Southtrap

I wasn't in the mood for this prima donna stuff. 'That business is finished.'

Then why come and try to twist my arm?'

I bit back my retort. 'Reilly — what did the ghost look like? the one who held the gun on you?'

There wasn't a ghost. You searched the ship. You said there wasn't.'

I went on, jumping the credibility gap. 'You said he was big.'

'Aye, his hands were big. He was a big man.'

'A man, not a ghost?'

Reilly looked shiftier, if that were possible. 'You searched the ship. You said there wasn't.'

Next he'll be talking leprechauns, I told myself savagely. I hid my fury as best I could.

'Bigger than — Mr Wegger, say?'

'I dunno who Mr Wegger is.'

Than me, then?'

'Aye, bigger.'

'His hands — was there anything wrong with either or them?'

He looked stupid. 'Naw. Big hands, that's all. Very big. The gun looked small.'

'You're sure it was a machine-pistol? Not a Luger?'

'I seen plenty of machine-pistols. In Belfast, like I said. You shot all over me for saying it, remember?'

Reilly would "Store up grievances all his life like a computer. A computer never forgets.

'What about his ringers? Did he have all his fingers?'

'His hands were big like I said.'

'For Chrissake — his fingers! Did he have all his fingers?'

He replied sullenly/It was dark down there. I dunno.'

I had to steel myself to say. Thanks, Reilly. That's all I want to know.'

He watched me suspiciously as I rejoined MacFie's assistant.

'Can you spare a couple of cups of coffee?'

'Sure, a pleasure.'

He went over to the sort of cubby-hole you find in all engine-rooms, where there is a spout of steam, a tin of coffee and condensed milk and some off-white mugs. He brought two back. They looked good.

'Thanks,' I said. 'I'll return the cups.'

He nodded. He, like the rest of the engine-room crew, was wary of my visit.

I retraced my steps to my cabin, balancing the cups against the roll and pitch of the ship. I put the bottle of brandy under my arm and headed in the direction of the sick-bay.

"I stopped at Number 3.

I put down one cup in order to leave me a free hand to knock on Linn's door. My pulses raced. I didn't give myself time to think. I knocked sharply.

Again.

I was about to knock a third time when the door opened and Linn stood blinking at me in the light of the corridor. She had on a blue quilted dressing-gown, and her eyes looked soft and sleepy.

'John…!' Her eyes went from the cup in my hand to the brandy bottle under my arm. The misty expression vanished from her eyes and gave way to coolness. And to disappointment. Brandy — the crude Panzer spearhead of the midnight assignation.

Then she saw what was in my face, and her expression changed again.

'John! What's wrong? What's happened?'

I picked up the second steaming cup from the floor. 'You may need this when I tell you. The brandy's there for medicinal reasons.'

'Come in. It's perishing out here.'

I moved into the cabin. She was fumbling for the light switch, so that we were very close. She was all woman-sleep and warmth.

I said a little unsteadily, 'You'd better take the bottle before I let it fall.'

She had the light on now. She eased the bottle out from between my arm and my side.

I scarcely heard her whisper, it was so soft. 'Sorry. I should have known you better than that.'

'Thank you, Linn.' I put her cup down. She sat on her bunk and I took the chair that stood at a small desk. 'That's genuine engine-room brew,' I said, 'guaranteed to keep the patient awake.'

She eyed me. 'You haven't been asleep, John.'

I took a drink of coffee and filled the space up with brandy.

'I'm afraid I've some bad news, Linn,' I said.

I could see the skin round her cheekbones tighten as she waited to hear.

There's no point in beating about the bush. Doctor Holdgate, the volcanologist, was murdered tonight.'

She reached for her cup, slopped it unsteadily, and put it down again without tasting.

She said slowly, 'I can't believe it. That's what people always say, isn't it? I can't believe it. But I suppose I must try to believe it.'

She managed her coffee cup this time. She held it out to me before drinking. 'A medicinal measure from the bottle, please. I feel as if I'd been kicked in the stomach.'

She leaned towards me. The weight of her breasts pushed the lapel of her gown partly aside. She'd been sleeping in the nude. Her pyjamas lay on her bunk among the blankets she had thrown back.

'Go on.'

My thoughts yawed like a ship with a bugged gyro. I replied, 'Young Petersen was doing his rounds when he saw Holdgate's door open. He went in and found him with a knife in his throat. He called me. Holdgate had been dead for some time.'

'It's incredible! Holdgate!'

'Yes, Holdate — bumbling, inconsequential Hold-gate,' I answered.

'He wouldn't have hurt a fly.'

That's what I thought.' I recounted the night's events: my discovery of the body, the photographic record, and, finally, the radio black-out and the very faint hope that Persson had of transmitting a signal. I left Reilly out of it. I let her think my visit to the engine-room was to fetch our coffee.

Then I asked, 'What do you know about Holdgate's background?'

She seemed grateful to steer away from the details of the killing. 'Not much. I think he must have had quite a brilliant academic record. I seem to remember from his application to join the cruise that he'd been a lecturer at the Australian National University at Canberra and had been given some big geological award by the Rijksmuseum in Holland.'

'Where was he from?'

'British-born, I think.'

'I don't mean that. Where did he come from to join the ship?'

'Geological Survey, Pretoria. He was an expert on palaeomagnetism. That's why the rocks at Prince Edward fascinated him so. There's very little work being done on them.'

'No cause of murder in any of that,' I said. 'Married?'

'No. Confirmed bachelor type, I'd say.'

I poured a trickle more brandy into my coffee. 'Linn,' I went on, 'whoever killed Holdgate for whatever reason is not really my affair — that's a police job. What does concern me greatly, however, is that at this moment there's a killer loose in the ship. And because of that, the fate of the Quest's voyage is at stake.'

She shivered. It wasn't cold in her cabin. It was snug. Somewhere there was a lingering trace of the perfume she'd worn when we'd danced together earlier in the evening. I tried to think whether I had seen Holdgate at the dance. Probably not. He wasn't the sort to socialize with tourists. Perhaps his absence had been the cause of his downfall, being alone with his work when everyone else had been enjoying themselves.

'Explain please, John.'

'This voyage is jinxed. There've been two killings.'

'I can scarcely credit it, even now.'

'Your father was killed,' I went on. 'He was savagely beaten to death. Now Holdgate. His death was just as brutal, in its way. There's a connection between the two.'

'What possible connection could my father have had with Doctor Holdgate? They never even knew each other.'

I answered slowly, 'Linn, my mind feels like those fancy modern navigational systems they call SINS — ships inertial navigational system. They're marvels — providing your initial fix is spot-on. That's what I am lacking now — a reference point from which to begin.'

'And failing that?'

I looked at her squarely. She looked very lovely. Because of the crisis, we had already moved closer to each other and I knew instinctively that she was glad I had turned to her.

'It's nearly midnight,' I said. The Quest is now just over the halfway mark to the launching-point for the buoy. I could put the ship about and land Holdgate's body in Cape Town on Monday, at roughly the same time the launching is scheduled. Then I could turn the whole matter over to the authorities.'