The sailcloth shroud - By Charles Williams Page 0,18

trust a stupid meathead like Keefer. We know all about him. The night before you sailed from Panama he was down to his last dollar, mooching drinks in a waterfront bar. When you arrived here sixteen days later he moved into the most expensive hotel in town and started throwing money around like a drunk with an expense account. They’re holding twenty-eight hundred for him in the hotel safe, and he had over six hundred in his wallet when his luck ran out. That figures out to somewhere around four grand altogether, so you must have got more. It was your boat. Where’s Baxter now?”

“Lying on the bottom, in about two thousand fathoms,” I said hopelessly. What was the use? They’d never believe me; Keefer had fixed that, for all time. I thought of the pulpy mess the gun barrels had made of his face, and shuddered. These were the men who’d done it, and they’d do the same thing to me.

“Okay,” the voice said in the darkness beyond the flashlight. “Maybe you’d better prime him a little.”

A big arm swung down and the open hand rocked my face around. I tried to climb to my feet; another hand grabbed the front of my shirt and hauled. I swayed weakly, trying to swing at the shadowy bulk in front of me. My s were caught from behind. A fist like a concrete block slugged me in the stomach. I bent forward and fell, writhing in agony, when the man behind turned me loose.

“Where’s Baxter?”

I was unable to speak. One of them hauled me to a sitting position again and slammed me against the wall. I sobbed for breath while the light fixed me like some huge and malevolent eye.

“Why be stupid?” the voice asked. “All we want to know is where you put him ashore. You don’t owe him anything; you carried out your end of the bargain. He’s making a sucker of you, anyway; he knew he was letting you in for this, but he didn’t tell you that, did he?”

“Then why would I lie about it?” I gasped. “If I’d put him ashore, I’d tell you. But I didn’t.”

“He promised you more money later? Is that it?”

“He didn’t promise me anything, or give me anything. I don’t know where Keefer got that money, unless he stole it out of Baxter’s suitcase. But I do know Baxter’s dead. I sewed him in canvas myself, and buried him.”

The rasping voice broke in. “Cut out the crap, Rogers! We’re not asking if you put him ashore. We know that already, from Keefer. But he didn’t know where, because you did all the navigation. It was the mouth of some river, but he didn’t know which one, or what country it was in.”

“Was this after you’d broken all the bones in his face?” I asked. “Or while you were still breaking them? Look, you knew Baxter, presumably. Didn’t he ever have a heart attack before?”

“No.”

“Is Baxter his right name?”

“Never mind what his name is.”

“I take it that it’s not. Then why are you so sure the man who was with me is the one you’re looking for?”

“He was seen in Panama.”

“It could still be a mistake.”

“Take a look.” A hand extended into the cone of light, holding out a photograph.

I took it. It was a four-by-five snapshot of a man at the topside controls of a sport fisherman, a tall and very slender man wearing khaki shorts and a long-visored fishing cap. It was Baxter; there was no doubt of it. But it was the rest of the photo that caught my attention—the boat itself, and the background. There was something very familiar about the latter.

“Well?” the voice asked coldly.

I held it out. “It’s Baxter.” Lying was futile.

“Smart boy. Of course it is. You ready to tell us now?”

“I’ve already told you. He’s dead.”

“I don’t get you, Rogers. I know you couldn’t be stupid enough to think we’re bluffing. You saw Keefer.”

“Yes, I saw him. And what did it buy you? A poor devil out of his mind with pain trying to figure out what you wanted him to say so he could say it. Is that what you want? I’m no braver with a broken face than the next guy, so I’ll probably do the same thing.”

“We’ve wasted enough time with him!” This was the tough voice again. “Grab his arms!”

I tried to estimate the distance to the flashlight, and gathered myself. It was hopeless, but I had to do something.