Circus

5

The days passed uneventfully enough, if somewhat unsteadily: the Carpentaria’s stabilizers didn’t seem quite to understand what was expected of them. For the circus crew there was little enough to do other than feed the animals and keep their quarters clean. Those performers who could practise their esoteric arts practised them: those who couldn’t possessed their souls in patience.

Bruno spent sufficient time with Maria to lend credence to the now almost universal belief among the circus people that here indeed was a romance that was steadily blossoming: what was even more intriguing was that there seemed to be a distinct possibility that there might be two romances getting under way, for whenever Bruno was not with her Henry Wrinfield was solicitously unsparing in the attentions he paid her. And, as Bruno spent most of his time with Kan Dahn, Roebuck and Manuelo, Henry lacked neither the time nor the opportunity; he made the most of both.

The lounge bar, a large room that seated well over a hundred people, was invariably well patronized before dinner. On the third night out Henry sat at a remote corner table, talking earnestly to Maria. On the far side of the lounge Bruno sat playing cards with his three friends. Before the game, Roebuck and Manuelo spent their ritual ten minutes bemoaning the fact that they had no opportunity to practise their arts with lasso and knives respectively. Kan Dahn was in no way concerned about himself: clearly he was of the belief that his massive strength wasn’t going to drain away from him in a matter of days: it was a belief that was widely shared.

Poker was their game. They played for low stakes and Bruno almost invariably won. The others claimed that this was because he could see through their cards, a claim that Bruno stoutly denied, although the fact that on the previous night, wearing a blindfold, he had won four consecutive hands put a query mark to his assertion. Not that he was ever in pocket at the end of a game: the winner paid for the drinks and although he, Roebuck and Manuelo consumed very little, the capacity of Kan Dahn’s three hundred pound frame for beer was awesome. Kan Dahn drained another uncounted pint, glanced across the room and tapped Bruno on the arm. “You’d best look to your defences, my lad. Your lady-love is under siege.” Bruno glanced across and said mildly: “She’s not my ladylove. Even if she were I don’t think Henry is the type to snatch her and run. Not that he could run very far in the middle of the Atlantic.”

“Far enough,” Roebuck said darkly.

“His fair-haired dear one is back in the States,” Manuelo said severely. “Our little Maria is here. It makes a difference.” “Somebody,” Roebuck said, “should tell her about Cecily.” “Our little Maria knows all about Cecily. She told me so herself. Even knows the kind of engagement ring she wears.” Bruno glanced at the couple again, then returned to his cards.

“I do not think that they are discussing affairs of the heart.” Maria and Henry were not, indeed, discussing affairs of the heart. Henry was being very very earnest, very intense and very genuinely concerned. He suddenly broke off, looked across to the bar, then back to Maria again.

“That proves it!” Henry’s voice held a mixture of triumph and apprehension.

Maria said patiently: “What proves what, Henry?” “The fellow I told you about. The fellow who’s been following you. That steward that just entered and went behind the bar. The chap with the weasel face. He’s no right to be here. He doesn’t work here.”

“Oh, come on now, Henry. He hasn’t got a weasel face, just thin, that’s all.”

“He’s English,” Henry said inconsequentially. “I’ve met some Englishmen who weren’t criminals. And you haven’t overlooked the fact that this is a British ship?” Henry was persistent. “I’ve seen him follow you half a dozen times. I know, because I’ve followed the two of you.” She looked at him in surprise, but this time without smiling. “He also follows my uncle.”

“Ah!” She looked thoughtful. “His name’s Wherry. He’s a cabin steward.”

“I told you he shouldn’t be here. Keeping tabs on you, that’s what.” He checked himself. “A cabin steward. How do you know? Your cabin steward?”

“Your uncle’s. That’s where I saw him first. In your uncle’s cabin.” Her thoughtful expression deepened. “Now that you mention it, I have seen him around rather a lot. And, two or three times when I’ve been walking about, I turned around and found him close behind.”

“You bet you did.”

“And what’s that meant to mean, Henry?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m making no mistake.” “Why should anyone follow me? Do you think he’s a detective in disguise and I’m a wanted criminal? Or do I look like a counter-spy or a secret agent or Mata Hari fifty years on?” Henry considered. “No, you don’t look the part. Besides, Mata Hari was ugly. You’re beautiful.” He adjusted his glasses the better to confirm his judgement. “Really beautiful.” “Henry! Remember this morning? We had agreed to confine our discussions to intellectual matters.”

