In silence and tears,

It was Jackstraw who heard it firstit was always Jackstraw, whose hearing was an even match for his phenomenal eyesight, who heard things first. Tired of having my exposed hands alternately frozen, I had dropped my book, zipped my sleeping-bag up to the chin and was drowsily watching him carving figurines from a length of inferior narwhal tusk when his hands suddenly fell still and he sat quite motionless. Then, unhurriedly as always, he dropped the piece of bone into the coffee-pan that simmered gently by the side of our oil-burner stovecurio collectors paid fancy prices for what they Half broken-hearted imagined to be the dark ivory of fossilised elephant tusksrose and put his ear to the ventilation shaft, his eyes remote in the unseeing gaze of a man lost in listening. A couple of seconds were enough. "Aeroplane," he announced casually. "Aeroplane!" I propped myself up on an elbow and stared at him. "Jackstraw, you've been hitting the methylated spirits again." "Indeed, no, Dr Mason." The blue eyes, so incongruously at

There 's threescore and nine; if thou wilt be mine,

away from Ballybran to give your nerves the rest they need. Just then a cheerful voice hailed them. Killa! Antona! Am I glad to see someone else alive! Rimbol exclaimed, hobbling out of the shadows. He grinned as he saw the pitcher of beer. May I join you? By all means, Antona said graciously. What happened to you? Killashandra asked. Rimbols cheek and forehead were liberally decorated by newly healed scars. Mine was the sled that did a nose dive over the baffle. It did? You didnt know it was me? Rimbols mouth twisted in mock chagrin. The way Malaine carried on youdve thought Id placed half the incoming singers in jeopardy by that flip. Did you rearrange the sled as creatively as your face? Rimbol shook his head ruefully. It broke its nose, mine was only bloody. At that itll take longer to fix the sled than for my leg to heal. Say, Killa, have you heard about the Optherian contract? For the fractured manual? That could pay for a lot of repairs. Oh, I dont want it, and he flicked his hand in dismissal. Why ever not? Rimbol took a long pull of his beer. Well, Ive got a claim that was cutting real well right now. Optherias a long way away from here and Ive been warned that I could lose the guiding resonance being gone so long. And because you remembered that I havent cut anything worth packing No. Rimbol held up a hand, protesting Killashandras accusation. I mean, yes, I knew youve been unlucky lately Who do you think cut the white crystal to replace the fractured Optherian manual? You did! Rimbols face brightened with relief. Then you dont need to go either. He raised his beaker in a cheerful toast. Where dyou plan to go off-world? I hadnt exactly made up my mind Killashandra saw that Antona was busy serving up the last of her casserole. Why dont you try Maxim in the Barderi system. Rimbol leaned eagerly across the table to her. Ive heard its something sensational. Ill get there sometime but Id sure like to hear your opinion of it. I dont half believe the reports. Id trust you. Thats something to remember, Killashandra murmured, glancing sideways at Antona. Then, taking note of walmart kids digital camera Rimbols querying look, she asked smoothly, Whatve you been cutting lately? Greens, Rimbol replied with considerable satisfaction. He held up crossed fingers. Now, if only the storm damage is minimal, and it could be because the veins in a protected spot, I might even catch up with you on Maxim. You see and he proceeded to elaborate on his prospects. As Rimbol rattled on in his amusing fashion, Killashandra wondered if crystal would dull the Scartines infectious good-nature along with his memory. Would Antona give him the same urgent advice? Surely each of the newest crystal singers had some unique quality to be cherished and sustained throughout a lifetime. Antonas outburst had been sparked by a long frustration. To how many singers over her decades in the Guild had she tendered the same advice and found it ignored? So I came in with forty greens, Rimbol was saying with an air of achievement. Thats damned good cutting! Killashandra replied with suitable fervor. You have no trouble releasing crystal? Antona asked. Well, I did the first time out, Rimbol admitted candidly, but I remembered what youd said, Killa, about packing as soon as you cut. Ill never forget the sight of you locked in crystal thrall, right here in a noisy crowded hall. A kindly and timely word of wisdom! Oh, youd have caught on soon enough, Killashandra said, feeling a trifle embarrassed by his gratitude. Some never do, you know, Antona remarked. What happens? Do they stand in statuesque paralysis until night comes? Or a loud storm? The inability to release crystal is no joke, Rimbol. Rimbol stared at Antona, his mobile face losing its amused expression. You mean, they can be so enthralled, nothing breaks the spell? Antona nodded slowly. That could be fatal. Has it been? There have been instances. Then Im doubly indebted to you, Killa, Rimbol said, rising, so this rounds on me. They finished that round, refreshed by food, drink, and conversation. Of the four, I think youd prefer Rani in the Punjabi system, Antona told Killashandra in parting. The foods better and the climate less severe. They have marvelous mineral hot springs, too. Not as

