The Wrath of Fu Manchu

Crime Takes a Cruise

There was no one in sight in the narrow street. Nothing stirred its shadows; black shadows in contrast with blazing sunlight which touched the gallery of a tumbledown minaret rising above the squalor.

"Blessing and peace… O, Apostle of God."

A mueddin had just come out onto the gallery, chanting the selam as his kind have done on every Friday of the week for generations. It was half an hour before noon.

Blessing and peace! Shaun Bantry smiled a wry smile. To call for blessing and peace in a world which ignored blessings and had forgotten what peace meant rang the wrong bell. He paused at the door of the mosque, a modem, shabby, neglected, little place, and looked in. A very old beggar, blind in one eye, was entering. Otherwise, inhabitants of this quarter of Port Said remained undisturbed by the call of the Prophet.

What had become of the man wearing that unusual white coat with the faint pink stripe? Definitely, his car, an antique French sedan, had come this way. He pushed on, trying to ignore the mingled smells from the gutters.

Perhaps the description of Theo Leidler's attire which he had received from the porter at the Eastern Exchange Hotel that morning had been wrong. In chasing the man in a pink-striped coat he might be chasing a myth. In that one glimpse of him in the car Shaun hadn't had a chance to see his features.

He was wasting precious time. Ten minutes had elapsed since he lost sight of his quarry. A turning just beyond the mosque showed him an even narrower and, if possible, dirtier street. A little way along he saw two or three tables outside a native cafe. And in fr.ont of the tables, so as to fill up the rest of the thoroughfare, a grey sedan waited!

Shaun became aware that he was excited.

He might not fall down on this fantastic assignment after all! Luck was with him.

He had come to within ten paces of the cafe when a man wearing a white pink-striped coat came out, jumped into the sedan, and was driven away in the opposite direction.

Pursuit was out of the question. Shaun couldn't hope to pick up a taxi in the native quarter of Port Said. But this time he had seen the man's face — and it was the face of Theo Leidler, memorised from many photographs and detailed descriptions. This obscure cafe might give him the very link he was looking for. He went in.

The place was so dark that at first he could see less than nothing. The air had been poisoned with fumes of coffee, tobacco smoke, garlic and hot oil. As Shaun's eyes became used to the darkness, he saw that dilapidated couches lined two walls, small tables set before them. There were only five or six customers — obviously shopkeepers. He dropped down near one of them who sat alone.

A Nubian boy materialised out of deeper shadows. Shaun ordered coffee, in his fluent Arabic, and as the boy went away, lighted a cigarette and took a look round.

What business had Theo Leidler here? He glanced at the man beside him, a man subtly different from the others, although he, too, probably had a shop somewhere. Grey-bearded, wearing a green turban cloth wrapped around his fez, he had the features of a bird of prey. Beard clutched in his hands, elbows propped on the low table, he sat staring straight before him.

Shaun looked down at his own table. The boy hadn't troubled to move a tray on which were a brass coffee pot and a china cup in a brass holder. Some sticky native coffee remained in the cup, and on the tray he saw the stub of an out-sized cigarette with a rose-petal tip. The brand was new to him.

The boy brought Shaun a similar tray and removed the dirty one. Shaun filled the tiny cup and turned to his neighbour.

"Good morning, had]." He gave the Arab greeting, raising his cup. There was no reply, no faintest stirring. The vulture face remained immobile as a face carved in stone.

A surly old brute, apparently. Shaun, with his cast of features, deep tan, and ability to speak first-class Arabic, was used, when it suited him to pass for a true believer. What had he done wrong? His greeting had been correct, and he had kept his hat on.

Perhaps the had] was deaf.

Shaun looked down at a glass which stood before the descendant of the Prophet. It was half filled with a colourless liquid which he suspected to be raki, a drink hard enough to knock out a strong man in one round. No fanatical Moslem, this! The fact encouraged him. Taking a fresh cigarette, he pretended to have trouble with his lighter, then turned to his silent neighbour.

"May I ask you for a light, 0 hadjiT He still spoke in Arabic.

There was no reply, no movement.

Shaun replaced the cigarette in his case and glanced swiftly around. No one (or no one visible) was paying any attention to him. Bending forward and sideways, as if in earnest conversation, he peered into the set face. Lightly, he touched the fingers clutching the grey beard, and then Shaun caught his breath.

In moments of climax Shaun's brain became icily cold — probably the reason why he was still alive. What he had to do now was to get out fast. He drank the coffee and clapped his hands.

When the Nubian boy materialized again out of the shadows, Shaun paid and stood up. As he turned away he bowed to his hawk-faced neighbour and, as if responding to a parting word, "Good day, had];' he said. "Peace be with you." Then Shaun raised his hand to his forehead and went out.

He walked swiftly until he came to the street of the tumbledown mosque, and only then allowed his pace to slacken.

