Sad Wind from the Sea

It took several moments for the implication of his words to sink in. Rose gasped. ‘You don’t mean she keeps…’—she fumbled for words—‘a house!’

‘She certainly does,’ Hagen said. ‘The best house in Macao.’ Even as he spoke and Rose sank back in her seat, crimson with embarrassment, the taxi turned into a side road and braked to a halt outside a pair of beautiful and intricate wrought-iron gates set in a high stone wall.

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Hagen told the taxi-driver to wait, and he and the girl walked up to the ornate iron gates. He pulled on a bellrope and after a while a huge, misshapen figured shambled up to the other side of the gates. A flat, Mongolian face was pressed against the ironwork as the owner peered short-sightedly at them. Hagen reached through and pulled the man’s nose. ‘What the hell, Lee,’ he said. ‘Don’t you remember old friends?’

The face split into a grin and the gate was hurriedly unlocked. As they passed through Hagen punched him lightly in his massive chest and said, ‘Bring the luggage in when I tell you, Lee.’ The Mongolian nodded vigorously, his smile fixed firmly in position.

As they walked up the drive towards the imposing-looking house, Rose said: ‘He’s so grotesque, like an ape Why doesn’t he speak?’

Hagen laughed. ‘The Japs cut out his tongue. He’s the bouncer here. He could break the back of any man I ever knew.’ She appeared suitably impressed and he added: ‘Just remember, angel. If you stay here that so-called ape will protect you when I’m not around. Maybe that thought will make him look a little prettier.’

A maid admitted them with a smile of welcome for Hagen, and showed them into a large reception room. Rose was fascinated by the incredible luxury of the room. There seemed to be a small fortune in Chinese objets d’art. Somewhere nearby a loud voice could be heard and then the door was kicked open and the most fantastic-looking woman Rose had ever seen stormed into the room. ‘Mark Hagen—you young hellion.’ Her voice was like a foghorn and she swept across the floor and crushed him in her arms.

She was wearing a gold kimono and black lounging pyjamas, and the colour scheme clashed terribly with vivid red-dyed hair. ‘Clara, do you still love me?’ Hagen demanded.

‘No one else, handsome.’ She kissed him enthusiastically on one cheek, leaving a smear of vivid orange, and turned and boldly regarded the girl.

Hagen said: ‘Rose, I’d like you to meet Clara Boydell. Clara, this is Rose Graham.’

Clara reached for a silver box and offered him a cheroot and took one herself. ‘My God, Mark,’ she said, ‘I wish I could find a few like her. I’d make a fortune.’

Rose coloured and dropped her eyes and Hagen said, ‘Look, Clara, I need a big favour.’

Clara flung herself down in an easy chair that protested loudly at her weight. ‘Anything I can do. I owe you a favour or two.’ She straightened up and added, ‘Anything except money, that is.’ She turned and explained to Rose: ‘One thing I never do, honey, is part with cash. I need it all for my old age.’

‘It isn’t money, Clara,’ Hagen said. ‘I’d like you to put Rose up for a few days. There are a few people she wants to avoid in town.’

The woman looked at him through narrowed eyes for a moment or two and then she smiled. ‘Sure, why not?’ She rang a hand-bell. ‘It won’t cost me anything.’

Hagen grinned. ‘There’s just one thing, Clara. I’ve a taxi waiting at the gates with the luggage. I’m afraid I’m flat.’

She scowled at him ferociously and then, as the maid came in, her face broke into a smile. ‘Okay, handsome. Just this once.’ She gave the maid an order in execrable Cantonese and said to Rose: ‘Go with her, honey. She’ll fix you up in one of the guest-rooms.’

Rose smiled her thanks and as she went out of the door Hagen said, ‘I’ll see you later, angel.’

‘And I’ll see you now,’ Clara Boydell said. Hagen closed the door and turned towards her. She poured two generous measures of gin into glasses and said: ‘Okay, Mark. Tell me what you’re mixed up in this time.’

Hagen dropped into an easy chair and relaxed. He was more tired than he had realized. Over the top of his glass he regarded Clara Boydell. In the past they had served each other too well for mistrust to enter into their relationship at this stage. He knew that this woman had a genuine affection for him. He told her most of what had happened and what he intended to do.

When he had finished she sat silently staring out of the window. She looked serious and he had never known her to be serious in the four years they had been friends. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he said.

‘I think the whole thing stinks.’

He jumped up and restlessly paced back and forth across the room. ‘What the hell, Clara. I know it’s risky but you don’t get anything easily in this world.’

‘I’m not just thinking of the risks,’ she told him. ‘I like the look of that kid and you’re going to swindle her.’

‘For God’s sake,’ he said angrily. ‘I’m not throwing the kid to the sharks. I’ll see that she gets a cut.’

‘Who says she’ll want a cut and, anyway, she’s in love with you.’

Hagen laughed shortly. ‘Don’t be a fool. I only met her a few hours ago.’

