by David Dodge
‘I’m glad of that.’
‘I did not mean to imply that you are essential.’ Holtz was enjoying himself. ‘If you are weighing the possibilities of a venture before Jules returns, give it up. He is quite capable of shipping the launch without your help - as I am of depriving him of it.’
The casual tone of the threat did not detract from the reality of its promise. Blake could only hope that Bruno had heard it, but there was no more pounding.
So there goes his chance to earn a thousand dollars, he thought.
It would still be four or five minutes before the launch came alongside. Bruno might very well have been able to batter his way out of confinement in that time. He would have died, in all probability, attacking Holtz, but it could have been to some purpose. He might have given Blake his own chance, freed the rest of them, saved Freddy’s money. Freddy would have been grateful for the sacrifice, as he would be unable to understand why Blake had stopped it.
He watched the launch approach. Not even aware of what his hands were doing, he got a bumper ready to fend the boat’s bow from the Angel’s hull when Jules brought the launch alongside. Holtz, looking down from the bridge wing, grinned at the unconscious action. Blake was behaving predictably, as Holtz’s pawns were supposed to behave.
Jules cut the launch’s motor, hooked the davit falls into place, and came swinging up to the cruiser’s deck hand over hand. Holtz said calmly, ‘When you have the launch aboard, lock the captain in his cabin and come up to the pilot-house. If he gives you any trouble, kill him.’
The pistol barrel resting on the bridge rail glinted dully in the sunlight.
George Saunders did not spend a great deal of time in Monaco, and for that reason knew Neyrolle only casually. They did not particularly like each other. Neyrolle thought the reporter opinionated and overbearing, George considered the sous-chef cautious, conservative and old-womanish. But George, who spoke good colloquial French, knew the importance of a source of information at police head-quarters, and Neyrolle recognized the power of the Press. They got along, after a fashion.
It was unusual for Neyrolle to telephone George’s hotel and ask him to stop by Sûreté Publique. George, who had slept most of the day after his night out with Freddy, went to the appointment with some curiosity. He found the sous-chef frowning over a copy of Michaud’s complaint to the Commandant du Port about the abandonment of the Angel’s crew. A transcript of Cesar’s dissimilar report of the same happening lay on his desk.
‘One does not wonder that Justice is commonly portrayed with a blindfold,’ Neyrolle said. He handed George copies of the two papers. ‘Read these, then tell me which one you, as a journalist, would consider more nearly an approximation of the truth. Not the truth in itself, but possibly leaning in that direction.’
George took the statements, his interest sharpening as he read. When he had finished, he said, ‘The steward’s story is nonsense, of course. He’s seen too many American movies. It should be easy enough to check the engineer’s guess about the writ of attachment. If one has been issued, it will be on record. Freddy told me he was expecting it any day.’ ‘I have already instituted inquiries.’ Neyrolle took back the papers, put them on his desk, squared their corners, and placed a paper-weight carefully on top. ‘I am more interested at the moment in asking questions you yourself can answer.’
George stiffened. ‘What kind of questions?’
‘I have a report that a man answering your description was observed at the port this morning in a fiacre with Freddy Farr and his guests, shortly before the Angel sailed. And we always know what is going on at the casino. You have passed the last several nights there in Farr’s company, although you do not yourself gamble. Why is that?’
‘I don’t gamble because I don’t like to gamble. As for spending time with Freddy, I have to. I’m writing an article about him.’
‘For whom?’
‘No one in particular. Anybody who will buy it.’
‘Is that not unusual, in your profession? I had understood that such articles are ordinarily commissioned.’
‘Ordinarily they are. I don’t happen to have a commission. I think I can sell it after it’s written.’
‘And that is your only interest in Freddy Farr?’
‘Stop beating around the bush,’ George said, bristling. ‘What are you getting at?’