“The hell with intellectual matters.” Henry thought and weighed his words with care. “I really believe I’m falling in love with you.” He thought some more. “Fallen.”

“I don’t think Cecily would —”

“The hell with her, too — no, I didn’t mean that. Sorry. Although I did mean what I said about you.” He half-turned in his seat. “Look, Wherry’s leaving.”

They watched him go, a small thin dark man with a small thin dark moustache. At his nearest approach to their table, which was about ten feet away, he flickered a glance at them then as quickly looked away again. Henry leaned back in his seat and gave her his “I-told-you-so” look. “A criminal. Written all over him. You saw that?”

“Yes.” She was troubled. “But why, Henry, why?”

He shrugged. “Do you have any valuables? Any jewellery?”

“I don’t wear jewellery.”

Henry nodded his approval. “Jewellery is for women who need it. But when a person is as lovely as you are —” “Henry, it’s getting so I just can’t talk to you. This morning I said it was a lovely day and you put on your soulful expression and made disparaging remarks about the day. When I commend my peach melba you say it’s not half as sweet as I am. And when we looked at the beautiful colourings of the sunset tonight —” “I have a poetic soul. Ask Cecily. No, on second thoughts, don’t ask Cecily. I can see that I’m going to have to keep a very, very close eye on you.”

“I should say that you are making a pretty good start already.”

“Ah.” An unrepentant Henry, eyes slightly glazed but not from alcohol, made no attempt to switch his adoring gaze to pastures less green. He said wistfully: “You know, I’ve always wanted to be someone’s Sir Galahad.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Henry. There’s no place in the world today for Sir Galahads. Chivalry is dead, Henry. The lances and the bright swords and the days of knightly combat are gone: this is the era of the knife in the back.” Alas for Henry, all his senses, except that of sight, were temporarily in abeyance. Her words fell on deaf ears. On the fourth night out Dr Harper joined Bruno in his stateroom. He was accompanied by Carter, the purser, who had been so busy with the debugging equipment on the first night out. Carter extended his customary courteous good evening, wordlessly repeated the search performance, shook his head and left.

Harper nodded to the cocktail cabinet, poured himself a drink, savoured it and said with some satisfaction: “We will pick up your guns in Vienna.”

“Guns?”

“Indeed.”

“You have been in touch with the States? Doesn’t the radio operator raise an eyebrow?”

It was Harper’s night to indulge himself to a moderate degree. He smiled. He said: “I am my own radio operator. I have a very high frequency radio transceiver, no bigger than the average book, which can’t possibly interfere with normal ship’s frequencies. As Charles says, it could reach the moon. Anyway, I transmit in code. Show you the thing some time — in fact, I’ll have to show it to you and explain its operation in case you have to use it. In case something should go wrong with me.”

“What should go wrong with you?”

“What should have gone wrong with Pilgrim and Fawcett? Now, we’ll be picking up two guns for you, not one, and that for a reason. The anaesthetic dart gun — the missiles are more like needles, actually — is the more effective, but the word is that Van Diemen has a long-standing heart condition. So, if you should have to quieten him, the use of a dart gun is, as they say, contra-indicated. For him, the gas gun. Have you figured out a way to get inside yet?”

“A battery-powered helicopter would be splendid only there are no such things. No, I haven’t figured out a way into the damned place yet.”

“Early days and fingers crossed. You know you’re slated to dine with me at the captain’s table tonight?” “No.”

“Passengers are rotated for the privilege. A normal courtesy.

See you then.”

They had just seated themselves at the table when a steward approached, bent and whispered something discreetly into the captain’s ear. The captain rose, excused himself and followed the steward from the dining saloon. He was back inside two or three minutes, looking more than vaguely perturbed. “Odd,” he said. “Very odd. Carter — you’ve met him, he’s chief purser — claims that he has just been assaulted by some thug. ›Mugged‹, I believe, is the American term for it. You know, caught round the neck from behind and choked. No marks on him, but he does seem a trifle upset.” Harper said: “Couldn’t he just have taken a turn?” “If he did, then his wallet left his inside pocket of its own volition.”

“In which case he’s been attacked and his wallet — minus the contents, of course — is now probably at the bottom of the Atlantic. Shall I have a look at him?”

“It might be wise. Berenson is holding hands with some silly old trout who thinks she’s having a heart attack. Thank you, Doctor. I’ll get a steward to take you.”

