"Looks like you could afford a contribution."

"Huh?"

"Yes, 'huh,' goddammit!" Brough held up the notes. "About this much. To go into the goddam pool. Officers and enlisted men alike."

The King moaned. Best part of four hundred dollars. "Jesus, Don . . ."

"Gambling's a bad habit Like swearing, goddammit. You play cards, you might just lose the money, then where'd you be? A contribution'd save your soul for better things."

Barter, you fool, the King told himself. Settle for half.

"Gee, I'd be happy to-"

"Good." Brough turned to Max. "You too, Max."

"But sir -" the King began heatedly.

"You've had your say."

Max tried not to look at the King, and Brough said, "That's right, Max. You look at him. Good man. He's made a contribution, why the hell can't you?"

Brough took three-fourths of the notes from each stack and counted the money quickly. In front of them. The King had to sit and watch.

"That makes ten bucks a man a week for six weeks," said Brough. "Thursday's payday. Oh yeah. Max! Collect all water bottles and take them up to the guardhouse. Right now!" He stuffed the money into his pocket, then walked to the door. At the door he had a sudden thought. He took the notes out once more and peeled off a single five-dollar bill. Looking at the King, he tossed it into the center of the table.

"Burying money." His smile was angelic. " 'Night, you guys."

Throughout the camp, the collection of water bottles was under way.

Mac and Larkin and Peter Marlowe were in the bungalow. On the bed, beside Peter Marlowe, were their water bottles.

"We could take the wireless out of them and drop the cases down a borehole," Mac said. "Those bloody bottles are going to be difficult to hide now."

"We could drop 'em as they are down a borehole," Larkin said.

"You don't really mean that, do you, Colonel?" asked Peter Marlowe.

"No, cobber. But I said it, an' we should all decide what to do."

Mac picked up one of the bottles. "Perhaps they'll return the other ones in a day or so. We canna hide the guts of the bottles any better than they're hid now." He looked up and said venomously, "But who's the bastard who knows?"

They stared at the water bottles.

"Isn't it about time to listen for the news?" Peter Marlowe said.

"Ay laddie," Mac said and looked at Larkin.

"I agree," he said.

The King was still awake when Timsen peered through the window. "Cobber?"

"Yeah?"

Timsen held up a bundle of notes. "We got the ten you paid."

The King sighed and he opened his black box and paid Timsen what was owed.

"Thanks, cobber." Timsen chuckled. "Hear you had a set-to with Grey and Yoshima."

"So?"

"Nothin' - just a pity Grey didn't find the stone. I wouldn't be in your shoes - or Pete's for that. Oh dear, no. Very dangerous, right?"

"Go to hell, Timsen."

Timsen laughed. "Just a friendly warning, right? Oh, yus. The first shipment of netting's under the hut, enough for a hundred or so cages." He peeled off one hundred and twenty dollars. "I sold the first shipment at thirty a leg. Here's your cut-fifty-fifty."

"Who got 'em?"

Timsen winked. "Just friends of mine. 'Night, cobber."

The King relaxed in his bed and rechecked to see that the net was once more tight under his mattress. He was alert for danger. He knew that he could not go to the village for two days, and between then and now, many eyes would be watching and waiting. That night his sleep was fitful, and the next day he stayed in the hut surrounded by guards.

After lunch there was a sudden search of the bungalow area. Three times the guards went through the little rooms before the search was called off.

At nightfall Mac groped his way to the latrine area and pulled up the three water bottles that were dangling on a string in one of the boreholes. He cleaned them and brought them back to the room and connected them. He, Larkin and Peter Marlowe listened to the news, memorizing it. Afterwards, he did not take the bottles back to their cache, for though he had been cautious, he knew he had been observed.

The three of them decided not to hide the bottles any more. They knew, without despair, that very soon they would be caught.

Chapter 24.

The King hurried through the jungle. As he approached the camp he became more careful until he was in a position just opposite the American hut. He lay on the ground and yawned contentedly, waiting for the moment to slip across the path and under the wire and back to the safety of the hut. The balance of the money bulked his pockets.

He had gone alone to the village. Peter Marlowe was not fit enough to go with him. He had met Cheng San and given him the diamond. Then they had had a feast and he had gone to Kasseh and she had welcomed him.

Dawn was painting the new day as the King sneaked under the wire and into the hut. It was only when he got in bed that he noticed that his black box was missing.

