Night Over Water

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Margaret was frantic with worry as the Clipper climbed over New Brunswick and headed for New York. Where was Harry?

The police had found out that he was traveling on a false passport: that much was common knowledge among the passengers. She could not imagine how they had found out, but it was an academic question. More important was what they would do to him if they caught him. Presumably he would be sent back to England, where he would either go to jail for stealing those wretched cuff links or be conscripted into the army; and then how would she ever find him?

As far as she knew, they had not caught him yet. The last time she saw him, he had gone to the men’s room as she was disembarking at Shediac. Was that the beginning of some escape plan? Had he known then that he was in trouble?

The police had searched the plane without finding him, so he must have got off at some point; but where had he gone? Was he even now walking along a narrow road through the forest, trying to thumb a lift? Or had he perhaps talked his way onto a fishing vessel and left by sea? Whatever he had done, the same question tortured Margaret: Would she ever see him again?

She told herself again and again she must not be discouraged. Losing Harry hurt, but she still had Nancy Lenehan to help her.

Father could not stop her now. He was a failure and an exile, and he had lost his power to coerce her. However, she was still frightened that he might lash out, like a wounded animal at bay, and do something terribly destructive.

As soon as the plane reached cruising height, she unfastened her seat belt and went aft to see Mrs. Lenehan.

The stewards were preparing the dining room for lunch as she passed through. Farther back, in number 4 compartment, Ollis Field and Frank Gordon were sitting side by side, handcuffed together. Margaret went all the way to the rear and knocked on the door of the honeymoon suite. There was no reply. She knocked again, then opened it. It was empty.

Cold fear touched her heart.

Perhaps Nancy was in the ladies’ powder room. But then where was Mr. Lovesey? If he had gone to the flight deck or the men’s room, Margaret would have seen him pass through number 2 compartment. She stood in the doorway, frowning and staring around the suite as if they might be hiding somewhere; but there was nowhere to hide.

Nancy’s brother, Peter, and his companion were sitting right next to the honeymoon suite, across the aisle from the powder room. Margaret asked them: “Where’s Mrs. Lenehan?”

Peter replied: “She decided to leave the flight at Shediac.”

Margaret gasped. “What?” she said. “How do you know?”

“She told me.”

“But why?” Margaret said plaintively. “What made her stay behind?”

He looked offended. “I guess I don’t know,” he said frostily. “She didn’t say. She simply asked me to inform the captain that she would not be joining the plane for the last leg of the trip.”

Margaret knew it was rude to interrogate him but she had to persist. “Where did Nancy go?”

He picked up a newspaper from the seat beside him. “I have no idea,” he said, and began to read.

Margaret was desolate. How could Nancy do this? She knew how much Margaret was relying on her for help. Surely she would not have left the flight without saying anything, or at least leaving some kind of message.

Margaret stared hard at Peter. She thought he had a shifty look. He was a little too touchy about being questioned, too. On impulse she said: “I don’t believe you’re telling me the truth.” It was a very insulting thing to say and she held her breath as she waited for his reaction.

He looked up at her, reddening. “You have inherited your father’s bad manners, young lady,” he said. “Please go away.”

She was crushed. Nothing could be more hateful to her than to be told she was like Father. She turned away without another word, feeling close to tears.

Passing through number 4 compartment she noticed Diana Lovesey, Mervyn’s beautiful wife. Everyone had been riveted by the drama of the runaway wife and the pursuing husband, and amused when Nancy and Mervyn had been obliged to share the honeymoon suite. Now Margaret wondered whether Diana might know what had happened to her husband. It would be embarrassing to ask, of course, but Margaret was too desperate to worry about that. She sat down next to Diana and said: “Excuse me, but do you know what happened to Mr. Lovesey and Mrs. Lenehan?”

Diana looked surprised. “Happened? Aren’t they in the honeymoon suite ?”

“No—they’re not on board.”

“Really?” Diana was obviously shocked and mystified. “How come? Did they miss the plane?”

“Nancy’s brother says they decided not to finish the flight, but I don’t think I believe him.”

Diana looked cross. “Neither of them said anything to me.”

Margaret looked an inquiry at Diana’s companion, the mild-mannered Mark. “They certainly didn’t confide in me,” he said.

In a different tone of voice Diana said: “I hope they’re all right.”

Mark said: “What do you mean, honey?”

“I don’t know what I mean. I just hope they’re all right.”

Margaret nodded agreement with Diana. “I don’t trust the brother. I think he’s dishonest.”

Mark said: “You may be right, but I guess there’s nothing we can do about it while we’re in midair. Besides—”

“He’s not my concern anymore, I know,” Diana said irritably. “But he was my husband for five years and I’m worried about him.”

“There will probably be a message from him waiting for us when we get to Port Washington,” Mark said soothingly.

“I hope so,” Diana said.

Davy, the steward, touched Margaret’s arm. “Lunch is ready, Lady Margaret, and your family are at table.”

“Thank you.” Margaret had no interest in food. However, these two could tell her no more.

As Margaret stood up to leave, Diana said: “Are you a friend of Mrs. Lenehan’s?”

“She was going to give me a job,” Margaret said bitterly. She turned away, biting her lip.

Her parents and Percy were already seated in the dining room, and the first course was being served: lobster cocktail made with fresh lobsters from Shediac. Margaret sat down and said automatically: “I’m so sorry to be late.” Father just glared at her.

She toyed with her food. She felt like laying her head on the table and bursting into tears. Harry and Nancy had both abandoned her with out warning. She was back at square one, with no way to support herself and no friends to help her. It was so unfair: she had tried to be like Elizabeth and plan everything, but her careful scheme had fallen apart.

The lobster was taken away and replaced by kidney soup. Margaret took one sip, and put down her spoon. She felt tired and irritable. She had a headache and no appetite. The superluxurious Clipper was beginning to feel like a prison. They had now been en route for almost twenty-seven hours, and she had had enough. She wanted to get into a real bed, with a soft mattress and lots of pillows, and go to sleep for a week.

The others were also feeling the strain. Mother was pale and tired. Father was hungover, with bloodshot eyes and bad breath. Percy was unsettled and nervy, like someone who has drunk too much strong coffee, and he kept throwing hostile looks at Father. Margaret had a feeling he. was going to do something outrageous before long.

For the main course they had a choice: fried sole with cardinal sauce, or fillet steak. She did not want either but she chose the fish. It came with potatoes and Brussels sprouts. She asked Nicky for a glass of white wine.

She thought about the dreary days ahead. She would stay with Mother and Father in the Waldorf, but Harry would not sneak into her room: she would lie in bed alone and long for him. She would have to accompany Mother on shopping trips for clothes. Then they would all go on to Connecticut. Without consulting her, they would enroll Margaret in a riding club and a tennis club, and she would be invited to parties. Mother would construct a whole social round for them in no time at all, and before long, there would be “suitable” boys coming for tea or cocktails or bicycle rides. How could she enter into all that when England was at war? The more she thought about it, the more depressed she felt.

For dessert there was apple tart with cream, or ice cream with chocolate sauce. Margaret ordered ice cream and ate it all.

Father asked for brandy with his coffee, then cleared his throat. He was about to make a speech. Could it be that he would apologize for the frightful scene at dinner yesterday? Impossible.

“Your mother and I have been discussing you,” he began.

“As if I were a disobedient parlormaid,” Margaret snapped.

Mother said: “You’re a disobedient child.”

“I’m nineteen years old, and I’ve been menstruating for six years—how could I be a child?”

“Hush!” Mother said, shocked. “The very fact that you can use such words in front of your father shows that you’re not yet adult!”

“I give up,” Margaret said. “I can’t win.”

Father said: “Your foolish attitude just confirms everything we’ve been saying. You can’t yet be trusted to lead a normal social life among people of your own class.”

“Thank heaven for that!”

Percy laughed out loud, and Father glared at him, but spoke to Margaret. “We’ve been trying to think of somewhere to send you, a place where you will have the minimum opportunity to cause trouble.”

“Did you consider a convent?”

He was not used to her cheeking him, but he controlled his anger with an effort. “This kind of talk won’t make things any better for you.”

“Better? How could things be better for me? My loving parents are determining my future, with only my best interests at heart. What more could I want?”

To her surprise, her mother shed a tear. “You’re very cruel, Margaret,” she said, wiping it away.

Margaret was touched. The sight of her mother weeping destroyed her resistance. She became meek again and said quietly: “What do you want me to do, Mother?”

Father answered the question. “You’re going to live with your aunt Clare. She has a place in Vermont. It’s in the mountains, rather remote; there will be nobody nearby for you to embarrass.”

Mother added: “My sister, Clare, is a wonderful woman. She never married. She’s the backbone of the Episcopalian Church in Brattleboro.”

Cold rage gripped Margaret, but, she kept herself under control. “How old is Aunt Clare?” she asked.

“In her fifties.”

“Does she live alone?”

“Apart from the servants, yes.”

Margaret was shaking with anger. “So this is my punishment for trying to live my own life,” she said in an unsteady voice. “I’m exiled to the mountains to live alone with a mad spinster aunt. How long do you expect me to stay there?”

“Until you’ve calmed down,” Father said. “A year, perhaps.”

“A year!” It seemed a lifetime. But they could not make her stay there. “Don’t be so stupid. I shall go mad, kill myself or run away.”

“You’re not to leave without our consent,” Father said. “And if you do ...” He hesitated.

Margaret looked at his face. My God, she thought, even he is ashamed of what he’s about to say. What on earth can it be?

He pressed his lips together in a determined line, then said: “If you run away, we will have you certified insane and committed to a lunatic asylum.”

Margaret gasped. She was speechless with horror. She had not imagined him capable of such cruelty. She looked at her mother, but Mother would not meet her eyes.

Percy stood up and flung down his napkin. “You bloody old fool, you’ve gone off your rocker,” he said, and he walked out.

If Percy had spoken like that a week ago there would have been hell to pay, but now he was ignored.

Margaret looked again at Father. His expression was guilty, defiant and obstinate. He knew he was doing wrong, but he would not change his mind.