Harper left. Bruno said: “That pleasant, courteous man. Who would rob a person like that?”

“I don’t think Carter’s character would come into it. Just someone who was short of money and reasoned that if any person would be liable to be carrying money it would be the ship’s purser. An unpleasant thing to have happen on one’s ship — in fact I’ve never known or heard of an instance before. I’ll have my chief officer and some men investigate.” Bruno smiled. “I hope we circus people don’t automatically come under suspicion. Among some otherwise reasonable citizens our reputation is not what it could be. But I don’t know more honest people.”

“I don’t know who is responsible, and the question, I’m afraid, is of academic importance anyway. I don’t think my chief has a hope in hell of finding him.”

Bruno leaned over the taffrail of the Carpentaria, gazing contemplatively at the slight phosphorescence of the ship’s wake. He stirred and turned as someone came up beside him. He said: “Anyone in the vicinity?”

“No one,” Manuelo said.

“No bother?”

“No bother.” The startlingly white teeth gleamed in the darkness. “You were quite right. The unfortunate Mr Carter does indeed take a regular — what do you call it —?” “Constitutional.”

“Right. Takes his constitutional at that time of evening on the boat deck. Lots of shadows on the boat deck. Kan Dahn kind of leaned on him a little bit, Roebuck took the purser’s cabin keys, brought them down to me and kept watch in the passageway while I went inside. It didn’t take long. There was a funny electrical gadget inside a brief-case —” “I think I know about that. Looked like a small radio except there were no wave-bands on it?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“A device for locating listening devices. They’re a very suspicious lot aboard this boat.”

“With us around you’re surprised?”

“What else?”

“There was fifteen hundred dollars, in tens, at the bottom of a trunk —”

“I didn’t know about that. Used?”

“No. New. And in sequence.”

“How careless.”

“Looks like.” He handed a piece of paper to Bruno. “I wrote down the serial numbers of the first and last numbers.” “Good, good. You’re quite sure they were genuine notes?” “My life on it. I wasn’t in all that hurry and I passed one out to Roebuck. He agrees.”

“That was all?”

“There were some letters addressed to him. Not to any particular address but to Poste Restante in a few cities, mostly London and New York.”

“What language? English?”

“No. I didn’t recognize it. The postmark said Gdynia. That would make it Polish, wouldn’t it?”

“It would indeed. Then everything was left as found, door locked and the keys returned to the sleeping Mr Carter.” Manuelo nodded. Bruno thanked him, left, returned to his stateroom, glanced briefly at the serial numbers on the piece of paper that Manuelo had given him then flushed it down the toilet.

To no one’s surprise, Carter’s assailant was never found. On the evening before their arrival in Genoa Dr Harper came to Bruno’s stateroom. He helped himself to a Scotch from Bruno’s virtually untouched liquor cabinet. He said: “How goes the thinking on this entry business?

Mine, I’m afraid, has bogged down to a halt.” Bruno said gloomily: “Maybe it would have been better, especially for the sake of my health, if mine had bogged down, too.”

Harper sat up in his armchair and pursed his lips. “You have an idea?”

“I don’t know. A glimmering, perhaps. I was wondering — have you any further information for me? Anything at all? About the interior layout of the west building and how to gain access to the ninth floor. Take the roof. Is there any access by way of ventilator shafts, trapdoors or suchlike?” “I honestly don’t know.”

“I think we can forget the ventilator shafts. In a maximum security place like this the air circulation probably vents through the side walls and would have impossibly narrow exit apertures. Trapdoors, I would have thought, they must have. How else could the guards get up to their towers or the electricians service the electric fence when the need arises. I can hardly see them climbing up ninety feet high vertical steel ladders bolted to an inside wall. Do you know whether the Lubylan runs to lifts?”

“That I do know. There’s a stairs shaft runs from top to bottom in each building with two lifts on either side of the shafts.” “Presumably it services the ninth floor as well as the rest. That means that the lift-head — you know, where they have the pulley mechanism for the cables — must protrude above the roof. That could provide a way in.”

“It would also provide an excellent way of having yourself crushed to death if you were descending the shaft as the lift came up. It’s happened before, you know, and not seldom either, with service men working on top of a lift.” “That’s a risk. Walking a frozen two thousand volt cable in a high wind — we have to assume the worst — isn’t a risk? What’s on the eighth floor? More laboratories?”

