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  Kells walked up the gangway a step behind and a little to the left of Rose. Several seamen and hangers-on stood at the rail, stared at them. They crossed the cabaret that had been built across the upper deck, went down a wide red-carpeted stairway to the principal gambling room. It ran the width and nearly the length of the ship. Dozens of green-covered tables lined the sides: Blackjack, chuck-a-luck, faro, roulette, craps. Two dealers were removing the canvas covers from one of the big roulette tables.

  They turned at the bottom of the stairs and went aft to a white ath-warship bulkhead. There were three doors in the bulkhead; the middle one was ajar. They went in.

  Swanstrom sat in a tilted swivel chair at a large roll-top desk. Swanstrom had been Doc Haardt's house manager; he was a very fat man with big brown eyes, a slow and eager smile. A black-and-white kitten was curled up on his lap.

  The swivel chair creaked as he swung heavily forward and stood up. He put the kitten on the desk, said—:

  “How are ya, Jack?”

  Rose nodded abstractedly, cleared his throat. “This is Mister Kells.... Mister Swanstrom.”

  Swanstrom opened his mouth. He held out his hand toward Kells and looked at the door. Kells had stopped just inside the door; he half turned and closed it, pressed the little brass knob and the spring lock clicked. He stood looking at Rose, Swanstrom, the room.

  There was a blue-shaded drop light hanging from the center of the overhead and another over the desk. There was a big old-fashioned safe against one wall, and beside it there was a short ladder leading up to a narrow shoulder-height platform that ran across all the forward bulkhead— the one through which they had entered. The bulkhead above the platform was lined with sheet iron and there was a two-inch slit running across it at about the height of a medium sized man's eyes. There were two .30-30 rifles on the platform, leaning against the bulkhead. There was another narrow door back of the desk.

  Rose went to the desk and sat down, took a gray leather key case out of his pocket and unlocked one of the desk drawers. He slid the drawer open and took out a cigar box and opened it, took out a sheaf of hundred-dollar notes, slid the rubber band off onto two fingers and counted out twenty-four. He put the rest back in the box, the box back in the drawer, locked it. He counted the money again and held it out toward Kells. “Now, if you'll give me a receipt...” he said.

  Kells took the money and tucked it into his inside breast pocket, said: “Sure. Write it out.” His face was hard and expressionless.

  Rose scribbled a few words on a piece of paper and went to the desk and leaned over and signed it.

  Swanstrom was still standing in the middle of the room looking self-consciously at Kells, a meaningless smile curving his mouth. He said: “Well, I guess I better go up and see if everything's ready for the first load.” Kells said: “We'll all go.”

  There was silence for a moment and then a new thin voice lisped: “Please lock your hands together back of your neck.” Kells slowly turned his head and looked at the narrow white door behind the desk. It had been opened about three inches and the slim blue barrel of a heavy-caliber revolver was stuck through the opening. As he watched, the door swung open a little farther and he saw a little dark man standing in the dimness of the passageway. The little man was leaning against the side of the passageway and holding the revolver pointed at Kells' chest and smiling through thick-lensed glasses. Kells put his hands back of his neck.

  Rose came around the desk and took the automatic out of Kells' belt, held it by the barrel and swung it swiftly back and then forward at Kells' head. Kells moved his hand enough to take most of the butt of the automatic on his knuckles, and bent his knees and grabbed Rose's arm. Then he fell backwards, pulled Rose down with him.

  The little man came into the room quickly and kicked the side of Kells' head very hard. Kells relaxed his grip on Rose and Rose stood up, brushed himself off and went over and kicked Kells very carefully, drawing his foot back and aiming, and then kicking very accurately and hard.

  The kitten jumped off the desk and went to Kells' bloody head and sniffed delicately. Kells could feel the kitten's warm breath. Then everything got dark and he couldn't feel anything any more.

  Chapter Two

  THERE WAS VERY dim yellow light coming from somewhere. There were voices. One was O'Donnell's voice but it was from too far off to make out the words. Then the voices went away.

  Kells moved his shoulder an inch at a time and turned his head slowly. It felt as if it might fall in several pieces. He closed his eyes. The yellow light was coming through a partially-opened door at the other end of a long dark storeroom. Kells could dimly see cases piled along the sides. He could see a man pitting on one of the cases, silhouetted against the pale light.

  The man stood up and came over and looked down at him. Kells closed his eyes and lay very still and the man walked back and sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. There was thin jazz music coming from somewhere above; the man tapped his foot, in time.

