The White Witch of the South Seas

The White Witch of the South Sea's

by Dennis Wheatley

1

Doomed to Die in a Ditch

Gregory Sallust was dining alone at the Copacabana Palace, the most luxurious of the many hotels situated along the Rio great bay to the south of de Janeiro, which is Brazil ’s most famous playground.

Since losing his beloved Erika he had spent much of his time alone; not from necessity, as he had many friends in Europe and, although no longer young, was still very attractive to women, but owing to a restlessness that impelled him to spend the greater part of each year travelling.

To most places where he intended to spend a fortnight or more he took introductions; but new acquaintances could not be expected to give him all their time and, as no woman could replace Erika, for him the casual affairs he had indulged in had been short lived. In consequence, he had become quite used frequently to going to his room immediately after dinner and reading in bed.

But tonight he had an engagement, and one which promised to be very interesting. On arriving in Rio he had looked up an old war time friend, Colonel Hugo Wellesley, who was now Military Attaché at the British Embassy. During the past few days Hugo and his wife Patricia had entertained him most kindly, and the Colonel had arranged for them to attend a Macumba ceremony.

Macumba is the form of Voodoo widely practised in Brazil, and ceremonies of a kind were put on regularly to attract tourist money; but this was to be the real thing, from which all non practitioners were normally excluded. The all powerful Chief of Police had secured agreement for Hugo

and his party to be present and, in case of trouble, they were being provided with a police escort.

Gregory's knowledge of the Black Arts was confined to his reluctant cooperation with a Jewish Satanist during the last years of the Second World War, when they had made use of Hitler's belief in the occult to drive him to commit suicide instead of leaving Berlin for the Bavarian Alps where, with a still undefeated army, he could have prolonged Germany's resistance.' Voodoo and its allied cults were entirely new territory to Gregory; so, although he had no intention whatever of allowing himself to become involved, he was looking forward to the ceremony as a fascinating entertainment.

At half past nine he asked the hall porter to get him a taxi. As he stood waiting for a few minutes outside the hotel, he could see the whole curving sweep of the splendid Copacabana Bay. It was early January, so in Rio high summer and during the daytime the long beach was black with people. Even at this hour innumerable couples lay scattered upon it. Thousands more, enjoying the comparative cool of the evening after the long, hot day, were strolling along the promenade, lit by the myriad lights from hotels, shops and cafes.

The city of Rio consists of several valleys which run like gaps between outspread fingers into the great mountain range that cuts it off from the interior, and Copacabana is separated from Rio itself by a lofty spur that runs right down into the sea; so Gregory's taxi took him through a long tunnel under the spur, then through the streets in the nearest valley to a small park with many lovely tropical trees. High up on one side of the park stood the President's Palace and, beyond it, still higher up and backing on to a mountain, the fine residential block in. which the Wellesleys had an apartment.

On Gregory's arrival he found the small party already assembled. His host was a lithe, dark, handsome man in his late forties, his hostess a pretty blonde with merry blue eyes. When he had selected a daiquiri from a tray presented by a white coated houseman, she introduced him to her other

guests a Brazilian couple named da Fonseca, a Madame Manon de Bois Tracy and Captain Candido Sousa from Rio Police Headquarters.

The da Fonsecas were middle aged and, judging from the 's jewels, very wealthy. For a while the conversation became general, then the da Fonsecas resumed an animated discussion they had been having earlier with Hugo in Portuguese. The Police Captain a big, round faced, jovial man spoke only broken English, but in an unembarrassed spate of words was obviously endeavouring to impress Patricia; so, having accepted a second drink, Gregory turned his attention to Madame de Bois Tracy, whom he had rightly assumed to be French.

She was of medium height and what the French term a 'belle laide' when they wish to describe a woman who is not beautiful but definitely alluring. Her attractions lay in a pair of magnificent brown eyes beneath delicately tapering eyebrows and a pretty figure that her dress sense enabled her to display to the best advantage. Her nose was snub, with wide nostrils, her lips thick, which suggested a dash of coloured blood somewhere in her ancestry, and her complexion was sallow. Gregory put her age down as a little short of forty and was quick to realise that she was a sophisticated woman of the world who could prove intriguing and amusing.

The outer wall of the main room in the Wellesleys ' apartment was one huge window which could be wound down during the great heats as it was now, for the evening was oppressively hot and sultry. Having been there in the daytime, Gregory knew that from the window there was one of the finest views imaginable. It looked out over the President's Palace and hundreds of other roofs to the world famous entrance to Rio harbour and to Sugar Loaf Mountain, the outline of which could still be seen against a background of blue black sky, twinkling with a myriad of stars. Further off, across a wide sheet of water, lay another mountainous shore. The Portuguese explorer Gongalvo Coelho had come upon this great area of bays, capes and estuaries on January 1st, 1502. On sailing up into it, he had assumed that he was entering the mouth of a broad river and so erroneously named it River of January. Darkness now hid a great part of this magnificent panorama; but, from eighty feet above the park, which lay immediately below, thousands of lights gleamed in the dusk, giving this valley of the city a fairy like quality.