Neyrolle answered carefully. ‘Most people who show an interest in Freddy Farr are after his money. It is an unfortunate truth that he has few other attractions. But while he is a guest of the Principality it is my duty to protect him - and his money - and the steward of his yacht has made allegations which, however nonsensical they may appear at first glance, cannot be dismissed without police investigation. I am naturally interested in anyone who has shown unusual interest in him during the past few days. You are one of those.’
‘I’ve told you the reason for my interest.’
‘So you have. So you have.’ The sous-chef nodded agree-ably. ‘Perhaps you can tell me something more. In your research into Farr’s affairs did you learn anything that might throw light on the peculiar matter of the Angel’s departure, assuming that neither the steward’s melodramatic interpretation nor the engineer’s dark accusation is wholly correct?’
‘I’m as confused by it as you are.’ George’s neck was still red. He did not choose his words as carefully as he might have. ‘I was talking to his captain after Freddy and his guests went aboard this morning. He had the crew standing by to cast off. I got the impression that the yacht was ready to leave within minutes, everything in order.’
‘That is the one feature which leads me to put some small credence in the steward’s story. The crew was, in fact, tricked ashore when the yacht was on the very verge of sailing. A seizure and immediate flight would have been impossible otherwise.’
‘It needn’t have been a trick. A simple mistake, perhaps -a waterfront rumor.’
‘No, no, my friend.’ Neyrolle shook his head. ‘That I will not accept. The engineer and the steward agree only in respect to a few facts; the crew was sent ashore for the false permis, the yacht was headed seaward within minutes afterwards, and the two men who were on the jetty when the crew left it were not there when they returned. I believe, with the steward and the engineer alike, that those two men took the crew’s place. Whether they were invited aboard or forced their way is something we have yet to learn, but I decline to believe it was merely coincidence that they also persuaded the captain of the need for the fake permis. There is a connection.’
‘You see connections where they don’t exist,’ George said flatly. ‘Have you tried raising the yacht by radiophone?’
‘Not yet. We do not have direct ship-to-shore communication in Monaco. It is possible to send a message through Radio Grasse, but if the Angel does not happen to have her ears open –’ Neyrolle shrugged eloquently. ‘Well, I shall try it all the same, and end in frustration because I am skeptical of coincidences and do not believe in the steward’s gangsters. How much will you be paid for your article on Freddy Farr, if you sell it?’
Angry color flooded George’s face. He said furiously, ‘I don’t have to take this kind of thing! Come out in the open and say what you mean to say!’
‘Monsieur, please!’ Neyrolle put up his hand in protest. ‘I have said exactly what I mean to say. I am trying to determine if a crime has been committed, and I shall question everything, everybody, tactless though it may be, until I have the answer. Do you refuse to answer my questions? It is your privilege.’
George was silent for a long moment, his mouth tight. He said finally, grudgingly, ‘A thousand dollars, probably. Twenty-five hundred if the right editor takes it.’
‘And if you fail to sell it, nothing at all?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How long have you been working at it?’
‘Off and on, for about six weeks.’
‘All to earn a possible thousand or twenty-five hundred dollars?’
‘I began reading back copies of the Herald-Tribune six weeks ago, in Paris, for material on Freddy Farr. He hasn’t occupied any time since. I came to Monte Carlo only last week, to talk to him personally.’
‘I am aware of the length of your stay in the Principality. You have assembled enough information to write the article?’ ‘I have assembled enough information to write a book about Freddy Farr, if I choose to. Right now I have in mind an article.’
‘But your information does not include anything that might lead to an explanation of the puzzle of the Angel’s departure this morning?’
‘No.’
‘That is all, then. Thank you for coming.’
George left without the customary exchange of courtesies, his mouth still tight. When he had gone, Neyrolle called a clerk.
‘Assemble a dossier on Saunders, George,’ he said. ‘The usual material, with particular reference to his connections with Farr, Frederick.’
The clerk made a note, then turned to leave. Neyrolle added thoughtfully, ‘And check with Paris to see what they can give you on him. I wonder that a man who resists even roulette can gamble so strongly on an uncertain return for so much of his time and labor.’
