By now, Jake was almost totally submerged under a heaving mound of

black evening dress. There were three of them riding on his back, two

hanging around his legs, and one tucked under each of his arms.

"Not me, you fools. Not me him!" He tried to point to Gareth,

but both his arms were occupied.

"Quite right," Gareth agreed. "Dirty cheating dog!" and he wielded

the billiard cue with uncanny skill, holding it inverted and tapping

the thick end smartly against the skulls of the well-dressed gentlemen

riding on Jake's back. They dropped away, and freed of their weight

Jake turned to Gareth once more.

"Listen-!" he bellowed, advancing despite the bodies that clung to his

legs.

"Listen, indeed." Gareth cocked his head, and the sound of a police

whistle shrilled, and there was the glimpse of uniforms beyond double

doors. "Peelers, by Jove, Gareth announced. "Perhaps we should move

on. Follow me, old son." With a few expert swings of the billiard

cue, he knocked the glass from the window beside him, and stepped

lightly and unruffled into the darkened garden.

Jake strode along the unlit footpath under the dark jacaranda trees. He

followed the main road out towards his camp beside the stream. The

outraged cries and the sound of police whistles had long since died

away in the night behind.

Jake's anger had also died away, and he chuckled once as he thought of

the peer's purple face and his bulging affronted eyes. Then behind

him, following along the dark street, he heard the rhythmic squeak of

the springs of a ricksha, and the pad of bare feet.

Even before he looked back, he knew who was following.

"Thought I'd lost you," Gareth Swales remarked lightly, his handsome

noble features lit by the glow of the cheroot between his teeth as he

lolled against the cushions of the ricksha. "You took off like a long

dog after a bitch. fantastic turn of speed. I was very impressed."

Jake said nothing, but strode on towards his camp.

"You can't possibly be bound for bed." The ricksha kept station beside

Jake. "The night is still a pup and who can say what beautiful

thoughts and stirring deeds Care still to be thought and performed."

Jake tried not to grin, and kept going.

"Madame Cecile's?"Gareth wheedled.

"You really do want those cars don't you?"

"I am hurt,"

announced Gareth, "that you should imply gross materialism to my

friendly overtures."

"Who is paying? "demanded Jake.

"You are my guest."

"Well, I've drunk your beer, eaten your food why should I stop now?" He

stopped and walked to the ricksha. "Move over, then, he said.

The ricksha driver wheeled in a tight turn and trotted back into the

town, while Gareth pressed a cheroot between Jake's lips.

"What did you deal yourself?" Jake asked, between puffs of the

fragrant smoke. "Four aces? Straight flush?"

"I am appalled at the implied slur on my character, sir. I shall

ignore the question." They jogged a little farther in silence until it

was Gareth's turn to ask the next question.

"You didn't really roast that poor fellow's chestnuts, did you?"

No, "Jake admitted. "But it made a better story." They reached the

door of Madame Cecile's, discreetly set back in a walled garden, with a

lamp burning over the lintel.

Gareth paused with his hand on the brass knocker.

"You know damned if I don't owe you an apology. I've misjudged you all

along the line."

"It's been a lot of laughs."

"I think I'm going to have to be honest with you."

"I don't know if I can stand the shock." They grinned at each other

and Gareth punched his shoulder lightly.

"It's still my treat, what?" Madame Cecile was so tall and thin and

bosorriless that she seemed in danger of snapping off like a brittle

stick. She wore a severely cut dress of dark and indeterminate colour

which swept the ground and buttoned up under her chin and at the

wrists. Her hair was drawn back tightly into a large bun at the back

of her neck and her expression was prim and disapproving, but it

softened a little when she let them into the front room.

"Major Swales, it is always a pleasure. Mr. Barton, we haven't seen

you in a long while. I was afraid you'd left town."

"Let us have a bottle of Charlie Champers, my dear." Gareth handed his

silk scarf to the maid. "Have you run out of the Pal Roger 1923?"

"Indeed not,

Major."

"And we'd like to talk alone for a while before meeting any of the

young tallies. Is your private lounge vacant?" Gareth was settled

comfortably in one of the big leather armchairs with a glass of

champagne in one hand and a cheroot in the other.

Duce is about to put himself in to bat. Though God alone knows what he

hopes to gain by it. From all accounts, it's the most desolate stretch

of desert and mountain one could imagine. However,

Mussolini wants it perhaps he has visions of empire and glory. The old

Napoleonic itch, you know."

"How do you know this?" Jake was sprawled on the buttoned couch across

the room. He wasn't drinking the champagne. He didn't like the

taste.

"It's my business to know, old chap. I can smell out a barney before

the fellows themselves know they are going to fight. This one is a

racing certainty. Duce is going through all the classic stages of

protestations of peaceful intentions, combined with wholesale military

preparations.

The other big powers France, our chaps and yours have given him the

wink. Of course, they'll all squeal like blazes, and make all sorts of

protests at the League of Nations but nobody is about to stop old

Benito making a big grab for Ethiopia. hail Selassie, the king of

kings, knows it and so is princes and roses an c ieftains and merry

men.

And they are desperately trying to prepare some kind of defence.

That's where I come in, old boy."

"Why must they buy from you at the prices you say they are offering?

Surely they could get this sort of stuff direct from the

manufacturers?"

"Embargo, old chap. The

League of Nations have slapped an arms embargo on the whole of

Eritrea,

Somaliland and Ethiopia. No imports of war material into the area.

It's intended to reduce tension but of course it works out completely

one-sided. Mussolini doesn't have to go shopping for his armaments he

has all the guns, aircraft and armour that he needs already landed at

Eritrea. just ready to go and the jolly old Ethiopia has a few ancient

rifles and a lot of those long two-anded swords. It should be a close

match.

You aren't drinking your Charlie Champers?"

"I think I'll go get myself a Tusker. Back in a minute. "Jake rose

and moved to the door and

Gareth shook his head sadly.

"You've got taste buds like a crocodile's back. Tusker, forsooth,

when I'm offering you a vintage Charlie." It was more for a chance to

think out his position and plan his moves than desire for beer that

made Jake seek the bar in the front room. He leaned against the

counter in the crowded room, and his mind went swiftly over what

Gareth

Swales had told him. He tried to decide how much was fact and how much