Free And the Deep Blue Sea by Charles Williams Page A

inquired, “Was your boat insured?”
    “No,” Goddard said. “The theory was that if it went to the bottom, the odds were that I would too. Sound, I thought, but Mrs. Brooke loused it up.”
    “Women,” Egerton agreed, “are incapable of understanding dedication to a scientific principle.”
    “Exactly,” Lind said. “You have to feel sorry for them. They never experience the deep personal satisfaction of being dead and knowing they were right.”
    “Karen,” Mrs. Lennox remarked. “I think we’re outnumbered. Should we counterattack or retreat?”
    “Maybe Mr. Krasicki is on our side,” Karen replied. She turned and smiled at the Pole, trying to put him at ease in this exchange that was obviously too much for his English. But the latter was paying no attention. He was staring across the table again at Walter Egerton with almost manic intensity.
    “You have—” He stopped, appearing to grope for words. “You are many years in Argentina?”
    “Why, yes, about twenty,” Egerton replied.
    “Twenty? Twenty?” Krasicki repeated, frowning. He looked at Lind.
    “ Zwanzig ,” Lind translated. He added, for the others, “Mr. Krasicki is actually quite a linguist. He speaks Polish, Russian, German, and Portuguese, but German is the only one I know.”
    “ Zwanzig. Aha ,” Krasicki muttered, still never taking his eyes from the Englishman’s face. “You have—how do you say—become unactive—” He gave up then and spoke to Lind in rapid German. Lind nodded and turned to Egerton.
    “He says you must have retired quite young.”
    Even Egerton’s natural poise was a little shaken by that unwavering scrutiny, but he managed a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Krasicki; that’s quite flattering. But I was invalided out. Spot of bad luck in Normandy.”
    Lind translated this for the Pole. The dining room steward was putting their orders in front of them, but no one began eating. There was another exchange in German between Krasicki and Lind. Lind shook his head as he spoke, and Goddard’s impression was that the Pole had said something he was reluctant to translate. Krasicki turned to Egerton again and tried English.
    “The—aye? The—eye?”
    The two women turned their attention to their plates, embarrassed by this bad taste, but Goddard continued to watch, aware of some undercurrent here that was more serious than poor manners.
    “Ah—yes,” Egerton said stiffly. “That, among other things.”
    It was Karen who smoothed it over. She smiled at Goddard, and asked, “You do play bridge, I hope?”
    “A little mama-papa bridge,” Goddard replied. “Nothing spectacular. And only after a careful search for weapons.”
    The awkwardness passed for the moment, and conversation became general. Goddard continued to study Krasicki between replies to Mrs. Lennox’ chatter on his right. The Pole appeared to withdraw inside himself, eating silently as he bent over his plate, oblivious to the others except to look up now and then at Egerton. Then in a lull he began a rapid exchange in German with Lind. They both smiled. Krasicki turned then and included Egerton in the conversation, still in German. To Goddard’s surprise, Egerton replied in the same language. The Pole stiffened, and his eyes glittered accusingly.
    “Ah! You speak German. I thought you were English.”
    “Yes, of course I speak it,” Egerton said easily. “I attended Heidelberg for two years. Before Sandhurst, that is.”
    The others had fallen silent. Krasicki’s eyes continued to burn into Egerton. “But you did not say this.”
    Egerton shrugged, obviously annoyed but still urbane. “Well, really, old boy, one doesn’t normally go about boasting of one’s accomplishments. Bit of a bore to one and all, what?”
    Krasicki made no reply, but Goddard noted the nervous twitching at the corner of his mouth. Karen came to the rescue again. “I think what we should do is find out why Mr. Goddard doesn’t speak Hollywood.”
    The others