They went on laboriously, Kells dragging the little man, the little man cursing him softly, savagely. The after end of the passageway was dark now. Kells sucked in breath sharply. There was acrid smoke in the darkness — something more than the smell of black powder. It was like burning wood. Kells pressed his body against the bulkhead, risked another match.
A little way ahead there was a large rectangular port — a coaling port — in the ship’s side, another on the inboard side of the passageway. The match flickered out and Kells edged forward, felt in the darkness for the big iron clamps. They were stiff from disuse but he strained and tugged until all but one were unscrewed, laid back. The last he hammered with the butt of the revolver until it gave; thrust all his weight against the plate. It creaked, swung slowly outward.
The sea was black, oily. The fog had thinned a little and the ship rolled lazily on a long even ground swell. Far to the left, Kells could see yellow sky over Long Beach, and to the right a distant winking light that might be the Eaglet. There was no sign of the launch.
Then he heard shouting and the sound of people running on the deck above him. He waited, listened, looked at the sea. The black water reddened; Kells leaned far out of the port and saw a long tongue of flame astern. As he watched, the water and the sky brightened. All the after quarter of the ship was afire.
When he again looked forward, a launch had rounded the bow, was idling about two hundred yards off.
Kells stuck the revolver in his belt, untied and kicked off his shoes. Then he took out the revolver, fired twice into the red darkness. By the mounting glow from astern he thought he saw a white hand, raised; the launch swung toward him in a wide circle.
He put the sheaf of crisp bills into his hip pocket, buttoned the flap. He took off his coat and threw it and the revolver into the sea. He picked the little man up in his arms, said, “Pull yourself together, baby — we’re going bye-bye,” got him somehow through the port, dropped him. Then he stood on the lower edge of the port, took a deep breath, dived. There was darkness and the shock of cold water.
He came to the surface a few yards from the little man, reached him in two long strokes and hooked one hand under his armpit. The shock had revived him — he struggled feebly.
Kells grunted, “Take it easy,” and swam toward the launch.
The red-faced man whom Kells had talked to on the wharf leaned over the gunwale; together they hoisted the little man aboard. Then the red-faced man helped Kells. He had been alone in the launch. He went to the wheel.
Kells took off his trousers and wrung them out. He said: “How come you’re alone?”
The red-faced man put his wheel hard over, spat high into the wind. “Fay said for you to go something yourself,” he said. “I went back to the wharf and then I got to worrying, so I come out by myself.”
Kells squatted beside the little man, looked back at the Joanna. Her after third was an up-and-down pillar of flame.
“Looks like a fire to me,” he said. He looked down at the white, drawn face. “You’ve been playing with matches.”
The little man smiled.
“It’s a fire, sure enough.” The red-faced man touched the-throttle. Then he added: “There ain’t much of a crowd. They’ll all have a lifeboat apiece.” He chuckled to himself. “You’re pretty wet — where do you want to go?”
Kells said: “Eaglet.” He put on his pants.
Fay sat in a big chair behind a desk. He was a very big, powerfully muscled man with straight black hair, a straight nose, empty ice-gray eyes.
There was a woman. She sat on one side of the desk with a large glass in her hand. She was very drunk — but in a masculine way.
Kells stood across from Fay. His expression was not pleasant. He said: “What’s it all about? Were you trying to get me killed?”
Fay said: “Why not?”
The woman giggled softly.
Fay turned his head without changing his blank expression, looked at the little man who had been carried into the cabin, laid on a couch. “Who’s your boy friend?”
The woman said: “Nemo Kastner of KC — little Nemo, the chorus boy’s delight.”
Kells looked at the woman. She was blonde — but darkly, warmly. Her mouth was very red without a great deal of rouge, and her eyes were shadowed and deep. She was a tall woman with very interesting curves.
Fay said: “This is Miss Granquist.”
Kells nodded shortly. He took a bottle and a glass from the desk, went to the little man.
Fay got up and went to one of the ports. He looked out at the Joanna, spur of fire against the horizon. “Beautiful!” he said — “beautiful!” Then he turned and went over to where Kells knelt over little Kastner.
Kells held a glass of whiskey to Kastner’s mouth. Kastner drank as if he wanted it very much.
Kells looked up at Fay. He dipped his head toward Kastner, said: “This is the young fella who rubbed Doc.”
Fay twisted his mouth to a slow sneer. His eyes dulled. He said: “You shot Doc, you son of a bitch — and tried to hang it on Ruth.”
Kells stood up slowly.
Kastner laughed quietly, carefully, as though it hurt his chest. “God almighty!” he said — “what a bunch of suckers.” His lisp was soft, slight.
Kells and Fay stood looking at one another for a little while. Then the woman said: “You’d better get a doctor for his nibs,” She was sitting with her elbows on the desk, holding her face tightly between her hands.
Kastner shook his head. He laughed again as though moved by some secret, uncontrollable mirth. There was a little blood on his mouth.
Kells said: “You want a drink.” He poured more whiskey into the glass and sat down beside Kastner.
“What a bunch of suckers!” Kastner looked at the glass of whiskey. He looked at and through Kells. “Rose called Eddie O’Donnell and me after you left him this afternoon. He said Dave Perry had called while you were there — told him that Doc was at the joint in Hollywood waiting for you...”
Kells held the glass to Kastner’s mouth. He drank, closed his eyes for a moment, went on: “Perry knew Rose was going to have Doc bumped — an’ he knew Rose wanted to frame it for you. Only he’d figured on doing it on the boat. It looked like a good play.”
Kells said: “Why me?”
Kastner coughed and held one hand very tightly against his chest. “Rose thinks you’re a wrong guy to be on somebody else’s shoe — an’ he wanted to tie it up to Fay.”
Kastner’s dark, near-sighted eyes wandered for a moment to Fay. “Rose figures on airing everybody he ain’t sure of — he’s got a list. That’s why he sent for Eddie an’ me. He wants to move in on the whole town — him and Dave Perry and Reilly.”
Kastner stopped, closed his eyes. Then he went on with his eyes closed: “Doc was in their way — and besides, Rose wanted the boat for himself.”
Kells poured more whiskey into the glass. He said: “The Joanna came out tonight; how did they get the load?”
Kastner said: “She came out last night, an’ they worked all night transferring cargo from a couple schooners — twelve hundred cases. The play was to run it in, three cases to a launch, each trip. They’ve got a swell federal connection at the wharf — the point was to get it by the cutters.”
Kastner coughed again. “That’s about all.”
Fay went back to the desk, sat down. Kells held the glass of whiskey toward Kastner but Kastner shook his head. Kells drank a little of it.
Kastner went on listlessly: “Eddie an’ me went to Perry’s an’ I busted in and waited for you. Doc was scared. That’s the reason he’d wanted to see you: he had some kind of an in on what Rose was going to do an’ wanted help. He was scared pea green.”
Kells grinned at Fay.