"Why, you stupid sons of bitches!" he screamed. "Can't you be trusted to do a goddam thing!"

"Goddammit to hell," Max said. "It was there a few hours ago. I got up to go to the latrine."

"Where the hell is it now?"

But none of the men had seen or heard anything.

"Get Samson and Brant," the King said to Max.

"Jesus," Max said, "it's a little early -"

"I said get 'em!"

In half an hour Colonel Samson arrived, wet with fear. "What's the matter? You know I mustn't be seen here."

"Some son of a bitch has stolen my box. You can help find out who did it."

"How can I -"

"I don't care how," the King interrupted. "Just keep your ears open around the officers. There's no more dough for you until I know who's done it."

"But Corporal, I had nothing to do with it."

"As soon as I know, the weekly pay-off'll start again. Now beat it."

A few minutes later Major Brant arrived and got the same treatment. As soon as he left, the King fixed himself some breakfast while the others in the hut were scouring the camp. He had just finished eating when Peter Marlowe came in. The King told him about the theft of the black box.

"That's a bad bit of luck," Peter Marlowe said.

The King nodded, then winked. "It doesn't matter. I got the rest of the dough from Cheng San - so we've plenty. I just thought it was about time to bear down a little. The guys got careless - and it's a matter of principle." He handed him a small pile of notes. "Here's your cut from the diamond."

Peter Marlowe wanted the money badly. But he shook his head. "You keep it. I owe you much more than I can ever pay you. And there's the money you put out for the medicine."

"All right, Peter. But we're still partners."

Peter Marlowe smiled. "Good."

The trapdoor opened and Kurt climbed up into the room.

"Seventy so far," he said.

"Huh?" the King said.

"It's B Day."

"Goddam," the King said. "I'd forgotten all about it."

"Just as well I didn't, ain't it? I'll butcher another ten in a few days. No need in feeding the males. There's five or six that're big enough!"

The King felt sick, but he said, "All right. Ill tell Timsen."

When Kurt had gone Peter Marlowe said, "I don't think I'll come around for a day or so."

"Huh?"

"I think it's better. We can't hide the wireless any more. We've decided, the three of us, to stay around the room."

"You want to commit suicide? Get rid of the goddam thing if you figure you're spotted. Then if you're questioned - deny it."

"We thought about that, but ours is the only wireless left - so we want to keep it going as long as we can. With a little luck we won't be caught."

"You better look after number one, buddy."

Peter Marlowe smiled. "Yes, I know. That's why I'm not coming here for a while. Don't want to drag you into anything."

"What're you going to do if Yoshima starts heading your way?"

"Make a run for it."

"Run where, for God's sake?"

"Better that than just sit."

Dino, the guard of the moment, stuck his head through the doorway. "Excuse me, but Timsen's heading this way."

"Okay," the King said. "I'll see him." He turned back to Peter Marlowe. "It's your neck, Peter. My advice is dump it."

"Wish we could, but we can't."

The King knew that there was nothing he could do.

"Hi, cobber," Timsen said as he came in, his face taut with anger, "Heard you had a bad bit of luck, right?"

"I need a new set of watchdogs, that's for sure."

"You and me both," Timsen said furiously. "The bushwhackers dumped your black box under my bloody hut. My hut!"

"What?"

"That's right. It's there, under my hut, clean as a whistle. Bloody bastards, that's the truth. No Aussie'd steal it and dump it under my hut. No sir. Got to be a Pommy or a Yank."

"Like who?"

"I don't know. All I know is they weren't none of mine. You got my ruddy oath on that."

"I'll believe you. But you can spread the word - there's a thousand bucks reward for the proof as to who hijacked my box." The King reached under his pillow and deliberately pulled out the pile of notes that Cheng San had given him for the completion of the sale. He peeled off three hundred dollars and offered them to Timsen, who was staring wide-eyed at the vastness of the pile. "I need some sugar and coffee and oil - maybe a coconut or two. You fix it?"

Timsen took the money, unable to tear his eyes from the remaining pile of notes. "You completed the sale, right? My ruddy oath, never thought you'd do it. But you have, right?"

"Sure," the King said nonchalantly. "I got enough to last a month or two."

"A bloody year, mate," Timsen said, overwhelmed. He turned and walked slowly to the door, then looked back with a sudden laugh. "A thousand, eh? I'd say that'd produce results, right?"

"Yeah," the King said. "Just a question of time."