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:
I nodded feebly. How would I ever know, unless Benton...? But you did not argue with a man whom you thought might be mad, especially when he has a bloody cutless in his hand.
June 18
Benton has been looking at me rather oddly these past two days. He keeps telling me that this has been too much for me, that I must get some rest, sleep. But I’m too smart for him. I go into the woods and doze some during the day pretending I have been fishing. I shan’t go to sleep in the same room as that man, ever. Last night he made heavy breathing sighs like he was asleep but I saw his eyes in the moonlight, staring.
June 19
I am the only man alive on this island. I knew it had to be that way. Yesterday my headache returned so severely that I went to my cot and fainted. It was noon when I passed out and about midnight when I awoke to a refreshing breeze. My head was bursting but I could still think clearly. Benton was lying on his cot asleep, this time with his eyes closed. I reached under the mattress and removed the surgeon’s scalpel. I moved as quietly as the night over to his bed, plunged the scalpel in under his left ear and across to the right.
Of course I had to do it; he was the real murderer, wasn’t he? But it was strange how familiar it felt when I plunged the scalpel in and it did relieve my headache.
June 30
My headaches persist; I don’t think I can stand them much longer. I have fainted repeatedly since the death of Benton. I am now the only human being on the island, just me. If there were only someone else here...
My scalpel is in my hand almost constantly; the idea has possessed me that the only way to relieve my headaches is to plunge the scalpel under my left ear and draw across to the right. If there were only someone else on the island. But there are only eight others. Seven under seven crosses in back, and Benton who still remains asleep in his cot. I am going to lie down in mine now and try to sleep also. Perhaps I will never get up, the fever is in my eyes now and I can hardly see how to write.
There were no more entries. He laid down the diary. His torch was burning low. He must hurry back to his mates, waiting and certainly vexed at his dalliance, to return to the dory and the frigate ship. But he could not resist the temptation. He strode around to the back of the house where a little path led to a clearing.
As he advanced the light from his torch began to pick up elongated shadows in the clearing. They shortened and the first disappeared as he stood over it. It was the first of a row of crosses he could make out in his flickering light. He began to count: three, four, five, six. A chill ran down his spine. There was no seventh. He thought he heard a footstep behind him; he whirled, horrified — too late.