‘Guadeloupe is not such a big place. Any strange thing would be much talked about.’
‘Yes, that must be so,’ Renzi said, with a dogged expression. ‘We must get back to the ship for the rendezvous soon.’
‘Then we leave without your questions answered, I fear.’
Renzi nodded: the sooner they left before her presence was compromised, the better. ‘But I do thank you for your bravery, which I will never forget.’
Louise bit her lip. ‘There is one little mystery, but it does not concern Guadeloupe.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, my épicier – my grocer, I think he has a tendre for me – he let slip he’s been doing very well lately. I ask him why his profits are so good. He says to me that if I promise not to tell anyone, he will let me know. I agree so he confides. It’s only that the Villa Tartu on Marie-Galante has been re-established by the old general and they’re asking him to supply so many foodstuffs he stands amazed.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps now he regrets talking to me. He may become suspicious and go to the authorities.’
Renzi snapped alert. ‘The island opposite?’
‘Yes, you can see it from here, but it’s only small,’ she said doubtfully.
Renzi’s mind raced. Such would be ideal for quarantining the existence of an operational base. But how was he to check it out? There was one thing that would impel it to a first-rank priority in his investigation – if he saw any of those who’d so comprehensively fooled him in Curaçao heading out to Marie-Galante.
‘Er, where do you catch a boat to the island at all?’
The morning sun woke him. Out of sight, high in the crook of branches in a tree overlooking the Porte de la Marina, he nearly tumbled out. He pulled himself back gingerly and took stock. In the night he had chosen well: the tall tree was quite close to the jetty and well within range of Louise’s opera glasses, safely folded in his waistcoat pocket.
He would have to remain in his hideaway until dark but L’Aurore would not be returning from her circumnavigation for some days yet. He had time.
At nine the first boat left, with the grocer’s produce heaped in the bottom. There were five passengers and Renzi could see them clearly as they waited by the jetty and boarded – but he recognised none.
The next boat did not depart until a little before noon, and again there were none boarding he knew. This was not good: it implied that there would be only one or two more crossings that day.
Dusk was drawing in when the last boat came into view. None of the three waiting was of interest, and Renzi looked about in vain for a figure hurrying up at the last minute. Then he saw that the approaching boat had passengers in it – obviously it was coming back from the island.
And there in the bow was Duperré.
He was unmistakable, with his dark features and heavy build, and behind him were two more he recognised. Renzi watched them step on to the jetty and stride away in the direction of Pointe-à-Pitre.
Impatience surged. But if he were seen by any of them or others somewhere in the town there could be only one fate for him.
He waited for dark before noiselessly dropping to the ground and making his way to the Vernous’. Louise was waiting with a candle in nightcap and gown, her eyes wide. ‘Well?’
‘It is here. On Marie-Galante.’
She hugged him impulsively. ‘I knew you’d find it! So, now you can go back and—’
‘No.’
Uncertain, she waited for him to finish.
‘I know it’s here but no one will believe me unless I find proof – something they can hold in their hands, trust in.’
After Curaçao it could be nothing less … and that meant only one thing.
‘You will have to go to Marie-Galante?’ she whispered in awe.
Renzi gave a wry nod, the evidence, whatever that could possibly be, was there. All up to this point was wasted unless he could lay hands on something that in itself would convince. If he left now he had nothing. There was no other course left to him. He had to go.
‘Um, yes,’ he agreed heavily. ‘But how?’
There was only one available method to get there: the passenger boat. And what were his chances of slipping through in daylight?
But could he ask Louise to go? She would, he knew, but he had already put her in much danger …
‘It is impossible, it would seem,’ he said, ‘with no—’
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘There may be a way,’ she said shyly, ‘if it be we two together.’
‘We two?’
Lightly withdrawing the hand, she explained, ‘The grocer provides them with their daily victuals. I will supply them with the gourmandises every Frenchman desires. You will be my porter.’