‘There’s your course until I give you another,’ Jules said. ‘One hundred and ninety degrees magnetic. Hold it at ten knots, and don’t leave the wheel until you’re relieved.’
‘When will that be?’ Blake asked.
‘When I get around to it. Don’t ask too many questions, either.’
‘Somebody has got to oil and check the pumps and clean fuel strainers. A ship like this doesn’t run itself.’
‘I took a look below an hour ago. Everything is turning over as smooth as silk.’ Jules grinned, exposing a mouthful of strong yellow teeth. ‘We know a ship like this doesn’t run itself, Captain. That’s why you’re still with us.’
They were six hours out of Monaco, pushing steadily southward through the early dark. Blake had spent most of the time locked in his cabin, increasingly concerned over the unattended diesels. His preoccupation with the cruiser’s motors was not irrelevant to the predicament of its passengers. If the diesels broke down beyond repair, Holtz and Jules still had the launch, but it was improbable that they would take much with them in the way of excess baggage. Freddy, perhaps. The rest of them had little hope of being left behind with a chance to talk, even on a crippled and voiceless ship. In a very direct sense, the safety of the Angel’s passengers depended on the continued functioning of her motors.
Jules had made a bundle of all the signaling devices in the pilot-house; rockets, smoke-candles, the Very-pistol, flags, everything that could be used for sending a message. Having put the radiophone out of commission and destroyed the bridge telephone contact, he had also blinded the searchlight on the roof of the pilot-house by ripping out a section of the wires that fed it power. The Angel’s controls remained un-touched, her instruments of navigation in working order. All that her wheelsman could not do was communicate. He was as isolated as a man in a glass cage.
Blake said, ‘Where are we bound?’
‘I told you. One hundred and ninety magnetic until I tell you something else - and don’t waste time loading the compass so it will read crooked. I carry my own in my pocket. Any time I find you wandering off course, I’ll be up to give you another lesson in steersmanship.’
‘There’s a check compass on the afterdeck. Before you decide to slug me, take a look at that one, too. It’s probably more accurate than yours.’
‘Don’t worry. You’ll get slugged only if you ask for it.’
Jules picked up his bundle, tucked it under one arm, and put a big hand on Blake’s shoulder. It was not a friendly gesture, but to let Blake feel the grip of his strong fingers.
‘Take a hint, Captain. You’re going to have a lot of time to be figuring ways and means to get around us. Don’t try it. This job has been figured right down to the last hair. Do what you’re told, steer the course you’re told to steer, and nobody will get hurt.’
‘I’d feel more confident about that if a couple of people hadn’t already been hurt.’
‘You’re still alive, aren’t you?’ Jules reached to turn off the light above the chart table, leaving the pilot-house in darkness except for the binnacle lamp and the shaded glow of the instrument panel behind the wheel. From the doorway he said, quite seriously, ‘Stay that way, Captain.’
The door closed behind him.
If he gives you any trouble, kill him, Holtz had said, and sounded just as serious.
With the readings of the instrument panel under his eyes for assurance that the motors were running smoothly, Blake had time to think about the temper of the Angel’s passengers. Freddy, thoroughly cowed, could be counted on to cause no further trouble. But Bruno might be reckless enough to renew his challenge of Holtz’s authority, and Laura di Lucca’s fears would only egg him on. Valentina was an unknown quantity, Marian accepted challenges as a matter of principle.
He hoped that Holtz would keep them locked up indefinitely. They wouldn’t starve in seventy-two hours. Sixty-five, now. He had already begun to mark time by the hours that had to elapse before the rendezvous with Roche. He closed his mind to everything but the need to get through that period without further trouble.
The count was down to sixty-two when he picked up the lights of a steamer bound, by its course, for Ajaccio. Watching it while he calculated the Angel’s approximate position in his head, he let the cruiser swing a point or two off course, and was prepared, when he heard someone on the ladder outside, for Jules’s return with a warning, or punishment, or both. He was surprised when the door opened and Marian’s subdued voice spoke in the dark.
