motel's front entrance, they furtively carried him in, smuggled him in. And it might be conceivable that Sam Tucker would come back to Bengal Court without McAuliff; it was inconceivable that Alison Booth would do so.
What were they doing? What in heaven's name had happened... was happening?
The simplest way to find out, thought Peter, was to get dressed, return to the tiny bar, and, for reasons he had not yet created, call McAuliff for a drink.
He would do this alone. Ruth would remain in their room. But first Peter would walk down to the beach, to the water's edge, where he would have a full view of the motel and the oceanside terraces.
Once in the miniature lounge, Peter invented his reason to phone McAuliff. It was simple to the point of absurdity. He had been unable to sleep, taken a stroll on the beach, seen a light beyond the drawn curtains in Alexander's room, and gathered he had returned from Ocho Rios. Would he and Alison be his guests for a nightcap?
Jensen went to the house phone at the end of the bar. When McAuliff answered, his voice was laced with the frustration of a man forced to be civil in the most undesirable of circumstances. And McAuliffs lie was apparent.
'Oh, Jesus, Peter, thanks but we're beat. We just got settled at the Sans Souci when Latham called from the Ministry. Some damned bureaucratic problem with our interior permits; we had to drive all the way back for some kind of goddamned... inspection first thing in the morning... inoculation records, medical stuff. Crew, mainly.'
'Terribly inconsiderate, old boy. Nasty bastards, I'd say.'
'They are... We'll take a raincheck, though. Perhaps tomorrow.'
Peter had wanted to keep McAuliff on the phone a bit longer. The man was breathing audibly; each additional moment meant the possibility of Jensen's learning something. 'Ruth and I thought we'd hire a car and go to Dunn's Falls around noon tomorrow. Surely you'll be finished by then. Care to come along?'
'Frankly, Peter,' said McAuliff haltingly, 'we were hoping to get back to Ochee, if we could.'
'Then that would rule out Dunn's Falls, of course. You've seen it, though, haven't you? Is it all they say?'
'Yes... yes, it certainly is. Enjoy yourselves - '
'You will be back tomorrow night, then?' interjected Jensen.
'Sure... Why?'
'Our raincheck, old boy.'
'Yes,' said McAuliff slowly, carefully. 'We'll be back tomorrow night. Of course we'll be back tomorrow night... Good night, Peter.'
'Good night, chap. Sleep well.' Jensen hung up the house phone. He carried his drink slowly back to a table in the corner, nodding pleasantly to the other guests, giving the impression he was waiting for someone, probably his wife. He had no wish to join anyone; he had to think out his moves.
Which was why he was now lying in the sand behind a small mound of surfaced coral on the beach, watching Lawrence and Sam Tucker talking.
He had been there for nearly three hours. He had seen things he knew he was not supposed to see: two men arriving - one obviously a doctor with the inevitable bag, the other some sort of assistant carrying a large trunklike case and odd-shaped paraphernalia.
There had been quiet conferences between McAuliff, Alison, and the doctor, later joined by Sam Tucker and the black crewman, Lawrence.
Finally, all left the terrace but Tucker and the black. They stayed outside.
On guard.
Guarding not only Alexander and the girl, but also whoever was in that adjoining room. The injured man with the oddly shaped head who had been carried from the automobile.
Who was he?
The two men had stayed at their posts for three hours now. No one had come or gone. But Peter knew he could not leave the beach. Not yet.
Suddenly, Jensen saw the black crewman, Lawrence, walk down the terrace steps and start across the dunes towards the beach. Simultaneously, Tucker made his way over the grass to the corner of the building. He stood immobile on the lawn; he was waiting for someone. Or watching.
Lawrence reached the surf, and Jensen lay transfixed as the huge black man did a strange thing. He looked at his watch and then proceeded to light two matches, one after the other, holding each aloft in the breezeless dawn air for several seconds and throwing each into the lapping water.
Moments later, the action was explained. Lawrence cupped his hand over his eyes to block the blinding, head-on light of the sun as it broke the space above the horizon, and Peter followed his line of