"I'll send my wife in, early in the morning, and then I'll call you."
Sanders looked down at the swollen, paint-smeared, scratched face of Mrs. Tramm, and then at Norman, with a disturbingly penetrating glance. "What did you think when you first met Iris here? Tell the truth. The blond goddess of the island paradise?"
"Something like that, yes."
Sanders regarded Iris for a moment, smiling without amusement. He brushed hair out of her eyes. "I suppose I should get back to the party, and keep the talk down. Meadows, take care of her."
Emerging from the cottage, they saw Woods, Cohn, and two other swimmers talking in a huddle near the steps to the main house; four muscular brown men, almost naked in the warm night.
"Hello, Lieutenant," the governor said, "leaving the party so soon?"
"Well, sir, pretty soon now."
"I hear your boys made another fine jump. Well done." The governor went into the hotel.
Woods said to Paperman, "No sign of him, but Thompson is still beating along the rocks on the north side. Find your fat friend yet?"
"I'm just going up to his room."
"Well, unless Frenchy's better at getting himself into solid thorn brush than we are-and we're not bad at it, and he's as naked as we are -he's probably in some crawl hole, or maybe he broke into one of the cottages. We didn't want to search them without your say-so."
A squat round-headed UDT man came trotting into the light, signaling lack of success with upturned hands.
"That does it. Nothing to do but keep looking," Woods said. "Better locate your friend, though."
"If he isn't already dead," said Norman nervously.
Woods smiled. "I really don't think Frenchy's got him this fast, sir. The question is-"
"Wait a second." Norman held up his hand, and listened. He was hearing hoarse guffaws and shouting in the hotel, coming from the vicinity of the bar or the dance terrace. The words were indecipherable, but the noise was as characteristic as the call of a moose. "Waw haw grow ror wah haw haw," came the voice. Then, somewhat more clearly over the party noise, "Con permisso!"
"That's him," Norman said.
"Fine," said Woods, "now we know where he is."
"Not so fine," exclaimed Norman, feeling greatly relieved and much more frantic, all at once. "He's in there ruining my dinner party! Don't you realize that? He's absolutely fractured. And Hippolyte's lurking around somewhere, that's for sure, and he'll hear him, too, sooner or later. Suppose he comes charging among all those women in his wet drawers, swinging the machete? What then?"
"Well, we can keep a pretty good watch out here, sir-"
"Yes, but he knows this place! Suppose he slips through? He'll start a riot. Tilson's guests will all be swimming for the shore in their dinner clothes. I'll probably go bankrupt. He may behead a couple of people in sheer playfulness as they run around screaming. I'm just mentioning a few small possibilities here-"
Woods put a hand on his arm. "Sir, you keep your friend in there. Frenchy won't get past us, and we'll find him."
"In fact, this will probably bring him out of hiding," Cohn said. "Make your friend holler loilder."
"That's something that's never been necessary," Norman said.
"Before we check the cottages," Woods said, "can you tell us of any hole where he might be hiding? Some place he'd know about, and we wouldn't?"
Norman bethought himself, after a moment, of the crawl space beneath the hotel, where the pump was. He described it to Woods.
"That sounds real possible. Bob, why don't you volunteer to take a look in that hole?" The lieutenant handed Cohn the flashlight. "You've got sort of a stumpy neck, it's less of a target."
"I unwillingly volunteer," Cohn said. "Where's this death trap, now, Norm?"
Paperman led him around the back of the hotel and pointed down the sandy embankment. "Through the trelliswork there. You'll see the hole in the wall. Good luck, Bob. Be very careful, please."
Cohn said, "You know, I don't like this one bit. I'm too short for Hazel as it is." He went down and disappeared in the gloom.
The Atlas noises were definitely coming from the dance terrace now, and there was handclapping too. Norman dashed through the kitchen passageway and the lobby to the terrace, and saw Atlas dancing the meringue with Sheila, in a ring of laughing, applauding guests. Atlas now wore a brown silk dinner jacket, with his blue television evening shirt, and black trousers. A big cigar was in his teeth, and Sheila's chefs cap was on his head. The cook seemed both amused and annoyed; at any rate, she was dancing, and they made a monumental pair.
