To-morrow was the 22nd, and at 1 a.m. or 1 p.m. something would happen. I plumped for 1 a.m. It was now seven o’clock. In six hours I should know.
I don’t know how I got through the evening. I retired1 to my cabin fairly early. I had told the stewardess2 that I had a cold in the head and didn’t mind smells. She still seemed distressed3, but I was firm.
The evening seemed interminable. I duly retired to bed, but in view of emergencies I swathed myself in a thick flannel4 dressing-gown, and encased my feet in slippers5. Thus attired6 I felt that I could spring up and take an active part in anything that happened.
What did I expect to happen? I hardly knew. Vague fancies, most of them wildly improbable, flitted through my brain. But one thing I was firmly convinced of, at one o’clock something would happen.
At various times, I heard my fellow-passengers coming to bed. Fragments of conversation, laughing good-nights, floated in through the open transom. Then, silence. Most of the lights went out. There was still one in the passage outside, and there was therefore a certain amount of light in my cabin. I heard eight bells go. The hour that followed seemed the longest I had ever known. I consulted my watch surreptitiously to be sure I had not overshot the time.
If my deductions7 were wrong, if nothing happened at one o’clock, I should have made a fool of myself, and spent all the money I had in the world on a mare’s-nest. My heart beat painfully.
Two bells went overhead. One o’clock! And nothing. Wait—what was that? I heard the quick light patter of feet running—running along the passage.
Then with the suddenness of a bombshell my cabin door burst open and a man almost fell inside.
It was not a moment for argument or explanation. I could hear footsteps outside. I had about forty seconds in which to act. I had sprung to my feet and was standing9 facing the stranger in the middle of the cabin.
A cabin does not abound10 in hiding-places for a six-foot man. With one arm I pulled out my cabin trunk. He slipped down behind it under the bunk11. I raised the lid. At the same time, with the other hand I pulled down the wash-basin. A deft12 movement and my hair was screwed into a tiny knot on the top of my head. From the point of view of appearance it was inartistic, from another standpoint it was supremely14 artistic13. A lady, with her hair screwed into an unbecoming knob and in the act of removing a piece of soap from her trunk with which, apparently15 to wash her neck, could hardly be suspected of harbouring a fugitive16.
There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for me to say, “Come in,” it was pushed open.
I don’t know what I expected to see. I think I had vague ideas of Mr. Pagett brandishing17 a revolver. Or my missionary18 friend with a sandbag, or some other lethal19 weapon. But certainly I did not expect to see a night stewardess, with an inquiring face and looking the essence of respectability.
“I beg your pardon, miss, I thought you called out.”
“No,” I said, “I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry for interrupting you.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought a wash would do me good.” It sounded rather as though it were a thing I never had as a general rule.
“I’m so sorry, miss,” said the stewardess again. “But there’s a gentleman about who’s rather drunk, and we are afraid he might get into one of the ladies’ cabins and frighten them.”
“How dreadful,” I said, looking alarmed. “He won’t come in here, will he?”
“Oh, I don’t think so, miss. Ring the bell if he does. Good night.”
“Good night.”
I opened the door and peeped down the corridor. Except for the retreating form of the stewardess, there was nobody in sight.
Drunk! So that was the explanation of it. My histrionic talents had been wasted. I pulled the cabin trunk out a little farther and said:
“Come out at once, please,” in an acid voice.
There was no answer. I peered under the bunk. My visitor lay immovable. He seemed to be asleep. I tugged20 at his shoulder. He did not move.
“Dead drunk,” I thought vexedly. “What am I to do?”
Using all my strength, I succeeded in dragging the man out into the middle of the cabin. The dead whiteness of his face showed that he had fainted. I found the cause of his fainting easily enough. He had been stabbed under the left shoulder-blade—a nasty deep wound. I got his coat off and set to work to attend to it.
At the sting of the cold water he stirred, then sat up.
“Keep still, please,” I said.
He was the kind of young man who recovers his faculties22 very quickly. He pulled himself to his feet and stood there swaying a little.
“Thank you, I don’t need anything done for me.”
“That is a nasty wound. You must let me dress it.”
“You will do nothing of the kind.”
He flung the words in my face as though I had been begging a favour of him. My temper, never placid25, rose.
“I cannot congratulate you upon your manners,” I said coldly.
“I can at least relieve you of my presence.” He started for the door, but reeled as he did so. With an abrupt26 movement I pushed him down upon the sofa.
“Don’t be a fool,” I said unceremoniously. “You don’t want to go bleeding all over the ship, do you?”
He seemed to see the sense of that, for he sat quietly whilst I bandaged up the wound as best I could.
“There,” I said, bestowing27 a pat on my handiwork, “that will have to do for the present. Are you better tempered now and do you feel inclined to tell me what it’s all about?”
“I’m sorry that I can’t satisfy your very natural curiosity.”
He smiled nastily.
“If you want a thing broadcasted, tell a woman. Otherwise keep your mouth shut.”
“Don’t you think I could keep a secret?”
“I don’t think—I know.”
He rose to his feet.
“At any rate,” I said spitefully, “I shall be able to do a little broadcasting about the events of this evening.”
“I’ve no doubt you will too,” he said indifferently.
“How dare you?” I cried angrily.
We were facing each other, glaring at each other with the ferocity of bitter enemies. For the first time, I took in the details of his appearance, the close-cropped dark head, the lean jaw29, the scar on the brown cheek, the curious light grey eyes that looked into mine with a sort of reckless mockery hard to describe. There was something dangerous about him.
“You haven’t thanked me yet for saving your life?” I said with false sweetness.
I hit him there. I saw him flinch30 distinctly. Intuitively I knew that he hated above all to be reminded that he owed his life to me. I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt him. I had never wanted to hurt any one so much.
“I wish to God you hadn’t!” he said explosively. “I’d be better dead and out of it.”
“I’m glad you acknowledge the debt. You can’t get out of it. I saved your life and I’m waiting for you to say ‘Thank you.’”
If looks could have killed, I think he would have liked to kill me then. He pushed roughly past me. At the door he turned back, and spoke31 over his shoulder.
“I shall not thank you—now or at any other time. But I acknowledge the debt. Some day I will pay it.”
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1
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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stewardess
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| n.空中小姐，女乘务员 | |
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3
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deductions
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| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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12
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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16
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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17
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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31
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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