took over
in the days when that was a respectable thing for the white man to do. I don’t think we did too
badly by them, as colonialism goes, but that doesn’t alter the fact that they’re a ready-made audience for the new
propaganda against us. Well, we had to let India go. We’re losing Africa piece by piece; and in the part
that we real ly thought we could hang
on to, I’m sure you’ve read about
all that Mau Mau business. The terrorists may be natives, but you know the encouragement is Russian. And the opportunity here isn’t so different.”
“You don’t mean you’re afraid of a kind
of Mau Mau outbreak
in Jamaica?”
“It’s already started. There have been
three brutal, motiveless, barbarous killings of white people in the
last six weeks.”
Simon started, frowning.
“But your colored people aren’t naked savages like the Kikuyu. They’re as civilized as the negroes in
the United States.”
“You’d have said that about Guiana—and
it wasn’t so long ago, if you remember, that we had to send a warship
there to nip a Communist coup in the bud. No, actually, there’s a lot of
difference. In some ways, our colored people are a lot better off than they
are in Amer ica. There’s no segregation, some of them are in big
business and make a lot of money, their children go to our best schools, and
they can go into any club or res taurant on the island. They not only have
the vote, they hold the political power, and they’re very active with it. Unfortunately,
some of their leaders are pretty radical. And even more
unfortunately, in spite of a lot of good Government intentions, there are still an
enormous number who are desperately poor,
totally illiterate, com pletely
ignorant—and therefore the perfect chumps for the Communists to stir up. And
that Maroon settlement makes a rather
ideal focal point for it.”
“I’m beginning to see a few ways that it
could be used,” Simon admitted slowly. “Do you know
anything more about the brains of the act?—I’d hate to succumb to the
obvious cliche of ‘the nigger in the woodpile.’ “
“A little,” Farnham said. “It
may have started several years ago, when an English writer who’s
since become a rather notorious apologist for the Reds came over here
and paid the Maroons a visit. Then, after a while, there were a
couple of so-called artists with foreign accents who moved in with the
Maroons, allegedly to paint a lot of pictures of their life and
customs. I never saw the pictures, but I heard rumors that they were talking a
lot of party-line poppycock to anyone who’d listen to them. But
presently they went away. And then a few months ago, it seems, we got
a chap we could really worry about. One of their own people.”
“You mean a Russian?”
“No. A Maroon.”
The Saint’s brows drew lower over his
quietly intent eyes.
“I see. And of course you’re not
supposed to touch him. But he’d naturally have more influence than any outsider.
And if he’s an upper-echelon hammer-and- sickle boy—— ”
“I believe he is. Our Secret Service
knows a bit about him—we aren’t quite such hopeless fuddy-duddies as some
people think. There’s no doubt that he’s a real Maroon, but he’s
spent most of his life away from here. He’s had a good
education—and a thoroughly bad one, too. But he’s got plenty of brains,
and, I’m told, a ter rific personality. He may be quite a problem.”
Farnham got up and walked across to gaze out
briefly at the
stars, his old briar firmly gripped between his teeth and puffing stolidly, hands deep in his pockets, seemingly unaware of any enormity of
understatement.
He said: “I don’t expect you to be too
concerned with our wretched colonial headaches, but a Communist base in the
Caribbean would be rather nasty for all of us. Frankly, I don’t
quite know how I’m going to handle this blighter, and I thought if you
came along you might have an idea or two.”
“I’ll be along, for whatever
in the days when that was a respectable thing for the white man to do. I don’t think we did too
badly by them, as colonialism goes, but that doesn’t alter the fact that they’re a ready-made audience for the new
propaganda against us. Well, we had to let India go. We’re losing Africa piece by piece; and in the part
that we real ly thought we could hang
on to, I’m sure you’ve read about
all that Mau Mau business. The terrorists may be natives, but you know the encouragement is Russian. And the opportunity here isn’t so different.”
“You don’t mean you’re afraid of a kind
of Mau Mau outbreak
in Jamaica?”
“It’s already started. There have been
three brutal, motiveless, barbarous killings of white people in the
last six weeks.”
Simon started, frowning.
“But your colored people aren’t naked savages like the Kikuyu. They’re as civilized as the negroes in
the United States.”
“You’d have said that about Guiana—and
it wasn’t so long ago, if you remember, that we had to send a warship
there to nip a Communist coup in the bud. No, actually, there’s a lot of
difference. In some ways, our colored people are a lot better off than they
are in Amer ica. There’s no segregation, some of them are in big
business and make a lot of money, their children go to our best schools, and
they can go into any club or res taurant on the island. They not only have
the vote, they hold the political power, and they’re very active with it. Unfortunately,
some of their leaders are pretty radical. And even more
unfortunately, in spite of a lot of good Government intentions, there are still an
enormous number who are desperately poor,
totally illiterate, com pletely
ignorant—and therefore the perfect chumps for the Communists to stir up. And
that Maroon settlement makes a rather
ideal focal point for it.”
“I’m beginning to see a few ways that it
could be used,” Simon admitted slowly. “Do you know
anything more about the brains of the act?—I’d hate to succumb to the
obvious cliche of ‘the nigger in the woodpile.’ “
“A little,” Farnham said. “It
may have started several years ago, when an English writer who’s
since become a rather notorious apologist for the Reds came over here
and paid the Maroons a visit. Then, after a while, there were a
couple of so-called artists with foreign accents who moved in with the
Maroons, allegedly to paint a lot of pictures of their life and
customs. I never saw the pictures, but I heard rumors that they were talking a
lot of party-line poppycock to anyone who’d listen to them. But
presently they went away. And then a few months ago, it seems, we got
a chap we could really worry about. One of their own people.”
“You mean a Russian?”
“No. A Maroon.”
The Saint’s brows drew lower over his
quietly intent eyes.
“I see. And of course you’re not
supposed to touch him. But he’d naturally have more influence than any outsider.
And if he’s an upper-echelon hammer-and- sickle boy—— ”
“I believe he is. Our Secret Service
knows a bit about him—we aren’t quite such hopeless fuddy-duddies as some
people think. There’s no doubt that he’s a real Maroon, but he’s
spent most of his life away from here. He’s had a good
education—and a thoroughly bad one, too. But he’s got plenty of brains,
and, I’m told, a ter rific personality. He may be quite a problem.”
Farnham got up and walked across to gaze out
briefly at the
stars, his old briar firmly gripped between his teeth and puffing stolidly, hands deep in his pockets, seemingly unaware of any enormity of
understatement.
He said: “I don’t expect you to be too
concerned with our wretched colonial headaches, but a Communist base in the
Caribbean would be rather nasty for all of us. Frankly, I don’t
quite know how I’m going to handle this blighter, and I thought if you
came along you might have an idea or two.”
“I’ll be along, for whatever
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