. and now he was going to die from it, or at least be permanently crippled. His family was demoralized, he said. Probably none of them would ever get back to England, not even to be properly buried. They would die like dogs, for no good reason at all, on a rock far out in the middle of an utterly foreign sea.
The rain lashed against the windows as we talked. There was no sign of a break in the storm, which had been raging for many days. The weather was worse than Wales, he said, and the pain in his back was causing him to drink heavily. Anna cried every time he asked for more whiskey. "It's horrible," he said. "I drank a litre of Glenfiddich last night."
Ralph is always gloomy on foreign assignments. I examined his wound briefly and called down to the hotel gift shop for a ripe aloe plant.
"Send it up right away," I told the woman. "And we'll need something to chop it up with -- do you have any big knives? Or a meat hatchet?"
There was no answer for a few seconds, then I heard sounds of shouting and scuffling, and a male voice came on the line. "Yes sir," he said, "were you asking about a weapon?"
I sensed at once that I was dealing with a businessman. The voice was Samoan, a deep croaking sound, but the instinct was universal Swiss.
"What do you have?" I asked him. "I need something to pulverize an aloe plant."
There was a pause, then he was back on the line.
"I have a fine cutlery set -- seventy-seven pieces, with a beautiful butcher knife."
"I can get that from room service," I said. "What else do you have?"
There was another long pause. In the background I could hear a woman yelling something about "crazy. . ." and "chopping our heads off."
"You're fired," he screamed. "I'm tired of your stupid whining. It's none of your business what they buy. Get out of here! I should have fired you a long time ago!"
There were more sounds of brief scuffling and a babble of angry voices, then he was back.
"I think I have what you need," he said smoothly. "It's a carved Samoan war club. Solid ebony, with eight power points. You could pulverize a palm tree with it."
"How much does it weigh?" I asked.
"Well. . ." he said. "Ah. . . yes, of course, could you wait just a moment? I have a postage scale."
More noise came through the phone, a sharp rattling sound, then the voice.
"It's very heavy, sir. My scale won't handle it." He chuckled. "Yes sir, this thing is heavy. I'd guess about ten pounds. It swings like a sledgehammer. There's nothing in the world you couldn't kill with it."
"What's the price?" I asked.
"One-fifty."
"One-fifty?" I said. "For a stick?"
There was no reply for a moment. "No sir," he said finally. "This thing I have in my hands is not a stick. It's a Samoan war club, perhaps three hundred years old. It's also an extremely brutal weapon," he added. "I could break down your door with it."
"Never mind that," I said. "Send it up to the suite immediately, along with the aloe plant."
"Yes sir," he said. "And how should I bill it?"
"However you want," I said. "We're extremely rich people. Money means nothing to us."
"No problem," he said. "I'll be there in five minutes."
I hung up the phone and turned to Ralph, who was having another spasm, writhing soundlessly on the greasy rubber sheet. "It's all taken care of," I said. "We'll have you on your feet in no time. My man from the gift shop is coming up with an aloe plant and a vicious Samoan war club."
"Oh God!" he moaned. "Another one!"
"Yeah," I said, pouring myself another beaker of Glenfiddich. "He had that sound in his voice. We'll probably have to humor him." I smiled absently. "We'll get into your stuff sooner or later, Ralph. Why not right now?"
"What stuff?" he shouted. "You know I don't use drugs."
"Come on, Ralph," I said. "I'm tired of your hoary lies, where is it?"
Before he could answer there was a knock on the door and a giant Samoan bounded into the room, shouting "Aloha! Aloha!" and waving a huge negro shinbone. "Welcome to the islands," he boomed. "My name is Maurice. Here's your weapon."
It was an awesome thing to behold, easily capable of smashing a marble toilet bowl.
"And here's a present." Maurice smiled, pulling a fat, ripe marijuana pod out of