He was doing some hard thinking. Now that he had got clear of the caf6 and clear of clumsy native police inquiries he could act. The had] must be identified. The link with Theo Leidler must be looked for.

And Leidler himself? Had Shaun stumbled by chance on the climax of his intrigue? Evidence to break up a gang that had defied the European police and the US Secret Service for three years now seemed to lie within his grasp. It was definitely known that Nazi loot of incalculable value had been passed from Paris to Istanbul and on into Egypt. In Egypt Theo Leidler had been waiting to take it over.

Why had Leidler gone to this cafe? Whom had he gone to meet? Shaun knew instinctively that it must have been the hadj.

Because the bearded hadj who had sat beside Shaun, chin in hands, elbows propped on the table… was dead.

Maureen Lonergan waved her hand at the group on the deck and walked down the gang plank. It wasn't that she disliked Mrs Simmonds and Shelley Downing but that she was rather sick of always being expected to go where the other An-tonia passengers went.

"We're having early lunch at some casino on the beach," Shelley called after her. "It was up on the board this morning. See you there. Don't forget we sail at two."

Maureen had saved up hard so that she could take this Mediterranean cruise and she meant to enjoy every minute of it in her own way. The set excursions to "sights" and to night spots bored her. The Old World fascinated Maureen. She wanted to enter for awhile the real ways of its people, to see at close quarters the things she had read about.

The purser, who knew all about Maureen's passion for solitary exploring (she had been lost for three hours in the Muski while the passengers were "doing" Cairo), had advised her to complete her shopping in Port Said at Simon Arzt's. There, he assured her, she could buy anything from a pair of elephant's tusks to a packet of hairpins.

"Port Said isn't what it was under British rule," he warned her. "It's had a relapse."

Maureen had heard from a friend about a wonderful shop called Suleyman's. He had described it and where it was situated. "But don't go there alone," he had warned. "It's right in the old Arab quarter."

All the same, Maureen had made up her mind to go. It was silly to be afraid in broad daylight. But either the directions had been foggy or she had forgotten them, and apparently Suleyman was a common name in Port Said. When having wandered about for the best part of half an hour, she found herself lost on a chessboard of narrow native streets with no white face in sight, she had a sudden attack of nerves. Perhaps she had been crazy, after all, to wander into the Arab quarter by herself. And she hadn't the faintest idea of the way backl Taxis there were none, but starved-looking mongrel dogs ferreted in the gutters and there were millions of flies. Although the sky was a dazzling blue, these streets were filled with mysterious shadows.

Oily-faced traders seated in cavernous shops leered at her openly. One, a fat, sinister jeweller, tried to force her inside. His touch made Maureen shudder.

She almost ran toward the open door of a little mosque and was turning in when a good-looking Arab boy appeared mysteriously beside her.

"Lady not to be afraid. My name Ali Mahmoud. Lady want to buy scarab ring? Very old, very cheap."

Maureen hesitated, looking anxiously into the Arab boy's face, then back at the fat jeweller who stood in the street watching them. She was desperately tempted to ask the boy to lead her to the ship, but stubbornly determined not be frightened.

"I want to go to a shop called Suleyman's. It has a brass lamp in front of it. If you can take me there I'll give you a dollar."

"Hadji Suleyman? I go. American dollar?"

"Yes, an American dollar."

"My lady will please to come this way."

Maureen was still doubtful but, almost mechanically, she followed Ali Mahmoud. Five minutes later, to her intense relief, she found herself in front of Suleyman's shop. She sighed gratefully, handed the boy his promised dollar, and "If you can find me a taxi," she said, "I'll give you another."

"Taxicab, my lady? I go. Give me dollar now — or taximan won't come. You wait in shop."

Maureen gave him another dollar.

"Don't be long," she said.

She went into the shop, composure quite restored. And Suleyman's proved to be even more fascinating than described. The place was a mere hole in the wall, but the interior concealed an Ali Baba's cave, except that its treasures were tinsel. Maureen saw statuettes of Nile gods, scarab rings and necklaces. Bedawi slippers cunningly embroidered, and boxes filled with most unusual dress jewellery.

A wrinkled old woman who wore what looked like a brass anchor chain around her neck sat in an armchair. Her heavy-Udded eyes scarcely moved as Maureen came in. There was a smell of sandalwood.

Maureen took out a piece of green dress material and a pair of earrings she had brought at Simon Arzt's. The match was not a good one but it was the best she had been able to manage.

"Have you some beads anything like this?"

The old woman waved a hand covered in rings.

"All beads in that box."

Maureen began to inspect a most astonishing collection of bead and glass necklaces which lay in a cardboard box. They ranged from Egyptian enamel to gaudy paste diamonds. The light was poor, but she found one at last which, although altogether too gaudy, seemed more nearly to match the earrings than anything so far discovered.

"How much is this one, please?"

"Can sell nothing. Must wait till my husband come back." "Oh! But I haven't time! The ship sails at two!"