By unspoken agreement Gregory and Manon de Bois Tracy carried their drinks over to the wrought iron balustrade installed to prevent children or incautious people from falling from the big window. Finding her English halting, he changed his conversation to French, as he was fluent in several languages. She told him that she was in Rio only on a holiday and that her home was in Fiji. Friends there had given her an introduction to the wife of the First Secretary of the British Embassy, and it was at dinner with them that she had met the Wellesleys. Afterwards she and Patricia had chanced to talk about the occult, and it was this that had led to her being invited to witness the Macumba ceremony that night.

As she talked, in an attractive, slightly lisping voice, she was studying Gregory acutely. Owing to the habitual stoop with which he walked, his lean head thrust a little forward like a bird of prey, he appeared shorter than his five foot eleven inches. His hair had turned nearly white, owing to the strain he had endured while a secret agent for long periods in Germany during the Second World War; yet his face belied his age. The only two furrows on it were deep laughter lines curving from nose to chin on either side of his mouth. An old scar ran up from the corner of his left eyebrow to his forehead, on which the thick hair came down smoothly in a widow's peak. From long habit, when speaking in a foreign language, he used his hands to stress the views he uttered. On international affairs his opinions were well informed, highly practical and always tinged with a cynical humour.

Gregory had not been talking to Manon de Bois Tracy for very long before she decided that he was quite an exceptional man considerably older than herself, but nonetheless attractive for that, and one with whom it might prove highly rewarding to become on intimate terms; while Gregory had come to the conclusion that she was the most unusual and intriguing woman he had met for a long time.

Both of them had been in Rio for some days and to begin with they had compared their impressions of the city. She thought the main streets and shops unworthy of such a great metropolis, but the scenery superb. They had both been up the Corcovado, a rocky peak two thousand three hundred feet high dominating the whole area, from the top of which rises a one hundred foot high statue of Christ, and agreed that the view from it must be one of the finest in the world. He found the obvious poverty of the masses depressing and spoke of the appalling shanty towns on the slopes of the mountains adjacent to the city, where tens of thousands of people lived without sanitation. But she shrugged that off, remarking that such a state of things was not unusual in countries as poor as Brazil, and that at least the people had ample food and appeared happy.

`I'll grant you that,' he said. `And, anyway, Brazil can take credit for being one of the few countries in the world that have solved the colour problem. There really is equality here between white, Negroes, native Indians and the people with an infinite variety of mixed blood.'

She then asked him what form he thought the ceremony they were to see that night would take.

`I have only a vague idea,' he replied, `but I expect they will all smoke marijuana and dance until they have worked themselves up into a frenzy. Then some of them will have what appear to be epileptic fits, froth at the mouth, throw themselves on the ground, squirm about and prophesy.'

Manon nodded. `When they behave like that they believe themselves to be possessed by one of their gods, don't they? But we won't be able to understand what they say, so if there is no more to it than that it doesn't promise to be very exciting.'

`You never know.' Gregory gave her a slow smile. `I've heard that at times these shows end up in a general orgy.'

She raised one eyebrow, then said quite calmly. That would be fun and I'm all for it providing Iam not expected to participate.'

His smile widened to a grin. `I'll see to it that you don't have to provided, of course, there is some hope of your rewarding me afterwards.'

As she laughed, she showed two rows of even white teeth. 'I'll make no promises, but, to echo your own words just now, “You never know”.'

Their attention was momentarily distracted by raised voices behind them. Turning, they saw that Captain Sousa was insisting that the Senhora da Fonseca should leave her jewels in the Wellesleys ' apartment. Still protesting, she took them off. Manon followed suit with her more modest jewellery and Hugo collected the valuable pile of trinkets to lock up in his safe.

Captain Sousa then talked to them for a while about Macumba. He said that throughout the whole of Central and South America very similar cults had grown up from a blending of the religion of the native Indians, the superstitions brought over by the Negro slaves from Africa and the imposing on both of the Roman Catholic faith. The vast majority of the people in these countries would tell you that they were Christians, and they regularly attended the ceremonies of the Church; but they also continued to believe in the potency of the old gods and worshipped them during midnight meetings held deep in the jungle. How widespread the belief in Macumba was could be judged from Copacabana Beach on New Year's Eve, when the sea was white for a quarter of a mile out with the tens of thousands of lilies thrown into it by Macumba votaries to propitiate Yemanja, the goddess of the ocean.

These meetings were conducted by both men and women, who were known either as `Godfathers' or `Godmothers'. They said the prayers, invoked the spirits and, with a trident, stirred a cauldron from which rose lurid flames. Meanwhile, initiates of both sexes, already under the influence of drugs, performed a dance which continued for several hours. From time to time a spirit would enter into one of the dancers. He or she would then break from the ring, gyrate wildly and become the voice of the spirit, calling out messages from the gods. Then, exhausted, the possessed would fall writhing and jerking to the ground.

With one exception everyone wore white, as the symbol of good. The exception a concession to the doctrines of the

Christian Church was a representative of the Devil, who was painted red and wore red clothes.

Finally, Sousa told his listeners that they must make no comments, because the ceremony they were about to witness was normally attended only by believers and, should they be suspected of ridiculing it, there would be serious trouble. But provided they remained quiet all should be well. Recently quite a number of socialites in Rio had become converts to Macumba, so the good clothes worn by the members of the party would not alone give them away as non believers.