Norman found Henny and Mrs. Tilson in the ring, giggling together. "Ye gods, Henny, why didn't you stop him? This is so awful."
Letty Tilson, all dimples and diamonds, in a knee-length bouffant black dress, said, "Oh, pshaw, Norman, he's funny. Let him be."
Henny said, "Have you ever tried stopping Lester?"
Lester and the cook danced by them, and Sheila rolled her eyes at Paperman. "Suh, de fot porson make me come and dance," she cried. "De steaks dey all ready."
"Steaks, shmakes," roared Lester. "Hey, Norm! What does your meter read now? Haw haw!" And he spun away.
Mercifully the music soon stopped. Sheila snatched her cap off Atlas's head and retreated in grinning embarrassment, shaking her head at all the jokes the guests shouted at her. Atlas rolled up to the Papermans, sweating. "I'm telling you, Norm, your fancy party was dying," he panted hoarsely. "I was just doing my duty as senior partner, here, stirring things up a bit."
"Well stirred," Mrs. Tilson said. "It's my party, Mr. Atlas, mine and my husband's, and I'm much obliged to you. You're a real live-wire."
Atlas at once put on his company manners: the straight back, the softened voice, the ingratiating smile. "Well, hello! I'm not aware that I was invited, and I'm off to Lovers' Beach now, but I just thought I'd look in."
"Of course you're invited. Don't you dare go away, now."
Norman said hastily, "No, don't go, Lester. Don't think of it. There's an extra place at our table. Come along, they're going to serve any minute."
"Well, how nice of you all," Lester said.
Norman's table was one of the outer ones, at the edge of the dining terrace; and Lester dropped himself in a chair with his back squarely against the low terrace wall, before Norman or anyone else asked him to. After this, all Norman could think of was that it was now possible for Hippolyte to climb the rough fieldstone wall and kill Atlas with a blow. It was not only possible, it seemed to Norman the next event of interest that was going to occur. Atlas's shiny red skull was a terribly recognizable and visible target. He sat right under a flare. Norman had a vision, almost a hallucination, of Hippolyte rising up and shearing off Atlas's head so neatly, with that razor-sharp machete, that it would remain sitting on Lester's shoulders, not even bleeding; and there would be no immediate way of knowing what had happened, except that Atlas would at last shut up.
With this gruesome fantasy strong in his mind, Norman made a poor show of accepting compliments on all sides for the massed flowers decorating the terrace, the individual place cards that the depraved Church had done in water colors before sailing away, the gardenias at each lady's plate, the orchid centerpieces, and all the other touches on which he had labored. So restless was he that he excused himself as waiters began bringing in bowls of salad and steaks on wooden boards, while others passed around the tables pouring Burgundy; and he went out to talk to Woods.
The lieutenant stood as before at the entrance to the main house, with one other frogman. "Hi," he said. "No luck yet. The boys are making another sweep all around. Then if you give us the okay, we'll try the cottages. He's got to be hiding, if he didn't swim off."
"I take it Cohn came back alive."
"Greasy, but alive, yes."
"Do you know where Atlas is sitting?"
"Yes," Woods laughed. "He doesn't have a worry in the world, does he?"
"Nobody does," Norman said, in a flare of irritation. "They're all having the time of their lives, they think everything's peachy. And I'm hovering between a heart attack and a nervous collapse."
"Well, now, Mr. Paperman, why don't you go on back and have a good time yourself? If he shows, we'll get him for you."
Norman went back, endured Henny's growl at him for letting the wonderful steak get cold, and did his best to eat. But he could hardly choke down a few mouthfuls. He would not drink wine. He had drunk nothing since Hippolyte had appeared. Atlas, of course, ate enough steak for three, and drank wine to correspond, all the time joking in his foghorn voice. Norman thought that Hippolyte, even if he were blind, could home in on that voice to strike and kill.