Drooping lids were half raised. Maureen was inspected from head to foot by a pair of lancet-keen eyes.

"You pay American money?"

"Yes, if you like." Maureen had found out that dollar bills were talismans in Port Said. "How much is it?" she added.

The old woman shrugged so that her brass chain rattled.

"My husband go out. I never serve in here. I don't know price. Ten dollar?"

"Ten dollars! Good heavens! I couldn't think of it!"

"Five."

Maureen judged that the thing was probably worth fifty cents, but it seemed unlikely that she would find another before the ship sailed. Silently, she handed a five-dollar bill to the woman, the necklace was packed into a parcel, and Maureen went out.

There was no sign of Ali Mahmoud. Bat a man hurrying into Suleyman's as Maureen came out almost knocked her over. "Please forgive me," he murmured in a slightly accented voice.

Maureen met the glance of dark, ardent eyes and forced a smile. The man was not bad looking in a way, but it was a vaguely unpleasant way. And Maureen definitely didn't like his white coat with a pink stripe.

His glance lingered on her for only a moment. He seemed to be intensely pre-occupied, and with a quick "Forgive me," he hurried into the shop Maureen had just left.

With a little shrug at his abruptness, Maureen started back along the street in the direction from which she had come with Ali Mahmoud…

Shaun also was striding along, his thoughts racing. The hadj's death might be a natural death: some swift lesion of heart. But in his own heart Shaun knew it was murder: some deadly poison added to the rdki, and equally swift in its action. He must get to the US Consulate on the waterfront. He must get to a safe phone.

He swung sharply to the right, down a street that was monotonously like all the others — native stores, bric-a-brac dealers. Before one shop hung a brass mosque lamp and the sign "Hadji Suleyman." He hurried on to the next corner.

A girl stood there, petite, slender, looking right and left in a rather bewildered way. He saw her fumble in a satchel swung from her shoulder, and he saw a small parcel drop as she did so.

Shaun was only two paces behind her. He checked his stride, picked up the parcel and stepped forward.

"You're losing your property, I'm afraid!"

"Oh, thank you!" Maureen turned swiftly. She met the glance of smiling grey eyes, saw a dark, sun-tanned face with clean-cut features, a man who wore a smart drill suit, who looked civilised.

Her eyes searched the smiling face.

"Heaven be praised, you're an American," Maureen murmured. "You see, I'm lost! I was trying to find the address of some beach place I'm to go for lunch."

Shaun was looking at a fresh-faced girl with frank blue eyes of the kind which in Ireland they say are put in with smutty fingers. A piquant face. She wore a white frock which left her arms bare, and a big sun-hat with a green veil.

"Are you with the Cunard cruise?"

"That's right."

"Then I expect lunch will be at the Casino. If we can find a taxi, the Consulate is right on the way. You can drop me off."

"But where do we find a taxi?"

"That's the problem!" Shaun grinned. "Mine as well as yours. Come on."

He took her arm, and Maureen found herself being hurried headlong forward by this attractive stranger.

"My name's Shaun Bantry," he volunteered, as they raced along.

"Maureen Lonergan!" She was breathless.

"Good Irish names." They came out onto Sharie el-Gami. "And our luck's in. Here's a taxi!"

Shaun held the door for Maureen, jumped in beside her and gave rapid orders in Arabic to the driver.

She looked aside at him, wondering why all the wrong men came on cruises. Shaun, considering Maureen as the taxi got under way, was wondering why most of the girls with whom his wandering life brought him in touch were so unlike Maureen. She had astonishingly long lashes, and her wavy chestnut hair under the white hat gleamed delightfully. As they talked, and his glance followed those exciting waves, out of the tail of his right eye he saw a grey sedan following the taxi.

Theo Leidler, dark eyes intent, was seated beside an Egyptian driver who wore a fez!

Shaun swore silently. He had slipped up somewhere. Lei-dier's suspicions were aroused. Or else — someone had given him away. Otherwise, why should Leidler follow him?

"There's a change of plan." Shaun spoke so sharply that Maureen was startled. "I'm going to drop you first, and take the taxi on… "

When she said goodbye to Shaun, Maureen found a strong contingent from the Antonia already halfway through lunch under the palm trees of the Casino. Shelley Downing, the queen of the cruise, was surrounded by her usual court. Mrs Sim-monds near by, was lunching with other members of the cruise, and she invited Maureen to join them. When Maureen had begun her lunch: "How did you get on with your shopping, Maureen?" she inquired.

"I think I got everything," Maureen said. "Nothing really matches, of course!" Maureen took out a list and checked the [terns. "Green dye for white stockings. Wrong shade. Beads, earrings. Awful! But they won't look bad at night. Shoes!" A frown appeared between her level brows. "I've forgotten the shoes!"

