"It doesn't seem real. It's all so—so American. Clean and efficient-looking and plenty of everything. It's like being at home."
"I know. You should see some of our patients when they get their first meal aboard. Milk. Eggs. Steak. Some of the cast cases gain so much weight that we have to change their casts. Around this landing. That's right. I'll take you through the wards some time. Up again."
They climbed more stairs. They were easier for Marcia to climb than the first; her muscles were less stiff and sore; sleep and a hot bath and food could work miracles, too. The whole ship seemed a miracle, with the radiance of its lighted Red Cross shining out over the sea. But a modern and a scientific, as well as a merciful miracle. They reached another deck. Everywhere, above and below, she caught glimpses of men in uniform, nurses in uniform, going quickly and quietly about their business. None of them so much as gave her a glance. She had even then a sense of the organization, the detailed direction and never-relaxing activity that went on constantly, at every instant, all over the ship; later, gradually, a complete and awe-inspiring picture of that organization was to emerge—its scientific thoroughness, its personal devotion, its vigilance and its immeasurable triumphs.
Lieutenant Stoddard, her bright bar shining on one collar lapel and the nurse's caduceus, equally shining, on the other, again caught something of Marcia's thoughts. "It's a floating hospital," she said, "We have everything—laboratories. X-ray rooms, three operating rooms . . . I'll show you that, too."
Her face was shining almost as brightly as her lieutenant's bars. Marcia said: "I envy you. To be able to serve, like this . . ."
"I wouldn't trade these three years for anything in the world," said Lieutenant Stoddard, simply and sincerely. She took Marcia's arm lightly. "We go forward now. This way . . ."
Again they walked along a narrow, shining gray passageway with the slight, accustomed motion of the ship seeming to push itself a little stronger against their feet as they approached the bow and the Captain's quarters. They stopped before a door at the end of the passageway. It was closed. Lieutenant Stoddard knocked, and it opened. The nurse said: "This is Miss Colfax, sir," and a slim, young Major said, "Thank you. Lieutenant," and held the door wider for Marcia to enter.
It was a small room, paneled, with built-in wooden cabinets and shelves; there were deep red leather-covered chairs and a sofa, a rack of pipes, a solid table built crosswise below the square windows opposite and laden with papers and books, photographs and lamps; it had a look of home and comfort. An open door at the left showed a bunk, neatly made up with a cheerful red-plaid cover. There were three men in the room and Mickey was one of them. He came to her at once.
"Marcia! Are you all right? They said it was better for you to sleep. I've been worried about you." He took her hand and smiled down at her. He was wearing an olive-drab army uniform, but without insignia; he looked still rather white and drawn, but was cleanly shaven and obviously rested, with his blond hair still damp apparently from the shower. "Something pretty bad has happened, Marcia. They want to . . ."
"If you don't mind, Mr. Messac," said someone rather sharply behind him. A man had risen from the chair beside the table; he was in blue uniform with the four gold stripes denoting his rank across his sleeve. He was stocky, and very powerful-looking, with very yellow hair, eyebrows that were white and heavy, a red, weathered face and narrow, intensely sharp blue eyes. He said: "I am Captain Svendsen, Miss Colfax. This is Major Williams." The young major who had opened the door bowed briefly. Captain Svendsen indicated one of the red chairs with a thick, powerful pink hand and said: "Will you sit down?"
Mickey said: "May I tell her, Captain?"
But Captain Svendsen's hand remained firm until Marcia sat down. Then he replied shortly: "I will, Mr. Messac." He resumed his own seat, and said: "Miss Colfax, did you know the third officer on the Lerida?"
"The third officer . . ." began Marcia, puzzled, looking to Mickey for enlightenment and Mickey said quickly: "Castiogne. I told them, of course, that you had never seen him before we got on the Portuguese ship. . . ."
"Mr. Messac." The Captain's voice snapped out like a whiplash. He leaned forward. "I'm master of this ship, Mr. Messac. The responsibility for this is altogether mine."
"You are making it unnecessarily hard for Miss Colfax," said Mickey.
"Mickey, what is it? What is wrong?"
"Castiogne ..." began Mickey, and the Captain said:
"That is all, Mr. Messac. I'll talk to Miss Colfax alone. Major, . ." He nodded toward the door. The slim young Major advanced imperturbably and opened it. Mickey said: "Oh, nonsense, I'm going to stay. Miss Colfax and I are to be married as soon as we get to America. I have a right to stay. . . ."
"You have no right that supersedes mine on my ship, Mr. Messac," said the Captain.
Mickey shrugged, started to speak, stopped, finally said: "I beg your pardon."
The Captain leaned back in his chair. His thick, white eyebrows were drawn angrily together above his deep-set, shrewd eyes. "I've no objection to your remaining, Mr. Messac, if you'll be so good as to keep quiet. Answer my question, please, Miss Colfax. Did you know Alfred Castiogne?"
She glanced at Mickey who was now staring at the rug, his hands linked behind his back as if to hide the deformity of tortured fingernails. She said: "He was on the lifeboat."
"Did you know him before you left Lisbon?"
"No. To my knowledge, I had never seen him before."
Mickey made a movement of impatience and checked it. The Captain said: "You know, of course, exactly who was in the lifeboat?"
"Why, I—yes, of course. Myself and . . ." She started to say Mickey and sensed something very still and waiting about Mickey's bent head and quickly substituted "and Andre. Mrs. Cates and her husband. Gili—that is, Gili Duvrey. This man, Alfred Castiogne. I think two seamen, but I don't remember their faces and I don't know their names. That's all."
"Who of them knew Castiogne best?"
"We were all passengers, that is, except the seamen."
"Please answer my question."
"But none of us knew him!" Suddenly she remembered Gili's flirtation with the dark, garlicky third officer. Was that what he meant? But why? She said slowly: "I think Miss Duvrey saw something of him on the ship. We were only three days out when the storm struck. She couldn't have known him well. If you'll tell me. Captain Svendsen, why you are asking . . ."
The Captain leaned forward. "It is no secret. Miss Colfax. This third officer, this Alfred Castiogne, was murdered."
It had no reality. She repeated, "Murdered . . ." almost politely, as if she had not heard it rightly.
"He was stabbed," said the Captain slowly. "He died of hemorrhage from a knife wound in his back. Obviously . . ." He frowned and said: "Obviously he was murdered in the lifeboat."