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the price was so far less than the real price."
"Yes, but..."
"There are no buts, my son. True there are degrees of honor but one man can
have only one code. Do what you like. It's your choice. Some things a man must
decide for himself. Sometimes you have to adapt to circumstances. But for the
love of God guard yourself and your conscience no one else will and know
that a bad decision at the right time can destroy you far more surely than any
bullet!"
Peter Marlowe weighed the money and pondered what he could do with it, he,
Mac and Larkin. He struck a balance and the scales were heavy on one side. The
money rightly belonged to Prouty and his unit. Perhaps it was the last thing
they possessed in the world. Perhaps because of the stolen money, Prouty and
his unit, none of whom he knew, perhaps they would die. All because of his
greed. Against this was Mac. His need was now. And Larkin's. And mine. Mine
too, don't forget me. He remembered the King saying, "No need to take a
handout," and he had been taking handouts. Many of them.
What to do, dear God, what to do? But God didn't answer.
"Thanks. Thanks for the money," Peter Marlowe said. He put it away. And all
of him was conscious of its burn.
"Thanks nothing. You earned it. It's yours. You worked for it. I didn't give
you anything."
The King was jubilant and his joy smothered Peter Marlowe's self-disgust.
"C'mon," he said. "We got to celebrate our first deal together. With my brains
and your Malay, why, we'll live a life of Riley yet!" And the King fried some
eggs.
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While they ate, the King told Peter Marlowe how he had sent the boys out to
buy extra stocks of food when he heard that Yoshima had found the radio.
"Got to gamble in this life, Peter boy. Sure. I figured that the Japs'd make
life tough for a while. But only for those who weren't prepared to figure an
angle. Look at Tex. Poor son of a bitch hadn't any dough to buy a lousy egg.
Look at you and Larkin. Wasn't for me Mac'd still be suffering, poor bastard.
Of course, I'm happy to help. Like to help my friends. A man's got to help his
friends or there's no point in anything."
"I suppose so," Peter Marlowe replied. What an awful thing to say. He was
hurt by the King and did not understand that the American mind is simple in
some things, as simple as the English mind. An American is proud of his
money-making capability, rightly so. An Englishman, such as Peter Marlowe, is
proud to get killed for the flag. Rightly so.
He saw the King glance out of the window and saw the snap of the eyes. He
followed the glance and saw a man coming up the path. As the man walked into
the shaft of light Peter Marlowe recognized him. Colonel Samson.
When Samson saw the King, he waved amicably. "Evening, Corporal," he said and
continued his walk past the hut.
The King peeled off ninety dollars and handed it to Peter Marlowe.
"Do me a favor, Peter. Put a ten with this and give it to that guy."
"Samson? Colonel Samson?"
"Sure. You'll find him up near the corner of the jail."
"Give him the money? Just like that? But what do I say to him?"
"Tell him it's from me."
My God, thought Peter Marlowe, appalled, is Samson on the payroll? He can't
be! I can't do it. You're my friend, but I can't go up to a colonel and say
here's a hundred bucks from the King. I can't!
The King saw through his friend. Oh Peter, he thought, you're such a goddam
child. Then he added, To hell with you! But he threw the last thought away and
cursed himself. Peter was the only guy in the camp he had ever wanted for his
friend, the only guy he needed. So he decided to teach him the facts of life.
It's going to be tough, Peter boy, and it may hurt you a lot, but I'm going to
teach you if I have to break you. You're going to survive and you're going to
be my partner.
"Peter," he said, "there are times when you have to trust me. I'll never put
you behind the eightball. As long as you're my friend, trust me. If you don't
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