He slipped out of the window and made sure the canvas overhang was in position. Then he and Peter Marlowe sat under it and waited.

Shagata poked his head under the canvas, and when he recognized the King, he quietly slipped into the overhang and sat down. He propped his rifle against the wall and offered a pack of Kooas.

'Tabe," he said.

'Tabe," Peter Marlowe replied.

"Hi," said the King. His hand was shaking as he took the cigarette.

"Thou hast something to sell me tonight?" Shagata asked sibilantly.

"He asks if you've anything to sell him tonight."

'Tell him no!"

"My friend is overwhelmed that he has nothing to tempt a man of taste this evening."

"Would your friend have such an article in say three days?"

The King sighed with relief when Peter Marlowe translated this. "Tell him yes. And tell him he's wise to check."

"My friend says that it is probable that on that day he would have something to tempt a man of taste. And my friend adds that he feels that to do business with such a careful man is a good portent for .the satisfactory conclusion of said transaction."

"It is always wise when matters must be arranged in the bleakness of night." Shagata-san sucked in his breath. "If I do not arrive in three nights, wait each night for me. A mutual friend has indicated that he may not be able to do his part with complete accuracy. But I am assured that it will be three nights from tonight."

Shagata got up and gave the pack of cigarettes to the King. A slight bow and the darkness took him once more.

Peter Marlowe told the King what Shagata had said, and the King grinned. "Great. Just great. You want to come by tomorrow morning? We can discuss plans."

"I'm on the airfield work party."

"You want me to get a sub for you?"

Peter Marlowe laughed and shook his head.

"You'd better go anyway," said the King. "In case Cheng San wants to make contact."

"Do you think there's anything wrong?"

"No. Shagata was wise to check. I would have. Everything's going according to plan. Another week and the whole deal'll be fixed."

"I hope so." Peter Marlowe thought about the village, and prayed that the deal would go through. He desperately wanted to go there again, and if he did, he knew that he would have to have Sulina or he would lose his sanity.

"What's the matter?" The King had felt more than seen Peter Marlowe's shudder.

"I was just thinking I'd like to be in Sulina's arms right now," Peter Marlowe replied uneasily.

"Yeah." The King wondered if he might foul up over the broad.

Peter Marlowe caught the look and smiled faintly. "You've nothing to worry about, old chum. I wouldn't do anything foolish, if that's what you were thinking."

"Sure." The King smiled. "We got a lot to look forward to - and tomorrow's the show. You heard what it's about?"

"Only that it's called Triangle. And it stars Sean." Peter Marlowe's voice was suddenly flat.

"How did you nearly kill Sean?" The King had never asked bluntly before, knowing that with a man like Peter Marlowe it was always dangerous to ask direct questions about private matters. But now he had felt instinctively that the time was correct.

"There's not much to tell," Peter Marlowe said immediately, glad that the King had asked him. "Sean and I were in the same squadron in Java. The day before the war ended there, Sean didn't come back from a mission. I thought he'd had it."

"About a year ago - the day after we came here from Java - I went to one of the camp shows. When I finally recognized Sean on the stage, you can imagine what a shock it was. He was playing a girl, ..but I didn't think anything of that - someone always has to take the girls' parts - and I just sat back and enjoyed the show. I couldn't get over finding him alive and fit, and I couldn't get over what a sensational girl he made - the way he walked and talked and sat - his clothes and his wig were perfect. I was very impressed with his performance - and yet I knew he'd never had anything to do with theatricals before."

"After the show I went backstage to see him. There were some others waiting too, and after a while I got the weirdest feeling that these fellows were like the characters you meet at any stage door anywhere - you know, chaps with their tongues hanging out waiting for their girl friends."

"Finally the dressing room door opened and everyone surged in. I tagged along last and stood in the doorway. It was only then that it hit me that the men were all queers! Sean was sitting on a chair and they seemed to pour all over him, fawning on him and calling him 'darling,' hugging him and telling him how 'marvelous' he was - treating him like the beautiful star of the show. And Sean - Sean was enjoying it! Christ, he was actually enjoying their pawing! Like a bitch in heat."

"Then he suddenly saw me, and of course he was shocked too."

"He said 'Hello, Peter' but I couldn't say anything. I stood staring at one of the bloody queers who had his hand on Sean's knee. Sean was wearing a sort of flowing negligee and stilk stockings and panties, and I got the feeling that he'd even arranged the folds of the negligee to show off his leg above the stocking - and it looked as if he had breasts under the negligee. Then I suddenly realized he wasn't wearing a wig - all that hair was his own, and just as long and wavy as a girl's.

"Then Sean asked everybody to leave. 'Peter's an old friend I thought was dead,' he said. 'I have to talk to him. Go on, please.'"

"When they'd gone I asked Sean, "What in God's name has happened to you? You were actually enjoying those scum pawing you.'"