At last she found the words to express what she felt in her heart.

“You’ve sentenced me to death,” she said.

Mother started to cry quietly.

Suddenly the engine note changed. Everyone heard it and all conversation stopped. There was a lurch, and the plane began to go down.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

When both port engines cut out at the same time, Eddie’s fate was sealed.

Until that moment he could have changed his mind. The plane would have flown on, no one knowing what he had planned. But now, whatever happened, it would all come out. He would never fly again, except maybe as a passenger: his career was over. He fought down the rage that threatened to possess him. He had to stay cool and get this job done. Then he would think about the bastards who had ruined his life.

The plane had to make an emergency splashdown now. The kidnappers would come aboard and rescue Frankie Gordino. After that anything could happen. Would Carol-Ann be safe and unhurt? Would the navy ambush the gangsters as they headed for shore? Would Eddie go to jail for his part in the whole thing? He was a prisoner of fate. But if he could just hold Carol-Ann in his arms, alive and well, nothing else would matter.

A moment after the engines cut out he heard the voice of Captain Baker in his headphones. “What the hell is going on?”

Eddie’s mouth was dry with tension and he had to swallow twice before he could speak. “I don’t know yet,” he replied; but he did. The engines had stopped because they were getting no fuel: he had cut the supply.

The Clipper had six fuel tanks. The engines were supplied by two small feeder tanks in the wings. Most of the fuel was kept in four large reserve tanks located in the hydrostabilizers, the stubby sea-wings that the passengers stepped on as they got on and off the plane.

Fuel could be dumped from the reserve tanks, but not by Eddie, because the control was at the second pilot’s station. However, Eddie could pump fuel from the reserve tanks up to the wings and back down again. Such transfers were controlled by two large handwheels to the right of the engineer’s instrument panel. The plane was now over the Bay of Fundy, about five miles from the rendezvous, and in the last few minutes he had drained both the wing tanks. The starboard tank had fuel for a few more miles. The port tank had now run dry, and the port engines had stopped.

It would be a simple matter to pump fuel back up from the reserves, of course. However, while the plane was in Shediac, Eddie had come aboard on his own and tampered with the handwheels, moving the dials so that when they said PUMP they were in fact off, and when they said OFF they were pumping. Now the dials indicated that he was trying to fill the wing tanks when in fact nothing was happening.

He had been using the pumps with the wrong settings for the first part of the flight, of course; and another engineer might have noticed that and wondered what the hell was going on. Eddie had worried every second that the off-duty assistant engineer, Mickey Finn, would come upstairs; but he stayed fast asleep in number 1 compartment, as Eddie had expected: at this stage of the long flight, off-duty crew always slept.

There had been two nasty moments in Shediac. The first had come when the police announced they had learned the name of Frankie Gordino’s accomplice aboard the plane. Eddie assumed they were talking about Luther, and for a while he thought the game was up, and racked his brains for some other way of rescuing Carol-Ann. Then they had named Harry Vandenpost, and Eddie almost jumped for joy. He had no idea why Vandenpost, who appeared to be an amiable young American from a wealthy family, should be traveling with a false passport; but he was grateful to the man for deflecting attention from Luther. The police looked no farther; Luther escaped notice and the plan could go ahead.

But all this had been too much for Captain Baker. Even while Eddie was still recovering from the scare, Baker had dropped a bombshell. The fact that there really had been an accomplice on board meant that someone was serious about rescuing Gordino, he said, and he wanted Gordino off the plane. That too would have ruined everything for Eddie.

There had been a stand-up row between Baker and Ollis Field, with the F.B.I. man threatening to have the captain charged with obstruction of justice. In the end Baker had called Pan American in New York and dumped the problem on them; and the airline had decided to let Gordino fly on; and once again Eddie was relieved.

He had got one more piece of good news in Shediac. A cryptic but unmistakable message from Steve Appleby had confirmed that a U.S. Navy cutter would be patrolling the coast where the Clipper was going to come down. It would stay out of sight until the splashdown, then intercept any vessel that made contact with the downed plane.

That made all the difference to Eddie. Knowing the gangsters would be caught afterward, he could with a clear conscience make sure the plan went off without a hitch.

Now the deed was almost done. The plane was close to the rendezvous and flying on two engines only.

Captain Baker was at Eddie’s side in a moment. Eddie said nothing to him at first. With a shaky hand he switched the engine feed so that the starboard wing tank was fueling all engines, and restarted the port engines. Then he said: “The port wing tank ran dry and I can’t fill it.”

“Why not?” the captain snapped.

Eddie pointed to the handwheels. Feeling like a traitor, he said: “I’ve switched the pumps on but nothing’s happening.”

Eddie’s instruments did not show either fuel flow or fuel pressure between the reserve tanks and the feeder tanks, but there were four glass sights at the rear of the control cabin for visual checking of the fuel in the pipes. Captain Baker looked at each in turn. “Nothing!” he said. “How much is left in the starboard wing tank?”

“It’s almost dry—a few miles.”

“How come you’ve only just noticed?” he said angrily.

“I thought we were pumping,” Eddie said feebly.

It was an inadequate answer and the captain was furious. “How could both pumps go at the same time?”

“I don’t know—but thank God we have a hand pump.” Eddie seized the handle next to his table and began to operate the hand pump. This was normally used only when the engineer was draining water from the fuel tanks in flight. He had done this immediately after leaving Shediac, and he had deliberately omitted to reset the F-valve that allowed the water to escape overboard. In consequence, his vigorous pumping action was not filling the wing tanks, but just dumping fuel overboard.

The captain did not know this, of course, and it was not likely that he would notice the setting on the F-valve; but he could see that no fuel was moving through the sight gauges. “It’s not working!” he said. “I don’t understand how all three pumps could fail at the same time!”

Eddie looked at his dials. “The starboard wing tank is almost dry,” he said. “If we don’t splash down soon we’re going to fall out of the sky.”

“Prepare for emergency splashdown, everybody,” Baker said. He pointed a finger at Eddie. “I don’t like your role in this, Deakin,” he said with ice-cold fury. “I don’t trust you.”

Eddie felt rotten. He had good reason to lie to his captain, but just the same he hated himself. All his life he had dealt honestly with people, and scorned men who used trickery and deceit. Now he was acting in a way he despised. You’ll understand in the end, Captain, he thought; but he wished he could say it aloud.

The captain turned to the navigator’s station and bent over the chart. The navigator, Jack Ashford, shot a puzzled look at Eddie, then put a finger on the chart and said to the captain: “We’re here.”

The whole plan relied on the Clipper coming down in the channel between the coast and Grand Manan Island. The gangsters were betting on that, and so was Eddie. But in emergencies people did strange things. Eddie decided that if Baker irrationally chose another location, he would speak up and point out the advantages of the channel. Baker would be suspicious, but he would have to see the logic of it; and then he would be the one behaving oddly if he landed somewhere else.

However, no interference was necessary. After a moment Baker said: “Here. In this channel. That’s where we’ll come down.”

Eddie turned away so no one could see his expression of triumph. He was another step closer to Carol-Ann.

As they all went through the procedure for emergency splashdown, Eddie looked out of the window and tried to gauge what the sea was like. He saw a small white vessel like a sports fishing boat bobbing on the swell. The surface was choppy. The landing would be rough.

He heard a voice that stopped his heart. “What’s the emergency?” It was Mickey Finn coming up the stairs to investigate.

Eddie stared at him in horror. Mickey would guess in a minute that the F-valve on the hand pump had not been reset. Eddie had to get rid of him quickly.

But Captain Baker beat him to it. “Get out of here, Mickey!” he snapped. “Off-duty crew must be strapped in during an emergency splashdown, not wandering around the aircraft asking stupid questions!”

Mickey was gone like a shot, and Eddie breathed easy again.

The plane lost height rapidly: Baker wanted to be close to the water in case they ran out of fuel earlier than expected.

They turned west so as not to overfly the island: if they ran out of fuel over land, they were all dead. A few moments later they were above the channel.

There was a big swell, about four feet, Eddie estimated. The critical wave height was three feet: above that it was dangerous to land the Clipper. Eddie gritted his teeth. Baker was a good pilot, but it was going to be dicey.

The plane came down fast. Eddie felt the hull touch the top of a high wave. They flew on for a moment or two then it touched again. The second time there was a stronger impact, and his stomach lurched as the huge aircraft bounced up into the air.

Eddie was afraid for his life: this was how flying boats crashed.

Although the plane was airborne now, the impact had reduced its airspeed, so that it had very little lift; and instead of sliding into the water at a shallow angle, it would come down hard. It was the difference between a smooth racing dive and a painful belly flop except that the belly of the plane was made of the aluminum, which could burst like a paper bag.

He froze, waiting for the impact. The plane hit the water with a terrific bang that he felt all the way up his spine. Water covered the windows. Facing sideways as he was, Eddie was thrown left but managed to stay in his seat. The radio operator, who faced forward, banged his head on the microphone. Eddie thought the plane was breaking up. If it dipped a wing that would be the end.

A second passed, then another. The cries of terrified passengers floated up the staircase. The plane lifted again, coming partly out of the water and moving forward with the reduction in drag; then it sank back, and Eddie was thrown sideways again.

But the plane stayed level, and Eddie began to hope they would make it. The windows cleared and he glimpsed the sea. His engines were still roaring: they had not been submerged.

The plane slowed gradually. Second by second Eddie felt safer, until at last the plane was stationary, rising and falling on the waves. In his headphones Eddie heard the captain say: “Jesus, that was rougher than I expected,” and the rest of the crew laughed with relief.

Eddie stood up and looked out through all the windows, searching for a boat. The sun was shining but there were rain clouds in the sky. Visibility was fair, but he could not see any other vessels. Perhaps the launch was behind the Clipper, where he could not see it.

He took his seat again and shut down the engines. The radio operator broadcast a Mayday. The captain said: “I’d better go and reassure the passengers.” He went down the stairs. The radio operator got a reply, and Eddie hoped it was from the people who were waiting for Gordino.

