“Borneo stones, of course,” he murmured. “From Banjer-masin by the Kerry Dancer — couldn’t have been any other way. Uncut, I suppose — and you say they’re worth two million?” ,
“Rough cut and uncut,” Van Effen nodded. “And their market value is at least that — a hundred fighter planes, a couple of destroyers, I don’t know. In wartime they’re worth infinitely more to any side that gets its hands on them.” He smiled faintly. “None of these stones will ever grace milady’s fingers. Industrial use only — diamond-tipped cutting tools. A great pity, is it not?”
No one spoke, no one as much as glanced at the speaker. They heard the words, but the words failed to register, for that moment they all lived in their eyes alone. And then Van Effen had stepped quickly forward, his foot swinging, and the great pile of diamonds were tumbling over the earthen floor in a glittering cascade.
“Trash! Baubles!” His voice was harsh, contemptuous. “What matter all the diamonds, all the precious stones that ever were when the great nations of the world are at each other’s throats and men are dying in their thousands and their hundreds of thousands? I wouldn’t sacrifice a life, not even the life of an enemy, for all the diamonds in the Indies. But I have sacrificed many lives, and put many more I’m afraid, in deadly danger to secure another treasure, an infinitely more valuable treasure than these few paltry stones at our feet. What do a few lives matter, if losing them enables a man to save a thousand times more?”
“We can all see how fine and noble you are,” Nicolson said bitterly. “Spare us the rest and get to the point.”
“I have already arrived,” Van Effen said equably. “That treasure is in this room, with us, now. I have no wish to prolong this unduly or seek after dramatic effect.” He stretched out his hand. “Miss Plenderleith, if you please.”
She stared at him, her eyes uncomprehending.
“Oh, now, come, come.” He snapped his fingers and smiled at her. “I admire your performance, but I really can’t wait all night.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said blankly.
“Perhaps it may help you if I tell you that I know everything.” There was neither gloating nor triumph in Van Effen’s voice, only certainty and a curious overtone of weariness.
“Everything, Miss Plenderleith, even to that simple little ceremony in a Sussex village on 18th February, 1902.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Nicolson demanded.
“Miss Plenderleith knows, don’t you, Miss Plenderleith?” There was almost compassion in Van Effen’s voice: for the first time the life had faded from her lined old face and her shoulders were sagging wearily.
“I know.” She nodded in defeat and looked at Nicolson. “He is referring to the date of my marriage — my marriage to Brigadiers-General Farnholme. We celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary aboard the lifeboat.” She tried to smile, but failed.
Nicolson stared at her, at the tired little face and empty eyes, and all at once he was convinced of the truth of it. Even as he looked at her, not really seeing her, memories came flooding in on him and many things that had baffled him gradually began to become clear . . . But Van Eft’en was speaking again.
“18th February, 1902. If I know that, Miss Plenderleith, I know everything.”
“Yes, you know everything.” Her voice was a distant murmur.
“Please.” His hand was still outstretched. “You would not care for Captain Yamata’s men to search you.”
“No.”. She fumbled under her salt-stained, bleached jacket, undid a belt and handed it to Van Effen. “I think this is what you want.”
“Thank you.” For a man who had secured what he had spoken of as a priceless treasure, Van Effen’s face was strangely empty of all triumph and satisfaction. “This is indeed what I want.”
He undid the pouches of the belt, lifted out the photostats and films that had lain inside and held them up to the light of the flickering oil-lamps. Almost a minute passed while he examined them in complete silence, then he nodded his head in satisfaction and returned papers and films to the belt.
“All intact,” he murmured. “A long time and a long way — but all intact.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Nicolson demanded irritably. “What is that?”
“This?” Van Effen glanced down at the belt he was buckling round his waist. “This, Mr. Nicolson, is what makes everything worth while. This is the reason for all the action and suffering of the past days, the reason why the Kerry Dancer and the Viroma were sunk, why so many people have died, why my allies were prepared to go to any length to prevent your escape into the Timor Sea. This is why Captain Yamata is here now, although I doubt whether even he knows that — but his commanding officer will. This is—–”
“Get to the point!” Nicolson snapped.
“Sorry.” Van Effen tapped the belt. “This contains the complete, fully detailed plans, in code, of Japan’s projected invasion of Northern Australia. Japanese codes are almost impossible to break, but our people know that there is one man in London who could do it. If anyone could have escaped with these and got them to London, it would have been worth a fortune to the allies.”
“My God!” Nicolson felt dazed. “Where — where did they come from?”
“I don’t know.” Van Effen shook his head. “If we had known that they would never have got into the wrong hands in the first place . . . The full-scale invasion plans, Mr. Nicolson — forces employed, times, dates, places — everything. In British or American hands, these would have meant three months’ setback to the Japanese, perhaps even six. At this early stage of the war, such a delay could have been fatal to the Japanese: you can’understand their anxiety to recover these. What’s a fortune in diamonds compared to these, Mr. Nicolson?”
“What, indeed,” Nicolson muttered. He spoke automatically, a man with his mind far away.
“But now we have both — the plans and the diamonds.” There was still that strange, complete lack of any inflection of triumph in Van Effen’s voice. He reached out a toe and touched the pile of diamonds. “Perhaps I was over hasty in expressing my contempt of these. They have their own beauty.”
“Yes.” The bitterness of defeat was sharp in Nicolson’s mouth, but his face was impassive. “A fantastic sight, Van Effen.”
“Admire them while you may, Mr. Nicolson.” Captain Yamata’s voice, cold and harsh, cut through the spell, brought them all tumbling back to reality. He touched the tip of the cone of diamonds with his sword-point and the white fire glittered and blazed as the stones spilled over on to the ground. “They are beautiful, but man must have eyes to see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nicolson demanded.
“Just that Colonel Kiseki has had orders only to recover the diamonds and deliver them intact to Japan. Nothing was said about prisoners. You killed his son. You will see what I mean.”
“I can guess.” Nicolson looked at him with contempt. “A shovel, a six by two hole and a shot in the back when I’ve finished digging. Oriental culture. We’ve heard all about it.”
Yamata smiled emptily. “Nothing so quick and clean and easy, I assure you. We have, as you say, culture. Such crudities are not for us.”
“Captain Yamata.” Van Effen was looking at the Japanese officer, fractionally narrowed eyes the only sign of emotion in an expressionless face.
“Yes, Colonel?”
“You — you can’t do that. This man is not a spy, to be shot without trial. He’s not even a member of the armed forces, Technically, he’s a non-combatant.”
“Of course, of course.” Yamata was heavily ironic. “To date he has only been responsible for the deaths of fourteen of our sailors and an airman. I shudder to think of the carnage if he ever became a combatant. And he killed Kiseki’s son.”
“He didn’t. Siran will bear that out.”
“Let him explain that to the colonel,” Yamata said indifferently. He sheathed his sword. “We quibble, and uselessly. Come, let us go. Our truck should be here shortly.”
“Truck?” Van Effen queried.
“We left it almost a mile away.” Yamata grinned. “We did not wish to disturb your sleep. What’s the matter, Mr. Nicolson?” he finished sharply.
“Nothing,” Nicolson answered shortly. He had been staring out through the open doorway and in spite of himself a flicker of excitement had crossed his face, but he knew that his eyes had been safely away before Yamata had caught his expression. “The truck isn’t here yet. I would like to ask Van Effen one or two questions.” He hoped his voice sounded casual.
“We have a minute or two,” Yamata nodded. “It might amuse me. But be quick.”