And I love him none at a'.

had too hearty a respect for storm not to wish to be in the safest place during one. Common sense told her that was likely to be in Lars Dahls company. Men and women were filing in and out of the tavern. Lars and Killashandra entered and found a veritable command post. The bar was now dispensing equipment and gear which Killashandra could not readily identify. Along the back wall, the huge vdr screen was active, showing a satellite picture of the growing storm swirling in from the south. Estimated times of arrival of the first heavy winds, high tide, the eye, and the counter winds were all listed in the upper left hand corner. Other cryptic information, displayed in a band across the top of the screen, did not mean much to her but evidently conveyed intelligence to the people in the bar. Including Lars. Lars, Olavs on line for you, called the tallest of the men behind the bar, and he jerked his head toward a side door. The fellow paused in his dispensations, and Killashandra was aware of his scrutiny as she followed Lars to the room indicated. However rustic the tavern looked from the outside, this room was crammed with sophisticated equipment, a good deal of it meteorological, though not as complex as instrumentation in the Weather Room of the Heptite Guild. And all of it printing out or displaying rapidly changing information. Lars? A young man turned from the scanner in front of him and, screwing his face in an anxious expression almost pounced on the new arrival What are you going to do Lars held up his hand, cutting off the rest of that sentence, and the young man noticed the garland. He threw an almost panic stricken look at Killashandra. Tanny, this is Carrigana. And theres nothing I can do with this storm blowing up. Lars was scrutinizing the duplicate vdr satellite picture as he spoke. The worst of it will pass due east. Dont worry about the things you cant change! He gave Tanny a clout on the shoulder but the worried expression did not entirely alter. Killashandra kept the silly social smile on her face as Tanny accorded her the briefest of nods. She had a very good idea what, or rather whom, they were discussing so obliquely. Her. Still trapped, they thought, on that chip of an island. Tannys my partner, Carrigana, and one of the best sailors on Angel, Lars added, though his attention was still claimed by the swirling cloud mass. What if the direction changes, Lars? Tanny refused to be reassured. You know what the southern blows are like He made an exaggerated gesture with both arms, canon s500 digital camera nearly socking a passing islander, who ducked in time. Tanny, there is nothing we can do. Theres a great big polly on the island thats survived hurricanes and high tides since man took the archipelago. Well go have a look as soon as the blows gone. All right? Lars didnt wait for Tannys agreement, guiding Killashandra back into the main room. He paused at the counter, waiting his turn, and receiving a small handset. A light one will do me fine, Bart, he added and Bart set a small antigrav unit on the counter. Most of what I own is either on the Pearl or on its way back to me from the City. Grab a couple of those ration packs, will you, Carrigana, he added as they walked out on the broad verandah where additional emergency supplies were being passed out. Might not need them but its less for them to pack to the Ridge. As Lars turned her west, away from the settlement, she caught sight of Tanny, watching them, his expression still troubled. The wind was picking up and the water in the harbor agitated. Lars looked to his right, assessing the situation. Been in a bad one yet? he asked her, an amused and tolerant grin on his face. Oh, yes, Killashandra answered fervently. Not an experience I wish to repeat. How could Lars know how puny an Optherian hurricane would be in comparison to Passover Storms on Ballybran. Once again she wanted to discard her borrowed identity. There was so much she would like to share with Lars. Its waiting out the blow thats hard, Lars said, then grinned down at her. We wont be bored this time, though. My father said that Theach came with Hauness and Erutown. I wonder how they managed the travel permits? That caused him to chuckle. Well know how the revised master plan is working. Killashandra was very hard put to refrain from making any remarks but, of a certainty, waiting out this blow would be extremely interesting. She might not be getting on with the primary task of her visit to Optheria, but she was certainly gaining a lot of experience with dissidents. His place was on a knoll, above the harbor, in a grove of mature polly trees. It reflected an orderly person who preferred plain and restful colors. He produced several carisaks which had been neatly stored in a cupboard, and together they emptied the chest of his clothes, including several beautifully finished formal garments. He cleared his terminal of any stored information and when Killashandra asked if they shouldnt dismantle the

