Dorothy Eden (45 page)

“Addict? In what way do you mean?” Her voice was sharp.

“Not as applied to alcohol or drugs,” Luke explained. “Abby means Australia can become an acquired taste to the newcomer. You’re being a bit dim, aren’t you, Lola?”

“And you sound revoltingly professorish,” Lola said tartly.

They made a little more desultory conversation, but now Abby didn’t hear it. One of Luke’s words had made a small signal in her mind. Addiction—as for drugs. The over-bright eyes of the plump woman in the toy shop, the everlasting keyed-up chatter of Mrs. Moffatt, the convenient forgetfulness and vagueness of the jeweller in the Cross who saw nothing and heard nothing…

These three people, at least, seemed to be under a spell. Who else? Perhaps Mary, so constantly meek and long-suffering. Not Lola, not Milton, with their sharp alert intelligence. But old Jock, lingering about persistently, the fish-faced man who would obey his terrible orders…

One thing only was starkly clear, and that was Luke’s reaction to the news of the death of the unknown Chinese by drowning in the harbor. It had a connection with Andrew’s death. For later that night, she remembered, they had talked of Andrew, lightly and lovingly, and Luke had hidden his grief for his brother whom he had so respected and loved. Poor, brave, clumsy, loving Luke whom now she trusted completely…

D
EIRDRE HAD BEEN IN
her bedroom but not in bed for a long time before she heard the cars come home. She jumped up from the floor where she had been sprawling in a bored fashion over a comic, and looked out of the window.

She was careful not to be seen because Gran had tucked her in hours ago, and would be furious. And then Mummy would be furious and there would be one of those boring rows.

She only wanted to see if Abby had come home safely. It had been an awful week-end, with Gran muttering and mumbling more than usual, and sad without Abby. There was no fun at all in looking through the windows of an empty house. She had even had to resort to an unsatisfactory conversation with old Jock who had been prowling about quite a lot. He said he’d been told to water the geraniums and keep an eye on the place, but Deirdre didn’t believe a word of that. He was a prowler, like her.

Could it be he who walked in the house at night?

Luke had driven his car down and then come back to help take things out of Uncle Milton’s car. Deirdre wondered if they might have brought back a kangaroo, and forgetting caution craned out to see. She watched disappointedly as they took nothing out of the boot but bags, and then several flat packages. No kangaroo. But Uncle Milton was in his usual bad temper.

When Luke had gone he wheeled himself into the house, and Deirdre heard acrimonious voices from the hall. It was, of course, Mummy quarrelling with him again. Mary didn’t say a word. She never did.

But now Uncle Milton’s voice rose angrily. “He’s a clumsy fool! Wait till I see him!”

“He is not. He’s stood by you all all the time. My God, if it hadn’t been for Reg—”

Deirdre’s fingers flew to her ears. They were talking about the man who might be her father. She didn’t want to hear what they were saying about him. She stood still for a long time, then, when she cautiously removed her fingers, the voices were quieter, even Uncle Milton’s.

“Leave it now. I want a drink; Where’s the kid?”

“In bed. Hours ago,” said Gran.

“Thank God for that.”

Deirdre’s face sharpened with hatred. One day, she thought, one day she’d tip that old chair over when Uncle Milton was in it. Or let it run down the slope to the river. For God’s sake, if Reg was her father, why didn’t he come and rescue her?

Dejectedly she got into bed and settled down to sleep. But if she heard those footsteps tonight she would at last have the courage to go and see whose they were. She really would.

When the time came, however, she lay curled up and trembling. It must be very late, almost morning. She could see the moon tangled in the tall gums on the other side of the river. The footsteps were not loud. It was just that some part of her never quite stopped listening for them so that, measured and muffled as they were, she always woke.

After a long time she forced herself to get out of bed and tiptoe to the door. There she stood in her pyjamas shivering violently.

One, two, three, four, five, six, and then back, one, two, three, four, five, six. Long deliberate strides up and down the mosaic flooring of the hall.

Was it her father down there? Did he know he had an unhappy daughter upstairs? He couldn’t, or he would have wanted to see her, months, years ago. He would have come to her birthday party. No one could ever have told him about her. He’d be quite surprised to see her. He would probably swing her up in his arms and say, “You’re not pretty—” (because she wasn’t), “but you’re cute and I love you.”

