Authors: Dennis Wheatley
Unsteadily he stood up, knocked over his tumbler, kicked it aside with a curse and lurched towards the companionway. He steadied himself on the rail, laughing inanely. God, he was pickled! Hadn’t been as canned as this for a whale of a while, but what the hell! He’d suck down a pint of water when he got below and sober up a bit. Negotiating six stairs successfully he tripped and sprawled down the rest on his back. For a few moments he lay where he had fallen, propped against the lower stairs, not feeling his bruises, but quite bemused and temporarily unable to think why he had come below decks.
His brain cleared and staggering to his feet he swayed down the passageway until he came opposite Synolda’s cabin. A light showed through the crack of the door and muffled, angry voices came vaguely to him from within. Lurching forward he banged his fist heavily upon the door, and shouted, ‘Vedras, comeoutothere.’
Instantly there was silence in the cabin.
Juhani banged again, this time as though he meant to batter in the panel. A key clicked in the lock and Synolda flung the door open. She stared at him; her eyes inflamed and angry. ‘What d’you want?’
‘You,’ said Juhani, with a tipsy grin.
‘You’re drunk,’ she cried. ‘Get out!’
He stood there in the doorway swaying gently backwards and
forwards. Focusing his glance with difficulty he stared over Synolda’s shoulder at Vicente, who was sitting on the edge of her bunk. The Venezuelan had on an ornate silk dressing-gown over his trousers but his shirt showed open at the neck partly exposing his hairy chest. Synolda was fully dressed and, in addition, had a belted raincoat strapped tightly round her. Evidently she had meant it when she had said she did not want Vicente and he had been pleading or arguing with her.
Taking a clumsy step forward Juhani put one foot inside the cabin. Synolda tried to thrust him back.
‘You drunken brute!’ she stormed. ‘How dare you try to force your way into my cabin! No one has any right here unless I ask them.’
Juhani took not the least notice of her protest. Putting out a hand the size of a ham he swept her aside and advanced on Vicente.
The Venezuelan rose to his feet. ‘What game is this you play!’ he asked angrily. ‘You are drunk. Yes, beastly drunk. Get out and leave us in peace.’
‘Ge’ out yourself,’ Juhani muttered thickly. ‘Ge’ out, you louse—before—I break your neck.’
Vicente faced up to him squarely. ‘If Synolda says she wish that I go—I go. Otherwise it is
I
who throw you out.’
Juhani turned slowly. Synolda’s face danced up and down indistinctly before his blurred gaze as he said:
‘D’you want this bird—or do I—gi’ him the works?’
‘I want my cabin to myself,’ she snapped. ‘Get out—both of you!’
‘There!’ Juhani rounded on Vicente. ‘The pretty lady says you’re to go. I’m goin’ to stay a while—want to-talk-to-her.’
With a clumsy movement Juhani stretched out to grab Vicente’s shoulder. Vicente stepped swiftly back, jerked up the skirt of his silk dressing-gown, and pulled an automatic from his hip pocket.
His dark eyes glowed with hate and jealousy as he jerked up the gun, pointing it at the young Finn’s chest. ‘Now!’ he cried. ‘I lose patience. If I were in South America I kill you long before this. Young fools should be taught it is not good to make interference with grown men. Out—or I shoot.’
Juhani’s jaw dropped open but next second his teeth closed with a snap and he came stumbling forward like a charging bull.
With a gasp of fear Synolda flung herself at Vicente and seizing
the gun with both hands tore it from his grip. It went off in that confined space with a deafening explosion which seemed to rock the ship. The bullet passed within an inch of Synolda’s thigh and thudded into the skirting-board by the cabin door.
For a second they all remained rooted where they stood. The gun clattered on to the floor from Synolda’s nerveless fingers and from its barrel a little wisp of blue smoke curled up.
Suddenly, with a loud shout, Juhani flung himself forward again on Vicente and, succeeding in getting both hands on his throat, forced him backwards.
Vicente crashed into the fitted washbasin, twisted violently, and wrenched himself free. Next second he had snatched up the water carafe from the shelf above the basin and, swinging it high in the air, brought it crashing down on Juhani’s head.
The young engineer gave one grunt and collapsed, the water dripping from his golden beard and the pieces of glass tinkling on the cabin floor all around him.
Synolda screamed and flung herself upon the prostrate man. ‘You brute!’ she spat at Vicente. ‘You may have killed him.’
