I threw myself down into the cockpit, carrying the kid with me. Robin stood firmly braced against the wheel, still laughing. Up forward, the two other sails came over with a crash, shaking the ship. One must have split, because canvas started flapping. The mainsail gathered momentum quite slowly, it seemed. As the great timber swung past over our heads, Robin Rosten stepped up on the cockpit coaming and went over the side in a clean dive.
The schooner went clear over on her side as the mainsail slammed across; then she hit the shoals and the masts came down.
TWENTY THREE
I FLEW OVER the spot in a Navy plane the following afternoon. The schooner was still lying there, half awash. I could have told them it wasn't going anywhere. You get that much boat crosswise in a narrow channel in shallow water, and where's it going to go? It can't even sink very far. It wasn't as if we'd hit a coral reef with a hundred fathoms on either side.
I'd tried to tell them that the night before, but communications had been poor in the storm, and they'd insisted on rescuing us, which was why I was taped up like a mummy, having broken two ribs in the process. At that, I was lucky not to have lost a leg in somebody's propellers while being hauled to safety, as they laughingly called it, at the end of a rope. It had been a hell of a wet and heroic business. If they'd just waited until the wind dropped the following morning, they could have taken us off dryshod in a birchbark canoe.
We flew on down the Bay and out to sea. Now that the weather was clearing, we were looking for a freighter. We found three of them, all claiming perfectly legitimate business in the area. Two of them were probably telling the truth. Maybe all three of them were. We radioed Washington and were told to forget it and come home; they'd handle it some other way. After dinner, I went to see Louis in the hospital. He looked like an Egyptian mummy. -
"Have they found her yet?" he whispered.
"No," I said. "No, there's been no sign of her."
"They won't find her," he whispered-and they never did. If she drowned, she never came up. I don't think she drowned. Some people don't drown easy.
Leaving there, I saw Teddy and young Orcutt sitting in the lobby, holding hands. He was the hero of the occasion, of course. It was he who, looking for Teddy, had come to the Rosten place and found everybody missing. He'd sighted the schooner heading down the Bay and, on a hunch, had run down to the dock, wound up the power cruiser Osprey, and taken off after us. He'd trailed us back in the mist all day, closing in after dark. When he saw us heading into the prohibited area, he'd got on the cruiser's marine radio and called for official help. He was also the boy who'd swum a rope over to us after we'd piled up, and helped Teddy across to the rescue vessel.
The kid looked very cute and demure in a pink cotton dress carefully arranged to display some pretty petticoat ruffles as she sat. They were grateful for everything I'd done, she said. Her eyes were uneasy. Obviously she wasn't quite sure about me, one way or another. It was like waking from a nightmare, and the details were a little blurred, but she certainly didn't want to be reminded of anything she'd promised or implied under strain, like demonstrating her gratitude in a practical way. Orcutt said he was very grateful, too.
Mac was behind his desk when I came into the office. He looked up, waved me to a chair, and said, "Haakonsen, Ivar. Half-Danish, half-Russian. Not strictly in our line of work, but versatile. We first came across him in fifty-four. A second-stringer, but moving up."
"I couldn't recall his name," I said. "I knew it wasn't Loeffler."
"The other one went by the name of Mike Harnisky. Ex-boxer, considered a little punchy. We've turned up nothing derogatory so far. We're still checking."
"Sure," I said.
"As for Louis Rosten, we'll do what we can, in view of what you report."
"Sure."
"1 am instructed to commend you for a very satisfactory job. The other solution would have been acceptable, but this one, since it worked, makes everybody much happier."
"Sure," I said. "Naturally I had that in mind all along, sir. You know I just love to make people happy."
"I know," he said. "That is your most endearing trait, I think, Eric. Aside from your great respect for discipline and instant obedience to orders, I mean."
"Yes, sir," I said.
He looked at me for a moment across the big desk. He said gently, "You lucked out, didn't you?"
I said, "Yes. It was a mess from start to finish, but I lucked out at the end."
"It happens like that," he said. "But it's not something an agent can count on."
"No, sir," I said. "That's why I'm submitting my resignation, sir."
He didn't move. After a moment, he said, rather impatiently, "Don't be melodramatic. When I want your resignation, I'll ask for it, never fear." I didn't say anything. After a moment, he reached into the top desk drawer and pulled out an official-looking folder. He glanced at it, and slid it across the desk to me. "Read that before you do anything hasty."
I looked at the folder. The neatly typed label read:
ELLINGTON, MRS. LAURA H. Autopsy Report Cop. 3.
I couldn't remember any Mrs. Ellington. Then I remembered that Jean had used that name.
"Go on," Mac said. "Read it."
I said, "It will be three pages of medical jargon. You tell me what it says."
"It says you didn't kill her."
I looked at him. "If I didn't, who did?"
"She did."
"Come again."
"She drank herself to death."
I grimaced. "That's ridiculous, sir. You don't die of cirrhosis in the time she'd been at it, and it doesn't hit you like that, anyway. Who's kidding whom?"
"I didn't say anything about cirrhosis. Did Jean down a stiff drink-six or eight ounces of straight whisky, say- a few minutes before she died? The autopsy says she did."
I said, "Sure, but-"
"It killed her," he said. "Don't look so surprised. It happens all the time, young people showing off how much they can drink right out of the bottle, and falling over dead. That much alcohol in one dose can be pure poison under certain circumstances. The heart just stops."
"I see," I said slowly. "I see."
"According to your own report, you made several mistakes during the past few days. But that is one you did not make. Your hand did not slip. Under the circumstances, do you wish to reconsider the resignation you haven't turned in yet?"
I hesitated. I'd come in with my mind made up, I thought; and there was really no reason why this should change things in any way, but somehow it did.
Mac's voice came to me gently, "Perhaps you'd like to take the month that is coming to you and think it over. On medical recommendations, I could make that a little longer."
"A month should do it," I said.
As I said it, I tried to remember what I'd been going to do with a month's leave. I'd had something in mind, a long time ago. Well, it would come back to me as soon as I got some sleep. If it didn't, it couldn't be very important.
"Oh, Eric," he said, as I rose and turned towards the door. I looked back. "Try the Presidential Hotel, Room 212. The lady didn't leave her name, but she had our number, so she must have worked for us once. The girl who took the call said the accent was from Texas."
I stood there for a moment. Then I said, "Thank you, sir," and moved quickly towards the door.
"Eric."
"Yes, sir?"
"I still don't approve," he said, but he didn't say it very severely.