Five Passengers from Lisbon, page 14
The Captain’s blond head jerked around toward Gili. “What about you? What’s your story?”
Mickey and Luther, more sophisticated, treated Gili as if she might have been a duchess. To the Captain, black was black and white was white. There were no shades between, and simply and cruelly his manner put Gili on the black side. Unexpectedly, and somehow rather pathetically, she accepted it and replied with unaccustomed meekness: “I didn’t do anything, really, all day. I went on deck and walked and then I had breakfast. A nurse took me down to the salon. And then I—oh, I went around over the ship, looking at things, talking to”—she lifted one shoulder in a ghost of a shrug—“talking to this one or that one. Nothing much. They all seemed very”—a shade of discomfiture crossed her face—“very busy,” said Gili, somewhat regretfully. “So many handsome men, too.”
Daisy Belle’s mouth twitched. The Captain said: “Continue, please. Where were you when the murder occurred?”
“I don’t know when that was. I know nothing....”
“When you heard of it then?”
“Oh, well. That.” Gili glanced at Marcia. “I had met you on the deck. You remember?”
“I remember,” said Marcia.
Gili went on rather hurriedly: “And then—you remember—the handsome officer, the Colonel, came. And I—oh, I thought you might wish to be together, you and he. So I—I went into the ship. And in a few minutes I...”she hesitated. Her eyes slid to Marcia and then away. She caught her lower lip in her teeth for a second and suddenly said: “I met André and we went on deck, that is, on the other side, the—the left...”
“Port,” said the Captain automatically. And Marcia thought swiftly, so Gili went straight to Mickey after making the claims she had made.
“We were there smoking and talking for—oh, it must have been for an hour or longer. A long time. Then, well...” she shrugged. “People were running. We heard about the murder.”
Daisy Belle said dryly: “The word is alibi, Gili. I felt sure you understood it.”
Major Williams said: “That agrees with André Messac’s statement, sir.”
“I know.” The Captain turned to Marcia. “Does that square with your opinion about the length of time that passed while you were on deck and after you spoke to Miss Duvrey?”
“Yes. That is, I wasn’t thinking of time. It seems about right.”
The Captain looked at Gili again. “You were on B deck?” Gili bit her lip. “Yes, but we knew nothing of the murder. Nothing. It is a big ship. How could we know anything of what happened on the other side of it?”
The Captain for a moment looked rather hopeless, as if, in spite of himself, he agreed. And certainly owing to the fact that the exact time when Para was murdered was not known, owing to the layout of the ship and the accessibility of the deck to any portion of it, any attempt to rule out any of the Lerida survivors by means of proven alibis was a forlorn hope at best. Probably it seemed so to the Captain, for he gave a sort of angry sigh, stared bleakly at the gray port opposite for a moment and finally said: “Two men from the Lerida lifeboat have been murdered. It stands to reason that one of the others in that boat did it. I’ve questioned all of you. I’ve got all your statements. So far, I’m bound to admit I’ve found no discrepancy.”
He paused briefly. Marcia thought, then Mickey was with Gili, for his statement obviously had agreed with Gili’s. What had they talked of, there in the fog, for an hour or more?
The Captain went on: “Since it is not likely that two murderers are on this ship I have to conclude that the person who tried to kill you. Miss Colfax, and who attacked Monsieur Messac a few minutes earlier that same night, is the person who succeeded in killing Castiogne and, today, Para. So far I can find no motive linking you together. If you know of anything of the kind you’d better tell me now.” He looked at her sharply and must have seen in her face a complete denial, for he did not even pause. “If any of you knows of any suspicious circumstance, or anything at all which is an inaccuracy, a discrepancy as you see it, any time or anywhere, it is your duty to tell me. Now.” He paused then. So long, indeed, that the waiting silence in the little cabin seemed freighted with things untold.
Yet there was nothing more that Marcia could tell him, except, of course, Mickey’s real name and identity, and that had nothing to do with two murders, or with the attack upon Mickey and herself. She looked at Daisy Belle, whose fine-drawn face was lifted frankly and openly, but who also did not speak. She looked at Gili, who was equally still, but whose look suddenly to Marcia seemed secretive and listening. It was so strong an impression that she thought swiftly, why is she listening; what does she expect me or Daisy Belle to say? And then she knew.
