The Toff and the Deep Blue Sea by John Creasey

two of the men, knives in their mouths, were already in the water, swimming after him and Violette.
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    At fifty strokes Violette was an arm’s length ahead. She turned on her back with a single, easy movement, and smiled with gaiety good to see. She was as much at home in the water as she would be in a salon, in a Rambeau night-club, or in some stately home. He hair had been swept back by the water so that it was quite straight again: that was the best style for her, it threw the beauty of her bone structure into clear prominence.
    â€œVery close,” she said. “Did you let me win?”
    â€œI’ll beat you next time!”
    â€œWe must go steadily now; it is a long way.”
    â€œWe will,” agreed Rollison soberly. He wondered if it would have been wise to try to get into the dinghy. Was ‘wise’ the word? It would have taken them five minutes, they might have been seen before they were actually free of the Maria. Arabs could probably swim twice as fast as he could row a dinghy, even in this smooth sea.
    It was warm, soothing, comforting. Nice was so far away that it was almost invisible; just a line of white seen through a haze. They were at least a mile offshore, but they wouldn’t have to swim all that way: there were bound to be small craft afloat, between them and the shore. There was a current, Rollison knew, which would take them towards Cap Mira-beau, where the craft of a yachting club were always at anchor.
    The warmth of the sea and sun induced a kind of lassitude. It had been a mistake to expend so much energy in that wild burst of speed, but there were two advantages: it had got them further away from the Maria, and had worked the excitement out of their systems. It was going to be a long time before he forgot the sight of the three lean, brown men with the knives in their mouths, and their teeth flashing.
    Violette had dropped into a long, steady side-stroke; she could swim for miles with it. He did the same. He had almost forgotten to look for the men, for he had given up thought of imminent danger. But he turned over again, not expecting to see a thing, just to make sure.
    He saw a dark head appear out of the water, not fifty yards away.
    Brown arms and shoulders appeared for a second, then disappeared, as the Arab dived. The sight was so momentary that it was like a mirage. Smooth, blue water with the Maria five hundred yards away – the dark head and moving arms – and the smooth water again, with no ripples which Rollison could see.
    â€œViolette!” he called with sudden urgency, and immediately she stopped swimming and turned over on her back, kicking her legs to keep afloat. She couldn’t see his expression. “One of them is swimming after us. Head for the nearest point, and get in touch with Simon Leclair—ask for his address at the Cafe Lippe or at the Baccarat. Understand?”
    She understood.
    Fear touched her features as she turned round and started to swim again, those long, devouring strokes which hurtled her through the water. But fast as she went, she wasn’t likely to have the speed of the Arab.
    Was there only one?
    Rollison changed direction slightly, gradually widening the distance between him and Violette; if there were just the one man, he would have to let one of them get away, while he went for the other.
    Rollison found it hard to breathe. His teeth were clenched tightly, and he was sick with the sickening thump of his heart. The Arabs were probably expert under-water swimmers, and would be accustomed to using knives – against sharks and octopi, perhaps against men.
    He could see Violette, moving beautifully fast.
    Then he saw the man bob up in the water, not twenty feet behind her; the sun glistened on the knife the Arab now had between his teeth.
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Chapter Eleven
The Battle In The Sea
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    Rollison did not know if there were another Arab in the water, near. There was the girl and the man behind her,