"I don't know, but perhaps a pound in every four hundred pounds. I suppose they were getting away with three or four pounds of rice per day. Not counting the dried fish or the eggs. Perhaps there are others mixed up in this - there would have to be. They couldn't cook rice and not have it noticed. Probably a cookhouse's mixed up in it too."

"My God!" Smedly-Taylor got up and began pacing. "Thank you, Grey, you've done a fine job. I'll see that it goes into your official report." He put out his hand. "A good job, Grey."

Grey shook his hand firmly. "Thank you, sir. I'm only sorry I didn't discover it before."

"Now, not a word to anyone. That's an order!"

"I understand." He saluted and left, his feet hardly touching the ground.

That Smedly-Taylor should say, "I'll see that it goes into your official report"! Maybe they'd promote him, Grey thought with sudden hope. There had been a few camp promotions and he could certainly use the upped rank. Captain Grey - it had a nice ring to it. Captain Grey!

The afternoon was dragging now. Without work, it was difficult for Peter Marlowe to keep the men on their feet, so he organized foraging parties and kept the guards changing, for Torusumi was sleeping again. The heat was vicious and the air parched and everyone cursed the sun and prayed for night.

Finally Torusumi woke up and relieved himself in the undergrowth and picked up his rifle and began to walk up and down to take the sleep away. He screamed at some of the men who were dozing, and he shouted to Peter Marlowe, "I beg thee get these sons of pigs up and about and make them work, or at least make them look as though they are working."

Peter Marlowe came over. "I'm sorry that thou art troubled." Then he turned to the sergeant: "For Christ sake, you know you were supposed to keep an eye on him. Get these bloody idiots up and dig a hole or chop that bloody tree or cut some palm fronds, you bloody idiot!"

The sergeant was suitably apologetic and in no time he had the men hurrying about, pretending to be busy. They had it down to a fine art.

A few husks of coconut were moved, and a few fronds were piled, and a few first saw cuts made in the trees. If they worked at the same speed, day after day, well, soon the whole area would be clean and level.

The sergeant tiredly reported back to Peter Marlowe. "They're all as busy as they'll ever be, sir."

"Good. Won't be long now."

"Look, sir, would you - would you do something - for me?"

"What?"

"Well, it's like this. Seeing as how - as you - well . . ." He wiped his mouth on his sweatrag, embarrassed. But it was too good an opportunity to miss. "Look at this." He brought out a fountain pen. "Would you see if the Nip'll buy it?"

"You mean you want me to sell it for you?" Peter Marlowe gaped at him.

"Yes, sir. It's - well - I thought, you being a friend of the King like, you'd know - maybe you'd know how to go about it."

"It's against orders to sell to the guards, both our orders and theirs."

"Aw, come on, sir, you can trust me. Why, you and the King -"

"What about me and the King?"

"Nothing, sir," said the sergeant cautiously. What's the matter with this bugger? Who's he trying to fool? "I just thought you might help me. And my unit, of course."

Peter Marlowe looked at the sergeant and at the pen and wondered why he had got so angry. After all, he had sold for the King - or at least, tried to sell for the King - and truthfully he was a friend of the King. And there was nothing wrong in that. If it wasn't for the King they would have never got the tree area. More likely he would be nursing a busted jaw, or at least a slapped face. So he should really uphold the reputation of the King. He did get you the coconuts.

"What do you want for it?"

The sergeant grinned. "Well, it isn't a Parker, but it's got a gold nib," and he unscrewed the top and showed it, "so it should be worth something. Maybe you could see what he'd give."

"He'll want to know what you want for it. I'll ask him, but you set a price."

"If you could get me sixty-five dollars, I'd be happy."

"Is it worth that much?"

"I think so."

The pen did have a gold nib and a fourteen carat mark, and as near as Peter Marlowe could judge it was genuine. Not like the other pen.

"Where'd you get it?"

"It's mine, sir. I've been keeping it against a rainy day. Been raining a lot recently."

Peter Marlowe nodded briefly. He believed the man. "All right, I'll see what I can do. You keep an eye on the men, and make sure there's a guard out."

"Don't you worry, sir. The buggers won't bat a bleeding eyelid."

Peter Marlowe found Torusumi leaning against a squat tree, heavy with a grasping vine. "Tabe," he said.

"Tabe." Torusumi glanced at his Watch, and yawned. "In an hour we can go. It's not time yet." He took off his cap and wiped the sweat off his face and neck. "This stinking heat and stinking island!"

