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Authors: Donald Hamilton
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thought they probably would. Judging by what I'd been told, Dr. Adolf Elfenbein had been working at his particular racket long enough not to blow his stack at the loss of a little low-grade manpower.
When I knocked on the cabin door two decks down, Diana's voice told me to come in. Inside, the light was still on and she was sitting on the berth as before, armed, alert, and ready to repel boarders. I'd kind of expected to find that she'd retired, or at least got out of her ill-fitting, borrowed costume but she'd only discarded the jacket and combed her hair. Obviously, not quite knowing what to expect, she hadn't wanted a sudden crisis to catch her with her clothes off.
It showed a commendable attention to duty and the revolver was steady in her hand. It occurred to me that, for a member of an outfit so ineffectual that it had to use imported muscle, she showed a surprising tolerance for firearms. Generally, an inexperienced young lady—I'd had to tell her the difference between hammer and trigger —grasps a loaded gun as if it were a live and angry rattlesnake.
"Is everything all right?" she asked. "You were gone a long time."
"Everything's fine," I said. "Any trouble here?"
"There hasn't been a soul around to bother me." After a moment, she said, "I figured it out. What you had to do."
"Good for you," I said. "Point that thing somewhere else, will you? The theory is, you don't aim it at anything you don't want to shoot."
"I'm sorry."
She lowered the weapon. She'd had time to warm up and dry off and the white turtleneck she was wearing— Evelyn Benson's white turtleneck—while not quite immaculate after its dip in the harbor, was a lot more becoming without the too-tight jacket buttoned over it. With her hair nicely combed, she looked reasonably human once more. She had a symmetrical, oval face, I noted, and odd, greenish eyes. Once you got used to it, the pale skin was kind of striking, setting her apart in a world of conventionally tanned or rosy beauties. She really wasn't a bad-looking girl.
"The man who murdered Evelyn," she said. "He'd seen her up close. I fooled him on the gangplank, at night, hurrying past him in her clothes with my hair all down my face and your coat over my head; but if he saw me in daylight, he'd know. So ... so he had to be killed."
"Yes," I said.
"Did you?"
"Yes," I said. "Of course. That's what you people got me here for, wasn't it, my goddamned lethal reputation? I said I had a few shocks in mind for the opposition, remember?"
She hesitated. "What about the other one?" she asked. "The one who went ashore. He probably saw Evelyn too, you said."
I studied her for a moment, puzzled. It wasn't going at all the way I'd expected. Working with a shy, sheltered maiden brought up on tender principles of humanitarian-ism and nonviolence, I'd been braced for the old hand-wringing, breast-beating, bleeding-heart act, or at least a few conventional expressions of shock and dismay, but I wasn't getting them.
"The kid?" I said. "Not to worry. He's just juvenile help."
"But you'll have to deal with him, too, sooner or later, won't you?"
Her voice was quite calm and matter-of-fact. I realized that I'd got hold of something kind of special here, maybe even unique, but it was too early for me to tell whether it was good or bad.
"He's on shore," I said. "We're afloat. We don't have to worry about him tonight."
"You're really taking this masquerade seriously," she said. "I mean, killing a man to protect it."
"Well," I said, "let's just say it made a hell of a good excuse."
She was silent for a little. "Vengeance, Mr. Helm?" she murmured at last.
"I don't go out of my way for it, usually," I said. "I certainly won't jeopardize a mission for it. But if it's right in front of me for the taking, sure, I'll take it. People shouldn't go tossing people into the drink if they're not prepared to do a little swimming themselves."
She licked her lips, watching me. There was a funny gleam in the
When I knocked on the cabin door two decks down, Diana's voice told me to come in. Inside, the light was still on and she was sitting on the berth as before, armed, alert, and ready to repel boarders. I'd kind of expected to find that she'd retired, or at least got out of her ill-fitting, borrowed costume but she'd only discarded the jacket and combed her hair. Obviously, not quite knowing what to expect, she hadn't wanted a sudden crisis to catch her with her clothes off.
It showed a commendable attention to duty and the revolver was steady in her hand. It occurred to me that, for a member of an outfit so ineffectual that it had to use imported muscle, she showed a surprising tolerance for firearms. Generally, an inexperienced young lady—I'd had to tell her the difference between hammer and trigger —grasps a loaded gun as if it were a live and angry rattlesnake.
"Is everything all right?" she asked. "You were gone a long time."
"Everything's fine," I said. "Any trouble here?"
"There hasn't been a soul around to bother me." After a moment, she said, "I figured it out. What you had to do."
"Good for you," I said. "Point that thing somewhere else, will you? The theory is, you don't aim it at anything you don't want to shoot."
"I'm sorry."
She lowered the weapon. She'd had time to warm up and dry off and the white turtleneck she was wearing— Evelyn Benson's white turtleneck—while not quite immaculate after its dip in the harbor, was a lot more becoming without the too-tight jacket buttoned over it. With her hair nicely combed, she looked reasonably human once more. She had a symmetrical, oval face, I noted, and odd, greenish eyes. Once you got used to it, the pale skin was kind of striking, setting her apart in a world of conventionally tanned or rosy beauties. She really wasn't a bad-looking girl.
"The man who murdered Evelyn," she said. "He'd seen her up close. I fooled him on the gangplank, at night, hurrying past him in her clothes with my hair all down my face and your coat over my head; but if he saw me in daylight, he'd know. So ... so he had to be killed."
"Yes," I said.
"Did you?"
"Yes," I said. "Of course. That's what you people got me here for, wasn't it, my goddamned lethal reputation? I said I had a few shocks in mind for the opposition, remember?"
She hesitated. "What about the other one?" she asked. "The one who went ashore. He probably saw Evelyn too, you said."
I studied her for a moment, puzzled. It wasn't going at all the way I'd expected. Working with a shy, sheltered maiden brought up on tender principles of humanitarian-ism and nonviolence, I'd been braced for the old hand-wringing, breast-beating, bleeding-heart act, or at least a few conventional expressions of shock and dismay, but I wasn't getting them.
"The kid?" I said. "Not to worry. He's just juvenile help."
"But you'll have to deal with him, too, sooner or later, won't you?"
Her voice was quite calm and matter-of-fact. I realized that I'd got hold of something kind of special here, maybe even unique, but it was too early for me to tell whether it was good or bad.
"He's on shore," I said. "We're afloat. We don't have to worry about him tonight."
"You're really taking this masquerade seriously," she said. "I mean, killing a man to protect it."
"Well," I said, "let's just say it made a hell of a good excuse."
She was silent for a little. "Vengeance, Mr. Helm?" she murmured at last.
"I don't go out of my way for it, usually," I said. "I certainly won't jeopardize a mission for it. But if it's right in front of me for the taking, sure, I'll take it. People shouldn't go tossing people into the drink if they're not prepared to do a little swimming themselves."
She licked her lips, watching me. There was a funny gleam in the
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