Then Little John smii'd his master upon,

girl." "What does the fine girl want?" "What in the world's got into you? Whyoh, forget it. I'm not going to fight with you. Her back hurtsshe's in considerable pain. Come and see it, please." "I offered to see it last night. If she wants me now why doesn't she come and ask me?" "Because she's scared of you, that's why," she said angrily. She stamped a foot in the frozen snow. "Will you go or not?" I went. Below, I stripped off my gloves, emptied the ice out of them and washed my blistered, bleeding hands in disinfectant. I saw Marie LeGarde's eyes widen at the sight of my hands, but she said nothing: maybe she knew I wasn't in the mood for condolences. I rigged up a screen in the corner of the room remote from the table where the women had been gathering and dividing out the remaining food supplies, and had a look at Margaret Ross's back. It was a mess, all right, a great ugly blue and purpling bruise from the spine to the left shoulder: in the centre, just below the shoulder blade, was a deep jagged cut, which looked as if it had been caused by a heavy blow from some triangular piece of sharp metal. Whatever had caused it had passed clean through her tunic and blouse. "Why didn't you show me this yesterday?" I asked coldly. "I -1 didn't want to bother you," she faltered. Didn't want to bother me, I thought grimly. Didn't want to give yourself away, you mean. In my mind's eye I had a picture of the pantry where we had found her, and I was almost certain now that I could get the proof that I needed. Almost, but not quite. I'd have to go to check. "Is it very bad?" She twisted round, and I could see there were tears in the brown eyes from the pain of the disinfectant I was rubbing on none too gently. "Bad enough," I said shortly. "How did you get this?" "I've no idea," she said helplessly. "I just don't know, Dr Mason." "Perhaps we can find out." "Find out? Why? What does it matter?" She shook her head wearily. "I don't understand, I really don't. What have I done, Dr Mason?" It was magnificent, I had to admit. I could have hit her, but it was magnificent. "Nothing, Miss Ross. Just nothing at all." By the time I had pulled on my parka, gloves, goggles and mask she was fully dressed, staring sony cybershot digital camera for cheap at me as I climbed up the steps and out through the hatch. The snow was falling quite heavily now, gusting in swirling ghostly flumes through the pale beam of my torch: it seemed to vanish as it hit the ground, freezing as it touched, or scudding smoke-like over the frozen surface with a thin rustling sound. But the wind was at my back, the bamboo markers stretched out in a dead straight line ahead, never less than two of them in the beam of my torch, and I had reached the crashed plane in five or six minutes. I jumped for the windscreen, hooked my fingers over the sill, hauled myself up with some difficulty and wriggled my way into the control cabin. A moment later I was in the stewardess's pantry, flashing my torch around. On the after bulkhead was a big refrigerator, with a small hinged table in front of it, and at the far end, under the window, a hinged box covered over what might have been a heating unit or sink or both. I didn't bother investigating, I wasn't interested. What I was interested in was the for'ard bulkhead, and I examined it carefully. It was given up entirely to the small closed doors of little metal lockers let in flush to the wallfood containers, probablyand there wasn't a single metal projection in the entire wall, nothing that could possibly account for the wound in the stewardess's back. And if she had been here at the moment of impact, that was the wall she must have been flung against. The inference was inescapableshe must have been elsewhere at the time of the crash. I remembered now, with chagrin, that I hadn't even bothered to see whether or not she was conscious when we'd first found her lying on the floor. Across the passage in the radio compartment I found what I was looking for almost immediatelyI'd a pretty good idea where to look. The thin sheet metal at the top left-hand corner of the radio cabinet was bent almost half an inch out of true: and it didn't require any microscope to locate or forensic expert to guess at the significance of the small dark stain and the fibres of navy blue cloth clinging to the corner of the smashed set. I looked inside the set itself, and now that I had time to spare it more than a fleeting glance it was abundantly clear to me that the wrenching away of the face-plate didn't even begin to account for the damage that had been done to the set: it had been systematically and thoroughly wrecked. If ever there was a time when my