  Kells watched him for a long time; then the man got up and came over again and lighted a match and held it down near his face. He went away through the door and closed it behind him. In the moment that the door was open Kells saw that the room was very big, and rounded at the end opposite the door—following the line of the ship's stern. There were hundreds of cases piled along the sides. Then the door closed and it was dark.

  Kells got up slowly, holding his head between his hands, took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe some of the dried blood from his face. He went swiftly to the door, found it locked. He leaned against the bulkhead, and sharp buzzing hammers pounded inside his skull.

  In a little while he heard the man coming back. He stood flat against the bulkhead just inside the door, and when the man came in Kells slid one arm around his neck and pulled it tight with his other hand. The man's curse was cut to a faint gurgle; they fell down and rolled across the deck. Kells kept his arm pressed tightly against the man's throat and after a time he stopped struggling, went limp. Kells lay panting beside him for a few minutes without releasing his hold and then, when he was sure that the man was unconscious, got up. He stooped and fumbled in the man's pockets, found a box of matches and a small woven-leather blackjack.

  He went swiftly to the door, through to a narrow L-shaped room where unused chairs, stools, tables were stored. There was a hatchway with a steep-sloped stair leading down to another compartment. Kells went quietly down.

  There was a paper-shaded light over the flat desk; there were two bunks. A man in overalls was snoring in one. There was a watertight door in one bulkhead and Kells went through it to a dark passageway that led forward along the ship's side. About thirty feet along the passageway he stepped on something soft, yielding; he lighted a match and held it down to the drained face of the little man who had said “Please lock your hands together back of your neck.” There was a dark stain high on the front of his shirt; the heavy blue revolver was gripped in his outstretched hand. He was breathing.

  Kells pried the revolver out of the little man's hand and stood up. He balanced the revolver across his fingers and a kind of soft insanity came into his eyes. He shook out the match and went back along the dark passageway, through the compartment where the overalled man was sleeping, up to the L-shaped storeroom. In the far end of the L there was another narrow door. Kells swung it open softly.

  Swanstrom was sitting at the desk with his back to the door. Another man, a spare thin-haired consumptive-looking man was sitting on a chair on the platform, one of the 30-30's across his knees. He looked at Kells and he looked at the big blue revolver in Kells' hand and he put the .30-30 down on the platform.

  Swanstrom swung around and opened his mouth, and then he smiled as if he were very tired.

  Kells said: “Twenty-four hundred, and goddamned quick.”

  The thin moan of saxophones came down to them from somewhere above.

  Swanstrom inclined his head toward the desk. He said, st
ill with the tired smile: “I ain't got a key.”

  The lock of the other door clicked and the door opened and Rose and O'Donnell came in. They stood still for perhaps five seconds; O'Donnell was almost behind Rose. He closed the door and then he reached for the light-switch on the bulkhead. Kells squeezed the big Colt; O'Donnell fell forward to his hands and knees, shook his head slowly from side to side, sank down and forward onto his face.

  Most of Kells' face was dark with dried blood. His eyes were glazed, insane. He said: “Anybody else?”

  He swayed. He moved slowly toward Rose. Swanstrom was staring at O'Donnell; Swanstrom stood up, and in the same instant someone knocked heavily on the door, the knob rattled. Someone shouted outside. Kells moved toward Rose. His cold eyes and the slim blue barrel of the revolver were focused on Rise's belt buckle.

  Rose licked his full lower lip, and sweat glistened on his dark forehead. He put one hand into his inside pocket and took out the folded sheaf of hundred-dollar notes, held them towards Kells.

  Kells took them, nodded. He grinned, and the grin was a terrible thing on his bloody face. He backed slowly, carefully to the door through which he had entered, said, “First man through gets one in the guts,” backed out and closed the door.

  He went swiftly to the hatchway, down. The man who had been asleep had gone. Kells went through the passageway to the little man, lighted a match and saw that he was conscious.

  His eyes were open behind the thick glasses and he smiled up at the flare of the match, kicked viciously at Kells' knee.

  Kells said: “Now, now—Garbo.”

  He gripped the little man by the collar and dragged him along the passageway. There was sudden faint light at the after end and he waited until a shadow came into the light, shot at it once, twice. The sound was like thunder in the narrow space.

  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.

  Kastner twisted on the couch. Suddenly he spoke very rapidly, as if he wanted to say a great many things all at once: “Eddie waited down on the street to give me a buzz on the downstairs bell when you started up. Rose had called Reilly an' he was all set with three men to make the pinch—two in front an' one in the alley.”

  Kells asked: “How come you sapped Dave?”

  “He was putting on an act for the girl so she wouldn't think he was in on it. He got too realistic.”