alistairmaclean.bearisland-第26部分

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　〃One　of　those　stupid　things。　I　slipped　on　the　snow　and　struck　my　neck　on　the　storm　sill　of　the　door。　Does　ache　a　bit；　I　must　say。〃
　She　didn't　answer。　She　freed　her　other　arm；　caught　me　by　both　lapels；　stared　at　me　with　a　face　full　of　misery　and　put　her　forehead　on　my　shoulder。　Now　it　was　my　collar's　turn　to　bee　damp。　It　was　the　most　extraordinary　behaviour　for　a　wardress…that　her　function　was　to　keep　tabs　on　and　effectively　immobilise　me　I　was　increasingly　sure…but；　then；　she　was　the　most　extraordinary　wardress　I'd　ever　e　across。　And　the　nicest。　Dr。　Marlowe；　I　said；　the　lady　is　in　distress　and　you　are　but　human。　I　let　my　suspicions　take　five　and　stroked　the　tangled　yellow　hair。　I'd　been　led　to　believe；　I　forgot　by　what　or　by　whom；　that　nothing　was　as　conducive　to　the　calming　of　upset　feminine　feelings　as　that　soothing　gesture：　only　seconds　later　I　was　wondering　where　I'd　picked　up　this　piece　of　obviously　blatant　misinformation　for　she　suddenly　pushed　herself　upright　and　struck　me　twice　on　the　shoulder　with　the　base　of　her　clenched　left　fist。　I　was　more　than　ever　convinced　that　she　wasn't　made　of　swansdown。
　〃Don't　do　that；〃　she　said。　〃Don't　do　that。〃
　〃All　right；〃　I　said　agreeably。　I　won't　do　that。　I'm　sorry。〃
　〃No；　no；　please！　I'm　sorry。　I　don't　know　what　made　me…I　really…〃　She　stopped　speaking　although　her　lips　kept　on　moving　and　stared　at　me　with　tear…filled　eyes；　the　no　longer　beautiful　face　defenceless　and　defeated　and　full　of　despair：　it　made　me　feel　acutely　unfortable　for　I　do　not　like　to　see　proud　and　self…contained　people　thus　reduced。　There　was　a　quick　indrawing　of　breath　then；　astonishingly；　she　had　her　arms　wound　round　my　neck　and　so　tightly　that　it　would　appear　that　she　was　bent　upon　my　instant　asphyxiation。　She　wept　in　silence；　her　shoulders　shaking。
　Splendidly　done；　I　thought　approvingly；　quite　splendidly　done。　Irrespective　of　for　whose　benefit　it　might　be…'and　then　I　despised　myself　for　my　cynicism。　Quite　apart　from　the　fact　that　her　acknowledged　limitations　as　an　actress　put　such　a　performance　out　of　the　question　I　was　convinced；　without　knowing　why　I　was　convinced；　that　what　I　was　seeing　was　genuine　uninhibited　emotion。　And　what　on　earth　had　she　to　gain　by　pretending　to　lower　her　defences　in　front　of　me？
　For　whom；　then；　the　tears？　Not　for　me；　of　that　I　was　certain；　why　in　the　world　for　me：　I　scarcely　knew　her；　she　scarcely　knew　me；　I　was　only　a　shoulder　to　cry　on；　likely　enough　I　was　only　a　doctor's　shoulder　to　cry　on；　people　have　the　oddest　misconceptions　about　doctors　and　maybe　their　shoulders　are　regarded　as　being　more　reliable　and　forting　than　the　average。　Or　more　absorbent。　Nor　were　the　tears　for　herself；　I　was　equally　certain　of　that；　to　survive；　intact；　the　kind　of　upbringing　shed　hinted　she'd　had；　one　had　to　be　possessed　of　an　unusual　degree　of　self…reliance　and　mental　toughness　that　almost　automatically　excluded　considerations　of　self…pity。　So　for　whom；　then；　the　tears？
