Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 12, December 1956

Six and Two Make Nine by Henry Peterson

I hope to introduce in these pages each issue a brand-new writer — one who never before has been printed. This story I chose from a dozen manuscripts by new writers because of its unusualness. I trust you will find it as intriguing as I did.

He stood in the center of the thatched hut and surveyed the scene about him. The soft light of late afternoon drifted through a window-like aperture in another room and reflected on the dust particles that floated in a state of suspended animation. The door to another room was closed. He walked over to open it, his boots kicking up little clouds of dust as he went. The door creaked as it was opened. The oppressive silence was not broken by his footsteps. He wondered how long it had been since this place had heard a sound.

Sunlight streamed through another crude aperture in the thatch and in the distance the sun rested gently atop the main-mast of his frigate. He turned and started back into the room and thought how curious it was that his boots seemed to make no audible noise on the floor. There was something foreboding about this place. He wished now that the others who were waiting for him in the dory had accompanied him. “Too near night,” they had said. A superstitious pack. He strode across to the first room he had observed and stopped in his tracks midway. On two cots lay two human skeletons covered only by a blanket of dust.

They lay as if their owners had died asleep. The room was barren except for a dust-covered hatchet on the floor. He picked it up and looked at it — much the same as any other hatchet. He walked back into the main room and lit his torch that he might see better in the darkening corners. There was a table on which rested a book. He picked it up and brushed off the cover. It was a fine book, with a handsome leather cover and the inscription Diary 1754. He read the notation on the first page written in a neat feminine hand: “To our beloved son, Lt. Harry Crane, H.M.S.”

He read the first entry...

March 3

After spending six weeks in sick bay due to injuries the ship’s surgeon considered serious, I am informed by that able man that I may return to full duty and that I will undoubtedly be cited for my actions during our engagement with a pirate ship off the bay of Tunis. This former news is most welcome as, except for an occasional headache, I feel completely fit and ready to be about the task of helping to repair the injuries (some of serious consequence) sustained by our ship during the conflict.

March 5

We must make a port. A storm is brewing and I doubt very seriously if H.R.M.S. Corinthian is capable of riding out very heavy seas.

March 22

Thank God. I feel that is the only appropriate beginning to this notation. In His infinite mercy He has seen fit to save nine of us from the mercy of the sea — myself, Lt. Benton, Boswain Sykes, five seamen and, more praise to God, Surgeon Rowan.

We do not know what place this is yet but it seems to be fertile and prolific in nuts, wild fruit and game. If the Almighty has seen fit, it is possible that we are not too far off the trading lanes for our signal fires to be seen, which we keep going both day and night.

We have begun construction on a hut to house both officers and men as there is safety in numbers and we do not know yet but that there are wild beasts about.

March 29

We have finished our abode and have a spring almost in our back yard. Lt. Benton, as senior officer, is in command and is going about the task of organization and assignment most efficiently. Each day there are four major duties that are assigned: one man is constantly tending our signal fire on the beach, a party of three is assigned to forage for fuel for the signal fire (green branches for the day fire and dry for the night), another party runs our traps we have set for small game, and Surgeon Rowan takes a man with him daily into the interior of our little island in search of herbs and bark that might be used for medicinal purposes. I say our little island affectionately, rather than with a knowledge of its size, for it has been good to us. I am going to propose that we build a boat capable of navigating about the island for I feel that if there are wild savages on this island we would be better off to espy them from the sea than to run head on into them in the jungle.

April 30

Yesterday we finished our boat. We arose at sunup today and Boswain Sykes, Seamen Kelly, Crawford and myself put to sea to be about exploring the size of our island and to see if there were any signs of human life on the other side. We kept a quarter of a mile to sea in case we might be sighted by savages armed with bows; We saw no sign of any other humans. I believe we are the sole inhabitants. We have just now returned at dusk and I would say that our island is approximately two miles in diameter and almost circular in shape.

May 3

Leaving Seamen Rollins and Burke to tend the signal fires, and fortified by the reports from our navigation around the isle, we have organized a party of seven armed with knives and cutlasses for further reconnoitering of the island.

I would to God we could have salvaged a few firearms but in their lieu we have had to construct some crude bows and arrows to hunt with. Some of the men have become quite proficient in their use and I myself practice when I have time as skillful manipulation might some day prove expedient. If only my father and mother could see their pride and joy now — what a regal picture would confront them; hatless, hair and beard down to collar, ragamuffin uniform, shiny cutless at my side and bow and arrows in my hand. The caption might read, “Lieutenant Harry Crane of His Majesty’s Service stalking a squirrel.”

May 7

Tragedy has struck. Seaman Foley, on a medicinal expedition with Surgeon Rowan, was bitten by a poisonous snake this morning. Luckily they were not far from our hut. We heard his cry and helped him back to the hut where Surgeon Rowan bled him. It is evening now and his fever seems to have gone down a bit. Lt. Benton offered Thanks at supper for the refuge of this isle and its abundance and also for the speedy recovery of Seaman Foley.