"Yes." Peter Marlowe tried to make the words sound important, as though it were the King speaking and not he: "One of the men has a pen he wishes to sell. It occurred to me that thee, as a friend, might wish to buy it."

"Astaghfaru'llah! Is it a Parka?"

"No." Peter Marlowe brought out the pen and unscrewed the top and held the nib so it caught the sunlight. "But it has a gold nib."

Torusumi examined it. He was disappointed that it wasn't a Parker, but that would have been too much to expect. Certainly not on the airfield. A Parker would be handled by the King personally.

"It is not worth much," he said.

"Of course. If thou dost not wish to consider it ..." Peter Marlowe put the pen back in his pocket.

"I can consider it. Perhaps we can pass the hour, considering such a worthless item." He shrugged. "It would only be worth seventy-five dollars."

Peter Marlowe was amazed that the first bid was so high. The sergeant can't have any idea of its value. God, I wish I knew how much it was really worth.

So they sat and haggled. Torusumi got angry and Peter Marlowe was firm and they settled on a hundred and twenty dollars and a pack of Kooas.

Torusumi got up and yawned again. "It is time to go." He smiled. "The King is a good teacher. The next time I see him I will tell him how thou hast taken advantage of my friendship by driving such a hard bargain." He shook his head with feigned serf-pity. "Such a price for such a miserable pen! The King will surely laugh at me. Tell him, I beg thee, that I will be on guard in seven days from today, Perhaps he can find me a watch. A good one-this time!"

Peter Marlowe was content that he had safely made his first real transaction for what seemed to be a fair price. But he was in a quandary. If he gave all the money to the sergeant, the King would be very upset. That would ruin the price structure that the King had so carefully built. And Torusumi would certainly mention the pen and the amount to the King. However, if he gave the sergeant only what he had asked and kept the rest, well that was cheating, wasn't it? Or was it good "business"? In truth, the sergeant had asked for sixty-five, and that's what he should get. And Peter Marlowe did owe the King a lot of money.

He wished he'd never started the stupid business. Now he was caught in the trap of his own making. Trouble with you, Peter, is you've too big an idea of your own importance. If you'd said no to the sergeant you wouldn't be up the creek now. What are you going to do? Whatever you do is going to be wrong!

He strolled back slowly, pondering. The sergeant had already lined the men up, and took Peter aside expectantly, "They're all ready, sir. An' I've checked the tools." He low' ered his voice. "Did he buy it?"

"Yes." Then Peter Marlowe made the decision. He put his hand hi his pocket and gave the sergeant the bundle of notes. "Here you are. Sixty-five dollars."

"Sir, you're a bloody toff!" He peeled off a five dollar bill and offered it to him. "I owe you a dollar-fifty."

"You don't owe me anything."

'Ten percent's yours. That's legal, an' I'm happy to pay it I'll give you the dollar an' a half soon as I get change."

Peter Marlowe shoved the note back. "No," he said, feeling suddenly guilty. "Keep it."

"I insist," the sergeant said, pushing the note back into his hand.

"Look, Sergeant -"

"Well, at least take the five. I'd feel terrible, sir, if you didn't. Terrible. I can't thank you enough."

All the way back to the airfield Peter Marlowe was silent. He felt unclean with the monstrous bundle of notes in his pocket, but at the same time he knew that he owed the money to the King and was pleased to have it, for it would buy extras for the unit. The only reason the sergeant had asked him was because he knew the King, and the King, not the sergeant, was his friend. The whole miserable business was still going round and round in his mind when he got back to his hut.

"Grey wants to see you, Peter," Ewart said.

"What for?"

"I don't know, Peter boy. But he seemed peed off about something."

Peter Marlowe's tired mind adjusted to the new danger. It had to be something to do with the King. Grey meant trouble. Now, think, think, Peter. The village? The watch? The diamond? Oh my God - the pen? No, that's being foolish. He can't know about that yet. Shall I go to the King? Maybe he'd know what it's about. Dangerous. Perhaps that's why Grey told Ewart, to force me to make a mistake. He must have known I was on a work party.

No point in going like a lamb to the slaughter when you're hot and dirty. A shower, then I'll stroll up to the jail hut. Take my time.

So he went to the shower. Johnny Hawkins was under one of the spouts.

"Hello, Peter," Hawkins said.

