The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter. Desmond Bagley

be another place like this in the whole of North Africa.’

      ‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ I said. ‘I hope we can find something like this in Italy. We can get local people to fix up the slip, and with a bit of push we should be finished in a week. We’ll have to do some token work on the house, but the bulk of the money must go on essentials – there’ll be time to make the house livable when we come back. I’ll tip Walker off about that; he’s good at thinking up wacky reasons for doing the damnedest things.’

      We drifted back to Walker and Aristide who were still going at it hammer and tongs, and I gave Walker an imperceptible nod. He smiles dazzlingly at Aristide, and said, ‘It’s no use, Mr Theotopopoulis, you can’t talk me out of taking this house. I’m determined to have it at once – on a six months’ rental, of course.’

      Aristide, who hadn’t any intention of talking anyone out of anything, was taken aback, but making a game recovery, said, ‘You understand, Mr Walker, I can give no guarantees …’ His voice tailed off, giving the impression that he was doing Walker a favour.

      ‘That’s all right, old man,’ said Walker gaily. ‘But I must have a six months’ option on the house, too. Remember that.’

      ‘I think that can be arranged,’ said Aristide with spurious dubiety.

      ‘Won’t it be fun, living in this beautiful house?’ said Walker to me. I glared at him. That was the trouble with Walker; he got wrapped up in his part too much. My glare went unnoticed because he had turned to Aristide. ‘The house isn’t haunted, or anything like that?’ he demanded, as though he equated ghosts with dead rats in the wainscotting.

      ‘Oh, no,’ said Aristide hurriedly. ‘No ghosts.’

      ‘A pity,’ said Walker negligently. ‘I’ve always wanted to live in a haunted house.’

      I saw Aristide changing his mind about the ghosts, so I spoke hastily to break up this buffoonery. I had no objection to Aristide thinking he was dealing with a fool, but no one could be as big a damn’ fool as Walker was acting and I was afraid that Aristide might smell a rat.

      I said, ‘Well, I suggest we go back to Mr Theotopopoulis’s office and settle the details. It’s getting late and I have to do some work on the boat.’

      To Coertze, I said, ‘There’s no need for you to come. We’ll meet you for lunch at the restaurant we went to last night.’

      I had watched his blood pressure rising at Walker’s fooleries and I wanted him out of the way in case he exploded. It’s damned difficult working with people, especially antagonistic types like Walker and Coertze.

      We went back to Aristide’s office and it all went off very well. He stung us for the house, but I had no objection to that. No one who splashed money around like Walker could be anything but an honest man.

      Then Walker said something that made my blood run cold, although afterwards, on mature consideration, I conceded that he had built up his character so that he could get away with it. He said to Aristide, ‘Tangier is a funny place. I hear you’ve got bars of gold scattered about all over the place.’

      Aristide smiled genially. He had cut his pound of flesh and was willing to waste a few minutes in small talk; besides, this idiot Walker was going to live in Tangier – he could be milked a lot more. ‘Not scattered, exactly,’ he said. ‘We keep our gold in very big safes.’

      ‘Um,’ said Walker. ‘You know, it’s a funny thing, but I’ve lived all my life in South Africa where they mine scads of gold, and I’ve never seen any. You can’t buy gold in South Africa, you know.’

      Aristide raised his eyebrows as though this was unheard of.

      ‘I’ve heard you can buy gold here by the pound like buying butter over the counter. It might be fun to buy some gold. Imagine me with all my money and I’ve never seen a gold bar,’ he said pathetically. ‘I’ve got a lot of money, you know. Most people say I’ve got too much.’

      Aristide frowned. This was heresy; in his book no one could have too much money. He became very earnest. ‘Mr Walker, the best thing anyone can do in these troubled times is to buy gold. It’s the only safe investment. The value of gold does not fluctuate like these unstable paper currencies.’ With a flick of his fingers he stripped the pretentions from the U.S. dollar and the pound sterling. ‘Gold does not rust or waste away; it is always there, always safe and valuable. If you want to invest, I am always willing to sell gold.’

      ‘Really?’ said Walker. ‘You sell it, just like that?’

      Aristide smiled. ‘Just like that.’ His smile turned to a frown. ‘But if you want to buy, you must buy now, because the open market in Tangier is closing very soon.’ He shrugged. ‘You say that you have never seen a bar of gold. I’ll show you bars of gold – many of them.’ He turned to me. ‘You too, Mr Halloran, if you wish,’ he said off-handedly. ‘Please come this way.’

      He led us down into the bowels of the building, through grilled doors and to the front of an immense vault. On the way down, two broad-shouldered bodyguards joined us. Aristide opened the vault door, which was over two feet thick, and led us inside.

      There was a lot of gold in that vault. Not four tons of it, but still a lot of gold. It was stacked up neatly in piles of bars of various sizes; it was boxed in the form of coins; it was a hell of a lot of gold.

      Aristide indicated a bar. ‘This is a Tangier standard bar. It weighs 400 ounces troy – about twenty-seven and a half pounds avoirdupois. It is worth over five thousand pounds sterling.’ He picked up a smaller bar. ‘This is a more convenient size. It weighs a kilo – just over thirty-two ounces – and is worth about four hundred pounds.’

      He opened a box and let coins run lovingly through his pudgy fingers. ‘Here are British sovereigns – and here are American double eagles. These are French napoleons and these are Austrian ducats.’ He looked at Walker with a gleam in his eye and said, ‘You see what I mean when I say that gold never loses its value?’

      He opened another box. ‘Not all gold coins are old. These are made privately by a bank in Tangier – not mine. This is the Tangier Hercules. It contains exactly one ounce of fine gold.’

      He held the coin out on the palm of his hand and let Walker take it. Walker turned it in his fingers and then passed it to me reluctantly.

      It was then that this whole crazy, mad expedition ceased to be just an adventure to me. The heavy, fatty feel of that gold coin turned something in my guts and I understood what people meant when they referred to gold lust. I understood why prospectors would slave in arid, barren lands looking for gold. It is not just the value of the gold that they seek – it is gold itself. This massive, yellow metal can do something to a man; it is as much a drug as any hell-born narcotic.

      My hand was trembling slightly when I handed the coin back to Aristide.

      He said, tossing it, ‘This costs more than bullion of course, because the cost of coining must be added. But it is in a much more convenient form.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘We sell a lot to political refugees and South American dictators.’

      When we were back in his office, Walker said, ‘You have a lot of gold down there. Where do you get it from?’

      Aristide shrugged. ‘I buy gold and I sell gold. I make my profit on both transactions. I buy it where I can; I sell it when I can. It is not illegal in Tangier.’

      ‘But it must come from somewhere,’ persisted Walker. ‘I mean, suppose one of the pirate chaps, I mean one of the smuggling fellows, came to you with half a ton of gold. Would you buy it?’

      ‘If the price was right,’ said Aristide promptly.

      ‘Without knowing where it came from?’

      A faint smile came to Aristide’s eyes. ‘There is nothing more anonymous than gold,’ he said. ‘Gold has no master;