“Listen, you sports hound!” she snapped at Cy. “Don’t talk that way to me!”
Cy stared at her. There was a great deal of excitement on the yacht, but Carla had forgotten about that. She forgot about one thing very quickly, if another annoyed her.
I said: “Torry’s in bad shape.”
He was splashing a lot, and the yacht was still a few hundred yards distant. Carla didn’t seem to care.
“This is the hell of a party!” she said. “I’m telling you that!”
Mick O’Rourke was watching Torry Jones and muttering to himself. Suddenly he reached down and kicked loose his shoes. He jerked off his dinner coat and jacket.
“The louse can’t swim!” he breathed in a sore tone. “Can you beat it?”
I said grimly, my eyes on Torry: “Better go over, Mick.”
He nodded, jerked his suspenders loose from his broad sho