“Oddly, no. That belongs to the east building — the detention centre. The senior prison officers and the prison office staff sleep there — maybe they can’t stand the sound of the screams, maybe they don’t want to be around in the detention centre if the enemies of the State do manage to break loose — I don’t know. All the prison offices and records offices are kept there. Apart from the guards’ sleeping quarters and dining quarters, all of the detention centre is given over to cells. Apart, that is, from a few charming places in the basement which are euphemistically referred to as interrogation centres.”

Bruno looked at him consideringly. “Would it be out of order for me to enquire where you get all this detailed information from? I thought that no stranger would ever be allowed inside and that no guard would ever dare talk.”

“Not at all. We have, as they say, our man in Crau. Not an American, a native. He was imprisoned some fifteen years ago for some trifling political offence, became what we would call a trusty after a few years and had the complete run of the building. His privileged position did not affect in the slightest the complete and total hatred he nourishes for the regime in general and Lubylan and all those who work inside it in particular. He fell into our hands like an overripe apple from a tree. He still drinks with the guards and warders from the Lubylan and one way or another manages to keep us reasonably up to date with what’s going on. It’s over four years since he’s been discharged but the guards still regard him as a trusty and talk freely, especially when he plies them with vodka. We provide the money for the vodka.”

“It’s a messy business.”

“All espionage and counter-espionage is. The glamour quotient is zero.”

“The problem still remains. There may just be a solution. I don’t know. Have you mentioned any of this to Maria yet?” “No. Plenty of time. The fewer people who know —” “I’d like to talk to her tonight. May I?”

Harper smiled. “Three minds are better than two? That’s hardly a compliment to me.”

“If you only knew it, it is. I can’t afford to have you too closely involved with anything I’m doing. You’re the coordinator and the only person who really knows what is going on — I still don’t believe that you have told me everything I might know, but it doesn’t seem all that important any more. Besides, I have courted the young lady assiduously — although it was under instructions I haven’t found the task too disagreeable — and people are accustomed to seeing us together now.” Harper smiled without malice. “They’re also accustomed to seeing young Henry squiring her around, too.” “I shall challenge him to a duel when we get to some suitably central European background — the atmosphere has to be right. I don’t need Maria’s ideas. All I want from her is her cooperation.

No point in discussing it with you until I have it.”

“No harm. When?”

“After dinner.”

“Where? Here?”

“Not here. It’s perfectly proper for my doctor to come and see me — anxiously caring for one of the circus’s prime properties. But, as you say — or as you infer from Carter’s antics with his bug-detector — it’s just possible that someone might be keeping a wary eye on me. I don’t want them keeping a wary eye on her, too.”

“Then I suggest her cabin.”

Bruno thought. “I’ll do that.”

Before dinner, Bruno went into the lounge bar, located Maria sitting by herself at a small corner table, sat beside her and ordered a soft drink. He said: “This is intolerable. Incredible. Maria Hopkins sitting alone.”

She said with some asperity: “And whose fault is that?”

“Never mine, surely?”

“I’m treated like a pariah, an outcast. There are lots of very nice men here who would love to buy me a drink and talk to me. But no, I’m the plague. The great Bruno might come in at any moment.” She brooded a bit. “Or Henry. He’s as bad. Not only is he the light and the joy of his uncle’s heart — and it would be well to remember that his uncle is the big white chief — he’s also developing a very intimidating line in scowls. The only person who doesn’t give a damn is that enormous friend of yours. Do you know that he calls me your ladylove?” “And are you? That’s what’s usually referred to as a keen, probing question.”

She treated his remark with silent disdain.

“Ah, well. And where is the rival for my lady-love’s hand tonight? I’ve just been talking about it with Dr Harper. Henry and I are going to fight a duel when we get to the Carpathians. You should come and watch. After all, it’s over you.” “Oh, do be quiet.” She looked at him for a long moment, smiled widely in spite of herself and put her hand on his. “What’s the masculine equivalent of ‘lady-love’?”

“There isn’t one or if there is I don’t think I’d like to hear it.

Where is Henry?”

“He’s gone sleuthing.” Subconsciously, she lowered her voice. “I think he’s watching someone or shadowing someone. Henry has spent a great deal of time these past two days following someone he swears is following me.” Surprisingly, Bruno was not amused. He said: “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I didn’t think it important. I didn’t take it seriously.”

“Didn’t? And now?”

“I’m just not sure.”

“Why should anyone be following you?”

“If I knew I’d tell you, wouldn’t I?”

“Would you?”

“Please.”

“Have you told Dr Harper?”

“No. That’s the point. There’s nothing to tell. I don’t like being laughed at. I think Dr Harper’s got his reservations about me, anyway. I don’t want him to think that I’m a bigger ninny that he already probably thinks I am.”

“This mystery shadower. He has a name?” “Yes. Wherry. A cabin steward. Small man, narrow face, very pale, narrow eyes, small black moustache.” “I’ve seen him. Your steward?”

“Mr Wrinfield’s.”

Bruno was momentarily thoughtful, then appeared to lose interest. He raised his glass. “I’d like to see you after dinner. Your cabin, if you please.”

She raised her glass and smiled. “And your good health, too.”

Dinner over, Bruno and Maria made no secret of the fact that they were leaving together. This was commonplace, now, and no longer called for the raised eyebrow. Some twenty seconds after their departure Henry rose and sauntered from the dining saloon, leaving by the opposite door. Once outside he quickened his pace, crossed over to the other side, moved aft, descended a companionway and reached the passenger accommodation. Bruno and Maria were about fifty feet ahead of him. Henry moved in behind the companionway and stood in shadow.

Almost at once a figure emerged, or partially emerged from a side passage about twenty feet away on the left. He peered along the main passageway, saw Bruno and Maria and quickly withdrew into cover again but not so quickly that Henry couldn’t recognize him. It was, unmistakably, Wherry. Henry experienced a very considerable degree of self-satisfaction. Wherry ventured another look. Bruno and Maria were just disappearing round a corner to their left. Wherry moved out and followed them. Henry waited until he, too, had disappeared from sight, then moved out in stealthy pursuit. He reached the left hand corner on soundless tip-toes, glanced round with one eye then immediately moved back into cover again. Wherry was less than six paces away, looking down a right-hand corridor. Henry didn’t have to be told what Wherry was looking at — Maria’s cabin was the fourth door down. When he looked again Wherry had vanished. Henry moved, took up the position Wherry had so recently occupied and did some more head-poking. Wherry was engaged in the undignified occupation of pressing his right ear hard against a cabin door. Maria’s cabin. Henry drew back and waited. He was in no hurry. Henry let thirty seconds pass then risked another look. The passageway was empty. Without haste Henry walked along the corridor, passed Maria’s cabin — he could hear the soft murmur of voices — reached the end and dropped down another companionway. He hadn’t spent two days so zealously — and, as he imagined, so unobtrusively — trailing Wherry without discovering where Wherry’s quarters were. That that was where he had gone Henry did not for a moment doubt.

Henry was right. Wherry had indeed gone to his cabin and was apparently so confident of himself that he had even left the door ajar. That there may have been some other reason for this apparent carelessness did not occur to Henry. Wherry was sitting with his back three-quarters turned to him, a pair of earphones, the lead of which led to a radio, clamped over his head. There was nothing unusual in this; Wherry, as did all stewards, doubled up with one of his mates, and as they were frequently on different shifts and slept at different times, the earphones insured that one could listen to the radio without disturbing the other’s sleep: it was standard practice on this and most passenger ships.

Maria sat on her cabin bed and stared at Bruno in shocked disbelief. Her face was drained of colour, leaving the eyes preternaturally huge. She said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper: “This is mad! It’s crazy! It’s suicidal!” “It’s all of that and a good deal else besides. But you have to appreciate that Dr Harper is in an impossible spot. As ideas go, it was an ingenious one, a desperate ingenuity, mind you, but there were no other options open to him, at least none that he could see.”

“Bruno!” She’d slipped off the bed and was on her knees beside his armchair, his left hand in both of hers: there was fear in her face and Bruno was uncomfortably aware that it wasn’t fear for herself. “You’ll be killed, you know you’ll be killed. Don’t. Please, please don’t! No, Bruno. Nothing’s worth your life, nothing! Oh, God, there isn’t even a chance.” He looked at her in mild surprise. “And all the time I thought you were a tough young CIA agent.”

“Well, I’m not. Tough, I mean.” There was a sheen of tears in her eyes.

Almost absently, he stroked her hair. Her face was averted.

“There might be another way, Maria.”

“There can’t be another way.”

“Look.” With his free hand he swiftly sketched a diagram. “Let’s forget entrance via the power cable. The fact that those windows are barred may yet be the saving of us — well, me, anyway. I propose to go to this lane to the south of the research building. I’ll take with me a length of rope with a padded hook at one end. A couple of casts and I should catch a bar on a first floor window. I haul myself up to the first floor, unhook the rope, repeat the process and reach the second floor. And so on until I get to the top.”

“Yes?” The scepticism now in her face hadn’t replaced the fear, merely redoubled it. “And then?”

“I’ll find some way of silencing the guard or guards in the corner tower.”

“What is it, Bruno? What drives you? You are a driven man, don’t you know that? You don’t work for the CIA and this damnable anti-matter can’t mean all the world to you. Yet I know — I don’t think — I know you’re willing to die to get inside that damnable prison. Why, Bruno, why?” “I don’t know.” She couldn’t see his face but for a moment it was disturbed, almost wary. “Perhaps you’d best go and ask the shades of Pilgrim and Fawcett.”

“What are they to you? You hardly knew them.” He made no reply. She went on wearily: “So you’re going to silence the guards. How are you going to find a way of silencing two thousand volts of steel fencing?”

“I’ll find a way, not by putting it out of action — that’s impossible — but by by-passing it. But I’m going to need your cooperation and you might end up in prison.”

“What kind of co-operation?” Her voice was toneless. “And what’s prison if you’re dead?”

Henry heard those words. Wherry had taken off his earphones to find some cigarettes and the conversation from Maria’s cabin, faint and tinny and distorted though it was, was understandable and unmistakable. Henry craned his head a bit more and saw that the radio was not the only piece of electrical equipment in the cabin. There was a small tape recorder on the deck with both spools slowly turning.

Wherry found his cigarettes, lit one, resumed his seat, picked up the phones and was about to replace them on his head when Henry pushed the door wide and stepped inside. Wherry swung round, his eyes wide.

Henry said: “I’d like to have that recorder if you don’t mind, Wherry.”

“Mr Wrinfield!”

“Yes, Mr Wrinfield. Surprised? The recorder, Wherry.” Involuntarily, as it seemed, Wherry switched his glance to a spot above Henry’s left shoulder and Henry laughed. “Sorry, Wherry, but that’s been done before.”

Henry heard the last sound he was ever to hear, an almost soundless swish in the air behind him. His ears registered it for the fleeting fraction of a second but his body had no time to react. His legs crumpled and Wherry caught him just as he struck the deck.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Maria’s voice was still colourless, without expression. “What’s prison, what’s anything, if you’re dead? Can’t you think of me? All right, all right, so I’m being selfish, but can’t you think of me?”

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” He’d intended his voice to be harsh or at least cold but it sounded neither harsh nor cold to him. “We arrive in Crau on a Thursday and leave on the following Wednesday — it’s the longest stop-over of the tour. We have shows Friday, Saturday, Monday and Tuesday. Sunday is free. So on Sunday we hire a car and have ourselves a little excursion into the country. I don’t know how far we’ll be allowed to go, I believe restrictions have been relaxed, but it doesn’t matter. We can always travel around in ever narrowing circles. What does matter — and this will have to be after dusk — is that on the way back we reconnoitre Lubylan and see if they have guards patrolling outside. If there are, I’ll need your help.”

“Please give up this crazy idea, Bruno. Please.” “When I’m climbing up the south side of the research building you’ll be standing at the corner of the south lane and the main west street. This, I didn’t mention, will be after the last show on the Tuesday night. The hired car, which I trust will be comprehensively insured, will be parked a few feet away in the main street. The windows will be open and you’ll have a small can of gasoline ready on the front seat. If you see a guard approaching, reach for the can, pour some fuel, not too much, on the front and rear upholstery, throw in a lighted match and stand smartly back. This will not only distract all attention but also the blaze will cast such a heavy shadow round the corner that I should be able to climb in almost complete darkness. I’m afraid you could be caught and questioned but the combination of Mr Wrinfield and Dr Harper should secure your release.” He considered this for a moment. “On the other hand, it may not.” “You’re quite mad. Quite.”

“Too late to change my spots.” He stood up and she with him. “Must get in touch with Dr Harper now.” She reached up and locked her fingers round the back of his neck. Her voice reflected the misery in her face. “Please. Please, Bruno. Just for me. Please.” He put his hands on her forearms but not to pull the fingers apart. He said: “Look, my lady-love, we’re only supposed to be falling in love.” His voice was gentle. “This way there’s a chance.”

She said dully: “Either way you’re a dead man.” Halfway to his stateroom Bruno found a phone and called Dr Harper. Harper was eventually located in the dining saloon. Bruno said: “My ankle’s acting up again.”

