must be a pretty dangerous character, sir," I said reflectively. "He didn't make the slightest whisper of sound. I wouldn't have thought it possible. For all I know, I might have taken a fainting turn and struck my head on the davit as I fell. That's what I thought myself even suggested it to the bo'sun here. And that's what i'm going to tell anyone who wants to know tomorrow." I grinned and winked at macdonald, and even the wink hurt. "I'll tell them you've been overworking me, sir, and I collapsed from exhaustion."
"Why tell anyone?" bullen wasn't amused. "It doesn't show where you have been coshed; that wound is just above the temple and inside the hairline and could be pretty well camouflaged. Agreed?"
"No, sir. Someone knows I had an accident the character responsible for it-and he's going to regard it as damned queer if I make no reference to it at all. But if I do mention it and pass it off as a ladylike swoon, there's an even chance he may accept it, and if he does we're still going to have the advantage of being in the position of knowing there's mayhem and murder aboard, while they will have no suspicion we know anything of the kind."
"Your mind," said captain bullen unsympathetically, "is beginning to clear at last."
when I awoke in the morning the already hot sun was streaming in through my uncurtained window. My cabin, immediately abaft the captain's, was on the starboard side, and the sun was coming from forward, which meant that we were still steaming northeast. I raised myself on my elbow to have a look at the sea conditions, for the campari had developed a definite if gentle pitching movement, and it was then that I discovered that my neck was rigidly bound in a plaster cast. At least it felt exactly like it. I could move it about an inch to either side and then a pair of clamps took hold. A dull steady ache, but no pain worth mentioning. I tried to force my head beyond the limits of the clamps, but I only tried once. I waited till the cabin stopped swaying round and the red-hot wires in my neck had cooled off to a tolerable temperature, then climbed stiffly out of my bunk. Let them call me stiff-neck carter if they wanted. That was enough of that lot.
I crossed to the window. Still a cloudless sky with the sun, white, glaring, already high above the horizon, striking a glittering, blinding path across the blueness of the sea. The swell was deeper, longer, heavier than I expected and coming up from the starboard quarter. I wound down the window and there was no wind I could notice, which meant that there was a fair breeze pushing up from astern, but not
enough to whiten the smoothly roiled surface of the sea.
I showered, shaved-i'd never before appreciated how difficult it is to shave when the turning motion of your head is limited to an arc of two inches-then examined the wound.
seen in daylight, it looked bad, much worse than it had in the night: above and behind the left temple, it was a two inch gash, wide and very deep. And it throbbed heavily in a way I didn't much care for.
I picked up the phone and asked for doc marston. He was still in bed but, yes, he would see me right away, an early-bird hippocratical willingness that was very much out of character, but maybe his conscience was bothering him about his wrong diagnosis of the previous night. I dressed, put on my hat, adjusted it to a suitably rakish angle till the band just missed the wound, and went down to see him. Dr.
marston, fresh, rested, and unusually clear of eye no doubt due to bullen's warning to lay off the rum didn't look like a conscience-stricken man who'd tossed and turned the sleepless night long. He didn't seem unduly worried about the fact that we carried aboard a passenger who, if he'd truthfully listed his occupation, would have put down the word "murderer." all he seemed concerned about was the entry in last night's log, and when I told him no entry about brownell had been made or would be made until we arrived in
"Why tell anyone?" bullen wasn't amused. "It doesn't show where you have been coshed; that wound is just above the temple and inside the hairline and could be pretty well camouflaged. Agreed?"
"No, sir. Someone knows I had an accident the character responsible for it-and he's going to regard it as damned queer if I make no reference to it at all. But if I do mention it and pass it off as a ladylike swoon, there's an even chance he may accept it, and if he does we're still going to have the advantage of being in the position of knowing there's mayhem and murder aboard, while they will have no suspicion we know anything of the kind."
"Your mind," said captain bullen unsympathetically, "is beginning to clear at last."
when I awoke in the morning the already hot sun was streaming in through my uncurtained window. My cabin, immediately abaft the captain's, was on the starboard side, and the sun was coming from forward, which meant that we were still steaming northeast. I raised myself on my elbow to have a look at the sea conditions, for the campari had developed a definite if gentle pitching movement, and it was then that I discovered that my neck was rigidly bound in a plaster cast. At least it felt exactly like it. I could move it about an inch to either side and then a pair of clamps took hold. A dull steady ache, but no pain worth mentioning. I tried to force my head beyond the limits of the clamps, but I only tried once. I waited till the cabin stopped swaying round and the red-hot wires in my neck had cooled off to a tolerable temperature, then climbed stiffly out of my bunk. Let them call me stiff-neck carter if they wanted. That was enough of that lot.
I crossed to the window. Still a cloudless sky with the sun, white, glaring, already high above the horizon, striking a glittering, blinding path across the blueness of the sea. The swell was deeper, longer, heavier than I expected and coming up from the starboard quarter. I wound down the window and there was no wind I could notice, which meant that there was a fair breeze pushing up from astern, but not
enough to whiten the smoothly roiled surface of the sea.
I showered, shaved-i'd never before appreciated how difficult it is to shave when the turning motion of your head is limited to an arc of two inches-then examined the wound.
seen in daylight, it looked bad, much worse than it had in the night: above and behind the left temple, it was a two inch gash, wide and very deep. And it throbbed heavily in a way I didn't much care for.
I picked up the phone and asked for doc marston. He was still in bed but, yes, he would see me right away, an early-bird hippocratical willingness that was very much out of character, but maybe his conscience was bothering him about his wrong diagnosis of the previous night. I dressed, put on my hat, adjusted it to a suitably rakish angle till the band just missed the wound, and went down to see him. Dr.
marston, fresh, rested, and unusually clear of eye no doubt due to bullen's warning to lay off the rum didn't look like a conscience-stricken man who'd tossed and turned the sleepless night long. He didn't seem unduly worried about the fact that we carried aboard a passenger who, if he'd truthfully listed his occupation, would have put down the word "murderer." all he seemed concerned about was the entry in last night's log, and when I told him no entry about brownell had been made or would be made until we arrived in
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