Корнелл Вулрич - A Treasury of Stories (Collection of novelettes and short stories)

Whitey threw something over the dead girl, raced out the way he had come, and continued along the passage to the upper end, careening crazily from side to side in his hurry. He whizzed up the stairs there and found himself in the wings — or what passed as such, since the showboat used no scenery. The chorus was still dancing — less than ten minutes had gone by since he’d left his seat. Between them and the backdrop, instead of in front as in a regular theater, was the band. The stage manager materialized from between two folds in the curtain and Whitey flashed his badge.

“Who’s missing out there?” he asked.

“Carrots, leading lady. She’s gonna get hell for it, too.”

“She has already,” snapped Whitey. “Then that’s the whole show, outside of her? What do they do, dance all evening?”

“The comedian and his stooge spell them. That’s them, those two standing across from us in the other wing.”

“How long have they been there?”

“From the time the curtain went up. I seen ’em myself. They always do that. It’s cooler up here.”

“Save it till later!” said Whitey, and dived down the stairs again, along the passage, and up at the other end. He made it as quickly as he would have by jumping out on the stage and running through the audience, which might have started a panic on the overcrowded boat. He ran up the short vertical ladder to the crow’s-nest containing the searchlight and the bored-looking sailor who manipulated it. Just at present, however, he was letting it shoot skyward while he followed the performers with a colored spot.

“Never mind them,” ordered Whitey breathlessly, “train that other thing down on the water, close in as you can get it, and keep it going from side to side, so that you’ll throw the light on anyone who slips overboard and starts swimming ashore—”

“I take orders from—” the sailor tried to say.

“From me from now on,” barked Whitey, “or else I’ll knock you offa here and do it myself!” He waited just long enough to see the big metal hood give a half-revolution and splash a big patch of water to daylight, then slowly wheel around to the other side. Every ripple on the surface stood out in the fierce glare.

“Will it go all the way around?” Whitey asked.

“Just halfway,” sweated the sailor, “and then back again.”

“That’ll do it,” said Whitey. “Train one of those colored ones backwards, into the arc the big one doesn’t cover, and leave it that way — that’ll give us the whole circle. And keep the other one on the go. The minute you spot anything that doesn’t belong out there — I don’t care what it is — lemme know, if you value your tattooed hide.”

“I ain’t got so much as a—” the sailor tried to contradict, but Whitey was already on his way down again. When he hit the below-deck passageway again, the lady captain was still parked outside the locked door. She had quit trying the knob and was deftly rolling herself a cigarette instead. She promptly dropped it at the sight of him.

“Where’d you come from?” she gawked. “I’ve been waiting all this time for you to get in the side way.”

“I’ve been in and out again,” he told her. “Follow me. You don’t look like the kind that throws faints, and I want to talk to you.” They went through the still empty chorus dressing room and beyond. The lady captain glimpsed the prone figure under the mirror and immediately went into an employer’s rage.

“You holder-outer! You letterdowner!” she bellowed. “What d’ye mean by gumming up my opening number? Who d’ye think you are, Ethel Merman?”

“Close what’s left of that door and shut up,” said Whitey sourly. “She’s dead.”

The lady captain was not, to put it mildly, the nervous type. She went over, tossed aside the towel, and spaded one hand under the girl’s flabby arm. “Yep,” she snapped, “cold as yesterday’s headline.” She came away stroking her chin like a man. “Have to get that gal from Tony’s to take her place. Get her five bucks cheaper, too,” she commented.

“Have a murder like this every night?” Whitey said bitingly. “No? Then why not show a little surprise?”

“Boo! I’m surprised!” she came right back at him. “What d’ye want me to do, turn handsprings? All I know is, this throws a hitch into my show. Look at that door! And look at that porthole! They put them in for nothing, you know; don’t cost a cent!”

“I’ve come across some tough cases in my time,” he let her know. “I’d offer you a cigar, only I haven’t got the kind that blows up in your face. Now let’s get going. Who was she?”

“Carrots Kirby, twenty-four, fifty a week for showing her vaccination mark.”

“Run around with anybody?”

“Anybody,” she agreed.

“Big help, aren’t you?” he glared. “Any way of getting word ashore that we have a murder case aboard?”

“Nope,” she said calmly. “Have to wait until the tug comes back at twelve.”

“What’s the idea? Why doesn’t it stand by?”

“That would cost do-re-mi,” she stated. “I’d have to hire it for the whole evening. This way I just charter it for the two trips, coming and going.”

“You mean you haven’t any small boats on this thing? You’re crowded to the rails! What would you do if anything happened?”

“This isn’t a sea-going boat. We’re all lighted up from head to stem, if it’s a collision you’re thinking about. We’ve got fire-extinguishers, if that’s what y’mean. And my bartender doubles as a bouncer, in case of a riot.”

“With water all around, where does he bounce them to?” Whitey demanded.

“He don’t bounce ’em to anywhere,” she stated elegantly. “He just bounces ’em on the button, and they stay quiet.”

“Just a sissy enterprise from start to finish. How long were you in front of that door?”

“Just got there ahead of you.”

“How do I know that?” Whitey challenged.

“You don’t,” she agreed, “but you can check up on it with the bartender. I was watching the show from in back when I saw Carrots missed her cue. As a matter of fact, I saw you stumble by. Only came down after you did, while you were at the porthole.”

Your luck is, Whitey thought grimly, that it was a man’s hand I saw hauling her in. He said, “If you were standing in back watching, then who was missing from the show — outside of her?”

“Nobody,” she snapped. “I only have the chorus, the two comics, her and the stage manager working for me. The stage manager was on that side, signaling me from the curtain to go page her. The two comics were on the other side, kibitzing with the girls like they always do. I could see both of ’em. Every girl was in place, not one missing.”

“Who else y’got on your payroll?”

“Just Shorty behind the light up there, Butch the bartender, and an electrician down in the power room in case anything goes wrong with the lights. We generate our own power, y’know.”

“How about the audience? Anyone leave their seats before I did?”

“Not a blessed soul. They never start wandering back for refills until the show’s past the halfway mark, anyway.”

“Well, did anyone go to their seats after everyone else was seated, then?” Whitey demanded.

“Nope, they all sat down at once. You saw the scramble for seats that went on yourself.”

“Well, if I’m going to take your word for it,” he remarked, “I’ll end up by believing a swordfish took a leap in the window and did it to her. All I know is she’s been turned into a tomato surprise and whoever did it is still on board.”

There was a tap at the shattered door and the bartender’s homely face peered through the split panel. “Shorty just picked up something with the big light—” he began. Whitey nearly flattened him going by, and was up on the platform in no time flat.