He could not wait to find out. He went forward, opened the hatch in the cockpit and climbed down the ladder into the bow compartment. The forward hatch opened downward, forming a platform. Eddie stepped outside and stood on it. He had to hold the doorframe to keep his balance in the swell. The waves were coming over the sea-wings, and some were high enough to splash his feet as he stood on the platform. The sun was going behind the clouds intermittently, and there was a stiff breeze. He looked carefully at the hull and wings: he could see no damage. The great aircraft appeared to have survived unscathed.

He released the anchor, then stood surveying the sea all around, hunting for a vessel. Where were Luther’s buddies? What if something had gone wrong, what if they did not turn up? But then at last he saw a motor launch in the distance. His heart missed a beat. Was this it? And was Carol-Ann on board? Now he worried that it might be some other vessel, coming to look at the downed plane out of curiosity, which would interfere with the plan.

It came in fast, riding up and down the waves. Eddie was supposed to return to his station on the flight deck, having dropped anchor and checked for damage, but he could not move. He stared hypnotically at the launch as it grew larger. It was a big, fast boat with a covered wheelhouse. He knew it was racing at twenty-five or thirty knots, but it seemed painfully slow. There was a group of figures on deck, he realized. Soon he could count them: four. He noticed that one was much smaller than the others. The group began to look like three men in dark suits and a woman in a blue coat. Carol-Ann had a blue coat.

He thought it was she, but he was not sure. The woman had fair hair and a slight figure, just like hers. She was standing apart from the others. All four were at the rail, looking at the Clipper. The waiting was unbearable. Then the sun came out from behind a cloud, and the woman raised her hand to her face to shield her eyes. Something about the gesture pulled at Eddie’s heartstrings, and he knew it was his wife.

“Carol-Ann,” he said aloud.

A surge of excitement seized him, and for a moment he forgot about the perils they both still faced, and gave in to the joy of seeing her again. He raised his arms and waved happily. “Carol-Ann!” he yelled. “Carol-Ann!”

She could not hear him, of course, but she could see him. She started with surprise, hesitated as if she was not sure whether it was he, then waved back, timidly at first and then vigorously.

If she could wave like that she must be all right, he realized, and he felt as weak as a baby with relief and gratitude.

He remembered that it was not over yet. He had more to do. He gave one more wave, then reluctantly went back inside the plane.

He emerged onto the flight deck just as the captain was coming up from the passenger deck. “Any damage?” Baker said.

“Nothing at all, as far as I can see.”

The captain turned to the radio operator, who reported: “Our Mayday has been answered by several ships, but the nearest vessel is a pleasure boat now approaching on the port side. You can probably see her.”

The captain looked out of the windows and saw the launch. He shook his head. “She’s no use. We have to be towed. Try to raise the Coast Guard.”

“The people on the launch want to come aboard,” the radio operator said.

“Nix to that,” said Baker. Eddie was dismayed. They had to come aboard! “It’s too dangerous,” the captain went on. “I don’t want a boat tied up to the plane: it could damage the hull. And if we try to transfer people in this swell, someone’s sure to fall in the goddamn drink. Tell them we appreciate their offer, but they can’t help us.”

Eddie had not anticipated this. He put on an unconcerned look to mask his sudden anxiety. The hell with damage to the plane—Luther’s gang were coming aboard! But they would have a hard time without help from the inside.

Even with help, it would be a nightmare to try to board through the normal doors, he realized. The waves were washing over the sea-wings and halfway up the doors: no one could stand on the sea-wing without a rope to hold on to, and water would pour into the dining room while the door was open. This had not occurred to Eddie before, because the Clipper normally landed only on the calmest of seas.

Then how could they board?

They would have to come through the forward hatch in the bow compartment.

The radio operator said: “I’ve told them they can’t board, Captain, but they don’t seem to take any notice.”

Eddie looked out. The launch was circling the plane.

“Just ignore them,” the captain said.

Eddie stood up and went forward. As he stepped onto the ladder leading down into the bow compartment, Captain Baker snapped: “Where are you going?”

“I need to check on the anchor,” Eddie said vaguely, and went on without waiting for a reply.

He heard Baker say: “That guy is through.”

I knew that already, he thought with a heavy heart.

He went out onto the platform. The launch was thirty or forty feet from the nose of the Clipper. He could see Carol-Ann standing at the rail. She had on an old dress and flat shoes, just what she would have been wearing for housework. She had thrown on her best coat over her work clothes when they took her. He could see her face now. She looked pale and drained. Eddie felt anger boil deep inside him. I’ll get them for this, he thought.

He raised the collapsible capstan, then waved to the launch, pointing to the capstan and miming throwing a rope. He had to do it several times before the men on deck understood. He guessed they were not experienced sailors. They certainly looked out of place on a boat, in their double-breasted suits, holding their fedoras on their heads in the wind. The guy in the wheelhouse, presumably the skipper of the launch, was busy with his controls, trying to keep the boat steady relative to the plane. At last one of the men made a gesture of acknowledgment and picked up a rope.

He was no good at throwing it, and it took four tries before Eddie was able to catch it.

He secured it to the capstan. The men on the launch hauled their craft closer to the plane. The boat, being so much lighter, rose and fell more on the swell. Tying the launch to the plane was going to be difficult and dangerous.

Suddenly he heard Mickey Finn’s voice behind him, saying: “Eddie, what the hell are you doing?”

He turned around. Mickey was in the bow compartment, looking up at him with a concerned expression on his open, freckled face. Eddie yelled: “Stay right out of this, Mickey! I’m warning you—if you interfere, people are going to get hurt!”

Mickey looked scared. “Okay, okay, whatever you say.” He retreated toward the flight deck, his face showing that he thought Eddie had gone mad.

Eddie turned back to face the launch. It was quite close now. He looked at the three men. One was very young, no more than eighteen. Another was older but short and thin, with a cigarette dangling from a corner of his mouth. The third, wearing a black suit with a chalk stripe, looked like he was in charge.

They were going to need two ropes, Eddie decided, to hold the launch steady enough. He put his hands to his mouth to make a megaphone and shouted: “Throw another rope!”

The man in the striped suit picked up a rope in the bow, next to the one they were already using. That was no good: they needed one at each end of the launch, to make a triangle. “No, not that one,” Eddie called. “Throw me a stem rope.”

The man got the message.

This time Eddie caught the rope the first time. He took it inside the plane and tied it to a strut.

With a man hauling on each rope, the launch came rapidly closer. Suddenly its engines were cut and a man in overalls came out of the wheelhouse and took over the rope work. This guy was obviously a seaman.

Eddie heard another voice from behind him, coming from within the bow compartment. This time it was Captain Baker. He said: “Deakin, you’re disobeying a direct order!”

Eddie ignored him and prayed that he would keep out of the way for a few moments more. The launch was as close as it could come. The skipper wound the ropes around the deck stanchions, leaving just enough slack to allow the boat to rise and fall with the waves. To board the Clipper, the men would have to wait until the swell brought the deck level with the platform, then jump from one to the other. To steady themselves, they could hold on to the rope that ran from the stern of the launch to the inside of the bow compartment.

Baker barked: “Deakin! Get back in here!”

The seaman opened a gate in the rail and the gangster in the striped suit stood ready to jump across. Eddie felt Captain Baker’s hand clutch at his jacket from behind. The gangster saw what was happening and reached inside his coat.

Eddie’s worst nightmare was that one of his crewmates would decide to be a hero and get himself killed. He wished he could tell them about the navy cutter that Steve Appleby had sent—but he was afraid that if he did, one of them might accidentally forewarn the gangsters. So he just had to try to keep the situation under control.

He turned to Baker and yelled: “Captain! Get out of the way! These bastards have guns!”

Baker looked shocked. He stared at the gangster, then ducked out of sight. Eddie turned around to see the man in the striped suit stuffing a pistol back into his coat pocket. Jesus, I hope I can stop these guys from shooting people, he thought fearfully. If someone dies it will be my fault.

The boat was on the crest of a wave, its deck a little above the level of the platform. The gangster grabbed the rope, hesitated, then jumped onto the platform. Eddie caught him, steadying him.

“You Eddie?” the man said.

Eddie recognized the voice: he had heard it over the phone. He recalled the man’s name: Vincini. Eddie had insulted him: now he regretted it, for he needed his cooperation. “I want to work with you, Vincini,” he said. “If you want things to go smoothly, with no snags, let me help you.”

Vincini gave him a hard look. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “But make one false move and you’re dead.” His tone was brisk and business-like. He showed no sign of resentment: no doubt he had too much on his mind to think about past slights.

“Step inside and wait right there while I bring the others over.”

“Okay.” Vincini turned to the launch. “Joe—you next. Then Kid. The girl comes last.” He stepped down into the bow compartment.

Looking inside, Eddie saw Captain Baker climbing the ladder that led to the flight deck. Vincini pulled out his gun and said: “Stay there, you.”

Eddie said: “Do what he says, Captain. For God’s sake, these guys are serious.”

Baker stepped off the ladder and raised his hands in the air.

Eddie turned back. The runty man called Joe was standing at the rail of the launch looking scared to death. “I can’t swim!” he said in a rasping voice.

“You won’t have to,” Eddie said. He reached out a hand.

Joe jumped, caught his hand, and half stepped, half fell into the bow compartment.

The young one was last. Having seen the other two make the transfer safely, he was overconfident. “I can’t swim, either,” he said with a grin. He jumped too soon, landed on the very edge of the platform, lost his balance and tipped backward. Eddie leaned out, holding the rope with his left hand, and grabbed the boy by the waistband of his pants. He pulled him onto the platform.

“Gee, thanks!” the boy said, as if Eddie had merely given him a hand, instead of saving his life.

Now Carol-Ann was standing on the deck of the launch, looking across at the platform with fear on her face. She was not normally timid, but Eddie could tell that Kid’s near-disaster had unnerved her. He smiled at her and said: “Just do what they did, honey. You can make it.”

She nodded and took hold of the rope.

