Bodies from the Library: Lost Tales of Mystery and Suspense by Agatha Christie and other Masters of the Golden Age. Georgette Heyer
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Fade into comparative silence of hold, where men are bumping about in search.)
MACLEAN: Show a light over here.
VOICE II: Jees, look at that, chum! The man with the glaring eyes!
VOICE III: It’s a rat, you silly bleeder!
VOICE II: What I say is, no luck ever came from having women aboard.
VOICE I: We heard yer. Talk about a needle in a haystack. Chap could stay hidden for days in this stuff. What I say—
(Fade. Fade in to saloon)
GREER: I didn’t want to say it in front of the ladies. But I don’t mind telling you gentlemen, with all this cargo we’ve got below hatches, a chap might stay hidden for a long time—search-party or no search-party. He’s an ex-seaman. He’d know his way about.
JAMES: Why wasn’t a better watch kept while she was tied up at the quay? Who’s responsible?’
GREER: You can’t allow for escaped loonies running about loose on the docks.
JAMES: You’d better put about, Greer. We’re only four hours out.
GREER: (with cheerful authority. Throughout this scene, James is made to sound peevish and insignificant, in contrast with the assurance of the two ship’s officers. We must realise that he is a rather nasty, frightened little businessman, quite out of his element) No need for that, Sir James.
JAMES: May I remind you that you’re in my employment?
GREER: And you’re in my ship, Sir James. I’m master of this ship, and my authority holds till we’re on soundings again … No, I’ll not make a laughing stock of us both by putting back to port just on the strength of a rumour.
JAMES: You may regret this, Greer.
NIGEL: We mustn’t get excited. After all, even if he is on the ship, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going to run amok and stab us right and left. Homicidal maniacs are like volcanoes—dormant most of the time. Unless this chap’s delusions are centred on someone on board, he—
(sharp knock at door)
JAMES: (frightened) What’s that?
GREER: Come in.
MACLEAN: Ship searched. No sign of a stowaway, sir.
JAMES: (breathes audible sigh of relief)
GREER: Well, Mister Maclean?
MACLEAN: I was just thinking, Sir. Ye said this escaped lunatic was reported to be an ex-seaman—a big chap with a limp, a sort of shuffling walk—didn’t ye?
GREER: That’s so. What about it?… Come on, man.
MACLEAN: Well, e-eh, there was a seaman aboard the ‘Mary Garside’ when she went down, A big chap. His leg was crushed when the falls of the starboard lifeboat parted. As you know, we were in an open boat for six days. What with the pain of his leg, and—well, he went off his head.
JAMES: Poor fellow. Very tragic. But I scarcely see—
MACLEAN: They put him in an asylum. The asylum at Newcastle.
(Pause)
JAMES: (whispers to self) At Newcastle?
NIGEL: Ah. This gets more interesting. Perhaps the fellow’s delusions are centred upon someone in this ship. In which case—
JAMES: (wildly) What the devil is this nonsense?
MACLEAN: The poor chap, in his crazed mind, may be holding one of us responsible for the injuries he—
JAMES: Are you suggesting?—
MACLEAN: Maybe it’s myself. I was captain of the ‘Mary Garside’. Maybe you, Sir James. Maybe he holds one of us responsible for the parting of that lifeboat’s falls, for the ship going down, and—
JAMES: I advise you to be careful, Maclean.
MACLEAN: But we’re agreed it’s just a delusion the poor fellow has. Neither of us could have wanted the ‘Mary Garside’ to founder. Eh, Sir James?
GREER: Well, I’ll be turning in for an hour or two. My watch at midnight. As you’re sleeping alone, Sir James, perhaps you’d like the loan of a revolver. I’ve got a spare one here—
(Sound of drawer being opened, revolver taken out and loaded)
—not that I think you’ll need it. The chances are twenty to one against the chap being on board. And remember there’s a communicating door between your cabin and mine, in case you—(voice drowned by bellow of steam-whistle overhead)
JAMES: Presumably some sort of watch will be kept on the decks?
GREER: Surely. But if this fog thickens, it may not be so easy to—
JAMES: Lot of damned poppycock. You’re all talking like a pack of old women. I’m off to bed. Tell the steward to call me at 7.30 sharp, Strangeways … You and your lunatics!
(Door slams)
NIGEL: I suppose the women have locked their door all right.
GREER: I told them to, Mr Strangeways. Just to be on the safe side.
(Fade in to women’s cabin. Stirring of bunks. Prolonged blast of steam-whistle overhead.)
LAURA: Rocked in the bosom of the deep. What life! (Yawns) I wish I could go to sleep. You did lock the door, darling, didn’t you?
ALICE: Yes, Laura. We’re quite safe in here. I wish Daddy hadn’t to go on the bridge tonight, though.
(Faint sound of telegraph. Steam-whistle again.)
LAURA: These marine noises get in my hair. Why must they keep blowing that hooter? We might as well be sleeping in the Zoo.
ALICE: It’s not that. It’s because we’re afraid. I know Daddy told us they’d searched the ship and couldn’t find anyone: but we don’t really believe it yet. That’s why we can’t go to sleep.
LAURA: You’ve said it, darling … Should we shut the port-hole, do you think? Just to be on the safe side?
ALICE: If you like … No. No, please don’t. I hate feeling as if I was in prison.
LAURA: Snap out of it, duckie—this is sheer claustrophobia.
ALICE: Claustrophobia? (slight laugh) Is that what you call it? (half to herself) You don’t know what it’s like to be in prison. No hope of escape … Ever … But there is a way out—
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