He paused. Crozier said grimly: “So that engineer, Faley, was telling the truth. You people didn’t know it—but he said something was wrong with the dynamo. The lights went down twice, but started to come on the second time. They were switched off from above. I held that back, because I wasn’t sure who was lying and who wasn’t.”
The crew doctor said: “It was black in the corridor, but I heard you, Crozier, coming along. I got into a cabin near the switch box—the door was half opened. I’d heard a second shot, closer than the first. When you got near the saloon, I left the cabin and reached Vennell’s suite. He was alone, stumbling around in the darkness. He’d got up.”
Sonia was breathing quickly, her eyes on Vollmer’s. The doctor said very hoarsely:
“I called his name—told them we were trapped. I was afraid and my voice showed it. The first thing I knew, his hands were on my throat. He was breathing terribly. I twisted loose, and he screamed for help. He called O’Rourke’s name. I was desperate. In the darkness I struck at him. I thing he was half turned—and I hit him in the head—the back of it. It felt like that. He seemed to be falling and turning, though I couldn’t be sure. Then his head struck something heavily—he groaned and was silent. I groped for him—O’Rourke’s voice reached me, saying he was coming. I pulled Vennell up a little—and got out of the cabin. When I reached the deck, the lights were still off. I went quietly along, until I was behind Mears and Burke. They were near the saloon entrance. I’d only been gone a short time—”
Vollmer shook his head slowly. I said: “Then Vennell did hit his head against something—the front of that bureau—probably. But Vollmer pulled him up to a sitting position.”
The doctor muttered: “I’m telling you the truth—I didn’t murder him. It was the fall—”
Crozier said slowly: “It was that position of his that got me, with no blood on anything except the spot where his head rested. But if you pulled him up—”
Sonia said in a low voice: “He must have been crazy with fear—must have thought that Vollmer had come to kill him, to play safe.”
Risdon nodded. “He went down heavily—and that furniture in his suite is solid stuff. It just caved his head in—that bureau.”
Crozier looked at the crew doctor. Coach Mears was watching him with narrowed eyes, shaking his head. Tim Burke stared at Vollmer.
“And Babe Harron—how did you morphine him without his knowing it?” he said grimly.
We were very quiet. Vollmer stared down at the floor of the captain’s quarters.
“Harron was in the room that had been rigged up with showers,” he said. “It’s pretty dark in there. It was about twenty minutes before the start of the race, maybe a little less. I didn’t know what Harron went into the room for. Perhaps he was just nervous and moving around. I followed him in, but he didn’t see me coming. I had the needle in my left hand—and a file in my right. The sort of file the boys use on the oar handles to roughen them up so that they can get a grip when the water soaks into the wood.”
I heard Coach Mears suck in a sharp breath. Tim Burke muttered something. Vollmer said:
“Harron’s back was to mine. I struck upward with the—hypodermic needle. I used my left hand, so that the injection would not be too perfect. I’m a doctor—”
His voice broke; he shook his head. Then he said dully, thickly:
“When he twisted around. I showed him the file. It had a sharp point. I said I was sorry—I hadn’t seen him in the gloom of the shower room. I was taking the file to the other side of the boathouse. It was just a prick. I kept the hypo needle concealed in my left hand. It’s small enough. We went out into the light and I looked at Harron’s shoulder. I told him I’d put iodine on it if he wanted, but it wasn’t anything much. He grinned and told me to forget it.”
Vollmer was silent again. Coach Mears muttered grimly:
“Made him think the hypo needle was a file end, eh?”
Vollmer closed his eyes and swayed a little. He said in a voice that was barely audible:
“I used a handkerchief on the syringe. When I got the chance, I jammed it inside Tim Burke’s mattress. I didn’t think it would be found—but it was, I didn’t think Burke would have to stand much—”
He checked himself, staring somewhere beyond me. He said:
“I thought Harron would collapse—and I’d bring him around all right. I could work off the effects of the morphine—he wouldn’t know what had happened. There would be fifty thousand—I needed almost that much to pay back—”
His head dropped, and he raised hands to his face again. Crozier said very softly:
“You murdered twice—and I don’t believe you intended to murder, Vollmer.”
The crew doctor said in a smothered voice:
“I swear to God I didn’t!”
Risdon looked at me. “I had a hunch that O’Rourke was in on it,” he breathed. “I sure had a hunch.”