Eddie waited with his heart in his mouth. The swell brought the launch up level with the platform. Carol-Ann hesitated, missed her chance and looked more fearful. “Take your time,” Eddie called, making his voice calm to hide his own fear. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The launch went down and rose again. Carol-Ann’s face wore an expression of forced resolution, her lips pressed together, her forehead creased in a frown. The launch drifted a foot or two away from the platform, making the gap rather too wide. Eddie called: “Maybe not this time—” But he was too late. She was so determined to be brave that she had already jumped.

She missed the platform completely.

She let out a scream of terror and swung from the rope, her feet scrabbling in midair. Eddie could do nothing as the launch slipped down the slope of the wave and Carol-Ann fell away from the platform. “Hold tight!” he yelled frantically. “You’ll come up!” He got ready to jump into the sea to save her if she should let go.

But she clung fiercely to the rope as the swell took her down, then brought her up again. When she drew up level she stretched out one leg toward the platform, but it did not reach. Eddie went down on one knee and made a grab for her. He almost overbalanced and fell in the water, but he could not quite touch her leg. The swell took her down again, and she gave a cry of despair.

“Swing!” Eddie yelled. “Swing to and fro as you come up!”

She heard. He could see her gritting her teeth against the pain in her arms, but she managed to swing backward and forward as the swell lifted the launch. Eddie knelt down, reaching out. She came level and swung with all her might. Eddie grabbed and caught her ankle. She had no stockings on. He pulled her closer and got hold of the other ankle, but her feet still did not reach the platform. The launch crested the wave and began to fall. Carol-Ann screamed as she felt herself going down. Eddie still held on to her ankles. Then she let go of the rope.

He held on like grim death. As she fell, he was pulled forward by her weight and almost toppled into the sea; but he was able to flop onto his belly and stay on the platform. Carol-Ann swung upside down from his hands. In this position he could not lift her, but the sea did the job. The next wave submerged her head but lifted her toward him. He let go of one ankle, freeing his right hand, and got his arm around her waist.

He had her safe. He rested for a moment, saying, “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you,” while she choked and spluttered. Then he hauled her up to the platform.

He held her hand while she turned and stood up, then he helped her inside the plane.

She fell into his arms, sobbing. He pressed her dripping head against his chest. He felt tears come but forced them back. The three gangsters and Captain Baker were looking at him expectantly, but he ignored them for a few moments more. He held Carol-Ann tightly as she shook violently.

At last he said: “Are you okay, honey? Did these bastards hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay, I guess,” she said through chattering teeth.

He looked up and caught the eye of Captain Baker. Baker looked from him to Carol-Ann and back again, then said: “Jesus Christ, I’m beginning to understand this....”

Vincini said: “Enough talk. We got work to do.”

Eddie released Carol-Ann. “Okay. I think we should deal with the crew first, get them calmed down and out of the way. Then I’ll take you to the man you want. Is that all right?”

“Yeah, but let’s get on with it.”

“Follow me.” Eddie crossed to the ladder and went up. He came out onto the flight deck first and began speaking right away. In the few seconds before Vincini caught up with him, he said: “Listen, guys, please don’t anybody try to be a hero. It isn’t necessary. I hope you understand me.” He could not risk more than that hint. A moment later Carol-Ann, Captain Baker and the three hoodlums came up through the hatch. Eddie went on. “Everybody keep calm and do what you’re told. I don’t want any shooting. I don’t want anybody to get hurt. The captain is going to tell you the same thing.” He looked at Baker.

“That’s right, men,” Baker said. “Don’t give these people any reason to use their guns.”

Eddie looked at Vincini. “Okay, let’s go. Come with us please, Captain, to calm the passengers. Then Joe and Kid should take the crew to number one compartment.”

Vincini nodded assent.

“Carol-Ann, will you go with the crew, honey?”

“Yes.”

Eddie felt good about that. She would be away from the guns, and she could also explain to his crewmates why he was helping the gangsters.

He looked at Vincini. “Do you want to put your gun away? You’ll scare the passengers—”

“Fuck you,” said Vincini. “Let’s go.”

Eddie shrugged. It had been worth a try.

He led the way down the stairs to the passenger deck. There was a hubbub of loud talk, some semihysterical laughter and the sound of one woman sobbing. The passengers were all in their seats and the two stewards were making heroic efforts to look calm and normal.

Eddie went along the plane. The dining room was a mess, with smashed crockery and broken glass all over the floor; although fortunately there was not much spilled food because the meal had been almost over and everyone had been having coffee. People went quiet when they saw Vincini’s gun. Behind Vincini, Captain Baker was saying: “I apologize for this, ladies and gentlemen, but please remain seated and try to keep calm and it will all be over shortly.” He was so smoothly reassuring that Eddie almost felt better himself.

He passed through number 3 compartment and entered number 4. Ollis Field and Frankie Gordino were sitting side by side. This is it, Eddie thought; this is where I set free a murderer. He pushed the thought aside, pointed to Gordino and said to Vincini: “There’s your man.”

Ollis Field stood up. “This is F.B.I, agent Tommy McArdle,” he said. “Frankie Gordino crossed the Atlantic on a ship that reached New York yesterday, and he is now in jail in Providence, Rhode Island.”

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie exploded. He was thunderstruck. “A decoy! I went through all that for a goddamned decoy!” He was not going to free a murderer after all; but he could not feel glad because he was too scared of what the gangsters might do now. He looked fearfully at Vincini.

Vincini said: “Hell, we ain’t after Frankie. Where’s the Kraut?”

Eddie stared at him, flabbergasted. They were not after Gordino? What did it mean? Who was the Kraut?

Tom Luther’s voice came from number 3 compartment. “He’s in here, Vincini. I’ve got him.” Luther stood in the doorway holding a gun at the head of Carl Hartmann.

Eddie was mystified. Why the hell would the Patriarca gang want to kidnap Carl Hartmann? “What do you guys want with a scientist?” he said.

Luther said: “He’s not just a scientist. He’s a nuclear physicist.”

“Are you guys Nazis?”

Vincini said: “Oh, no. We’re just doing a job for them. Matter of fact, we’re Democrats.” He laughed coarsely.

Luther said coldly: “I am no Democrat. I am proud to be a member of the Deutsch-Amerikaner Bund.” Eddie had heard of the Bund: it was supposed to be a harmless German-American friendship league, but it was funded by the Nazis. Luther went on. “These men are just hired hands. I received a personal message from the Führer himself, requesting my help in apprehending a runaway scientist and returning him to Germany.” Luther was proud of this honor, Eddie realized: it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. “I paid these people to help me. Now I am going to take Herr Doktor Professor Hartmann back to Germany, where his presence is required by the Third Reich.”

Eddie caught Hartmann’s eye. The man looked sick with dread. Eddie was stricken with guilt. Hartmann was going to be taken back to Nazi Germany, and it was Eddie’s fault. Eddie said to him: “They had my wife ... what could I do?”

Hartmann’s face changed immediately. “I understand,” he said. “We are used to this sort of thing in Germany. They make you betray one loyalty for the sake of another. You had no choice. Don’t blame yourself.”

Eddie was astonished that the man could find it in his heart to console him at a moment like this.

He caught the eye of Ollis Field. “But why did you bring a decoy onto the Clipper?” he said. “Did you want the Patriarca gang to hijack the plane?”

“Not at all,” Field said. “We got information that the gang want to kill Gordino to stop him squealing. They were going to hit him as soon as he reached America. So we let it out that he was flying on the Clipper, but sent him on ahead by ship. Round about now, the news will be on the radio that Gordino is in jail and the gang will know they’ve been fooled.”

“Why aren’t you guarding Carl Hartmann?”

“We didn’t know he was going to be on this flight—nobody told us!”

Was Hartmann completely unprotected? Eddie wondered. Or did he have a bodyguard who had not yet revealed himself?

The little gangster called Joe came into the compartment with his gun in his right hand and an opened bottle of champagne in his left. “They’re quiet as lambs, Vinnie,” he said to Vincini. “Kid’s back there in the dining room. He can cover the whole front part of the plane from there.”

Vincini said to Luther: “So where’s the fuckin’ submarine?”

Luther said: “It will be here at any moment, I’m sure.”

A submarine! Luther had a rendezvous with a U-boat right here off the coast of Maine! Eddie looked out of the windows, expecting to see it rising from the water like a steel whale; but he saw nothing but waves.

Vincini said: “Well, we’ve done our bit. Gimme the money.”

Keeping Hartmann covered, Luther stepped back to his seat, picked up a small case and handed it to Vincini. Vincini opened it. It was packed tight with wads of bills.

Luther said: “A hundred thousand dollars, all in twenties.”

Vincini said: “I better check it.” He put his gun away and sat down with the case on his knee.

Luther said: “It’ll take you forever—”

“What do you think I am, green?” Vincini said in a tone of exaggerated patience. “I’ll check two bundles. Then I’ll count how many bundles there are. I’ve done this before.”

Everyone watched Vincini count the money. The passengers in the compartment—Princess Lavinia, Lulu Bell, Mark Alder, Diana Lovesey, Ollis Field and the Frankie Gordino impostor—looked on. Joe recognized Lulu Bell. “Hey, ain’t you in the movies?” he said. Lulu looked away, ignoring him. Joe drank from his bottle, then offered it to Diana Lovesey. She paled and shrank away from him. “I agree. This stuff is overrated,” Joe said; then he reached out and poured champagne over her cream-and-red dotted dress.

She gave a cry of distress and pushed his hand away. The wet dress clung to her bosom revealingly.

Eddie was appalled. This was the kind of thing that could lead to violence. He said: “Knock it off, you.”

The man took no notice. “Great jugs,” he said with a leer. He dropped the bottle and grabbed one of her breasts, squeezing hard.

She screamed.

Her boyfriend, Mark, was struggling with his safety belt, saying: “Don’t touch her, you cheap hood—”

With a surprisingly quick movement, the hoodlum hit him in the mouth with his gun. Blood spurted from Mark’s lips.

Eddie said: “Vincini, for Christ’s sake, put a stop to this!”

