beneath this facade, he was entirely alert and suspicious, his mouth a perfectly straight line.
We shook hands as he disguised only a little the fact that he was looking me up and down. Quick, secretive eyes, not unlike David’s eyes, though smaller. God only knows what he saw.
“Well, the guns won’t be any problem,” he said with an obvious Australian accent. “There are no metal detectors at ports such as this. I’ll board at approximately ten a.m., plant your trunk and your guns for you in your cabin on Five Deck, then meet you in the Café Centaur in St. George’s. I do hope you know what you’re doing, David, bringing firearms aboard the Queen Elizabeth 2.”
“Of course I know what I’m doing,” said David very politely, with a tiny playful smile. “Now, what do you have for us on our man?”
“Ah, yes. Jason Hamilton. Six feet tall, dark tan, longish blond hair, piercing blue eyes. Mysterious fellow. Very British, very polite. Rumors as to his true identity abound. He’s an enormous tipper, and a day sleeper, and apparently doesn’t bother to leave the ship when she’s in port. Indeed he gives over small packages to be mailed to his cabin steward every morning, quite early, before he disappears for the day. Haven’t been able to discover the post box but that’s a matter of time. He has yet to appear in the Queens Grill for a single meal. It’s rumored he’s seriously ill. But with what, no one knows. He’s the picture of health, which only adds to the mystery. Everyone says so. A powerfully built and graceful fellow with a dazzling wardrobe, it seems. He gambles heavily at the roulette wheel, and dances for hours with the ladies. Seems in fact to like the very old ones. He’d arouse suspicion on that account alone if he weren’t so bloody rich himself. Spends a lot of time simply roaming the ship.”
“Excellent. This is just what I wanted to know,” said David. “You have our tickets.”
The man gestured to a black leather folder on the wicker dressing table. David checked the contents, then gave him an approving nod.
“Deaths on the QE2 so far?”
“Ah, now that’s an interesting point. They have had six since they left New York, which is a little more than usual. All very elderly women, and all apparent heart failure. This is the sort of thing you want to know?”
“Certainly is,” said David.
The “little drink,” I thought.
“Now you ought to have a look at these firearms,” said Jake, “and know how to use them.” He reached for a worn little duffel bag on the floor, just the sort of beat-up sack of canvas in which one would hide expensive weapons, I presumed. Out came the expensive weapons—one a large Smith & Wesson revolver. The other a small black automatic no bigger than the palm of my hand.
“Yes, I’m quite familiar with this,” David said, taking the big silver gun and making to aim it at the floor. “No problem.” He pulled out the clip, then slipped it back in. “Pray I don’t have to use it, however. It will make a hell of a noise.”
He then gave it to me.
“Lestat, get the feel of it,” he said. “Of course there’s no time to practice. I asked for a hair trigger.”
“And that you have,” said Jake, looking at me coldly. “So please watch out.”
“Barbarous little thing,” I said. It was very heavy. A nugget of destructiveness. I spun the cylinder. Six bullets. It had a curious smell.
“Both the guns are thirty-eights,” said the man, with a slight note of disdain. “Those are man-stoppers.” He showed me a small cardboard box. “You’ll have plenty of ammunition available to you for whatever it is that you are going to do on this boat.”
“Don’t worry, Jake,” said David firmly. “Things will probably go without a hitch. And I thank you for your usual efficiency. Now, go have a pleasant evening on the island. And I shall see you at the Centaur Café before noon.”
The fellow gave me a deep suspicious look, then nodded, gathered up the guns and the little box of bullets, put them back in his canvas bag, and offered his hand again to me and then to David, and out he went.
I waited until the door had closed.
“I think he dislikes me,” I said. “Blames me for involving you in some sort of sordid crime.”
David gave a short little laugh. “I’ve been in far more compromising situations than