He was a happy man-
167
Elizabeth Scarlatt! was already in bed when she heard the knocking. She
reached into the bedside table drawer and withdrew a small revolver.
Elizabeth arose and walked to the door to the outer room. “Who is it?” she
asked loudly.
“Matthew Canfield. Id like very much to speak with
YOU.”
Elizabeth was confused. She had not expected him and she reached for words.
“I’m sure you’ve had a touch too much to drink, Mr. Canfield. Can’t it wait
until morning?” She wasn’t even convincing to herself.
“You know perfectly well I haven’t and it can7t. I think we should talk
now.” Canfield was counting on the wind and the sea to muffle his voice. He
was also counting on the fact that he had business at hand to keep him from
becoming very, very sick.
– Elizabeth approached the door. “I can’t think of a single reason why we
should talk now. I hope it won7t be necessary to call the ship’s police.”
“For God’s sake, lady, will you open this doorl Or shall I call the ship’s
police and say we’re both interested in someone running around Europe with
securities worth millions, none of which, incidentally, will I get.”
“*Vhat did you say?” Elizabeth was now next to the stateroom door.
“Look, Madame Scarlatti”-Matthew cupped his hands against the wood of the
door-Nf my information is anywhere near correct, you have a revolver. All
right. Open the door, and if I haven’t got my hands over my head, and if
there’s anyone behind me, fire awayl Can I be fairer than that?”
She opened the door and Canfield stood there with only the thought of the
impending conversation keeping him from being sick. He closed the door and
Elizabeth Scarlatti saw the state of his discomfort. As always, she knew
the sequence of priorities under pressure.
“Use my bathroom, Mr. Canfield. It’s in here. Straighten yourself up and
then we’ll talk.”
Charles Conaway Boothroyd stuffed two pillows under the blanket of his
-bed. He picked up the rope and snapped the lines in a lasso loop. The
crackle of the fibers
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was sweet music to him. He placed his wife’s silk stocking in his pocket and
silently left his cabin. Because he was on A deck, starboard side, he had
only to walk around the bow promenade to reach his destination. He ascer-
tained the pitch and the roll of the ship in the rough seas and quickly
determined the precise moment of side roU for a human body to reach the
water below with the minimum of structural interference. Boothroyd was noth-
ing if not a thorough professional. They would au soon learn his worth.
Canfield came out of Elizabeth Scarlatti’s toilet feeling very much
relieved. She stared at him from an easy chair several feet on the far side
of the bed, pointing the revolver directly at him.
“If I sit down, will you put that damn thing away?”
“Probably not. But sit down and we’ll talk about it.”
Canfield sat on the bed and swung his legs over so that he faced her. The
old woman cocked the hammer of her pistol.
“You spoke of something at the door, Mr. Canfield, which is the only reason
this pistol hasn’t been fired. Would you care to carry on?”
“Yes. The first thing I can think of saying is that I’m not . . . #9
Canfield froze.*
The lock in the outer room was being opened. The field accountant held up
his hand to the old woman and she immediately, instinctively, handed him
the pistol.
Swiftly Canfield took her hand and gently but firmly placed her on the bed.
The look in his eyes instructed her and she obeyed.
She stretched out on the bed with only the table lamp illuminating her
while Canfield backed into the shadows behind the open bedroom door. He
signaled her to close her eyes, a command he did not really expect her to
carry out, but she did. Elizabeth let her head fall to the left while the
newspaper lay several inches from her right hand. She looked as though she
had fallen asleep while reading.
The stateroom door was rapidly opened and closed.
Canfield pressed his back against the wall and gripped
169
the small pistol tightly in his hand. Through the overlapping steel lip of
the door’s inside border was a twoinch space that let Canfield look out. It
struck him that the open space gave the intruder the same advantage, only
Canfield was in shadow and, he hoped, unexpected.
And then the visitor was revealed and Canfield found himself involuntarily
swallowing, partially from amazement, partially from fear.
The man was huge, several inches taller than Canfield, with immense chest
and shoulders. He wore a black sweater, black gloves, and over his entire
head was a translucent filmy cloth, silk, perhaps, which gave the giant an
eerie, inhuman appearance and completely blurred his face.
The intruder passed through the bedroom door and stood at the foot of the
bed barely three feet in front of Canfield. He seemed to be appraising the
old woman while removing a thin rope from his trousers pocket.
He started toward the left side of the bed, hunching his body forward.
Canfield sprang forward, bringing his pistol down on the man’s head as hard
as he could. The downward impact of the blow caused an immediate break in
the skin and a spurt of blood spread through the silk head covering. The
intruder fell forward, breaking his fall with his hands, and whirled around
to face Canfield. The an was stunned but only for seconds.
“You!” It was not an exclamation, but a darnning recognition. “You s~n of
a bitchl”
CanfielXs memory mistly raced back, abstracting times and events, and yet
he hadn’t the remotest idea who this massive creature was. That he should
know him was obvious; that he didn’t possibly dangerous.
Madame Scarlatti crouched against the headboard of her bed observing the
scene in fear but without panic. Instead she was angry because it was a
situation she could Dot possibly control. “I’ll phone for the ship’s
police,” she said quietly.
“Nol” Canfield’s command’was harsh. “Don’t touch that phonel Pleasel”
“You must be insane, young manl”
“You want to make a deal, buddy?”
The voice, too, was vaguely familiar. The field accountant trained his
pistol on the man’s head.
170
“No deal. Just take off your Halloween mask.”
The man slowly raised both arms.
“No, buddy! One hand. Sit on the other. With the palm up!”
“Smart guy.” The intruder lowered one arm.
“Mr. Canfield, I really must insist! This man broke into my cabin. God
knows he was probably going to rob or kill me. Not you. I must phone for
the proper authoritiesl”
Canfield didn’t quite know how to make the old woman understand. He was not
the heroic type, and the thought of formal protection was inviting. But
would it be protection? And even if it were, this hulk at his feet was the
only connection, or possible connection, he or anyone in Group Twenty had
with the missing Ulster Scarlett. Canfield realized that if the ship’s
authorities were called in, the intruder would simply be sacrificed as a
thief. It was possible that the man was a thief, but Canfield doubted that
strongly.
Sitting at the accountant’s feet, the masked Charles Boothroyd came to the
identical conclusion regarding his future. The prospect of failure coupled
with jail began to trigger an uncontrollable desperation.
Canfield spoke quietly to the old woman. “I’d like to point out that this
man did not break in. He unlocked the door, which presumes he was given a
key.”
“That’s right! I was! You don’t want to do anything stupid, do you, buddy?
Let’s make a deal. I’ll pay you fifty times what you make selling baseball
mittsl How about it?”
Canfield looked sharply down at the man. This was a new and disturbing
note. Was his cover known? The sudden ache in Canfield’s stomach came with
the realization that there might well be two sacrificial goats in the
stateroom.
‘Take that God damn cloth ‘ off your head!”
Mr. Canfield, thousands of passengers have traveled this ship. A key
wouldn’t be that difficult. I must insist . . .”
The giant intruder’s right hand lashed out at Canfield’s foot. Canfield
fired into the man’s shoulder as he was pulled forward. It was a
small-caliber revolver and the shot was not loud.
The masked stranger’s hand spasticaUy released Can-
171
field’-s ankle as he clutched his shoulder where the bullet was lodged.
Canfield rose quickly and kicked the man with all his strength in the
general area of the head. The toe of his patent-leather shoe caught the man
on the side of the neck and ripped the skin beneath the stocking mask. Still
the man lunged toward Canfield, hurling himself in a football cross-block at
Canfield’s midsection. Canfield fired again; this time the bullet entered