After a last drink they all went down in the lift to two large, waiting cars. In addition to police drivers, a detective was in one and a police woman in the other. Introduction’s were made, everyone shook hands, then the party of eleven squeezed into the cars and they set off.

They left the city by one of the tunnels and continued for several miles up into the mountains. It was now almost pitch dark, but on either side of the road they could make out dense jungle. After some twenty minutes they came upon a long line of parked cars. A few hundred yards further on, their cars pulled up and the party got out, to be led by Captain Sousa up a long flight of some sixty steps cut out of the bare earth, which was kept in place only by rough pieces of wood. On the steps they passed several chickens which had been decapitated, and, as they mounted, the rhythmic beat of many drums grew ever louder.

At the top of this flight they emerged on to a small plateau that had been made into a primitive auditorium. In the centre there was an oblong, open space about the size of a tennis court, surrounded by a waist high wall. A line of tumbledown huts faced one side of the open space; on the side opposite there were benches for the congregation and, at the far end, where the ground sloped up, more benches. These latter faced the other narrow end of the `court', the whole length of which was occupied by an altar. It consisted of long, white, draped tables, above which there were shelves to the height of about ten feet. Every inch of space was occupied with an extraordinary collection of objects, crammed higgledy piggledy together offerings of all kinds including melons, bottles of rum and beer, sugar cakes, crude paintings, jam jars holding wilting flowers, a number of quite large figures, including those of the Virgin Mary, St. George and the Devil the whole being lit by chain’s of fairy lamps.

Except for the open space the whole area was swarming with people, and Gregory had already noticed that the women of the congregation were separated from the men: the former occupying the benches to one side of the `court' and the men those on the slope at its far end. When they reached the slope the police woman led the other women of the party off, while Captain Sousa found places halfway up the slope for the men. As they squeezed through to them they were given some rather ugly looks and there were angry mutterings about 'Americanos'. But both Sousa and da Fonseca spoke to the Macumba votaries in Portuguese, the surly muttering was replaced by smiles and the party settled down without incident on a bench.

It was now getting on for midnight and the whole auditorium was packed. The majority of the people were apparently of pure Negro blood, but there were complexions of every shade, through coffee up to white tinged only faintly with yellow; quite a number had hooked noses and a few even had blue eyes and straight, golden hair.

Here and there among them were people wearing quite expensive clothes, but most of the congregation were poorly clad; many were barefooted and in rags. It was very hot. The atmosphere was most oppressive and unpleasantly acrid with the smell of stale sweat. Few jackets were to be seen; thee rows of black faces stood out sharply against open necked white shirts, and the native women appeared to have on only a single garment.

For a time the drumming contended with the noise and laughter coming from the crowded benches. Then, suddenly, there fell a hush and the tempo of the drums became faster. An elderly Negro walked a little unsteadily out into the middle of the open space. He wore dirty white cotton trousers, bagging at the knees, a sagging jacket and, at a rakish angle on his head, an old cloth cap. His grey hair was wavy and he had a beard. He was smoking a pipe and carried a walking stick with a crook handle. After grinning round at the congregation he began gradually revolving in a very slow shuffle.

His supporting cast then appeared. It consisted of about twenty women, mostly black, but including a few near whites. All of them were dressed in white, with high necked bodices and long, full skirts that swept the ground as they moved. Forming a line, with their backs to the female congregation, they swayed, rather than danced, slowly backwards and forwards, gradually forming a circle.

The old `Godfather' continued to puff at his pipe of marijuana while shuffling round and round, occasionally waving his stick and, in a quiet voice, calling out a few words. As he grinned after each utterance, Gregory thought it probable that he was making jokes, and he certainly had more the appearance of a clown than a witch doctor.

Without any alteration, except for a slight acceleration in the pace of the shuffling and swaying, this went on for a good twenty minutes. Becoming bored, Gregory moved restlessly in his seat. Hugo, who was sitting next to him, leaned over and whispered

`Pity we couldn't have come in later; but they wouldn't have that. I gathered that they don't really get going until about two o'clock in the morning, so we'll have to be patient.'

Gregory nodded, and lit one of his fat, four inch long Sullivan cigarettes.

With little variation, the sombre dance continued for a further quarter of an hour. Then there came a spattering on the leaves of the trees that surrounded the enclosure. It had begun to rain.

Hugo swore under his breath. `Let's hope this is only a shower. If it's one of our big tropical storms, we've had it.'

`With so much thunder about, I'll bet you it's a downpour,' Gregory replied. And after a few minutes it was clear that he was right. From large, scattered splashes, the rain rapidly increased until it was sheeting down. In tropical countries Negroes go about lightly clad, but they nearly always carry umbrellas. A solid mass of them shot up, obliterating the congregation, but the torrents of rain descending were such that the umbrellas offered little protection.

Thunder boomed like a broadside of heavy guns, temporarily drowning the sound of the drums. The strings of fairy lights above the altar suddenly went out, but great jagged streaks of forked lightning continued from minute to minute to light the scene. By their light, through the curtain of rain, it could be vaguely seen that the ceremony was still proceeding. The old Negro continued to stumble round, but was now waving his stick above his head and yelling at the sky. Captain Sousa leaned forward and shouted, "E is telling rain to go away, but I think 'e don't 'ave much luck.'

