“Certainly, sir.”

The captain stared resentfully about him, made a petulant ejaculation and roared out, “Damn it, you can tell her to stay in bed all day tomorrow and the next day too, can’t you? Suffering from shock? All right. That gets her out of the way, doesn’t it? Where is she now?”

“I’ve given her a Nembutal. She’s asleep in bed. The door’s locked and I’ve got the key.”

“Well, keep it and let her stay there. The steward can take her meals. Unless you think he’s the sex monster,” said the captain with an angry laugh.

“Not in the sense you mean,” Alleyn said.

“That’s enough of that!” the captain shouted.

“Where,” Father Jourdain asked wearily, “is Mrs. Dillington-Blick?”

“In bed,” the captain said at once, and added in a hurry, “She left Dale’s suite when I did. I saw her to her cabin.”

“They do lock their doors, don’t they?”

“She did,” said the captain morosely.

Father Jourdain got up. “If I may be excused,” he said. “It’s very late. Past midnight.”

“Yes,” Alleyn said and he also rose. “It’s February the fourteenth. Good-night, Captain Bannerman.”

He had a brief session with Father Jourdain and Tim. The latter was in a rage. “That bloody old man,” he kept saying. “Did you ever know such a bloody old man!”

“All right, all right,” Alleyn said. “We’ll just have to go on under our own steam. The suggestion, by the way, to keep Miss Carmichael in bed for twenty-four hours has its points.”

Tim said grandly that he’d consider it. Father Jourdain asked if they were to do anything about the other women. Could they not emphasize that as Brigid had had an unpleasant experience it might be as well if the ladies were particularly careful not to wander about the deck at night without an escort.

Alleyn said, “We’ve done that already. But think a minute. Suppose one of them chose the wrong escort.”

“You know, it’s an extraordinary thing,” Father Jourdain said after a moment, “but I keep forgetting it’s one of us. I almost believe in the legend of the unsavoury deckhand.”

“I think it might be a good idea if you suggest a four of bridge or canasta. Mrs. Dillington-Blick plays both, doesn’t she? Get Mrs. Cuddy and Miss Abbott to come in. Or if Dale and the other men will play you might get two fours going. Makepiece will look after Miss Carmichael.”

“What’ll you do?” Tim asked.

“I?” Alleyn asked. “Look on. Look round. Just look. Of course they may refuse to play. In which case we’ll have to use our wits, Heaven help us, and improvise. In the meantime, you probably both want to go to bed.”

“And you, no doubt,” said Father Jourdain.

“Oh,” Alleyn said, “I’m an owl by habit. See you in the morning. Good-night.”

He was indeed trained to put up with long stretches of sleeplessness and faced the rest of the short night with equanimity. He changed into slacks, a dark shirt and rope-soled shoes and then began a systematic beat. Into the deserted lounge. Out on to the well deck, past the little verandah where the two chaise longues stood deserted. Round the hatch, and then to the cabin quarters and their two covered decks.

The portholes were all open. He listened outside each of them. The first cabin, facing aft and to the starboard side, was Mr. Merryman’s. It appeared to be in darkness, but after a moment he saw that a blue point glowed somewhere inside. It was the little night light above the bed. Alleyn stood near the porthole and was just able to make out Mr. Merryman’s tousled head on the pillow. Next came the doorway into the passage bisecting the cabin-quarters and then further along on the starboard side was Mr. McAngus, who could be heard whistling in his sleep. The Cuddys, in the adjoining cabin, the last on the starboard side, snored antiphonally. He turned left and moved along the forward face of the block, past Miss Abbott’s dark and silent cabin and then on to Father Jourdain’s. His light still shone and as the porthole was uncovered Alleyn thought he would have a word with him.

He looked in. Father Jourdain was on his knees before a crucifix, his joined hands pressed edgeways to his lips. Alleyn turned away and walked on to the “suite.” Dale’s light was still up in his sitting-room. Alleyn stood a little to one side of the forward porthole. The curtain across it fluttered and blew out. He caught a brief glimpse of Dale in brilliant pyjamas with a glass in his hand. He turned left past Brigid’s porthole with its carefully drawn curtain and then moved aft to Mrs. Dillington-Blick’s cabin. Her light too was still on. He paused with his back to the bulkhead and close to her porthole and became aware of a rhythmic slapping noise and a faint whiff of some aromatic scent. “She’s coping with her neckline,” he thought.

He moved on past the darkened lounge. He had completed his round and was back at Mr. Merryman’s cabin.

He approached the iron ladder leading to the forward well deck and climbed down it. When he had reached the bottom he waited for a moment in the shadow of the centrecastle. On his left was the door through which the figure in the Spanish dress had come on Friday night. It led into a narrow passage by the chief steward’s quarters. Above him towered the centrecastle. He knew if he walked out into the moonlight, the second officer, keeping his watch far above on the bridge, would see him. He did walk out. His shadow, black as ink, splayed across the deck and up the hatch combing.

On the fo’castle two bells sounded. Alleyn watched the seaman who had rung them come down and cross the deck towards him.

“Good-night,” he said.

“Good-night, sir,” the man replied and sounded surprised.

Alleyn said, “I thought I’d go up into the bows and see if I could find a cap-full of cool air.”

“That’s right, sir. A bit fresher up there.”

The man passed him and disappeared into shadow. Alleyn climbed up to the fo’castle and stood in the bows. For a moment or two he faced the emptiness of the night. Beneath him, in a pother of phosphorescence, the waters were divided. “There is nothing more lonely in the world,” he thought, “than a ship at sea.”

He turned and looked at the ship, purposeful and throbbing with her own life. Up on — the bridge he could see the second officer. He waved with a broad gesture of his arm and after a moment the second officer replied, slightly, perhaps ironically.

Alleyn returned to the lower deck. As he climbed down the ladder, a door beneath him, leading into the seamen’s quarters in the fo’castle, opened and somebody came out. Alleyn looked down over his shoulder. The newcomer, barefooted and clad only in pyjama trousers, moved out, seemed to sense that he was observed and stopped short.

It was Dennis. When he saw Alleyn he made as if to return.

Alleyn said, “You keep late hours, steward.”

“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Broderick. You quite startled me. Yes, don’t I? I’ve been playing poker with the boys,” Dennis explained. “Fancy you being up there, sir, at this time of night.”

Alleyn completed his descent. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “It’s the heat, I suppose.”

Dennis giggled. “I know. Isn’t it terrific!”

He edged away slightly.

“What’s it like in your part of the world?” Alleyn asked. “Where are your quarters?”

“I’m in the glory-hole, sir. Down below. It’s frightful.”

“All the same, I fancy it’s healthier indoors.”

Dennis said nothing.

“You want to be careful what you wear in the tropics. Particularly at night.”

Dennis looked at his plump torso and smirked.

Alleyn waited for a moment and then said, “Well, I shall take my own advice and go back to bed. Goodnight to you.”

“Good morning, sir,” said Dennis pertly.

Alleyn climbed up to the bridge deck. When he got there he looked back. Dennis still stood where he had left him but after a moment turned away and went back into the fo’castle.