Vincini said: “Girl like that, hell, if she ain’t had her tits felt by her age, it’s about time.”

Joe thrust his hand down the front of Diana’s dress. She struggled to avoid his grasp, but she was strapped in her seat.

Mark got his seat belt undone, but as he was rising to his feet the man hit him again. This time the butt of the gun hit the comer of his eye. Joe used his left fist to punch Mark in the stomach, then hit him across the face with the gun a third time. Now blood from his wounds got into Mark’s eyes and blinded him. Several women were screaming.

Eddie was appalled. He had been determined to avoid bloodshed. Joe was about to hit Mark again. Eddie could stand it no longer. Taking his life in his hands, he grabbed the little gangster from behind, pinning his arms.

Joe struggled, trying to point his gun at Eddie, but Eddie held on tight. Joe pulled the trigger. The bang was deafening in the confined space, but the gun was pointing down and the bullet went through the floor.

The first shot had been fired. Eddie had a horrified, scary feeling that he was losing control of the situation. If that happened there could be a bloodbath.

At last Vincini intervened. “Knock it off, Joe!” he yelled.

The man became still.

Eddie let him go.

Joe gave him a venomous look, but said nothing.

Vincini said: “We can go. The money’s all here.”

Eddie saw a ray of hope. If they would leave now, at least the bloodshed had been limited. Go, he thought; for God’s sake, go!

Vincini went on: “Bring the cunt with you if you want, Joe. I might prong her myself—I like her better than the engineer’s skinny wife.” He stood up.

Diana screamed: “No, no!”

Joe undid her seat belt and grabbed her by the hair. She struggled with him. Mark got to his feet, trying to wipe the blood from his eyes. Eddie grabbed Mark, restraining him. “Don’t get yourself killed!” he said. Lowering his voice, he said: “It’ll be okay, I promise you!” He wanted to tell Mark that the gang’s launch was going to be stopped by a U.S. Navy cutter before they would have time to do anything to Diana, but he was afraid of being overheard by Vincini.

Joe pointed his gun at Mark and said to Diana: “You come with us or your boyfriend gets it right between the eyes.”

Diana became still and started to sob.

Luther said: “I’m coming with you, Vincini. My submarine hasn’t made it.”

“I knew it wouldn’t come,” Vincini said. “They can’t get this close to the U.S.A.”

Vincini did not know anything about submarines. Eddie could guess the real reason why the U-boat had not appeared. The U-boat commander had seen Steve Appleby’s navy cutter patrolling the channel. He was probably now waiting nearby, listening to the cutter’s radio chatter, hoping the boat would go away and patrol some other stretch of water.

Luther’s decision to flee with the gangsters instead of waiting for the submarine raised Eddie’s spirits. The gangsters’ launch was headed for Steve Appleby’s trap, and if Luther and Hartmann were on the launch, Hartmann would be saved. If this whole thing could end with nothing worse than a few stitches in Mark Alder’s face, Eddie would rejoice.

“Let’s go,” Vincini said. “Luther first, then the Kraut, then Kid, then me, then the engineer—I want you close to me until I get off this crate—then Joe with the blonde. Move!”

Mark Alder began to struggle in Eddie’s arms. Vincini said to Ollis Field and the other agent: “You want to hold this guy down, or you want Joe to shoot him?” They grabbed Mark and held him still.

Eddie filed out behind Vincini. Passengers stared wide-eyed at them as they passed through number 3 compartment and into the dining room.

As Vincini entered number 2 compartment, Mr. Membury pulled a gun and said: “Stop!” He aimed directly at Vincini. “Everybody keep still or I shoot your boss!”

Eddie took one step back to get out of the way.

Vincini went white and said: “All right, boys, nobody move.”

The one they called Kid swung round and fired twice.

Membury fell.

Vincini yelled furiously at the boy: “You cocksucker, he might have killed me!”

“Didn’t you hear his voice?” Kid replied. “He’s an Englishman.”

“So fuckin’ what?” Vincini screamed.

“I seen every movie ever made, and nobody ever gets shot by an Englishman.”

Eddie knelt down beside Membury. The bullets had entered his chest. His blood was the same color as his waistcoat. “Who are you?” Eddie said.

“Scotland Yard, Special Branch,” Membury whispered. “Assigned to protect Hartmann.” So the scientist had not been completely unguarded, Eddie thought. “Bloody failure,” Membury said hoarsely. His eyes closed and he stopped breathing.

Eddie cursed. He had vowed to get the gangsters off the plane without anyone being killed, and he had come so close to succeeding! Now this brave policeman was dead. “So unnecessary,” Eddie said aloud.

He heard Vincini say: “How come you’re so sure nobody needs to be a hero?” He looked up. Vincini was staring at him with suspicion and hostility. Jesus Christ, I think he’d like to kill me, Eddie thought. Vincini went on: “Do you know something the rest of us don’t?”

Eddie had no answer; but at that moment the seaman from the launch came rushing down the stairs and into the compartment. “Hey, Vinnie, I just heard from Willard—”

“I told him not to use that radio except for an emergency!”

“This is an emergency—there’s a navy ship going up and down the shore, just like they’re looking for someone.”

Eddie’s heart stopped. He had not thought of this possibility. The gang had a sentry on shore, keeping watch, with a shortwave radio so he could talk to the launch. Now Vincini knew about the trap.

It was all over, and Eddie had lost.

“You double-crossed me,” Vincini said to Eddie. “You bastard, I’ll kill you for this.”

Eddie caught Captain Baker’s eye and saw understanding and a surprised respect in his face.

Vincini pointed his gun at Eddie.

Eddie thought: I did my best, and everyone knows it. I don’t care if I die now.

Then Luther said: “Vincini, listen! Do you hear something?”

They were all silent. Eddie heard the sound of another plane.

Luther looked out of the window. “It’s a seaplane, coming down right nearby!”

Vincini lowered his gun. Eddie felt weak at the knees.

Vincini looked out, and Eddie followed his gaze. He saw the Grumman Goose that had been moored at Shediac. As he watched, it splashed down on the long side of a wave and came to rest.

Vincini said: “So what? If they get in our way, we’ll shoot the bastards.”

“Don’t you see?” Luther said excitedly. “This is our escape! We can fly over the goddamn navy and get away!”

Vincini nodded slowly. “Good thinking. That’s what we’ll do.”

Eddie realized they were going to get away. His life was saved, but he had failed after all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Nancy Lenehan had found the answer to the problem as she flew along the Canadian coast in the chartered seaplane.

She wanted to defeat her brother, but she also wanted to find some way of escaping from the tramlines of her father’s plans for her life. She wanted to be with Mervyn, but she was afraid that if she left Black’s Boots and went to England she would become a bored housewife like Diana.

Nat Ridgeway had said he was willing to make a higher offer for the company, and give Nancy a job in General Textiles. Thinking about that, she had realized that General Textiles had several factories in Europe, mostly in Britain; and that Ridgeway was not going to be able to visit them until the war was over, which might be years. So she was going to offer to become the European Manager of General Textiles. That way she could be with Mervyn and still be in business.

The solution was remarkably neat. The only snag was that Europe was at war and she might get killed.

She was reflecting on that distant but chilling possibility when Mervyn turned around in his copilot’s seat and pointed out of the window and down; and she saw the Clipper floating on the sea.

Mervyn tried to raise the Clipper by radio, but he got no response. Nancy forgot about her own troubles as the Goose circled the downed plane. What had happened? Were the people on board all right? The plane appeared undamaged, but there was no sign of life.

Mervyn turned to her and shouted over the roar of the engines: “We have to go down and see if they need help.”

Nancy nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Strap in and hold tight. It may be a rough splashdown because of the swell.”

She fastened her safety belt and looked out. The sea was choppy and there were long rollers. The pilot, Ned, brought the seaplane down in a line parallel with the crests of the waves. The hull touched water on the back of a swell, and the seaplane rode the wave like a Hawaiian surf rider. It was not as rough as Nancy had feared.

There was a motor launch tied up to the Clipper’s nose. A man in dungarees and a cap appeared on the deck and beckoned to them. Nancy gathered he wanted the Goose to tie up alongside the launch. The bow door of the Clipper was open, so presumably they would board that way. Nancy could see why: the waves were washing over the sea-wings, so it would be difficult to board through the normal door.

Ned edged the seaplane toward the launch. Nancy could tell it was a tricky maneuver in this sea. However, the Goose was a high-winged monoplane, and its wing was well above the superstructure of the launch, so they were able to draw alongside, with the hull of the plane bumping against the row of rubber tires on the side of the boat. The man on deck tied the plane to his vessel fore and aft.

While Ned shut down the engines of the seaplane, Mervyn came aft, opened the door and broke out the gangway.

“I ought to stay with my plane,” Ned said to Mervyn. “You’d better go and find out what’s going on.”

“I’m coming, too,” said Nancy.

Because the seaplane was roped to the launch, the two vessels rose and fell together on the waves, and the gangway shifted relatively little. Mervyn disembarked first and held out a hand to Nancy.

When they were both on deck, Mervyn said to the man on the launch: “What happened?”

“They had fuel trouble and had to splash down,” he replied.

“I couldn’t get them on the radio.”

The man shrugged. “You’d better go aboard.”

Getting from the launch to the Clipper involved a little jump, from the deck of the launch onto the platform made by the open bow door. Once again Mervyn went first. Nancy took off her shoes and stuffed them inside her coat, then followed suit. She was a little nervous, but in fact it was easy.

In the bow compartment was a young man she did not recognize.

Mervyn said: “What happened here?”

“Emergency landing,” the young man said. “We were fishing, saw the whole thing.”

“What’s wrong with the radio?”

“Dunno.”

The youngster was not very bright, Nancy decided. Mervyn must have had the same thought, for he said impatiently: “I’d better speak to the captain.”

“Go this way—they’re all in the dining room.”

The boy was not very sensibly dressed for fishing, in his two-tone shoes and yellow tie, Nancy thought with amusement. She followed Mervyn up the ladder to the flight deck, which was deserted. That explained why Mervyn had been unable to raise the Clipper on the radio. But why were they all in the dining room? It was odd that the entire crew should leave the flight deck.