Gili had accused Daisy Belle and Luther Cates of being Nazis. To Marcia, at least, it was an impossible story to accept. She thought that Mickey and Josh Morgan found it equally difficult to credit. Certainly all three of them had tried to persuade Gili to tell no one else; certainly, so far Gili had let herself be persuaded.
But suddenly that very acquiescence seemed, somehow, wrong. It was not like Gili. It did not fit what Marcia knew of her. It was as if something in a familiar picture had swung suddenly awry. And that thought brought her to another. Some time, not long ago (just before she’d walked down the stairs, wasn’t it, and found Para?), something else had suddenly and obscurely seemed wrong. For a moment there had been that same curious and troubling sensation of something, some very small thing that was askew, that was again wrong. Whatever it was, it had eluded her. She could not pin it down and identify it.
She could, however, with Gili now. It would have fitted the picture of Gili if, under pressure of the investigation into murder, she had blurted out her accusation of the Cateses again. She did not do it and that was wrong. It was not so easy, though, to understand why.
The pause had lengthened. Captain Svendsen’s bleached eyebrows were drawn heavily together. Major Williams was fidgeting nervously. Still no one spoke. Suddenly the Captain opened his straight-lipped mouth, closed it again with a snap, whirled around and walked out of the cabin without another word. Major Williams gave them a worried glance, mumbled something and disappeared behind the Captain. The door closed.
Daisy Belle reached for a cigarette. Gili stared at the floor. Marcia sat down slowly. She must be cool and calm, like Daisy Belle. But Daisy Belle hadn’t seen what she had seen there in the fog under the stairs.
Well, she wouldn’t think of that.
She wouldn’t think of Gili.
But she must find a way to see Mickey.
After a long time Marcia decided also that she would not think of Josh Morgan and the way he had held her while she sat in the deck chair, in the fog, before he left her alone, and suddenly, unexpectedly, kissed her. So, for a queer short space in time, everything but his nearness, his mouth upon her own, was blotted out. She got up restlessly, walked to the port, stared into the fog, came back.
Daisy Belle put out one cigarette and lighted another. Gili went to the mirror, combed out her hair, went to sprawl on her stomach in her bunk, her long hair over her face.
Dinner came eventually on trays, passed in to them by the seaman then on guard.
Gili, tossing back her long locks of hair questioned him. “Is there any news? What are they doing? Have they found who murdered him?”
But he mumbled something and went away. They heard the click of the lock and after that no one came near them. Lights were on in the cabin by that time and the ports were dark gray.
Night came early, due to the fog. There were eventually no sounds at all from the rest of the ship. They felt isolated and alone, as if they were traveling toward an unknown destiny in a ghost ship. It was curious, thought Marcia once, to realize that all around them the busy life of the hospital ship went on. In the cabin there was only the faraway throb of the ship’s engines and the feeling of motion and the occasional distant sound of the ship’s bell. And the three women, shut up together, each thinking her own thoughts.
Eventually, too, speaking only at intervals and then saying nothing, they got into the three narrow bunks. Daisy Belle turned out the light and there was only the soft shaft of faintly crimson light coming from the port opposite the door. Probably none of them slept. Certainly for Marcia the darkness, the occasional wail of the foghorn, the lap and rush of water outside all merely served to heighten and sharpen the questions that seemed to fill the cabin as if they had substance.
If Castiogne had been murdered in the lifeboat, who among them had done it and why? Why then was Para murdered? Was the figure in the red bathrobe with the bandaged, eyeless face that of Jacob Heinzer, the patient—and if so, why did he deny it? And if it was not, then who had assumed that disguise, and again, why?
Josh had answered that; but if Marcia were actually in danger (and those hands on her throat had been real; there was no question of that), what possible link was there between her and two Portuguese seamen v:hom she scarcely knew by name?
