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Authors: Donald Hamilton
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greenish eyes. "Was that what you did, threw him overboard?"
"That's right," I said. "I got him separated from his gun, kicked him in the head, and dumped him over the side." I glanced at her. "Why?"
She said steadily, "Because, since I'm here, I don't want to miss anything, Mr. Helm, not even murder. I want to learn all about it. Everything." She drew a long breath and when she spoke again, her voice wasn't quite so steady: "I . . . I've always been a very nice girl. I don't mean I'm a virgin, or anything silly like that but I've worked hard at being a truly civilized person. You know. Peaceful. Considerate. Kind. Intellectual. Sympathetic to all the good, worthy, conventional causes. Nonviolent, of course, Because that's the only way to be, isn't it? I mean, we've all got to be that way, or get that way, if the world is going to survive, don't we? People like you, people with guns, are ugly, dangerous anachronisms threatening our peaceful modern society. . . . What peaceful modem society, Mr. Helm?"
I didn't answer. She didn't expect me to answer. I just listened to the steady rumble of the ship's machinery, that turned the tiny cabin into a very private place, insulated by the noise from the rest of the universe.
"I'm tired," she said softly. "I wish I could make you understand how tired I am of pretending to be something I'm not—I don't mean just an imaginary Madeleine Barth; I've been an imaginary person all my life—and pretending the world is something it isn't, like everybody else of my generation. Who's kidding whom, Mr. Helm?"
If there's a screwball with an identity crisis around, we'll get him every time. Or her.
I said, "Sweetheart, I think you got the wrong door. The psychiatric department is down the hall to the right."
"You don't understand," she said, unruffled. "I've found what I was looking for right here, waiting in this cramped little stateroom in a dead person's soggy clothes. I've died of fear ten times while you were gone, don't you
know that, Matthew Helm? And I've loved every terrified minute of it!" She'd got to her feet as she talked. Now she glanced at the blunt revolver she was still holding, and tucked it into her waistband. "And I've happily killed two dozen people with that, one every time the door rattled, don't you know that?"
"Quite a trick, with a five-shot gun," I said.
"Five? I thought they all shot six times."
"Don't count on it," I said.
"What are we talking about?" she asked.
I said, "You know damned well what we're talking about, and the answer is no."
"No?"
"No, I won't go to bed with you, just to make your thrilling evening complete, Miss Lawrence."
There was a little silence, then she laughed quite cheerfully. "Oh, dear," she said. "Is that what I was leading up to? I guess it was." She grinned at me impishly. "And of course, you're perfectly right not to humor the shameless whims of an unbalanced female who really ought to be in a clinic with bars on the windows. I mean, if you took ungentlemanly advantage of her aberration, you'd never forgive yourself, would you?"
Something had changed in the room, the way the atmosphere changes noticeably after a weather front moves through. She was looking up at me, laughing at me with those odd, greenish eyes in that strangely pale face. I found myself thinking uncertainly that, well, hell, there was really no good reason for me to fight for my virtue, or hers. The girl might be a kook, but she was a grown-up kook. We had a long boat-ride ahead of us. If it made her feel thrillingly wanton and wicked to precipitate tonight what would probably happen between us later, anyway, under the intimate circumstances of our mission, why should I hold back like a timid bride?
Just to keep up appearances, I said defensively, "Look, you're supposed to be Mrs. Madeleine Barth, a very proper lady who carefully arranged for us to have separate cabins on this trip." When Diana said nothing, I went on feebly:
''Anyway, none of
"That's right," I said. "I got him separated from his gun, kicked him in the head, and dumped him over the side." I glanced at her. "Why?"
She said steadily, "Because, since I'm here, I don't want to miss anything, Mr. Helm, not even murder. I want to learn all about it. Everything." She drew a long breath and when she spoke again, her voice wasn't quite so steady: "I . . . I've always been a very nice girl. I don't mean I'm a virgin, or anything silly like that but I've worked hard at being a truly civilized person. You know. Peaceful. Considerate. Kind. Intellectual. Sympathetic to all the good, worthy, conventional causes. Nonviolent, of course, Because that's the only way to be, isn't it? I mean, we've all got to be that way, or get that way, if the world is going to survive, don't we? People like you, people with guns, are ugly, dangerous anachronisms threatening our peaceful modern society. . . . What peaceful modem society, Mr. Helm?"
I didn't answer. She didn't expect me to answer. I just listened to the steady rumble of the ship's machinery, that turned the tiny cabin into a very private place, insulated by the noise from the rest of the universe.
"I'm tired," she said softly. "I wish I could make you understand how tired I am of pretending to be something I'm not—I don't mean just an imaginary Madeleine Barth; I've been an imaginary person all my life—and pretending the world is something it isn't, like everybody else of my generation. Who's kidding whom, Mr. Helm?"
If there's a screwball with an identity crisis around, we'll get him every time. Or her.
I said, "Sweetheart, I think you got the wrong door. The psychiatric department is down the hall to the right."
"You don't understand," she said, unruffled. "I've found what I was looking for right here, waiting in this cramped little stateroom in a dead person's soggy clothes. I've died of fear ten times while you were gone, don't you
know that, Matthew Helm? And I've loved every terrified minute of it!" She'd got to her feet as she talked. Now she glanced at the blunt revolver she was still holding, and tucked it into her waistband. "And I've happily killed two dozen people with that, one every time the door rattled, don't you know that?"
"Quite a trick, with a five-shot gun," I said.
"Five? I thought they all shot six times."
"Don't count on it," I said.
"What are we talking about?" she asked.
I said, "You know damned well what we're talking about, and the answer is no."
"No?"
"No, I won't go to bed with you, just to make your thrilling evening complete, Miss Lawrence."
There was a little silence, then she laughed quite cheerfully. "Oh, dear," she said. "Is that what I was leading up to? I guess it was." She grinned at me impishly. "And of course, you're perfectly right not to humor the shameless whims of an unbalanced female who really ought to be in a clinic with bars on the windows. I mean, if you took ungentlemanly advantage of her aberration, you'd never forgive yourself, would you?"
Something had changed in the room, the way the atmosphere changes noticeably after a weather front moves through. She was looking up at me, laughing at me with those odd, greenish eyes in that strangely pale face. I found myself thinking uncertainly that, well, hell, there was really no good reason for me to fight for my virtue, or hers. The girl might be a kook, but she was a grown-up kook. We had a long boat-ride ahead of us. If it made her feel thrillingly wanton and wicked to precipitate tonight what would probably happen between us later, anyway, under the intimate circumstances of our mission, why should I hold back like a timid bride?
Just to keep up appearances, I said defensively, "Look, you're supposed to be Mrs. Madeleine Barth, a very proper lady who carefully arranged for us to have separate cabins on this trip." When Diana said nothing, I went on feebly:
''Anyway, none of
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