Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 12, December 1956
- Автор: Дил Борден, Томпсон Джим
- Год: 1956
- Язык: английский
- Год: H.S.D. Publications
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 12, December 1956». Краткое содержание книги:
He stood in the center of the thatched hut and surveyed the scene about him. The soft light of late afternoon drifted through a window-like aperture in another room and reflected on the dust particles that floated in a state of suspended animation. The door to another room was closed. He walked over to open it, his boots kicking up little clouds of dust as he went. The door creaked as it was opened. The oppressive silence was not broken by his footsteps. He wondered how long it had been since this place had heard a sound.
Sunlight streamed through another crude aperture in the thatch and in the distance the sun rested gently atop the main-mast of his frigate. He turned and started back into the room and thought how curious it was that his boots seemed to make no audible noise on the floor. There was something foreboding about this place. He wished now that the others who were waiting for him in the dory had accompanied him. “Too near night,” they had said. A superstitious pack. He strode across to the first room he had observed and stopped in his tracks midway. On two cots lay two human skeletons covered only by a blanket of dust.
They lay as if their owners had died asleep. The room was barren except for a dust-covered hatchet on the floor. He picked it up and looked at it — much the same as any other hatchet. He walked back into the main room and lit his torch that he might see better in the darkening corners. There was a table on which rested a book. He picked it up and brushed off the cover. It was a fine book, with a handsome leather cover and the inscription Diary 1754. He read the notation on the first page written in a neat feminine hand: “To our beloved son, Lt. Harry Crane, H.M.S.”
He read the first entry...
March 3
After spending six weeks in sick bay due to injuries the ship’s surgeon considered serious, I am informed by that able man that I may return to full duty and that I will undoubtedly be cited for my actions during our engagement with a pirate ship off the bay of Tunis. This former news is most welcome as, except for an occasional headache, I feel completely fit and ready to be about the task of helping to repair the injuries (some of serious consequence) sustained by our ship during the conflict.
March 5
We must make a port. A storm is brewing and I doubt very seriously if H.R.M.S. Corinthian is capable of riding out very heavy seas.
March 22
Thank God. I feel that is the only appropriate beginning to this notation. In His infinite mercy He has seen fit to save nine of us from the mercy of the sea — myself, Lt. Benton, Boswain Sykes, five seamen and, more praise to God, Surgeon Rowan.
We do not know what place this is yet but it seems to be fertile and prolific in nuts, wild fruit and game. If the Almighty has seen fit, it is possible that we are not too far off the trading lanes for our signal fires to be seen, which we keep going both day and night.
We have begun construction on a hut to house both officers and men as there is safety in numbers and we do not know yet but that there are wild beasts about.
March 29
We have finished our abode and have a spring almost in our back yard. Lt. Benton, as senior officer, is in command and is going about the task of organization and assignment most efficiently. Each day there are four major duties that are assigned: one man is constantly tending our signal fire on the beach, a party of three is assigned to forage for fuel for the signal fire (green branches for the day fire and dry for the night), another party runs our traps we have set for small game, and Surgeon Rowan takes a man with him daily into the interior of our little island in search of herbs and bark that might be used for medicinal purposes. I say our little island affectionately, rather than with a knowledge of its size, for it has been good to us. I am going to propose that we build a boat capable of navigating about the island for I feel that if there are wild savages on this island we would be better off to espy them from the sea than to run head on into them in the jungle.
April 30
Yesterday we finished our boat. We arose at sunup today and Boswain Sykes, Seamen Kelly, Crawford and myself put to sea to be about exploring the size of our island and to see if there were any signs of human life on the other side. We kept a quarter of a mile to sea in case we might be sighted by savages armed with bows; We saw no sign of any other humans. I believe we are the sole inhabitants. We have just now returned at dusk and I would say that our island is approximately two miles in diameter and almost circular in shape.
May 3
Leaving Seamen Rollins and Burke to tend the signal fires, and fortified by the reports from our navigation around the isle, we have organized a party of seven armed with knives and cutlasses for further reconnoitering of the island.
I would to God we could have salvaged a few firearms but in their lieu we have had to construct some crude bows and arrows to hunt with. Some of the men have become quite proficient in their use and I myself practice when I have time as skillful manipulation might some day prove expedient. If only my father and mother could see their pride and joy now — what a regal picture would confront them; hatless, hair and beard down to collar, ragamuffin uniform, shiny cutless at my side and bow and arrows in my hand. The caption might read, “Lieutenant Harry Crane of His Majesty’s Service stalking a squirrel.”
May 7
Tragedy has struck. Seaman Foley, on a medicinal expedition with Surgeon Rowan, was bitten by a poisonous snake this morning. Luckily they were not far from our hut. We heard his cry and helped him back to the hut where Surgeon Rowan bled him. It is evening now and his fever seems to have gone down a bit. Lt. Benton offered Thanks at supper for the refuge of this isle and its abundance and also for the speedy recovery of Seaman Foley.
May 8
Foley continues in a delirium. I seemed to have contracted a slight fever but have found a plant that seems to help.
May 9
Foley’s fever has gone down enough that he does not have to be attended at night and I feel better than at anytime since we landed.
May 10
We buried Foley today about twenty yards to the rear of the house. The poor fellow must have lapsed into a delirium and killed himself. Surgeon Rowan found him this morning in his cot with his throat slit from ear to ear. The surgeon’s scalpel lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Needless to say the good man feels extremely upset over the incident. He feels that if he had had a strong-box in which to lock his instruments this could not have happened.
May 12
We found Surgeon Rowan this morning hanging from a tree by his own belt over the grave of Seaman Foley. Surgeon Rowan was a conscientious man, but can extremes of conscience carry a person that far? I am beginning to doubt.
As I looked around at the faces surrounding the grave this morning I saw the same doubt. There is a possibility that none of us has dared let enter into our minds at the death of Seaman Foley. The possibility that we are stranded on an island with a murderer. We will have to face that possibility now. I intend to speak with Lt. Benton after supper about the matter.
May 13
At my suggestion an inquest was held. Lt. Benton questioned all of us thoroughly, and singly. Of course we had none of the personnel records of any of the seamen or officers but so far as our own personal knowledge of each other went we could think of nothing disreputable or incriminatory. Thus, the inquest was a failure, except to bring out into the open the fear that had been lying dormant in every mind; and that of course served no avail except to frighten the men, possibly needlessly. After all, it could have been suicide both times.