Knight was still dazed. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, over his sweating forehead. “I’m still in the dark.”
The Parson’s sour grin came back fleetingly. He said, “The old major was smarter than we figured, is all. Two dicks planted in the next room. Not bad, not bad at all.”
“God, what a shock!” Knight breathed like a spent runner, haggard lines lengthening his face.
The Parson said over his shoulder, “Don’t let it get you down, guy. We gotta learn to expect our share of surprises.” He knelt briefly by the major’s side. “Hm. Slug went through the top of the chest. Not much blood, either. He’ll be O.K.”
Footsteps were pounding far down the corridor. Voices were shouting.
Knight said, “You’d better get out before you’re seen.”
The Parson rose leisurely. “Yeah. But I sure hate to leave all this dough behind.”
There was silence and then Knight, his face convulsed, whispered violently, “No! I can’t allow— That detective, he’ll remember I was the last person left behind. If the money’s gone, they’ll blame me. To touch it now would be suicide.”
“Not for me,” said the Parson tranquilly. “Anyway, it wouldn’t be suicide just to touch it.”
“No, no! Don’t — I’ll—”
“Don’t run a fever. Funny thing. I broke into this shebang for the dough was in it. Now I don’t care so much about the money. All I’m thinkin’ of is them two kids. Funny, huh? With the dough starin’ me in the face.”
“Listen! They’re at the door. Get out!”
“Yeah. Well, s’long. Our combination was a bust, huh? Your brains didn’t work and my gun didn’t shoot Maybe we’ll get together again some time. Look me up.”
He slipped through to the bedroom. There was a bolt on the back door. He eased it open, stepped out into the corridor. No one saw him. The stairs were dark and odors of food wafted up from the restaurant kitchen below. He passed the kitchen. It was deserted. He walked out into the night. He crossed a wide expanse of lawn, the garage driveway and went through a gate. He walked up the street to the corner and faced the hotel’s front entrance.
The street was choked with humanity; white, black and yellow men jabbering away in three tongues. It was very lively; people spoke excitedly. There were a dozen versions of what had happened. All of them cockeyed.
After a while, the Parson saw the detective who had raced out of Knight’s room after Eva, returning doggedly to the hotel. Uniformed policemen were with him. But not Eva, Bicycle cops pedaled up with stolid urbanity. Pretty soon they formed a knot of about a dozen in front of the hotel. They talked to each other in calm British voices and shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to do. Then it occurred to them that the crowd needed dispersing. The night boat for Curacao let forth a mournful, deep-toned blast. Her lights formed a twinkling pattern on the dark blue water.
The Parson moved away from the press of the crowd, circled the street and slouched into a broad avenue lined with restless, nodding palms.
For a long time he walked aimlessly, as if merely for the sake of walking. Then he looked up and found himself in front of Ching’s, the biggest bar in Cariba. He went in, perched on a high stool and ordered rum. He sipped thoughtfully, face expressionless and rigid. His glass was refilled and he repeated the sipping process. The bright lights, the clink of glasses and bottles, the bustle and hum of conversation passed over, beyond and through him. He spent nearly three-quarters of an hour that way. Finally, he paid up and walked back into the street. A line of cabs was parked at the curb. He crooked a finger at one, climbed in. “Fruit pier,” he said.
There were three small boats moored to the pier. The boat the Parson sought had been moved but not far. It bobbed gently against the oily swell. In the quiet, ropes creaked and sea water slapped against the pier, sucking out and slapping in with endless rhythm. Aboard the boat, nothing moved.
The Parson leaped nimbly aboard but made no effort to muffle the sound of his movements. He strode across the tiny deck. A cabin door opened and Captain Deerman’s broad bulk was outlined against the streaming panel of light. The Parson stepped into the light.
“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Ormond,” Captain Deerman said softly, recognizing him. “Come in. Come in.”
He stood aside and the Parson went into the closet-size cabin. Deerman’s colored woman was seated in a rocker. Her white teeth shone in a smile of welcome. She didn’t get up. The air was heady with the gardenia perfume that came from her clothes. The Parson sat down on a bench. Deerman closed the door and sat down opposite him. On the table before him was a stock of wood, a big clasp-knife and a pile of shavings. Deerman was whittling a sailing ship model. He took up the knife and the stock of wood and trimmed the edge with deft, graceful movements of the blade.
His dreamy voice crooned. “I got about a dozen of ’em, all types. Makin’ ’em keep your hands out of trouble. This one don’t look like much now but it’ll be the Cutty Sark when I’m finished. You like sailin’ ships?”
The Parson leaned his elbows on the table. Deerman’s woman rocked and the smile played about her handsome chocolate features. The Parson reached over with one hand and began playing with the neat pile of shavings.
“Heard what happened to Major Rowe about an hour or so ago?”
“Friend, I been aboard this here boat since evenin’ fell.” But both Deerman’s eyes were wide open and fixed on the Parson’s lips; he had stopped whittling. And he said nothing about not knowing the major.
“He stopped a piece of lead,” the Parson said.
“Daid?”
“No, just hurt.”
Deerman laid down the wood and then the knife. His eyes regarded the Parson for a long moment. “Who done it?”
“A feller named Carl Dorn and his woman, Eva. She’s a snake; she wriggled clear. Dorn got himself killed.”...
Deerman’s face was blank. He removed his gaze from the Parson and glanced over at his wife. She was no longer smiling. Both shook their heads.
“Remember them?” questioned the Parson.
“Friend, I never heard of ’em. Besides there was no woman.”
“But there was someone who came to see you, huh?” the Parson prodded.
Deerman shrugged. “Ain’t they always someone?” Without turning his head, he added, “Narcissa, put up that fool gun. This gen’l’man’s friendly.”
The Parson turned and saw the gun in her hand. She was not in the least embarrassed. The same piquant smile returned to her lips. She laid the gun in her lap.
Deerman chuckled, said, “Narcissa can hit a flyin’ fish mid-air at a hundred yards. And pick her spot. Crease his spine, nip his head or clip his tail. She is sure fond o’ guns.”
“And perfume.”
Deerman looked quizzically at the Parson and shook his head, smiling.
“Gardenia perfume,” said the Parson.
“Um. Call your play, friend. Narcissa can have some target practice or pour us a coupla swallows of rum. What you mean by that last remark?”
“Make it rum.”
“So?”
The Parson leaned forward suddenly, said into Deerman’s face, “Nina Mund used gardenia perfume. Also a silver compact with her initials. Narcissa was dolling up with the compact yesterday.” He sniffed. “And gardenia — it’s all over the room now.”
Deerman’s deep, soothing voice said, “That ain’t why you gave me a hundred dollars last night.”
“No. That hundred was a deposit on Nina and Jake’s lives. As soon as I saw the compact and smelled that perfume, I was sure they’d been aboard. But since you acted like you were waitin’ on ’em, I figured right off that Jake Mund had given you something to button your mouth. That hundred of mine was to button it tighter. Not knowin’ what the game was all about at the time, I thought it was safer for ’em to be undercover I figured that when the time came for me to find out where they were I’d find out.”