The Girl Who Had To Die

by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding

  “Yes.”

  “I told him I was drunk, Jocko. I told him I was so drunk I didn't know what I was doing. I told him I went staggering out on deck, and sat on the rail all alone, and fell overboard.”

  “Did he believe it?”

  “Why shouldn't he? It's much easier to believe than the truth.”

  He lit a cigarette for himself, standing by the bed.

  “Well,” he said. “I'll buy it. What is the truth?”

  “You must have talked to people about it,” she said. “What explanation have you given?”

  “Nobody's asked me. for an explanation.”

  “If you do get asked?”

  “Nothing to say. I don't know whether you fell overboard or jumped overboard.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I thought you were the one who started all that suicide talk.”

  “I didn't.”

  “The Captain had heard it,” she said. “He was terribly shocked. I had to make up my mind on the spot which tale I'd give him, and I liked the accident one better than the suicide one.”

  “It was one or the other.”

  “Like hell it was!” she said. “What's the idea of this, Jocko? I'm not drunk now. Do you think I don't remember? Or did you think I didn't know?”

  “Didn't know what?”

  “It was murder, Jocko.”

  “That's just what Td expect from you,” he said; and his voice shook with anger, with a sort of fury.

  “You mean, to be murdered?”

  “I mean, to say a thing like this.”

  “Don't worry,” she said. “I haven't told anyone else. I've protected you.”

  “Protected me?” he almost shouted.

  “Take it easy!” she said.

  “This is one time in your life when you have to, be rational,” he said. “What are you talking about?”

  “I'm talking about how you murdered me,” she said.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “TAKE IT EASY,” he said to himself. “Don't yell. This needs a bit of thinking over. I've got to get away from her, and think it over.”

  “Where are you going, Jocko?”

  “Just out on deck,” he answered, in a nice persuasive way. “Just to take a walk.”

  “Jocko! Even after this, can't you say one kind thing?''

  “Listen, Jocelyn,” he said, still in that persuasive way. “What you said startled me. It's—I can't talk to you now.”

  “If I can talk after what happened to me, you can listen.”

  He stood still, with his hand on the doorknob.

  “I was sitting on the rail,” she said. “I was tight. As usual. All those little sparks twinkling inside my head. When I get to that stage, I'm happy. I forget all my troubles. Only it's growing harder to reach that stage. I am a little tramp, aren't I, Jocko?”

  “I haven't known you long enough to answer that, Jocelyn,” he said. Trying to be ironic, to be cool and detached, maybe amused.

  “I was sitting there looking at the moon. There wasn't any moon, but I didn't know that. Suddenly somebody took me by the throat in a queer way. Not squeezing my throat, just pressing it at the sides, and I went out like a light. Until I struck the water. I went over backwards, headfirst I went down—oh, God knows how far. Down to the bottom of the sea, down to hell. When I came up, the ship was rushing away. You don't know how fast. I screamed—when I could —but the ship was far away then. I swam after it, and the fights were getting littler and littler. I was left alone in the dark to struggle as long as I could. That's dying, Jocko. I went on swimming like a mouse in a pail of water. Only there weren't any sides to my pail. I didn't squeak any more. I kept on swimming the way you keep on breathing, because you don't know how to stop. But all I thought was: Let this be over. Let this finish, quick. I kicked off my slippers. My skirt got wound around my legs, and I tore most of it away from the waist. The ship was a million miles away then. I thought: When it's out of sight... Give me your hand to hold!”

  He sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand.

  “Don't talk about it any more,” he said.

  Her thin little fingers clung to his hand frantically, as if she were drowning now this minute, with her pale hair floating out from her pale face.

  “I didn't know when the ship stopped. It was too far away. I didn't know when the boat came after me. I didn't hear it coming. The waves make a noise, or something does. Something roars in your ears.”

  “Take it easy,” he said. He had known it was like that.

  “Then I thought of the fishes,” she said. “I knew they were all around me, and underneath me.”

  “Take it easy. Smoke your cigarette.”

