Gulf coast girl: original title, Scorpion reef - By Charles Williams Page 0,11

to prove I was wrong about it, but I was suddenly very ashamed of myself. It was odd, especially when I still didn’t know why she’d done it, or why she had told me her name was Wayne while they’d called her Macaulay. All I was sure of was that I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“I’m very sorry,” I said. “I’d like to apologize, if it’s worth anything.”

Her face brightened a little. Then she smiled. With the eyes still full of tears that way, it could catch hold of you right down in the throat.

“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s my fault, anyway. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid as not to realize that was the way it would look. What else could you think?”

I was uncomfortable. “I’d like to forget it,” I said, “if you could. But what in the name of God did you do it for?”

She hesitated. “I’d hoped I would have more time to make up my mind before I told you. If I told you at all. But you were too observant.”

“Make up your mind about what?”

Her eyes met mine simply. “About you.”

“Why?” I asked.

She stood up. It was obvious she was under a strain. “Would you—excuse me a minute? I’d like to change, and maybe if I had a chance to think—”

“Sure,” I said. She went out. I sat down and lit a cigarette. There was no use trying to guess what it was all about, or what she really wanted. I thought of the two men who had just left. There was something deep and probably quite dangerous going on under the surface here, but I couldn’t see what I had to do with it.

I switched back to her, and as usual I couldn’t get my thoughts sorted out. I was conscious of being happy about something, and in a moment I realized it was simply knowing I’d been wrong about the whole thing. That made no sense at all, of course. Maybe I ought to see a psychiatrist, I thought sourly.

She came out in a few minutes, dressed and looking as smooth as ever. She had put on fresh make-up, and the ugly redness was gone from the side of her face. She touched it gently.

“I want to thank you again,” she said. “I don’t know how much more of it I could have taken.”

I stood up. “Then you do know where he is?”

She nodded quietly.

I began to understand then what she had been trying to make up her mind about. But I still didn’t see why. What did they want with me? We went out. She locked the door and we walked out to the car.

She got behind the wheel, but made no move to turn on the ignition. She slipped around facing me, with her elbow on the back of the seat. It was very quiet, and her face was deadly serious. She had made up her mind.

I gave her a cigarette and lit it, and lit one for myself. I dropped the lighter back in my pocket.

“There’s one thing,” I said. “Maybe I don’t want to know where he is.”

She gave me a quick glance. “You don’t need a lot of explanation, do you?”

“It was just a guess,” I admitted. “But I’m still not sure I want to know anything Tweed Jacket is trying to find out. I don’t like that efficient look of his.”

“You won’t have to know,” she said. “At least, not until we’re ready to go. I’m just offering you a job.”

“Before we go any further,” I said, “what kind of jam is he in? Not the police?”

“No. You’ve seen two of them. They didn’t look like police, did they?”

“Hardly,” I said. “But what does he want with me?”

“He needs help. Specifically, a diver.”

I took a puff on the cigarette and looked out through the moss-hung dimness of the trees. “The world is full of divers. They run into each other nowadays, spearing fish.”

“A diver is not quite all,” she said. “Remember—”

I began to get it then, all the questions about boats and offshore sailing and navigation. He needed several people, actually, but in a thing like this the fewer you told, the better.

“So that’s why the gun business?” I said.

She nodded. “I’ll admit it was rather theatrical, but you understand, don’t you? When I read that story about you in the paper I thought you were just the man we were looking for, but I had to be sure. Not only