almost three years." Again the wan smile. "It took me all that time to find out I wasn't much good at it.”
“And you're now?"
"Twenty-one.”
“All the time in the world to find out what you are good at. I was thirty~ three before I qualified as a doctor.”
“Thirty-three." He didn't say it but his face said it for him: if he was that old when he qualified what unimaginable burden of years is he carrying now? "What did you do before then?”
“Nothing I'd care to talk about. Tell me, you two were at the captain's table for dinner tonight, weren't you?" They nodded. "Seated more or less opposite Antonio, weren't you?"
“I think so," Allen said. hat was a good start. He just thought so.
"He's not well. I'm trying to find out if he ate something that disagreed with him, something he may have been allergic to. Either of you see what he had to eat?"
They looked at each other uncertainly.
"Chicken?" I said encouragingly. "Perhaps some French fries?”
“I'm sorry, Dr. Marlowe," Mary Darling said. "I'm afraid-well, we're not very observant." No help from this quarter, obviously: they were so lost in each other that they couldn't even remember what they had eaten. Or perhaps they just hadn't eaten anything. I hadn't noticed. I hadn't been very observant myself. But, then, I hadn't been expecting a murder to happen along.
They were on their feet now, clinging to each other for support as the deck tried to vanish from beneath their feel?. I said: If you're going below I wonder if you'd ask Tadeusz if he'd be kind enough to come up and see me here. He'll be in the recreation room.”
“He might be in bed," Allen said. "Asleep-”
“Wherever he is," I said with certainty, "he's not in bed."
Tadeusz appeared within a minute, reeking powerfully of brandy, a vexed expression on his aristocratic features. He said without preamble: "Damned annoying. Most damned annoying. Do you know where I can find a master key? That idiot Antonio has gone and locked our cabin door from the inside and he must be hopped to the eyebrows with sedatives. Simply can't waken him. Cretin!"
I produced his cabin key. "He didn't lock the door from the inside. I did from the outside." The Count looked at me for an uncomprehending moment, then mechanically reached for his flask as shocked understanding showed in his face. Not too much shock, just a little, but I was sure that what little there was, was genuine. He tilted the flask and two or three drops trickled into his glass. He reached for the Black Label, helped himself with a steady but generous hand and drank deeply.
"He couldn't hear me? He-is beyond hearing?”
“I'm sorry. Something he ate, I can't think what else, some killer toxin, some powerful, quick-acting and deadly poison.”
“Quite dead?" I nodded. "Quite dead," he repeated. "And I told him to stop making such a grand opera Latin fuss and walked away and left a dying man." He drank some more Scotch and grimaced, an expression that was no reflection on Johnnie Walker. "There are advantages in being a lapsed Catholic, Dr. Marlowe.”
“Rubbish. Sackcloth and ashes not only don't help, they're simply just not called for here. All right, so you didn't suspect there was anything wrong with him. I saw him at table and I wasn't any cleverer and I'm supposed to be a doctor. And when you left him in the cabin it was too late anyway: he was dying then." I helped him to some more Scotch but left my own glass untouched: even one relatively sober mind around might prove to be of some help although just how I couldn't quite see at that moment. "You sat beside him at dinner. Can you remember what he ate?”
“The usual." The Count, it was clear, was more shaken than his aristocratic nature would allow him to admit. "Mather, he didn't cat the usual.”
“I'm not in the right frame of mind
“And you're now?"
"Twenty-one.”
“All the time in the world to find out what you are good at. I was thirty~ three before I qualified as a doctor.”
“Thirty-three." He didn't say it but his face said it for him: if he was that old when he qualified what unimaginable burden of years is he carrying now? "What did you do before then?”
“Nothing I'd care to talk about. Tell me, you two were at the captain's table for dinner tonight, weren't you?" They nodded. "Seated more or less opposite Antonio, weren't you?"
“I think so," Allen said. hat was a good start. He just thought so.
"He's not well. I'm trying to find out if he ate something that disagreed with him, something he may have been allergic to. Either of you see what he had to eat?"
They looked at each other uncertainly.
"Chicken?" I said encouragingly. "Perhaps some French fries?”
“I'm sorry, Dr. Marlowe," Mary Darling said. "I'm afraid-well, we're not very observant." No help from this quarter, obviously: they were so lost in each other that they couldn't even remember what they had eaten. Or perhaps they just hadn't eaten anything. I hadn't noticed. I hadn't been very observant myself. But, then, I hadn't been expecting a murder to happen along.
They were on their feet now, clinging to each other for support as the deck tried to vanish from beneath their feel?. I said: If you're going below I wonder if you'd ask Tadeusz if he'd be kind enough to come up and see me here. He'll be in the recreation room.”
“He might be in bed," Allen said. "Asleep-”
“Wherever he is," I said with certainty, "he's not in bed."
Tadeusz appeared within a minute, reeking powerfully of brandy, a vexed expression on his aristocratic features. He said without preamble: "Damned annoying. Most damned annoying. Do you know where I can find a master key? That idiot Antonio has gone and locked our cabin door from the inside and he must be hopped to the eyebrows with sedatives. Simply can't waken him. Cretin!"
I produced his cabin key. "He didn't lock the door from the inside. I did from the outside." The Count looked at me for an uncomprehending moment, then mechanically reached for his flask as shocked understanding showed in his face. Not too much shock, just a little, but I was sure that what little there was, was genuine. He tilted the flask and two or three drops trickled into his glass. He reached for the Black Label, helped himself with a steady but generous hand and drank deeply.
"He couldn't hear me? He-is beyond hearing?”
“I'm sorry. Something he ate, I can't think what else, some killer toxin, some powerful, quick-acting and deadly poison.”
“Quite dead?" I nodded. "Quite dead," he repeated. "And I told him to stop making such a grand opera Latin fuss and walked away and left a dying man." He drank some more Scotch and grimaced, an expression that was no reflection on Johnnie Walker. "There are advantages in being a lapsed Catholic, Dr. Marlowe.”
“Rubbish. Sackcloth and ashes not only don't help, they're simply just not called for here. All right, so you didn't suspect there was anything wrong with him. I saw him at table and I wasn't any cleverer and I'm supposed to be a doctor. And when you left him in the cabin it was too late anyway: he was dying then." I helped him to some more Scotch but left my own glass untouched: even one relatively sober mind around might prove to be of some help although just how I couldn't quite see at that moment. "You sat beside him at dinner. Can you remember what he ate?”
“The usual." The Count, it was clear, was more shaken than his aristocratic nature would allow him to admit. "Mather, he didn't cat the usual.”
“I'm not in the right frame of mind
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