“Something interesting?”
“I have just seen a ghost,” de Beaumont said calmly. “A ghost from the past, and ghosts are always interesting.”
He settled back in the seat and Jacaud spun the wheel in his hands and took the speedboat round the point, his face quite expressionless.
Mallory stood at the wheel ofFoxhunter thinking about de Beaumont. There had been something there, of that he was sure, but what could it possibly be? They had certainly never met.
The door clicked open behind him and Raoul Guyon came in and leaned against the chart table, lighting a ciga-rette.
“What did you think of him?”
Mallory shrugged. “Very charming, very elegant. Seems soft until you look in his eyes. Are you dining with them tonight?”
Guyon shook his head. “I’ve been invited for drinks after-wards. What was it like on the reef? Anything interesting?”
Mallory told him everything that had happened. When he had finished Guyon nodded. “From the sound of it, this cavern under the island would seem like an adequate hiding place forL’Alouette.”
“That’s what we’ll have to/find out.”
“And how do we do that?”
“We’ll use the aquamobiles. Try the Middle Passage ap-proach I told you about.”
“Straight into the cavern. Do you think they’ll let us?”
“That’s what we’ll have to find out. We’ll go in sometime tonight. The forecast’s good and there’s a moon. If the weather holds it shouldn’t be too difficult. We’ll go round the point in the dinghy. That should give us a good start.”
Guyon sighed. “Legrande told me this one would be interesting. Little did he know. I’ll see you later.”
The door closed behind him and Mallory increased speed. The strange thing was that asFoxhunter ran back towards the jetty he wasn’t thinking of the danger that lay ahead, of the long swim through the dark night. He was thinking of two metallic blue eyes and wondering what it was that he had seen in them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE MAN FROM TANGIERS
throughthe French windows the lawn shimmered palely and the great beeches were silhouetted against the evening sky. Beyond was the timeless sad sough of the sea.
Inside, the room was warm and comfortable, the light softly diffused and a log hissed and spluttered on the hearth-stone. There was a grand piano in one corner, two old comfortable couches drawn to the fire and a print or two on the walls.
It was a room that was lived in, a quiet, comfortable place, and the five people gathered loosely about the fire talked quietly to each other, Fiona Grant’s occasional laugh break-ing to the surface like a bubble of air in a quiet pool.
De Beaumont and his host wore dinner jackets and the Frenchman looked elegant, completely at his ease as he talked to Anne Grant and the General.
Fiona was wearing a simple green dress in some heavy silk material and sat on the arm of an old tapestry chair. Guyon stood beside her smoking a cigarette, one hand on the high mantelpiece. He was not in evening dress, but a well-cut suit of dark blue fitted his wiry figure to perfection, giving him a touch of distinction.
He leaned close to Fiona, muttered something in her ear, and she chuckled and stood up. “Raoul and I are going for a little walk. Anyone feel like joining us?”
“And what would you do if we said yes?” her father de-manded.
“Brain you!” She kissed him affectionately and moved to the door. “I’ll get a coat, Raoul. It could turn chilly.”
Raoul smiled at de Beaumont. “Will I see you again before you leave, Colonel?”
De Beaumont shook his head. “Unlikely, I’m afraid. I keep early hours these days. Strict instructions from my doctor.”
Guyon held out his hand. “For the present, then.”
“And don’t forget about that portrait,” de Beaumont re-minded him. “I meant what I said.”
The young Frenchman nodded to the others and walked across to the door quickly as Fiona called from the hall.
“Seems a nice enough young chap,” the General observed.
“Fiona obviously thinks so,” Anne said. “And he’s certainly talented. He was in the army in Algeria for several years before he took up painting.”