It sounded as if they said: "Found—found . . ." So it rang and echoed bewilderingly. Perhaps actually it was what they shouted, from boat to boat. At any rate, from that, from a sudden commotion on the decks, from the play of lights and the chug of a small boat coming hurriedly back to the ship, she knew that something—a man, Luther, alive or dead?— had been found.
Yet it seemed unimportant; it was part of another world. It had nothing to do with the small, horribly limited, black world around her just then. And clearly in the silence she thought, Mickey said it was a woman. Gili—or Daisy Belle?
If it was Gili, she would fight. If it was Daisy Belle, she would reason with her. If it was the patient, Jacob Heinzer, there was nothing she could do. There was no recourse and no appeal against a terrible, formless anonymity, against as formless and masked a purpose.
She cried, summoning strength and voice and will from desperation: "Daisy Belle, you must listen to me. Daisy Belle ..." Her voice was unexpectedly loud, strained and harsh and clear in the small space around her.
Daisy Belle did not answer.
If it was the patient, the mysterious Jacob Heinzer, then he did not move.
If it was Gili . . .
Suddenly, and as clearly almost as her own voice sounded upon her ears, an intangible but positive emptiness sounded upon her senses.
She had heard no move. If the door had opened upon the lighted corridor outside she had not seen it.
But the sense of emptiness, of being alone in the small space pressed harder and harder upon her. It was so convincing in a queer and primitive way that her breath of its own accord began to come more freely, her heart seemed to resume beating. She knew that she was alone.
The echoes from the sea were less loud. The small boat had chugged rapidly around, probably to the other side of the ship. Had they found him? Was he still alive?
The question touched her mind, but merely touched it. Mainly she was questioning the statements of her own nerves and awareness. The door had not opened, the patient (who could not be the patient; who could not be Jacob Heinzer) had not opened the door and walked out—or had he?
Perhaps he had gone while she, distracted by the hollow echoing shouts and commotion had turned instinctively to look at the port. But had she turned?
If it was Daisy Belle, if it was Gili . . .
But she was perfectly positive and certain nobody was then in the cabin.
And there was something she'd been about to do. There was something that she must do. She'd been reaching for her coat; she'd been going to Daisy Belle. As she thought that, suddenly the door swung open and Josh's figure was outlined against the light of the corridor. "Marcia . . ." he cried. "Marcia . . ."
The light streamed into the cabin. Nobody else was there, but she still could not move. She said stiffly: "Turn on the light —beside you—there by the door."
"Marcia, they've found him. He's still alive. They've found him. . . ." He snapped on the light and she blinked and looked. Only she and Josh stood in the lighted small cabin. Josh came quickly to her. "It's all true, Marcia. Don't look so—so white and terrified, my darling. Everything is all right now."
"Everything ..."
"My darling . . ."He put his arm around her and made her sit beside him on the edge of the bunk again and said: "The Captain and Colonel Wells talked to Urdiola again. They think he may be telling the truth. And—Marcia, listen, why would Mickey Banet say that it was a woman who killed him? I mean—if it wasn't a woman, if it really was a man, why would he say it was a woman? Unless," said Josh, "he wanted to protect that man."
"Josh . . ."
But he swept on excitedly, talking rapidly. "And why would he protect the man who killed him unless he wanted something from him?"
This caught her attention. "But Mickey was dying. . . ."
"No, that's it. He was dying, but he didn't know it; he didn't think so; he was under drugs; he had a false sense of security; he thought he was going to live. He tried to protect whoever it was that killed him. Exactly as he did when I hit him, and he didn't know who it was that hit him, but he knew damn well it was somebody. Yet he came out with that vague story about having slipped or fainted. No, we ought to have known then that it was somebody whose life and whose continued life was important to Banet. And Gili all but told us. . . . Only she didn't know she was telling us. She knew that he had almost in so many words told her to keep quiet. Perhaps she suspected why, but she won't admit it if she did. We ought to have known it all along. There were only you and Gili and Daisy Belle and Luther Cates and the mysterious patient ..."
"Josh," she cried, "he was here! He went away just before you came. . . ."
"Here!" He jumped up. "Here! What do you mean?"
She told him quickly.
He stood, however, for a long moment without speaking. And then suddenly began to speak in a queerly measured and deliberate way.
"Mickey," he said, "hoped to make a living for the rest of his life. Gili, when she told him what she and Castiogne had overheard, provided him the way. That, you see, is why he was through with you. There was a way which he suddenly discovered by which he could get much more money than you could supply. Much more . . ."
She did not understand him. She did not understand the listening look on his face. It was as if he were talking not to her but to somebody else. Somebody invisible, who was not there, and yet might hear him. He went on: "Castiogne hoped to do that, too, with a diamond and a promise. He was fobbed off. Para was Castiogne's confidant and partner; he was in on the same unhealthy enterprise. He was afraid. He knew what had happened to Castiogne, so he gave Urdiola the diamond to keep for him to send his wife. He knew he was in danger, but he had by then another partner and that partner was Mickey Banet, who had invited himself into the game and was going to stay in."
He looked at the door of the little bathroom and said: "Come out. . . ."
There was no one there; the patient had gone—only he hadn't. Unbelievably the narrow gray door swung slowly open.
A red, thin figure, masked in white, stood in the doorway.
Josh said gravely: "It's all over. You haven't got a chance. They found him and got him back; he's still alive. He told them exactly what happened—how he'd slipped out on deck and you came along and offered him a cigarette and, as he took it, slugged him. The next thing he knew he was in the water—swimming, floating, swimming. It was sheer luck for him that one of the boys in the ward heard the splash and gave the alarm—sheer luck, that he was found. But bad luck for you."
The figure did not move. The eyeless face stared inscrutably and blankly at them. Josh said: "Everything is known. You must have heard me. What exactly did you do for the Nazis? Or rather," said Josh, "how much money did you turn over to them? And why? Because you thought they were going to win? Because it was easier? Because you didn't care about anything but your own immediate safety? Why?"
There was a sort of whisper from the tall figure. Then it swayed a little queerly. But everything swayed and vibrated actually. The ship was moving again, gathering speed, steady upon her course.
Josh said: "Take off the bandages."
A hoarse, strained whisper was intelligible: "My face—no, no . . ." The hands made gestures. Josh said: "You're not Jacob Heinzer. He's still alive. They got him out of the water. He'll testify against you. You're Luther Cates."
The engines were going harder. The familiar motions and creaks of the ship were louder. Josh said: "Why did you come to this cabin? How did you do it? Why?"