“Ten minutes and I’ll be across.”

And in ten minutes’ time Harper was in the stateroom as promised. He made free of Bruno’s liquor cabinet, made himself at armchair ease and heard out Bruno’s account of his conversation with Maria. At the end, and after due thought, he said: “I’d say it gives you at least a fighting chance. Better than mine, I must admit. When do you propose to carry this into effect?”

“The final decision is, of course, yours. I’d thought of making the reconnaissance on Sunday and making the entry on Tuesday night. Late Tuesday night. That seems like the best plan, the best time, for we will be leaving the following day and that will give the police less time for questioning if questioning there will be.”

“Agreed.”

“If we have to make a break for it — you have escape plans?” “We have. But they’re not finalized yet. I’ll let you know when they are.”

“Coming via your little transceiver? Remember you promised to show me that some time.”

“I shall. I’ve got to — I told you. I’ll do three things at one time — show you the transceiver, give you the guns and give you the escape plans. I’ll let you know when. What does Maria think of your idea?”

“A marked lack of enthusiasm. But then she was hardly over the moon about yours either. But, however unwillingly, she’ll co-operate.” Bruno stopped and looked around him in some puzzlement.

Harper said: “Something’s wrong?”

“Not necessarily wrong. But the ship’s slowing down. Can’t you hear it? Can’t you feel it? The engine revolutions have dropped right away. Why should a ship stop — well, anyway, slow down — in the middle of the Mediterranean? Well, I suppose we’ll find out in good enough time.” They found out immediately. The door was unceremoniously thrown open, with a force sufficient to send it juddering on its hinges. Tesco Wrinfield almost ran into the room. His face was grey, his breathing heavy and short at the same time. He said: “Henry’s missing. He’s missing! We can’t find him anywhere.”

Bruno said: “Is that why the Carpentaria is slowing down?” “We’ve been searching everywhere.” He gulped down the glass of brandy which Harper had handed to him. “The crew has searched, is still searching everywhere. There’s just no trace of him. Vanished, just vanished.”

Harper was soothing. He glanced at his watch. “Come on, now, Mr Wrinfield, that couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes ago. And this is a very big ship.”

“With a very big crew,” Bruno said. “They have a standardized routine for this sort of thing — searching for a missing passenger, that is. From the lifeboats to the hold they can cover every conceivable area in less time than you would believe possible.” He turned to the distraught Wrinfield. “Sorry I can’t offer you any comfort, sir — but is the captain slowing down so as not to get too far away from the place where your nephew may have fallen overboard?”

“I think so.” Wrinfield listened. “We’re picking up speed, aren’t we?”

“And turning,” Bruno said. “I’m afraid that means, sir, that the captain is pretty sure that Henry is not aboard. He’ll be taking the Carpentaria through a hundred and eighty degrees and tracking back the way we came. If Henry is overboard he may well be swimming or afloat. This sort of thing has happened before: there’s always a chance, Mr Wrinfield.” Wrinfield looked at him with distraught disbelief on his face and Bruno did not blame him: he didn’t believe it himself either.

They went on deck. The Carpentaria, retracing the course it had come, was making perhaps ten knots, no more. A motorized lifeboat, already manned, was swung out on its davits. Two powerful searchlights, one on either wing of the bridge, shone straight ahead. In the bows two seamen directed the beams of their portable searchlights almost vertically downwards. A little farther aft two seamen on either side waited with rope-attached and illuminated lifebelts. Beyond them still, rope-ladders, picked out in the beams of torches, hung over the side. Twenty minutes of steadily mounting tension and dwindling hope passed. Wrinfield abruptly left his two companions and made his way to the bridge. He found the master on the starboard wing, binoculars to his eyes. He lowered them as Wrinfield came by his side and shook his head slowly. He said. “Your nephew is not on the ship, Mr Wrinfield. That is for certain.” The captain looked at his watch. “It is now thirty-eight minutes since your nephew was last seen. We are now at the precise spot where we were thirty-eight minutes ago. If he is alive — I’m sorry to be so blunt, sir — he cannot be beyond this point.”

“We could have missed him?”

“Most unlikely. Calm sea, windless night, no currents hereabouts worth speaking of and the Mediterranean, as you know, is virtually tideless. He would have been on the line we have taken.” He spoke to an officer by his side: the man disappeared inside the bridge.

Wrinfield said: “And what now?”

