubt if I'm even pronouncing it properly."
"So.
I grunted something appropriate and as short as it could decently be and went for that drink like a thirst-stricken camel for the nearest oasis. I insulted a perfectly good Scotch by swallowing half of it at one gulp, but even so it tasted wonderful and I was about to start on the remainder when the old boy said: "Well, preliminaries over, decencies observed. Your story, sir. Let's have it."
It brought me up short and I looked at him cautiously. I could be wrong about him being a hoppity old fusspot. I was wrong. The bright blue eyes were shrewd, and what little of his face was available for expression seemed to indicate a certain carefulness, if not actual wariness. Being a little odd in your behaviour doesn't necessarily mean that you're a little odd in the head.
I gave it to him, short and straight. I said: "My wife and I were en route to Australia, by plane. During an overnight stop at Suva we were taken from our hotel room at three in the morning by a Captain Fleck and two Indians, forced to board his schooner and locked up. Last night we heard them planning to murder us, so we broke out from the hold where they'd put us-it was a bad night and they didn't see us go-jumped over the side and after some time washed up on a coral reef. Your men found us there this morning."
"God bless my soul! What an extraordinary tale. Extraordinary!" He kept on blessing himself and shaking his head for a bit, then looked up at me from under bushy white eyebrows. "If we could have it with a little more detail, perhaps?" So I gave it to him again, telling him everything that had happened since we had arrived in Suva. He peered at me through those tinted glasses all the time I was speaking and when I finished he sighed, did some more headshaking and said: "Incredible. The whole thing's quite incredible!"
"Do you mean that literally?"
"What? What? That I don't believe you? God bless-"
"This might convince you," Marie interrupted. She slipped off her shoe and peeled back the plaster to show the two deep fang marks on her foot. "The rat caused that."
"But I do believe it, young lady! It's just that everything is so bizarre, so-so fantastic. Of course it's true, how else would you be here? But-but why should this villainous fellow, this Captain Fleck kidnap you and talk of killing you? It all seems so purposeless, so mad."
"I've no idea," I said. "The only thing I can think of-and even that is ridiculous-is that I'm a scientist, a specialist in fuel technology and maybe someone wanted to extract some information from me. Why on earth they should want to do that I just can't imagine. And how the skipper of an obscure schooner knew that we should be flying out to Australia via Fiji-well, it doesn't make any kind of sense at all."
"As you say, it makes no sense at all, Mr.-ah-Bless my soul, you must forgive me! I haven't even asked your names yet!"
"Bentall. John Bentall. And this is my wife, Marie." I smiled at him. "And you don't need to tell me who you are. It's just come back to me. Dr. Harold Witherspoon-Professor Witherspoon, I should say. The doyen of British archaeologists."
"You know me then? You recognized me?" The old boy seemed quite bucked about it.
"Well, you do get a good deal of newspaper space," I said tactfully. Professor Witherspoon's love of the public limelight was a byword. "And I saw your series of lectures on television, about a year ago."
He didn't look so pleased any longer. He suddenly looked downright suspicious, and his eyes narrowed as he said: "You interested in archaeology, Mr. Bentall? Know anything about it, I mean?"
"I'm like a million others, professor. I know about this Egyptian tomb and this lad Tutenkhamon who was in it. But I couldn't begin to spell his name, I doubt if I'm even pronouncing it properly."
"So.
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