But to have that happen he had to know about her. There was only one way to tell him, and that was to open her door and go to the head of the stairs and look down and say, “Hi, Daddy!”

It was crazy to be so scared. She wasn’t scared of anything, really, not even those secret footsteps.

Deirdre’s chin went up, and her hand softly turned the door knob. She opened the door noiselessly and saw the shaft of light across the stairs from the hall. Her pyjama trousers were slipping down. She had to tug fiercely at them, and in doing so got her foot caught in the hem of one drooping leg. She tripped, making a small thud. It wasn’t a loud noise, but sufficient to halt the footsteps.

Petrified, she stood absolutely silent. Now the footsteps had started again, but briskly this time, and up the stairs.

A light flashed on. A figure, immensely tall, stood over her.

At last Deirdre dragged her eyes up and looked into the face that stared down at her. In that moment all her toughness left her. She gave a small whimper. Her face was stiff with fright.

L
UKE WOULDN’T LET ABBY
out of his sight. He switched on all the lights, and drew the curtains, going from room to room with such meticulous care that at last Abby giggled.

“Darling, you’re like a spinster looking for a man under the bed.”

“It’s no laughing matter. We’re not staying here. Pack the few things you need for the next day or so. We’re going to a hotel.”

Abby sat down.

“I’m not moving from here until I know what this is all about.”

“I’ll tell you what it’s about. Tomorrow this house goes up for sale. Tonight we move and then get in touch with the police.”

He went to draw back the curtain slightly and look down to the river. A glow-worm light came from Jock’s boat, and the usual tune, though muted, drifted up.

“At least Jock hasn’t changed his habits,” said Abby with something almost like affection. “I believe I’d miss him if we moved.”

“Not if, when. I hate this place as much as you do.”

Abby looked up, astonished. “Luke! I haven’t known a thing that’s been going on in your mind.”

“I’m glad you haven’t.” He came up to her, holding out his hands. “Smell my fingers.”

The faintly pungent odor was distinctive and clinging.

“What is it?” Abby asked.

“Opium. I’ve just been unloading it from Milton’s car. That’s what we went on this week-end for.”

“The man from Darwin!” Abby exclaimed. “He was to meet you.”

Luke nodded. “He’s one of the syndicate. I hoped he would be the big boss, but he wasn’t. He’s a steward on one of the big airliners and has smuggled several supplies of the stuff. But like all of us, he’s never actually met the boss. Got his orders by telephone in Singapore. This syndicate has been bringing in the opium for some time, and breaking it down to market it in other forms, heroin and morphine. This makes small quantities that can be hidden in tiny containers.”

“Such as lipsticks,” Abby breathed.

“You’re too bright, darling. It was bad luck that lipstick came your way. What you thought was innocent was pretty deadly. You just had to lift the lipstick out and underneath was the powder. That’s the way the stuff’s been distributed.”

“And prepared by the Rose Bay Cosmetic Company?”

“That’s right. Among a few other perfectly innocent cosmetics. They’d been operating in a small way in that building in the Cross, but last week they got windy. The police were getting suspicious. So it had to be a midnight flit, more or less. You walked in at the end of it. You were probably very lucky not to have been killed there and then. I didn’t realise that at the time. I do now—after today.”

Luke looked at her with his remorseful eyes.

“Can you forgive me? I’m not good at this kind of game. I thought you would be perfectly safe so long as you remained ignorant of what was going on. In fact, I was assured you would be, and I believed them. So I helped Lola organise the camouflage for the next day when you went back to that room. I hoped you’d be fooled for the time being.”

“Little you knew me!” Abby murmured.

“So it seems. I could have wrung your neck at one stage. You’re far more clever than me, actually. I should have told you all about this business at the beginning, but they’d never have trusted me if you knew. I’d worked a long time trying to get their trust. They only finally decided to take me in on it this week-end.”

“Why did you want their trust?”

“Because six months ago Andrew died, on this case. A ship from Hong Kong was in port and he went on board to do a little investigating. He never came off it alive. His death was hushed up by the department. No one connected him with me.”

