The King stood up. "You wait here. I'll be back in an hour or so. Got another bit of business to attend to. So long as we're out of here in a couple of hours, we'll be okay. Then we'll hit the camp just before dawn. Best time. That's when the guards'll be at their lowest mark. See you," and he disappeared down the steps.

In spite of himself, Peter Marlowe felt alone, and quite a little afraid.

Christ, what's he up to? Where's he going? What if he's late? What if he doesn't come back? What if a Jap comes into the village? What if I'm left on my own? Shall I go looking for him? If we don't make it back by dawn, Christ, we'll be reported missing and we'll have to run. Where? Maybe Cheng San'll help? Too dangerous! Where does he live? Could we make the docks and get a boat? Maybe contact the guerrillas who're supposed to be operating?

Get hold of yourself, Marlowe, you damn coward! You're acting like a three-year-old!

Curbing his anxiety, he settled down to wait. Then suddenly he remembered the coupling condenser - three hundred microfarads.

"Tabe, Tuan," Kasseh smiled as the King entered her hut.

"Tabe, Kasseh!"

"You like food, yes?"

He shook his head and held her close, his hands moving over her body. She stood on tiptoe to put her arms around his neck, her hair a plume of black gold falling to her waist.

"Long time," she said, warmed by his touch.

"Long time," he replied. "You miss me?"

"Uh-uh," she laughed, aping his accent "He arrived yet?"

She shook her head. "No like this thing, tuan. Has danger."

"Everything has danger."

They heard footsteps and soon a shadow splashed the door. It opened and a small dark Chinese walked in. He wore a sarong and Indian chappals on his feet. He smiled, showing broken mildewed teeth. On his back was a war parang in a scabbard. The King noticed that the scabbard was well oiled. Easy to jerk that parang out and cut a man's head off - just like that. Tucked into the man's belt was a revolver.

The King had asked Kasseh to get in touch with the guerrillas operating in Johore and this man was the result. Like most, they were converted bandits now fighting the Japanese under the banner of the Communists, who supplied them with arms.

"Tabe. You speak English?" the King asked, forcing a smile. He didn't like the look of this Chinese.

"Why you want talk with us?"

'Thought we might be able to make a deal."

The Chinese leered at Kasseh. She flinched.

"Beat it, Kasseh," the King said.

Noiselessly she left, going through the bead curtain into the rear of the house.

The Chinese watched her go. "You lucky," he said to the King. 'Too lucky. I bet woman give good time two, three men one night. No?"

"You want to talk a deal? Yes or no?"

"You watch, white man. Maybe I tell Japs you here. Maybe I tell them village safe for white prisoners. Then they kill village."

"You'll end up dead, fast, that way."

The Chinese grunted, then squatted down. He shifted the parang slightly, menacingly. "Maybe I take woman now."

Jesus, thought the King, maybe I made a mistake.

"I got a proposal for you guys. If the war ends suddenly - or the Japs take it into their heads to start chopping us POW's up, I want you to be around for protection. I'll pay you two thousand American dollars when I'm safe."

"How we know if Japs kill prisoners?"

"You'll know. You know most things that go on."

"How we know you pay?"

"The American government will pay. Everyone knows there's a reward."

'Two thousand! Mahlu! We get two thousand any day. Kill bank. Easy."

The King made his gambit. "I'm empowered by our commanding officer to guarantee you two thousand a head for every American that is saved. If the shoot blows up."

"I no understan'."

"If the Japs start trying to knock us off-kill us. If the Allies land here, the Japs're going to get mean. Or if the Allies land on Japan, then the Japs here will take reprisals. If they do, you'll know and I want you to help us get away."

"How many men?"

"Thirty."

"Too many."

"How many will you guarantee?"

"Ten. But the price will be five thousand per man."

"Too much."

The Chinese shrugged.

"All right. It's a deal. You know the camp?"

The Chinese showed his teeth in a twisted grin. "We know."

"Our hut's to the east. A small one. If we have to make a break, we'll break through the wire there. If you're in the jungle, you can cover us. How will we know if you're in position?"

Again the Chinese shrugged. "If not, you die anyway."

"Could you give us a signal?"

"No signal."

This is crazy, the King told himself. We won't know when we're going to have to make a break, and if it's going to be sudden there'll be no way of getting a message to the guerrillas in time. Maybe they'll be there, maybe not. But if they figure there's five grand apiece for any of us they get out, then maybe they'll keep a good lookout from here on in.

