And The Deep Blue Sea by Charles Williams 1971(1)

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At sunset the next day after the Shoshone went down,
the wind dropped to a gentle breeze, and by midnight it
was calm. Now that the sea no longer broke, the raft
stopped capsizing and throwing him, and he slept for
the first time in forty hours. He awoke at dawn,
cramped, chilled through, shivering in his wet clothes
in spite of the fact he was only a few degrees south of
the Line. After the first gut-twisting impact of returning
consciousness of where he was and what was coming,
he was able to subdue the black animal and slam the
door of the cage, wondering at the same time why it
mattered. He had nothing to lose now. And he’d already
panicked once, or he wouldn’t be here. He could have
done it the easy way.

Charles Williams-All The Way 1958(7)

All The Way — 139
After two weeks other sensations began to crowd it off the
front page, but it didn’t die entirely. Several things kept it
alive. One was the continuing search for the man who had
looted the car, and for Chapman’s body. Then there was the
concrete flamingo; that had caught the morbid public fancy.
But everybody had accepted it now, and we were safe. She’d
write, or call, and let me know where she was.
She didn’t. Another week went by. I was growing to hate the
apartment. Being away from her was bad enough but being
reminded of her every minute I was in the place made it
unbearable. And he was in it. I had the rug shampooed, and
all the time the men were working on it I wondered if I were
going as mad as Lady Macbeth.

Charles Williams-All The Way 1958(6)

The next morning I stopped at the office on the way out.
She was talking to the colored maid. When the maid left, I
asked quietly, after a glance behind me at the door, “Is there a
All The Way — 115
woman registered here who has real blue-black hair, worn in
a chignon ? A slender woman, in her thirties?”
“Why, no,” she said, puzzled. “Why?”
“I just wanted to be sure,” I said. “If she checks in, don’t tell
her I asked, but let me know right away.”
“Yes, of course,” she said uncertainly. “Could you give me
her name?”
“Oh, she won’t be using her right name,” I said. “She’s too
clever for that.”

Charles Williams-All The Way 1958(5)

All The Way — 92
There was no enjoyment in it. I kept thinking of his body
lying down there somewhere crushed under the tons of water.
We didn’t catch anything to speak of, which was good. I
wouldn’t have to fight off the photographers. I explained we’d
have to cut the first day short because I had an important
business call to make, and we were back at the dock at three.
That was two p.m., New Orleans time. I called from the
motel.
“Chris? Chapman. How are you making out with that
Warwick?”
“Oh, hello, Mr. Chapman,” he replied. “The fishing all
right?”