«Terribly hurt, you said. How bad?»
'Tm not sure. Dr. Greenshaw is operating in the sick bay. I'm not a coward, you know that, but there was so much blood that I didn't want to look.»
Arrived in the sick bay, Mitchell could hardly blame her. Melinda and Roomer lay in adjacent cots and both were saturated with blood. Melinda already had her left shoulder heavily bandaged. Roomer had bandages swathing his neck and Dr. Greenshaw was working on his chest.
Lord Worth, his face a mask of bitter fury, was sitting in a chair. Durand, his face a mask of nothingness, was standing by the doorway. Mitchell looked speculatively at both, then spoke to Dr. Greenshaw. «What can you tell so far, Doctor?»
«Would you listen to him?» Roomer's voice was a hoarse whisper and his face creased with near-agony. «Never think of asking us how we feel.»
«In a minute. Doctor?»
«Melinda's left shoulder is bad, Tve extracted the bullet but she needs immediate surgery. I'm a surgeon, but I'm not an orthopedic surgeon, and that's what she must have. Roomer hasn't been quite so lucky. He got hit twice. The one through the neck missed his carotid artery by a whisker, but the bullet passed straight through and there's no worry there. The chest wound is serious. Not fatal but very serious. The bullet struck the left lung, no doubt about that, but the internal bleeding isn't that much, so I think it's a nick, no more. The trouble is, I think the bullet is lodged against the spine.»
«Can he wiggle his toes?»
Roomer moaned. «My God, what sympathy.»
«He can. But the bullet should be removed as soon as possible. I could do it but I have no X-ray equipment here. I'll give them both blood transfusions in a moment.»
«Shouldn't they be flown to a hospital as soon as possible?»
«Of course.»
Mitchell looked at Durand. «Well?»
«No.»
«But it wasn't their fault They didn't hear the warning.'*
«Tough. There's no way I'll fly them ashore. Think I want a battalion of U. S. Marines out here in a few hours?»
«If they die it'll be your fault.»
«Everybody's got to die sometime.» Durand left, slamming the door behind him.
«Dear, dear.» Roomer tried to shake his head, then winced at the pain in his neck. «He shouldn't have said that.»
Mitchell turned to Lord Worth. «You can be
Seawitch
of great help, sir. Your suite is in direct contact with the radio room; can you hear what is being said in the radio room?»
«That's no problem. Two switches and I can hear both sides of any conversation, either on the telephone, earphones or wall receivers.»
«All right—go, and don't stop listening for a second.'* He looked at the two patients on the cots. «We'll have them airborne for the hospital within a half hour.»
«How can that be possible?»
«I don't know.» Mitchell sounded vague. «But we'll think of something.»
Lord Worth left. Mitchell pulled out a slender pencil flashlight and started to flick it on and off in apparent aimlessness. His complexion had gone pale and the hands that held the pencil light trembled slightly. Marina looked at him first uncomprehendingly, then in dismay, finally in something approaching contempt. Incredulously, she said: «You're frightened.»
«Your gun?» Mitchell said to Roomer.
«When they went off for help I managed to drag myself a bit nearer the edge. I unclipped the belt and threw the whole thing over the side.»
«Good. We're still in the clear.» He seemed to become aware of the tremor in his hands, put away his flash and thrust his hands into his pockets. He said to Melinda: «Who shot you?»
«A pair of very unpleasant characters named Kowenski and Rindler. We had trouble with them before.»
«Kowenski and Rindler,» Mitchell repeated. He left the sick bay.
Marina said, half in sadness, hah* in bitterness: «My idol with the feet of clay.»
Roomer said huskily: «Put out the light and then put out the light.»
«What did you say?»
«I didn't say it. Man named Othello. That's the trouble with you millionaires* daughters. Illiterate. First Mitchell puts out the lights. He's got cat's eyes. He can see in almost total darkness where an ordinary man is blind. Did you know that?»
«No.»
«Gives him a tremendous advantage. And then he puts out other lights.»
«I know what you mean and I don't believe you. I saw him shaking.»
«Ahh ... you don't deserve him.»
She stared at him hi disbelief. «What did you say?»
«You heard me.» Roomer sounded tired and the doctor was looking at him in disapproval. He went on in a somber voice: «Kowenski and Rindler are dead men. They have just minutes to live. He loves Melinda almost as much as he does you, and I've been his closest friend and partner since we were kids. Mitchell looks after his own.» He smiled faintly. «I'm afraid he takes care of things in a sort of final way.»
«But he was shaking . . .» Her voice was now lacking in conviction.
«He isn't afraid of anything that lives. As for the shaking—he's a throwback to the old Scandinavian berserkers: he's just trying to hold in his rage. He usually smiles.» He smiled. «You're shaking now.»
She said nothing.
Roomer said: «There's a cupboard in the vestibule. If there's anything in it, bring it to me.»
She looked at him uncertainly, left and returned in a few minutes, carrying a pair of shoes. She held them at arm's length and from the look of horror on her face might have been holding a cobra.
Roomer said: «Mitchell's?»
«Yes.»
«Okay. Better return them. He'll be needing them pretty soon.»
When she came back, Melinda said to her: «Do you really think you could marry a man who kills people?»
Marina shivered and said nothing. Roomer said sardonically: «Better than marrying a coward, I'd say.»
In the generator room, Mitchell found what he wanted right away—a circuit breaker marked «Deck Lights.» He pulled the lever and stepped out onto the now darkened platform. He waited a. half minute until his eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness, then moved in the direction of the derrick crane where he could hear two men cursing in far from muted voices. He approached on soundless stockinged feet until he was less than two yards away. Still soundlessly, he held his pencil flash on top of the barrel of the Smith & Wesson and slid forward the flash switch.
The two men swung round in remarkably swift unison, hands reaching for their guns.
Mitchell said: «You know what this is, don't you?»
They knew. The deep-bluish sheen of a silencer-equipped .38 is not readily mistakable for a popgun. Their hands stopped reaching for their guns. It was, to say the least, rather unnerving to see an illuminated silenced gun and nothing but blackness beyond it.
«Clasp your hands behind your necks, turn round and start walking.»
They walked until they could walk no more, for the good reason that they had reached the end of the platform. Beyond that lay nothing but the 200-foot drop to the Gulf of Mexico.
Mitchell said: «Keep your hands clasped and turn round.»
They did so. «You're Kowenski and Rindler?»
There was no reply.
«You're the two who gunned down Melinda and Mr. Roomer?»
Again there was no reply. Vocal cords can become paralyzed when the mind is possessed of the irrevocable certainty that one is but one step, one second, removed from eternity. Mitchell squeezed the trigger twice and was walking away before the dead men had hit the waters of the Gulf. He had taken only four steps when a flashlight beam struck him in the face.
«Well, well, if it isn't smart-ass Mitchell, the scared scientist.» Mitchell couldn't see the man— and the gun undoubtedly behind the flashlight— but he had no difficulty in recognizing the voice of Heifer, the one with the sharp nose and ratlike teeth. «And carrying a silenced gun. Whatcha up to, Mr. Mitchell?»