And naebody kens that he lies there

exclamation from Killashandra. It is breathtaking! Thyrol chose to interpret her response his way. Beautiful was a fair adjective, Killashandra thought, but breathtaking, no! Even at that distance something was too prim and proper about the City for her taste. None of the indigenous trees and bushes were removed, you see, Thyrol explained, gesturing with his whole hand rather than a single finger, when the City was constructed, so that the natural, unspoiled landscape could be retained. And the river and that lake? Are they natural features? But of course. Nature is not distorted on Optheria. Which is as it should be, Polabod added. The entire valley is as it was when Man first landed on Optheria. The City Architect planned all the buildings and dwellings in the unoccupied spaces, Mirbethan said proudly . How exceedingly clever! Killashandra was wearing the contact lenses recommended for Optherias sunlight and wondered if the planet would be improved, viewed via augmented Ballybran vision. Just then it was very, very, blah! Killashandra had to delve a long way for an adequate expression which, tactfully, she did not voice. Would Borella have restrained herself? Would she have noticed? Ah, well, Beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder! For Optherias sake, she was glad that someone loved it. While it might have been laudable of the Founding Fathers to wish to preserve the entire valley as it was when Man first landed, it must have given the architects and construction crews a helluva lot of trouble. Buildings wrapped around copses of trees, straddled brooks, incorporated boulders and ledges. Probably the floors on upper levels were even but it must have been bumpy going at ground level. Fortunately the airfoils of her vehicle were up to the uneven surface in the suburbs but the ride became rather bouncy as they proceeded deeper into the City. Pausing at the intersection of a huge open square open except for the many thorn bushes and scrawny trees Killashandra could not fail to notice that the ground floor of one corner building made uneven arches over repulsively greasy-looking bushes whose thorny branches were obviously a hazard to pedestrians; something was to be said for the curtailment of natural beauty. She could learn to hate the City quite easily. No wonder some of the natives were restless. Just how did the Summer Festival compensate for the rest of the Optherian sony digital still camera dsc-p71 year? Once past the open square, the road climbed gently to a cluster of buildings evidently uninhibited by natural beauties, for they seemed to have an architectural integrity so far lacking in the City. It was necessary, Thyrol said in a muted voice, to add the merest trace of a ramp to ascend to the Music Center. I wouldnt have known it if you hadnt told me, Killashandra said, unable to restrain her facetiousness. One ought to approach on foot, Pirinio went on in a repressive tone, but some latitude is permitted so that the audience may assemble punctually. His gesture called Killashandras attention to the many small switchback paths to one side of the promontory. Killashandra repressed a second facetious remark which Pirinios tone provoked. It wouldnt be the installation on Optheria, not the organ, nor the planet which were hazardous: once again it was the inhabitants. Was she always to encounter such intolerant, inflexible, remorseless personalities? What sort of local brew do you have here on Optheria? she asked, keeping her tone casual. If the reply was none, shed book out on the next available craft. Well, ah, that is, possibly not at all to your taste, Guildmember. Mirbethans startled reply was hesitant. No beverages can be imported. Im sure you saw the notice in the Port Authority. Our brewmasters produce four distinct fermented beverages: quite potable, Im told. Spirits are distilled from the Terran grains which we have managed to adapt to Optherian soil, but Ive been told that these are raw to educated palates. Optheria produces excellent wines, Pirinio said rather testily, with a reproving glance at Mirbethan. They cannot be exported and indeed, some do not travel well even the relatively short distance to the City. If wine is your preference, a selection will be put in your quarters. Ill try some of the brews, too. Wine and beer? Polabod exclaimed in surprise. Crystal singers are required to keep a high blood-alcohol content when absent from Ballybran. Ill have to decide which is the best for my particular requirement. She sighed in patient forebearance. I wasnt informed that members of your Guild required special diets. Thyrol was clearly perturbed. No special diet, Killashandra agreed, but we do require larger intakes of certain natural substances

