Рауль Уитфилд - The Virgin Kills

Don Rayne whistled softly. “You don't fool,” he said, and then looked silly.

Cy grunted. “I'll suffer more if I lose my hundred,” he said.

Vennell smiled again. “We'll both clean up, Cy,” he said. “But you fellows are paper boys; if you use the fact that I'm betting on California, don't spread it all over.”

I turned away and lighted a cigarette. Vennell was saying something now. He was telling us that we could print his bet on California. He rather wanted us to print it. That opened up a new idea. I could see a reason for him getting Cy and me aboard. He was betting on Columbia, but he wanted us to record the fact that he had bet on California.

He looked at me as I turned around, with my cigarette lighted.

“Maybe I've got a few dollars more than fifty thousand—on the big race,” he said in a peculiar tone. “I'm sure pulling for California.”

He moved away, taking a pair of day-glasses from the case hanging about his neck. Cy looked at me and winked.

“He's got big money on the Bears,” he said.

Don Rayne nodded. “A hundred thousand, at least.”

I smiled. “It's a cinch,” I said. “California by three lengths. If you've got money—you can make it.”

I went away from the table and along the port rail. The river was filling up with large and small craft—flags streamed colorfully. It was around one o'clock—the sky was clear and the day was very hot. Launches kicked up white water as they chugged back and forth; there was a steady stream of traffic on the new bridge. The figure of Sonia Vreedon was at the rail ahead of me. Her slender body was leaning on it; she was staring toward the California boathouse. I followed her gaze; there were signs of activity—the freshman race would start in a few hours and California had a crew entered.

She didn't hear me come up close. I said softly:

“Think Tim's getting nervous yet?”

Her body jerked just a little, then she controlled her feelings. She faced me with a faint smile. I liked her eyes and lips, and the way she talked. There was no fooling about her. She was keen.

“Probably,” she said. “Wouldn't you be getting nervous?”

I said: “Not if I'd had plenty of sleep the night before.”

Light flickered in her eyes. Her body was tense; it relaxed as she spread arms along the rail and looked steadily at me.

“Well—the coach sees to that,” she said. “Tim's had his sleep, all right.”

I nodded and looked down at the water. “It's calm,” I observed. “Not much danger of the shells flooding.”

Her eyes watched mine closely. She said: “What do you make of last night's affair?”

I said: “Which one?”

It startled her. She took a swift breath—one hand came away from the rail. Then she looked puzzled. I liked the way she did it; she was putting up a fight.

“The only one I know about,” she replied. “The man breaking into Eric's suite.”

I smiled. “He has a nice collection of diamonds,” I said. “Perhaps one of the crew—”

She frowned. “Don't be foolish,” she interrupted.

I smiled at her. “Where were you during all the excitement? Sleeping?”

She shook her head. “Aft, down below,” she said quietly. “Close to the water, just watching the river.”

I liked that, too. It prevented her from being caught in a lot of little traps.

“That so?” I said. “You didn't hear anybody go overboard, did you?”

Again there was the flickering in her cool eyes. She raised browned fingers and touched her banded hair.

“Just wave splashes—and the screams, of course.”

She smiled enigmatically. I nodded.

“Carla's so temperamental,” I said. “But then—I suppose she was frightened.”

Sonia Vreedon half closed her eyes. “Why was she in the corridor?” she asked.

I grinned. “Being a man—I've been afraid to ask her,” I said.

Sonia stopped smiling. “That isn't the reason she was there,” she said. “All the cabins are extremely well appointed.”

I looked serious. “Perhaps she was going into the library for a book,” I suggested.

Sonia just looked at me. “Or,” I said, “perhaps she, too, was going aft to listen to wave splashes.”

The daughter of the criminal lawyer watched the smoke curl upward from my cigarette.

“You don't believe that I was doing that,” she said firmly.

I looked hurt. “Why shouldn't I?” I said. “A lot of humans were restless last night. I was on deck myself.”

Fear showed in her eyes, then went away. “You don't believe that I was doing that,” she said.

“May I have one of your cigarettes?”

I gave her one, lighted it. I said: “Well—the fellow didn't get anything, anyway.”

She looked toward Highlands and said: “How's Eric betting, do you know?”

I nodded. “California,” I said. “Quite a bit, too.”

She looked suddenly frightened. Her body was tense again. She said:

“Are you sure?”

I shrugged. “He just told a few of us that he was,” I said. “Why?”

She waited for several seconds, then smiled a little.

“He's had bad luck lately, and it doesn't seem like such a good hunch,” she said.

That was silly, and she knew that I knew it was silly.

I thought of the radiogram, and said in a casual voice:

“Eric generally knows what he's doing—the California shell looks best on paper.”

She smiled cheerfully. “Wouldn't it be nice if the race could be rowed on paper, instead of the Hudson?” she said.

“It wouldn't be so much fun to watch,” I said. “California has the outside lane—she should finish within a hundred yards of the Virgin. And Columbia is only two lanes away from her. We'll have a nice view, even if the boys do have rougher going.”

She nodded. “Babe Harron will stroke them to a win,” she said firmly. “He's got to!”

There was a lot of feeling in the last three words. I kept my eyes half-closed on Sonia's. I nodded.

“The saying is that when the Babe pulls an oar, they all pull with him,” I said. “And I guess he wants to pull one today—his last race.”

Her eyes closed; her back was against the rail, arms spread along it. She smiled with her fine lips.

I said: “You haven't seen Tim Burke in several weeks, have you? Couldn't you get a peep at him, at the boat-house?”

She shook her head. “Coach is pretty stiff,” she replied. “Coach runs crew, you know—there isn't much fooling.”

I nodded sympathetically. “You might have tried to sneak it,” I said. “Last night, say.”

She opened her eyes and they met mine squarely. Her voice was very low and very steady.

“I wouldn't,” she said. “Why should I?”

“I don't know,” I replied. “Only they say love is swell.”

She smiled at me. “And a hard-boiled columnist believes what they say?” she asked.

I nodded. “And what he sees,” I said very slowly.

She straightened and looked suddenly down the deck, aft. Rita Velda called in her thin voice:

“Come on, Sonia—we're toasting the California freshman!”

Sonia looked at me. “You'll pardon me?” she said.

I smiled. “I'll do better than that,” I said. “I'll toast with you.”

We went back toward the group under the awning aft. A Navy destroyer hissed through the water, close to the Virgin. Most of the crowd had come on deck; Carla Sard looked pallid and very beautiful. Sport clothes helped Rita. The stewards were working over drinks. Rita said:

“A pretty scene—but the water's so gray. It isn't like Naples, the Cote d'Azur—or the Lido.”

Mick O'Rourke pulled a deck chair near a table for Sonia. He said huskily: