"IfKayles was on Lucayan Girl, if that's Kayles on that boat, then that means murder." Sam was as quick as any other Bahamian at adding up the facts of life and death at sea.

"I read about the inquest in the Freeport News. It seemed to me then there was something left out."

"Perigord put the lid on it; he didn't want to frighten Kayles away.

The picture of Kayles you saw was taken by my daughter, Sue, just before the Girl left for Miami. Perigord reckons Kayles is a cocaine smuggler. Anyway, that's not the point, Sam. I want to talk to Kayles.

"

"And you're thinking of walking across the island." He shook his head.

"That's not the way. That boat is anchored nearly a cable offshore. You'd have to swim. It wouldn't look right. What we do is to go around and get next to him in a neighbourly way like any other honest boat would." He pointed to the water keg in the bows.

"Ask him for some water."

"Are you coming?"

"Sure I'm coming," said Sam promptly.

"He'll recognize you," I said doubtfully.

Sam was ironic.

"What do you want me to do? Put on a white face? It doesn't matter if he knows me or not he's not afraid of me. But he might know your face and that would be different. You'd better keep your head down."

So we went around Man-o'-War Cay with the engine gently thumping and made a few final plans. Although Sam had seen Kayles from the air through binoculars, it had been but a quick flash and firm identification would only be made when he talked to the man on the sloop. If Sam recognized Kayles he was to ask for water; if it wasn't Kayles he was to ask for fish. From then on we would have to play it by ear.

When we drifted alongside the sloop there was very little light. I took off the engine casing and stood with my back to My Fair Lad) apparently tinkering with the engine. Bayliss took the way off and Sam bellowed, "Ahoy, the sloop!" He stood in the bows and held us off with a boat hook

A voice said, "What do you want?" The accent was American.

I think Sam went more by the voice than by what he could see.

"We've run us a mite short of water. Can you spare us a few drops?"

A light stabbed from the cockpit and played on Sam.

"Don't I know you?" said Kayles. There was a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"You could," said Sam easily.

"I run a marina in New Providence. I know a lot of yachtsmen and they know me. Maybe you've been to my place at the Sea Gardens Hotel, west of Nassau. I'm Sam Ford." He held his hand to shade his eyes, trying to see beyond the bright light.

"I remember you. You want water?"

"I'd appreciate it. We're damn thirsty."

"I'll get you some," said Kayles.

"Got anything to put it in?"

Sam had taken the pie caution of emptying the water keg. He passed it up toKyles who went below.

"He'll know if we go aboard," Sam whispered.

"The sloop will rock. If we're going to take him it'll have to be when he comes up now. Get ready to jump him when I shout."

"You're sure it is Kayles?"

"Damn sure. Anyway, any ordinary yachtsman would have asked us aboard."

"All right, then."

The sound of a hand pump came from the sloop and after a few minutes it stopped.

"Ready, now!" said Sam in a low voice.

The sloop rocked as Kayles came up into the cockpit. Sam said cheerfully, "This is kind of you, sir." He had shortened his grip on the boat hook and when Kayles leaned over the side to hand down the keg, instead of taking it Sam gripped Kayles's wrist and pulled hard.

With the other hand he thrust the end of the boat hook into Kayles's stomach like a spear.

I heard the breath explode out of Kayles as I jumped for the sloop. Kayles stood no chance; he lay half in and half out of the cockpit fighting for breath and with Sam holding on to his wrist with grim tenacity. I got both knees in the small of his back, grinding his belly into the cockpit coaming.

"Come aboard, Sam," I said breathily.

Bayliss shouted, "What's going on there?"

"Stick to your own business," said Sam, and came aboard. He switched on the compass light which shed a dim glow into the cockpit.

"Can you hold him?"

Kayles's body writhed under mine.

"I think so."

"I'll get some rope; plenty of that on a boat." Sam plucked the knife from Kayles's belt and vanished for a moment.

Kayles was recovering his breath.

"You… you bastard!" he gasped, and heaved under me and nearly threw me off so I thumped him hard at the nape of the neck with my fist the classic rabbit punch and he went limp. I hoped I had not broken his neck.

Sam came with the rope and we tied Kayles's hands behind his back, and I knew Sam knew enough about seaman's knots to let him do it.

When we had Kayles secure he said, "What do we do now?"

Bayliss had allowed his boat to drift off a little way in the gathering darkness. Now I heard his engine rev up and he came alongside again.

"What you doin' to that man?" he asked.

"I'm havin' nothin' to do with this."

I said to Sam, "Let's get him below, then you can talk to Bayliss.

Cool him down because we might need him again. "

We bundled Kayles below and stretched him on a bunk. He was breathing stertorously. Sam said, "What do I tell Bayliss?"

I shrugged.

"Why not tell him the truth?"

Sam grinned.

"Who ever believes the truth? But I'll fix him." He went into the cockpit and I looked around. Sam had been right about Kayles being a good seaman because it showed. Everything was neat and tidy and all the gear was stowed; a place for everything and everything in its place. Nothing betrays a bad seaman more than sloppiness, and if everything below was trim it would be the same on deck. That is the definition of shipshape. Given five minutes' notice Kayles could pull up the hook and sail for anywhere.

But a good seaman is not necessarily a good man; the history of piracy in the Bahamas shows that. I turned and looked at Kayles who was beginning to stir feebly, then switched on the cabin light to get a better look at him. I got a good sight of his face for the first time and was relieved to see that Sam had made no mistake this definitely was the man whose picture had been taken by Sue.

I sat at the chart table, switched on the gooseneck lamp, and began going through drawers. A good seaman keeps a log, an honest seaman keeps a log but would Kayles have kept a log? It would be useful to have a record of his movements in the past.

There was no log to be found so I started going through the charts.

In recording a yacht's course on a chart it is usual to use a fairly soft pencil so that in case of error it can be easily erased and corrected, or when the voyage is over the course line can be erased and the chart used again. Most yachtsmen I know tend to leave the course on the chart until it is needed for another voyage. A certain amount of bragging goes on amongst boat people and they like to sit around in a marina comparing voyages and swapping lies.

Kayles had charts covering the eastern seaboard of the Americas from the Canadian border right down to and including Guyana, which is pretty close to the equator, and they covered the Bahamas and the whole of the Caribbean. On many of them were course lines and dates.

It is normal to pencil in a date when you have established a position by a midday sun sight and you may add in the month, but no one I know puts in the year. So were these the records of old or recent voyages?

Sam came below and looked at Kayles.

"Still sleeping?" He went into the galley, undipped an aluminium pan, and filled it with water. He came back and dumped it in Kayles's face. Kayles moaned and moved his head from side to side, but his eyes did not open.

I said, "Sam, take a look at these charts and tell me if they mean anything." We changed places and I stood over Kayles. His eyes opened and he looked up at me, but there was no comprehension in them and I judged he was suffering from concussion. It would be some time before he would be able to talk so I went exploring.