He grinned. “Hadn’t you better wait till you’ve bought her?”
“I’ve already bought her,” I said. “We’re just arguing about how much I have to pay.”
The yacht broker’s man came back. “Says he’ll take ten five. That’s the bottom.”
I pulled out the checkbook, and nodded to the foreman. “Tell your men to start scraping.”
We went up to the office and the foreman introduced me to the superintendent. We started writing out the work list, and all the time that anniversary card was burning a hole in my pocket. She couldn’t possibly get it before tomorrow, I told myself. But I kept thinking of what she must be going through with nothing to do but wait. That wasn’t all, either. I was wild to talk to her.
I happened to glance out the front door of the office and saw a phone booth just inside the gate on the other side of the driveway. Why not wire an anniversary telegram? It would be faster, and safe enough. No, I thought; they’d see it delivered and just the fact she’d received one would make them watch her that much more closely.
“. . . install new starting and lighting batteries,” I went on to the super. “Put up a twenty-by-fifteen-inch shelf above that starboard settee for a radio receiver, and run a cable to the lighting battery for power for it. As soon as she’s back in the water, run a check on that engine, and make what repairs are necessary. As far as I can see she doesn’t need anything done topside, and as soon as I get to Boston she’ll have a general overhaul, anyway. The main thing is that pasture on her bottom. Do you think we can work out a paint schedule so we can get her back in the water tomorrow afternoon?” And then I added, “With the paint dry.”
He nodded. “Sure. You check it yourself before she goes in.”
I stood up. “Fine. I’ll be around here all the time, so if anything comes up, just yell.”
Just then the telephone rang. The girl at the desk near the door answered it, and said, “Just a minute, please.” She looked inquiringly at the super. “A Mr. Burton—”
“Here,” I said. I could feel the tingling of excitement all over me as I reached for it. “Thank you.”
“Burton speaking,” I said.
“Can you talk all right from there?” she asked softly.
“Oh, hello,” I said. “George told me he was going to wire you I was coming over. How are you?”
She understood. “Everything is the same here. Is there another phone you can call me back?”
“Yes,” I said. “Did George tell you about the boat? I’ve just bought it. And by the way, he wanted me to give you an address. I wrote it down, but it’s out in the truck. Suppose I get it and call you back?”
She gave me the number.
I walked out to the truck and stalled for a minute, and then came back and ducked into the booth just inside the gate. I closed the door and dialed, fumbling in my eagerness. She answered immediately.
“Bill! I’m so glad to hear you—”
It struck me suddenly she didn’t have to act now, as she had the other night, because there was no chance anybody could be listening. Then I shrugged it off. Of course she was glad. She was in a bad jam, and she’d had two days of just waiting, biting her nails.
“I didn’t do wrong, did I?” she went on hurriedly. “But I just couldn’t stand it any longer. The suspense was driving me crazy—”
“No,” I said. “I’m glad you didn’t wait for the card. I was worried about you, too. Has anything happened?”
“No. They’re still watching me, but I’ve been home nearly all the time. But tell me about you. And when can we start?”
“Here’s the story,” I said. “I got back around seven this morning, and wrote out a check for the Ballerina about twenty minutes ago. She’s on the marine ways now, and will be off sometime tomorrow afternoon. Let’s see, this is Thursday, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” she said. “Then what?”
“As soon as she’s in the water we have to try out the auxiliary. Then later in the afternoon I’m going to take her outside for a shakedown for three or four hours. I hate to use up the time, but you can’t go to sea in an untried boat. I’ve got everything we need out here in the truck except the actual ship’s stores, and I’m going to make a list this morning and have the ship chandler deliver them here Saturday morning.”
“Is there any way I could go on that trip outside with you?” she asked. “I’m dying to see her, and we could plan how we’re going to get away from here.”
I was tempted. I thought of three or four hours out there, just the two of us alone. She could charter a water taxi, meet me down the channel somewhere. No. It wouldn’t work.
“It’s too risky,” I said. “If you’re going to be safe after you get away from here, there just can’t be anything they can remember afterward that would connect you with a boat. Any boat.”
“Yes. You’re right,” she agreed. “But it’s going to be a long time. I keep getting afraid when I can’t talk to you. We sail Saturday night? Is that it?”
“Yes. Everything will be stowed and ready for sea some time in the afternoon.”
“Have you thought of anything yet? I mean, for getting Francis aboard?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got an idea. But something else has occurred to me.”
“What’s that, Bill?”
“Sneaking him aboard isn’t the big job. Getting you here is going to be the tough one.”
“Why?”
“They’re not sure where he is. But they’re covering you every minute.”
It was stifling in the booth, even with the little fan whirring. I looked out the glass part of the doors and could see them scraping away at the Ballerina.
I went on, talking fast. “But Macaulay first. You can help me a little. I think they’re covering you from both ends of that alley in back of your house, as well as from Barclay’s place in front of it, so we can’t just sneak him out the back way. Now your house, as I recall, is the second one from the corner, so Barclay’s, right across the street, must be also, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said.
“What’s the name of that intersecting street?”
“Brandon Way.”
“All right. Now from Barclay’s house they shouldn’t be able to see down Brandon Way very far, should they? I mean, the angle would be too flat to see much more than the corner itself, and the place where your alley comes out into Brandon would be hidden behind the house next to you. That right?”
“Let me see,” she said. She thought for a moment. “Yes, I’m sure it would.”
“Good. And there are lights only at the intersections of the streets themselves? None around the alley?”
“That’s right.”
“All right. That’s about all I needed to know. I think we can pull it off, but I want to work on it a little more. And I’ve still got to figure out a way to get you.”
“And your diving equipment,” she said. “It’s still in the back of the car.”
“I know,” I said. “I was just coming to that. There won’t be time to fool with it, either, when I come to get you, no matter what kind of plan we work out. So we’ll have to get it aboard first. You’ll also want to bring a few clothes with you. So here’s the way you work it. Put that aqualung in a cardboard carton and tie it. Pack what clothes and toilet articles you can get into another carton, and put both of them in the trunk of your car. Around noon tomorrow call Broussard & Sons, the ship chandlers, and ask if they’ll deliver a couple of packages to the Ballerina, along with the stores. They will, of course. But don’t take them to Broussard’s yourself.