“We’ll take her round in a tight circle. Then in widening concentric circles, three, maybe four. Then, if we turn up nothing, we go back at the same speed to the spot where we turned.”

“And that will be it?”

“That, I’m afraid, will be it.”

“You are not very hopeful. Captain.”

“I am not hopeful.”

It took the Carpentaria forty minutes to complete the search pattern and return to the position where she had turned round. Maria, standing with Bruno in the shadow of a lifeboat, shivered as the throb of the engines deepened and the Carpentaria began to pick up speed.

She said: “That’s it, then, isn’t it?”

“The searchlights have gone out.”

“And it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” Her voice was husky. “Don’t be silly.” He put his arm round her. “There’s no way this could have been prevented.”

“It could! It could! I didn’t take him seriously enough. I — well, I didn’t quite laugh at him — but, well, I didn’t listen to him either. I should have told you two days ago.” She was openly weeping now. “Or Dr Harper. He was such a nice person.”

Bruno heard the word “was” and knew she had finally accepted what he himself had accepted an hour ago. He said gently:

“It would be nice if you spoke to Mr Wrinfield.”

“Yes. Yes, or course. But — well, I don’t want to see people. Couldn’t we — I don’t like asking, but if he could come here — if you could bring him and —” “Not on your sweet life, Maria. You’re not staying here alone.”

He sensed her staring at him in the darkness. She whispered:

“Do you think that someone —”

“I don’t know what to think because I don’t know how or why Henry died. All I’m certain of is it was no accident: he died because he found out that someone was too interested in you and because he must have made the mistake of finding out too much. I’ve been asking one or two questions. Apparently he left the dining saloon just after we did. He left by another door but I suppose he wanted to avoid any obvious connection. I’m sure he wasn’t directly following us — he may have taken a dim view of my association with you, but he was straight, honest and the last peeping Tom one could imagine. I think he was acting in his self-appointed guardian role. I think he was checking to see if anyone was following or watching us –

Henry had a romantic streak and this sort of thing would have appealed to him. I can only assume that he did indeed find some such person, and that that person — or another person, God only knows how many unpleasant characters there may be aboard — found Henry in a highly compromising situation. Compromising to the villains, I mean. But that doesn’t alter the fact that the primary object of attention was you. Just bear in mind that you can’t swim very far if the back of your head has been knocked in in advance.” He produced a handkerchief and carried out running repairs to the tear-stained face. “You come along with me.”

As they walked along the boat-deck they passed and greeted Roebuck. Bruno made an unobtrusive follow-me gesture with his hand. Roebuck stopped, turned and sauntered along about ten paces behind them.

Wrinfield was finally located in the radio office, arranging for the dispatch of cablegrams to Henry’s parents and relatives. Now that the initial shock was over Wrinfield was calm and self-composed and in the event he had to spend considerably more time in comforting Maria than she him. They left him there and found Roebuck waiting outside.

Bruno said: “Where’s Kan Dahn?”

“In the lounge. You’d think there’s a seven year famine of beer just round the corner.”

“Would you take this young lady down to her cabin, please?” “Why?” Maria wasn’t annoyed, just puzzled. “Am I not capable —” Roebuck took a firm grip on her arm. “Mutineers walk the plank, young lady.”

Bruno said: “And lock your door. How long will it take you to get to bed?”

“Ten minutes.”

“I’ll be along in fifteen.”

Maria unlocked the door at the sound of Bruno’s voice. He entered, followed by Kan Dahn, who was carrying a couple of blankets under his arm. Kan Dahn smiled genially at her, then wedged his massive bulk into the armchair and carefully arranged the blankets over his knees.

Bruno said: “Kan Dahn finds his own quarters a bit cramped.

He thought he’d take a rest down here.”

Maria looked at them, first in protest, then in perplexity, then shook her head helplessly, smiled and said nothing. Bruno said his good night and left.

Kan Dahn reached out, turned down the rheostat on the flexible bedside light and angled the remaining dim glow so that it was away from the girl’s face and leaving him in deep shadow. He took her hand in his massive paw.

“Sleep well, my little one. I don’t want to make a thing out of this but Kan Dahn is here.”

“You can’t sleep in that awful chair?”

“Not can’t. Won’t. I’ll sleep tomorrow.”

“You haven’t locked the door.”

“No,” he said happily. “I haven’t, have I?” She was asleep in minutes and no one, most fortunately for the state of his continued good health, came calling on her that night.