‘What if I ’ave!’ Vicente shrugged. ‘This great barbarian comes only to molest you, and who but I should defend you from ’im?’
‘You swine!’ she sobbed. ‘This is your fault—all of it—all of it. If you hadn’t behaved like a beast in the first place this would never have happened. Seeing that note of yours tonight sent the poor lamb half crazy—and—and he’s been drowning his misery in drink.’
In the midst of her outburst she snatched a towel, raised Juhani’s head and, propping it on her lap, began to dab away the water and blood from his fair curls.
Before Vicente had a chance to reply there came the sound of running feet from the passage outside. The shot and Synolda’s scream had roused the crew. Li Foo was the first to appear. Harlem Joe arrived a second afterwards from the opposite direction, and a moment later the whole ship’s company was crowded shouting angry questions in the doorway. With the exception of Harlem and Nudäa they were all devoted to their officer, and it was obvious that Vicente had struck him down.
Old Jansen shouldered his way through the crush, crying, ‘Wait now, wait! I will see what it is they make here.’ He turned quickly to Synolda. ‘What hass happen, Missus? He is not dead, no? That is too ill.’
‘Only stunned, I—I think,’ she stammered, ‘but Mr. Vedras attacked him—and broke a bottle over his head.’
‘So!’ The old carpenter favoured Vicente with a stony glare; the crew muttered threateningly in chorus.
‘I was protecting Madame Ortello. ’E was drunk and made to molest ’er,’ Vicente said defiantly.
‘That’s a lie,’ Synolda cried. ‘He was trying to get you out of my cabin.’
‘It’s a lie all right,’ Hansie piped up. ‘Mr. Luvia likes his drop of liquor, but ’e’s got a head like a rock. I’ve been with him two years, and I sure ain’t ever seen ’im over the odds yet.’
‘Let us beat him oop,’ shouted young Largertöf, and the remainder of the crew surged struggling in the doorway as they forced their way into the small cabin.
Vicente’s face went deadly white. It looked as though the furious seamen meant to murder him. Dropping to his knees he grabbed the gun Synolda had snatched from him and let fall. Jansen, Largertöf and Hansie, all sprang at him together over Luvia’s body. The gun went off with another earsplitting detonation. Old Jansen coughed, moaned, and toppled sideways on to Synolda’s bunk; the other two landed right on top of Vicente and pinned him to the floor.
For one wild moment the cabin was chock-full of struggling cursing humanity while Synolda, still crouching on the floor, strove to protect Juhani’s head from further damage by holding it tightly in her arms.
The writhing Laocoön unwound itself; Vicente was lugged kicking and bellowing out into the passage; only Li Foo remained behind. Jansen had slipped from the bunk face downward on to the floor. Li Foo turned him over and one look at his fixed, staring eyeballs was quite enough to show that he was dead.
He took the corpse by the shoulders and hauled him out into the passageway.
A muffled cry came from near by. Unity had just arrived from her cabin on the far side of the ship.
‘Plenty trouble, Missie, but over now,’ Li Foo said gently, and he stood aside for her to pass through the narrow doorway.
‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed as her glance fell on the second body. ‘Poor Juhani’s not dead too, is he?’
Synolda looked up. ‘No, thank Heavens. That swine Vicente
bashed the poor darling over the head with my water bottle. Fortunately it was not one of the heavy kind and he’s got a good, thick skull. This is only a skin cut and it’s practically stopped bleeding already.’
‘Betteh get ’im up on bunk,’ suggested Li Foo and, with the help of the two girls, he succeeded in lifting Luvia’s heavy body.
‘What on earth happened?’ Unity asked. ‘I heard the most awful riot going on and two shots fired.’
Synolda gave her a brief, staccato explanation and, between them, they bathed and bandaged Luvia’s head. He was breathing stertorously now and Synolda guessed that from unconsciousness he had passed straight into a drunken stupor.
‘Poh Misteh Luvia,’ lisped Li Foo. ‘You two Missie go up, topsides fine.’
‘No, we’ll stay and help you,’ Unity volunteered promptly, and between them they undertook the awkward business of getting the young Finn out of his clothes.
When he was comfortably tucked up in the bunk Unity turned to Synolda. ‘The cabin next to mine is empty. I think you’d better doss down there for the night.’
‘No, thanks.’ Synolda shook her head sadly. ‘I’d rather remain here in case he wakes and wants something.’
