Free THURSDAY'S ORCHID by Robert Mitchell Page A

be if they had received a tip-off. And if that were the case we would be gone, no matter how clever we had been.
    We moved over to the unlit fireplace and sat down in the big deep chairs, with the low table between us. I perched on the edge of the chair and lifted the lid from one of the platters on the table and felt the glands at the back of my mouth begin to draw saliva. The aroma of tomatoes, bacon, eggs and sausages filled the room. I heaped my plate and reached for the toast.
    “How do you reckon we should go about acting as their agents?” he asked. “Maybe it would be better if we arranged for someone else to handle that side of it.”
    “No,” I replied. “Nobody else. We keep it close to the chest. All we need is another bogus corporation, or business name; it doesn’t really matter, as long as nothing can be traced back to us once the deal has been completed.” He finished a mouthful of egg and then pointed the fork in my direction, but I beat him to it. “And before you start asking where we get the wool from, I’ll fill you in on that as well. We buy it at the wool-sales through an agent. The shearing season would have finished a couple of weeks ago, so there should be sales in progress at the moment. They’ll continue for the next couple of months. They’re just like a big auction.”
    I sat back against the soft leather, a cup of coffee in my hand, and beamed at him. “Told you I was as good as I ever was, Nick!”
    He raised his cup to me. “Three cheers to Saturday race meetings – and coincidences.” He winked. Had he had me followed, knowing that I was in town; or had it really been a coincidence? I would probably never know.
    “Of course,” I w ent on, sticking to the matter in hand. “There’s still a lot of details to be organized. We need warehouse space, and men to operate the press and sew up the bales. Supervision of that shouldn’t be any problem. I’ve had some experience. We’ll also need the extra cash to purchase the wool, but then,” and I looked around the room, “I’m sure that won’t pose a problem. Oh yes, we’ll also need a press.” I sank back into the supple leather and added: “Nick, we can’t fail.”
    And I was sure that we wouldn’t. We went over every detail we could think of. We tried to pick holes in the idea, but could find none. We would merely be another one of the hundreds of export companies acting as an agent for some obscure Singaporean corporation.
    One point I would have to check on was whether Singapore did import wool from Australia and, if so, of what quality. Sending the wrong type of wool could be a give-away. I was certain they did buy our wool. I seemed to recall having purchased a suit in Singapore years ago and being told by the Chinese tailor that only the best Australian merino wool had been used in the making of the cloth: woven in his uncle’s mill. If this was true – not the part about his uncle – then we were home free.
    If the y imported large quantities we might even be able to hide our consignment along with several others on the same vessel.
    We sat in his study for the rest of the morning. He gave me the estimates he had received from his associates the previous evening concerning the amount of marijuana that would be available in South Australia, and how soon he could expect the first shipment from New Guinea. He had spoken by telephone to Singapore. They were prepared to go along with the extension we wanted; although they required details of our scheme before they would give final approval
    Nick would handle the setting up of the local bogus company and arrange for extra finance to pay for the wool. He would also see to the leasing of a suitable warehouse, close to the docks and away from prying eyes. He already had plenty of personnel to attend to the muscle work: the unpackin g and re-pressing of the bales.
     
    Lunch was taken in the courtyard, with Angeline. The three younger girls were all at school and