Maureen considered the problem with all the seriousness which it called for. Her glance strayed vaguely from the group, and presently paused. She had seen a white coat with a pink stripe — and the man who wore it sat alone at the very next table!

Their glances met. He smiled and bowed slightly, and then turned away, but Maureen had the uncomfortable feeling that his attention was still fixed on her. For some unaccountable reason, she was suddenly frightened. Perhaps there was nothing in it. But it seemed queer to meet the man again here. Then she squared her shoulders and looked at her watch. Her mind was made up.

"Just time to get to Simon Arzt's. I'll skip lunch." She pushed her chair back. 'They are sure to have something there." She stood up impetuously and hurried out to find a taxi, an easier matter at the Casino.

It was only moments later when the dark man put some money on a plate where a bill lay and unobtrusively followed…

When Maureen hurried into the big store her watch told her that she had less than twenty-five minutes to spare before the Antonia was due to sail. It was all very well to live dangerously, Maureen thought, but she mustn't miss the ship.

She ran along to the shoe department and once more pulled out the fragment of green material. A young Indian gentleman, with excellent manners and a leisurely style of speech which nearly drove her crazy, examined the sample for a long time.

"It is an unusual shade, madam." He sighed.

"Just bring me a lot of green shoes. Size five. I must do the best I can."

"Yes, madam."

He walked away. His carriage was graceful and slow. Mau-reen saw him pause to discuss something with another customer, and when this conversation ended, he disappeared completely. Maureen, constantly looking at her watch, checked the passing seconds. The polite Indian had not returned when a sound dimly reached her ears. It was the deep warning note of the Antonio's whistle. She had just fifteen minutes to make the ship I She was halfway to the door when the graceful salesman overtook her.

"Madame!" He dropped a litter of boxes at her feet 'There is plenty of time. Always American ladies are in such a hurry. Now, you see—" he opened a box — "these shoes, madam—"

"Are they my size?"

"But, yes, madam."

"They'll do!" Maureen fumbled frantically in her satchel. "The price, please?"

Maureen thrust several dollar bills into his hand, grabbed the box and ran.

Out on the street she stood still for a moment, trying to get her bearings. No taxi was in sight.

Panic threatened, but Maureen conquered it.

She had come straight from the ship to Simon Arzt's and she must remember the way… Of coursel It suddenly came back to her!

Looking all the time for a taxi, she set out, almost running. Would they delay sailing if she hadn't come on board?

Whatever would happen to her if she got left behind in Port Said?

When he dropped Maureen at the Casino, Shaun had found himself badly puzzled to learn that Theo Leidler's grey sedan was no longer following. It seemed as if his theory that Leidler had identified him must be wrong.

But if Leidler wasn't tailing him, who was he tailing?

Shaun drove straight to the US Consulate. There was much to do, and little time to do it.

First, he called the chief of police, to tell him that a dead man was sitting in a certain cafe in the Arab quarter — unless someone had jogged his elbow, in which case he would be lying on the floor.

The first ship scheduled to leave Port Said that day was the Antonio, at two o'clock; so Shaun's next call was to Cook's who were managing the cruise.

What he learned there convinced him that his time was even more limited than he had supposed.

Theo Leidler had just booked a passage on the Antonial "Hold one for me!" He hung up.

Shaun glanced at his watch. He couldn't hope to get to the cafe and back.

But there were so many things he must know.

He drove to his hotel, bundled his kit into a bag, paid his bill, and made a dash for the police station.

He spent all of fifteen precious minutes with the chief of police, and then raced to Cook's to pick up his steamer ticket.

His taxi wasn't far from the docks when another car caught his eye. A grey sedan — surely, it was Leidler's — sped past, swerved in, was pulled up with screaming brakes. The Egyptian driver sprang out. This street was nearly deserted. Heavy shadows, cast by a dock building, lay blackly across it. Shaun had a hazy impression of a slight figure, running.

Then, that flying shape and Egyptian as well were hidden from him by the sedan.

"Stop!"

But Shaun was out on the running-board before his taximan had time to obey the order. He jumped, took one swift look, and hurled himself forward.

The Egyptian was dragging the girl into the sedan!

The hoarse warning of the Antonio's fog whistle blared deaf-eningly.

Shaun saw that the Egyptian driver had one arm around his struggling captive and a hand pressed over her mouth. He nearly had her into the sedan when Shaun's kick, calculated to thrust his backbone through his scalp, sent the man reeling to the ground. The girl slumped dizzily onto the car step. Shaun caught her. ^MaureenV he said tensely.

She didn't reply. Her eyes were closed, the lashes looking preposterously long as they drooped on her cheeks.

The Antonio's whistle roared a final warning as Shaun stooped and lifted Maureen. She was light as a child as he carried her to the taxi. "Right onto the dock," he told the man. "Drive like blazes… "

On board the Antonia the third officer came up to Lorkin, the purser, who stood at the head of the gangway. "Captain's compliments." He winked an ironic wink. "He wants to know if you've got all your sheep in their pens."