‘Could you turn on a light, please? I’ve brought you some dinner.’
He switched on the overhead light. She carried a galley stew-pot and a long loaf of French bread.
‘It isn’t everything it might be,’ she said. ‘They’ve thrown all the knives overboard, so I couldn’t cut the bread, and I couldn’t get the stove going to heat anything. But it’s food.’
‘I’m grateful. Did Holtz let you out to take charge of the galley?’
‘He let us all out, an hour ago. I took over the galley because it gave me something to do besides sit and think about how gullible I am.’
‘What else has happened?’
‘Nothing in particular. Your boss was pretty - graphic -about what he thought of me, when he had a chance to express himself.’
The constraint in her voice told him how savage Freddy must have been. He said, ‘Don’t let it bother you too much. He’s inclined to be graphic when Freddy Farr’s comfort is interfered with,’ then changed the subject by inviting her to take the wheel while he ate.
‘Keep the compass card as nearly on one hundred and ninety as you can. When it slides off don’t bring the wheel too far over too fast to put it back. You’ll wobble a little at first. It doesn’t matter.’
‘What happens if I wobble a lot?’
‘Jules will be up to straighten us out. I’d rather it didn’t happen.’
‘Oh.’
He explored the contents of the stew-pot while he waited for her to talk. She had brought, besides the bread, sausage, cheese, and fruit. He discovered that he was very hungry, and remembered that he had not eaten since breakfast. While he was making up for the lack of lunch, she said unexpectedly, ‘Are you going to go on doing just what they tell you to do as long as they tell you?’
‘Unless I see a chance to do something else with safety, yes.’
‘I liked you better when you tried to wreck us.’
‘It didn’t accomplish anything, beyond getting us both beaten up.’
‘That’s not the point.’ There was obstinacy in her voice, and something else. ‘It was a gesture. It showed that you weren’t afraid of them.’
‘I’ve learned to be afraid of them since then.’
‘I shouldn’t think you’d want to confess it.’
‘It would be unintelligent not to confess it. Holtz is a killer. They’re taking a big risk for an amount of money that means nothing to Freddy. I’m willing to help them get it, if it’s necessary to assure that they’ll let him and us go afterwards.’
‘You’re the only one who will help them, then.’ She was standing very straight at the wheel, in profile toward him, and he saw the stubborn set of her chin. ‘Freddy is fighting them. So is Bruno.’
‘In what way are they fighting?’
‘They’re going to break into the bar.’
As an anticlimax it was stunning. He could think of nothing to say before she went on coolly, ‘They’re going to put messages for help in the bottles and throw them overboard ! And if it is only a gesture, I admire them for it.’
‘It’s a gesture that can bring them more harm than help. There isn’t a chance in ten thousand that a message will be picked up in time to do us any good. Tell Freddy I said to leave the bar alone.’
‘Tell him yourself, if you want to!’ She motioned at the door. ‘Go ahead! I’ll hold the wheel for you. Go give your own orders!’
‘I can’t leave the pilot-house.’
‘You mean you’re afraid to leave! You’re taking orders now, not giving them!’
She was deliberately taunting him. He did not understand what she was trying to goad him into, or why, but he said, ‘Certainly I’m taking orders. We’re all taking orders. If we refuse, we die. It’s as simple as that.’
He had finished his meal. When he went to take the wheel, she turned suddenly to face him, her back against the spokes, her arms wide, barring him.
‘Wait! Isn’t there anything that can make you oppose Holtz?’
It was a plea. He said patiently, ‘Why do you want to oppose him? To save Freddy’s money?’
‘He tricked me!’ Her eyes were angry, too bright. ‘He hit me in the face, and threatened to kill me, and laughed at me for a fool! I’m not going to forget that!’
‘He’ll do worse than laugh at you and hit you in the face if you try to fight him. Let me have the wheel.’