  She threw it, alight, on the floor, and he set his foot on it.

  “Then I saw the light from the boat, whatever it was. A torch, was it, Jocko? That was the worst. I turned back and tried to swim faster, away from it. I thought it was something horrible, coming after me. Something worse than the fishes.”

  He could not get his hand away from her desperately clinging fingers. Clumsily, with one hand, he got out another cigarette and put it between her lips. “Let go, Jocelyn, just a moment, and I'll give you a light.”

  “All right,” she said. Her fingers relaxed; her lashes went down, brushing her pale cheeks. “They say you see your whole past when you're drowning. But I wasn't drowning. I was just dying of loneliness, and I didn't see anything but you.”

  He struck a match and held it for her. I'm sorry for her, he thought. I'm so sorry for her. She's not responsible. Maybe she's crazy. Maybe she really believes what she said. Maybe if I talk to her... Don't say you can't talk, because you've damned well got to talk. You've got to end this thing. Take the right tone. That's important. What is the right one?

  She put her hand around his neck and tried to pull down his head, but he kept it rigid.

  “We're a lot alike, Jocko,” she said. “We could go places, you and I. If I had you, I could pull myself together. That's because you know why I've gone all to pieces. It's something that could have happened to you, but you didn't let it. You know how it is when everyone throws stones at you. When you hate everything, even the sun. That's why I have to turn to you. You're the only one.”

  “I couldn't help you,” he said, with a sort of gentleness.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  “I could do that,” he said.

  She pulled his head down on the pillow beside her, so that her cheek was against his. He thought that there was that smell of salt water in her hair, and with it the perfume she used, musky and subtle.

  “I don't care if you murdered me, Jocko,” she said.

  “You exaggerate things, darling. You don't feel dead.”

  “I've been told, Jocko, that you didn't wait on deck to see the lifeboat come back. Other people thought that was strange, but I didn't.”

  “Didn't you?” he said.

  “The nice people,” she said, “the kind, tolerant people are saying that all you did was to lead me on and make me so desperate I tried to kill myself. That's the kindest thing that's being said about you.”

  “We-ell,” he said. “No. No, I don't think so. You don't impress people like a girl who is easily led on.”

  “Would you like to hear what some other people are saying, Jocko?”

  “I have heard.”

  “About how you pushed me overboard, and then rushed down to your cabin? How you came up on the boat deck for a few minutes, looking like a ghost, and couldn't stand it, couldn't wait, until the boat came back. Mr. Bracey saw you going into your cabin, looking like a ghost. And your steward says you looked like a ghost when he told you I'd been saved.”

  “Why not? Maybe I felt like a ghost.”

  “One word from me, Jocko, and you're sunk.”

  He moistened his lips. “I'm sorry about that, Jocelyn. I— it's hard to explain.”

  “You don't have to explain things to me. I know how you felt. I know why you did that.” />
  “Jocelyn, let's get things straight. If you can get anything straight. I did not choke you and throw you overboard.”

  “Skip it!” she said. Her lashes fluttered against his cheek. “You did it, and somebody saw you, Jocko; but I don't care.”

  “Who saw me?”

  “Skip that, too, Jocko; when we land, I'm going to visit the Bells Out on Long Island. Come with me.”

  “No. Who saw me committing this little murder?”

  “That's my trump card. I don't play it yet, Jocko. Come with me just for the weekend.”

  “No.”

  “If you're going to resist, Jocko, I'll turn on the heat.” He pushed away her head and sat up, looking down at her.

  “Do whatever you please, Jocelyn,” he said. “I won't try to stop you. You could make a lot of gossip on the ship, that's all. But I'm getting off the ship—”

  “You just don't get the point,” she said, interrupting him. “If I say you pushed me overboard, you'll go to jail.”

  Yes, he thought, she might be able to do that. There's plenty of suspicion against me already. God knows why. If she felt like it, she could make it serious. Let her! I'm sick and tired of this. Of her.

  “Will you come with me to the Bells', Jocko?”

