Five Passengers from Lisbon

Again the sounds of the ship, the small sighs and creaks, the rush of distant water, the ticking of a clock on the long, solid table were the only sounds in the cabin. Mickey did not move; his eyes, as clear and gray as the sea, looked straight ahead. The young Major stood by the door, his face without expression, an unlighted cigarette now in his hand.

The Captain watched her thoughtfully. Finally he leaned back in his chair. "Your name is Marcia Colfax. Right? You claim to be a United States citizen?"

"I am an American citizen. My passport . . ."

"I have here." He pulled open the deep drawer of the table beside him and then, as if he did not after all require to refresh his memory, closed it again. "You came to Lisbon from where?"

"From Marseilles."

Captain Svendsen reached for a pipe which lay on an ash tray near him and began to fill it carefully, his great pink hand looking extraordinarily powerful. "How long had you been in Marseilles?"

"Since the first summer of the war." The Captain's thick, queerly bleached eyebrows seemed to await further explanation. He pushed and packed the tobacco in his pipe. Impelled by that waiting, Marcia went on, again giving the bare facts. "I had gone from New York to France, to Paris, the summer the war began. I stayed on in Paris that winter. Then when the Germans occupied Paris I went to the South of France. To a villa outside Marseilles, as a matter of fact."

"You were there all that time?"

"Yes. Until about three weeks ago when I went to Lisbon." He had filled the pipe now and was lighting it; he shot a shrewd glance at her over the small flame. "Where is your present home in the United States?"

She thought of home. It was a swift, flashing picture of the big old house with the wisteria and maples and sunshine across the hills beyond—a picture that had haunted her through those grim and troubled years. She thought of the pleasant, high apartment overlooking the park. She said: "Maryland and New York City."

"Why didn't you go directly to the United States? Why did you set out for Buenos Aires?"

"Because we could get passage to Buenos Aires; it would have meant waiting to get directly to the United States."

"We?" said Captain Svendsen. "You mean yourself and Mr. Messac?"

Mickey said suddenly: "I've told you all this, Captain. We were going home to be married. . . ."

Without replying, the Captain turned toward the table, wrote quickly on a memorandum pad, tore off the paper and held it toward Major Williams. "Thank you, Mr. Messac. I'll not require your further presence," said the Captain as the young Major took the paper, read the scribbled note briefly and turned toward the door. "Oh, Major, take Mr. Messac to the officers' lounge, if you please. Or his own quarters, if he prefers it."

"Yes, sir." Major Williams paused, eyes on Mickey. Mickey, looking white again and strained, said: "But I'd like to stay, Captain, I'll not interfere. . . ."

"Please remain here. Miss Colfax." The Captain nodded abruptly toward Major Williams, who waited for Mickey. "Very well," said Mickey. He stopped beside Marcia. "Don't let them upset you, Marcia. Castiogne was nothing to you and me. I promise you, darling, as sure as my name is Andre Messac that all our trouble is in the past. Forever." He smiled, but his eyes were very clear and gray and intent. So she saw then what he'd been trying to tell her. She ought to have realized it when she first heard them address him as Mr. Messac.

He had been Andre Messac on the Portuguese ship; he was still using that name, the name on his passport, and wished her to do so. There was no time to consider the reasons. She said quickly, to show him that she understood: "Yes, Andre, I'll see you when the Captain is finished."

Mickey nodded, giving an almost imperceptible wink. Major Williams cleared his throat and Mickey turned to follow him. The door closed behind them both. Captain Svendsen leaned back in his chair again.

"I don't think you have quite understood the situation, Miss Colfax," he said. "There were only a handful of people in that lifeboat—you and Andre Messac, Gili Duvrey, two seamen, Mr. and Mrs. Luther Cates." He paused and added on the same level tone as if merely checking another fact: "One of you murdered that man. Which one was it?"