Caine Mutiny, The - Herman Wouk [172]
“Who?”
“The new officers, sir-”
“Well. About time, too. Kay. I have no time to see them now. Send ‘em to Maryk. Tell him to quarter them and so forth.”
“Aye aye, sir.” As Willie turned to go his eyes met Rasselas’. The Negro gave him the beseeching dumb look of a calf being led down the road on a rope. Willie shrugged and went out.
At noon the captain sent for Maryk. “Kay, Steve,” he said-he was reclining on his bunk-“everything’s going exactly as I figured, so far. The steward’s mates are telling the truth. I know how to handle those black apes, I’ve done plenty of it in my mess-treasurer days. You can rule them out as suspects.”
“That’s fine, sir.”
“Scared the living hell out of them, I’m afraid, but that’s good for their souls every now and then.” The captain chuckled. Scaring the steward’s mates had put him in a pleasant humor. “So far as anyone taking Whittaker’s key goes we can rule that out, too. He slept in his clothes, and it was chained to his belt. And he’s a light sleeper. I found that out.” Queeg glanced at the exec with sly triumph. “Now then. That narrows the case to where we can begin working on it, hey?”
Maryk kept his eyes respectfully on the captain’s face, and stood at attention-resolved not to utter a word unless forced to.
“Tell you a little story, Steve. Dates back quite a ways to peacetime. Had a little mystery like this aboard a destroyer, the Barzun, back in ’37, when I was a lowly ensign, in charge of general mess. Matter of a discrepancy of five pounds of cheese in the cook’s accounts. Cheese wasn’t in the refrigerator, and it hadn’t been cooked, or served in sandwiches, or anything. I proved that. Just vanished in thin air, like these strawberries. Well, the exec pooh-poohed it, and said, ‘Forget it, Queeg,’ but as you know, I’m kind of a stubborn cuss. Through devious inquiry and bribes and one thing and another I found out that a big sloppy chowhound named Wagner, a snipe, had made himself a wax impression of the cook’s key one night while he slept, and got himself a duplicate key, and was chowing up in the wee hours of the morning every chance he got. Made him confess, and he pulled a BCD at a summary court- I got myself a nice little letter of commendation in my promotion jacket, too, but that’s neither here nor there, though for an ensign in those years that meant plenty in the way of promotion credit- Well. Get my point?”
Maryk smiled vaguely.
“All we have to do now,” said Queeg, “is find out which bright boy on the Caine has made himself a duplicate key to the wardroom icebox. That shouldn’t be hard.”
Maryk said, after a long pause, “You assume, sir, that that’s what happened?”
“I am not assuming a goddamned thing,” snapped the captain in sudden irritation. “You can’t assume anything in the Navy! I know someone’s made a duplicate key. All other possibilities have been eliminated, haven’t they? What do you say-that the strawberries just melted into thin air?”
“Well, I’m not sure what to think, sir-”
“Damn it all, Steve, a naval officer is supposed to be capable of following simple logic. I have just taken great pains to prove to you that there is no other possible solution.” Thereupon the captain repeated the entire chain of reasoning which he had developed in the interview. “Now then, did you follow me that time?”
“I followed you, sir.”
“Well, thank heaven for small favors. Kay. ... Now, here’s the next step. Call the crew to quarters. Tell them every man is to write out a statement describing all his movements and whereabouts between the hours of 11 P.M. last night and 3 A.M. this morning, name two men who can substantiate his statement, and swear to the truth of it when he hands it in to you. All statements to be in by 1700 today, and on my desk.”
Urban knocked and came in, carrying a penciled despatch. “Visual from the beach, sir,” he said, nervously feeling at his tucked-in shirt. The captain read the despatch and passed it to Maryk. It was orders for the Caine to leave Ulithi that afternoon to escort the Montauk, the