Read Online The Three Sentinels by Geoffrey Household - Free Book Online

background of sparkle and trumpeting flowers
and imported palm trees was indeed much the same. So he had driven down to the town and left his car outside the port offices.
    Astonishment at seeing the General Manager on foot in the main street was obvious and embarrassing. Very well, let them be astonished! He wasn’t manager of anything at all. Managers should
have the Company, the Police and the Government behind them. The Company was hoping—with long drinks in the shade—for an energetic offensive. The sole interest of the police was to
avoid blame for whatever happened. And the Government, faced by the problem of marketing the bonanza of the Three Sentinels, was not at all eager to take them over and shoot down workers in the
name of nationalisation.
    Wander around a bit and ask questions—he had spent a week on that and received too many answers. The Company executives were sure they had right on their side. Well, from their limited
angle so they had. The priest. He couldn’t say what Jesus Christ would recommend in a case like this. He was disconcerted by Mat’s curiosity. Divinity should stay safely on the Cross.
He got more out of Dr. Solano, who at least had shown a professional interest—as if dealing with a cage of rats—in the experiment of living without wages. Undernourishment, he said, was
not yet serious and the Cabo Desierto lands could give a poor but adequate standard of living. When he felt free to talk frankly Luis Solano would be an invaluable friend—of far more use than
the likeable, bumbling Mayor who contradicted himself daily. Before lunch he was horrified at the folly of his fellow citizens; after lunch they had his sympathy.
    The police were predictable anyway. They were on the side of religion and property, which was always surprising since they had little of one and none of the other. And that Captain
González—a timid bureaucrat who seldom dared to show how intelligent he really was! The Manager must not sit in lit windows. The Manager must not go out alone. González would
like to see him continually followed by three well-polished, armed half-wits in uniform. That would look well in a report.
    No one but he could get Cabo Desierto back to work. No one could help him in more than minor decisions. No one could share his perceptions. But there it was! Without his car and an expression on
his face as blank as Lorenzo’s he was biteable as any other intruder. The dog was perfectly right. One could only hope that Henry Constantinides was, too.
    The café under the hotel was an inviting refuge, though it was awkward that those two toughs should be sitting there—one black and stocky, the other tall, big-bellied and
exceptionally white for Cabo Desierto. Gil Delgado, of course, and Rafael Garay, the father of the boy. However, he had shaken hands with them on arrival, so it would be safe to try a polite bow
and sit as far away as possible. Or even join them, damn it! If they were sullen and got up to leave, at least enmity would be clarified.
    ‘With your permission?’ he asked, approaching their table.
    There were indeed two seconds of hesitation, but due to surprise rather than deliberate coldness.
    ‘Sit down, Mr. Manager,’ answered Rafael Garay.
    Mat drew up a chair, allowed formal courtesies to flower and was asked what he would take.
    ‘What are you drinking? Rum? That will do me good, too.’
    ‘Are you very busy?’ asked Gil Delgado when the drink was served.
    Mat smiled at the pretended politeness and made a mental note that at some future date the fellow should be pulverised by a sharper irony than his own. He might appreciate it. Reports had it
that Garay inspired the troops and the more sophisticated Delgado gave the pep talks.
    ‘Not so busy as I used to be. Here where we are sitting was a quarantine station—nothing but three walls, a thatched roof and a sort of government doctor. I remember he wanted to
vaccinate two of our Texan drillers who had