With a swift movement Smith ripped Keeton’s shirt open to the waist. He rested the point of the knife lightly on the left-hand side of the chest, and Keeton could feel it pricking into his flesh.
‘Ready to talk now?’ Rains asked.
Keeton stared back at Rains with hatred in his eyes. The rag in his mouth made him want to vomit.
‘OK, Smithie,’ Rains said. ‘Get started.’
Smith worked with the delicacy of a surgeon. The knife blade drew a line of fire across Keeton’s chest. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he saw Rains’s mottled face peering down at him, a black stubble of beard on the bulging chin.
‘Now will you talk?’
Keeton gave no sign.
‘This is only a start,’ Rains said. ‘I’m warning you. Why make it bad for yourself? You’ll talk in the end, so why not now? That Juan Gonzales was tough too, but he talked. One hundred and nine cuts on the chest he took; I counted them. And after the chest there’s always the face. You wouldn’t want to be scarred for life. Think of the blonde. Be sensible, boy. Talk.’
Keeton lay on the table and did not move. The breath came hard through his nostrils, clearly audible in the silence of the cabin.
‘OK, Smithie,’ Rains said.
Again the line of fire seared Keeton’s chest. Smith was grinning; he seemed to be enjoying his work.
‘Suppose he tells about this,’ Ferguson suggested nervously. ‘What if he goes to the police?’ Ferguson’s hands were damp.
‘He won’t,’ Rains said. ‘He’s got reasons for not calling the coppers. Go ahead, Smithie.’
Smith laid the knife on Keeton’s chest again; then took it away.
‘Listen!’
They all listened. There was a sound of splashing in the water near the yawl.
Ferguson began to speak and Rains hissed at him savagely: ‘Stow it!’
The splashing came nearer. A voice called: ‘Hello there! Anyone aboard? Are you there, Charlie?’
‘It’s the girl,’ Smith said.
She called again: ‘Charlie! Are you there?’
Rains’s voice grated in Keeton’s ear. ‘Tell her to go away. When we take the gag out you tell her she can’t come on board. Play any tricks and you get the knife, see?’ He nodded to Smith. ‘Let him talk.’
Smith held the knife with its point resting on Keeton’s chest just below the rib cage. With his free hand he released the gag.
‘Now,’ Rains hissed. ‘Tell her.’
Keeton shouted at the top of his voice: ‘I’m in the cabin, Val. Come on board.’
Rains lashed him with the back of his hand across the mouth, but the words were out. He felt the knife begin to prick, but Smith did not thrust it home.
‘All right then,’ Rains said. ‘If you want to play it that way, so be it. We’re friends, see? Just friends. Else it may be the worse for her. Cut him loose, Smithie.’
Smith bent down and cut the cord, and Keeton heard the girl’s voice again.
‘You’ll have to give me a hand up. I’m in the water.’
‘She swam out,’ Rains said softly. ‘She must be sweet on you, boy. Button your shirt; you don’t want to shock the lady.’
Keeton buttoned his shirt across the cuts on his chest and climbed up to the cockpit. The others followed him.
‘Play it cool, boy,’ Rains whispered threateningly.
Valerie Dring was hanging on to the gunwale of Rains’s boat. Keeton leaned over and hauled her up on to the deck of the yawl. The white one-piece swimsuit was like a part of her body, and there was frank admiration in Smith’s eyes. She looked at the three men standing in the cockpit and then again at Keeton.
‘I didn’t know you had visitors.’
‘They’re just going,’ Keeton said. ‘We’ve had a talk.’
He looked meaningly at Rains. Rains stared back at him for a moment, then shrugged.
‘We’ll have another talk some other time. Don’t go away without letting your pals know.’ He made a mock bow to the girl. ‘Mr Keeton forgot his manners; he didn’t introduce us. Miss Dring, I believe. My name’s Rains.’ He jerked his thumb at the other two. ‘Smith and Ferguson. Maybe we could give you a lift back to the shore.’
‘There’s no need. I can swim.’
‘It wouldn’t be any trouble,’ Rains said, and sounded as if he meant it. ‘But please yourself.’
He climbed over the side and lowered himself into the boat. The others joined him. He started the outboard motor, Smith cast off and they were away. Keeton and the girl watched them go.
‘You’d better come below,’ Keeton said. ‘I’ll get you a towel.’
‘So you’re going to be hospitable.’
‘It’s visiting day.’
In the cabin the fug of tobacco smoke and whisky still hung in the air. There was broken glass underfoot and the half-empty bottle was lying on the port settee.
‘You seem to have had quite a party,’ Valerie said.
‘It got rowdy towards the end. I’d better fetch that towel.’
He brought a duffel coat too. When she had dried her arms and legs she wrapped herself in the coat, her hands lost in the sleeves. Suddenly she stared at Keeton’s shirt.
‘Charlie! You’re bleeding.’
He looked down at the shirt and saw that blood from the cuts was soaking through.
‘I scratched my chest. Don’t worry about it.’
She moved to him at once and unbuttoned the shirt, and the scent of her damp hair caught at his nostrils, and his pulse quickened. She gave a low cry of concern when she saw the wounds.
‘These aren’t just scratches. These are cuts.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
She became firmly practical. ‘Have you got a first-aid box?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Where is it?’
He told her. ‘But mind that broken glass. Put those shoes on.’
She did so and went clumping into the galley where he kept the medicine chest. ‘You’d better take that shirt off and lie down.’
He obeyed her; it seemed the easiest way. She dripped antiseptic into a bowl of water and washed the blood from his skin.
‘I’ll bet it stings.’
‘You win your bet,’ Keeton said.
‘The cuts aren’t deep.’ She sounded relieved. ‘You won’t die.’
She dried his chest with the towel, then cut a piece of lint and fastened it with adhesive tape. Keeton sat up.
‘Thanks, Val. You’re pretty good at that.’
She laughed. ‘Well, that’s something — a compliment from you. It’s the first you’ve ever paid me. You’d better soak that shirt if you want to get the stains out.’
‘I’ll hang it over the side.’
She looked at him shrewdly. ‘You didn’t make those cuts yourself. It was your so-called friends, wasn’t it? That’s how the glass got broken. There was a struggle and you lost.’ She noticed the cord lying where Smith had dropped it. ‘They tied you up too.’
Keeton said nothing. He found a packet of cigarettes and offered them to the girl. She shook her head and he lit one for himself.
‘What did they want from you?’
‘Information.’
‘Are you going to the police?’
‘No.’
‘I had a feeling you wouldn’t.’
She was silent for a while. Keeton smoked his cigarette and watched her. Then she said: ‘I’d like to come with you and Ben. Will you take me?’
He could see that it was important to her, that she had really set her heart on going. But it was out of the question. ‘No, Val. It’s impossible.’
‘It’s not impossible. You just don’t want me to go. Why? What’s the secret?’
‘There’s no secret.’
‘Those men thought there was.’
‘Forget the men and forget the trip. You’re not coming and that’s final.’
‘Oh, very well,’ she said with a sudden flare of temper. ‘If that’s the way you feel I won’t plague you with my odious presence any longer. Perhaps I should have let you be carved up.’