"If I knew that, Haggerty, do you think I'd be remaining behind on this Godforsaken island?"

For the first time, he smiled. "No, sir, I don't really think you would."

Captain Imrie and his search party returned only a minute or two after I'd gone back up to the upper deck. They returned without Smithy. I was surprised neither by their failure to find him nor the brevity of their search-an elapsed time of only twenty minutes. Bear Island, on the map, may be only the veriest speck in the high Arctic but it does cover an area of seventy-three square miles and it must have occurred to Captain Imrie very early on indeed that to attempt to search even a fraction of one percent of that icily mountainous terrain in darkness was to embark upon a monumental folly. His fervour for the search had diminished to vanishing point: but his failure to find Smithy had, if anything, increased his determination to depart immediately. Having ensured that the last of the foredeck cargo had been unloaded and that all of the film company's equipment and personal effects were ashore, he and Mr. Stokes courteously but swiftly shook hands with us all as we were ushered ashore. The derricks were already stayed in position and the mooring ropes singled up: Captain Imrie was not about to stay upon the order of his going.

Otto, properly enough, was the last to leave. At the head of the gangway, he said: "Twenty-two days it is, then, Captain Imrie? You'll be back in twenty-two days?"

I won't leave you here the winter, Mr. Gerran, never fear." With both the mystery and his much-unloved Bear Island about to be left behind Captain Imrie apparently felt that he could permit himself a slight relaxation of attitude. "Twenty-two days? At the very outset. Why, man, I can be in Hammerfest and back in seventy-two hours. I wish you all well."

With this Captain Imrie ordered the gangway to be raised and went up to the bridge without explaining his cryptic remark about the seventy-two hours. It was more likely than not that what he had in mind at that very moment was, indeed, to be back inside seventy-two hours with, his manner seemed to convey, a small regiment of heavily armed Norwegian police. I wasn't concerned: I was as certain as I could be that, if that were indeed what he had in mind, he would change his mind before the night was out.

The navigation lights came on and the Morning Rose moved off slowly northwards from the jetty, slewed round in a half-circle and headed down the Sor-Hamna, her engine note deepening as she picked up speed.

Opposite the jetty again Captain Imrie sounded his hooter-only the captain could have called it a siren-twice, a high and lonely sound almost immediately swallowed up in the muffling blanket of snow: within seconds, it seemed, both the throb of the engine and the pale glow of the navigation lights were lost in the snow and the darkness.

For what seemed quite some time we all stood there, huddled against the bitter cold and peering into the driving snow, as if by willing it could bring the lights back into view again, the engine throb back into earshot. The atmosphere was not one of voyagers happily arrived at their hoped-for destination but of castaways marooned on an Arctic desert island.

The atmosphere inside the big living cabin was not much of an improvement. The oil heaters were "functioning well enough and Eddie had the diesel generator running so that the black heaters on the walls were just beginning to warm up, but the effects of a decade of deep freeze were not to be overcome in the space of an hour: the inside temperature was still below freezing. Nobody went to their allocated cubicles for the excellent reason that they were considerably colder than the central living space. Nobody appeared to want to talk to anybody else. Heissman embarked upon a pedantic and what promised to be lengthy lecture about Arctic survival, a subject concerning which his long and intimate acquaintance with Siberia presumably made him uniquely qualified to speak, but there were no takers, it was questionable whether he was even listening to himself. Then he, Otto, and Neal Divine began a rather desultory discussion of their plans for-weather permitting-the following day's shooting, but obviously they hadn't their hearts even in that. It was, eventually, Conrad who put his finger on the cause of the general malaise, or, more accurately, expressed the thought that was in the mind of everybody with the possible exception of myself.

He said to Heissman: In the Arctic, in winter, you require torches.

Right?',

"Right.'

"We have them?"

"Plenty, of course. Why?"

"Because I want one. I want to go out. We've been in here now, all of us, how long, I don't know, twenty minutes at least and for all we know there may be a man out there sick or hurt or frost-bitten or maybe fallen and broken a leg."

"Oh, come now, come now, that's pitching it a bit strongly, Charles,"

Otto said. "Mr. Smith has always struck me as a man eminently able to take care of himself." Otto would probably have said the same thing if he'd been watching Smithy being mangled by a polar bear: because of both nature and build Otto was not a man to become unnecessarily involved in anything even remotely physical. If you don't really care, why don't you come out and say so?" This was a new side of Conrad to me and he continued to develop his theme at my expense. "I'd have thought you'd have been the first to suggest this, Dr. Marlowe." I might have been, too, had I not known considerably more about Smithy than he did.

I don't mind being the second," I said agreeably.

In the event, we all went, with the exception of Otto, who complained of feeling unwell and Judith Haynes who roundly maintained that it was all nonsense and that Mr. Smith would conic back ,,,,hen he felt like it, an opinion which I held myself but for reasons entirely different from hers. We were all provided with torches and agreed to keep as closely together as possible or, if separated, to be back inside thirty minutes at the latest.

The party set off in a wide sweep up the escarpment fronting the Sor-Hamna to the north. At least, the others did. I headed straight for the equipment hut where the diesel generator was thudding away reassuringly for it was unlikely that anyone of us would be missed-no one would probably be aware of the presence of any other than his immediate neighbours-and the best place to sit out a wild goose chase was the warmest and most sheltered spot I could find. With my torch switched off. so as not to betray my presence I opened the door of the hut, passed inside, closed the door, took a step forward and swore out loud as I stumbled over something comparatively yielding and almost measured my length on the planked floor. I recovered, turned, and switched on my torch.

A man was lying stretched out on the floor and to my total lack of surprise it proved to be Smithy. He stirred and groaned, half-turned, raised a feeble arm to protect his eyes from the bright glare of the torch, then slumped back again, his arm falling limply by his side, his eyes closed.

There was blood smeared over his left cheek. He stirred uneasily, moving from side to side and moaning in that soft fashion a man does when he is close to the borderline of consciousness.

"Does it hurt much, Smithy?" I asked.

He moaned some more.

"Where you scratched your cheek with a handful of frozen snow," I said.

He stopped moving and he stopped moaning.

"The comedy act we'll keep for later in the programme," I said coldly.

In the meantime, will you kindly get up and explain to me why you've behaved like an irresponsible idiot?"

I placed the torch on the generator casing so that the beam shone upwards. It didn't give much light, just enough to show Smithy's carefully expressionless face as lie got to his feel?