bottle. "That's a swell crack from the guy whose bacon I've saved at least twice.
If it wasn't for me you'd have lost the war right here in the East Indies. And you, a British intelligence officer, razzing me. It pains me, William, it really pains me!"
"All of which," Major Arnold continued, ignoring him, "reminds me. How did you ever get that `Ponga' tied to your name?"
Mayo grinned complacently and settled back in his chair. "It's a long story, William.
A story that will make your pink British ears pinker, and much too rough for your sensitive moral condition. However, over in Africa, there's a place called Gabon, and in Gabon is a town called Ponga-Ponga. Now, a few years past over in Ponga-Ponga was a young man named Mayo, and-"
"Jim," Major Arnold whispered suddenly. "Who are those men at the next table?"
Ponga Jim chuckled. "I was wondering how long it would take the British Intelligence to wake up to those lugs," he said.
Then he said guardedly, "Believe me, those guys are a barrelful of hell for you and me. Despite the obvious military bearing of at least two of them, those gents are merely innocent passengers on the good ship Carlsberg. You may remember the Carlsberg is from Copenhagen, but not so many days past her home port was Bremerhaven.
"The chap with the bulge behind his belt is a commercial traveler, even though he looks like a member of the Nazi Gestapo. The lean, hard-faced guy isn't a naval officer, but only a man traveling for his health. The"
"Ssh!" Major Arnold whispered. "The fat one is coming over. "
The man's face was rotund, and his round belly was barely controlled by a heavy leather belt. He looked jolly and lazy until you saw his eyes. They were small, and hard as bits of steel. Like the others, he wore whites and a sun helmet.
He stopped beside their table. "I beg your pardon," he said, smiling slowly, "but I accidentally heard your friend call you Ponga Jim. Aren't you master of the Semiramis?"
"Yeah," Jim acknowledged. "Have a seat."
The German seated himself between them, smiling contentedly. "And your friend?"
Major Arnold waved a deprecatory hand, looking very much the neat, well-bred Englishman.
"My name is Girard, William Girard," he said. "I'm trying my hand at pearl buying."
"And mine is Romberg," the fat man said. Then he turned to Jim. "Isn't it true, Captain, that you clear for Bonthain and Menado soon? Captain van Raalt, the pilot, told me your cargo was for those ports. My friends and I are interested, as we have some drilling machinery for shipment to Banggai."
"Banggai's on my route," Jim said. "You and your friends want to go along as passengers?"
Romberg nodded. "I can start the cargo moving right away, if you wish," he said.
"The quicker the better," Mayo said, getting up. "We're moving off as soon as that cargo's stowed."
Romberg, after shaking hands with both of them, rejoined his friends.
"Well, William," Jim said softly, when they had reached the street, "what do you make of it?"
"That cargo to Banggai looks like a load of trouble, if you ask me," the major said grimly. "Cancel it. I didn't know they were here yet, but I knew the Gestapo was out to get you. They know you messed up that New Guinea deal and their plans here."
Ponga Jim shrugged. "So what? Cargo doesn't lay around waiting for a guy. I'll take my chances and-" he smiled grimly, his eyes hard, "they'll take theirs!"
"Don't say you weren't warned," Arnold said resignedly. "Those Gestapo men are cruel, relentless, vindictive. You wrecked their plans, and now you're marked for death."
"William," Ponga Jim said pointedly, "I need that money. Everything I got in the world is in that old tub down there by the dock. I got to win or go down swinging-and I'm winning!"
He turned and walked rapidly down the street. Over six feet tall, Ponga Jim weighed two hundred pounds and carried it like a featherweight. In the officer's cap, the faded khaki suit, and woven-leather sandals he looked tough,
If it wasn't for me you'd have lost the war right here in the East Indies. And you, a British intelligence officer, razzing me. It pains me, William, it really pains me!"
"All of which," Major Arnold continued, ignoring him, "reminds me. How did you ever get that `Ponga' tied to your name?"
Mayo grinned complacently and settled back in his chair. "It's a long story, William.
A story that will make your pink British ears pinker, and much too rough for your sensitive moral condition. However, over in Africa, there's a place called Gabon, and in Gabon is a town called Ponga-Ponga. Now, a few years past over in Ponga-Ponga was a young man named Mayo, and-"
"Jim," Major Arnold whispered suddenly. "Who are those men at the next table?"
Ponga Jim chuckled. "I was wondering how long it would take the British Intelligence to wake up to those lugs," he said.
Then he said guardedly, "Believe me, those guys are a barrelful of hell for you and me. Despite the obvious military bearing of at least two of them, those gents are merely innocent passengers on the good ship Carlsberg. You may remember the Carlsberg is from Copenhagen, but not so many days past her home port was Bremerhaven.
"The chap with the bulge behind his belt is a commercial traveler, even though he looks like a member of the Nazi Gestapo. The lean, hard-faced guy isn't a naval officer, but only a man traveling for his health. The"
"Ssh!" Major Arnold whispered. "The fat one is coming over. "
The man's face was rotund, and his round belly was barely controlled by a heavy leather belt. He looked jolly and lazy until you saw his eyes. They were small, and hard as bits of steel. Like the others, he wore whites and a sun helmet.
He stopped beside their table. "I beg your pardon," he said, smiling slowly, "but I accidentally heard your friend call you Ponga Jim. Aren't you master of the Semiramis?"
"Yeah," Jim acknowledged. "Have a seat."
The German seated himself between them, smiling contentedly. "And your friend?"
Major Arnold waved a deprecatory hand, looking very much the neat, well-bred Englishman.
"My name is Girard, William Girard," he said. "I'm trying my hand at pearl buying."
"And mine is Romberg," the fat man said. Then he turned to Jim. "Isn't it true, Captain, that you clear for Bonthain and Menado soon? Captain van Raalt, the pilot, told me your cargo was for those ports. My friends and I are interested, as we have some drilling machinery for shipment to Banggai."
"Banggai's on my route," Jim said. "You and your friends want to go along as passengers?"
Romberg nodded. "I can start the cargo moving right away, if you wish," he said.
"The quicker the better," Mayo said, getting up. "We're moving off as soon as that cargo's stowed."
Romberg, after shaking hands with both of them, rejoined his friends.
"Well, William," Jim said softly, when they had reached the street, "what do you make of it?"
"That cargo to Banggai looks like a load of trouble, if you ask me," the major said grimly. "Cancel it. I didn't know they were here yet, but I knew the Gestapo was out to get you. They know you messed up that New Guinea deal and their plans here."
Ponga Jim shrugged. "So what? Cargo doesn't lay around waiting for a guy. I'll take my chances and-" he smiled grimly, his eyes hard, "they'll take theirs!"
"Don't say you weren't warned," Arnold said resignedly. "Those Gestapo men are cruel, relentless, vindictive. You wrecked their plans, and now you're marked for death."
"William," Ponga Jim said pointedly, "I need that money. Everything I got in the world is in that old tub down there by the dock. I got to win or go down swinging-and I'm winning!"
He turned and walked rapidly down the street. Over six feet tall, Ponga Jim weighed two hundred pounds and carried it like a featherweight. In the officer's cap, the faded khaki suit, and woven-leather sandals he looked tough,
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