There it was again. His heart pounded with excitement, as he pulled slowly and silently towards it, the blades biting deep into the water.
Like a stalking hunter he moved, waiting for each new group of sounds before he pulled onwards. His head was strained round over one shoulder, his eyes staring into the fog, regardless of the salt smarting under his lids and the ache in his neck.
Ding! Ding! Ding! The ringer must be getting tired. Much nearer now, he decided, it would be any second and he would find this invisible vessel.
As he lay on his oars, waiting for the bell, two things happened at once. The bell clanged, apparently overhead, and at that very instant, before the notes had time to fade away, he saw the swaying shape of a yacht's stern, only feet away. He watched her in silence, hardly daring to breathe, and licking his dry lips in cold anticipation of what he had to do next.
She was quite a large yacht, from what he could see, about five to ten feet longer than Seafox, and with tapering, twin masts to carry her auxiliary sails. Her dark blue hull gleamed dully even in the fog, showing her metal sides, and the name Grouville in bold letters across her stern.
As he waited, a figure detached itself from the dark hump of the yacht's wheelhouse and stamped noisily to the rail. Then, with an impatient glance at his wrist-watch, he moved back again, his shape merging with that of the boat. Another loud ringing clanged and rolled around the fog, and Vivian realized that the man, whoever he was, would be remaining on deck to maintain the constant signal. He bit his lip angrily. There was nothing for it but to swim for the yacht's side. At the first scrape of the dinghy alongside, the alarm would be given in a second. He'd just have to let the boat drift away on its own, there was nothing else that he could do, he concluded.
He hardly made a splash as he slid into the water, and floating on his back, he watched anxiously, as the dinghy curtsied and bobbed out of sight.
In a few strokes he was feeling his way under the bulging curve of the stern, his knees scratching along the rough, encrusted waterline and one foot touching a protruding propeller. Being a steel boat, there was little to hold on to, and a pang of anxiety caused him to move more quickly along the high side, which rose above his face like a sheer wall. Three square, window-like ports, blazing with light, glared out from the middle of the boat, and he reached up cautiously, the tips of his wet fingers exploring the edge of the first one. There was a small flange at the bottom, so with both hands he pulled himself bodily out of the water, until his eyes rose above the level of the brass overhang.
At first he could see nothing, the glass was caked and smeared with salt and fog stains, then as he hung with his ribs rubbing against the cold, steel plates, he saw a figure move rapidly across his vision. He swallowed hard. It was Mason, his face twisted into a frown of anger or fear, as
he paced to and fro, tossing remarks to someone sitting against Vivian's side of the boat, and who was out of his range of view. Faintly, through the thick, toughened glass, he heard only snatches of Mason's high, agitated voice.
`How did he escape? That's what I'd like to know.' And, `If it's all so damned foolproof, why are we squatting out here like this?'
Vivian grimaced with the pain in his arms and fingers. He could feel his grip slowly slipping from the tiny, brass ledge, but he hung on, determined to hear as much as possible. They must have heard about my escape on the radio, he thought. Once Mason glared straight at him and Vivian froze, but he continued his pacing and storming without interruption, so he stayed where he was, feeling the swell of the water pulling at his dangling thighs.
While he watched, Mason took a decanter from a wellstocked sideboard, and filled two glasses with a shaking hand.
Of course, the yacht's name came back to Vivian's racing brain, it was one of the travel agency's hire yachts. Lang had mentioned it to him when they had been discussing the subject in the first place.
The very thought of Lang made a great surge of anger tear right through him, nearly making him lose his last precarious hold. He was about to slide back into the water, to look for a fresh method of boarding, when an' arm reached forward to take the other glass from the table.
For the short time it took, he saw again the plump, freshcomplexioned face, and smooth, well-groomed hair. Even after Lang had leaned back again, out of sight, Vivian still stared, his eyes cold with hatred.
It was almost a relief to feel the embrace of the sea, as he slid back down the smooth side, and paddled further along the yacht's length.
`Soon, soon,' he breathed, `I'll make it even with you, Felix!'
