alistairmaclean.bearisland-第25部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


sible：　but　I　was　oddly　certain　it　wasn't。　Still　without　speaking；　still　without　altering　her　expression　or　lack　of　it；　she　half…rose；　hobbled　awkwardly　in　her　cocoon　of　steamer　rugs　and　sat　close　beside　me。　In　my　best　avuncular　fashion　I　put　my　arm　round　her　shoulders；　but　it　didn't　stay　there　for　long　for　she　took　hold　of　my　wrist　and　deliberately　and　without　haste　lifted　my　arm　over　the　top　of　her　head　and　pushed　it　clear　of　her。　Just　to　show　that　doctors　are　superhuman　and　incapable　of　being　offended　by　patients　who　aren't　really　responsible　for　their　own　behaviour　I　smiled　at　her。　She　smiled　back　at　me　and　her　eyes；　I　saw　with　an　astonishment　that　I　knew　was　not　reflected　in　my　face；　were　filled　with　unshed　tears：　almost　as　if　she　were　aware　of　those　tears　and　wished　to　hide　them；　she　suddenly　swung　her　legs　up　on　the　settee；　turned　towards　me　and　got　back　to　the　short…range　examination　of　my　shirt　front；　only　this　time　she　put　both　her　arms　around　me。　As　far　as　freedom　of　mobility　was　concerned　I　was　as　good　as　handcuffed；　which　was　doubtless　what　she　wanted　anyway。　That　she　harboured　no　lethal　intent　towards　me　I　was　sure：　I　was　equally　sure　that　she　was　determined　not　to　let　me　out　of　her　sight　and　that　this　was　the　most　effective　way　she　knew　of　doing　just　that。　How　much　it　cost　that　proud　and　lonely　person　to　behave　like　this　I　couldn't　guess：　even　less　could　I　imagine　what　made　her　do　it　at　all。
　I　sat　there　and　tried　to　mull　things　over　in　my　now　thoroughly　befogged　mind　and；　predictably；　made　no　progress　whatsoever。　Besides；　my　tired　eyes　were　being　almost　hypnotised　by　the　behaviour　of　the　Scotch　inside　the　Black　Label　bottle；　with　the　almost　metronomic　regularity　with　which　the　liquid　ascended　and　descended　the　opposite　sides　of　the　bottle　in　0l　response　to　the　regular　pitching　of　the　Morning　Rose。　One　thing　led　to　another　and　I　said：　〃Mary　dear？〃
　〃Yes？〃　She　didn't　turn　her　face　up　to　look　at　me　and　I　didn't　have　to　be　told　why：　the　area　around　the　level　of　my　fourth　shirt　button　was　being　noticeably　damp。
　I　don't　want　to　disturb　you　but　it's　time　for　my　nightcap。〃
　'Whisky？〃
　〃Ah！　Two　hearts　that　beat　as　one。〃
　〃No。〃　She　tightened　her　arms。
　'No？〃
　I　hate　the　smell　of　whisky。〃
　〃I'm　glad；〃　I　said　sotto　voce；　〃I'm　not　married　to　you。〃
　〃What　was　that？〃
　I　said；　〃Yes；　Mary　dear。〃'
　Five　more　minutes　passed　and　I　realised　that　my　mind　had　closed　down　for　the　night。　Idly　I　picked　up　the　Olympus　manifesto；　read　some　rubbish　about　the　sole　pleted　copy　of　the　screenplay　being　deposited　in　the　vault　of　a　London　bank；　and　put　it　down　again。　Mary　Stuart　was　breathing　quietly　and　evenly　and　seemed　to　be　asleep。　I　bent　and　blew　lightly　on　the　left　eyelid　which　was　about　the　only　part　of　her　face　that　I　could　see。　It　didn't　quiver。　She　was　asleep。　I　shifted　my　position　experimentally；　not　much；　and　her　arms　automatically　tightened　round　me；　she'd　clearly　left　a　note　to　her　subconscious　before　turning　in　for　the　night。
