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night. It could be simply arranged. A charge of that plastic waterproof explosive he had used on the salvage job at Mukalla would do the trick. It was a pleasant thought.
     
     
His eyes closed and the darkness moved in on him.
     
     
He had slept for no more than an hour when a gentle pressure on his shoulder caused him to awaken. Piroo was standing by the bunk.
     
     
Kane pushed himself up on one elbow. 'What is it - Skiros?'
     
     
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The Hindu nodded gravely. 'He is waiting on the jetty, Sahib.'
     
     
Kane swung his legs to the floor, stood up and stretched. 'Okay, you'd better bring him across in the dinghy.'
     
     
He went up on deck, the Hindu at his heels. Skiros was standing on the edge of the jetty, his face shaded by a large Panama hat. He was wearing a soiled white linen suit, and a slight breeze lifted from the water against him, moulding his grotesque figure.
     
     
As Piroo dropped down into the dinghy and sculled rapidly towards him, the Greek raised his malacca cane and called cheerfully, 'Is it safe for me to come across? I've already had one bath today.'
     
     
Kane waved a hand. 'I'll have a drink waiting for you.'
     
     
He watched Skiros negotiate the iron ladder pinned to the side of the jetty and safely step into the dinghy, and then he went below. He had just finished mixing two gin-slings when the dinghy bumped against the hull of the launch. A moment later Skiros creaked heavily down the stairs and entered the cabin.
     
     
He flopped into a chair with a groan. 'Why the hell do you have to anchor your boat in the middle of the harbour? Why can't you tie up at one of the jetties like everybody else?'
     
     
Sweat stained his jacket in great patches and trickled along the folds of his fat face. He produced a red silk handkerchief and mopped the worst of it away, then removed his Panama and proceeded to fan himself. His hair was shiny with pomade and carefully combed, and his tiny black eyes sparkled with cunning.
     
     
Kane handed him one of the drinks. 'You should know me by now. I don't trust anybody in this damned town. Let's say I prefer to have a moat around me.'
     
     
Skiros shook his head. 'Crazy Americans. I shall never understand you.' He sipped appreciatively at his drink and then placed it carefully on the table. 'I believe you had a little trouble with Selim?'
     
     
Kane lit a cigarette. 'I wouldn't call it trouble. I simply tossed him off my boat. Since when has he been working for you, anyway?'
     
     
The Greek shrugged, and took his time over lighting an oily black cheroot. 'I find him useful, now and then. He does the odd trip to India for me when it's necessary. I only sent him this afternoon because I was busy with something else.'
     
     
Kane frowned. 'Well, don't send him again. I don't like his smell. I once picked up four slaves he dumped overboard three miles out in the Gulf when a British gunboat was on his heels.'
     
     
Skiros shrugged and raised one hand in a gesture of submission. 'All right, so you don't like the way he makes his money, but take a tip from me. He's lost a lot of face over the way you treated him this afternoon. From now on I'd be extremely careful if I were you.'
     
     
Kane pushed the oilskin package across the table. 'Let's get down to business.'
     
     
Skiros produced a clasp knife and proceeded to cut open the package carefully. 'Did you have any trouble?'
     
     
Kane shook his head. 'I was at the rendezvous just after midnight. The boat was late, and O'Hara was drunk as usual. Guptas was in charge. He told me something interesting.'
     
     
'What was that?'
     
     
'They saw the Catalina about thirty miles out, offloading from a Portuguese freighter.'
     
     
Skiros laughed. 'So Romero's developed sticky fingers too. That (5 interesting. What about customs when you came in?'
     
     
Kane shrugged. 'No trouble there. Gonzalez didn't even come on board. All that business with the oil can under the keel was a waste of