Southtrap

'I've been thinking.'

'I feel ashamed of myself. You could have thought out aloud to me, if I'd managed to stay awake.'

In my mind I said, Not my terrible knife-thoughts, Linn darling. I'd kill anyone with my bare hands who touched her.

Aloud I said, 'I'm going to have a chat with Captain Jacobsen this morning after I've buried poor Holdgate.'

'You don't think he did it, of all people?'

'He might have done it. He might have had the opportunity — or the motive, for all I know, But he certainly didn't have the opportunity to remove the murder weapon.'

She sat up straight, every trace of sleep gone, and echoed my last words.

I told her what I had discovered in the sick-bay, and she looked stunned. 'The whole thing grows more and more incredible!'

'Listen, Linn,' I went on. 'I told you earlier I was lacking a reference-point to start off from. I'm beginning to wonder now whether that reference-point might lie further back than we think.'

'What do you mean, John?'

I said slowly, 'I want Captain Jacobsen to tell me exactly what happened during or after his escape with your father and Torgersen from the German raider. Everything. What the three of them did that made your father feel guilty when he realized he was dying. Why he begged me to stay away from Prince Edward — from Dina's Island.'

She stood up and straightened her jersey so that her breasts and nipples swelled against the wool.

'In spite of not knowing, you're still pressing on.'

'I feel rather as if I were being programmed by an invisible computer into taking my actions,' I replied. 'Each step seems so right, so inevitable. I wonder where it's all leading. I can't even send a radio signal to consult authority.'

'You didn't engineer the radio black-out, John.'

'No, but it's a vital factor, nevertheless. It could have been anticipated by someone with sufficient opportunism.'

She came close to me. She smelt dry and sweet, an overtone of slept-in wool. 'You've had a rough night, John,' she said. 'Things can look very distorted after nights like that.'

I smiled at her concern. 'I've had lots of nights without sleep at sea. One sleepless night doesn't matter much.'

'May I come and attend the burial this morning?'

'I had hoped you'd be with me.'

'Will everyone be there?'

'Everyone will know. Whether they'll come is another matter. There's something far more awesome about a burial at sea than one on land.'

'It's a frightening thought that the murderer could be there watching it all.'

'I've thought of that, too. There might even be a giveaway.'

'John, what hideous things we're talking about — burial, murder, knives!'

I drew her against me. 'Why do you think I don't sleep?'

She said decisively, and I loved her the more for it, 'Do you want me to be at your interview with Captain Jacobsen?'

'Not at first. Later, perhaps. It depends how it goes.'

'You'll have to get past Mrs Jacobsen.'

'I intend to. She may be part of his cover.'

'You must find out, John.'

'Again, I intend to.'

'You'll be careful, won't you, my darling? I could not bear anything to happen…'

'For your sake, Linn dearest, I won't let it.'

She kissed me and said, 'I'm off to bath and change now. I want to be ready in time for your announcement over the public address.' She consulted her watch. 'When's it to be?'

'When I've changed too — in about half an hour.'

'It all sounds so normal,' she said, 'but it isn't. It's horrible. It's all shadows and horrors and unknown things. Like in my dream. And I'm frightened. Like in my dream too.'

She went. I took the penguin-skin rug and folded it slowly, feeling the warmth of her body spill out of it.

Then I, too, left the cabin and made for my quarters.

CHAPTER TWELVE

'… We therefore commit his body to the deep…'

I looked up from the service-book and nodded to the seamen at the rail.

They cast loose the lashings from the canvas thing on the board and started to up-end it over the Quest's starboard quarter.

'… looking for the resurrection of the body, when the Sea shall give up her dead…'

One of the men slipped on the thin coating of hail which covered the deck as his shoulder came under the body. In the brief moment of absolute silence before he regained his balance I heard the hail rattle against the canvas. I heard, too the faint whirr of Brunton's camera as he knelt on the deck recording the ceremony.

The thin rain was icy cold. The body hung in balance on the fulcrum of the rail. The ship's officers — Wegger, McKinley and Petersen — stood in a group facing it, their backs to the wind. I faced it, cap under my arm. Linn was next to me, the big hood of her soft brown-and-white Icelandic jacket half-hiding her face as the wind blew it against her cheeks. They were as white as the white woollen lining of the hood and the wide cuffs of the dolman sleeves. The three weathermen — Smit, T-shirt Jannie and Pete — grouped themselves behind Linn. After their stunned reaction earlier when I had confronted them with the news of Holdgate's death, I had given up the idea of even formally interrogating them.

For one mad, brief moment while the body hung in suspense I wondered if I shouldn't still call the whole thing off. In less than a second all Holdgate's secrets would be for ever beyond recovery in the black-green water which creamed against the Quest's quarter now that the way was off the ship.

Who had done it?

My glance went to the officers. Wegger's face was a mask. He appeared impervious to the bitter cold. McKinley, next senior, was shivering. Petersen looked as if he were about to pass out again. To keep his mind occupied I had ordered him beforehand to take an exact fix of the burial spot. With the heavy overcast sweeping almost at mast-level, it was an impossible assignment. But he had seemed grateful for the order, and his sextant was on the deck behind him.

Now the seamen got it right. The board went up, and Holdgate's passage was marked only by a small additional patch of white amidst the white foam under the stern.

I put on my cap and saluted. The others did the same.

'Mr Wegger,' I said formally, 'get the ship under way again, will you? I don't like the way her head's falling off in this wind.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Petersen picked up his sextant. He looked miserably at the sky and then at the sullen sea. McKinley's eyes were on someone in the group by the opposite rail. His hand went up to his head, flicking the water clear of his collar.

'Gretland,' I called to the carpenter who had headed the burial party, 'get that board back inside will you? Mr Smit here will show you where to stow it.'

Like Petersen, the met. man appeared grateful to have something to occupy himself with. 'It's okay,' he replied. 'Jannie and Pete and I can manage it. We don't need any help.'

'Good,' I said. 'Don't let anything happen to that board — we'll be needing it in just twenty-four hours from now to launch the buoy.'

T-shirt Jannie said, 'I didn't ever expect to have this sort of curtain-raiser with it. Holdgate was a good type…'

I didn't want a display of sentiment. To probe Hold-gate's murder I'd have to put aside human sympathy and act like a cold-blooded machine, if the necessity arose.

I replied tersely, 'Check all your gear, will you? Whoever got in and killed him could have smashed up something. That goes for Holdgate's instruments as well.'

'We'll check all right, you can be damn sure of that,' answered Smit.

There was a flurry at the stern. The Quest's screw had started to bite. It felt reassuring, normal and familiar.

'Coming, Linn?' I asked.

We headed for the forward superstructure along the windward side of the deck so as to avoid the passengers opposite.