“Toss me a hanky, will you, Larry? I’m bleeding all over the lousy boat.... Thanks. Now peel me one of those Band-Aids. God damn people who heave bottles and stuff in the water, anyway!” Young found himself helping her mechanically, although this involved taking his hand from the gun in his pocket. He was uneasily aware of the strained and limited motion of the boat against the dock; he had not had a deck under his feet for more than six years and the familiar heave and roll — the occasional jerk as the cruiser was brought up sharp by the fenders or mooring lines — brought back memories that he would have preferred to leave forgotten. He was also acutely conscious of the open companionway at the forward end of the deckhouse; and he admitted to himself now that he had been terribly afraid that he would not find the girl alone, and that he was still by no means certain that she was alone. At some time during the past half hour it had occurred to him suddenly that a bold and ingenious man — a man like Larry Wilson — might well consider it both clever and amusing to choose for a hiding place a comfortable cabin cruiser tied up directly below the window of a wife who believed that she had killed him....