" 'What in God's name has happened to all of us?' Sean answered. Then he said with that wonderful smile of his, 'I'm so glad to see you, Peter. I thought you were very dead. Sit down a moment while I clean my face off. We've a lot to talk about. Did you come on the Java work party?' "

"I nodded, still in a state of shock, and Sean turned back to the mirror and began to wipe the makeup off with face cream. 'What happened to you, Peter?' he asked. 'Did you get shot down?' "

"When he started to take off the makeup I began to relax - everything seemed more normal. I told myself that I'd been stupid - that this was all part of the show - you know, keeping up the legend - and I was sure he'd only been pretending to enjoy it. So I apologized and said, 'Sorry, Sean - you must think me a bloody fool! My God, it's good to know you're all right. I thought you'd had it too.' I told him what had happened to me and then asked about him.

"Sean told me he'd been pranged by four Zeroes and had to parachute. When he finally got back to the airfield and found my plane, it was just a shambles. I told him how I'd set fire to it before I left - I hadn't wanted the bloody Japs to repair the wing."

" 'Oh,' he said, 'well, I just presumed you'd pranged yourself landing - that you'd had it. I stayed in Bandung at headquarters with the rest of the bods and then we were all put into a camp. Shortly afterwards we were sent to Batavia and from there to here.' "

"Sean was looking at himself in the mirror all the time, and his face was as smooth and fine as any girl's. Suddenly I got the strangest feeling that he had forgotten all about me. I didn't know what to do. Then he turned away from the mirror and looked right at me, and he was frowning in a funny way. All at once I sensed how unhappy he was, so I asked him if he wanted me to go."

" 'No,' he said. 'No, Peter, I want you to stay.' "

"And then he picked up a girl's purse that was on the dressing table, dug out a lipstick and began making up his lips. "

"I was stunned. 'What're you doing?' I said."

" 'Putting on lipstick, Peter.' "

" 'Come off it, Sean,' I said. 'A joke's a joke. The show was over half an hour ago.' "

"But he went right on, and when his lips were perfect he powdered his nose and brushed his hair, and by God he was the beautiful girl again. I couldn't believe it. I still thought in some weird way he was playing a joke on me. "

"He patted a curl here and there and then sat back and examined himself in the mirror, and he seemed absolutely satisfied with what he saw. Then he saw me in the mirror staring at him and he laughed. 'What's the matter, Peter?' he said. 'Haven't you been in a dressing room before?' "

" 'Yes,' I said, 'I have - a girl's dressing room.' "

"He looked at me a long time. Then he straightened his negligee and crossed his legs. 'This is a girl's dressing room,' he said. "

"'Come off it, Sean,' I said, getting irritated, 'it's me, Peter Marlowe. We're in Changi, remember? The show's over and now everything's normal again.' "

" 'Yes,' he said perfectly calmly, 'everything's normal.' "

"It took me a long time to say anything. 'Well,' I managed to get out at last, 'aren't you going to get out of those clothes and clean that muck off your face?' "

" 'I like these clothes, Peter,' he said, 'and I always wear makeup now.' He got up and opened a cupboard and by God it was full of sarongs and dresses and panties and bras and so on. He turned around and he was perfectly calm. 'These are the only clothes I wear nowadays,' he said. 'I am a woman.' "

" 'You must be out of your mind,' I said. "

"Sean walked over and stared up at me, and I couldn't get it out of my head that somehow this was a girl - he looked like one and acted like one and talked like one and smelled like one. 'Look, Peter,' he said, 'I know it's difficult for you to understand, but I've changed. I'm no longer a man, I'm a woman.' "

" 'You're no more a bloody woman than I am!' I yelled. But it didn't seem to touch him at all. He just stood there smiling like a madonna, and then he said, Tm a woman, Peter.' He touched my arm just the way a girl would, and he said, 'Please treat me as a woman.' "

"Something in my head seemed to snap. I grabbed his arm and ripped the negligee off his shoulders and tore off the padded bra and shoved him in front of the mirror. "

" 'You call yourself a woman?' I shouted. 'Look at yourself! Where are your bloody breasts?' "

"But Sean didn't look up. He just stood in front of the mirror with his head down and his hair falling over his face. The negligee was hanging off him and he was naked to the waist. I grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head up. 'Look at yourself, you bloody deviate!' I yelled. 'You're a man, by God, and you always will be.' "

"He just stood there saying nothing at all, and finally I realized he was crying. Then Rodrick and Frank Parrish rushed in and shoved me out of the way, and Parrish pulled the negligee around Sean and took him in his arms, and all the time Sean just went on crying. "

"Frank kept hugging him and saying, 'It's all right, Sean, it's all right.' Then he looked at me, and I knew he wanted to kill me. 'Get out of here, you bloody bastard,' he said. "

"I don't even know how I got out of there - when I finally came to I was wandering around the camp, and I was beginning to realize that I'd had no right, no right at all, to do what I'd done. It was insane."

Peter Marlowe's face was naked with anguish. "I went back to the theater. I had to try to make my peace with Sean. His door was locked but I thought I heard him inside. I knocked and knocked, but he wouldn't answer and he wouldn't open the door, so I got angry again and I shoved the door open. I wanted to apologize to his face, not through a door."

