Domino Island: The unpublished thriller by the master of the genre. Desmond Bagley

of the English,’ I assured her. ‘There was a Will Kemp in Burbage’s company at the Globe Theatre. I like to think I have an ancestor who, perhaps, acted with Shakespeare.’

      ‘Did Shakespeare act?’

      ‘He’s supposed to have played the ghost in Hamlet.’

      We were sitting in voluptuous chairs by the swimming pool and sipping something cool and alcoholic from tall glasses. I had swum six lengths of the pool, paced easily by Mrs Salton, and then had flopped thankfully ashore trying not to feel ashamed of my winter-white English skin. The heat dried the bubbles of moisture from my torso even as I watched.

      I was waiting for her to come to the point, to come out with what she wanted to ask me. She wanted something or she wouldn’t have invited me back to the house.

      ‘Kemp,’ she repeated. ‘William Kemp. What do your friends call you?’

      I turned my head and looked at her. She filled her bikini rather better than Mrs Haslam, I thought uncharitably, but then she had youth on her side. ‘I’m known as Bill.’

      ‘And I’m Jill.’ She stretched out a hand, which I reached for amiably. It was a little late for this kind of introduction, but I went along with her.

      ‘On Campanilla we’re more informal than in England, especially when lounging by a pool.’ She put down her glass with a click. ‘Mr Stern is a wee bit stuffy but he means well. He’s trying to look after my interests.’

      ‘I’m sure he is,’ I said, not feeling at all sure. A widow with as much money as she had could prove to be quite a temptation.

      ‘You said you spoke to Don Jackson at the Chronicle. What did he tell you?’

      ‘This and that,’ I said offhandedly. ‘Political stuff, mostly. Background material.’

      ‘About David?’

      ‘Apparently he was on course to be the next Prime Minister.’

      She nodded. ‘It was very likely.’

      ‘I read one of your husband’s speeches,’ I said. ‘He was having quite a go at the government. But there was one reference I didn’t understand – he said something about hired bully boys. What would he have meant by that?’

      ‘Merely political rhetoric.’

      ‘No basis in fact?’

      ‘Maybe a little,’ she admitted. ‘The elections were coming closer and tempers were rising. Politics can be rougher here than in England, Bill.’

      ‘I can understand the bully boys,’ I said. ‘But what about the hired bit?’

      ‘David was a politician,’ she said. ‘He used words like weapons.’

      ‘And to hell with the truth. Is that it?’

      ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said, with force in her voice. She took a deep breath. ‘I see that Jackson has been dropping poison in your ear.’

      ‘Is that what you think? You don’t seem to like Jackson.’

      ‘I don’t.’ She was silent and I waited for what she had to say next. At last she said, ‘All right. He once behaved towards me … rather objectionably.’

      ‘He made a pass at you?’

      ‘If you want to put it that way.’

      ‘It must have been a heavy pass,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you have him fired?’

      She stared at me. ‘Good heavens! It’s not a criminal offence to make a pass at the boss’s wife. Besides, he’s a good editor for the Chronicle.’

      ‘Did your husband know about this?’

      ‘No. And after that I kept out of Jackson’s way. I haven’t given him another chance.’ She picked up her glass. ‘So what did he really tell you?’

      ‘Nothing about you,’ I said, and wondered whether to pursue the matter. Conceivably I might have a further use for Jackson and if I didn’t tattle-tale to Jill Salton then I’d have a club to hold over his head. ‘Let’s talk about someone else. Do you know of a man called Negrini?’

      She sat up. ‘Mr Black – who doesn’t? But, for a stranger, you’ve been getting around.’

      ‘Not really,’ I said modestly. ‘It’s just that I’m exceptionally brilliant at my job. Do you know him personally?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And did your husband?’

      ‘Of course. Gerry is very much a part of the social life of this island.’

      ‘Good. I’d like to meet him.’

      ‘Now that might be difficult, Bill. You see, Gerry is not available to all. He picks and chooses very carefully those with whom he associates. I doubt if you’d get near him. What do you want to see him about?’

      ‘I can’t tell you that,’ I said honestly. ‘It’s a private matter.’ I didn’t want to tell her that I was investigating her husband’s connections with the gambling interests. If she didn’t know about it the news might come as a shock, because she had given all the indications of believing him to be a genuine liberal.

      ‘Does it concern David?’

      ‘No,’ I lied. ‘It’s about something that came up just before I left England.’ Lying was something else that went with the job.

      ‘Is it urgent?’

      ‘Yes, in the sense that I have very little time on Campanilla.’

      ‘All right, I’ll introduce you. Would tonight be soon enough?’ She was smiling.

      ‘You can do it as quickly as that?’

      ‘Why not? All we have to do is to go into San Martin – to the Blue Water Casino. We’ll have dinner here first – I’ll even cook it myself. I don’t get into the kitchen nearly enough.’

      John came down to the poolside carrying a telephone. ‘A call for Mr Kemp,’ he said.

      That was Ogilvie. I had rung his hotel to find he was out so I had left the Salton number for him to call. As John bent to plug the telephone jack into a socket in the wall of the house, I said quickly, ‘I’d rather take it inside.’

      Jill sighed. ‘Oh, more secrets!’ She turned to John. ‘Mr Kemp will use an inside phone – and tell Anna she needn’t stay on.’

      ‘Very well, ma’am.’

      ‘And you can go off yourself, John, at any time.’

      John gave me a look of pure dislike and said evenly, ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

      I followed him into a hall where he picked up a receiver, spoke into the mouthpiece, and then held it out. ‘Your call,’ he said. ‘Sir.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said, and watched his upright back disappear among the greenery. ‘Kemp here.’

      ‘You wanted me?’ Ogilvie asked.

      ‘What’s new on the Rialto?’

      ‘I wish you’d stop quoting,’ said Ogilvie peevishly. He sounded tired. ‘Especially when you misquote. I’ve been talking to the police. They think the inquest went off fine.’

      ‘No foul play?’

      ‘None that was detectable. Winstanley’s report ought to be printed in Punch, though.’

      ‘The pathologist? Why – is it unreliable?’

      ‘I wouldn’t bet heavily on it, let’s put it that way. The body was in a bad condition but from