Sudden guilt flushed Peter Marlowe's face. "Hello, Johnny." Hawkins looked ill. "Say, Johnny, I - I was so sorry -"

"Don't want to talk about it," Hawkins said. "I'd be glad if you never mentioned it."

Does he know, Peter Marlowe asked himself, appalled, that I'm one of the ones who ate? Even now - was it only yesterday? the sudden thought was revolting: cannibalism. He can't, surely, for then he would have tried to kill me. I know if I were in his shoes, I would. Or would I?

My God, what a state we've come to. Everything that seems wrong is right, and vice versa. It's too much to understand. Much too much. Stupid screwed-up world. And the sixty dollars and the pack of Kooas I've earned, and at the same time stolen - or made - which is it? Should I give them back? That would be quite wrong.

"Marlowe!"

He turned and saw Grey standing malevolently at the side of the shower.

"You were told to report to me when you got back!"

"I was told you wanted to see me. As soon as I'd showered I was going to -"

"I left orders that you were to report to me immediately." There was a thin smile on Grey's face. "But it doesn't matter. You're under hut arrest."

There was a quiet in the showers and all the officers were watching and listening.

"What for?"

Grey rejoiced in the flash of concern he saw. "For disobeying orders."

"What orders?"

"You know as well as I do." That's right, sweat! Your guilty conscience will trouble you a little - if you've got a conscience, which I doubt. "You're to report to Colonel Smedly-Taylor after supper. And be dressed like an officer, not a bloody tart!"

Peter Marlowe snapped off the shower and slipped into his sarong and made the knot with a deft twist, conscious of the curious stares of the other officers. His mind was in a turmoil wondering what the trouble was, but he tried to hide his anxiety. Why give Grey the satisfaction?

"You're really so ill-bred, Grey. Such a bore," he said.

"I've learned a lot about breeding today, you bloody sod," Grey said. "I'm glad I don't belong to your stinking class, you rotten bugger. All shysters, cheats, thieves -"

"For the last time, Grey, button your mouth, or by God I'll button it for you."

Grey tried to control himself. He wanted to pit himself against this man, here and now. He could beat him, he knew he could. Any time. Dysentery or no. "If we ever get out of this mess alive, I'll look for you. The first thing. The very first thing."

"It would be a pleasure. But until that time, if you ever insult me again I'll whip you." Peter Marlowe turned to the other officers. "You all heard me. I'm giving him warning. I'm not going to be sworn at by this lower-class ape." He whipped around on Grey. "Now stay away from me."

"How can I when you're a lawbreaker?"

"What law?"

"Be at Colonel Smedly-Taylor's after supper. And one more thing - you're under hut arrest until time to report."

Grey walked away. Most of his exultation had been drained from him. It was stupid to call Marlowe names. Stupid, when there was no need.

Chapter 18.

When Peter Marlowe arrived outside Colonel Smedly-Taylor's bungalow, Grey was already there. "I'll tell the colonel you arrived," Grey said.

"You're so kind." Peter Marlowe felt uncomfortable. The peaked Air Force cap he had borrowed irritated. The ragged but clean shirt he wore irritated. Sarongs are so much more comfortable, he told himself, so much more sensible. And thinking of sarongs he thought of tomorrow. Tomorrow was the money exchange day. For the diamond. Tomorrow Shagata was to bring the money and then in three days the village once more. Maybe Sulina ...

You're a fool to think about her. Get your wits with you, you're going to need them. "All right, Marlowe. 'Tenshun," Grey ordered. Peter Marlowe came to attention and began to march, militarily correct, into the colonel's room. As he passed Grey he whispered, "Up you, Jack," and felt a little better, and then he was in front of the colonel. He saluted smartly and fixed his eyes through the colonel.

Seated behind a crude desk, cap on, swagger cane on the table, Smedly-Taylor looked at Peter Marlowe bleakly and returned the salute punctiliously. He prided himself on the way he handled camp discipline. Everything he did was Army. By the book.

He sized up the young man in front of him - standing erect. Good, he told himself, that's at least in his favor. He remained silent for a while, as was his custom. Always unsettle the accused. At last he spoke.

"Well, Flight Lieutenant Marlowe? What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, sir. I don't know what I'm charged with." Colonel Smedly-Tayldr glanced at Grey, surprised, then frowned back at Peter Marlowe. "Perhaps you break so many rules that you have difficulty remembering them. You went into the jail yesterday. That's against orders. You were not wearing an armband. That's against orders."