Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 2, April 1961

The curtain parted and she stepped out. She wore a nightgown of white cotton which covered her body like a tent, leaving only her head visible. A loan from Mrs. Gantry, Johnny decided. Her grey eyes had looked tired on the plane; now they were haunted.

“You’re the one from the plane,” she said in a flat voice. “I never did believe you were a businessman.”

Johnny reached for his hip pocket. “I can prove—”

“Your papers don’t mean a thing. I know how the organization works.”

Her words were strong but her voice trembled. Johnny wished suddenly that he’d really come to help her.

“What is it you’re afraid of?” he asked gently. “You think I came to kill you?”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath and rubbed the skin under her eyes with the palm of one hand. “You came down from New York on my flight. You followed me in San Juan. Now we’re both on one tiny island, and my husband has just been killed. You expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?”

She isn’t sure, thought Johnny. She wants to be convinced. “Of course it’s a coincidence,” he said. “I know nothing about any organization.”

Seeing a flicker of doubt in her eyes, he stood up. “I came in through the front door. Does a killer do that?”

“Don’t come any closer!” She held out a chipped, rusty butcher knife. Johnny decided she must have borrowed it from Mrs. Gantry. The way she held it, the knife was about as dangerous as a broken stick.

Johnny laughed. “You really think I came to kill you?” he took a step toward her, then stopped less than an arm’s length away, his hands at his sides. “All right. Then you can kill me.”

She stood frozen. Beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead. The nightgown clung, moulding itself to the shape of her body. One thing was obvious, she couldn’t have the letter on her.

Johnny smiled. “If we’re just going to look at each other, I think I’m getting the best of the bargain.”

She dropped her eyes for an instant. Johnny gripped her wrist and took the knife from her lax fingers. He threw it on the bed.

She clawed at him with her free hand. He caught it and imprisoned it behind her. He held her right against him and looked into her wide, frightened eyes. “I could kill you now, couldn’t I?”

She nodded once, slowly. He bent his head and kissed her lightly. Her lips were hot, dry and lifeless. After a moment they moved, slowly at first, then hungrily. Her body pressed against him, warm and trembling.

He released her hands and she drew back. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright.

“Did you come for that, Mr. Quill?”

“No. But it makes the trip worthwhile.” He reached for the drawstring at the back of her neck.

Suddenly she twisted away. “No!” She looked at him with a dazed expression. “I don’t know what’s got into me. The... excitement, maybe. But I don’t want that.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks and ran her fingers through her hair. She plucked at her gown, erasing the sharp details of her body.

Then she looked at him, her eyes speculative. “You gave me a chance to kill you. I suppose that proves something.”

Johnny nodded. “I hope so.”

“I have to trust someone. Do you have a gun?”

“Only a speargun in the boat. Why?”

“I don’t feel safe here. Mrs. Gantry thinks I’m cracking up. So does that cop.”

“Hmmm... I suppose I could anchor out in the bay, away from the island somewhere...” He saw interest flicker in her eyes, but he couldn’t afford to appear eager. “It’d be uncomfortable. Nothing but wooden benches.”

“I wouldn’t care if I slept on nails.”

“There’s only two blankets. One for me and one for my boatman.”

“I’ll borrow one from Mrs. Gantry.” She raised her hands to the drawstring. “Turn around so I can dress.”

Johnny turned his back. “You’d better tell the corporal you’re going. I don’t want him to think I’m kidnapping you.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Johnny listened to the snap and rustle of her dressing. He wished he knew what he’d finally have to do with the woman. Whatever it was, it’d be a damn sight harder to do, now that she seemed to trust him.

Norma McLain snapped awake, her nerves jumping. She stared around the moonlit cabin. Johnny Quill lay on deck, his narrow face pointed at the ceiling. Albert lay on the opposite bench, his knees drawn up against his stomach.

One of them was faking. One of them had stood over her just a moment ago, looking down. He lay awake now, waiting for her to doze off. Which one?

She swung her feet to the floor and drew Mrs. Gantry’s blanket around her shoulders. She shivered. Albert? She didn’t trust him. After Trinidad, it had been a shock to find him here. Even with his eyes closed he made her flesh crawl. She thought Johnny felt the same way; certainly there was hostility between the two, and she felt sure the tall man had been responsible for the dark, swollen lump on Albert’s jaw.