There was nothing within reach, so he swam to the anchor cable, and, hand over hand, pulled himself up to the high stem, straining and sliding his streaming body over the wide flare of the bow, to roll, panting, on the deck. Breathless though he was, he was up, and crouching behind the capstan before he had time to realize he was aboard, and before the man by the bell had finished his last stroke.
He crouched, counting the seconds until the bell started to jangle again, and at the first stroke he scrambled noiselessly along the wide deck, and as the bell stopped ringing he flung himself down flat on the wet planking, taking his weight on his hands. He listened, his heart thudding in his breast, so that he thought it must be heard. He caught the scraping sound of a match, and lifting his head only slightly, he saw Cooper's face bent over a cigarette, his eyes squinting against the flame. He was standing on the other side of the wheelhouse, as Vivian had anticipated, and the sight of him made him clench his fists, as the memories came flooding back.
He turned his face away, concentrating on the lighted glass of a deck skylight, which should, he thought, be right over the saloon. He eased his body forward, until his nose was practically touching the coaming, and when the bell jangled its message once more, he peered over the edge. Lang was talking now, his voice sharp, but completely at ease.
`... and so that's it,' he was saying. `We've taken years to build this thing up, and to break away from the other people in the game; why,' he shrugged expressively, a gesture that sent a shaft of pain through Vivian as he watched, `it's madness to let anything or anyone spoil it now!'
A girl's voice made Vivian start, and twist his head further round. At the other end of the saloon, slumped on the wide settee, was Janice Mason. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying for a long time, and she looked completely miserable. From the slur in her speech, he observed that she was also very drunk.
'Whyja do it?' she said, looking desperately at Lang. `You didn't tell me you were going to kill him.' She sniffed loudly, and lowered her eyes to her empty glass. `He was such a nice old man,' she added, almost to herself.
`Well, we're all in it!' Lang sounded quite cheerful. `You too, Janice!'
`But I...' '
`Don't forget, you drove the girl's car up to the house, with the horn blaring, a very convincing double I thought! Oh yes my girl, we're all in it!'
`You swine.' She said it without emotion. `I've been a fool!'
`Nonsense! We're all right, I keep telling you. What does it matter if he has escaped, eh? Only makes it look more convincing if he runs away for a bit. He doesn't know where we are, so what the hell!'
Mason refilled all the glasses. He seemed a bit calmer now.
`So you say, Felix. I must confess that when you explain it, it does seem a bit easier.'
'Mind you, old boy, I must say that even I had a few nasty moments! When that girl came running up to me in Ramsgate, well! I had just been giving this boat the once over, and she damn near fell on me! Phew, I'd never have believed that old Morrie would fall down on the job. I'm glad we've got rid of him!' he added callously.
`Anything else? What other thing did the great man miss?' The girl's voice was getting thicker every moment.
Lang ignored the interruption. `Then there was this, old boy.' He fumbled in the pocket of his blazer. `This little scrap of paper.' He smoothed it down on the table, directly beneath Vivian, and he saw Jensen's last
desperate message, the drawing of the engine-room. `Found it on Vivian's boat when I was nosing around. That's how I found the rest of the plates.' He chuckled. `Bit of luck I found them, old boy, I might have thought you were trying to double-cross me, what?' He laughed as if it was all a huge joke.
Mason stared at the paper. `What's the idea of this little drawing of a cat?'
`Don't you get it, old boy? Old Jensen was no fool you know. You've got to hand it to him, really you have!' He gulped down his drink. `Remember the cartoons we used to go and see before the war, when we were kids? You know, when cartoon films were a real novelty.'
Understanding dawned on Mason's thin features. `By God! I've got it, Felix the cat!' he shouted. 'Felix! He was trying to tip off the name of his murderer!'
Vivian's heart was ice cold, when he realized how he had overlooked the most important part of poor Jensen's warning. Without taking his eyes from the little group below, he reached down to his belt, and pulled the automatic pistol up to his face. Resting the muzzle on the coaming, he lined up the fore-sight with Lang's stomach, which even now was shaking with silent laughter. There was no mercy in Vivian's eyes, and none in his heart, as he curled his finger round the trigger.
