'You talked to a Chief Petty Officer and came over as a supernumerary in one of Her Majesty's ships. A free ride.'

He nodded. 'She was one of the ships on the Beira patrol.'

'What's that?' asked Hardin.

'A blockade of Beira to try to stop oil getting into Rhodesia,' said Stafford. 'And bloody ineffectual it was. Carry on Sergeant.'

Curtis said, 'I went ashore at Mombasa, had a look around there, then came up here on the train. I'd been here three or four days when I went to have a look at that big building – the tall round one.'

'The Kenyatta Conference Centre,' said Hardin.

'That's it," said Curtis. 'It wasn't finished then. There was a lot of builder's junk around; it was a mess. I'd left it a bit late in the day and before I knew it the twilight had come, and that doesn't last long here. Anyway I heard a scuffle and when I turned a corner I saw four black Africans attacking an old Indian and a girl. They'd beat up the old man and he was lying on the ground, and now they were taking care of the girl. It was going to be a gang rape, I reckon. It didn't happen.' He held up his fists. 'I'm pretty good with these.'

Stafford knew that; Curtis had been runner-up in the Marine Boxing Championships in his time. And a tough Marine Colour-Sergeant would be more than a match for four unskilled yobbos. 'Go on.'

'The girl was fifteen years old, and the man was her grandfather. The girl was unhurt if scared, but the old man had been badly beaten-up. Anyway the upshot of it was that I took them home. They made quite a fuss of me then – gave me a meal. It was good curry,' he said reminiscently.

'We'll leave your gourmet experiences until later,' Stafford said. 'What next?'

'The Indians were in a bad way then. Kenyatta had declared that holders of British passports must turn them in for Kenyan passports.'

'It was the Kenya for the Kenyans bit,' remarked Hardin. 'I was here then. The word for it was "localization".'

'The Indians didn't want to give up their British passports but they knew that if they didn't the government would deport them,' Curtis said. 'India wouldn't have them and the only place they could go to was the UK. They didn't mind that but they weren't allowed to take any currency with them, and their baggage was searched for valuables before leaving.'

'Yeah,' said Hardin. 'They were between the rock and a hard place.' He shrugged. 'But I don't know that you could blame Kenyatta. He didn't want a big foreign enclave in the country. It applied to the British, too, you know. Become Kenyans or leave.'

Curtis said, 'They asked me to help them. I'd told them how I had come to Kenya and they wanted me to take something back to England.'

'What was it?' Stafford asked.

He sketched a small package in the air. 'A small box sewn up in leather.'

'What was in it?'

'I don't know. I didn't open it.'

'What do you think was in it?'

Curtis hesitated, then said, 'I reckon diamonds.'

Stafford said, 'Sergeant, you were a damned fool. If you'd have been caught you'd have been jailed and lost your service pension. So you took it to England.'

'Yes. Landed at Portsmouth and then went up to London to an address in the East End.'

'What did you charge for your services?'

He looked surprised. 'Nothing, sir.' Stafford regarded him thoughtfully, and Curtis said, 'They were good people. You see, they got to England and settled. And after that my Amy was a fearsome time in dying and I had a hard officer. I applied for compassionate leave and he wouldn't let me have it. I got it at the end, though; I was there when she died. And I found those Indians had been looking after her – taking flowers and fruit and things to the hospital. Seeing she was eased.' He was silent for a while, then repeated, 'Good people.'

Stafford sighed and went to the refrigerator. He broke the paper seal and took out a bottle. 'Have a beer, Sergeant.'

'Thank you, sir.'

He gave another to Hardin and opened one for himself. 'So when you knew we were coming to Kenya you went and asked for assistance. Is that it?' 'Yes, sir.'

'What's the name of this Indian family?' Curtis held his silence, and Stafford said gently, 'It's safe with me, Sergeant.'. Reluctantly he said, 'Pillay.'

A snort came from Hardin. 'Every second Gujarati is called Pillay; those that aren't are called Patel. It's like meeting a Britisher called Smith or Jones.'

Stafford paused in the pouring of the beer. 'Gujarati! This is where it stops making sense. Nair Singh is a Sikh, and since when have Sikhs and Gujaratis been chums? Not to mention Pete Chipende – he's a black African and that's a combination even less likely. And you say these two are helping us free of charge? Come on, Sergeant!'

'Hold it a minute,' said Hardin. 'Max, you need a short course in Kenyan political history. I was working here, remember? The Company was very interested in political activities in Kenya, and I was in it up to my neck so I know the score.'

'Well?'

He held up a finger. 'A one party state – the Kenya African National Union; that's KANU. Kenyatta was President, and the vice-President was Oginga Odinga. But even in a one party state there are factions, and Odinga broke away and formed the Kenya People's Union – the KPU. Kenyatta wasn't having that. There was a power struggle and, in the end, the KPU was banned. Odinga spent quite a time in jail. That was back in 1969. Of course, being Africa the brawl was about tribal loyalties as much as anything else. Kenyatta was a Kikuyu and Odinga a Luo. I've been keeping my ear to the ground while I've been here, and even now KANU is losing ground among the Luos. Of course, there's ideology involved, too.'

'So what's this got to do with anything?'

'Odinga had to get his money from somewhere; he had to have a war chest. I know he got some from the Chinese and some from the Russians. Kenyatta wasn't having anything to do with the Commies – he closed down their embassies – so they'd do anything to embarrass him. But there was a strong feeling that Odinga was getting funds from the expatriate Indian community in Britain. They'd been thrown out and they didn't bear Kenyatta any love, either.'

'So what's your conclusion?'

'My guess is that Chip and Nair are Odinga's supporters, KPU men. The KPU is banned but it's still going strong underground. If a source of UK funds should request a favour it wouldn't be refused.'

'Damn!' said Stafford. 'Bloody politics is the last thing I want to get mixed up in.'

'You're not mixing in politics,' said Hardin. 'You're not attacking the government. Just accept the favour and keep your mouth shut. Those guys could be useful. They are being useful.'

Curtis looked woebegone. Stafford smiled, and said, 'Cheer up, Sergeant; the Good Samaritan nearly always gets the chop in this weary world. It's really my fault. I told you back in England that I didn't want to know what you were up to.'

Curtis drank some beer and Stafford could see him take heart. Hardin said, 'You can bet there'll be more than Chip and Nair. They may not show but they'll be there.'

'What tells you that?'

'Past experience,' he said, and drained his glass.

So that was that. Stafford had allies thrust upon him that he could very well do without. But Hardin was right – they could be useful. He determined to accept their help up to a point and to keep his mouth shut as Hardin advised. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. But trust them he would not. Chip showed up early in the afternoon. It seemed that Gunnarsson was doing what Stafford had done – sleeping away his travel weariness. But he had not appeared for lunch and had a meal sent up to his room. 'Who is keeping an eye on him now?'

Chip showed a mouthful of teeth. 'Don't worry. He's being watched.'

So Hardin was right; Chip and Nair were not alone. Chip said, 'Mr Farrar's party is coming in from London on the morning flight.'