May 8

Foley continues in a delirium. I seemed to have contracted a slight fever but have found a plant that seems to help.

May 9

Foley’s fever has gone down enough that he does not have to be attended at night and I feel better than at anytime since we landed.

May 10

We buried Foley today about twenty yards to the rear of the house. The poor fellow must have lapsed into a delirium and killed himself. Surgeon Rowan found him this morning in his cot with his throat slit from ear to ear. The surgeon’s scalpel lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Needless to say the good man feels extremely upset over the incident. He feels that if he had had a strong-box in which to lock his instruments this could not have happened.

May 12

We found Surgeon Rowan this morning hanging from a tree by his own belt over the grave of Seaman Foley. Surgeon Rowan was a conscientious man, but can extremes of conscience carry a person that far? I am beginning to doubt.

As I looked around at the faces surrounding the grave this morning I saw the same doubt. There is a possibility that none of us has dared let enter into our minds at the death of Seaman Foley. The possibility that we are stranded on an island with a murderer. We will have to face that possibility now. I intend to speak with Lt. Benton after supper about the matter.

May 13

At my suggestion an inquest was held. Lt. Benton questioned all of us thoroughly, and singly. Of course we had none of the personnel records of any of the seamen or officers but so far as our own personal knowledge of each other went we could think of nothing disreputable or incriminatory. Thus, the inquest was a failure, except to bring out into the open the fear that had been lying dormant in every mind; and that of course served no avail except to frighten the men, possibly needlessly. After all, it could have been suicide both times.

I wish I hadn’t suggested the inquest now. Lt. Benton warned me that it might serve no purpose other than to stir up distrust needlessly, but I persisted, I believe, through my own fear.

May 14

There can be no doubt of it now; we are marooned on an island with a homicidal maniac. Seaman Burke reported finding Boswain Sykes with his throat cut when relieving him for duty at the signal fire.

I don’t know what Lt. Benton intends to do but I do know that his command will be untenable if he does not act immediately. Each of us is looking at the other as if he expects the other to turn into a murdering monster any minute. No one will turn his back, not even for an instant.

And there are those grim reminders in back of the hut. After we bury Sykes there will be three of the wooden crosses.

May 15

Lt. Benton has held an inquest. Seaman Burke found the boswain at three o’clock in the morning. We all went down to the fire after being aroused by Burke and found him not long dead. His throat was cut but none of the blood had coagulated; in fact, some still stood in little beads on a pile of driftwood he lay on. Lt. Benton and myself being rather light sleepers could vouch that neither one of us had left the room during the night. Kelly swore that he could not sleep that night and that he and Seaman Rollins had played a makeshift game of checkers until Burke came back with the news. Rollins verified this. That left only one person who could have killed Boswain Sykes.

The men were for killing Burke on the spot. But Lt. Benton had another idea. There was only circumstantial proof that he had killed the boswain and no proof that he had anything to do with the deaths of the other two. So he proposed that we rig a sail on our boat, store it with provisions for two weeks and set Burke adrift in it. With the warning that if he headed back to the island and was found he would be executed on the spot. However, if he made it to friendly territory or was picked up by a friendly ship and informed them of our plight, he, the Lieutenant, would see that he got a fair trial and recommend clemency if outright pardon could not be obtained. This judgment appealed to everyone. So Burke was set adrift this afternoon doubtlessly thankful to escape alive although maintaining his innocence all the while. I believe that more than one were hoping he would make it. It seems as though Lt. Benton has handled this situation with an admirable degree of capability.

June 4

Almost three weeks now since Burke was set to sea and the tension seems to have passed. We are all faring well now except for slight attacks of fever. I seem to have recurrences quite frequently now associated with headaches. I have sent Seamen Crawford and Rollins in search of the plant that helps alleviate fever. I sent with them as a sample the last bit I had for my own private use.

June 7

Seamen Rollins and Crawford have not yet returned. If they are not back in another day we will have to organize a search. At least that is what Lt. Benton has said. That should be interesting; three men searching for two — who will be discovered, we or they?

My fever seems to have gone down but my head feels as if it shall surely split.

June 9

We started and finished our search for Crawford and Rollins yesterday. We found them by a burnt-out campfire, their throats cut. Buzzards, companions of our island I had not been aware of, acted as guides.

All the way back to the hut we tried to walk abreast through the sometimes dense underbrush. It seemed obvious that one of the three was a homicidal maniac. None of us said a word throughout the return. Finally, when we entered the hut in silence, Lt. Benton turned to Kelly and me, and said, “Let’s stop looking at each other as if one of us is a maniac. It seems as though I made a mistake when I didn’t have Burke executed. He has returned to the island intent on destroying us. Our only course is to hunt him down and destroy him.”

It seemed like sound thinking and made Kelly and me feel a little ashamed of ourselves.

June 10

We set put at daybreak this morning after what I am sure was a sleepless night for all three. We decided to scout along the shores of the island to see where Burke had landed. About a mile and a half up the beach we found the boat and the bones of Seaman Burke. It does not take long for buzzards to strip a man of his flesh but there was a three weeks’ growth of barnacles along the waterline of the anchored boat. Apparently he had anchored just off shore in order to keep a rendezvous with one of us. He would be safe from roaming snakes, animals or from mosquitoes out there. But he had not been safe from the murderer.

June 11

We all three sleep, or should I say lie, in the same room now. Last night was one of the most fantastic I have ever spent. My cot is next to the window, the moon to my back. About three feet away is Benton’s, and on the other side Kelly’s. I was lying on my back, the moon streaming across my cot and into the room, listening, for what I do not know, when I became aware of the absence of Benton’s usually heavy breathing. I was afraid to roll over to look at him, afraid that if he saw me looking at him he would think I was the murderer. I struggled with myself, but I had to look. I realized that the moon would be to my back and that he would not be able to see my eyes. I rolled over on my side, facing his cot. Benton was lying on his side plainly visible in the moonlight, his eyes wide open, watching me, breathing very softly.

June 13

We go everywhere together. Never is one of us out of the sight of the other two. Nor has one of us slept a wink in the last three nights. Nay, sleep is the one thing we fear... or at least two of us fear. For with sleep the murderer, we know, will do his handiwork.

June 15

We brought Burke’s remains into rest yesterday, the sixth cross in the row. Benton said a prayer and I could not help wondering if it were not the master hypocrisy. Kelly stared insanely. He could surely not last much longer. When the prayer was finished Benton looked at me and said, “I know who the killer is.” Neither Kelly nor I spoke. He turned to Kelly, “It has to be you, Kelly.” Kelly leaned forward on the shovel with which he had been digging, his eyes bulging. He was truly the picture of madness.

“It was you, Kelly, who said that no one had left your room the night Boswain Sykes was murdered. You lied and threatened Rollins so he would verify your story.” Kelly cracked; he lunged at the lieutenant with his shovel, screaming, “Liar, Murderer!” He missed but the lieutenant did not. As Kelly lunged wildly by he plunged his cutless through Kelly’s throat. The momentum ripped the sword from Benton’s hand. Kelly lay quite still on the ground, a fast-forming pool of blood about his head, his eyes open and rolled back in their sockets, the sword still impaled in his throat, crimson the length of the blade, only the handle reflecting the sun.

I stood rooted to the spot. Benton walked over, put his foot on Kelly’s shoulder and pulled his blade loose. I must have been gaping rather insanely for Benton looked up at me and said, “Come on Crane, snap out of it. It’s been a nightmare but we’ve got our killer now.”

I nodded feebly. How would I ever know, unless Benton...? But you did not argue with a man whom you thought might be mad, especially when he has a bloody cutless in his hand.

June 18

Benton has been looking at me rather oddly these past two days. He keeps telling me that this has been too much for me, that I must get some rest, sleep. But I’m too smart for him. I go into the woods and doze some during the day pretending I have been fishing. I shan’t go to sleep in the same room as that man, ever. Last night he made heavy breathing sighs like he was asleep but I saw his eyes in the moonlight, staring.

June 19

I am the only man alive on this island. I knew it had to be that way. Yesterday my headache returned so severely that I went to my cot and fainted. It was noon when I passed out and about midnight when I awoke to a refreshing breeze. My head was bursting but I could still think clearly. Benton was lying on his cot asleep, this time with his eyes closed. I reached under the mattress and removed the surgeon’s scalpel. I moved as quietly as the night over to his bed, plunged the scalpel in under his left ear and across to the right.

Of course I had to do it; he was the real murderer, wasn’t he? But it was strange how familiar it felt when I plunged the scalpel in and it did relieve my headache.

June 30

My headaches persist; I don’t think I can stand them much longer. I have fainted repeatedly since the death of Benton. I am now the only human being on the island, just me. If there were only someone else here...

My scalpel is in my hand almost constantly; the idea has possessed me that the only way to relieve my headaches is to plunge the scalpel under my left ear and draw across to the right. If there were only someone else on the island. But there are only eight others. Seven under seven crosses in back, and Benton who still remains asleep in his cot. I am going to lie down in mine now and try to sleep also. Perhaps I will never get up, the fever is in my eyes now and I can hardly see how to write.

There were no more entries. He laid down the diary. His torch was burning low. He must hurry back to his mates, waiting and certainly vexed at his dalliance, to return to the dory and the frigate ship. But he could not resist the temptation. He strode around to the back of the house where a little path led to a clearing.

As he advanced the light from his torch began to pick up elongated shadows in the clearing. They shortened and the first disappeared as he stood over it. It was the first of a row of crosses he could make out in his flickering light. He began to count: three, four, five, six. A chill ran down his spine. There was no seventh. He thought he heard a footstep behind him; he whirled, horrified — too late.