Had anyone else been in a position to make a plea for Lang's life, the words would have fallen on deaf ears, but it was Lang himself who caused Vivian to falter, to allow the pistol to waver dangerously on the edge of the skylight.
`I suppose I'd better go and have a look at our little Karen, just to make sure she's all right. By the look of things, I'll have to take care of her myself. My partners don't seem to be very reliable on that score.'
Vivian's eyes misted over, and he lowered his head weakly against the wood coaming. She was alive! Karen was still safe! The words hammered at his brain, until his throat trembled with pent-up emotion. He stared round the murky deck, a feeling of wild elation almost throwing him off his guard, as Cooper moved uneasily by the bell. She was aboard, somewhere quite close to him.
`Cooper!' Lang's voice boomed up through the halfopened skylight.
He heard Cooper clatter down the steps of the companionway, which led from the wheelhouse, and next he heard his voice from the saloon.
`Care I leave off banging that flippin' bell, boss?' he whined. `My head's bursting!'
`I'll burst it, in a minute,' laughed Lang ominously. `Here, catch this key! Go and see if the little Danish miss is
safe and sound.'
`Gee, thanks!' Cooper sucked his teeth noisily. `I'm sure gonna enjoy this!'
Vivian's grip tightened on the butt of the pistol. You're not, you know! He slipped into the wheelhouse, and waited, bent double, at the top of the varnished stairway.
Cooper stepped out of the saloon, and before he shut the door, a beam of light revealed the wolfish grin on his face. He scurried down the narrow passage-way between the cabins, and paused outside the last door, excitedly jamming the key into the lock. As the lock clicked back, Cooper paused, and adjusted his bow tie with a well-practised flick, and without looking back, to where Vivian moved like a shadow at the foot of the companion-w,-y, he thrust open the door. He was excited, that Vivian could see, his face muscles trembling with uncontrollable emotions that he could only imagine, although the wild light of lust in the dark eyes left little to the imagination.
`Well, hiya!' Cooper leaned against the door-post, grinning at the girl who sat hunched on one of the lockers, in what appeared to be a store cabin. Vivian's mind noted all these details, as he crept forward, his breath held in tightly, until his temples throbbed painfully. It was all he could manage to tear his eyes away from her face, as she stared at Cooper, her face a picture of horror and disgust.
'You'n me are goin' to have a nice little chat,' continued Cooper.
`And so are we.' Vivian spoke softly, yet it was as if the other man had had a gun exploded in his ear.
He swung round, his beady eyes popping out of his head. He couldn't speak, but his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, almost comically, over his bow tie.
`Nothing to say, eh?' Vivian's voice was like ice. `But, then, you've said enough, haven't you?'
He pushed the man back into the passage, screwing his strong fingers into the pale blue suit to get a better grip. Behind him he heard an incredulous sob, and a blaze of anger flooded through him.
Cooper was still emitting gurgling sounds, when the butt of the pistol struck him between the eyes. Vivian lowered him to the deck and stepped back into the cabin, reaching out blindly for the girl, as she flung herself into his arms.
For a long moment they clung together, each unable to believe that the other really existed.
`Philip! They're all here! It was Felix ...' she stumbled over the words.
`I know,' he murmured soothingly, `I know now!'
The tiny warning flashed through his mind, which had become dulled by the feeling of warmth and love which
flooded his heart, and he knew that there was no time to be lost.
`Come on, Karen, we must get away now, while they're busy up there.'
He fumbled with the wrist compass, strapping it on to the girl's tiny wrist, while she still stared at him wonderingly.
`We may have to swim for it! If you keep an eye on this, and swim due south, you'll be on the beach in a few minutes!'
He studied her face anxiously. `Can you make it all right?'
She flung off her red jacket, her soft mouth pressed into a tight, determined line.
`Do not worry, I will do it!'
`Right. Let's go!'