She began to feel uneasy as she went down the stairs to the passenger deck. Mervyn led the way into number 2 compartment and stopped suddenly.

Looking past him, Nancy saw Mr. Membury lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry of horror.

Mervyn said: “Dear God, what’s been happening here?”

Behind them, the young man in the yellow tie said: “Keep moving.” His voice had become harsh.

Nancy turned to him and saw that he had a gun in his hand. “Did you do this?” she said angrily.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth and keep moving!”

They stepped into the dining room.

Three more men with guns were standing in the room. There was a big man in a striped suit who looked as if he might be in charge. A little man with a mean face was standing behind Mervyn’s wife, casually fondling her breasts: when Mervyn saw this he let out a curse. The third gunman was a passenger, Mr. Luther: he was pointing his gun at another passenger, Professor Hartmann. The captain and the engineer were also there, looking helpless. Several passengers were seated at tables, but most of the dishes and glassware had fallen to the floor and smashed. Nancy caught a glimpse of Margaret Oxenford, pale and frightened; and in a sudden flash she recalled the conversation in which she had glibly told Margaret that regular people did not need to worry about gangsters because they only operated in the slums. How stupid of her.

Mr. Luther was speaking. “The gods are on my side, Lovesey. You have arrived in a seaplane just when we need one. You can fly me and Mr. Vincini and our associates over the navy cutter that the treacherous Eddie Deakin has summoned to trap us.”

Mervyn looked hard at him and said nothing.

The man in the striped suit spoke up. “Let’s get moving, before the navy starts to feel impatient and comes along to investigate. Kid, you take Lovesey. His girlfriend can stay here.”

“Okay, Vinnie.”

Nancy was not sure what was going on, but she knew she did not want to be left behind: if Mervyn was in trouble she would rather be by his side. But no one was asking what she preferred.

The man called Vincini continued giving instructions. “Luther, you take the Kraut.”

Nancy wondered why they were taking Carl Hartmann. She had assumed this was all something to do with Frankie Gordino, but he was nowhere in sight.

Vincini said: “Joe, bring the blonde.”

.The little man pointed his gun at Diana Lovesey’s bosom. “Let’s go,” he said. She did not move.

Nancy was horrified. Why were they kidnapping Diana? She had a dreadful feeling she knew the answer.

Joe poked the barrel of the gun into Diana’s soft breast, prodding her hard, and she gasped with pain.

“Wait a minute,” Mervyn said.

They all looked at him.

“All right, I’ll fly you out of here, but there’s a condition.”

Vincini said: “Shut up and move. You can’t make no fuckin’ conditions.”

Mervyn spread his arms wide. “So shoot me,” he said.

Nancy let out a cry of fear. These were the kind of men who would shoot someone who dared them; didn’t Mervyn understand that?

There was a moment of silence, then Luther said: “What condition?”

Mervyn pointed at Diana. “She stays.”

Joe, the little man, gave Mervyn a killing look.

Vincini said: “We don’t need you, shithead. There’s a whole bunch of Pan American pilots up front—any one of them can fly that seaplane as well as you.”

“And any one of them will make the same condition,” Mervyn said. “Ask them—if you’ve got time.”

Nancy realized that the gangsters did not know there was another pilot in the Goose. Not that it made much difference.

Luther said to Joe: “Leave her behind.”

The little man went red with anger. “Hell, why—”

“Leave her behind!” Luther shouted. “I paid you to help me kidnap Hartmann, not rape women!”

Vincini intervened. “He’s right, Joe. You can pick up another cunt later.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe said.

Diana began to cry with relief.

Vincini said: “We’re running out of time. Let’s get out of here!”

Nancy wondered whether she would ever see Mervyn again.

From outside came the sound of a Klaxon. The skipper of the launch was trying to get their attention.

The one they called Kid spoke up from the next room. “Holy shit, boss, look out the fuckin’ window!”

Harry Marks was knocked out when the Clipper splashed down. On the first bounce he fell headlong across the piled suitcases; then, just as he was getting to his hands and knees, the plane flopped into the sea and he was flung against the forward wall. He banged his head and was out cold.

When he came round, he wondered what the hell was going on.

He knew they had not arrived at Port Washington: they were only about two hours into a five-hour flight. This was an unscheduled stop, then; and it had seemed like an emergency splashdown.

He sat upright, feeling his injuries. Now he knew why planes had seat belts. His nose was bleeding, his head hurt like hell, and he was bruised just about everywhere; but nothing was actually broken. He wiped his nose with his handkerchief and considered himself lucky.

There were no windows in the baggage hold, of course, so he had no way of finding out what was going on. He sat still for a while and listened for clues. The engines were shut down, and there was a long period of quiet.

Then he heard a shot.

Firearms meant gangsters, and if there were gangsters on board they were probably after Frankie Gordino. More important, gunplay meant confusion and panic, and in those circumstances Harry might be able to get away.

He had to take a look outside.

He opened the door a crack. He saw no one.

He stepped out into the corridor and went forward to the door that led to the flight deck. He stood behind it, listening hard. He heard nothing.

Gently and silently, he eased the door open and peeped through.

The flight deck was deserted.

He stepped over the high threshold, treading softly, and went to the top of the staircase. He could hear men’s voices raised in argument, but he could not make out the words.

The cockpit hatch was open. Looking through it, he could see daylight in the bow compartment. He went closer and saw that the bow door was open.

He stood up and looked through the window, and saw a motor launch tied up to the nose of the aircraft. There was a man on deck in rubber boots and a cap.

Harry realized he could be very close to escape.

Here was a fast boat that could take him to a lonely spot on the coast. There appeared to be only one man on board. There had to be a way Harry could get rid of him and take the boat.

He heard a footstep right behind him.

He spun around, his heart pounding.

It was Percy Oxenford.

The boy stood in the rear doorway, looking as shocked as Harry felt.

After a moment Percy said: “Where have you been hiding?”

“Never mind that,” Harry said. “What’s going on down there?”

“Mr. Luther is a Nazi who wants to send Professor Hartmann back to Germany. He’s hired some gangsters to help him and he gave them a hundred thousand dollars in a briefcase!”

“Blimey,” said Harry, forgetting to do his American accent.

“And they killed Mr. Membury—he was a bodyguard from Scotland Yard.”

So that was what he was. “Is your sister all right?”

“So far. But they want to take Mrs. Lovesey with them because she’s so pretty—I hope they don’t notice Margaret....”

“God, what a mess,” said Harry.

“I managed to sneak away and come up through the trapdoor next to the ladies’ toilet.”

“What for?”

“I want Agent Field’s gun. I saw Captain Baker confiscate it.” Percy pulled open the drawer under the chart table. Inside was a compact revolver with a short barrel, just the sort of gun an F.B.I. man might carry under his jacket. “I thought so—it’s a Colt Thirty-eight Detective Special,” Percy said. He picked it up, broke it open expertly and spun the cylinder.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. You’ll get yourself killed.” He grabbed the boy’s wrist, took the gun from him, put it back and closed the drawer.

There was a loud noise from outside. Harry and Percy both looked out of the windows and saw a seaplane circling the Clipper. Who the hell was this? After a moment it started to descend. It splashed down, riding a wave, and taxied toward the Clipper.

“Now what?” said Harry. He turned around. Percy had disappeared. The drawer was open.

And the gun was gone.

“Damn,” Harry said.

He went through the rear door. He dashed past the holds, under the navigator’s dome and across a low compartment, then looked through a second door.

Percy was scampering along a crawlway through a space that got lower and narrower as it approached the tail. The plane’s structure was bare here, with struts and rivets visible and cables trailing along the floor. The space was obviously a redundant void above the rear half of the passenger deck. There was light at the far end, and Harry saw Percy drop down through a square hole. He remembered seeing a ladder on the wall next to the ladies’ room, with a trapdoor above it.

He could not stop Percy now: it was too late.

He recalled Margaret saying they could all shoot—it was a family obsession; but the boy knew nothing about gangsters. If he got in their way they would gun him down like a dog. Harry liked the boy, but his own feelings did not concern him so much as Margaret’s. Harry did not want her to see her brother killed. But what the hell could he do?

He returned to the flight deck and looked out. The seaplane was tying up to the launch. Either the people from the seaplane would come aboard the Clipper, or vice versa: in any event someone would soon be passing through the flight cabin. Harry had to get out of the way for a few moments. He went out through the rear door, leaving it open a crack so he could hear what went on.

Soon someone came up the stairs from the passenger deck and went through to the bow compartment. A few minutes later a number of people, two or three, came back. Harry listened to their footsteps going down the stairs, then came out.

Had they brought help, or reinforcements for the gangsters? Harry was in the dark again.

He went to the top of the stairs. There he hesitated. He decided to risk going partway down to listen.

He went to the bend in the staircase and peeked around the corner. He could see the little kitchen: it was empty. What would he do now if the seaman from the launch decided to come aboard the Clipper? I’ll hear him coming, Harry thought, and slip into the men’s room. He went on down, one slow step at a time, pausing and listening on each step. When he reached the bottom he heard a voice. He recognized Tom Luther’s voice, a cultured American accent with a trace of something European underneath. “The gods are on my side, Lovesey,” he was saying. “You have arrived in a seaplane just when we need one. You can fly me and Mr. Vincini and our associates over the navy cutter that the treacherous Eddie Deakin has summoned to trap us.”

That answered the question. The seaplane was going to enable Luther and Hartmann to get away.

Harry crept back up the stairs. The thought of poor Hartmann being taken back to the Nazis was heartbreaking; but Harry might have let it happen—he was no hero. However, young Percy Oxenford would do something stupid any moment now, and Harry could not stand aside and let Margaret’s brother get himself killed. He had to get in first, create a diversion, somehow put a spoke in the gang’s wheel, for her sake.

Looking into the bow compartment, he saw a rope tied to a strut, and he was inspired.

