I grimaced at my face in the dressing mirror. On the whole, I was doing all right, in my clumsy and blundering way. After all, my job had been to take Jean's place, one way or another. Well, I'd done it, hadn't I? I'd spotted her contact; I was on my way. The train was back on the tracks after temporary derailment. After much maneuvering, we finally had an agent in the hands of the enemy.
Of course, according to plan, Jean would have come aboard with her arm in a cast, containing certain interesting and useful objects embedded in the plaster of Paris. She'd have come aboard as a deserter from our side, presumably trusted to some extent by the other. She might even have got a cabin with a wooden door and a less powerfully strong bolt. I had no trust and very few tools to work with; I was a prisoner instead of a potential ally. Still, I should have been pleased with my progress. It was no time to be thinking of a woman with long, dark hair.
I looked at my face in the mirror above the dresser and didn't like it much. It was, I decided, the face of a ruthless man who'd carry out orders ruthlessly. At least it bad better be if I was going to get out of this alive. I went into the bathroom, or head, which was the size of a broom closet. The tiny lavatory drained into the toilet bowl, which in turn could be emptied by means of a couple of valves and a long lever with a shiny brass handle.
There were instructions in German on a shiny brass plate, and in English on a printed card addressed TO OUR LANDLUBBER GUESTS, and enclosed, under glass, in a neat frame above the apparatus. I remembered wrestling with similar pumping equipment on a converted yacht in a storm in the North Sea a good many years ago, at a time when the North Sea wasn't exactly a healthy place to be in any weather. I was interested to see that everything still worked the same, if it worked. The other gadget hadn't.
I performed the usual early-morning operations, cleaning up as well as I could without a razor. I started to follow the printed instructions and stopped, remembering that ignorance was a weapon and a watchword. I went out, leaving the mess sloshing around in the toilet bowl with the schooner's motion.
Presently there was a knock on the door, and Big Nick's voice said, "Lie down on the bed, man."
I lay down on the bed. "All clear," I said.
He opened the door and looked in cautiously. Seeing me flat on my back-a position from which it would be hard to jump him-he opened the door fully and reached back into the hall or passageway outside, and produced a suitcase that I recognized as my own, or Lash Petroni's.
"How'd you get that?" I asked.
He showed me his grin. I was losing faith in that grin. I didn't think Nick was really a nice friendly man. I was remembering an agent named Ames, who'd been found dead on a lonely beach with a broken neck. Rollin Rosten didn't quite have the hands for that job, but Nick did.
"Man," he said, "when Miz Rosten sends a Cadillac with a uniformed chauffeur to check out a guest that's going cruising with her, nobody asks no questions."
I said, "I bet you look real sharp in a chauffeur's cap, Nick.
He gave me a quick suspicious glance, and said coldly, "Miz Rosten say for you to shave and put on something that don't make you look like a tinhorn gambler-something shipshape, like. And a pair of rubber-soled shoes. She wants you on deck as soon as we're under way."
I said "My compliments to Mrs. Rosten, and will you forward my apologies for forgetting to bring my yachting cap?"
"Never mind all the caps," he said, unsmiling. "Just remember the shoes, man. She don't allow no leather shoes on her nice teak deck."
"Sure," I said. "I guess I've got a pair of gumshoes somewhere. Before you go, brief me on how to flush that damn john. I couldn't make it work."
He glanced into the bathroom and looked at me grimly. Obviously landlubbers were a cross he had to bear, but he didn't have to like it.
"I told you, before you pump, you've got to open the cocks, both of them. One lets the waste out; the other lets seawater in to flush it clean." He looked at my uncomprehending face. "Seacocks," he said wearily. "Like valves, man."
"Oh, valves," I said. "I dig you now, man. I didn't know what the hell you were talking about. Cocks, for God's sake. But why not just leave them open?"
"If she heels over hard in a breeze, she might take some water aboard."
"You mean the damn boat could sink just because somebody went to the can? That doesn't seem like very good planning."
He showed me his big teeth. "Don't you go getting ideas. You ain't going to scuttle her just by leaving those seacocks open. It just kind of splashes around and gets things wet if there's a sea running. So when you're through, you close them, hear, after you've pumped out all the water. There's bad weather down the coast and we might get a little blow-"
A distant voice that I recognized, Robin's voice, called from somewhere above us. "Nick, come here!"
"Coming, ma'am." He moved quickly to the door, and looked back. "Remember the shoes," he said. "She's mighty particular about that deck, Miz Rosten is."
After he had left, bolting the door behind him, I moved to look out the porthole over the bunk. There was gray daylight outside; the sky was overcast. I was looking straight at the high, flaring bow of the power cruiser called Osprey, which was rolling quite heavily even in the sheltered harbor. I wondered where the waves were coming from. There didn't seem to be that much wind blowing.
A man ran shoreward along the dock. He was wearing tennis shoes, white ducks, and a yachting cap. I recognized Louis Rosten. Apparently he'd come home, regardless of his fears. Reaching land, he vanished from sight behind the bulk of the powerboat. A moment later a small sports car that I recognized came into view with Rosten at the wheel. It drove up the hill and out of sight past the big house.
While I was puzzling over this, I heard footsteps in the passageway outside. The door opened. I turned to see Robin Rosten standing there with Nick behind her. In front of her was Teddy Michaelis with her arm twisted up between her shoulder blades and tears of pain running down her small face. Robin gave her a shove that sent her across the cabin.
"There's company for you, my actor friend," Robin said to me. "You can have a lot of fun explaining to her that you're an agent named Helm working for the U. S. Government. She seems to be under the impression that you're a killer named Petroni whom she's hired for some nefarious purpose she now regrets. She came here to warn me against you. I think it's really very sweet of her." The taller woman turned to Nick. "Lock them up. We'll shove off as soon as Louis comes back from hiding the little fool's car."
EIGHTEEN
WHEN I WAS brought on deck a couple of hours later, the shoreline from which we'd departed was a low, misty mass off to the right, the way we were heading-to starboard, if you want to be technical about it. I knew it was our shoreline because I'd been keeping track of it through the cabin porthole when Nick came to get me. There was another vague land mass off to the left, presumably the opposite shore of Chesapeake Bay, although it could have been an island.
There seemed to be a moderate breeze from behind us, but strangely enough, the waves were coming from ahead, moving up the Bay to meet us in long, oily swells that made the schooner pitch and roll uneasily as she plowed southward under power.