"Damn it, no! No! What d'you suppose I am standing here for?" Lorkin was in a very bad humour. "Two new passengers wished onto me by Cook's at the last minute — not arrived. And my pet headache — Miss Maureen Lonergan."

"Very attractive," the third murmured. "But the pilot's getting fussy."

"Tell him to jump in the ditch! My compliments to the captain — and I'm three passengers short."

On the deck above, rails were crowded. A rumour had spread that somebody was missing. This rumour gained strength when yet another deafening bellow came from the great ship's whistle. Shelley Downing, always in the know, ran up to Mrs Simmbnds. "It's Maureen who's missing," she said, "and Maureen was lunching with you!"

Mrs Simmonds turned an anxious face.

"I know she was. But she rushed off at the last minute to Simon Arzt's. Are you sure it's Maureen?"

"I just had the news — official!" Shelley nodded, and ran off, birdlike, to exploit her information. Mrs Simmonds turned again to the rail. A sudden commotion arose. A girl was being supported to the gangway by a man in a drill suit! She seemed to be ill. A boy followed on, carrying a leather grip. As they climbed up slowly to the deck Shelley cried shrilly, "It's Maureen!" and rushed to greet her.

A husky roar through a megaphone came from the bridge:

"Strike that gangway!"

"Strike that gangway!" a voice echoed from the dockside.

The heavy gangway had begun to swing clear, when a man came running. Two Arabs ran sweating behind him, shouldering baggage.

"Hold it!" the dockside voice commanded.

Down came the gangway — and up climbed the belated passenger who wore a white coat with a faint pink stripe. The Arab boys dropped their loads on the deck and raced down again to shore. "Strike that blasted gangway!" This final order from the bridge threatened to split the megaphone.

The gangway was swung clear of the ship.

Captain William McAndrew, RNVR, DSO, loved discipline and hated cruises…

"You're quite sure you feel all right?"

Maureen, lying on a bed in the surgery, looked up into Shaun Bantry's worried face with a sort of wonder. She had never expected to see him again.

"Quite sure."

"But a lucky escape," the ship's doctor declared. "And a most mysterious outrage."

"I couldn't agree with you more." Shaun stared at the doctor. "An attempt at abduction in broad daylight! What was the stuff on the sponge?"

"Ethyl chloride. No bad after effects."

"They gave it to me when I had my operation for tonsils." Maureen spoke in a low voice. "That was years back but I remember the smell." She sat up on the bed, smoothing her disordered hair. "You've been very kind, Mr Bantry. First you picked up my silly beads, and then you saved me from that awful man, and—" she forced a smile — "this time I have really taken you out of your way!"

"Not a bit of it! I booked a passage at Cook's half an hour ago!"

He grinned cheerfully, waved his hand and walked out of the surgery, leaving Maureen to think about the look in his eyes and to wonder if it could be possible that he had joined the Antonia just because… But, no! That idea was plain silly — stupid vanity.

Shaun, unpacking the one grip with which he had travelled from Paris to Istanbul, Istanbul to Cairo and Cairo to Port Said, was thinking he was lucky to have got a comfortable outside room at such short notice, and asking himself how long he was likely to occupy it. His job demanded swift decisions. The fact that Maureen was a passenger on the Antonia had helped him to make this one.

It seemed oddly like fate. He wondered if at last he had met the right woman. Certainly, that flushed piquant face all too often got between him and his job. But the job was what mattered first, and Shaun confessed himself to be the most hopelessly mystified man at that hour afloat on the Mediterranean.

Why had Theo Leidler booked passage on the Antonia'!

And was he really aboard? It was Leidler's driver who had attacked Maureen. Perhaps Leidler had made a last minute change of plan or waited so long that he missed the ship. If that had happened, Shaun would feel like a hundred per cent pure idiot. In the excitement of getting Maureen safely aboard, he would have let his quarry slip. He hadn't even the vaguest idea of the ship's next port of call.

Striding swiftly, he went up on deck.

Cruise passengers were crowding aft for a last glimpse of Port Said. Shaun attracted a lot of attention. He had been pointed out by Shelley Downing as the man who helped Maureen up the gangway. But he remained completely indifferent to the stares. He was looking for Leidler.

Suddenly he found Maureen, forward on the promenade deck, lying on a long chair. Then, the shock came. Theo Leidler sat very close to her, deep in earnest conversation.

Maureen looked up, beckoned eagerly, and Shaun, trying to show no sign of the utter bewilderment he felt, joined them.

She raised her glance to Leidler. "This is Mr. Shaun Ban-try."

Leidler showed two rows of perfect teeth. The effort could not be called a smile. He had changed into a smart white linen suit. Shaun noted that his perfectly waved hair was almost blue-black.

"I'm delighted to meet you, Mr Leidler."