‘That’s hardly necessary,’ Unity said. ‘When he does wake he won’t have anything worse than a splitting head. You look absolutely all-in, my dear. But if you insist on sitting up I’ll stay with you if you like.’
‘No, please,’ Synolda begged. ‘All this frightful business is my fault. I can only be thankful that he wasn’t killed. As it is Jansen’s lost his life, and God knows what they’ve done with Vicente.’
‘They’ve only locked him in his cabin, I think—after giving him a dusting-up. They were hustling him into it when I came along, but perhaps I’d better go and see.’
While Unity was gone Li Foo carried the old carpenter’s body away and came back with a bucket and mop. Hansie and Largertöf appeared behind him to inquire how their officer was and were greatly relieved to hear that he was only stunned. Having asked if they could do anything and been assured that their help was not needed they both moved off. Unity returned a few moments later.
‘Vicente’s all right,’ she announced. ‘He was groaning like a stuck pig but I spoke to him through the door. They locked him in there when they realised Juhani was still alive. It’s hardly
likely they’ll have another go at him now they’ve gone off to their own quarters.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Synolda murmured. ‘You get back to bed, my dear. I’ll be all right here now.’
Li Foo had been busy mopping up the spilt blood from the cabin floor. He gave Synolda his friendly grin. ‘Yoh be o.k, li’l Missie. Li Foo go mek good cuppa tea an’ Li Foo sit close ou’side all time—see yoh plenty safe.’
Unity hesitated. ‘You’re quite sure you wouldn’t rather I stayed to keep you company.’
‘Yes—honestly. He’ll sleep easier without the light. I’ll wrap up in a rug and lie down on the settee; then I can switch it out.’
‘All right then. Li Foo’ll look after you, I know. Do try and get some sleep if you can.’
‘I’ll try,’ Synolda promised as Unity turned away. ‘Good night.’
Li Foo brought the promised tea and Synolda drank it gratefully. The warm, aromatic brew soothed her frayed and shattered nerves. She tried to persuade the solicitous Chinaman to go to his own cabin but he would not hear of it. He had brought along a mat and pillow upon which he proposed to doss down in the passage outside her door all night. When he left her she examined Juhani’s bandages again, kissed him tenderly on the forehead, curled up on the settee, and put out the light.
Juhani woke early: the faint luminosity of morning lit the cabin greyly. He lifted a hand to his aching head and was amazed to find it a normal size; it felt heavy as a millstone on his shoulders, but pulpy, as though it had been beaten with a flail from every angle. It ached atrociously, and violent stabbing pains shot through it. Not daring to move it but swivelling his eyes slightly he caught sight of Synolda, sound asleep on the settee opposite. The events of the previous night came flooding back to him, and he wondered what had happened to Vicente. He remembered being knocked out but could recall little that had gone before except his scene with Synolda in the lounge and getting blind drunk afterwards.
He supposed that she had put him to bed after having got rid of Vicente. She looked younger than ever, asleep there with her golden hair tumbled about her pale face. There was something pathetic and wistful about the droop of her mouth which made him want to stretch out his arms and comfort her in them, but he
hardened his heart. The girl was a wrong ’un; any man’s plaything. He’d have no more to do with her.
Very gingerly he eased himself up in the bunk and slid one foot out on to the floor. He noted with satisfaction that he had no pains in his limbs. It was only his head that hurt him so abominably; his mouth tasted as if it had been filled with cinders, the result of his knocking back the liquor so heavily; the cut was nothing he decided.
Seeing his clothes, which were neatly folded in a little pile on the floor, he drew his other leg from beneath the bed-clothes, stooped and almost fell, as something that felt like ten pounds of loose duck-shot sloped forward in his head, hit the front of his skull and nearly overbalanced him. He grabbed at his clothes, thrust them under one arm and standing up, tip-toed towards the door.
Synolda slept on without moving a muscle as he carefully extracted the key, opened the door, and slipped outside.
Li Foo rose like a dark shadow to meet him but drew back as he saw Juhani’s imperative gesture for silence. Closing the door gently behind him Juhani locked it, took the key out and walked down the passage beckoning the Chinaman to follow.
Once in his own cabin he soused his splitting head in cold water and, while he dried himself, shot a few questions at Li Foo. On learning of Jansen’s death he was inexpressibly shocked; realising at once that he was the main cause of it. The cold sluice had cleared his wits a little. Having learned all that he could from the impassive Chinaman he dismissed him abruptly, dressed, and went on deck to try to cool his fevered head further with a breath of early morning air.