The tale of the body thief - By Anne Rice Page 0,181

him to come inside.

“Oh, sir, they are looking for you! They thought you’d left the ship in Barbados! I must contact security at once.”

“Ah, but tell me what happened,” I said, peering directly into his eyes, and beyond his words. I could see the charm working on him as he softened and fell into a complete state of trust.

There had been a dreadful incident in my cabin at sunrise. An elderly British gentleman—who had earlier claimed to be my physician, by the way—had fired several shots at a young assailant who—he claimed—had tried to murder him, but none of these shots had struck the mark. Indeed, no one had ever been able to locate the young assailant. On the basis of the elderly gentleman’s description, it was determined that the young man had occupied this very cabin in which we were now standing, and that he had boarded the ship under an assumed name.

Indeed so had the elderly British gentleman. In fact, the confusion of names was no small part of the entire affair. The steward really didn’t know all that had taken place, except that the elderly British gentleman had been held in custody until he was finally escorted ashore.

The steward was puzzled. “I think they were rather relieved to have him off the ship. But we must call the security officer, sir. They are very concerned about your welfare. It’s a wonder they didn’t stop you when you came aboard again in Barbados. They’ve been searching for you all day.”

I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted to endure any close scrutiny on the part of the security officers, but the matter was quickly decided for me when two men in white uniforms appeared before the door of the Queen Victoria Suite.

I thanked the steward and approached these two gentlemen, inviting them into the suite, and moving deeply into the shadows as was my custom during such encounters, and begging them to forgive me for not turning on the lights. Indeed, the light coming through the veranda doors was quite enough, I explained, considering the poor condition of my skin.

Both these men were deeply troubled and suspicious, and once again I did my best to work the persuasive charm on them as I spoke.

“What has happened to Dr. Alexander Stoker?” I asked. “He is my personal physician, and I’m deeply concerned.”

The younger of the two men, a very red-faced man with an Irish accent, clearly did not believe what I was saying to him, and he could sense that something was very wrong with my manner and my speech. My only hope was to sink this individual into confusion so that he remained quiet.

But the other, the tall and educated Englishman, was much easier to spellbind, and he began to pour out the whole tale without guile.

Seems Dr. Stoker was not really Dr. Stoker, but a man from England named David Talbot, though why he had used the assumed name, he refused to say.

“You know, this Mr. Talbot had a gun on board this vessel, sir!” said the tall officer, while the other continued to stare at me in deep inarticulate distrust. “Of course this organization in London, this Talamasca, or whatever it is, was most apologetic, and eager to make things right. It was settled with the captain finally, and some persons at the home offices of Cunard. No charges were brought against Mr. Talbot when Mr. Talbot agreed to pack his belongings and allow himself to be escorted ashore and to a plane leaving immediately for the United States.”

“To where in the United States?”

“Miami, sir. In fact, I saw him to the flight myself. He insisted upon giving me a message for you, sir, that you should meet him in Miami, at your convenience. At the Park Central Hotel? He gave me this message any number of times.”

“I see,” I answered. “And the man who attacked him? The man at whom he fired the gun?”

“We haven’t found any such person, sir, though undoubtedly this man was seen on this ship earlier by any number of persons, and in the company of Mr. Talbot, it seems! As a matter of fact, that is the young gentleman’s cabin over there, and I believe you were in it, talking to the steward, when we arrived?”

“The whole thing is most puzzling,” I said in my most intimate and confiding manner. “You think this brown-haired young man is no longer on the ship?”

“We’re fairly certain of it, sir, though of course