"Won't you sit down? The next chair belongs to Mrs Sim-monds. She won't mind." Shaun sat down. "I was just telling Mr Leidler about what happened to me this morning."

Shaun glanced across at Leidler. The situation demanded tact. "Queer affair, wasn't it?" He met the gaze of illegible dark eyes. "Even in Port Said today such an outrage is unusual, wouldn't you say?"

"More than unusual." Theo Leidler had a slight accent: he was believed to be Romanian. "I can only suppose that Miss Lonergan had attracted the attention of some wealthy Egyptian connoisseur. It was most fortunate that someone was near."

"I thought so, too. And your theory is good. Except that old French sedan hardly looked like the property of a pasha."

Leidler shrugged his shoulders.

"You wouldn't expect him to send his own automobile on such a business?"

"No." Shaun looked thoughtful. "I expect it was hired for the purpose. I'm sorry that I hadn't time to call the police."

"Then the man got clear away?" A faint note of eagerness crept into Leidler's voice.

"I'm afraid he did. But I hope I broke his jaw." Shaun took out his cigarette case. "Of course, I could send the police a radio."

"By now it would be useless," Leidler decided. "Nothing could be done about it."

But Shaun was thinking that a lot of things could be done about it, for some of which he had already arranged. One point became clear. Unless Leidler's acting was superlative, he had no suspicions. Quite definitely, he hadn't been tailing Shaun that morning. Then he must have been following Maureen!

In the name of sanity, what for? Shaun had no idea how long Leidler had known her, but the "wealthy connoiseur" he had mentioned might be Leidler himself. If the abduction had succeeded, he wouldn't have come on board. Some watcher must have passed the news of its failure to him, wherever he was waiting; and Leidler had rushed to join the ship.

The Antonio, had followed a lazy course around the Mediterranean and now was heading back to the States. The return run would be along the African coast: next port of call Tunis. Shaun wondered if Leidler might intend to leave the ship there and then decided angrily to abandon conjecture.

All his deductions were being proved wrong. He must get more data, and do some hard thinking. When a radio message was brought to him, he made it an excuse to go. Maureen, left alone with Theo Leidler, gave Shaun an almost pathetic look as he walked away.

Shaun went below and made the acquaintance of Lorkin, the purser. He asked for certain information. Lorkin, who had had a trying morning, was far from amiable. "This is a British ship, you know. I should have to get the Old Man's okay."

Shaun gave Lorkin a cheerful grin. "Old Man in as bad a humour as you are?"

"Worse." Lorkin opened a locker and exposed a row of botties. "Captain McAndrew is a martinet. The hitch in Port Said has ruined his day. Scotch or bourbon?"

It was easy after that.

Two more radiograms were brought to Shaun in the purser's room. After he had read them he felt pleased with the work of the Port Said police but more completely fogged than ever about the relationship between Theo Leidler and Maureen. He was inclined to feel unhappy, but didn't blame the purser's whisky.

Lorkin had produced all the information he had on Leidler. The man had crossed twice before in the Antonio, on her usual run from Southampton to New York. His United States passport described him as a business manager.

He had always come aboard at Cherbourg. "Hell of a lad for the ladies," was Lorkin's only comment.

"He's the hell of a lad altogether," Shaun assured him. "Theo Leidler is the big shot of the most successful gang of loot traffickers operating between Europe and the United States. Before this ship docks in New York I intend to prove it."

Shaun had many things to keep him busy. He positively haunted the radio office, sending and receiving messages. At five o'clock he took a walk around. He discovered Maureen and Mrs Simmonds having tea on deck. Leidler was in attendance.

Shaun joined the party but declined tea.

"Isn't the Mediterranean a simply wonderful blue?" Mrs Simmonds said.

"Yes." Shaun glanced at Maureen. "It's the colour of some Irish eyes."

Maureen began speaking, quickly. "I'm going back to my room after tea, to work until cocktail time. I shan't have my dress ready for St. Patrick's night if I don't."

"St Patrick's night? That's tomorrow, isn't it? Some special jamboree?"

"A fancy dress ball." Maureen met Shaun's lingering gaze. "With prizes."

Shaun moved quickly, as Maureen stood up, to help her out of her long chair. Their glances met. "I shall be through by six o'clock." Maureen spoke softly.

"May I call for you?"

She nodded, smiled at Theo Leidler, who was frowning and hurried away.

Shaun sat down again, but Leidler didn't seem disposed to stay. He hesitated for a moment, his glance following the slim figure, then bowed in his Continental way to Mrs Simmonds, ignored Shaun, and walked off in the opposite direction.

"You know—" Shaun turned to Mrs Simmonds, "I don't understand that man."

"I don't think I want to!"

"Oh, you feel like that about him? Is he an old friend of Miss Lonergan's?"

"She never saw him until this morning!"