Again she could not extricate herself from endless circles of conjecture, which went around and around on themselves and arrived nowhere. Mickey and herself, Daisy Belle and Luther Cates, Gili, and the other seaman, Urdiola. Suddenly, in the night, her eyes wide open, staring at that soft band of crimson striking into the cabin from the port, it seemed to her that no one perhaps had paid enough attention to Urdiola, the small, swarthy seaman with the shifting dark eyes and the wizened monkey-like face. Certainly he must have known more of Para and of Castiogne than anyone else.
But the Captain had questioned him. He had questioned everybody from the Lerida. If he had extracted any information at all from Urdiola, he would have acted upon it.
Some time, still looking at the round, dimly lighted port, Marcia’s eyes closed and blocked it out.
It was a long and weary night, with heavy fog, and the U.S.A.H.S. Magnolia pushing her sturdy way through it, with the Captain on the bridge all night. Although none of the patients and none of the survivors of the Lerida knew it, the night watch everywhere on the ship had been doubled.
Morning dawned gray and chilly, with the fog, if anything, heavier and the foghorn sounding at three-minute intervals.
It was that morning early that Urdiola was charged with murder and the other Lerida survivors were released.
Mickey came to the cabin on B deck. The foghorn was sounding again when he knocked, so Marcia did not know he was there until he opened the door. His eyes were bright and eager, going from one to the other of the three women in the cabin. He said, “Urdiola killed them both. He’s arrested and”—his clear, light-gray eyes fastened on Daisy Belle—“he’s got your diamond, Daisy Belle.”
They were having breakfast. Daisy Belle, staring at Mickey, forgetting her tray, jumped up. The tray clattered to the floor, and Daisy Belle cried above the clash of china: “But Castiogne had my diamond!”
Marcia put down her own tray and reached to set upright the small pot which was pouring a stream of coffee on the floor. Mickey came quickly to kneel at Daisy Belle’s feet and help pick up the spilled dishes. Gili did not move but sat rigid, exactly like a cat which is crouching, not moving a hair, until danger is past.
13
Even then Marcia noted that—probably first because Gili was nearest Daisy Belle and it would have been natural for her to move first to Daisy Belle’s assistance,—and then she looked again because of that extraordinary stillness and because of the pasty, glistening look of fear which sprang instantly into Gili’s face. She had seen that look in her face before. What then did it mean? And what did Daisy Belle mean? And for that matter Mickey?
He was speaking to Daisy Belle: “I’m sorry I startled you. Here, do sit down and I’ll get you more coffee, more everything. I’m afraid this is pretty well gone.”
Daisy Belle sat down on the bunk very stiffly. Her fine, long face was gray, her eyes were topaz-bright and blank. She said: “I gave it to Castiogne. That is, Luther gave it to him. It was to pay for our passage. It was a bribe....”
Mickey, bending over the spilled dishes, scooping up egg cup and a sliced orange said: “Yes, of course. That’s what Luther told them. He recognized it at once.” He rose, opened the door and spoke to the seaman who was still on guard. “Can you get another breakfast tray in here? That’s right. Thank you.” He turned back into the cabin. “Furthermore,” he said, “and after due consideration, we are all released. They just haven’t got around to informing you three yet.”
Daisy Belle said: “Tell me what happened. Tell me...”
Gili still did not move, but it was as if everything about her listened. Mickey sat down on Marcia’s bunk, directly opposite Daisy Belle, and reached up to draw Marcia down beside him. “Well, it’s a short story,” he said, “but a convincing one. Naturally it looked from the first as if Castiogne’s death and then Para’s were actually the result of some sort of private feud among the three Lerida seamen. I mean—well...” he shrugged. “None of us had anything to do with them and they might have had any number of grudges and fights and God knows what. I can’t see why one of them would take a punch at me, or, for that matter, hurt Marcia, unless of course whoever did it had some reason to think one or both of us had witnessed the murder of Castiogne. As I certainly didn’t and neither did Marcia.”
Daisy Belle’s brown, battered hands made a quickly controlled gesture of impatience. Mickey saw it and went on: “Well, everybody else thought so too. It’s an obvious conclusion. They questioned Urdiola at length yesterday. He wouldn’t admit anything, said he hadn’t even seen Para since early yesterday morning. They weren’t satisfied. They searched his bunk yesterday and Para’s bunk, next to him, and found only Para’s seaman’s papers and no money tucked under the blanket. Well, they thought it was odd that there was no money at all with the papers. So they gave Urdiola a real search and found some money and the diamond.”