Within a matter of minutes everyone was soaked to the skin. As the rain was lukewarm, the discomfort it inflicted was minimised; but the storm showed no sign of abating and the congregation rapidly began to break up.

`No good staying on,' said Hugo abruptly. `We must find the girls and get them to the cars.'

Leaving their seats, they began to struggle through the seething mass of people. Captain Sousa blew his whistle. There came a shrill reply from some distance off and, knowing that it came from the police woman, they headed in that direction. Five minutes later, to their great relief, they found Patricia and the others. Taking the arms of the women, they strove to get them through the crowd to the head of the long flight of steps. At length they succeeded, but only to find that rain from the plateau was cascading down the primitive staircase like a waterfall.

Gregory was leading, with. Manon de Bois Tracy. In one swift movement he picked her up and plunged knee deep into the torrent. Some of the boards supporting the steps had already given way. The earth had turned to mud and was extremely slippery. Lurching from side to side and only just succeeding in keeping his balance, he got her down to the solid road and, gasping for breath, set her on her feet.

For several minutes they waited for the others. Stumbling, sliding, some on their backs, scores of the congregation were swept down the steep slope, but none of Hugo's party was among them.

With a frown, Gregory said, `They must have decided that the steps have become too dangerous, and mean to wait up there until the storm is over. We had better try to find one of the cars.'

Like two drowned rats, their clothes clinging to them„ while the rain still sheeted down, they set off along the line of motors parked at the roadside. A few, the owners of which had got away early, were pulling out and setting off for Rio, but the majority were lightless and unoccupied. Angrily, Gregory realised that the drivers of the police cars must have left them to go up and see the ceremony and were now trapped among the milling mob above the torrent. It was too dark for there to be any chance of identifying the cars, so for a few moments he stood silently cursing while wondering what best to do.

There came a deafening clap of thunder. Lightning streaked down from almost immediately overhead, a great tree nearby was struck and one of the larger branches was peeled off, to crash across the roof of a car. Manon, screamed and threw her arms round Gregory.

`All right, all right,' he muttered. `Don't be afraid. As long as we stay clear of the trees we'll come to no harm. But we must find shelter somewhere.'

Swinging her round, he drew her back up the road. After covering a hundred yards he glimpsed through the trees the white walls of a bungalow. Taking the path that led to it, they went up the steps to the porch and he banged on the door. There was no reply, but the door swung open.

Staggering inside, they found the place deserted, but an oil lamp that had been turned low was burning in the main room. Turning up the wick, they looked about them. The room was better furnished than might have been expected. It even had shelves on one wall, carrying a hundred or more books, and a writing desk in front of one of the windows. Exhausted after their struggle against the elements, they sank down on the sofa.

The rain drummed with unceasing ferocity on the roof, thunder continued to roll and every few moments lightning made the window a blinding glare that lit up every detail of the room.

Gregory soon pulled himself together, stood up and went to explore the other rooms of the dwelling. After a short absence he returned carrying a bottle three quarters full of rum and two mugs. He had already taken a good swig himself and now he made Manon do likewise. As the fiery liquid went down her throat she gasped, but her sallow cheeks took on colour and she gave him a faint smile. Then she asked:

`What now? How will we ever get back?'

He grinned at her. `All the odds are that the owner of this place went to the party and is still stuck among the crowd. When he does return we'll ask him to get a car for us or, if he can't do that, fix us up here for the night.

Perhaps he won't be able to get back,' she hazarded.

Gregory's grin deepened. `I'm afraid that's too much to hope for. All the same, you ought to get those wet things off. There are some women's clothes in the second room on the right down the passage. In the circumstances, their owner is hardly likely to object to your making temporary use of them.'

As he spoke, his glance swept over her from top to toe. Her thin frock was so saturated that it clung to her skin, revealing every detail of her good figure. After a moment he added:

`It looks as if you are going to have difficulty getting that dress off. If you do, give me a shout and I'll come, and help.'

`I'm sure you would like to,' she replied a shade tartly, `but at the moment I'm in no mood to accept such attentions from a gentleman.'

`Now, don't pretend to be a prude,' he mocked her. `No woman with such a lovely figure as yours isn't glad of an excuse to show herself off in a bikini or her undies. As for the “attentions” you appear to fear, you wrong me. I indulge in that sort of pastime only in warm and comfortable surroundings, with a magnum of champagne at hand and after having given my companion an excellent dinner.'

Before she could reply, sounds came from the front door and a little group of people came hurrying into the room. At their head was the old `Godfather'; he was followed by a gangling limbed but quite well dressed young Negro of about nineteen and three of the Negresses who had taken part in the ceremony, their long white skirts now slushing round their ankles.

The old man looked at Gregory, gave a sudden start and dropped his stick. Picking it up, he stared at Gregory for a moment as though seeing a ghost, then spoke to him in what Gregory took to be a bastard form of Portuguese. Hoping that one of them understood some English and choosing the simplest words he could, he explained that he and Manon had taken refuge there from the storm. Whereupon the youth said in a squeaky voice

'Americanos, eh? I speek yo' language. Am educating at university. My father an' the womans not. My name Enrico.'

