I said: “That’s what you’ve been fighting for all these years.”

“Aye, I suppose it is, at that. How’s the motor coming?”

“I’ve undone the damage you did, now I’ve got to undo my own. Give me a hand with this manifold.”

“No, you’ll have to get it off yourself. You’ve got the muscles, by the looks of it.”

He still didn’t want to get too close to me, but he was fast becoming convinced that maybe after all we really could get along together. Wishful thinking, some people call it; they wouldn’t underestimate it quite so much if they called it autosuggestion instead.

I said patiently: “It’s not a question of strength. I’ve only got two hands, so grab hold of that induction box, or it’s going to snap off.”

He hesitated, looked up at his tame archer, decided to risk it, carefully unloaded his shotgun and put it down, slipping the cartridges into his pocket, and said calmly:

“You’re big enough to take me pretty easily, is that what you’re thinking?”

I said calmly: “I could, no doubt about that at all. But why should I?”

“If you’d seen a bit more of Van’s work with a bow and a poisoned hunting head you wouldn’t even think about it. He can hit a mosquito travelling at speed.”

“Grab hold of that box, for God’s sake.”

He came over then, and did as I asked him. A little more trust, it was growing slowly...

He said: “If the road’s blocked, how did you get down here by car, and that’s a question you can answer without stopping to think too long.”

I said: “I came over the dunes.”

“In a car?”

“Four-wheel drive. A Jensen, it’ll go anywhere a mule can go.”

“Oh.” That made sense too. He said: “I’ve heard that’s a pretty expensive car.”

“It is. Have you got any penetrating oil?”

“Aye, in the toolbox.”

I found it and squirted some on the bolts of the long exhaust. They came off easily enough, and I found the mud plug I’d rammed up there and removed it, and in ten more minutes the motor was ready to go. I said: “All right, now we’ll start it and make sure.”

He said sharply: “No.”

“Then you’ll have to take my word on trust.”

Was he ready to do that? It was a good sign. He looked the motor over carefully, though I knew he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He said: “How good a mechanic are you?”

“I have a degree in Automotive Engineering.”

“That too?” He sounded sarcastic.

I said: “And a good many others besides.”

“Then we’ll take it on trust. We don’t start up till we’re ready to go, just in case someone’s listening for the sound of it.”

I sighed. “You’re determined not to trust me, Loveless, aren’t you?”

He looked at me with that somber, brooding look for a very long time. He looked away at last, as though he didn’t want me to see the doubt in his eyes; but he said sullenly: “Major Loveless, to you.” It told me all I wanted to know.

The cave was still brightly lit with the Admiralty lamp. But on the water at the entrance, there was a faint glow of copper red where the early morning sun was playing games with the red and blue rocks that stood at water level there, washed bright and clean by the receding tide. It was a strange feeling, being cooped up there a hundred feet below the smooth green hills and the lovely pines so high over our heads. I couldn’t help thinking of the peace and quiet up there, with the earth warming up again after the cool of the night, while down here...It was sort of Hades, with nothing but peace and quiet here too, but a calm that was only temporary; the most terrible things could be happening at any minute now.

He said suddenly: “How did you find out where the boat was hidden?”

It was a shot out of the blue and meant to surprise me, but I’d been wondering when he’d get around to that.

I told him the truth, why shouldn’t I?

I said: “Histermann spoke about the Serpent’s Tail. He was in a coma, trying hard to hide any thoughts of the Bocca. But I’ve seen the Serpent’s Tail, and I got the association at once.”

“Which is?”

“A waterspout in Australia, on the Barrier Reef.”

“Oh. And who else knows we’re here?”

“Nobody. That was a piece of information for keeping to myself, obviously.” I was sure that he believed me.

I was desperately waiting for someone, anyone, to pursue the matter of the telegram; but there was no way to do any urging along. After all, I’d done what I came here to do—or at least, part of it. I knew, most important of all, just where the toxin was, and Loveless was partially separated from it, far enough away not to make a grab and kill us all if I gave him more than a split second. A rapid leap at him? Van Reck had demonstrated his prowess with that damned bow just a little too well. I didn’t want a dose of the world’s simplest poisons while I was trying to stamp out one of its most sophisticated. And he didn’t look, Van Beck, as if he had any intention of moving from his high perch, where I couldn’t get at him. Bush training again, a solid defense is the first thing a guerrilla thinks of before he mounts an attack; he won’t show himself unless he’s invulnerable. In the time it would have taken me to get up there to his perch, he could have loosed off fifty of his deadly shafts. The leopard has his camouflage coat, the eagle his height, and Van Reck had working for him the sheer impossibility of my getting close to him quickly enough.

Loveless eased the strain for me. He said: “In your car, can I get to Guincho over the dunes?” He must have already known the answer, but it was desperately important to mislead him now, to make it seem easier than it could possibly be.

I tossed him the keys to the Jensen and said: “Histermann presumably knows where it’s parked. Just head straight for the dunes where the big pine tree is, it’s a Pinus caribaea if you’re fussy about detail. Keep going straight, keep the tree to your left, stay all the time under the lea of the cliff. And you’ll come out of the road about a mile west of the roadblock.”

Surprisingly, he asked: “What’s the tire pressure?”

I reflected that traveling all over the African bush as he was accustomed to, that’s one of the first things you think of.

I said: “Twenty-five pounds fore and aft, low enough for four-wheel drive, you won’t get stuck. Not unless you over-rev the engine. Keep her in third all the way over the soft sand and don’t stop...”

He said impatiently: “I know about that, I’ve driven in soft sand before.”

And now was the moment he had to make up his mind about a very important matter. If he took that damned toxin with him...I hoped he’d been impressed by my very true explanation of the dangers. But would he leave it here in the cavern, with the problem I posed to him not entirely solved to his satisfaction? I dared not warn him to leave it there; I could only hope that I’d done enough already.

He scratched at his chin for a while, thinking hard. And then he made up his mind. He went to the cupboard where the toxin was, took out the box, looked at it reflectively for a moment, and then went below into a tiny cabin. He wasn’t gone long, just long enough to hide it away down there somewhere, and when he came back he looked up at Van Reck and said distinctly:

“If he tries to go below, if he even makes a move for the door...You understand?”

Watching, I saw Van Reck nod slowly. The expression on his face had not changed a bit, still the same stolid look of absolute impassion. And then he made a queer, strangled sort of sound, as though he were trying to catch our attention, to make sure we’d both be looking at him for one split second longer. He held my look, and then, with incredible speed, drew back a strong right arm, not bothering to aim, and loosed the shaft that was in the string. Even before it hit, not more than an inch from my head, there was another arrow ready, notched and pulled back. The shaft had embedded itself in the sternpost, a target no more than two inches across and so close to my scalp that if I’d moved the merest trifle it would have gone through my head. I looked up at it and saw that it had split the hardwood dowelling, the steel point coming out just a fraction on the other side; dead center, an impressive shot.

I said sourly: “All right, all right, I know you can shoot straight.”