　I　didn't　know　and；　at　that　moment；　I　hardly　cared。　In　normal　circumstances　and　with　no　other　matter　so　significantly　important　as　to　engage　my　attention；　so　lovely　a　girl　in　such　obvious　distress　would　have　had　my　plete　and　undivided　concern；　but　the　circumstances　were　abnormal　and　my　thoughts　were　elsewhere　engaged　with　an　intensity　that　made　Mary　Stuart's　odd　behaviour　seem　relatively　unimportant。
　I　couldn't　keep　my　eyes　from　the　bottle　of　Scotch　by　the　captain's　table。
　When　Halliday　had　had；　at　my　insistence　as　I　now　bitterly　recalled；　his　first　drink；　the　bottle　had　been　about　a　third　full：　after　his　second　drink　it　had　been　about　a　quarter　full：　and　now　it　was　half　full。　The　quiet　and　violent　man　who　had　so　recently　switched　off　the　lights　and　moved　through　the　saloon　had　switched　bottles　and；　for　good　measure；　had　removed　the　glass　that　Halliday　had　used。　Mary　Stuart　said　something；　her　voice　so　muffled　and　indistinct　that　I　couldn't　make　it　out：　what　with　salt　tears　and　salt　blood　this　night's　work　was　going　to　cost　me　a　new　shirt。　I　said：　〃What？〃
　She　moved　her　head；　enough　to　enable　her　to　speak　more　clearly；　but　not　enough　to　let　me　see　her　face。
　〃I'm　sorry。　I'm　sorry　I　was　such　a　fool。　Will　you　forgive　me？〃
　I　squeezed　her　shoulder　in　what　was　more　or　less　an　automatic　gesture；　my　eyes　and　my　thoughts　were　still　on　that　bottle；　but　she　seemed　to　take　it　as　sufficient　answer。　She　said　hesitantly：　〃Are　you　going　to　sleep　again？〃　She　hadn't　stopped　being　as　foolish　as　she　thought：　or　perhaps　she　wasn't　being　foolish　at　all。
　〃No；　Mary　dear；　I'm　not　going　to　sleep　again。〃　Whatever　tone　of　firm　resolution　my　tone　carried；　it　was　superfluous：　the　throbbing　pain　in　my　neck　was　sufficient　guarantee　of　my　wakefulness。
　〃Well；　that's　all　right　then。〃　I　didn't　ask　what　this　cryptic　remark　was　intended　to　convey。　Physically；　we　couldn't　have　been　closer　but　mentally　I　was　no　longer　with　her。　I　was　with　Halliday；　the　man　whom　I　had　thought　had　e　to　kill　me；　the　man　I'd　practically　forced　to　have　a　drink；　the　man　who'd　drunk　what　had　been　intended　for　me。
　I　knew　I　would　never　see　him　again。　Not　alive。
　
　6
　
　Dawn；　in　those　high　latitudes　and　at　that　time　of　year；　did　not　e　until　half…past　ten　in　the　morning；　and　it　was　then　that　we　buried　the　three　dead　men；　Antonio　and　Moxen　and　Scott；　and　surely　their　shades　would　have　forgiven　us　for　the　almost　indecent　dispatch　with　which　their　funerals　were　carried　out；　for　that　driving　blizzard　was　still　at　its　height；　the　wind　was　full　of　razored　knives　and　struck　through　both　clothes　and　flesh　and　laid　its　icy　fingers　on　the　marrow。　Captain　Imrie；　a　large　and　brassbound　Bible　in　his　mittened　hands；　read　swiftly　through　the　burial　service　or　at　least　I　assumed　he　did；　he　could　have　been　reading　the　Sermon　on　the　Mount　for　all　I　could　tell；　the　wind　just　plucked　the　inaudible　words　from　his　mouth　and　carried　them　out　over　the　grey…white　desolation　of　waters。　Three　times　a　canvas…wrapped　bundle　slid　smoothly　out　from　beneath　the　Morning　Rose's　only　Union　flag；　three　times　a　bundle　vanished　soundlessly　beneath　the　surface　of　the　sea：　we　could　see　the　splashes　but　not　hear　them　for　our　cars　were　full　of　the　high　and　lonely　lament　of　the　wind's　requiem　in　the　frozen　rigging。