Ambition was my idol, which was broken

conclusion that I'd a great deal more to worry about than the niceties of social intercourse. After the meal I rose, pulled on parka and gloves, picked up the searchlight; told Jackstraw and Joss to come with me and headed for the trap-door. Zagero's voice stopped me. "Where you goin', Doc?" "That's no concern of yours. Well, Mrs Dansby-Gregg?" "Shouldn't youshouldn't you take the rifle with you?" "Don't worry." I smiled thinly. "With everyone watching everyone else like hawks, that rifle's as safe as houses." "Butbut someone could jump for it," she said nervously. "They could get you when you're coming down the hatch" "Mr Nielsen and I are the last two persons they'd ever shoot. Without us, they couldn't get a mile from here. The most likely candidates for the next bullet are some of yourselves. You're absolutely inessential and, as far as the killers are concerned, represent nothing more than a waste of priceless rations." With this comforting thought I left them, each person trying to watch all the others at one and the same time, while doing his level best to give the appearance of watching no one. The wind was so slight now that the anemometer cups had stopped turning. The dying embers of the burnt-out plane were a dull smouldering glow to the north-east. The snow had gone completely and the first faint stars were beginning to show through the thinning cloud above. It was typically Greenland, this swift change in the weather, and so, too, was the temperature inversion that would surely follow in the morning, or before morning. Twelve hours from now it was going to be very cold indeed. With searchlight and torches we examined every inch of the tractor and sledges, above and below, and if there had been a pin there I would have sworn that we couldn't have missed it, far less anything so large as a couple of guns. We found nothing. I straightened, and turned to look at the glow that was lightening the sky to the east, and even as I stood there with Joss and Jackstraw by my side the moon, preternaturally large and rather more than half full, heaved itself above the distant horizon and flooded the ice-cap with its pale and ghostly light, laying down between itself and our feet a bar-straight path of glittering silver grey. We watched in silence for a full minute, then Jackstraw stirred. Even before he spoke, I knew what was in his mind. "Uplavnik," he murmured. "Tomorrow, we the islandmagee camera digital imaging club set off for Uplav-nik. But first, you said, a good night's sleep." "I know," I said. "A traveller's moon." "A traveller's moon," he echoed. He was right, of course. Travel in the Arctic, in winter, was regulated not by daylight but my moonlight. And tonight we had that moonand we had a clear sky, a dying wind and no snow at all. I turned to Joss. "You'll be all right alone?" "I have no worries," he said soberly. "Look, sir, can't I come too?" "Stay here and stay healthy," I advised. "Thanks, Joss, but you know someone must remain behind. I'll call you up on the usual schedules. You might get a kick out of the RCA yet. Miracles still happen." "Not this time, they won't." He turned away abruptly and went below. Jackstraw moved across to the tractorwe didn't say another word to each other, we didn't have toand I followed Joss down to the cabin. No one had moved an inch, as far as I could see, but they all looked up as I came in. "All right," I said abruptly. "Get your stuff together and pile on every last stitch of clothes you can. We're leaving now." We left, in fact, just over an hour later. The Citroen had been lying unused for the better pan of a fortnight, and we had the devil's own job getting it to start. But start it eventually did, with a roar and a thunderous clatter that had everybody jumping in startlement then looking at it in dismay. I knew the thoughts in their minds, that they'd have to live with this cacophony, this bedlam of sound assaulting their shrinking eardrums for no one knew how many days to come, but I wasted little sympathy on them: at least they would have the protection of the wooden body while I would be sitting practically on top of the engine. We said our goodbyes to Joss. He shook hands with Jackstraw and myself, with Margaret Ross and Marie LeGarde, and, pointedly, with no one else. We left him standing there by the hatchway, a lonely figure outlined against the pale light of the steadily climbing moon, and headed west by south for Uplavnik, three hundred long and frozen miles away. I wondered, as I knew Joss was wondering, whether we would ever see each other again. I wondered, too, what right I had in exposing Jackstraw to the dangers which must lie ahead. He was