Gregory then asked if it was possible for him to get them a car, to which Enrico replied, `I 'ave auto in garage. Later I takes yo' to city. But not yet. Much, much rain. Yo' wait here fo' while.'

Having thanked him, Gregory asked if Manon could be provided with a change of clothes. The youth translated to the women, who had been standing staring wide eyed at them from the doorway. Their black faces broke into wide grins, then they beckoned to Manon and she went off down the passage with them.

Meanwhile, the old Macumba priest had seated himself in a rocking chair. He had a white film over one eye, but the other was as keen as that of an eagle. He was regarding Gregory in a by no means friendly fashion.

Glancing at Enrico, Gregory said, `Please tell your father how distressed we are for him that the storm should have spoilt his ceremony:

Enrico translated, then said in English, `He much opset. He believe yo' an' yo' friends who come with Police enemies of him an' make bad magic that bring rain.'

Gregory raised his eyebrows in surprise. `Please assure him that is not so. We came only out of scientific interest and were just as disappointed as he is that the ceremony had to be stopped.'

When he learned this the old man looked slightly mollified and Gregory said, `I would very much like to hear what would have taken place if the ceremony had continued.!

'Spirits enter bodies of some of the womans,' Enrico answered. `Then spirits talk; denounce bad peoples, make prophecy, help father to tell future.'

Manon had just re entered the room with the other women. She had not accepted a loan of clothes but stripped and wrung her own out, knowing that in the intense heat they would soon dry on her. Hearing Enrico's last words, she said with swift interest, `So your father, 'e tells fortunes. 'E make me very 'appy if 'e tell mine.'

Enrico grinned at her. `I make persuade him. That is, if yo' pay 'im good money.'

Turning to Gregory, she said in French, `When you were carrying me down that stairway I dropped my bag. Could you lend me enough money for this?

'I expect so,' he smiled, and took a two inch thick wad of half sodden notes out of his jacket pocket. They looked to be worth a small fortune, as most of them were five thou sand cruzeiro bills, the highest value normally then in circulation in Brazil. But, largely owing to the immense sums expended in recent years on the new capital of Brasilia, Brazil 's finances have fallen into such a parlous state that the cruzeiro had slumped to over six thousand to the pound sterling. So, to the considerable inconvenience of people who live fairly expensively, such unwieldy packages of currency had to be carried about.

Peeling off five of the five thousand cruzeiro notes, Gregory offered them to the old man while Enrico was making Manon's request. His solitary eye glinting brightly, he stretched out a claw like hand and took the money.

Enrico then walked over to the desk. From a drawer he took a canvas bag and a piece of similar material, both of which he handed to his father.

The `Godfather' eased himself out of his rocking chair on

to his knees and spread the piece of canvas on the floor. It was about two feet square and marked on it in black there were a number of crude symbols. Picking up the floppy bag, he began to mutter what was evidently an incantation, meanwhile shaking the bag gently up and down and to and fro.

With each movement something inside the bag made a soft clicking sound and, from what Gregory had read of Negro magic, he had little doubt that this descendant of long dead African witch doctors was about to `throw the bones'.

He proved right. After chanting in a low voice for about five minutes, the old man loosened the string round the neck of the bag and tipped a score or more of small bones out on to the square of canvas.

For quite a while he silently studied the way they had fallen in relation to the symbols, while the three Negresses peered timidly over his shoulder. Then he looked up and spoke to Enrico, who translated:

`My father, he say yo' soon have new lover. But yo' very fond of another mans. Also, with him yo' have big money interest. So your heart divided; understand? Much happiness for yo' with new lover, but to keep much courage needed. My father then ask: “Have yo' ever ” Kill a man, that is. He think yo' have.'

Manon suddenly went pale and her brown eyes distended until they looked enormous. Giving a slight nod, she whispered, `Yes, but -but only because I had to.'

The old man spoke again and Enrico interpreted. `My father, he say, “Then yo' should kill again. There is a White Witch. She comes into yo' life. Yo' will lose yo's happiness lose all, unless yo' kills her when yo' has the chance”.'

There fell a sudden silence. Having understood what the `Godfather' had said, the Negresses were regarding Manon with awed curiosity. Enrico had thrust his thumb between the first and second fingers of his hand, and was pointing it at her as a defence against her possibly malign influence. Gregory, hearing her confess to having killed a man, caught himself looking at her with increased interest. To break the tension, he again pulled out his wad of notes, peeled off another five and offered them with the request that the bones should be thrown for him.

The old man swiftly gathered up the bones and thrust them back into the bag, but he did not take the money.

Waving it away, he got from his knees and spoke swiftly to his son.

Enrico's mouth fell open and he gave a slight gulp. Then, recovering himself, he said in a tremulous voice `My father, he say yo' have no future to tell. Sometimes he have visions. Jus' now, when he come in this room, he have one. He seeyo' this time tomorrow night as dead-​dead in a ditch.'

2 ?His Last Twenty four Hours

Again a shocked silence fell. They could hear the rain still pattering on the roof, but none of them noticed that its beat had lessened or had registered the fact that thunder now rumbled only in the distance. At length Gregory said to Enrico

`Please thank your father for his warning. And now, with my apologies for having abused your hospitality while you were absent, do you think I could have a little more rum?'