A round of pink champagne came with the dessert. Chunky Collins stood, glass in one hand, silver spoon in the other, and began to lead the guests in serenading Tom Tilson with For He's a Jolly Good Fellow. Midway through this song, bawled gaily by two hundred people, Norman saw-far down the terrace, at the end in shadow-Cohn's head, and his brown waving arm, poking through the doorway. At once he left the table, ignoring Henny's peevish challenge, "Norman, will you stop jumping up every two minutes? Come back here! What now?"
Cohn was streaked with black grease and plastered with sand. He seemed in an excellent humor. "I guess we've got him," he said. "He was hiding under the pier all the time. That telephone operator of yours came down to get the gondola, and he popped out at her. Almost scared her to death. She screamed, and he took off into the brush, and the fellows are after him now."
"How about Esm,? Is she all right?" Norman said, with a pang of worry and guilt. He had prevailed on the girl, with a promise of overtime pay, to stay at the switchboard until midnight, though she had said she was very tired.
"Well, she's sort of hysterical. She's still on the pier. The CO. says for you to go have a look. Frenchy is boxed in now, in the brush between the Blue Cottage and Lovers' Beach, and I've got to get back there. We'll be fetching him out."
"Watch yourself!"
"Oh, sure."
Esm, sat in the gondola moaning. Virgil was trying to comfort her. Her eyes were starting from her head, and she clutched both hands over her stomach. "He have nuttin' on," she said. "Jus' a hat, de crazy mon. He jump out wid a big cutlash, he all naked like a donkey. He crazy."
"Esm,, how do you feel?" Norman said.
"Mistuh Papuh, I got bad pain," said Esm,, rocking back and forth. "Bad pain start."
"You stay right here with her, Virgil," Norman said. "Dr. Tracy Pullman is at the party and I'm going to bring him down here, right away."
"Yeffuh, I ftay heah."
"Esm,, I'm going to bring you the doctor who's the head of the hospital. You just be calm, now."
"Tank you, suh," the girl moaned.
Norman rushed back to the hotel and made his way across the dining terrace, dodging among the waiters with their baked Alaskas, looking for the doctor. Henny called at him as he passed, "Norman, what the hell is the matter with you?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"Then why do you keep popping in and out like a lunatic? It's a perfect party. Just sit down and enjoy yourself, for Christ's sake."
"I'll be right back."
Atlas said, "Norm, a boss has to look relaxed. He has to look on top of the situation, Norm. You're creating the wrong image."
"Okay, okay."
Espying Dr. Pullman at Mrs. Turnbull's table, Paperman hurried to him, and whispered in his ear. Dr. Pullman pushed back his half-eaten portion of baked Alaska, threw down a napkin, and rose with a discontented sigh. He wore a splendidly cut tuxedo; he was taller and heavier than the senator, with the same round dark face and shrewd eyes.
"Busman's holiday," he said. "Excuse me, folks," and he went along with Paperman to the pier. On the way Norman told him about Esm,'s alien status, and forlornly asked the doctor whether he could "give Esm," something" to arrest the course of nature until he could bundle her on a plane to Nevis in the morning.
Pullman laughed. "Man, that's a pill nobody invented yet."
"Well, then, what shall we do? Move her to the hospital? I mean, we have no facilities here-I'll pay-"
The doctor patted his shoulder. "Suppose I just take a look first."
The round-headed frogman, Thompson, came jogging up to Paperman as they approached the pier. "Sir, the CO. thinks we've got him, and says for you to come along. You might be able to talk to him."
Norman followed the young man as he trotted tranquilly down the lawn toward the Blue Cottage, the last cottage in the row. Woods and Cohn were pacing, and peering into the brush. "Hello, Frenchy's right in here," Woods said. "He was quiet for a while, but then he started to move, and we heard him. We surrounded him and he stopped again." Woods directed his flashlight at the thick brush; the leaves looked a bright artificial green in the cone of light. "That's about where he is-somewhere between there and the water. Try talking to him."