Calld him, and bid him stay.

and had just seen Mahler, now semi-conscious, and Marie LeGarde once again safely ensconced in the tractor cabin when Margaret Ross came up to me, her brown eyes troubled. "The tins, Dr Masonthe corned beef. I can't find them." "What's that? The bully? They can't be far away, Margaret." It was the first time I'd called her that, but my thoughts had been fixed exclusively on something else, and it wasn't until I saw the slight smile touching her lipsif she was displeased she was hiding it quite wellthat I realised what I had said. I didn't care, it was worth it, it was the first time I had ever seen her smile, and it transformed her rather plain facebut I told my heart that there was a time and a place for somersaults, and this wasn't it. "Come on, let's have a look." We looked, and we found nothing. The tins were gone all right. This was the excuse, the opportunity I had been waiting for. Jackstraw was by my side, looking at me quizzically as we bent over the sled, and I nodded. "Behind him," I murmured. I moved back to where the others were grouped round the rear of the tractor cabin and took up a position where I could watch them allbut especially Zagero and Levin. "Well," I said, "you heard. Our last tins of beef have gone. They didn't just vanish. Somebody stole them. That somebody had better tell me, for I'm going to find out anyway." There was an utter silence that was broken only occasionally by the stirring of the dogs on the tethering cable. No one said anything, no one as much as looked at his neighbour. The silence stretched on and on, then, as one man, they all swung round startled at the heavy metallic click from behind them. Jackstraw had just cocked the bolt of his rifle, and I could see the slow stiffening of Zagero's back and arms as he realised that the barrel was lined up on his own head. "It's no coincidence, Zagero," I said grimly. I had my own automatic in my hand by the time he turned round. "That rifle's pointed just where it's meant to. Bring your bag here." He stared at me, then called me an unprintable name. "Bring it here," I repeated. I pointed the Beretta at his head. "Believe me, Zagero, I'd as soon kill you as let you live." He believed me. He brought the bag, flung it at my feet. "Open it," I said curtly. "It's digital camera drivers vi locked." "Unlock it." He looked at me without expression, then searched through his pockets. At last he stopped and said, "I can't find the keys." "I'd expected nothing else. Jackstraw" I changed my mind, one gun was not enough to cover a killer like Zagero. I glanced round the company, made my choice. "Mr Small wood, perhaps you" "No, thank you," Mr Smallwood said hastily. He was still holding a handkerchief to his puffed mouth. He smiled wryly. "I've never realised so clearly before now how essentially a man of peace I am, Dr Mason. Perhaps Mr Corazzini" I glanced at Corazzini, and he shrugged indifferently. I understood his lack of eagerness. He must have known that I'd had him high up among my list of suspects until very recently indeed and a certain delicacy of sentiment might well prevent him from being too forthcoming too soon. But this was no time for delicacy. I nodded, and he made for Zagero. He missed nothing, but he found nothing. After two minutes he stepped back, looked at me and then, thoughtfully, at Solly Levin. Again I nodded, and again he began to search. In ten seconds he brought out a bunch of keys, and held them up. "It's a frame-up," Levin yelped. "It's a plant! Corazzini tnusta palmed 'em and put 'em there. I never had no keys" "Shut up!" I ordered contemptuously. "Yours, Zagero?" He nodded tightly, said nothing. "OK, Corazzini," I said. "Let's see what we can find." The second key opened the soft leather case. Corazzini dug under the clothes on top and brought out the three corned beef tins. "Thank you," I said. "Our friend's iron rations for his take-off. Miss Ross, our lunch. . . . Tell me, Zagero, can you think of any reason why I shouldn't kill you now?" "You've made nothin' but mistakes ever since I met you," Zagero said slowly, "but, brother, this is the biggest you ever made. Do you think I would be such a damn fool as to incriminate myself that way? Do you think I would be so everlastingly obvious" "I think that's exactly the way you expected me to think," I said wearily. "But I'm learning, I'm learning. One more job, Corazzini, if you would. Tie their feet." "What are you going to do?" Zagero asked tightly. "Don't

