Kane cut the engines and signalled to Piroo, who was standing in the stern, anchor ready in his hands. It disappeared into the green waters of the harbour with a splash. For a moment longer, the launch glided forward and then, with a gentle tug, it came to a halt fifty or sixty yards from the crumbling stone jetty that formed the east side of the harbour.
Piroo disappeared into the cabin, and Kane stepped out of the wheelhouse. He lit a cigarette and walked slowly along to the stern, where he stood with one foot on the brass rail, the peak of his battered and salt-stained cap pulled well forward to shield his eyes from the intense glare of the sun.
He was a tall, powerful man in faded blue denims and sweat-shirt. His brown hair was bleached by the sun and badly needed cutting, and there was a three days’ growth of beard on his chin. The sun-dried skin of his face was drawn tightly over prominent cheekbones and his eyes were deep-set in their sockets, calm and expressionless, always staring into the middle distance or beyond the next hill as if perpetually searching for something.
As he looked across the harbour, a small rowing boat appeared from between two moored dhows. The brawny Arab who pulled on the oars was being urged on by a fat, bearded official in crumpled khaki uniform and white head-cloth. There was a slight cough from behind, and Kane reached out a hand without turning round. Piroo passed him a large gin-sling in which ice tinkled, and said gently, ‘Perhaps Captain Gonzalez will wish to search the boat, Sahib?’
Kane shrugged. ‘That’s what he’s paid for.’
He sipped the drink slowly, savouring its coldness with conscious pleasure, and watched the boat approach. As it bumped against the side of the launch Gonzalez smiled up at him, his face shiny with sweat, a paper
Japanese fan fluttering in his right hand in a vain effort to keep the flies at bay.
Kane grinned down at him. ‘Looks as if the heat’s getting to you, Juan.’
Gonzalez shrugged, and replied in perfect English, ‘Only duty compelled me to put in an appearance on the quay in my official capacity when the mail boat came in from Aden.’ He mopped his face with a corner of his head-cloth. ‘Where are you from this time?’
Kane finished his drink and handed the glass to Piroo, who was still standing at his elbow. ‘Mukalla,’ he said. ‘I had some letters to deliver for Marie Ferret.’
Gonzalez kissed his fingers. ‘Ah, the delightful Mademoiselle Ferret. We are privileged men. Here on earth a glimpse of Paradise. Are you carrying any cargo?’
Kane shook his head. ‘We tried for a shark on the way back, but he took half my line as well as the hook.’
Gonzalez raised a hand and rolled his eyes. ‘You Americans – so energetic, and for what?’
‘Are you coming aboard to check?’ Kane said.
Gonzalez shook his head. ‘Would I insult a friend?’ He waved to the oarsman to push off. ‘I hurry home to a tall drink and the cool hand of my wife.’
Kane watched the boat disappear amongst the mass of moored fishing dhows that floated a few yards from the beach. After a while, he tossed his cigarette down into the water and turned from the rail. ‘I think I’ll go for a swim,’ he said. ‘Get the deck swabbed down, Piroo. Afterwards, you can go ashore to visit that girl of yours.’
He went below to the cabin and changed quickly. When he came back on deck, he was wearing an old pair of khaki shorts, and a cork-handled knife in leather sheath swung from the belt at his waist.
Piroo was standing by the rail, hauling vigorously on a rope, and a moment later a large canvas bucket appeared. He emptied its contents over the deck and threw it back into the water.
Kane didn’t bother with a diving mask. He went past Piroo on the run and dived cleanly over the rail. At this point, the harbour was some twenty feet deep, and he swam down through the clear green water, revelling in its coolness. For a brief moment he hovered over the bottom, and then he kicked against the white sand and started up.