“Did Luther”—Daisy Belle was gripping her hands hard—“did Luther identify it?”
“Of course, right away. As to that, Urdiola broke down immediately and said he’d got it from Para, or rather that Para had given it to him.”
“Para gave it to him!” cried Daisy Belle. “But it was Castiogne...”
“He said that Para, yesterday morning early, had given him a little packet and told him to hold it for him, and, if anything should happen, to send it to Para’s wife. The Captain asked why Para did that, why did he think he was in danger, and Urdiola said he didn’t know. Oh, his story is very thin, very specious. At any rate he said then that he didn’t see Para again but he heard of the murder a few minutes before they sent for him to question him. So he scurried back to their bunks. Nobody was around. He unwrapped the packet, found Para’s papers, a little money and the diamond. He slipped Para’s papers under the blanket of Para’s bunk, put the money with his own, and hid the diamond in his shoe.”
“Do you mean,” Daisy Belle was leaning forward, her face an anxious, lined mask, “do you mean that the Captain believes he murdered both Castiogne and Para for the diamond? My diamond,” she said in a tone of horror.
“There’s nothing else to think,” said Mickey. “He’s a stupid fellow. Only a stupid fellow would try to get away with a story like that. And only a greedy and stupid fellow would murder like that, for a jewel. Probably he thinks it’s much more valuable than it is. Although,” said Mickey, looking rather searchingly at Daisy Belle, “it is a very large and very fine gem. I had a look at it. The Captain sent for me and Luther immediately to ask us if we knew anything of it or, rather, to ask Luther. He’d know I’d never have money enough to own a jewel like that. So Urdiola wasn’t so far wrong if he got the idea that he’d never in his dull life have a chance to get hold of that much wealth again. Everything,” said Mickey rather slowly, “is relative. What’s only a trinket to you, Daisy Belle, is a lifetime of ease to a man like Urdiola. It’s a sound motive for murder, all right.”
She moved her lips but did not speak. Mickey went on: “Naturally, they believe either that Para murdered Castiogne for the diamond and that Urdiola knew it and in his turn murdered Para for the same reason. Probably, in that case, it was actually suggested to him by Para’s killing of Castiogne. Urdiola’s got about the intelligence of an ape and I, personally, doubt whether he’d think up anything very enterprising on his own initiative. Either that, or Urdiola murdered Castiogne for the stone, and Para knew it and wanted to split with him—threatened him maybe with disclosure, unless Urdiola came across with part or all of the proceeds. Of course Urdiola insists that all three of them were the best of friends. Particularly Castiogne and Para. He says they were boyhood pals, inseparable. Told each other everything. That’s Urdiola’s story!” Again Mickey shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Probably we’ll never know. But the motive’s there, all right. And the murderer.”
“Has he”—Daisy Belle wet her lips—“has he confessed?”
“Oh, no. He has barely the wit to stick to his story and deny murder. He’ll keep on denying it, I suppose. He just stands there and shakes his head.”
“Where is Luther?” said Daisy Belle.
“Still with the Captain, I imagine.”
Daisy Belle got up. “Where is my coat, Marcia? What did I do with it? I’ve got to see Luther....”
“But Daisy Belle, your breakfast. Wait...”
“Here it is.” She found the nurse’s coat and flung it around her shoulders and turned intently to Mickey. “Are we really free? Can I go? Will the guard stop me?”
“I don’t think so....”
The guard didn’t stop her. Perhaps he had, as they talked, received orders to let them go. Daisy Belle’s coat flashed through the door and she was gone.
Then Gili, who had not moved, Gili, who had not spoken, Gili, who had waited and listened and all but held her breath, got up too, in one sudden, lithe motion, reached for her coat, hung it around her shoulders and gave Mickey a swift green glance. “I’m going too,” she said. “I’ve been shut up in this hole too long. I’m going to get some fresh air.” She reached the door and put her strong white hand upon it and paused, as if she were waiting, invitingly, her green eyes holding Mickey’s.