  “I will not, Jocelyn.”

  “You'd rather go to prison?”

  “Much rather.”

  “Think it over,” she said. “You'd hate it. But I shouldn't. I like things to be dramatic and sensational. I'd like to see you in the dock charged with assault and intent to kill, and the whole thing in the headlines. You'd probably get off in the end, but you'd be ruined. I'm ruined already, so I don't care. I'd a damn sight rather see you in prison than lose you.”

  “You could see both, you know. I suppose you could make trouble for me with a trumped-up charge.

  “Why trumped-up?” she said. “Somebody else saw you, too. There was a witness to that little job of yours.”

  “I'm going,” he said. “I don't want to talk any more.”

  “You can't go!” she cried. “Good God! What more do you want! You murder me, and I forgive you. I keep on loving you.”

  “Jocelyn...”he said unsteadily. “Please—”

  He was shaking, and that worried him; he wanted to give all his attention to stopping that. His hands shook, his knees; his heart was doing something.

  “I only ask you to give me that weekend. Just a chance to make you love me. You've got to do it!”

  “Can't!” he said.

  “You murdered me!” she cried. “I'll never forget the look on your face.”

  “Please don't talk so loud,” he said. “Look at me!”

  He turned his head. She was sitting up straight; her mouth was open in a queer way; tears were raining from her wide-open eyes. That's anguish, he thought. That's what they call anguish. How can I make her shut up? What can I say? What's the matter with me?

  “Jocko!” she screamed. “You look the same way now! You're ready to kill me again!”

  He strode across the room, opened the door, and went out. He ran full tilt into the doctor; it knocked the breath out of him for a moment.

  “I was coming to turn you out,” said the doctor. “She's been talking too much.”

  There was nothing to see in his face but that look of peevish fretfulness. That's the only way he can look, Killian thought. He'd look just the same if he'd heard her. I don't know what to do. I'll have to think this out. Very serious, this is. Or isn't it?

  He went to his cabin and locked the door. Then he hastily unlocked it. If the steward came, it would look... How would it look? Everything he did, or could do, would look wrong. Time for lunch. Go down and sit at that table like a pariah? I must say he has a wonderful appetite. Not much upset about the poor girl, is he? Or, he can't eat a thing. Naturally.

  Elly means well, he thought. And maybe Chauverney would have agreed to that story about my being in his cabin. Would have, when it was just a matter of shutting up a lot of gossips. But not if Jocelyn's going to accuse me of murdering her. That is very silly. You can't talk about murdering someone who's alive. But if she says I tried to kill her, Chauverney won't stand by that story. Not if Jocelyn makes a charge against me. Chauverney wouldn't commit a perjury for me. Nor for Elly, either.

  He lit another cigarette. Smoking too much, he thought. He stood in the middle of his cabin because he didn't know what to do. Whether to go down to lunch or not.

  You look the same way now! You're ready to kill me again!

  It worried him that his hands shook so. Of course, I didn't try to kill her. I never even thought of it. But when she started screaming like that, you felt... You felt that you wanted to stop her—at any cost. Want to make her be quiet. At any cost. You felt... You felt...

  Let it alone. Never mind how you felt. There are those things below the surface immemorially old and hideous, like black, prowling beasts. Leave them alone. You've got them chained. They can't get out. As a man thinketh in his heart... Not at all! You've thought some damn queer things about that girl, on and off. And it doesn't matter. As long as you don't do anything. You can shake like a leaf, shut up in your own cabin, and whose business is that?

  “This is a curious experience,” he said aloud.

  There was a knock on the door. “Purser's compliments, sir,” said a cheerful little boy, “and will you please join him in his cabin for cocktails in ten minutes, sir?”

  “Tell him, yes, thanks,” said Killian.

  Chauverney moved about in his cabin; the word for it was 'flitting,' thought Killian. He was impressed with the extraordinary frivolity of the Purser as he talked—talked nonsense, smiling his very vivid smile. His boy brought in cocktails and left them on the table; three glasses, Killian noticed.