This was what Shaun wanted to know, and he soon knew all that Mrs Simmonds had to tell him: Maureen's first meeting with Theo Leidler outside some shop (she didn't know the name) in the Arab quarter; her second during lunch at the Casino; how, from the moment he came on board Leidler had tried to monopolise her. Shaun felt better about everything as he hurried back to his room.

When Shaun knocked on Maureen's door at six o'clock, she came out at once. She had changed her frock, and, Shaun thought, was a radiant vision. "Your dress looks as though it came from Paris."

Maureen laughed. She was very happy. "It didn't. It came from New York. Oh! we're going the wrong way! The bar's upstairs."

"We're not going to the bar. You don't mind? We've having drinks in the purser's quarters — just you and me, and Mrs Simmonds and Lorkin. Too dull?"

"Oh, no!" When Maureen's eyes were turned to Shaun they seemed to be dancing. "If it isn't too dull for you."

"Just thought I'd like you all to myself — if only for a few minutes."

They were outside the purser's door before Maureen spoke again.

"How do you manage these things? You're not a director of the line, are you?"

Shaun smiled holding the curtain aside for Maureen. "Not my kind of luck. But my own kind is pretty good."

Shaun now had all the information he was likely to get from Port Said. All that remained was to pin some evidence of his crimes on Leidler. But how could he be sure Leidler really had such evidence among his belongings?

And where did Maureen come in?

At one time, watching Maureen on deck with Leidler, Shaun asked himself whether it could be possible that this naive little girl knew more about the matter than she pretended. Mrs Simmonds had seemed to clear her of any past acquaintance with Leidler. Shaun was far too experienced in the Secret Service game to discount other possibilities. He had been fooled before. But somehow this particular two and two didn't seem to make four. Maureen, almost eagerly, had told him all about herself, how hard she had worked and saved up for this cruise. She was a fashion artist and dress designer, and apparently a successful one. The dress she planned to wear on St Patrick's night was of her own designing.

Shaun sauntered up to Maureen and took out his cigarette case. She opened a box which lay beside her. "Won't you try one of these?"

Shaun drew a deep breath. The box was half full of uncommonly long cigarettes, rose-tipped. It was the stub of one of these which he had seen on a brassy tray in the Arab cafe — near the dead man!

"Highly exotic! Where did you get them?"

'They come from Istanbul. Mr Leidler insisted on presenting me with a dozen boxes… "

For St Patrick's night a space had been cleared for dancing in the Antonio's dining room. Green candles decorated the tables and on each were bunches of shamrock especially shipped from Ireland. Weather was ideal, the Mediterranean like a lake.

Shaun, looking clean-cut and bronzed in his white tuxedo, sat watching the fancy dresses as singly and in pairs the passengers came in to dinner. Some won applause; others laughs. Most of the dresses were of the stock variety and only a few of the women had made any attempt to rise to the special occasion.

Nothing like enthusiasm was shown until Maureen made a rather timid entrance. She wore a lace frock covered with hand-painted shamrocks, leaving her arms and shoulders bare; green shoes, green silk gloves. Emerald earrings, too large for her small ears, and a blazing green and white necklace completed the ensemble.

Amid the cries and clapping of hands, Shaun stood silent, staring like a roan struck dumb. Maureen, who seemed to be really frightened, cast an anxious glance around. She saw Shaun, smiled more happily, and waved her hand. He waved back and as Maureen went to her table at the other end of the room, sat down with a sudden sickening feeling that he wanted to clutch his head.

Maureen looked unreally lovely — but tonight it wasn't this that had overpowered him. Now he was racked by doubt, mentally lost in a fog of hopeless misunderstanding… When dancing began, it was a long time before he managed to get Maureen for a partner. Even then, while Leidler danced with Shelley Downing, the dark man's glance followed Maureen ravenously about the room. Shelley had come as a leprechaun. It was plain that she knew nothing of the Irish climate, for she evidently thought leprechauns wore next to no clothes.

"Your friend, Theo," said Shaun, when he and Maureen were alone in the crowd of dancers, "seems to regard you as his private property!"

"Yes. He's getting to be a real nuisance." Maureen changed this subject quickly. "Do you think I deserve the first prize? Mr Lorkin says I shall win it."

"You have my vote, Maureen. Your dress is a dream. Did you have the earrings and necklace already, or are they those you bought in Port Said?"

"In Port Said I got the earrings at Simon Arzt's, and the shoes. I dyed my own stockings! The necklace I picked up at Suleyman's."

The band stopped, showed signs of resting; but Shaun, into whose mind the name, Suleyman, had crashed as a revelation, applauded persistently. Leidler, who had led Shelley back to her table, watched Maureen like a hungry wolf preparing to spring on a gazelle. The band started again. As Shaun and Maureen resumed dancing: "You did say Suleyman's, didn't you?" Shaun asked.

"Yes. Hadji Suleyman's. Do you know it? I'd just come from there when — I met you. It was the necklace you picked up!"

