nothing left. His breathing was erratic; blood was spilling into his windpipe. There was only one hope - to get to his cabin and reach his wife. She'd know what to do. She'd pay the ship's doctor a fortune to make him well. And somehow they would understand. No man could take this kind of punishment and be questioned.
With enormous effort he began to rise. He muttered incoherently as he steadied himself on the mattress.
'Don't try to stand, friend. Just answer a question,' said Canfield.
'What... What? Quit - '
'Where's Scarlett?' Canfield felt he was working against time. The man would collapse any second. 'Don't know... '
'Is he alive?'
'Who...'
'You know damn well who! Scarlett! Her son!' With his last resource of strength, Boothroyd accomplished the seemingly impossible. Clutching the mattress, he staggered backward as if about to collapse. His movements pulled the heavy pad partially off the bed, loosening the hold of the blankets, and as Canfield stepped forward, Boothroyd suddenly lifted the mattress free of the bed and flung it at the field accountant. As the mattress rose in the air, Boothroyd rushed against it with his full weight. Canfield fired wildly into the ceiling as he and the old woman went down under the impact. Boothroyd gave a last push, crushing the two against the wall and the floor, letting his push spring him back onto his feet. He turned, hardly able to see, and weaved out of the room. Once he reached the other stateroom he pulled off the stocking, opened the door, and rushed out.
Elizabeth Scarlatti moaned in pain, groping for her ankle. Canfield pushed against the mattress, and as it fell off, he tried to help the old woman to her feet. 'I think my ankle or some part of my foot is broken.' Canfield wanted only to go after Boothroyd but he couldn't leave the old woman like this. Too, if he did leave her, she'd be right back on the phone and at this juncture, that would never do. 'I'll carry you to the bed.'
'For God's sake put the mattress back first. I'm brittle!' Canfield was torn between taking off his belt, binding the old woman's hands and running after Boothroyd, and carrying out her instructions. The former would be foolish - she'd scream bloody murder; he replaced the mattress and gently lifted her onto the bed. 'How does it feel?'
'Ghastly.' She winced as he placed the pillows behind her. 'I guess I'd better call the ship's doctor.' However, Canfield made no motion toward the phone. He tried to find the words to convince her to let him have his way.
'There's plenty of time for that. You want to go after that man, don't you?'
Canfield looked at her harshly. 'Yes.'
'Why? Do you think he has something to do with my son?'
'Every second I spend explaining lessens the possibility of our ever finding out.'
'How do I know you'll be dealing in my interest? You didn't want me to phone for help when we certainly needed it. You nearly got us both killed, as a matter of fact. I think I deserve some explanation.'
'There isn't time now. Please, trust me.'
'Why should I?'
Canfield's eye caught sight of the rope dropped by Boothroyd. 'Among other reasons too lengthy to go into, if I hadn't been here, you would have been killed.' He pointed at the thin cord on the floor. 'If you think that rope was meant to tie your hands with, remind me to explain the advantages of garroting with an elasticized cord as opposed to a piece of clothesline. Your wrists could wriggle out of this.' He picked the cord up and thrust it in front of her. 'Not your throat!'
She looked at him closely. 'Who are you? Whom do you work for?'
Canfield remembered the purpose of his visit - to tell part of the truth. He had decided to say he was employed by a private firm interested in Ulster Scarlett - a magazine or some sort of publication. Under the present circumstances, that was obviously foolish. Boothroyd was no thief; he was a killer on assignment. Elizabeth Scarlatti was marked for assassination. She was no part of a conspiracy. Canfield needed all the resources available to him. 'I'm a representative of the United States government.'
'Oh, my God! That ass, Senator Brownlee! I had no idea!'
'Neither does he, I assure you. Without knowing it, he got us started, but that's as far as he goes.'
'And now I presume all Washington is playing detective and not