The King has cast off his friar's coat,

and hurried away. Miller cleared his throat and clucked his tongue sadly. "These hotels are all the same. The goin's-onyou'd never believe your eyes. Remember once I was at a convention in Cincinnati" Mallory shook his head wearily. "You have a fixation about hotels, Corporal. This is a military establishment and these are army officers' billets." Miller made to speak but changed his mind. The American was a shrewd judge of people. There were those who could be ribbed and those who could not be ribbed. An almost hopeless mission, Miller was quietly aware, and as vital as it was, in his opinion, suicidal; but he was beginning to understand why they'd picked this tough, sunburnt New Zealander to lead it. They sat in silence for the next five minutes, then looked up as the door opened. Captain Briggs was hatless and wore a white silk muffler round his throat in place of the usual collar and tie. The white contrasted oddly with the puffed red of the heavy neck and face above. These had been red enough when Mallory had first seen them in the Colonel's officehigh blood pressure and even higher living, Mallory had supposed: the extra deeper shades of red and purple now present probably sprung from a misplaced sense of righteous indignation. A glance at the choleric eyes, gleaming lightblue prawns afloat in a sea of vermilion, was quite enough to confirm the obvious. "I think this is a bit much, Captain Mallory!" The voice was high pitched in anger, more nasal than ever. "I'm not the duty errand-boy, you know. I've had a damned hard day and" "Save it for your biography," Mallory said curtly, "and take a gander at this character in the corner." Briggs's face turned an even deeper hue. He stepped into the room, fists balled in anger, then stopped in his tracks as his eye lit on the crumpled, dishevelled flgure still crouched in the corner of the room. "Good God!" he ejaculated. "Nicolai!" "You know him." It was a statement, not a question. "Of course I know him!" Briggs snorted. "Everybody knows him. Nicolal. Our laundry-boy." "Your laundry-boy! Do his duties entail snooping around the corridors at night, listening at keyholes?" "What do you mean?" "What I say." Mallory was very patient. "We caught him listening outside the door." "Nicolai? I sony digital camera wired remote don't believe it!" "Watch it, mister," Miller growled. "Careful who you call a liar. We all saw him." Briggs stared in fascination at the black muzzle of the automatic waving negligently in his direction, gulped, looked hastily away. "Well, what if you did?" He forced a smile. "Nicolai can't speak a word of English." "Maybe not," Mallory agreed dryly. "But he understands it well enough." He raised his hand. "I've no desire to argue all night and I certainly haven't the time. Will you please have this man placed under arrest, kept in solitary confinement and incommunicado for the next week at least. It's vital. Whether he's a spy or just too damned nosy, he knows far too much. After that, do what you like. My advice is to kick him out of Castelrosso." "Your advice, indeed!" Briggs's colour returned, and with it his courage. "Who the hell are you to give me advice or to give me orders, Captain Mallory?" There was a heavy emphasis on the word "captain." "Then I'm asking it as a favour," Mallory pleaded wearily. "I can't explain, but it's terribly important. There are hundreds of lives "Hundreds of lives!" Briggs sneered. "Melodramatic stuff and nonsense!" He smiled unpleasantly. "I suggest you keep that for your cloak-and-dagger biography, Captain Mallory." Mallory rose, walked round the table, stopped a foot away from Briggs. The brown eyes were still and very cold. "I could go and see your Colonel, I suppose. But I'm tired of arguing. You'll do exactly as I say or I'll go straight to Naval H.Q. and get on the radio-telephone to Cairo. And if I do," Mallory went on, "I swear to you that you'll be on the next ship home to Englandand on the troop-deck, at that." His last words seemed to echo in the little room for an interminable time: the stillness was intense. And then, as suddenly as it had arisen, the tension was gone and Briggs's face, a now curiously mottled white and red, was slack and sullen in defeat. "All right, all right," he said. "No need for all these damned stupid threatsnot if it means all that much to you." The attempt to bluster, to patch up the shredded rags of his dignity, was pathetic in its transparency. "Matthewscall out the guard." The torpedo-boat, great engines throttled back half speed, pitched and lifted, pitched and lifted with monotonous regularity as it thrust its way into the long, gentle swell from the W.N.W. For the