And then, while relief flooded through Shaun, Maureen laughingly told him all about the queer old woman who didn't know the price of anything, but all the same had charged her five dollars for a trinket worth fifty cents. "It's so heavy! It's fraying my neck. I'm going to my room in a minute to take it off."

Shaun started to remonstrate but the band stopped just then and they were hemmed in the crowd. "I'll only be a minute," Maureen said, and before Shaun could stop her she was gone.

Back in her cabin, Maureen dropped the heavy necklace on her dresser and paused to adjust her hair and make-up with hasty care. Then she ran out to return to the dance. For a moment she hesitated by a dark alleyway next to her room. She had a sense that someone was standing there in the shadows. Then she hurried on.

Maureen had hardly turned the corner by the purser's office when Shaun stepped out of the shadowy alleyway, glanced swiftly left and right, then opened the door of Maureen's room and glided inside. He reclosed the door. He had had no more time than to take cover when another man came in!

The second visitor wasted not a moment. He scooped up the green necklace, inhaling sharply, moved away, was about to turn, when: "What's the hurry, Leidler?" a casual voice inquired.

In a wing of Maureen's mirror, his own face suddenly blanched under the bronze, Theo Leidler saw Shaun Bantry standing at his elbow, holding an automatic.

"I'm here—" Leidler swallowed audibly — "at Miss Loner-gan's request—"

"Sure you are! But at my request you're coming along to see the captain. No! Leave the necklace in your pocket!"

In Captain McAndrew's quarters the story was told, that grim seaman presiding over the meeting. Shaun Bantry had done most of the talking.

'The Egyptian police have recovered an unusual cigarette stub left behind in the cafe. And they have a glass of rdki which Hadji Suleyman was drinking. It had enough dope in it to kill ten men!"

Leidler moistened dry lips. "What has this to do with me?"

"Six witnesses have described you — and / saw you come out Of the cafe. You may have meant just to send Suleyman to sleep. Instead, you sent him to Paradise! Don't waste your breath to interrupt me. We have the facts in line. I've figured out the set-up at Suleyman's."

Shaun paused to light a cigarette. An armed quarter-master who stood behind Leidler's chair looked hypnotised. Lorkin was studying the captain's angry face.

"When an agent of the gang dumped a valuable piece there, Suleyman put it in amongst a lot of junk. If there was any trouble he could say he'd bought it for a few piastres and didn't know its value. But he was taking big risks. And he wanted a big cut on profits."

"You're talking nonsense!" Leidler broke in hotly.

"Silencel" Captain McAndrew spoke in his bridge voice.

"You met at the cafe to settle terms. You had found out that Suleyman's wife knew nothing about her husband's underground connections, had no knowledge of precious stones. But he hadt Having put Suleyman to sleep, you counted on getting this—" he pointed to the necklace lying on the captain's desk — "for the price of a packet of cigarettes. Maybe you were desperate. It might have been your last deal. I'm just guessing. In any case, it is your last deal, Leidler."

Leidler's eyes darted furtively around the room, seeking a means of escape. Then, seeing the hopelessness of his situation, he shrugged his shoulders in an elegant gesture.

"Well… well," boomed Captain McAndrew. "Have you anything to say for yourself, man?"

Leidler smiled thinly. "In moments of this sort," he said, "I find it better to keep my own counsel."

The Captain stirred impatiently. "As you wish." He nodded to the quartermaster. 'Take the prisoner below. Mr Bantry, congratulations on a fine piece of work."

Now it was Shaun's turn to smile. "I've been waiting a long time to play out this little scene, sir," he said, softly. "Now I feel at sort of a loose end."

It was very late when Shaun leaned on the rail beside Maureen looking out across a dark Mediterranean. The band had packed up. St. Patrick's night was over, dawn not far away.

"What's that light, Shaun, over there? Not on the African side."

"Malta."

They were silent for awhile. Shaun's hand lay over Mau-reen's on the rail.

"Shaun, will you tell me something — now?" Her voice was barely audible above the lullaby of the sea as it swept the bows of the big ship.

"Anything."

"What really happened tonight?" She turned to him and her eyes were bright in the dim lights along the deck. "And why was my necklace stolen from my room? It only cost me five dollars!"

Shaun put his arm around her shoulders. "Five dollars was what it cost you, Maureen. But that necklace has been valued at two hundred and fifty thousand!"

"Shaun!"

He smiled down at her. "The emeralds alone are worth a fortune, without the diamonds. It's the famous necklace which Catherine II of Russia presented to Marie Antoinette."

She was silent a moment, shivering a little till his arm tightened around her and she was drawn against him. Her eyes were lifted, and now there was laughter behind their serious depths. "And that's what you were after all the time?" she asked.

"All the time," he agreed, solemnly.

"And nothing else?"

"Darling!" was what Shaun said.