I looked south beyond the tip of Kapp Kolthoff and there, beyond the protection of the headland, the sun glinted off. the broken tops of white water. I was as certain as one could be without absolute proof that they would not have ventured beyond the protection of the point: Heissman's unseamanlike qualities apart, Goin was far too prudent a man to step unheedingly into anything that would even smack of danger. How long I lay there waiting for the boat to appear either from behind an island or out from under the concealment of the nearest cliffs I didn't know: what I did know was that I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was shaking with the cold and that both hands and feel? were almost completely benumbed. And I became aware of something else. For several minutes now I'd had the binoculars trained not on the north end of the bay but at the foot of the cliffs to the south on a spot where, about three hundred yards northwest of the tip of Kapp Kolthoff, there was a peculiar indentation in the cliff walls. Partly because of the fact that it appeared to bear to the right and out of sight behind one of the cliff faces guarding the entrance and partly because, due to the height of the cliffs and the fact that the sun was almost directly behind, the shadows cast were very deep, I was unable to make out any details beyond this narrow entrance. But that it was an entrance to some cove beyond I didn't doubt. Of any place within the reach of my binoculars it was the only one where the boat could have lain concealed: Why anyone should wish to lie there at all was another matter altogether, a reason for which I couldn't even guess at. One thing was for certain, a landward investigation from where I lay was out of the question: even if I didn't break my neck in the minimum of the two-hour journey it would take me to get there, nothing would be achieved by making such a trip anyway for not only did the descent of those beetling black cliffs seem quite suicidal but, even if it were impossibly accomplished, what lay at the end of it removed any uncertainty about the permanency of the awaiting reception: for there was no foreshore whatever, just the precipitous plunge of those limestone walls into the dark and icy seas.

Stiffly, clumsily, I rose and headed back towards the cabin. The trip back was easier than the outwards one for it was downhill and by following my own tracks I was able to avoid most of the involuntary descents into the sunken snowdrifts that had punctuated my climb. Even so, it was nearer one o'clock than noon when I approached the cabin. I was only a few paces distant when the main door opened and Mary Stuart appeared. One look at her and my heart turned over and something cold and leaden seemed to settle in the pit of my stomach. Dishevelled hair, a white and shocked face, eyes wild and full of fear, I'd have had to be blind not to know that somewhere, close, death had walked by again.

"Thank God!" Her voice was husky and full of tears. "Thank God you're here! Please come quickly. Something terrible has happened."

I didn't waste time asking her what, clearly I'd find out soon enough, just followed her running footsteps into the cabin and along the passage to Judith Haynes's opened door. Something terrible had indeed happened but there had been no need for haste. Judith Haynes had fallen from her cot and was lying sideways on the floor, half-covered by her blanket which she'd apparently dragged down along with her. On the bed lay an opened and three-part empty bottle of barbiturate tablets, a few scattered over the bed: on the floor, its neck still clutched in her hand, lay a bottle of gin, also three-parts empty. I stooped and touched the marble forehead: even allowing for the icy atmosphere in the cubicle, she must have been dead for hours. Make it a long sleep, she'd said to me: make it a long sleep.

"Is she-is she-?" The dead make people speak in whispers.

"Can't you tell a dead person when you see one?" It was brutal of me but I felt flooding into me that cold anger that was to remain with me until we'd left the island.

I-I didn't touch her. I-"

"When did you find her?"

"A minute ago. Two. I'd just made some food and coffee and I came to see-"

"Where are the others? Lonnie, Sandy, Eddie?"

"Where are– I don't know. They left a little while ago-said they were going for a walk."

A likely tale. There was only one reason that would make at least two of the three walk as far as the front door. I said: "Get them. You'll End them in the provision shed."

"Provision shed? Why would they be there?"

"Because that's where Otto keeps his Scotch."

She left. I put the gin bottle and barbiturate bottle to one side, then I lifted Judith Haynes onto the bed for no better reason than that it seemed cruel to leave her lying on the wooden floor. I looked quickly around the cubicle, but I could see nothing that could be regarded as untoward or amiss. The window was still screwed in its closed position, the few clothes that she had unpacked neatly folded on a small chair. My eye kept returning to the gin bottle. Stryker had told me and I'd overheard her telling Lonnie that she never drank, had not drunk alcohol for many years: an abstainer does not habitually carry around a bottle of gin just on the offchance that he or she may just suddenly feel thirsty.

Lonnie, Eddie, and Sandy came in, trailing with them the redolence of a Highland distillery, but that was the only evidence of their sojourn in the provision shed, whatever they'd been like when Mary had found them, they were shocked cold sober now. They just stood there, staring at the dead woman and saying nothing: understandably, I suppose, they thought there was nothing they could usefully say.

I said: "Mr. Gerran must be informed that his daughter is dead. He's gone north to the next bay. He'll be easy to find-you've only got to follow the Sno-Cat's tracks. I think you should go together."

"Cod love us all." Lonnie spoke in a hushed and anguished reverence.

"The poor girl. The poor poor lassie. First her man-and now this. Where's it all going to end, Doctor?"

I don't know, Lonnie. Life's not always so kind, is it? No need to kill yourselves looking for Mr. Gerran. A heart attack on top of this we can do without."

"Poor little Judith," Lonnie said. "And what do we tell Otto she died of?

Alcohol and sleeping tablets-it's a pretty lethal combination, isn't it?"

"Frequently."

They looked at each other uncertainly, then turned and left. Mary Stuart said: "What can I do?"

"Stay there." The harshness in my voice surprised me almost as much as it clearly surprised her. I want to talk to you."

I found a towel and a handkerchief, wrapped the gin bottle in the former and the barbiturate bottle in the latter. I had a glimpse of Mary watching me, wide-eyed, in what could have been wonder or fear or both, then crossed to examine the dead woman, to see whether there were any visible marks on her. There wasn't much to examine-although she'd been in bed with blankets over her, she'd been fully clothed in parka and some kind of fur trousers. I didn't have to look long. I beckoned Mary across and pointed to a tiny puncture exposed by pushing back the hair on Judith Haynes's neck. Mary ran the tip of her tongue across dry lips and looked at me with sick eyes.

"Yes," I said. "Murdered. How do you feel about that, Mary dear?" The term was affectionate, the tone not.

"Murdered!" she whispered. "Murdered!" She looked at the wrapped bottles, licked her lips again, made as if to speak and seemingly couldn't.

"There may be some gin inside her," I conceded. Possibly even some barbiturate. I'd doubt it, though-it's very hard to make people swallow anything when they're unconscious. Maybe there are no other fingerprints on the bottles-they could have been wiped off. But if we find only her forefinger and thumb round the neck-well, you don't drink three-quarters of a bottle of gin holding it by the finger and thumb." She stared in fascinated horror at the pinprick in the neck and then I let the hair fall back.