　I　resigned　myself　to　remaining　where　I　was；　it　wasn't　a　form　of　imprisonment　that　was　likely　to　scar　me　permanently：　I　wondered　vaguely　whether　the　idea　behind　this　silken　incarceration　was　to　prevent　me　from　doing　things　or　from　chancing　upon　some　other　devilry　that　might　well　be　afoot。　I　was　too　tired　to　care。　I　made　up　my　mind　just　to　sit　there　and　keep　a　sleepless　vigil　until　the　morning　came：　I　was　asleep　within　not　more　than　two　minutes。
　Mary　Stuart　was　not　and　didn't　look　as　if　she　was　built　along　the　lines　of　a　coal…heaver　but　she　wasn't　stuffed　with　swansdown　either　for　when　I　woke　my　left　arm　was　asleep；　wholly　numb　and　almost　useless；　a　realisation　that　was　brought　home　to　me　when　I　had　to　reach　across　my　right　hand　to　lift　up　my　left　wrist　to　see　what　time　the　luminous　hands　of　my　watch　said　it　was。　They　said　it　was　4：15。
　It　says　much　for　my　mental　acuity　that　at　least　ten　seconds　elapsed　before　it　occurred　to　me　why　it　had　been　necessary　for　me　to　consult　the　luminous　hands。　Because　it　was　dark；　of　course；　but　why　was　the　saloon　dark？　Every　light　had　been　on　when　I'd　gone　to　sleep。　And　what　〃had　wakened　me？　Something　had；　I　knew　without　knowing　why　that　I　hadn't　wakened　naturally　but　that　there　had　been　some　external　cause。　What　and　where　was　the　cause？　A　sound　or　a　physical　contact；　it　couldn't　be　anything　else；　and　whoever　was　responsible　for　whatever　it　had　been　was　still　with　me。　He　had　to　be；　insufficient　time　had　elapsed　since　I'd　waked　for　him　to　have　left　the　saloon：　more　importantly　the　hairs　on　the　back　of　my　neck　told　me　there　was　another　and　inimical　presence　in　the　saloon　with　me。
　Gently　I　took　hold　of　Mary　Stuart's　wrists　to　ease　her　arms　away。　Again　the　resistance　was　automatic；　hers　was　not　a　subconscious　to　go　to　sleep　on　the　job；　but　I　was　in　no　mood　to　be　baulked　by　any　subconscious。　I　prised　her　arms　free；　slid　along　the　settee；　lowered　her　carefully　to　the　horizontal；　rose　and　moved　out　towards　the　middle　of　the　saloon。　I　stood　quite　still；　my　hands　grasping　the　edge　of　a　table　to　brace　my　self；　my　breathing　almost　stopped　as　I　listened　intently。　I　could　have　spared　myself　the　trouble。　I　was　sure　that　the　weather　had　moderated；　not　a　great　deal　but　enough　to　be　just　noticeable；　since　I'd　gone　to　sleep；　but　it　hadn't　moderated　to　the　extent　where　any　stealthy　movements…and　I　could　expect　none　other…could　possibly　be　heard　above　the　sound　of　the　wind　and　the　seas；　the　metallic　creakings　and　groanings　of　the　ancient　plates　and　rivets　of　the　Morning　Rose。
　The　nearest　set　of　light　switches…there　was　a　duplicate　set　by　the　stewards　〃　pantry…was　by　the　lee　door。　I　took　one　step　in　the　remembered　direction　then　stopped。　Did　the　presence　in　the　room　know　that　I　was　awake　and　on　my　feel？　Were　his　eyes　more　attuned　to　the　darkness　than　my　newly　opened　ones？　Could　he　dimly　discern　my　figure？　Would　he　guess　that　my　first　move　would　be　towards　the　switches　and　was　he　preparing　to　block　my　way？　If　he　were；　how　would　he　block　my　way？　Would　he　be　carrying　a　weapon　and　what　kind　of　weapon…I　was　acutely　aware　that　all　I　had　were　two　hands；　the　left　one　still　a　fairly　useless　lump　of　tingling　pins　and　needles。　I　stopped；　irresolute。