Crozier said: “Vennell was pretending he was on the spot, to get everybody worried about something else than the way he was betting—was really betting. And to cover up the times when his nerves got ragged, too. And when Torry Jones knocked him overboard, that made it look more complicated than it was. I think he could have talked when we got him into the cabin. But he didn’t want to talk, and Bryce helped things along, until that doctor decided it was time to watch out for himself.”
I nodded slowly. “And Vennell brought a mixed crowd aboard, two newspaper men—he didn’t want anything to seem covered up. He wanted it to look natural—”
Vollmer groaned and took his hands away from his face. He said very thickly:
“That face—Harron’s face—his lips calling my name! I couldn’t stand—”
His head dropped again. I looked at Sonia Vreedon.
“That was a very nice idea—” I started, but Sonia shuddered and turned her eyes away from mine.
Crozier said: “You take care of Doctor Vollmer, Risdon.”
He went from the captain’s quarters, and I followed him. On the deck he said quietly:
“I don’t think Harron knew the doctor had morphined him, poisoned him. That wasn’t why he used the name. He was going out, something was wrong. He knew that. Instinctively he used the name of the crew doctor. And the camera picked it up. It had a terrible effect on Vollmer, though. He isn’t a murderer—not hard, that way. It smashed him.”
I said: “Harron might have remembered the prick—he might have guessed that Vollmer had done something.”
Crozier shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “But it worked out right anyway. Miss Vreedon pulled Burke out of a bad spot. The plane gave her the idea—she felt that Harron’s face, if it showed much, would shatter something in his murderer. She was convinced we’d have the murderer in the saloon. And we did.”
We walked aft, and I watched Torry Jones slump in a chair and scowl at the big figure of Mick O’Rourke. Carla Sard went over to Torry and touched his forehead with her long fingers. The flier kept smiling at Mick. The big fellow looked at us.
“How much was he to get out of it?” he asked grimly.
“Fifty thousand,” I replied.
Mick said: “Fifty grand!” he whistled a few notes off key. Then he shook his head. “Crime doesn’t pay,” he said in a peculiar voice.
Crozier glanced at me with his eyes slitted. He went over and stood by the stern rail. I motioned to Mick and we walked forward. I told him things, and when I finished doing it, I asked him something.
“I can still see you swinging fists against Bandelli’s knife, Mick. You hate Dingo. And you knew that he was the big shot that had lost a lot of coin through Vennell’s brokerage house. You knew the police would learn that pretty quick—even if you had to feed the information to them. You were sort of looking for a chance—”
I stopped. Mick was looking very stupid. He pointed along the deck, and I saw Tim Burke and Sonia moving very close together. Burke had his right arm around the girl; their heads
touched.
Mick said huskily: “Jees, Al—ain’t romance swell!”
We halted near the port rail. I said quietly:
“You didn’t fire any shot at anybody in the water. You weren’t in the saloon when the lights—”
Mick said: “In the good old summer time—”
I looked toward Tim Burke and Sonia. I spoke softly:
“Tim did swim out because he was worried about Vennell’s betting. And he had broken with Vennell—refusing to do what Vennell wanted. Sonia was sure he’d try to come out. She waited for him. She knew what he’d be thinking.”
The big fellow said: “And you still think I would have taken a chance with Vennell, if—”
There was a peculiar smile in his eyes; his scar twitched a little. I said:
“Mick—I think you’re wonderful—”
I half sang it. He said cheerfully:
“But you may—be wrong.”
I nodded. I looked out toward the boathouses, then let my eyes go toward the bridges and the water running beneath them. After a little while I said:
“You fired that shot to pull people out on deck, Mick—you were going in after Vennell.”
Mick O’Rourke’s eyes got large and filled with horror.
“Jees, Al!” he breathed in a husky tone. “You don’t think I’d have done anything like that?”
I smiled at him. “Yeah,” I said. “I kind of do.”
Mick sighed. I watched Tim Burke and Sonia vanish into the shadows, forward, and I sighed, too. I said:
“Those two have been through a lot—I hope they get a break and there’s a moon tonight.”
Mick looked at me and groaned. He shook his big head slowly.
“You got a swell idea of a break!” he muttered.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1932 by Raoul Whitfield
Copyright renewed in 1960 by Prudence Van Tine Whitfield
Cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4449-2
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