"I told you that I wanted to kill him with my own hands."
"You didn't tell me that you had tried," said the Captain grimly. "Did you shoot him?"
"No, I didn't," said Josh. "But I wanted to. I'd been wanting to for five years. . . . That is, I'd been wanting to kill whoever it was that betrayed Andre Messac. I heard there was an Andre Messac on board, among the Lerida survivors. . ."
"I told you," snapped Captain Svendsen.
"Yes. I thought, but Andre Messac is dead; he was reported dead. Then I thought, perhaps he's alive. Yet I—I realized that he couldn't be alive; so it couldn't be the same man. In that case, you see, it would have to be another Andre Messac, or somebody using his name. If it was somebody using his name I had to find out why."
Captain Svendsen's face was red with anger. Colonel Wells said pacifically: "It was your duty to report the thing to the Captain."
"Yes, I suppose it was. But I simply never thought of that. I only wanted to see the man using that name. So I looked for him on deck that night. The instant he came along under the light I recognized him. I'd heard him play many times. And I saw red. There isn't any other way to explain it," said Josh simply. "I saw him and it was like a flash of—of electricity or something. There was Michel Banet, using Andre's name and passport, the same man I'd thought might have betrayed Andre. So I hit him. I didn't say anything, I didn't question, I didn't—well, I suppose I didn't know what I was doing. Except," said Josh very clearly, "that it was what I'd wanted to do for five years. . . ."
The Captain broke in harshly: "You'd wanted to kill Michel Banet?"
"I'd wanted to kill whoever it was who'd betrayed Andre Messac to the Germans."
"Then you killed him tonight?"
"No," said Josh soberly, "I didn't."
"But you ..." The Captain's face was swelling with rage again and again Colonel Wells stepped in peaceably. "What did you do?" he asked Josh. "Why didn't you report it?"
Josh paused for a moment, thinking. He said finally: "The thing I had to do seemed perfectly clear to me. I'll try to tell you. After I hit him I—well, came to. I realized how stupid it was. I leaned over him and he seemed to be knocked out but not really hurt. I knew he'd pick himself up again in a minute or two and be none the worse for it. I didn't think he'd seen me. And he'd never known me in the Paris days. I was only one of the audience. I didn't think that he knew that I had had anything to do with the French underground. I was more in Andre's confidence than anybody. I knew a few of the other names. At any rate, it was dark there on the deck and I—well, naturally, I hadn't stopped to say, 'Look out, I'm going to hit you,' or anything of the kind. I just slammed out at him when he came from under the light past me, and I saw his face and knew it and the whole thing seemed to check. It wasn't even a case of a fight. I just wanted to kill him. Only," said Josh, "as it happened, I didn't."
"Go on," said Colonel Wells.
"Well, as I say, it was dark where I stood on deck. He passed under a light and then came toward me. I was pretty sure that he didn't even see me. Later that night I went to his cabin and then I was sure that he didn't recognize me, and I think that he was honestly puzzled as to just what had happened. He must have known that somebody hit him, yet he pretended not to know that or anything about it. I've wondered why," said Josh.
Again for a moment no one spoke or moved. Then Josh went on: "At any rate, I left him there and tried to get myself together. The thing to do I decided was to keep quiet and find out everything I could about him. If he was guilty, I'd prove it. But I"—he looked again at the Captain and said stubbornly —"I had to do it myself. Andre was my friend. It was ... I had to."
The Captain glowered at the floor. "Well. Well, go on."
"What did you do then?" asked Colonel Wells.
"I walked on around the deck, thinking. He was a fake. But why? Then I met Marcia and talked to her for a little. I questioned her about him. I didn't get very far. I went to my quarters, had another smoke, or started to, and suddenly thought I'd better get back and see if I'd hit him"—Josh paused and said rather grimly—"half as hard as I'd intended to. After I'd had time to think, I didn't want to kill him till I'd found out the whole truth. I wanted to keep him alive. So I went out on deck again, on the port side. I walked around the stem, intending, as I say, to see if I'd really killed Banet, and found Marcia. I didn't see anybody get away. I hadn't heard anything, but there she was, and I, at least, was entirely convinced that someone had tried to murder her. You didn't quite believe it, Captain—neither did you, Colonel Wells, in spite of the mark on her throat. But I had found her and I believed it."
Had the hands, thought Marcia, that had reached toward her so mercilessly from the shadows of the deck, held that equally merciless revolver that had killed Mickey?
The Captain's bright, angry blue eyes searched her face. He demanded: "Why should anyone try to murder you, and succeed in killing Banet? And the two Portuguese! There must be a link. What is it?"
Josh said quickly: "Whoever tried to kill her then, tried at least twice again."
The Captain turned again to Josh, his eyes blazing. "You ought to have told me about Banet!" he cried, and Josh replied obstinately: "I did not believe that Michel Banet had anything to do with the murder of the two Portuguese."
"You still required a private revenge?" asked Colonel Wells.
"In a sense, yes. But there were other reasons. For one thing Marcia—that is, Miss Colfax," he amended, as if for the first time he realized that he had been calling her Marcia, "was engaged to be married to him; consequently she had to know that he was using another man's name and she had to know the reason for it. So that was an argument in favor of Banet. I had a certain"—he hesitated and said—"faith in Miss Colfax's own faith in him. And I had faith in her," said Josh, very quietly.
And you knew, thought Marcia, that I had said I loved him and was to marry him. You could not strike me like that, through Mickey.
He would not look at her. He continued quickly, as if to cover any possibility of question on the part of the others. "Besides, it was a very serious charge I had to make. It was based on nothing but my own imaginings, really, and it was a charge that would stick to him all the rest of his life, and to his wife. So . . ." he shrugged and finished in a very impersonal and quiet tone. "So naturally I had to be sure that my suspicions had more than a grain of fact before I reported them."
"You said you believed him to be a Nazi war criminal. Why?" asked the Captain.
Gili had not moved or spoken; neither had Daisy Belle and Luther. Yet it seemed to Marcia that, almost perceptibly, their tense stillness sharpened.
Josh said: "I think he was a war criminal because he was so frantically determined to escape Europe. I think he may have been used, possibly in some minor way by the Nazis. I think he was afraid of revenge—perhaps by someone in Germany whose relative he had injured; certainly he was afraid of being caught by the Americans."
"But would the Germans have trusted him?" asked Luther suddenly. "Did you get any proof?"
Josh looked at Marcia. "I'm afraid I've hurt you very much, Marcia. I'm afraid I've got to hurt you more," he said, and turned to Gili. "Where is the cigarette case?"
She wasn't going to answer. For a moment the decision, sullen and unmistakable, was in her face. Josh said: "We know you have it. It was Banet's. Where is it?"
She still hesitated for a moment. Then, with a sulky gesture, she pulled the case from the pocket of her uniform. She said, half muttering, eyeing Josh: "I borrowed it. I—borrowed it. . . ."
He took the thin gold case which flashed in the light. Again Marcia had a swift and fleeting memory of that case and dappled sunlight on a table and Mickey's smiling, candid and terribly blank gray eyes.