half twisted – fell across a chair… Cornelia screamed and rushed to the door. Jim Fanthorp was on the deck leaning over the rail. She called to him.
‘Mr Fanthorp… Mr Fanthorp…’
He ran to her; she clutched at him incoherently…
‘She’s shot him – Oh! She’s shot him…’
Simon Doyle still lay as he had fallen half into and across a chair… Jacqueline stood as though paralysed. She was trembling violently, and her eyes, dilated and frightened, were staring at the crimson stain slowly soaking through Simon’s trouser leg just below the knee where he held a handkerchief close against the wound.
She stammered out:
‘I didn’t mean… Oh, my God, I didn’t really mean…’
The pistol dropped from her nervous fingers with a clatter on the floor. She kicked it away with her foot. It slid under one of the settees.
Simon, his voice faint, murmured:
‘Fanthorp, for heaven’s sake – there’s someone coming… Say it’s all right – an accident – something. There mustn’t be a scandal over this.’
Fanthorp nodded in quick comprehension. He wheeled round to the door where a startled face showed. He said:
‘All right – all right – just fun!’
The servant’s face looked doubtful, puzzled, then reassured. He nodded and went off. Fanthorp turned back.
‘That’s all right. Don’t think anybody else heard. Only sounded like a cork, you know. Now the next thing-’
He was startled. Jacqueline suddenly began to weep hysterically.
‘Oh, God, I wish I were dead… I’ll kill myself. I’ll be better dead… Oh, what have I done – what have I done?’
Cornelia hurried to her.
‘Hush, dear, hush.’
Simon, his brow wet, his face twisted with pain, said urgently:
‘Get her away. For God’s sake, get her out of here! Get her to her cabin, Fanthorp. Look here, Miss Robson, get that hospital nurse of yours.’ He looked appealingly from one to the other of them. ‘Don’t leave her. Make quite sure she’s safe with the nurse looking after her. Then get hold of old Bessner and bring him here. For God’s sake, don’t let any news of this get to my wife.’
Jim Fanthorp nodded comprehendingly. The quiet young man was cool and competent in an emergency.
Between them he and Cornelia got the weeping, struggling girl out of the saloon and along the deck to her cabin. There they had more trouble with her. She fought to free herself; her sobs redoubled.
‘I’ll drown myself… I’ll drown myself… I’m not fit to live… Oh, Simon – Simon!’
Fanthorp said to Cornelia:
‘Better get hold of Miss Bowers. I’ll stay while you get her.’
Cornelia nodded and hurried out.
As soon as she left, Jacqueline clutched Fanthorp.
‘His leg – it’s bleeding – broken… He may bleed to death. I must go to him… Oh, Simon – Simon – how could I?’
Her voice rose. Fanthorp said urgently:
‘Quietly – quietly… He’ll be all right.’
She began to struggle again.
‘Let me go! Let me throw myself overboard… Let me kill myself!’
Fanthorp, holding her by the shoulders, forced her back on to the bed.
‘You must stay here. Don’t make a fuss. Pull yourself together. It’s all right, I tell you.’
To his relief, the distraught girl did manage to control herself a little, but he was thankful when the curtains were pushed aside and the efficient Miss Bowers, neatly dressed in a hideous kimono, entered accompanied by Cornelia.
‘Now then,’ said Miss Bowers briskly, ‘what’s all this?’
She took charge without any sign of surprise and alarm.
Fanthorp thankfully left the overwrought girl in her capable hands and hurried along to the cabin occupied by Dr Bessner. He knocked and entered on top of the knock.
‘Dr Bessner?’
A terrific snore resolved itself, and a startled voice said:
‘So? What is it?’
By this time Fanthorp had switched the light on. The doctor blinked up at him, looking rather like a large owl.
‘It’s Doyle. He’s been shot. Miss de Bellefort shot him. He’s in the saloon. Can you come?’
The stout doctor reacted promptly. He asked a few curt questions, pulled on his bedroom slippers and a dressinggown, picked up a little case of necessaries and accompanied Fanthorp to the lounge.
Simon had managed to get the window beside him open. He was leaning his head against it, inhaling the air. His face was a ghastly colour.
Dr Bessner came over to him.
‘Ha? So? What have we here?’
A handkerchief sodden with blood lay on the carpet, and on the carpet itself was a dark stain.
The doctor’s examination was punctuated with grunts and exclamations.
‘Yes, it is bad this… The bone is fractured. And a big loss of blood. Herr Fanthorp, you and I must get him to my cabin. So – like this. He cannot walk. We must carry him, thus.’
As they lifted him Cornelia appeared in the doorway. Catching sight of her, the doctor uttered a grunt of satisfaction.
‘Ach, it is you? Goot. Come with us. I have need of assistance. You will be better than my friend here. He looks a little pale already.’
Fanthorp emitted a rather sickly smile.
‘Shall I get Miss Bowers?’ he asked.
Dr Bessner threw a considering glance over Cornelia.
‘You will do very well, young lady,’ he announced. ‘You will not faint or be foolish, hein?’
‘I can do what you tell me,’ said Cornelia eagerly.
Bessner nodded in a satisfied fashion.
The procession passed along the deck.
The next ten minutes were purely surgical and Mr Jim Fanthorp did not enjoy it at all. He felt secretly ashamed of the superior fortitude exhibited by Cornelia.
‘So, that is the