‘Yes, and saved her life. She was in a spot and you came along and pulled her out of it and since then you’ve taken charge of things for her. If she doesn’t love you at the moment she soon will do.’ Hagen snorted and poured himself another drink and Clara continued: ‘Don’t be a fool, Mark. Forget about the girl and look at it from the other angle. If you go into those marshes the Commies will never let you come out alive. They’ll be watching every move you make. They may let you in. They may even let you do all the work, but in the end they’ll strike. It’s suicide, Mark. Are you that desperate for money?’

Hagen walked to the window and spoke without turning round. ‘Clara, I’m sick of the life I’ve been leading. I’ve had enough. The years are rolling by and what have I got to show? Nothing. I want to go home with my pockets full before it’s too late. Is that a bad thing to want?’ He turned and looked at her and she shrugged helplessly. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll put it plainly. If I don’t take this chance I’m all washed up. Just another bum on the beach. Maybe I will get killed—so what? I’d rather take the risk. If I don’t get the gold I’m better off dead anyway.’

He walked over to the door and opened it. ‘Okay, Mark,’ she said. ‘Have it your own way.’

He smiled sadly. ‘I intend to, Clara. Tell Rose I’ll be back to see her this evening, will you?’ She nodded and he closed the door gently behind him.

He had hoped at the back of his mind that Clara, properly approached, might be willing to finance the deal for him. That hope was dead now and he directed his steps towards the centre of Macao to start the rounds of the bankers and money-lenders. It almost seemed as if there was a runner ahead of him. Most of the Europeans didn’t even bother to be polite. They had heard of him and he was a bad risk. On the other hand he found the Chinese money-lenders too polite. They offered him tea and fluttered their hands expressively but couldn’t see their way to lending him the money. He even tried one or two merchants who in the past had not been above buying the odd cargo of contraband goods, but in every case he was politely shown the door.

It was late in the afternoon when he turned into Charlie Beale’s café. It was the one place where his credit was still good for a drink. He sagged down into a booth and, as he gratefully swallowed the cold beer the waiter brought him, someone sat down. Hagen looked across the table and saw Charlie Beale. Charlie smiled. ‘Hello, boy! I hear you’ve made a proper cock-up of it this time and no mistake.’

Hagen gave him a tired grin. ‘You mean the boat? I’ll raise the money somehow.’

Charlie snapped his fingers and the waiter hurried over with a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. ‘Have a decent drink, Mark,’ Charlie said. He raised his glass. ‘Luck, and you’ll need it. The way I’ve heard it you’ll be lucky if you can raise a brass farthing in this town. Somebody has put the word out. The shutters are up as far as you’re concerned.’

Hagen was interested. There wasn’t much that went on in Macao that Charlie didn’t know about. ‘Who is it, Charlie?’ he said. ‘Is it Herrara the Customs chief? I know that bastard would love to see me lose the boat permanently.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘It’s a queer business,’ he said. ‘From what I can hear it’s political. Are you in trouble with the Commies?’

Hagen didn’t answer because suddenly a wild idea was smouldering in his brain. ‘Charlie,’ he said. ‘How would you like to lend me ten thousand petakas?’

Charlie’s eyes narrowed and his face became devoid of expression. He didn’t laugh because he knew that Hagen must have some extraordinary proposition to make to him. ‘You got something up your sleeve?’ he said softly, and the Cockney accent of his youth became suddenly more pronounced.

‘Something big, Charlie. Really big.’

Charlie stood up and motioned Hagen to follow him. He led the way upstairs and into his office. ‘We can be private here,’ he said. They sat facing each other across a wide desk. ‘Let’s hear it, boy, and it better be good.’

He was now the complete business man. Facts and figures were all that interested him. He listened to what Hagen had to say and then sat smoking a cigarette and thinking about it. After a while he opened a drawer and producing a map unrolled it on the desk. ‘Look at this, boy,’ he said. ‘From here to the Kwai Marshes the coast is alive with gunboats and on top of them you’ve got the pirates. You wouldn’t stand a chance.’

Hagen nodded. ‘All right. It’s going to be difficult, but it could be done.’

Charlie lit a cigarette thoughtfully and then said: ‘Wouldn’t you be better off in a motor sampan? You’d look like an ordinary fisherman from one of the coast villages.’

Hagen shook his head and said decisively: ‘No, I don’t agree. This whole thing has only one chance of success—speed. It’s got to be done so fast that we’re in and out with the gold before they know what’s happened. To do that successfully I need a fast boat and mine’s the best on the coast, as nobody knows better than you.’

Charlie Beale grinned. ‘All right! So your boat saved my neck once. I’ve paid for that favour a long time ago.’

Hagen nodded. ‘I know, but I’m not asking for favours now. This is a business proposition.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘Is it hell a business proposition. It’s a gamble, but on the other hand I’m a gambler as well as being a business man.’ He studied the map for a couple of minutes without saying anything and Hagen sat with sweating palms praying for the right reply. ‘What would you need in the way of equipment?’ he said at last.

Hagen had his answer off pat. ‘Next to nothing. The boat is lying on a sandy bottom at a depth of twenty-five feet. The job should be easy. I’ve got an aqua-lung. A block and tackle to haul up the gold is easily rigged. The main thing is the money to pay that damned fine so I can get my boat back.’