the old woman off the scent of where he came from.
He wished to God that Benjamin Reynolds was available for some good old sage advice. Then he remembered something Reynolds had once said to another field accountant who'd been exposed unmercifully. 'Use part of the truth. See if it helps. Find some reason for what you're doing.'
He left the stateroom and climbed the steps to A deck. He found her suite and knocked on the door.
Charles Conaway Boothroyd, executive vice-president of Godwin and Rawlins Securities, passed out cold on the deck of the lounge.
Three stewards, two inebriated male partygoers, his wife, and passing navigation officer managed to haul his immense body out of the lounge to his cabin. Laughing they removed the blond giant's shoes and trousers and covered him over with a blanket.
Mrs. Boothroyd brought out two bottles of champagne and poured for the rescuers. She filled a water glass for herself.
The stewards and the Calpurnia officer drank only at Mrs. Boothroyd's absolute insistence, and left as soon as they could. Not, however, before Mrs. Boothroyd had impressed upon them how totally unconscious her husband was.
Alone with the two volunteers, Mrs. Boothroyd made sure the last of the champagne was finished. 'Who's got a cabin?' she asked.
It turned out that only one was a bachelor; the other had his wife at the party.
'Get 'er plastered and let's go on by ourselves.' She flung the challenge at both of them. 'Think you boys can handle me?' asked Mrs. Boothroyd.
The boys responded as one, nodding like hamsters smelling cedar shavings.
'I warn you. I'll keep my skirts up for both of you, and you still won't be enough!' Mrs. Boothroyd swayed slightly as she opened the door. 'God! I hope you all don't mind watching each other. I love it, myself!'
The two men nearly crushed each other following the lady out of the stateroom door.
'Bitch!' Charles Conaway Boothroyd muttered.
He removed the blanket and got into his trousers. He then reached into a drawer and took out one of his wife's stockings.
As if for a practice run, he pulled the thigh end over his head, rose from the bed, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was pleased with what he saw. He removed the stocking and opened the suitcase.
Underneath several shirts were a pair of sneakers and a thin elasticized rope about four feet long.
Charles Conaway Boothroyd laced up the sneakers while the rope lay at his feet. He pulled a black knit sweater over his large frame. He was smiling. He was a happy man.
Elizabeth Scarlatti was already in bed when she heard the knocking. She reached into the bedside table drawer and withdrew a small revolver.
Elizabeth arose and walked to the door to the outer room. 'Who is it?' she asked loudly.
'Matthew Canfield. I'd like very much to speak with you.'
Elizabeth was confused. She had not expected him and she reached for words. 'I'm sure you've had a touch too much to drink, Mr. Canfield. Can't it wait until morning?' She wasn't even convincing to herself.
'You know perfectly well I haven't and it can't. I think we should talk now.' Canfield was counting on the wind and the sea to muffle his voice. He was also counting on the fact that he had business at hand to keep him from becoming very, very sick.
Elizabeth approached the door. 'I can't think of a single reason why we should talk now. I hope it won't be necessary to call the ship's police.'
'For God's sake, lady, will you open this door! Or shall I call the ship's police and say we're both interested in someone running around Europe with securities worth millions, none of which, incidentally, will I get.'
'What did you say?' Elizabeth was now next to the stateroom door.
'Look, Madame Scarlatti' - Matthew cupped his hands against the wood of the door - 'if my information is anywhere near correct, you have a revolver. All right. Open the door, and if I haven't got my hands over my head, and if there's anyone behind me, fire away! Can I be fairer than that?'
She opened the door and Canfield stood there with only the thought of the impending conversation keeping him from being sick. He closed the door and Elizabeth Scarlatti saw the state of his discomfort. As always, she knew the sequence of priorities under pressure.
'Use my bathroom, Mr. Canfield. It's in here. Straighten yourself up and then we'll talk.'
Charles Conaway Boothroyd stuffed two pillows under the blanket of his bed.