Suddenly he saw a way he could create a diversion and maybe get rid of one of the gangsters as well.

First he had to untie the ropes and set the launch adrift.

He went through the hatch and down the ladder.

His heart beat faster. He was scared.

He did not think about what he would say if someone caught him now. He would just make something up, as he always did.

He crossed the compartment. As he had thought, the rope came from the launch.

He reached up to the strut, undid the knot and dropped the rope on the floor.

Looking out, he saw that there was a second rope running from the bow of the launch to the nose of the Clipper. Damn. He would have to get out onto the platform to reach it, and that meant he might be seen.

But he could not give up now. And he had to hurry. Percy was back there like Daniel in the lions’ den.

He stepped up onto the platform. The rope was tied to a capstan sticking up from the nose of the aircraft. He untied it rapidly.

He heard a shout from the launch. “Hey, you, what are you doing?”

He did not look up. He hoped the guy did not have a gun.

He detached the rope from the capstan and threw it in the sea.

“Hey, you!”

He turned around. The skipper of the launch was standing on deck shouting. He was not armed, thank God. The man picked up his end of the other rope and pulled. The rope snaked out of the bow compartment and fell in the water.

The skipper ducked into the wheelhouse and started his engine.

The next part was more dangerous.

It would take only a few seconds for the gangsters to notice that their launch had come adrift. They would be puzzled and alarmed. One of them would come to investigate and tie the launch up again. And then—

Harry was too scared to think about what he was going to do then.

He dashed up the ladder and across the flight deck and concealed himself in the cargo area once again.

He knew it was deadly dangerous to fool around like this with gangsters, and he felt cold at the thought of what they would do to him if they caught him.

For a long minute nothing happened. Come on, he thought; hurry up and look out of the window! Your launch is adrift—you have to notice it before I lose my nerve.

At last he heard footsteps again, heavy ones, hurrying, coming up the stairs and through the flight cabin. To his dismay it sounded like two men. He had not anticipated having to deal with two.

When he judged that they must have descended into the bow compartment, he looked out. It was all clear. He crossed the cabin and looked through the hatch. Two men with guns in their hands were staring out of the bow door. Even without the guns Harry would have guessed they were crooks by their flashy clothes. One was an ugly little guy with a mean look; the other was very young, about eighteen.

Maybe I should go back and hide, Harry thought.

The skipper was maneuvering the launch, still with the seaplane tied to its side. The two gangsters would have to tie the launch up to the Clipper again, and they could not do that with guns in their hands. Harry waited for them to put their firearms away.

The skipper shouted something Harry could not make out, and a few moments later the two hoods stuffed the guns into their pockets and stepped out onto the platform.

With his heart in his mouth, Harry went down the ladder into the bow compartment.

The men were trying to catch a rope that the skipper was throwing to them, and all their attention was directed outward, so they did not see him at first.

He sidled across the compartment.

When he was halfway across, the young one caught the rope. The other man, the little one, half turned—and saw Harry. He put his hand in his pocket and got his gun out just as Harry reached him.

Harry felt sure he was about to die.

Desperately, without thinking, he stooped, grabbed the little man’s ankle and heaved.

A shot rang out, but Harry felt nothing.

The man staggered, almost fell, dropped his gun and seized hold of his buddy for support.

The younger man lost his balance and let go of the rope. For an instant they swayed, clutching at one another. Harry still had hold of the little man’s ankle, and he jerked it again.

Both men fell off the platform and plunged into the heaving sea.

Harry let out a whoop of triumph.

They sank below the waves, came up again and began to struggle. Harry could tell that neither of them could swim.

“That’s for Clive Membury, you bastards!” Harry shouted.

He did not wait to see what became of them. He had to know what had happened on the passenger deck. He dashed back across the bow compartment, scrambled up the ladder, emerged into the flight cabin, then tiptoed down the staircase.

On the bottom step he stopped and listened.

Margaret could hear her own heartbeat.

It sounded in her ears like a kettledrum, rhythmic and insistent, and so loud that she fancied other people must be able to hear it too.

She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. And she was ashamed of her fear.

She had been frightened by the emergency splashdown, the sudden appearance of guns, the bewildering way people such as Frankie Gordino, Mr. Luther and the engineer kept changing their roles, and the casual brutality of these stupid thugs in their awful suits; and most of all she was frightened because quiet Mr. Membury was lying on the floor dead.

She was too frightened to move, and that made her ashamed.

For years she had been talking about how she wanted to fight Fascism, and now the opportunity had arrived. Right here in front of her, a Fascist was kidnapping Carl Hartmann to take him back to Germany. But she could do nothing about it because she was paralyzed by fear.

Perhaps there was nothing she could do, anyway; perhaps she would only get herself killed. But she ought to try, and she had always said she was willing to risk her life for the cause and for the memory of Ian.

Her father had been right to pour scorn on her pretensions of bravery, she realized. Her heroism was all in her imagination. Her dream of being a motorcycle courier on the battlefield was mere fantasy: at the first sound of gunfire she would hide under a hedge. When there was real danger, she was completely useless. She sat frozen still as her heart pounded in her ears.

She had not spoken a word while the Clipper splashed down, the gunmen came aboard, and Nancy and Mr. Lovesey arrived in the seaplane. She had remained silent when the one called Kid saw the launch drifting away, and the one called Vincini sent Kid and Joe to help tie it up again.

But when she saw Kid and Joe drowning, she screamed.

She had been staring fixedly out the window, looking at but not seeing the waves, when the two men drifted into view. Kid was trying to keep afloat, but Joe was on Kid’s back, pushing his friend under as he tried to save himself. It was a horrible sight.

When she screamed, Mr. Luther rushed to the window and looked out. “They’re in the water!” he yelled hysterically.

Vincini said: “Who—Kid and Joe?”

“Yes!”

The skipper of the launch threw a rope, but the drowning men did not see it: Joe was thrashing around in a blind panic and Kid was being held underwater by Joe.

“Do something!” Luther said. He was on the verge of panic himself.

“What?” said Vincini. “There ain’t nothing we can do. Crazy bastards don’t have the smarts to save themselves!”

The two men drifted nearer to the sea-wing. If they had kept calm, they could have climbed onto it and been saved. But they did not see it.

Kid’s head went under and did not come up again.

Joe lost contact with Kid and breathed a lungful of water. Margaret heard one hoarse scream, muffled by the Clipper’s soundproofing. Joe’s head went under, came up, and went under again for the last time.

Margaret shuddered. They were both dead.

“How did this happen?” Luther said. “How come they fell in?”

“Maybe they were pushed,” said Vincini.

“Who by?”

“There must be someone else on this fuckin’ airplane.”

Margaret thought: Harry!

Was it possible? Could Harry still be on board? Had he hidden somewhere while the police were searching for him, and come out after the emergency splashdown? Was it Harry who had pushed the two gangsters into the sea?

Then she thought of her brother. Percy had disappeared after the launch tied up to the Clipper, and Margaret had assumed he had gone to the men’s room and then decided to stay out of the way. But that was not characteristic of him. He was more likely to seek out trouble. She knew he had found an unofficial way up to the flight deck. What was he up to now?

Luther said: “This whole thing is falling apart! What are we going to do?”

“We’re leaving on the seaplane, just like we planned: you, me, the Kraut and the money,” said Vincini. “If anyone gets in the way, put a bullet in his belly. Calm down and let’s go.”

Margaret had a dreadful premonition that they would meet Percy on the stairs, and he would be the one to get a bullet in his belly.

Then, just as the three men were leaving the dining room, she heard Percy’s voice coming from the back of the plane.

At the top of his voice he shouted: “Stop right there!”

To Margaret’s astonishment he was holding a gun—and pointing it right at Vincini.

It was a short-barreled revolver, and Margaret guessed immediately that it must be the Colt that had been confiscated from the F.B.I. agent earlier. Now Percy held it in front of him, straight-armed as if he were aiming at a target.

Vincini turned around slowly.

Margaret was proud of Percy even while she was afraid for his life.

The dining room was crowded. Behind Vincini, right next to where Margaret was sitting, Luther was holding his gun to Hartmann’s head. On the other side of the compartment stood Nancy, Mervyn Lovesey, Diana Lovesey, and the engineer and the captain. And most of the seats were occupied.

Vincini looked at Percy for a long moment, then said: “Get out of here, kid.”

“Drop your gun,” Percy said in his cracked adolescent voice.

Vincini moved with surprising speed. He ducked to one side and raised his gun. There was a shot. The bang deafened Margaret: she heard a distant scream and realized it was her own voice. She could not tell who had shot whom. Percy seemed all right. Then Vincini staggered and fell, blood spurting from his chest. He dropped his briefcase and it burst open. Blood splashed the bundles of money.

Percy dropped the gun and stared, horrified, at the man he had shot. He looked about to burst into tears.

Everyone looked at Luther, the last of the gang, and the only person who still held a gun.

Carl Hartmann made a sudden move, breaking free of Luther’s grasp while the man was distracted, and flung himself on the floor. Margaret was terrified Hartmann would be killed; then she thought Luther would shoot Percy; but what actually happened took her completely by surprise.

Luther grabbed her.

He pulled her out of her seat and held her in front of himself, his gun at her head, just as he had held Hartmann before.

Everyone froze.

She was too terrified to move, to speak, even to scream. The barrel of the gun dug painfully into her temple. Luther was shaking: he was as frightened as she. In the silence he said: “Hartmann, go to the bow door. Go on board the launch. Do as you’re told or the girl gets it.”

Suddenly she felt a dreadful calm descend over her. She could see, with hideous clarity, that Luther had been brilliantly cunning. If he had merely pointed his gun at Hartmann, Hartmann might have said: “Shoot me—I’d rather die than go back to Germany.” But now it was her life at stake. Hartmann might have been prepared to give his own life, but he would not sacrifice a young girl.

Slowly, Hartmann got up from the floor.

Everything was up to her, Margaret realized with icy, fearful logic. She could save Hartmann by sacrificing herself. It’s not fair, she thought. I wasn’t expecting this. I’m not ready for it. I can’t do it!