"Will you keep an eye on the camp?"

"Maybe leader says yes, maybe no."

"Who's your leader?"

The Chinese shrugged and picked his teeth.

"It's a deal then?"

"Maybe." The eyes were hostile. "You finish?"

"Yes." The King stuck out his hand. "Thanks."

The Chinese looked down at the hand, sneered and went to the door. "Remember. Ten only. Rest kill!" He left.

Well, it's worth a try, the King assured himself. Those bastards could sure as hell use the money. And Uncle Sam would pay. Why the hell not! What the hell do we pay taxes for?

"Tuan," said Kasseh gravely as she stood at the door. "I not like this thing."

"Got to take a chance. If there's a sudden killing maybe we can get out." He winked at her. "Worth a try. We'd be dead anyway. So, what the hell. Maybe we got a line of retreat."

"Why you not make deal for you alone? Why you not go with him now and escape camp?"

"Easy. First, it's safer at the camp than with the guerrillas. No point in trusting them unless there's an emergency. Second, one man's not worth their trouble. That's why I asked him to save thirty. But he could only handle ten."

"How you choose ten?"

"It'll be every man for himself, as long as I'm okay."

"Maybe your command officer no like only ten."

"He'll like it if he's one of the lucky ones."

"You think Japanese kill prisoners?"

"Maybe. But let's forget it, huh?"

She smiled. "Forget. You hot. Take shower, yes?"

"Yes."

In the shower section of the hut the King bailed water over himself from the concrete well. The water was cold, and it made him gasp and his flesh sting.

"Kasseh!"

She came through the curtains with a towel. She stood looking at him. Yes, her tuan was a fine man. Strong and fine and the color of his skin pleasing. Wah-lah, she thought, I am lucky to have such a man. But he is so big and I am so small. He towers over me by two heads.

Even so, she knew that she pleased him. It is easy to please a man. If you are a woman. And not ashamed of being woman.

"What're you smiling at?" he asked her as he saw the smile.

"Ah, tuan, I just think, you are so big and I so small. And yet, when we lie down, there is not so much difference, no?"

He chuckled and slapped her fondly on the buttocks and took the towel. "How 'bout a drink?"

"It is ready, tuan."

"What else is ready?"

She laughed with her mouth and her eyes. Her teeth were stark white and her eyes deep brown and her skin was smooth and sweet-smelling. "Who knows, tuan?" Then she left the room.

Now there's one helluva dame, the King thought, looking after her, drying himself vigorously. I'm a lucky guy.

Kasseh had been arranged by Sutra when the King had come to the village the first time. The details had been fixed neatly. When the war was over, he was to pay Kasseh twenty American dollars for every time he stayed with her. He had knocked a few bucks off the first asking price - business was business - but at twenty bucks she was a great buy.

"How do you know I'll pay?" he had asked her.

"I do not. But if you do not, you do not, and then I gained only pleasure. If you pay me, then I have money and pleasure too." She had smiled.

He slipped on the native slippers she had left for him, then walked through the bead curtain. She was waiting for him.

Peter Marlowe was still watching Sutra and Cheng San down by the shore. Cheng San bowed and got into the boat and Sutra helped shove the boat into the phosphorescent sea. Then Sutra returned to the hut.

'Tabe-lah!" Peter Marlowe said.

"Would thou eat more?"

"No thank you, Tuan Sutra."

My word, thought Peter Marlowe, it's a change to be able to turn down food. But he had eaten his fill, and to eat more would have been impolite. It was obvious that the village was poor and the food would not be wasted.

"I have heard," he said tentatively, "that the news, the war news, is good."

"Thus too I have heard, but nothing that a man could repeat. Vague rumors."

"It is a pity that times are not like those in former years. When a man could have a wireless and hear news or read a newspaper."

"True. It is a pity."

Sutra made no sign of understanding. He squatted down on his mat and rolled a cigarette, funnel-like, and began to smoke through his fist, sucking the smoke deep within him.

"We hear bad tales from the camp," he said at last.

"It is not so bad, Tuan Sutra. We manage, somehow. But not to know how the world is, that is surely bad."

"I have heard it told that there was a wireless in the camp and the men who owned the wireless were caught. And that they are now in Utram Road Jail."