Борден Дил - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 12, December 1956

The men were for killing Burke on the spot. But Lt. Benton had another idea. There was only circumstantial proof that he had killed the boswain and no proof that he had anything to do with the deaths of the other two. So he proposed that we rig a sail on our boat, store it with provisions for two weeks and set Burke adrift in it. With the warning that if he headed back to the island and was found he would be executed on the spot. However, if he made it to friendly territory or was picked up by a friendly ship and informed them of our plight, he, the Lieutenant, would see that he got a fair trial and recommend clemency if outright pardon could not be obtained. This judgment appealed to everyone. So Burke was set adrift this afternoon doubtlessly thankful to escape alive although maintaining his innocence all the while. I believe that more than one were hoping he would make it. It seems as though Lt. Benton has handled this situation with an admirable degree of capability.

June 4

Almost three weeks now since Burke was set to sea and the tension seems to have passed. We are all faring well now except for slight attacks of fever. I seem to have recurrences quite frequently now associated with headaches. I have sent Seamen Crawford and Rollins in search of the plant that helps alleviate fever. I sent with them as a sample the last bit I had for my own private use.

June 7

Seamen Rollins and Crawford have not yet returned. If they are not back in another day we will have to organize a search. At least that is what Lt. Benton has said. That should be interesting; three men searching for two — who will be discovered, we or they?

My fever seems to have gone down but my head feels as if it shall surely split.

June 9

We started and finished our search for Crawford and Rollins yesterday. We found them by a burnt-out campfire, their throats cut. Buzzards, companions of our island I had not been aware of, acted as guides.

All the way back to the hut we tried to walk abreast through the sometimes dense underbrush. It seemed obvious that one of the three was a homicidal maniac. None of us said a word throughout the return. Finally, when we entered the hut in silence, Lt. Benton turned to Kelly and me, and said, “Let’s stop looking at each other as if one of us is a maniac. It seems as though I made a mistake when I didn’t have Burke executed. He has returned to the island intent on destroying us. Our only course is to hunt him down and destroy him.”

It seemed like sound thinking and made Kelly and me feel a little ashamed of ourselves.

June 10

We set put at daybreak this morning after what I am sure was a sleepless night for all three. We decided to scout along the shores of the island to see where Burke had landed. About a mile and a half up the beach we found the boat and the bones of Seaman Burke. It does not take long for buzzards to strip a man of his flesh but there was a three weeks’ growth of barnacles along the waterline of the anchored boat. Apparently he had anchored just off shore in order to keep a rendezvous with one of us. He would be safe from roaming snakes, animals or from mosquitoes out there. But he had not been safe from the murderer.

June 11

We all three sleep, or should I say lie, in the same room now. Last night was one of the most fantastic I have ever spent. My cot is next to the window, the moon to my back. About three feet away is Benton’s, and on the other side Kelly’s. I was lying on my back, the moon streaming across my cot and into the room, listening, for what I do not know, when I became aware of the absence of Benton’s usually heavy breathing. I was afraid to roll over to look at him, afraid that if he saw me looking at him he would think I was the murderer. I struggled with myself, but I had to look. I realized that the moon would be to my back and that he would not be able to see my eyes. I rolled over on my side, facing his cot. Benton was lying on his side plainly visible in the moonlight, his eyes wide open, watching me, breathing very softly.

June 13

We go everywhere together. Never is one of us out of the sight of the other two. Nor has one of us slept a wink in the last three nights. Nay, sleep is the one thing we fear... or at least two of us fear. For with sleep the murderer, we know, will do his handiwork.

June 15

We brought Burke’s remains into rest yesterday, the sixth cross in the row. Benton said a prayer and I could not help wondering if it were not the master hypocrisy. Kelly stared insanely. He could surely not last much longer. When the prayer was finished Benton looked at me and said, “I know who the killer is.” Neither Kelly nor I spoke. He turned to Kelly, “It has to be you, Kelly.” Kelly leaned forward on the shovel with which he had been digging, his eyes bulging. He was truly the picture of madness.

“It was you, Kelly, who said that no one had left your room the night Boswain Sykes was murdered. You lied and threatened Rollins so he would verify your story.” Kelly cracked; he lunged at the lieutenant with his shovel, screaming, “Liar, Murderer!” He missed but the lieutenant did not. As Kelly lunged wildly by he plunged his cutless through Kelly’s throat. The momentum ripped the sword from Benton’s hand. Kelly lay quite still on the ground, a fast-forming pool of blood about his head, his eyes open and rolled back in their sockets, the sword still impaled in his throat, crimson the length of the blade, only the handle reflecting the sun.

I stood rooted to the spot. Benton walked over, put his foot on Kelly’s shoulder and pulled his blade loose. I must have been gaping rather insanely for Benton looked up at me and said, “Come on Crane, snap out of it. It’s been a nightmare but we’ve got our killer now.”

I nodded feebly. How would I ever know, unless Benton...? But you did not argue with a man whom you thought might be mad, especially when he has a bloody cutless in his hand.

June 18

Benton has been looking at me rather oddly these past two days. He keeps telling me that this has been too much for me, that I must get some rest, sleep. But I’m too smart for him. I go into the woods and doze some during the day pretending I have been fishing. I shan’t go to sleep in the same room as that man, ever. Last night he made heavy breathing sighs like he was asleep but I saw his eyes in the moonlight, staring.

June 19

I am the only man alive on this island. I knew it had to be that way. Yesterday my headache returned so severely that I went to my cot and fainted. It was noon when I passed out and about midnight when I awoke to a refreshing breeze. My head was bursting but I could still think clearly. Benton was lying on his cot asleep, this time with his eyes closed. I reached under the mattress and removed the surgeon’s scalpel. I moved as quietly as the night over to his bed, plunged the scalpel in under his left ear and across to the right.

Of course I had to do it; he was the real murderer, wasn’t he? But it was strange how familiar it felt when I plunged the scalpel in and it did relieve my headache.

June 30

My headaches persist; I don’t think I can stand them much longer. I have fainted repeatedly since the death of Benton. I am now the only human being on the island, just me. If there were only someone else here...

My scalpel is in my hand almost constantly; the idea has possessed me that the only way to relieve my headaches is to plunge the scalpel under my left ear and draw across to the right. If there were only someone else on the island. But there are only eight others. Seven under seven crosses in back, and Benton who still remains asleep in his cot. I am going to lie down in mine now and try to sleep also. Perhaps I will never get up, the fever is in my eyes now and I can hardly see how to write.