"He was lying on the bed. There was a big cut on his left wrist and there was blood all over the place. I put a tourniquet on him and somehow got hold of old Doc Kennedy and Rodrick and Frank. Sean looked like a corpse, and he didn't make a sound all the time Kennedy was sewing up the scissor slash. When Kennedy finished, Frank said to me, 'Are you satisfied now, you rotten bastard?' "

"I couldn't say anything. I just stood there hating myself.

" 'Get out and stay out,' Rodrick said."

"I started off, but then I heard Sean calling me, in a kind of weak, fault whisper. I turned around and saw that he was looking at me not angrily, but as if he pitied me. Tm sorry, Peter,' he said. 'It wasn't your fault.' "

" 'Christ, Sean,' I managed to say. 'I didn't mean you any harm.' "

" 'I know,' he said. 'Please be my friend, Peter.' "

"Then he looked at Parrish and Rodrick and said, 'I wanted to go away, but now," and he smiled his wonderful smile, 'I'm so happy to be home again.' "

Peter Marlowe's face was drained. The sweat was running down his neck and chest. The King lit a Kooa.

Peter Marlowe half shrugged, helplessly, then got up and walked away, deep in his remorse.

Chapter 17.

"Come on, hurry up," Peter Marlowe said to the yawning men lined up bleakly outside the hut. It was just after dawn and breakfast was already memory and the deficiency of it served only to increase the men's irritability. And, too, the long sun-hot day at the airfield was ahead of them. Unless they had the luck.

It was rumored that today one detail was going to the far west side of the airfield where the coconut trees grew. It was rumored that three trees were going to be cut down. And the heart of a coconut tree was not only edible but very nutritious and a great delicacy. It was called "millionaire's cabbage," for a whole coconut tree had to die to provide it. Along with the millionaire's cabbage there would be coconuts as well. More than enough for a thirty-man detail. So officers and enlisted men alike were tense.

The sergeant in charge of the hut came up to Peter Marlowe and saluted. "That's the lot, sir. Twenty men including me."

"We're supposed to have thirty."

"Well, twenty's all we have. The rest're sick or on wood detail. Nothin' I can do about it."

"All right. Let's get up to the gate."

The sergeant got the men under way and they began streaming loosely along the jail wall to join the rest of the airfield detail near the barricade-gate west. Peter Marlowe beckoned to the sergeant and got the men herded together in the best position-near the end of the line, where they were likelier to be chosen for the tree detail. When the men noticed that their officer had maneuvered them just right they began to pay attention and sorted themselves out quickly.

They all had their rag shirts tucked into grub-bags. Grub-bags were an institution, and took many forms. Sometimes they were regulation haversacks, sometimes suitcases, sometimes rattan baskets, sometimes bags, sometimes a cloth and a stick, sometimes a piece of material. But all the men carried some container for the plunder to be. On a work party there was always plunder, and if it wasn't millionaire's cabbage or coconut, it could be driftwood, firewood, coconut husks, bananas, oil palm nuts, edible roots, leaves of many types, or even sometimes papaya.

Most of the men wore clogs of wood or tire rubber. Some wore shoes with the toes cut out. And some had boots. Peter Marlowe was wearing Mac's boots. They were tight, but for a three-mile march and a work party they were better than clogs.

The snake of men began marching through the gate west, an officer in charge of each company. At the head was a group of Koreans and at the tail was a single Korean guard.

Peter Marlowe's group waited near the rear for space to join the march. He was looking forward to the trek and the prospect of the trees. He shifted his shirt more comfortably in the rucksack strap and adjusted his water bottle - not the bottle, for to take that would have been dangerous on a work party. You could never tell when a guard or someone else might want to take a drink.

Finally it was time to move, and and he and his men began to walk towards the gate. As they passed the guardhouse they saluted, and the squat little Japanese sergeant stood on the veranda and returned their salute stiffly. Peter Marlowe gave the number of his men to the other guard, who checked them against the total already tallied.

Then they were outside the camp and walking the tarmac road. It curled easily, with gentle hills and dales, then sped through a rubber plantation. The rubber trees were unkempt and untapped. Now that's strange, thought Peter Marlowe, for rubber was at a premium and a vital food for war.

"Hello, Duncan," he said as Captain Duncan and his group began to pass. He fell into step beside Duncan, keeping his eyes on his own group, the next ahead.

"Isn't it great to have the news again?" Duncan said.

"Yes," he replied automatically, "if it's true."

"Must say it sounds too good to be true."

Peter Marlowe liked Duncan. He was a little Scot, red-haired and middle-aged. Nothing seemed to faze him. He always had a smile and a good word. Peter Marlowe had the feeling that something was different about him today. Now what was it?

Duncan noted his curiosity and grimaced to show his new false teeth.

"Oh, that's it," said Peter Marlowe. "I was wondering what was different."

"How do they look?"