He could see the weeds on the sea-bed beneath him lean-ing over on one side, pointing back towards the reef, and the pressure was now a solid wall that he was trying to break through. He kicked again, was dimly aware of the black rocks passing beneath him and then they were round into calm water and his aquamobile seemed to leap forward with a surge of power.
He surfaced and saw Anne at once, over to the right and some distance in front of him. He raised a hand, urging her on, and followed. When he rounded the final point of rock she was perhaps fifty yards in front of him and moving strongly towardsFoxhunter.
A speedboat was moored beside the ladder, the sunlight gleaming on its scarlet trim, and someone sat in a canvas chair next to General Grant, a tall, distinguished-looking man in dark glasses and linen jacket who stood up and moved to the rail, shading his eyes as Anne approached.
She reached the ladder and he moved to give her a hand. When she climbed up on deck Mallory was still twenty or thirty yards away and he reduced speed.
As he came in under the counter of the speedboat the man who was sitting at the wheel turned to look down at him. He was a large, dangerous-looking individual with a hard face, a jagged scar bisecting the right cheek. Mallory recognised him at once from the photograph he had been shown at his briefing.
He pushed up his mask. “Hello there.”
Jacaud looked down at him calmly, nodded, then turned away. Mallory pulled himself to the bottom of the ladder where Raoul Guyon was already waiting, a hand out-stretched for the aquamobile.
Mallory went over the rail, squatted on deck and took off his aqualung. Anne Grant was standing a yard or two away, an attractive figure in her yellow diving suit as she talked to the man in the linen jacket.
There was little doubt who he was. The handsome aris-tocratic face, the easy poise, spoke of a man who was supremely aware of the fact that God had created the de Beaumonts first.
“Such a nice surprise,” she was saying.
“Pure luck that I passed, I assure you. I was trying out my new speedboat.” De Beaumont raised her hand to his mouth. “My dear Anne, you grow more delightful each time I see you.”
She coloured charmingly and the General cut in: “And now that we’ve got you won’t get away so easily. You must come to dinner tonight. It’s been far too long.”
“Please do,” Anne said.
He shrugged, still holding her hand. “How can I refuse?”
Raoul Guyon was standing with Fiona beside the deck-house and Anne turned towards him. “Have you met Mon-sieur Guyon?”
“I have indeed,” de Beaumont said. “I’ve been looking at these delightful sketches he’s done of the General. If he can spare the time perhaps you could persuade him to come across to St. Pierre one day and sketch me?”
“A pleasure,” Guyon said.
Anne turned towards Mallory. “And this is Mr. Neil Mallory. He’s running the boat for us for a month or two till Fiona and I get used to things.”
De Beaumont stood for a moment, looking towards Mal-lory, and then he slowly removed his sun-glasses. His eyes were a strange, metallic blue and very cold, no warmth in them at all, and yet something moved there, something that instantly put Mallory on the alert.
“Mr. Mallory.” De Beaumont held out his hand.
Mallory took it and the grip tightened. The Frenchman looked into his eyes for a long moment, then turned back to Anne.
“And now I must go. At what time this evening?”
“Seven,” she said. “We’ll look forward to seeing you.”
He went down the ladder into the speedboat and nodded to Jacaud. The engine roared into life and the boat turned away in a surge of power.
De Beaumont raised his hand in farewell, took a gold cigarette case from an inner pocket, selected a cigarette and lit it.
“Shall I tell Marcel to be ready to run you across tonight?” Jacaud said.
De Beaumont nodded. “And Pierre, but I shall also require you, Jacaud.”