　On　land；　mourners　customarily　find　it　difficult　to　tear　themselves　away　from　a　newly　filled　grave；　but　here　there　was　no　grave；　there　was　nothing　to　look　at　and　the　bitter　cold　was　sufficient　to　drive　from　every　mind　any　thought　other　than　that　of　immediate　shelter　and　warmth：　besides；　Captain　Imrie　had　said　that　it　was　an　old　fisherman's　custom　to　drink　a　toast　to　the　dead。　Whether　it　was　or　not　I　had　no　idea；　it　could　well　have　been　a　custom　that　Imrie　had　invented　himself；　and　certainly　the　deceased　had　been　no　fisherman：　but　whatever　its　origin　I'm　sure　that　it　made　its　contributory　effect　towards　the　extremely　rapid　clearing　of　the　decks。　I　remained　where　I　was。　I　felt　inhibited　from　joining　the　others　not　because　I　found　Captain　Imrie's　proposal　distasteful　or　ethically　objectionable…only　the　most　hypocritical　could　find　in　the　Christian　ethic　a　bar　to　wishing　bon　voyage　to　the　departed…but　because；　in　crowded　surroundings；　it　could　be　very　difficult　to　see　who　was　filling　my　glass　and　what　he　was　filling　it　with。　Moreover；　I'd　had　no　more　than　three　hours'　sleep　the　previous　night；　my　mind　was　tired　and　a　bit　fuzzy　round　the　edges　and　it　was　my　hope　that　the　admittedly　heroic　treatment　of　exposure　to　an　Arctic　blizzard　might　help　to　blow　some　of　the　cobwebs　away。　I　took　a　firm　hold　on　one　of　the　numerous　lifelines　that　were　rigged　on　deck；　edged　my　way　out　to　the　largest　of　one　of　the　numerous　deck　cargoes　we　were　carrying；　took　what　illusory　shelter　was　offered　in　its　lee　and　waited　for　the　cobwebs　to　fly　away。
　Halliday　was　dead。　I　hadn't　found　his　body；　I'd　searched；　casually　and　unobtrusively；　every　likely　and　most　of　the　unlikely　places　of　concealment　on　the　Morning　Rose：　he　had　vanished　and　left　no　trace。　Halliday；　I　knew；　was　lying　in　the　black　depths　of　the　Barents　Sea。　How　he'd　got　there　I　didn't　know　and　it　didn't　seem　to　be　important：　it　could　be　that　someone　had　helped　him　over　the　side　but　it　was　even　more　probable　that　he　had　required　no　assistance。　He'd　left　the　saloon　as　abruptly　as　he　had　because　the　poison　in　his　Scotch…my　Scotch…had　been　as　fast　acting　as　it　had　been　deadly。　He　had　felt　the　urgent　need　to　be　sick　and　the　obvious　place　to　be　sick　was　over　the　side：　a　slip　on　the　snow　or　ice；　one　of　the　hundreds　of　trough…seeking　lurches　that　the　trawler　had　experienced　during　the　night　and　in　what　must　have　been　by　that　time　his　ill；　weakened；　and　dazed　state；　he　would　have　been　quite　unable　to　prevent　himself　from　pitching　over　the　low　guardrails。　The　only　consolation；　if　consolation　it　was；　was　that　he　had　probably　succumbed　from　poison　before　his　lungs　had　filled　with　water。　I　did　not　subscribe　to　the　popular　belief　that　death　from　drowning　was　a　relatively　easy　and　painless　way　to　go　if　for　no　other　reason　than　that　it　was　a　theory　that　in　the　nature　of　things　lacked　positive　documentation。
　I　was　as　certain　as　could　be　that　Halliday's　absence　had　so　far　gone　unnoticed　by　everyone　except　myself　and　the　person　responsible　for　his　death　and　there　was　not　even　c