She caught her father’s eye. He looked horrified.

In that awful moment she recalled how he had taunted her, saying she was too soft to fight, she would not last a day in the A.T.S.

Was he right?

All she had to do was move. Luther might kill her, but the other men would jump on him before he could do anything else, and Hartmann would be saved.

Time passed as slowly as in a nightmare.

I can do it, she thought with the same frozen composure.

She took a deep breath and thought: Goodbye, everyone.

Suddenly she heard Harry’s voice behind her. “Mr. Luther, I think your submarine has arrived.”

Everyone looked through the windows.

Margaret felt the pressure of the gun barrel at her temple ease a fraction, and she saw that Luther was momentarily distracted.

She ducked her head and wriggled out of his grasp.

There was a shot, but she felt nothing.

Everyone moved at once.

The engineer, Eddie, flew past her and fell on Luther like a tree.

Margaret saw Harry grab Luther’s gun hand and tear the weapon from his grasp.

Luther crashed to the floor with Eddie and Harry on top of him.

Margaret realized she was still alive.

She suddenly felt as weak as a baby, and she sank helplessly into a seat.

Percy dashed to her. She hugged him. Time stood still. She heard herself say: “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” he said shakily.

“You’re so brave!”

“So are you!”

Yes, I was, she thought; I was brave.

All the passengers began to shout at once; then Captain Baker yelled: “Quiet, everybody, please!”

Margaret looked around.

Luther was still on the floor, facedown, pinned and harmless with Eddie and Harry on top of him. The danger from within the aircraft was over. She looked outside. The submarine floated on the water like a great gray shark, its wet steel flanks gleaming in the sunshine.

The captain said: “There’s a naval cutter nearby and we’re going to radio to it right away and tell them about the U-boat.” The crew had come through from number 1 compartment, and now the captain addressed the radio operator. “Get on the horn, Ben.”

“Yes, sir. You realize the submarine commander may hear our radio message and run for it.”

“All the better,” the captain growled. “Our passengers have seen enough danger.”

The radio operator went up the stairs to the flight deck.

Everyone kept looking out at the U-boat. Its hatch stayed shut. Its commander must have been waiting to see what would happen.

Captain Baker went on. “There’s one gangster we haven’t caught, and I’d like to bring him in: the skipper of the launch. Eddie, go to the bow door and lure him aboard—tell him Vincini wants him.”

Eddie got off Luther and went away.

The captain spoke to the navigator. “Jack, collect all these damn guns and take the ammunition out.” The captain realized he had cursed, and added: “Pardon my language, ladies.”

They had heard so much foul language from the gangsters that Margaret laughed at him apologizing for saying “damn”; and the other passengers nearby laughed too. He was taken aback at first and then saw the joke, and he smiled.

The laughter made everyone realize that they were out of danger, and some of the passengers began to relax. Margaret still felt peculiar, and she was shivering as if it were freezing cold.

The captain nudged Luther with the toe of his shoe and spoke to another crewman. “Johnny, stick this guy in number one compartment and keep a close watch on him.”

Harry got off Luther and one of the crew took the man away.

Harry and Margaret looked at one another.

She had imagined he had abandoned her; she had thought she would never see him again; she had been sure she was about to die. Suddenly it seemed unbearably wonderful that they were both alive and together. He sat down next to her, and she threw herself into his arms. They hugged one another tight.

After a while he murmured in her ear: “Look outside.”

The submarine was slowly slipping beneath the waves.

Margaret smiled up at Harry and then kissed him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When it was all over, Carol-Ann would not touch Eddie.

She sat in the dining room, sipping hot milky coffee prepared by Davy, the steward. She was pale and shaky, but she kept saying she was all right. However, she flinched every time Eddie put his hand on her.

He sat close, looking at her, but she would not meet his eyes. They spoke in low voices about what had happened. She told him obsessively, again and again, how the men had burst into the house and dragged her out into their car. “I was standing there bottling plums!” she kept saying, as if that was the most outrageous aspect of the whole episode.

“It’s all over now,” he would say each time, and she would nod her head vigorously, but he could tell she did not believe it.

At last she looked at him and said: “When will you have to fly next?”

Then he understood. She was frightened about how she would feel the next time he left her alone. He felt relieved: he could reassure her about that, easily. “I won’t be flying anymore,” he told her. “I’m resigning right away. They’d have to fire me otherwise: they can’t employ an engineer who deliberately brought a plane down the way I did.”

Captain Baker overheard part of the conversation, and interrupted him. “Eddie, there’s something I have to say to you. I understand what you did. You were put in an impossible position and you handled it the best you could. More than that, I don’t know another man that would have handled it so well. You were brave and you were smart, and I’m proud to fly with you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Eddie said, and there was a lump in his throat. “I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel.” Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Percy Oxenford, sitting alone, looking shocked. “Sir, I think we all should thank young Percy: he saved the day!”

Percy heard him and looked up.

“Good point,” said the captain. He patted Eddie on the shoulder and went over to shake the boy’s hand. “You’re a brave man, Percy.”

Percy cheered up instantly. “Thank you!” he said.

The captain sat down to chat with him, and Carol-Ann said to Eddie : “If you’re not flying, what will we do?”

“I’ll start that business we’ve been talking about.”

He could see the hope in her face, but she did not really believe it yet. “Can we?”

“I’ve got enough money saved to buy the airfield, and I’ll borrow what I need to get started.”

She was visibly brightening by the second. “Could we run it together?” she said. “Maybe I could keep the books and answer the phone while you do repairs and refueling?”

He smiled and nodded. “Sure, at least until the baby comes.”

“Just like a mom-and-pop store.”

He reached out and took her hand, and this time she did not flinch, but squeezed his hand in return. “Mom and Pop,” he said, and at last she smiled.

Nancy was hugging Mervyn when Diana tapped him on the shoulder.

Nancy had been lost in joy and relief, overwhelmed by the pleasure of being alive and with the man she loved. Now she wondered if Diana would cast a cloud over this moment. Diana had left Mervyn indecisively, and she had shown signs of regretting it, off and on, ever since. He had just proved that he still cared for her by bargaining with the gangsters to save her. Was she about to beg him to take her back?

Mervyn turned and gave his wife a guarded look. “Well, Diana?”

Her face was wet with tears, but she had a determined expression. “Will you shake hands?” she said.

Nancy was not sure what this meant, and Mervyn’s wary manner told her that he, too, was uncertain. However, he offered his hand, saying: “Of course.”

Diana held his hand in both of hers. New tears came, and Nancy felt sure she was about to say Let’s try again, but instead she said: “Good luck, Mervyn. I wish you happiness.”

Mervyn looked solemn. “Thank you, Di. I wish you the same.”

Then Nancy understood: they were forgiving one another for the hurt that had been done. They were still going to split up, but they would part friends.

On impulse, Nancy said to Diana: “Will you shake hands with me?”

The other woman hesitated only for a fraction of a second. “Yes,” she said. They shook hands. “I wish you well,” Diana said.

“And I you.”

Diana turned around without saying any more and went aft along the aisle to her compartment.

Mervyn said: “But what about us? What are we going to do?”

Nancy realized she had not yet had time to tell him of her plan. “I’m going to be Nat Ridgeway’s European manager.”

Mervyn was surprised. “When did he offer you the job?”

“He hasn’t—but he will,” she said, and she laughed happily.

She heard the sound of an engine. It was not one of the Clipper’s mighty engines, but a smaller one. She looked out of the window, wondering if the navy had arrived.

To her surprise, she saw that the gangsters’ motor launch had been untied from the Clipper and from the little seaplane and was pulling away rapidly.

But who was driving it?

Margaret opened the throttle wide and steered the launch away from the Clipper.

The wind blew her hair off her face, and she gave a whoop of sheer exhilaration. “Free!” she yelled. “I’m free!”

She and Harry had had the idea at the same time. They had been standing in the aisle of the Clipper, wondering what to do next, when Eddie, the engineer, brought the skipper of the launch down the stairs and put him in number 1 compartment with Luther; and both of them had been struck by the identical thought.

The passengers and crew were too busy congratulating one another to take much notice of Margaret and Harry as they slipped into the bow compartment and boarded the launch. The engine was idling. Harry had untied the ropes while Margaret figured out the controls, which were just like Father’s boat in Nice, and they were away in seconds.

She did not think they would be chased. The naval cutter summoned by the engineer was in hot pursuit of a German submarine, and could not be expected to take an interest in a man who had stolen a pair of cuff links in London. When the police arrived they would be investigating murder, kidnapping and piracy: it would be a long time before they worried about Harry.

Harry rummaged in a locker and found some maps. After studying them for a while he said: “There are lots of charts of the waters around a bay called Blacks Harbour, which is right on the border between the U.S.A. and Canada. I think we must be near there. We should head for the Canadian side.”

A little later he said: “There’s a big place about seventy-five miles north of here called St. John. It has a railway station. Are we heading north?”

She looked at the compass. “More or less, yes.”

“I don’t know anything about navigating, but if we keep in sight of the coast I don’t see how we can go wrong. We should get there around nightfall.”

She smiled at him.

He put the charts down and stood beside her at the wheel, staring at her hard.

“What?” she said. “What is it?”

He shook his head as if in disbelief. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “And you like me!”

She laughed. “Anyone would like you, if they knew you.”

He put his arm around her waist. “This is a hell of a thing, sailing along in the sunshine with a girl like you. My old mum always said I was lucky, and she was right, wasn’t she?”

“What will we do when we get to St. John?” she said.

“We’ll beach the launch, walk into town, get a room for the night and take the first train out in the morning.”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do for money,” she said with a little frown of worry.

“Yes, that is a problem. I’ve only got a few pounds, and we’ll have to pay for hotels, rail tickets, new clothes....”

“I wish I’d brought my overnight case, like you.”

He looked mischievous. “That’s not my case,” he said. “It’s Mr. Luther’s.”

She was mystified. “Why did you bring Mr. Luther’s case?”

“Because it’s got a hundred thousand dollars in it,” he said, and he started to laugh.