　I　heard　the　metallic　click　of　a　door　handle　and　a　gust　of　icy　air　struck　me：　the　presence　was　leaving　by　the　lee　door。　I　reached　the　door　in　four　steps；　stepped　outside　on　to　the　deck；　flung　up　an　instinctively　protective　right　forearm　as　a　bright　light　abruptly　struck　my　eyes　and　immediately　wished　I　had　used　my　left　forearm　instead　for　then　it　might　have　offered　me　some　measure　of　protection　against　something　hard；　heavy；　and　very　solid　that　connected　forcibly　and　painfully　with　the　left　side　of　my　neck。　I　clung　to　the　outside　edge　of　the　door　to　support　myself　but　I　didn't　seem　to　have　much　strength　left　in　my　hands：　and　I　seemed　to　have　none　at　all　in　my　legs　for　although　I　remained　quite　conscious　I　sank　to　the　deck　as　if　my　legs　had　been　filleted：　by　the　time　the　momentary　paralysis　had　passed　and　I　was　able　to　use　the　support　of　the　door　to　drag　myself　shakily　to　my　feel？；　I　was　alone　on　the　deck。　I　had　no　idea　where　my　assailant　had　gone　and　the　matter　was　one　of　only　academic　interest；　my　legs　could　barely　cope　with　supporting　my　weight　in　a　static　go　position：　even　the　thought　of　running　or　negotiating　ladders　and　panionways　at　speed　was　preposterous。
　Still　clinging　to　whatever　support　was　at　hand　I　stepped　back　into　the　saloon；　fumbled　the　lights　on　and　pulled　the　lee　door　closed　behind　me。
　Mary　Stuart　was　propped　on　an　elbow；　the　heel　of　one　palm　rubbing　an　eye　while　the　lid　of　the　other　was　half…open　in　the　fashion　of　a　person　just　rousing　from　a　very　deep　or　drugged　sleep。　I　looked　away；　stumbled　towards　Captain　Imrie's　table　and　sat　down　heavily　in　his　chair。　I　lifted　the　bottle　of　Black　Label　from　its　stand。　It　was　half…full。　For　what　seemed　quite　a　long　time　but　could　have　been　no　more　than　seconds　I　stared　at　this　bottle；　not　seeing　it；　then　looked　away　to　locate　the　glass　that　Halliday　had　been　using。　It　was　nowhere　to　be　seen；　it　could　have　fallen　and　rolled　out　of　sight　in　a　dozen　different　directions。　I　selected　another　glass　from　the　table　rack；　splashed　some　Scotch　into　it；　drank　it　and　made　my　way　back　to　my　seat。　My　neck　felt　awful。　One　good　shake　of　my　head　and　it　would　fall　off。
　〃Don't　breathe　through　your　nose；〃　I　said；　〃and　you'll　hardly　smell　the　demon　drink　at　all。〃　I　propped　her　up　to　a　sitting　position；　rearranged　her　rugs　and　forestalled　her　by；　for　a　change；　putting　my　arms　around　her。　I　said：　〃There　now。〃
　〃What　was　it？　What　happened？〃　Her　voice　was　low　and　had　a　shake　to　it。
　〃Just　the　door。　Wind　blew　it　open。　Had　to　close　it；　that's　all。〃
　〃But　the　lights　were　off。〃
　I　put　them　off。　just　after　you'd　gone　to　sleep。〃
　She　wriggled　an　arm　free　from　the　blankets　and　gently　touched　the　side　of　my　neck。
　〃It's　colouring　already；〃　she　whispered。　〃It's　going　to　be　a　huge　ugly　bruise。　And　it's　bleeding。〃　I　reached　up　with　my　handkerchief　and　she　wasn't　making　any　mistake：　I　stuffed　my　handkerchief　into　my　collar　and　left　it　there。　She　went　on　in　the　same　little　voice：　〃flow　did　it　happen？〃
　〃One　of　those　stupid　things。　I　slipped　on　the　snow　and　struck　my　neck　on　the　storm　sill　of　the　d