He gripped her elbow and guided her round Cooper's prostrate figure, to the end of the passage-way.
From the saloon came the murmur of voices, and the sound of a chair squeaking back against the bulkhead.
`What the hell's Cooper up to?'
Lang's voice was so close, that the girl paused with one foot on the first step.
`Quick,' Vivian hissed. `Make a dash for it!'
As she reached the top of the darkened stairway, she flung back the small double doors, and a blinding shaft of sunlight burst in on them like a comet. He staggered after her, gasping incredulously at the bright sunlight, which sparkled and flashed on the short, grey waves. Like a white gull resting on the water, Seafox lay less than a mile away, her glass scuttles and brasswork shining, reflecting the sunlight from every angle, as she swung at her anchor. Of the fog, not even a wisp remained.
A door banged beneath them, followed by a stifled oath and the sound of someone running along the passage-way.
`She's gone! Quick, on deck, you silly fool!' Lang's voice cracked like a whip.
Vivian glanced round desperately for a new means of escape. The pale golden sands of the distant beach sparkled in the sunl: ht. It appeared to be deserted of holidaymakers, who had probably not had time to take advantage of the change of weather. He raised the pistol, pointing it down the companion-way.
`Quick, Karen, now!'
`But, Philip! What about you?' Her wide eyes stared at him imploringly.
`Soon as you're clear. Must keep you covered, otherwise he'd get us before we were half-way to the shore!' He spoke shortly, each sentence clipped by the realization of their danger.
`Please, darling. Now!' The words were torn from his lips.
She ran lightly to the rail, unclipping her skirt as she went. He saw it flutter to the deck, and from the corner of his eye, he caught the gleam of her brown legs and the flash of yellow as her hair blew out behind her. For a moment longer she waited, poised on the rail like a statue. Then she was gone, her body hardly making a splash, as she struck out for the shore. He looked across at her for a second, watching her hair floating on the surface and her hands spearing forward into the spray.
`She's jumped for it!'
Mason's face appeared over the deck, his pale eyes blinking against the light. As his glance fell on Vivian, his jaw sagged open, and losing his footing, he slithered down the stairway, calling to Lang in an almost hysterical voic
e.
`Just stay where you are!' barked Vivian. `I've got a gun and I'll use it if necessary. We'll just sit here and wait for the police to arrive!'
There was a quick murmur of voices below, and then silence. Viviau waited, wanting to look across at Karen, but not daring to take his eyes off the gaping void of the hatchway.
`Now listen, old boy,' Lang's voice floated up to him and he stiffened. `Let's not go off at half-cock over this!'
'Forget it, Felix. Don't waste your breath!' His voice sounded cool, but the blood was churning like water in his veins.
`I'm coming up, old boy. I shouldn't behave too foolishly, if I were you. Perhaps we can make a little bargain.'
The step creaked, and Vivian laid the fore-sight in line with the top edge of the coaming.
`I'm warning you, Felix!'
At that instant he heard the scrape of metal against glass. He whirled round, cursing himself for forgetting the skylight. Mason's pale face gleamed distortedly through the angle of the small panes, his eyes wide with desperation and fear.
The crack of the shot was deafening, as the top of the skylight shivered to fragments of wood and glass. Mason's face disappeared with a wild yell.
Vivian swung the pistol back to the hatchway, but too late. The world exploded in his eyes, with a bright yellow flash, and he felt a terrific numbing blow in his right shoulder. Dazedly he watched the pistol spin uselessly across the deck, a deck suddenly speckled with bright red drops, which gleamed and multiplied even while he stared with helpless fascination.
Then, the pain came swooping down on him, crushing his resistance and making the boat rock wildly under his feet. His will to fight, his very manhood, collapsed under the cruel onslaught and he dropped heavily to his knees, feeling the warm blood coursing down his arm.
Lang watched him narrowly, the gun still smoking in his fist. `That's that!' he said slowly, then, with a jerk, he turned to the wheelhouse. `Come on, Mason! Shake yourself, we're getting out of this!'
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