Skip shook his head. “A moment ago, you said I told you.”
“I did, and both are quite true. When I heard she was in Signal Three, I assumed she had been discharged by the infirmary and was being welcomed back to the glorious world of health by a dear friend. Had I been right, you would have been enraged, Mr. Grison. You were terrified instead. My dear wife, who failed to recognize me, was clearly very worried. I’d met Lieutenant Jerry Brice, and knew he had been wounded. If he and Chelle were romping between the sheets, both of them had recovered from their wounds with astounding speed. It seemed clear something was amiss, so I went up.”
Skip nodded. “Go on, please.”
“There isn’t much more to tell. I walked in on them—your secretary opened the door for me. I saw Chelle with her hands tied and pushed your secretary aside. The man she called Rick wanted to know what I was up to, and pointed a gun at me. After a little fencing, I told him I’d been sent by headquarters. He said he wasn’t supposed to signal, so I said that’s right. Don’t.”
Chelle said, “You kept telling them not to kill me. I remember that.”
“Of course I did.” The white-bearded man turned back to Skip. “They were using deeptrance on her. I told him it would be foolish to shoot her. Somebody might hear the shot, and after he shot her we would have to dispose of the body. All he had to do was to put her back under and tell her to forget the whole thing. Deeptrance suggestions last for weeks. Sometimes for a hundred-day, but always for two weeks or more. They use it to cure addicts.”
Skip nodded. “I’m surprised you know.”
“I read a lot. Any more questions?”
“Yes, several.”
The white-bearded man poured himself a fresh glass of champagne. “Fire away.”
Skip began, “Do you really expect us to believe—”
He was interrupted by the arrival of two waiters. The junior, who carried a tray and a folding table, handed each salad to the senior, who placed it before the appropriate diner.
Vanessa said, “I have a question of my own, Charles. If Skip gets so many, surely I ought to get one. Or two. Possibly two. Are you still in business? And if you are, can you tell us what business you’re in?”
The white mustache twitched. “Shall I anticipate the rest? It will be my pleasure. Am I making a lot of money? And—oh, yes—how much have I got now?”
“I would never be so rude!”
The white-bearded man winked at Skip. “You see how it is, Counselor. I have wished for a wife much younger than myself, a comfort to my old age. Our Divine Master, whose exquisite sense of fun provides Him and us with so much entertainment, has granted my wish. Here aboard the Rani, I find my wife, a lovely lady to whom I’m already wed, and lo and behold! She is—miraculously—much, much younger than I. The angels harp louder than ever in order that we not hear His chuckles.”
“I was thinking of contracting,” Vanessa said. She struck a pensive pose, endeavoring to look thoughtful. “You are going to ask me to contract again, aren’t you, Charles darling?”
The white-bearded man turned to Chelle. “You must have questions, too.”
“Thanks.” She nodded. “You didn’t buy a ticket on this cruise just because I was here. Was it Mother?”
“It was neither of you. I’m an old man, much older than any of you, and certainly much, much older than you are. My wife voided our contract long ago, and even longer ago my only child divorced me. As old men so often are, I’m alone in the world. On a cruise, I hoped to make a few friends, and possibly even one special friend, someone who might eventually become more than a friend to me.”
Vanessa said, “As you have.”
The white-bearded man ignored it. “You may laugh at an old man clinging to romantic dreams, honey. I know it’s foolish and am not offended. We cling to those dreams the way we do because we have so little left. You’ll never understand that, nor will my beloved wife. Mr. Grison may. He will, in fact, if he lives long enough.”
“I understand already,” Skip said. “Are you retired? Completely?”
The white-bearded man nodded. “I’ve been retired for some years.”
“Rick Johnson shot me when the door of that stateroom opened. Did you shoot at me, too?”
“No. You are wondering whether I might have fired the shot that wounded you. I, in place of poor Rick. I did not. I can’t vouch for your secretary, but I don’t believe she fired. If Chelle and I had been armed we would’ve shot Rick and your secretary before you came. We weren’t.”
Chelle’s left hand found Skip’s knee and tightened around it.
“Before Chelle and I dressed for dinner,” Skip said slowly, “I questioned Susan in the infirmary.”
“She’ll recover, I hope.”
“I’m sure she will. I made one simple statement to her, and she said I had made one mistake already. Would you like to hear the statement?”
Vanessa laid her salad fork aside. “I would. Do you remember?”
“I said that there had been three people in Brice’s stateroom holding Chelle, Mr. Blue.”
“Please call me Charles.”
“Thank you. After that I said you had no gun, proved by your taking Susan’s to shoot Rick. Shortly after I made those statements, Susan told me that I’d made one mistake already.”
“As do I,” the white-bearded man said. “I was only feigning assistance, while I tried to free Chelle. No doubt your secretary observed it.”
Skip shook his head. “I don’t think that was it. For one thing, you’re too good an actor. Chelle says you were trying to free her, and I believe you were; but I don’t believe that was what Susan meant. Didn’t you say a moment ago that you had no gun? That you were unarmed?”
“Indeed I did.”
“If you’d had a gun, you could have shot Rick Johnson without taking Susan’s revolver. But if you had done that, there would be a good chance Susan would shoot you.”
The white bearded-man’s mustache twitched. “Or that I would have had to shoot Susan as well. All this is merely hypothetical, you understand.”
“I do. Here’s another. Let’s say, hypothetically, that you have a gun. You might have to throw it over the side before we reach port. I, hypothetically again, might be able to get it past customs. I would return it to you later, of course. You may wish to consider that.”
“If I had a gun, I certainly would.”
Chelle said, “We’re on your side, Charlie, Skip and me both. You went in there to save my life. It makes you one of the good guys.”
“I’d like to think so, honey. I’m not sure Mr. Grison agrees.”
Vanessa looked up. “Good evening, Captain Kain! Would you care to join us?”
“Only for a moment.” The captain took a chair from an empty table, positioning it at the corner between Chelle and the white-bearded man. “We’ll be taking a pilot aboard tomorrow, if the wind holds.” He cleared his throat. “The forecast says it will, and I’ll be busy. Very busy.”
Vanessa said, “All of us understand that, I’m sure.”
“Good. I wanted to say goodbye. To Mr. Grison here, particularly. We, well—there was a time when he watched my back and I watched his.” The captain held out his hand.
Skip accepted it, and the two men shook hands across the table. Neither smiled.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” the captain continued. “If you don’t feel you can answer, just say so. I’ll understand. If you send me a bill later, I’ll pay it if I can.”
“That will depend on the questions,” Skip told him.