John Betancourt - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006

The instant he saw Wiki he burst into a torrent of Portuguese, assuring him that though, yes, he was very anxious to obtain a berth on the Yankee whaleship, as whaling with Americans was the route to a fortune as well as adventure, he would never, most certainly never, stoop to the murder of a man in order to secure even the favorable position Captain Smith was offering. He had not even been a witness to the terrible accident, he vowed. Being so familiar with the way up to the plaza, he had been a long way ahead of the other two when he heard Miguel cry out and then the awful sounds as he bounced off rocks all the way to the bottom of the cliff.

Isaac Norton was there too, gray faced and grim. Wiki went up to him and asked, “Did you see Pedro push Miguel?”

Isaac shook his head. “I was a long way behind,” he said. “I’ve never felt a qualm about heights before; going aloft to fix the topgallant in a stormy night has never worried me a jot, but that bloody track up the cliff had me spooked. The people here ain’t regular people, they’re human goats! And then,” he added, “there was the snake.”

“Snake?” echoed Wiki, startled.

“Aye. Did you see them nasty little burrows dug into the cliff? I was watching them, and watching the edge of that bloody path too. When a snake slid out of one of them holes, it stopped me dead in my tracks, I tell you. I didn’t shift an inch until he had gone his way, and by that time the other two were well out of sight. I guess,” Isaac said lugubriously, “that’s when Pedro grabbed his chance to get rid of the opposition.”

Wiki frowned, but before he could say anything, Captain Smith arrived. Predictably, he was furious. Not only had he lost yet another man, and a good harpooner at that, but the only likely replacement was unavailable, being under deep suspicion of murder. He snapped out orders for a gang to head up the path — and watch their confounded feet while they did it, as he didn’t want any more losses, thank you — and heave the baskets of provisions back to the beach and out to the ship; but all the time he knew that it was pointless to hurry because he would have to hang around to witness the burial, while all the time they were wasting good daylight hours that would have been better spent a-whaling.

Wiki was one of those who stood at the side of the open grave early next morning, as Miguel Dalgardo was interred in the dry soil of Pico. The rest of his boat’s crew attended too, but Wiki thought that he was probably the only one who felt any real grief. When he looked around at the blazingly blue sky, the dusty trees, and the distant yellow maize fields, it all seemed unreal. Black-clad women stood at a distance while the priest intoned in Latin, and a young boy in a surplice waved a censer that emitted a thread of fragrant smoke.

As the first clods of earth hit the top of the plain coffin, Captain Smith walked away, followed by the boat’s crew, with Wiki. As Wiki trudged down the narrow path, he carefully watched his feet, noticing yet again how pebbles rolled to the side and then disappeared. There was no movement at all in any of the burrows that dotted the side of the cliff.

When they were finally at sea, with all fair-weather canvas spread, it felt a lot more like real life. Then, to Wiki’s surprise, Mr. Starbuck, the first mate, called for all hands to attend the auction of Miguel Dalgardo’s belongings. The officers did not know about the passion for making wills on the Paths of Duty, he deduced.

He looked about for Isaac Norton, to see how he was taking it. As expected, the harpooner was hurrying toward Mr. Starbuck, and saying urgently, “Sir, an auction ain’t necessary, and I’ll tell you why—” However, the first mate wouldn’t listen, ordering Isaac to assemble with the others.

Wiki stood to one side as the crew arrived and shuffled about in a huddle. They all watched as Miguel’s sea chest was brought out of the steerage and placed at the foot of the foremast. Wiki’s thoughts were flying. Isaac said again, “Sir—” but Wiki interrupted. Before he even fully realized he was going to do it, he stepped forward and said very firmly, “I would like to bid two dollars for Miguel’s chest, sir.”

Everyone swung about and stared at him. Isaac Norton shouted, “You can’t do that!”

Wiki lifted an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Damn it — you’re the man who drew up his goddamned Last Will and Testament, so you know that you can’t do that, Wiki Coffin!”

“And where in his will does it say I can’t buy his chest?”

“He left everything to me, and you know it!”

“He left you the contents of his chest, not the chest itself.” Wiki drew out the little notebook where he had copied the details of every single will he had drawn up. Slowly, very aware of the weight of the concerted attention of everyone on deck, he turned to the right page and read out the simple sentence that had made up the body of Miguel Dalgardo’s will. “ ‘I hereby bequeath the contents of my sea chest to my friend, Isaac Norton.’ ” Then, as the silence dragged on, he repeated, “So I would like to buy the chest, sir, once Isaac has claimed the contents.”

“But that ain’t right!” Isaac exclaimed.

Mr. Starbuck, who had been staring from Isaac to Wiki and back again from the black shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, shifted for the first time, and said, “It sounds reasonable to me. The right thing for me to do is empty out this here chest, give you all the contents, and then take bids on the chest itself, just as Wiki says.”

Isaac went white and shouted, “No!” — but too late. Without bothering to argue anymore, Mr. Starbuck bent down, opened the lid, and tipped the contents out.

The first thing Wiki saw was the famous shore-going shirt. It was as gorgeously embroidered as Miguel had promised, and he felt another stab of sorrow. Next to it was a black wallet, and when Mr. Starbuck’s thick, tobacco-stained fingers opened the wallet, a stream of gold coins fell out.

“So Miguel was the man who robbed that merchant in Fayal!” Captain Smith exclaimed. “No wonder he was so relieved to get on board and away!”

Until Wiki heard his voice, he hadn’t realized that Captain Smith had come on deck to witness the disposal of Miguel’s earthly goods. He turned to him and said evenly, “Sir, if you send a boat into Pico, I think Pedro will still be willing to sign articles, seeing that you are going to be in need of another harpooner.”

The captain’s little eyes studied him shrewdly. “You don’t reckon Pedro was Miguel’s killer?”

Wiki nodded. “Isaac Norton was the man who pushed him off the cliff,” he said.

Everyone swung around and stared at Isaac, who had gone whiter than ever. “He was my friend!” he shouted. “Why the devil would I kill him?”

“Because you had found out he had the wallet of gold,” Wiki said with utter sureness. “You were the one who started the craze for making wills on board the ship, and you made certain that Miguel knew that you had made him your heir. After that, it was only a matter of time before Miguel returned the favor by leaving everything to you. Then all you needed was a good chance to finish him off. Climbing the cliff was the perfect opportunity because Pedro and Miguel had already quarreled publicly, and you had the perfect scapegoat. Once Pedro was out of sight ahead, all that was necessary was to give Miguel a shove.”

Isaac Norton shouted, “You can’t prove that — not in a thousand years!”

“You did it yourself, when you were stupid enough to embroider your lie with that tall tale of a snake,” said Wiki with disdain.

“Why, what the hell do you mean?”

“There are no snakes on Pico.”