Грэм Грин - The Comedians

I saw the Smiths on to their plane, dined alone, and then drove to the Villa Crйole — I was curious to see Jones.

The chauffeur was slumped at the bottom of the stairs. He watched me with suspicion, but he let me pass. A voice from the landing above cried angrily, 'La volontй du diable,' and a negro, who flashed a gold ring under the light, went by me.

Jones greeted me as though I were an old school friend whom he had not seen for years, and with a hint of patronage because our relative positions had changed since those days. 'Come in, old man. I'm glad to see you. I expected you the other night. Forgive the confusion. Try that chair — you'll find it pretty snug.' The chair was certainly warm: it still held the heat of the last angry occupant. Three packs of cards were scattered over the table: the air was blue with cigar-smoke, and an ash-tray had toppled over, leaving some butts on the floor.

'Who's your friend?' I asked.

'Someone in the Treasury Department. A bad loser.'

'Gin-rummy?'

'He shouldn't have raised the stakes half-way through, when he was well ahead. But you don't argue with someone in the Treasury, do you? In any case at the end the old ace of spades turned up and it was over in a flash. I'm two thousand to the good. But he paid me in gourdes, not dollars. What's your poison?'

'Have you a whisky?'

'I have next to everything, old man. You wouldn't fancy a dry Martini?'

I would have preferred a whisky, but he seemed anxious to show off the riches of his store, so, 'If it's very dry,' I said.

'Ten to one, old man.'

He unlocked the cupboard and drew out a leather travelling-case — a half-bottle of gin, a half-bottle of vermouth, four metal beakers, a shaker. It was an elegant expensive set, and he laid it reverently on the tumbled table as though he were an auctioneer showing a prized antique. I couldn't help commenting on it. 'Asprey's?' I asked.

'As good as,' he replied quickly and began to mix the cocktails.

'It must feel a little odd finding itself here,' I said, 'so far from W.I.'

'It's used to much stranger places,' he said. 'I had it with me in Burma during the war.'

'It's come out remarkably unscathed.'

'I had it furbished up again.'

He turned away from me to find a lime, and I took a closer look at the case. Asprey's trade mark was visible inside the lid. He came back with the lime and saw me looking.

'I'm caught, old man. It is from Asprey's. I didn't want to seem pretentious, that's all. As a matter of fact there's quite a history around that case.'

'Tell me.'

'Try the drink first and see if it's to your taste.'

'It's fine.'

'I got that case as a result of a bet with some other chaps in the outfit. The brigadier had one like it, and I couldn't help envying him. I used to dream of a case like that on patrol — the shaker clinking with the ice. I had two young chaps out with me from London — never been much further than Bond Street before. Well-lined, both of them. They teased me about the brigadier's cocktail-set. Once when we got pretty near to the end of our water they challenged me to find a stream before night. If I did I could have a cocktail-case like that next time anyone went home. I don't know whether I've told you that I can smell water …'

'Was that the time you lost the whole platoon?' I asked. He looked up at me over his glass and I'm sure he read my thoughts. 'That was another occasion,' he said and changed the subject abruptly.

'How are Smith and Mrs Smith?'

'You saw what happened by the Post Office.'

'Yes.'

'It was the last instalment of American aid. They left this evening on the plane. They sent their regards to you.'

'I wish I'd seen more of them,' Jones said. 'There's something about him …' He added surprisingly, 'He reminded me of my father. Not physically, I mean, but … well, a sort of goodness.'

'Yes, I know what you mean. I don't remember my father.'

'To tell you the truth my memory's a bit dim too.'

'Let's say the father we would have liked to have.'

'That's it, old man, exactly. Don't let your Martini get warm. I always felt that Mr Smith and I had a bit in common. Horses out of the same stable.'

I listened with astonishment. What could a saint possibly have in common with a rogue? Jones gently closed the cocktail-case, and then, taking a cloth from the table, he began to stroke the leather, as tenderly as Mrs Smith had smoothed her husband's hair, and I thought: innocence perhaps.

'I'm sorry,' Jones said, 'about that affair with Concasseur. I told him if he touched a friend of mine again I was finished with the lot of them.'

'Be careful what you say. They're dangerous.'

'I have no fear of them. They need me too much, old man. Did you know young Philipot came to see me?'

'Yes.'

'Just imagme what I could have done for him. They realize that.'

'Have you a Bren for sale.'

'I've got myself, old man. That's better than a Bren. All the rebels need is a man who knows the way around. Think of it — on a clear day, you can see Port-au-Prince from the Dominican border.'

'The Dominicans will never march.'

'They are not needed. Give me fifty Haitians with a month's training and Papa Doc would be on a plane to Kingston. I wasn't in Burma for nothing. I've thought a lot about it. I've studied the map. Those raids near Cap Haпtien were a folly the way they were done. I know exactly where I'd put in my feint and where I'd strike!

'Why didn't you go with Philipot?'

'I was tempted, oh I was tempted all right, but I've got a deal on here which only happens once in a man's life. It means a fortune if I can get away with it.'

'Where to?'

'Where to?'

'Get away where to?'

He laughed happily. 'Anywhere in the world, old man. Once before I nearly brought it off in Stanleyville, but I was dealing with a lot of savages and they got suspicious.'

'And they aren't suspicious here?'

'They are educated. You can always get round the educated.'

While he poured out two more Martinis I was wondering what form his swindle took. One thing at least was certain — he was living better than he had done in his prison cell. He had even put on a little weight. I asked him directly, 'What are you up to, Jones?'

'Laying the foundations of a fortune, old man. Why not come in with me? It's not a long-term project. Any moment now I'll have the bird by the tail, but I could do with a partner. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, but you never came. There's a quarter of a million dollars in it. Perhaps more if we keep our nerve.'

'And the partner's job?'

'To complete the deal I have to do a spot of travelling, and I want a man I can rely on to watch things here while I'm away.'

'You don't trust Concasseur?'

'I don't trust one of them. It's not a question of colour, but think of it, old man, a quarter of a million pure profit. I can't take any chances. I'd have to deduct a little of it for expenses — ten thousand dollars would probably cover that, and then we'd divide the rest. The hotel's not doing too well, is it? And think what you could do with your share. There are islands in the Caribbean just waiting for development — a beach, an hotel, an air-strip. You'd end a millionaire, old man.'

I suppose it was my Jesuit education which reminded me of that moment when, from a high mountain above the desert, the devil displayed all the kingdoms of the world. I wondered whether the devil really had them to offer or whether it was all a gigantic bluff. I looked around the room in the Villa Crйole for evidence of the thrones and powers. There was a record-player which Jones must have bought at Hamit's — he would hardly have carried it all the way from America in the Medea, for it was a cheap enough machine. Beside it rather suitably lay a disc of Edith Piaf, 'Je ne regrette rien,' and there was little other sign of personal possession, little sign that he had been enabled to draw much of his wealth in advance for the goods which he had to deliver — what goods?