  “The stock market...” Chauverney was saying. On and on. “Reminds me of the story of the stockbroker and the parson's daughter.” On and on.

  There was a light knock at the door, and Elly came in. She had her black hair done in a pompadour, and she wore a dark green silk dress with tiny glittering buttons up the front of it; she looked, thought Killian, like a heroine from a novel of the Nineties, stylish and self-possessed.

  “Not so hot,” she said.

  “Who isn't?” Chauverney demanded.

  “Oh, I mean the weather!” she said, and they all laughed.

  Chauverney sat down, but the effect of flitting remained. His mind was flitting, obviously reluctant to settle.

  “There's been some shifting about in the dining saloon,” he said suddenly. “I'd be very pleased if you'd sit at my table, Mr. Killian.”

  “Thanks,” said Killian, and waited for more. But Chauverney and Elly were both silent. Killian was silent, too, trying to think, but his mind was doing something else; it was not possible to think until he got free from this smothering cloud that oppressed him. He thought that if he could talk... “Well, why?” he asked.

  “Oh, glad to have your company,” said Chauverney.

  “No,” said Killian. “The women who were sitting at my table...” He raised his hand and checked it in mid-air. He realized with some surprise that he had been going to make a very theatric gesture; he had been going to draw the back of his hand across his forehead. “All this...”

  “Oh, least said, soonest mended,” said Chauverney briskly.

  Least said? thought Killian. I've just been listening to Jocelyn. You wouldn't call that the least. All about my murdering her. Love—murder.

  “I think Mr. Killian would rather have things more definite,” said Elly.

  “But there's nothing definite about the situation, Mrs. L'O,” said Chauverney. “Nothing but gossip—ship's gossip. When you've been at sea as long as I have... I assure you it's better to ignore the whole thing. If Mr. Killian will sit at my table... We'll simply carry on, eh?”

  Mr. Killian, Mr. Chauverney, and Mrs. L'O—all sitting here. The Gay Nineties. Let's behave like ladies and gentlemen. Jocelyn is impossible. Let us
ignore her, and then she will disappear.

  “Another cocktail, Mr. Killian?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Elly took another, and so did Chauverney.

  “This idea of Miss Frey's is very sound,” said Chauverney. “This idea of our going to the Bells' for the weekend.”

  “Our going?” said Killian.

  “Yes. You and I. Miss Frey spoke to me about it as a practical way to put a stop to—everything. I mean to say the passengers will certainly go on talking after they go ashore. But if we both go off with Miss Frey... That's the best thing. The Captain will make his report, of course. The newspapers may get hold of something; but if we accept Miss Frey's idea... Very sound. The whole thing will blow over then.”

  “You'll have to go with her,” said Elly without emphasis. “She's a damned dangerous, sadistic liar. It's a great pity she was ever fished out of the sea. I wish she had been drowned.”

  “My God!” murmured Chauverney.

  Elly rose and took up her white purse, very smart.

  “Let's go down to lunch,” she said.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE PEOPLE at the Purser's table were superior. There was a doctor, a heart specialist taking a holiday; and a young couple, very rich and very unostentatious—both of them tall, good-looking, serious about social problems, and conscientious about taking part in things. They signed up for everything, bridge tournaments, ping-pong tournaments; they were superlatively good at games—they would have won everything if they had ever played as partners. They talked about the entertainment they were getting up; they wanted to consult with Chauverney, but their good breeding and their social conscience made them include the doctor and Elly and Killian in everything.

  If they've heard that talk about me, thought Killian, they wouldn't believe it. They're like that. But I'm not I can believe in evil without any trouble.

  The lunch was immeasurably soothing to him; and when the young couple asked him to play quoits with them, he accepted gladly. He had stepped into another world, polite and normal, in which Jocelyn was impossible. He could forget her. The young couple introduced him to some other people he had not spoken to before, and everybody liked him. He felt popular, quite blithe. Later he went into the pool again; before dinner he had cocktails with a little group in the smoke-room. And that evening he danced.