The girl looked at him contemptuously, but said nothing. Rains shrugged. ‘Have it your own way. It’s a good offer though.’
The others came back. Smith looked at Rains without love. ‘Taking it easy, ain’t you? Do we have to do all the work?’
Rains answered coolly: ‘Somebody’s got to keep an eye on the boy. I don’t think we can trust him — not entirely.’
‘I could manage that.’
‘Don’t argue‚’ Rains said.
Smith seemed ready to be obstinate, but he decided not to be. He bent again to the work.
Dring lay back on the settee, and his face looked sickly in the lamplight. Blood was beginning to soak through the bandage on his arm.
Keeton was watching Rains. The former mate of the Valparaiso looked relaxed, but his eyes were wary. Only the width of the cabin lay between them, but Keeton knew that before he could cross that space the gun would be in Rains’s hand. It was too big a risk.
But there was one chance. When Smith and Ferguson came into the cabin they had to pass between Rains and Keeton in order to get at the gold, and they were not as watchful as Rains. When they came back for the third load Keeton was ready for them.
Ferguson came in first, with Smith close behind. Keeton acted swiftly. Ferguson was taken utterly by surprise when Keeton’s shoulder crashed into his ribs and he had no chance of keeping his balance. He fell heavily on top of Rains, with Keeton still in contact.
Rains managed to get his hand on the gun, but Keeton reached over Ferguson and grabbed Rains’s wrist. He slammed it hard against the edge of the chart table, and the hand opened involuntarily. The revolver flew out of it and skidded across to where Dring was lying.
Rains was cursing and trying to push Ferguson off, but he had Keeton’s weight to contend with also and he could not manage it. Smith had been momentarily taken by surprise, but he recovered quickly and seized the marlinespike that he had used to open the case of gold. He swung it at Keeton’s head and the girl screamed a warning. Keeton flung up his left arm and the spike came down on it with numbing force.
Smith almost lost his balance, but he recovered quickly, and holding the spike like a dagger, he stabbed at Keeton’s face. Keeton shifted to one side at the last instant and the spike passed over his shoulder. He heard Ferguson give a shriek that ended in a gurgle, and when he turned his head he could see the spike projecting from Ferguson’s back.
Ferguson was still lying on top of Rains, who was increasing his efforts to get up. But he never succeeded in getting up, because there was the sound of a revolver shot, and suddenly blood started to spurt from Rains’s neck.
Keeton swung round and saw Dring with the smoking gun in his left hand and Valerie with an expression of horror on her face.
Keeton’s left arm was throbbing with pain and he felt sick. Ferguson had fallen off Rains and was lying on the floor with the spike jutting from his back. He was making no sound, just twitching spasmodically. Rains had fallen on his side and the blood was all over his face. Keeton could see that neither of these men was going to be any more trouble. They were not going to want any of the gold; they were not going to want anything more. Not in this world.
For the moment he had forgotten Smith. When he remembered, Smith had already gone. Keeton started towards the companionway, but even as he did so he heard the engine of the launch and the churning of the propeller. He reached the cockpit only in time to see a widening gap of water between launch and yawl.
Smith had got away; he had got away with a couple of cases of gold, and he would not be coming back. Keeton was not worried; the rest of the cargo was safe. He wondered whether Smith knew anything about navigation. It was unlikely; Smith had been a steward, not an officer. He might possibly reach land; he might run the launch on a reef; he might run out of fuel and die slowly. Whatever happened, Keeton believed it was improbable that he would ever see Smith again.
He shrugged and returned to the cabin. Ferguson and Rains were not moving. The spike must have pierced Ferguson’s heart or his lungs. Smith had driven it in with all his strength — into the wrong target. Rains’s blood was soaking into the cushions of the settee. The bullet had gone into the left side of Rains’s neck, had travelled obliquely upward, and had come out just above his right eye. It had made a terrible mess of his face.
Keeton said: ‘That was nice shooting, Ben. I’m glad you were able to reach the gun.’
Dring was lying down again; his face was grey and his lips were a thin line of pain. He did not echo Keeton’s note of triumph.
Keeton looked at the dead bodies. ‘These jokers had better go overboard.’ He glanced at Valerie. ‘You feel up to giving a hand?’
She shuddered and turned away.
‘All right‚’ he said. ‘I’ll do it myself.’
He slipped his hands under Ferguson’s armpits and dragged him backwards up the companionway. He hoisted him out of the cockpit and rolled him over the side. He did not even see the body hit the water; he heard the splash and that was all.
Rains was a heavier job, and messier. He dragged Rains out feet first, and the head left a bloody trail. Rains went over the side like a great sack of corn; he went with a splash that sent up a fountain of water. Keeton peered down into the darkness and could see nothing but the steel-black surface of the ocean.
‘I warned you‚’ he muttered. ‘But you wouldn’t take any warning.’
He turned away from the side and went back into the cabin.
Chapter Eleven
Jetsam
Keeton was at the helm when the girl came up out of the cabin. Looking at her, he could not help thinking how much she had matured in the few weeks since she had first come aboard. She had been shown something of the darker side of life; she had seen undisguised greed and violence and sudden death; and for her things would never seem quite the same again.
She said: ‘Ben’s arm is worse. When do you think we’ll reach port?’
‘Not yet‚’ Keeton said. ‘Not for a long while yet. We can’t run the engine now that the fuel’s all used up, and Roamer never was a fast ship. With this cargo she’s a whole lot slower.’
‘We’d be able to go faster without the gold, wouldn’t we?’
‘That’s true. But it so happens that we’ve got it.’
He could see what she was getting at: she was suggesting that he should jettison the cargo in order to increase the speed of the yawl. But that was too much to ask after all he had been through to get it; a lot too much.
She seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Does the gold mean more to you than Ben’s life?’
‘He won’t die‚’ Keeton said. But he did not feel nearly as certain of that as his words might have indicated. There could be no blinking the fact that Ben was in a bad way.
‘He will die if he doesn’t get proper medical attention very soon.’
Keeton felt uneasy under her unmoving gaze. It was as though she were accusing him of trying to kill Dring.
At last he said: ‘Take over here. I’ll go and have a look at him.’
She took the helm and he went down the companionway into the cabin. There was a stain on the cushions where Rains had bled. The boards had a fresh, scrubbed look, but the stain was there also.
Dring was lying on his bunk with his eyes open. He seemed to be breathing evenly, except that now and then there was a sudden catch in his breath, as though he had felt a stab of pain.
‘How are you feeling?’ Keeton asked.
Dring turned his head slowly and stared at Keeton, screwing up his eyes as if he had some difficulty in focusing them. He spoke as slowly as he had moved, answering the question with careful deliberation.