`But yes!' The young man eagerly stretched out a hand to the bottle and poured a lavish portion into Gregory's mug, then he went on, 'I's sorry; mos' sorry 'bout this. But my father, he is very honest mans. He could not take money an' lead yo' up garden path.'

`It can't be true!' Manon burst out. `It can't! This filthy old rogue is just being malicious. He is trying to frighten you because he believes we brought the rain that spoilt his ceremony.'

As she had spoken in French, Enrico remained unaware of her insult to his father. But Gregory abruptly waved her to silence and asked the young 'man, `Does your father often have these visions, and do they afterwards always come about?'

Enrico shrugged. `I regrets. I's mos' unhappy for yo'! His visions do not come frequent, but when he has them it is as seeing true.'

Gregory turned to Manon. `Then things don't look too good. You remember what a shock he appeared to get when he looked at me on first coming into this room? Unless he did see something unusual about me there's no accounting for that.'

`But it must not happen,' she protested vigorously. `And it can't if you take care. From midday onwards you must not leave your hotel.'

He smiled at her. `The Arabs have a saying, “The fate of every man is bound about his brow”, and there is no escaping Fate. I've been mighty lucky. They say a cat has nine lives, but I've had at least a score of narrow escapes from death. And I'm not afraid to die. In fact… Anyhow, please don't upset your charming self about me.'

Silence fell again; then, after a moment, Enrico said, `The rain, he has stopped. There will be much water still, but yo' wish it and I make try to get yo' home.'

Gregory thanked him and he went out to fetch his car. When he had brought it round to the door the visitors made formal adieux to the old man and the three Negresses, then went down the steps.

Water was still rushing ankle deep down the sloping road, but the little car slushed steadily through it. Then, as they entered the tunnel on the outskirts of the city, Enrico asked, 'Where l drop yo'?'

`I stay at ze ' Otel Copacabana Palace,' said Manon. Gregory turned to smile at her. `Why, so do I. How very convenient:

A quarter of an hour later Enrico set them down outside the hotel. Gregory had palmed twenty thousand cruzeiros. As he shook hands with the young man, he said in a whisper, `.just for the petrol,' then added louder, `Good night; we cannot thank you enough.'

With a happy grin, Enrico shook hands with Manon and drove off. It was by then after two o'clock in the morning, but Latin American cities are said never to sleep. There were still a number of people about and the bar was open. Their clothes were still damp but causing them no inconvenience so they went in. It was a long dimly lit room, with white moulds of seahorses and starfish decorating the dark green walls. When they had settled in a corner, Gregory ordered foie gras sandwiches and brandies and soda for them both. Then he said

`It's been quite a night, hasn't it?'

She nodded. 'Yes, but it is tomorrow night I am worried about.'

`Please don't be,' he urged her. 'Never meet trouble halfway. Tonight is far from over yet. Much better think about that. By the by, what is the number of your room?'

She hesitated, then fobbed him off by asking, `Why do you wish to know?

'So that I can tell the waiter to send a magnum of champagne up there.'

'No! No!' She gave a nervous little laugh. `I hadn't even met you five hours ago. I'll admit that I have had a few lovers, but I'm not the sort of girl who is willing to jump into bed with every attractive man she meets. I require to be courted and get to know a man really well before I am prepared to play that sort of game.'

Gregory gave a heavy sigh. `I'd be delighted to spend months escorting you about as your chevalier sans pear et sans reproche, given the prospect of eventually becoming your lover, but, unfortunately, it seems that in my case time does not permit such a prolonged wooing.'

`I cannot believe it. I simply cannot.'

He shrugged. `I, too, find it difficult to resign myself to the thought that I'll be a lifeless body by this time tomorrow night. But the old man seemed pretty positive that I would be, so it is only sensible to regard this as my last night on earth.'

Turning his head, he gazed straight into her big eyes and went on, `Try to look at it from my point of view. If you thought the odds were that in twenty four hours you would be dead, would you be content to spend them alone, sleepless, sweating with fear at the thought of the unknown into which, within a few hours, you were to be precipitated; or, if you had the remotest chance, spend them in bed with a delightful companion who could make you temporarily forget?'

'Of course I'd hate to be left on my own. And I'm desperately sorry for you. But, really, you are taking an unfair advantage of your situation!

'No,' he insisted, `this is not blackmail. You are not a young, unmarried girl. You have admitted to me that you have had several lovers, so evidently your conscience is not troubled by that sort of thing. I am, too, somewhat of a judge of physical characteristics, and I would bet my last farthing that you love being made love to. So why not enjoy yourself and at the same time do me a great kindness? You like me, don't you?

'Yes, yes; you must know that.'

`Then all I am asking is that you should skip the usual preliminaries and be generous. Take me as your lover tonight. Then, if I die tomorrow, you'll be able to chalk it up as one of the good deeds you have done:

As she looked at his lean face, her full lips parted in a sudden smile and she murmured, `I have never met such a persuasive man, and the circumstances being so unusual, my pride is salvaged for such a swift surrender. Very well. The number of my room is 406.'

Gregory took her hand and kissed it. `That adds up to ten,, which reduces to one my lucky number. And I think you are adorable.'

