A Hero for Leanda

stiff dark plumes against the blue-green background of the sea. The Cadillac was checked several times by sluggish creeks that ran deep inland between banks thick with foliage. Primitive ferries, worked by gangs of men hauling on ropes, carried the car slowly across, with much chanting and stamping of feet and songs that included improvised compliments to the passengers. It was nearly twelve before they reached Malindi. Once there, Ionides led the way straight to the beach, so that Conway could see for himself what the approach from the sea was like. A quarter of a mile from the shore, the gap in the reef was clearly visible—a stretch of unbroken water several cables wide. As the rollers came surging in over the shallows, they broke in white-capped waves with a loud, incessant roar. No dinghy would live in that kind of sea. But to right and left of the opening, where the reef acted as a breakwater, the lagoon was almost motionless.
    “What do you think of it?” Ionides asked.
    “Quite good,” Conway said after a moment, “provided the weather s calm outside.... What’s the depth of water in the lagoon?”
    “It is shallow, but never less than six feet.”
    “Are you sure of that?”
    “I am quite sure—I have fished here many times.” Conway nodded. “Then I could bring Thalia through the gap and anchor her in the lee of the reef, out of the surf. From there it would be an easy row.”
    “Could you find the gap at night?”
    “With a bit of luck, I could. Surf always shows up well.
    I won’t say it wouldn’t be tricky, but anything’s going to be tricky on this coast.”
    Ionides laid an approving hand on Conway ’s shoulder. “Good! Now I will show you my shack, and tell you the plan I have thought of.”
    They turned to the right along the shore, skirting the seaward edge of the trees. Among the elephant-gray trunks of the palms, dozens of tiny holiday huts were dotted. Most of them were of wood and thatch. A few were more permanent concrete bungalows of a modest type. After a quarter of a mile or so the huts began to thin out. The last one of all was Ionides’—a white-painted, veranda’d wooden shack, on a concrete base, set deep among the trees and backing on to a sandy track scored with wheel marks. The name on the gate was Stella. The agent took a key from under a pot beside the door and led the way in. There were two small rooms, with some light holiday furniture and a lot of seaside equipment.
    “Just a bathing hut, you see,” Ionides said. “Now this is what I would suggest. You would bring the yacht inside the reef and row Kastella ashore, as you said. You would set him down a little further along the beach than this, perhaps two hundred yards further, where there are no huts. You yourself would return immediately to the yacht, without landing, and put to sea. The most important thing of all is that no one should see the yacht, for otherwise there might be questions. Your last task would be to disappear quickly. Kastella would walk to his right, along the beach. The first bungalow would be mine. It would be locked, but the key is always kept under that pot, and you would have told him about it. On the table, I would have left money for a telephone call. At daybreak, or just before, he would continue along the track to the right. After four hundred yards, there is a telephone box. He would ring me up at my home. I would have left my telephone number with the money. In a couple of hours I would collect him in my car. Very soon after that I would have put him secretly aboard one of our ships for Europe.... How does that strike you, Mr. Conway?”
    “It all sounds most efficient,” Conway said. “Of course, I can’t give you any idea when to expect us. It could be four weeks, six weeks, eight weeks—there’s no telling. You’d have to stay put in Mombasa .”
    “I shall stay until I hear from Kastella, or until I learn that the expedition has failed. I think everything will go quite smoothly. In any case, Kastella will be in no immediate danger once he is ashore. No one knows him here. If anything went wrong with the arrangements, he could take a bus into Mombasa and come to my house. The telephone call is merely a simpler and quicker way of arranging transport.”
    Conway nodded. Presently he walked down the beach to the water’s edge, and turned, and studied the shape of the trees against the sky, memorizing the outline. Against the stars, it would look much the same. And