“The ship that came in again the other day—with the dead Chinese?”

“Yes. The captain’s a shady character, but the police can’t so far pin anything on him.”

Abby’s eyes were full of understanding and sympathy.

“So you picked up where Andrew left off?”

“I persuaded the police to let me do a little private investigating. I knew Andrew had got on to the Moffatts, but they seemed to be just receivers. We wanted the brains of the organization, a brilliant and ruthless person whom we believed travelled backwards and forwards to Singapore and Hong Kong, organising shipments and keeping the team together. The Moffatts were lesser fry. This is the man we want and must get.”

“Lola’s husband?” suggested Abby intuitively.

“Could be. But I doubt it. I think her husband’s one of the lesser fry, too. Indeed, I rather think he might be your friend with the fish-face.”

“Of course!” Abby exclaimed. “He was in her room last night. I heard him. Oh, poor Deirdre!”

Luke stared. “What’s Deirdre got to do with it?”

“If that’s her father, after all the hopes she’s cherished.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. If ever I saw a child who was less of an idealist—”

“Rubbish. You don’t know her!”

Luke sat down beside her. “Abby! Abby, darling, you’re such an extraordinary—”

Abby pushed him away.

“Don’t let’s waste time now. Go on with this story. So the Rose Bay Company had to move. Where is it now?”

“Nowhere. They’re lying low for a while. They’ve stored their equipment at the Moffatts’.”

“Then why on earth don’t the police seize it?”

“Because they haven’t been told it’s there. I told you, I’m waiting to get the big fish.”

“Rose Bay himself?” said Abby.

“Rose Bay?”

“Or she could be a woman,” Abby murmured.

Luke stared at her.

“A woman! I wonder. You might be right.”

“That old woman I spoke to on the telephone yesterday while you thought I was trying on girdles,” Abby said eagerly.

She was rewarded by his chagrined astonishment.

“You’ve been one jump ahead of me all the time.”

“Not all the time. But we must go and see this old woman first thing in the morning. We must be quick.” She looked at him soberly. “There isn’t much time, is there?”

“No time at all. That’s why we’re moving out of this house tonight.”

“Oh, no, we’re not,” said Abby.

“We must. Don’t you realize how ruthless they are? Now they’re suspicious of you you’re in danger all the time. My God, Abby, Andrew’s dead, but you’re alive, and I intend to have you stay that way. I’ve been foolhardy enough.”

“How long did it take you to get them to trust you?” Abby asked calmly.

“Ever since I met them and started negotiating to buy this piece of land. I had to have some perfectly innocent reason for meeting them. I even had to build a house where I didn’t want it. Luckily I had a girl I was going to marry, so that part of it was plausible. And they knew I needed money. I was beginning my profession, building a house and getting married.”

“But I came before you were ready, didn’t I?”

Luke nodded. “I wanted all this behind me. I was obsessed with the thought of revenging Andrew’s death. He was the only person I loved, except you. But I couldn’t stand the thought of you being mixed up in such nasty business. Indeed, you couldn’t be, because if I told you anything at all, I was out. The Moffatts don’t trust other women—except addicts, of course. They, poor creatures, are too deeply involved to do anything. So come now. Pack your bag.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Abby. “You’re going to see this through. We’re both going to.” She smiled at him serenely. “First thing in the morning we’ll pay another call on Miss Court, dressmaker. Agree? And now we’d better go to bed, or someone will be thinking our light’s on too late. They’ll wonder what we’re finding to talk about for so long. And, Luke—I’m sorry about Andrew.”

His face twisted. “You’re too damned clever!”

“Come to bed,” Abby said gently.

“You see too much and you feel too much, and I love you.” His face was buried in her hair. “I love you.”

“C
OULDN’T IT BE MILTON
?” said Abby questioningly, at breakfast the next morning.

“Impossible. He’s a cripple. He’s never out of his chair. But I grant you, he could have the brain.”

“You’re sure this man is in Singapore?”

“Not all the time, but frequently. He runs this organization like a battle, visiting all the units. We have proof of that.”

“And your trip to Darwin would have been to collect the next lot coming by plane?”