When the waiter arrived with the drinks and sandwiches, Gregory gave him the number of Manon's room and ordered a magnum of Krug '59 to be sent up there. Suddenly they found that they were both hungry, and within ten minutes the plate of sandwiches was empty. They finished their brandies and soda, then he escorted her to the lift and whispered, `How long?'

Her eyes narrowed but held a hint of laughter as she whispered back, `Twenty minutes, and if you are a moment later you will find my door locked.'

Up in his own room, Gregory undressed, gave himself a swift shave, put on a dressing gown, then with long practised silence made his way like a shadow up two flights of stairs and along the now deserted corridors until he reached the door of her room. Soundlessly he opened it and slipped inside. Only seventeen minutes had elapsed since they had parted, but she was sitting up in bed naked, her hands clasped round her knees.

As they smiled at one another, he said, `Come, jump out of bed so that I can enjoy the sight of all your beauties.' Without a second's hesitation she slid from between the sheets and clasped her hands behind her neck, so that her round, firm breasts stood out in full perfection.

His glance ran over her,, noting the full hips, the triangle of thick dark curls that covered her lower abdomen, the flared nostrils, through which she was already breathing deeply, and her big eyes that had taken on an almost slumberous expression. He knew then what he was in for; but as this boded to be the last woman he could ever have, he could have wished for nothing better.

Throwing off his dressing gown, he slid his hands down the satin soft skin of her sides, hips and buttocks. She quivered as he did so and lifted her face to his. Her thick lips seemed to engulf his and she sucked avidly at his tongue. When he pushed her gently back on to the bed she was already gasping with uncontrollable passion.

It was close on seven o'clock in the morning when he left her. They had agreed to meet downstairs for drinks at midday, then lunch together. Back in his own room he hardly gave a thought to the prophecy that his life was drawing swiftly to a close. He had been faced with probable sudden

death too often, and physically he felt not exhausted but wonderfully relaxed. Having cleaned his teeth and telephoned down to be called at eleven o'clock, he got into bed. Within five minutes he was sound asleep.

Manon had also ordered her cafe complet to be brought to her at eleven o'clock. Having munched a croissant, she poured her coffee, lit a cigarette and lay back to think.

Like a happy cat that has licked up all the cream, she smiled at her memories of the hours Gregory had spent in her bed. Within ten minutes of meeting him the previous evening she had made up her mind to get him if she could. She had been telling the truth when she said it was not her custom to hop into bed with men after only a brief acquaintance; but she was glad, in this case, that circumstances had enabled her to do so without loss of face.

Idly, she compared Gregory with Pierre, her current lover, and could not decide which was the more physically satisfying. Mentally, she found Gregory the more stimulating companion, but that might be because he was still like a book of which she had turned only the first page. In any case, Pierre was far away in Tahiti, so she would not be plagued by jealous scenes owing to their coming into collision.

Pierre certainly had his points as a lover, but the social graces were not among them. He would have had little chance of penetrating circles that she could hope to without difficulty; that was why she had reluctantly agreed to go to Rio for him. All had gone well. She had succeeded in making the personal contact he had considered so important and had good hopes now that the venture in which they were engaged would prove successful. If it did not, she thought bleakly, she would be in a fine mess.

Manon 's besetting sin was extravagance. It had plagued her all her life, yet she never seemed to be able to control her impulse to squander money. Building a house on one of the outer islands of the Fiji group had been sheer madness. But for that, she would still be receiving a handsome income. As it was, ferrying the material over from Suva alone had cost a fortune. If the gamble that Pierre had persuaded her to finance failed she would have to sell the house, and how many people would want to buy a handsome property in such a remote place? She would be lucky if she saw a quarter of her money back. And what then? Unless they were successful she would be reduced to living on a pittance. She shuddered.

The thought of money brought her back to the present. She would never have gone to the expense of this trip to Rio had it not been essential to scare off the Brazilian. Anyway, she should have had more sense than to stay at this grande luxe hotel; yet, after all, how could she have brought herself to live, even for a week, at some shoddy pension?

She had booked a passage back to Tahiti for two days hence, but now this exciting Englishman had come on the scene. And she had gathered from something Patricia Wellesley had said that he was extremely rich. Somehow she must find the money to stay on for a while. If need be, she could sell a ring.

Suddenly it came back to her that Gregory was doomed to die within twenty four hours. Could that possibly be true? Fortune tellers often made false predictions. Yet the old man had been terrifyingly accurate about herself. He had told her she would have a new lover, had spoken of another with whom she had financial ties, which fitted Pierre and, quel horreur, had dragged up from the past the fact that she had killed Georges. At the memory of how she killed him, another shudder ran through her. Thrusting the thought from her mind, she jumped out of bed and ran herself a bath.

The Copacabana Palace formed a huge quadrilateral built round a large swimming pool. Three of its sides were many storeys high and looked down on the pool or across the fourth, much lower side, to the sea. This fourth side faced the promenade and contained the reception hall, bars, restaurant and grill room. But a wide terrace ran all round the pool and along it were set tables, under gaily coloured umbrellas, at which guests could take their meals in the open while watching the bathers.

A little before twelve o'clock, Gregory, dressed in a bright blue open necked shirt and a freshly pressed suit of pale fawn linen, secured one of the tables just outside the bar and ordered himself a Planter's Punch. His four hours' sleep had considerably refreshed him, although he admitted to himself that at his age he could not stand up to a succession of nights like that just passed. Having gratefully downed the first half of his drink, he smiled cynically to himself at the thought that it looked as though he would net be called on to do so.

Manon did not put in an appearance until nearly half past twelve. She looked as fresh as a daisy and came towards him with the faintly swaggering air of a woman who is extremely chic and knows it. The scarlet dress she was wearing suited her dark hair and bronzed skin to perfection. The skirt was short and flaring, displaying her admirable legs, and the bodice had a deep `V', showing the valley between her full breasts. Gregory would have bet good money that she had very little on beneath the dress; but the heat from the sun blazing almost directly overhead was excuse enough for that, and most of the people sitting nearby were wearing only bikinis or bathing shorts.

Seeing the circumstances in which they had parted only a few hours before, it was quite natural that anyone who observed them exchanging greetings would have taken them for old friends, but in fact they knew next to nothing about each other; and within a few minutes of Manon's having been provided with a drink, she said

`I gave up blushing long ago, but if I hadn't I would now at the thought of what happened last night, and that we're practically strangers. I don't even know if you're married.'

He looked a little surprised at the question, then shook his head. `No; I lost my wife some years ago.'

`Well,' she smiled, `men have been known to travel without their wives and, er… How did you lose her?'

`We were guests with several other people on a private yacht owned by an old friend of mine, Sir Pellinore Gwaine-​Cust, enjoying a round the world cruise. One night, on the run up from Tahiti to Hawaii, the yacht struck an uncharted reef that ripped her bottom out. It was all over in a few minutes and a high sea was running. Everyone aboard except myself was drowned, and I was washed up on a remote island."

`How awful for you. Were you very devoted to her?'

`Very. I still miss her terribly.'

`Had you been married to her long?'

`Since the end of the war, and we had been lovers from within a few weeks of its beginning.'

`Why didn't you marry her before, then?

'For one thing she was already married. For another, there were various complications, which made it next to impossible for her to get a divorce.'

`Do tell me about her.'

Gregory shook his head. `No, my dear. The history of an old love would only bore you.'

`It certainly would not. You are a fascinating person and I want to know every single thing about you.'

He grinned at her. `Then we are two fascinating persons. All right, if you insist. But let's order lunch first.'

When they had studied the long menu the waiter brought them, Gregory decided on cold bisque hotnard and poulet Duc de Bourgoyne; Manon on melon, followed by a tour nedos done rare and a caju ice.

`I think I could manage an ice, too,' he said. `But what is caju?'

`Cashew,' she replied. `But this isn't made from the nuts. It is flavoured with the fresh fruit of the plant, and it's delicious.'

`Really! Then I'll try one.' Handing the menu back to the waiter, he went on: `As a young man I was a foreign correspondent. Later I carried out several special investigations for Sir Pellinore, the grand old man I mentioned a few minutes ago. He was a banker and immensely wealthy. When the war came he asked me to go into Germany and attempt to get in touch with a group of Generals who were conspiring to overthrow Hitler.'

Manon 's eyes widened. `So you became a secret agent. How thrilling!'

`That's it and it was on my first mission that I met Erika. She came from a famous Bavarian family and was the daughter of General von Epp. When I met her she was married to a Count von Osterberg. In the early days she had been pro Nazi and was a great friend of Hermann Goering's, but she had quarrelled with Hitler about his persecution of the Jews and she proved to be my lead to the conspirators.'

'What was she like?'

'Golden haired, blue eyed and rather like Marlene Dietrich. She was said to be one of the loveliest women in Germany. We fell for one another right away, but she refused to leave Germany for England with me after the failure of the Munich Bomb Plot.

Instead, she took refuge in Finland. There we met again? Later we were in Norway together, then in Belgium, where she was shot and badly wounded; but I got her off from the beaches of Dunkirk? Indue course I carried out many other missions for Sir Pellinore. On one occasion I went into Germany to get Erika out after she had been lured back there and had fallen into a trap." Finally, we met again in Berlin in the last week of the war. The Russians were storming the city and we escaped only by the skin of our teeth' You see now how it was that we couldn't get married until the war was over:

`It all sounds incredibly exciting. Are you still a secret agent?'

Gregory Laughed. `Good gracious, no. I gave up that sort of thing long ago.'

`What do you do for a living,’ then?

'Nothing. Sir Pellinore was a most generous patron. That enabled me to buy a charming estate in Dorset, and Erika and I settled down there. The old boy had no children and when he died he left me a large part of his fortune; so I can well afford to spend the greater part of the year travelling. Since I lost Erika I've done little else.'

Manon sighed. As Gregory's death was predicted for that night, his confirmation that he was very rich added insult to injury. That Fate should have sent her such a charming lover and one who could afford to indulge her every whim, yet rob her of him before she had a chance to make a bid to share his wealth, was doubly cruel.

After a moment he said, `Now it's your turn to tell me about yourself.'

She shrugged. `My story is nowhere near so exciting as yours. I was born in Algiers and come from an old French colonial family. I was only ten when the war started. It didn't make very much difference to our lives, although there was great excitement at the time of the Anglo American landings.