At intervals through the rest of the night Alleyn walked round his beat but he met nobody. When the dawn came up he went to bed and slept until Dennis, pallid, glistening, and silent, brought in his morning tea.

That day was the hottest the passengers had experienced. For Alleyn, it began with a radioed report in code from Inspector Fox, who was still sweating away with his checks on alibis. Apart from routine confirmations of Mr. McAngus’s appendicial adventure and Aubyn Dale’s departure for America, nothing new had come to hand. The Yard, Fox intimated, would await instructions, which meant, Alleyn sourly and unfairly reflected, that if he made an arrest before Cape Town, somebody would be flown over with a spare pair of handcuffs or something. He made his way, disgruntled, to continue observation on the passengers.

They were all on the lower deck. Brigid, who was still rather white, had flatly refused to stay in bed and spent most of the day in or near the bathing pool, where an awning had been erected and deck-chairs set out. Here she was joined by Tim and at intervals by one or two of the others. Only Miss Abbott, Mr. McAngus and Mrs. Cuddy refrained from bathing, but they too sat under the awning and looked on.

At noon Mrs. Dillington-Blick took to the water and the appearance was in the nature of a star turn. She wore a sort of bathing negligée which Aubyn Dale, who escorted her, called a “bewilderment of nonsense.” It was all compact of crisp cotton frills and black ribbons, and under it Mrs. Dillington-Blick was encased in her Jolyon swimsuit which belonged to a group advertised as being “for the Queenly Woman.” She had high-heeled thonged sandals on her feet and had to be supported down the companion-ladder by Aubyn Dale, who carried her towel and sun-shade. At this juncture only Brigid, Tim, Alleyn and Mr. Cuddy were bathing. The others were assembled under the awning and provided an audience for Mrs. Dillington-Blick. She laughed a great deal and made deprecatory moues. “My dears!” she said. “Look at me!”

“You know,” Brigid said to Tim, “I really do admire her. She actually cashes in on her size. I call that brilliant.”

“It’s fascinating,” Tim agreed. “Do look! She’s standing there like a piece of baroque, waiting to be unveiled.”

Dale performed this ceremony. Alleyn, who was perched on the edge of the pool near the steps that led down into it, watched the reaction. It would have been untrue to say that anybody gasped when Mrs. Dillington-Blick relinquished her bathing-robe. Rather, a kind of trance overtook her fellow passengers. Mr. Cuddy, who had been frisking in the waters, grasped the rim of the pool and grinned horridly through his wet fringe. Mr. Merryman, who wore an old-fashioned gown and an equally old-fashioned bathing-dress and whose hair had gone into a damp fuzz like a baby’s, stared over his spectacles, as startled as Mr. Pickwick in the Maiden Lady’s four-poster. Mr. McAngus, who had been dozing, opened his eyes and his mouth at the same time and turned dark red in the face. On the bridge, Captain Bannerman was transfixed. Two deckhands stood idle for several seconds round a can of red lead and then self-consciously fell to work with their heads together.

Mrs. Cuddy tried to catch somebody’s eye but, failing to do so, stared in amazement at her infatuated husband.

Miss Abbott looked up from the letter she was writing, blinked twice and looked down again.

Father Jourdain, who had been reading, made a slight movement with his right hand. Alleyn told himself it was absurd to suppose that Father Jourdain had been visited by an impulse to cross himself.

Brigid broke the silence. She called out, “Jolly good! Come in, it’s heaven.”

Mrs. Dillington-Blick put on a bathing cap, removed her sandals, precariously climbed the ladder up to the rim of the pool, avoided looking at Mr. Cuddy and held out her hands to Alleyn.

“Launch me,” she invited winningly and at the same moment lost her balance and fell like an avalanche into the brimming pool. The water she displaced surged over the edges. Alleyn, Mr. Cuddy, Brigid and Tim bobbed about like flotsam and jetsam. Aubyn Dale was drenched. Mrs. Dillington-Blick surfaced, gasping and astounded, and struck out for the nearest handhold.

“Ruby!” Aubyn Dale cried anxiously, as he dashed the seawater from his face. “What have you done?”

For the first time in the voyage Mr. Merryman burst into peals of ungovernable laughter.

This incident had a serio-comic sequel. While Mrs. Dillington-Blick floated in a corner of the pool, clinging to the edges, Mr. Cuddy swam slyly alongside and with a quick grab pulled her under. There was a struggle from which she emerged furious and half-suffocated. Her face was streaked with mascara, her nose was running and her bathing cap was askew. She was a terrible sight. Alleyn helped her up the submerged steps. Dale received her on the far side and got her down to deck level.

“That horrible man!” she choked out. “That horrible man!”

Mr. McAngus also hurried to her side while Mr. Cuddy leered over the rim of the pool.

A ridiculous and rather alarming scene ensued. Mr. McAngus, in an unrecognizably shrill voice, apostrophized Mr. Cuddy. “You’re an unmitigated bounder, sir,” he screamed and actually shook his fist in Mr. Cuddy’s wet face.

“I must say, Cuddy!” Dale said, all restraint and seemly indignation. “You’ve got an extraordinary idea of humour.”

Mr. Cuddy still leered and blinked. Mrs. Cuddy from her deck-chair cried anxiously, “Dear! You’re forgetting yourself.”

“You’re an ape, sir!” Mr. McAngus added and he and Dale simultaneously each placed an arm round Mrs. Dillington-Blick.

“I’ll look after her,” said Dale coldly.

“Let me help you,” said Mr. McAngus. “Come and sit down.”

“Leave her alone. Ruby, darling—”

“Oh, shut up, both of you!” said Mrs. Dillington-Blick. She snatched up her robe and made off — a mountain of defaced femininity.

Mr. Merryman continued to laugh, the other gentlemen separated and Mr. Cuddy swam quietly about the pool by himself.

It was the only incident of note in an otherwise torpid day. After luncheon all the passengers went to their respective cabins and Alleyn allowed himself a couple of hours’ sleep. He woke, as he had arranged with himself to wake, at four o’clock and went down to tea. Everybody was limp and disinclined to talk. Dale, Mr. McAngus, and Mr. Cuddy had evidently decided to calm down. Mr. Merryman’s venture into the pool had brought on his “touch of the sun” again. He looked feverish and anxious and actually didn’t seem to have the energy to argue with anyone. Brigid came over to him. She very prettily knelt by his chair, and begged him to let her find Tim and ask him to prescribe. “Or at least take some aspirin,” she said. “I’ll get some for you. Will you?” She put her hand on his but drew it away quickly.

“I think I may have a slight infection,” he said in explanation and positively added, “But thank you, my dear.”

“You’re terribly hot.” She went away and returned with the aspirin and water. He consented to take three tablets and said he would lie down for a little while. When he went out they all noticed that he was quite shaky.

“Well,” Mr. Cuddy said, “I’m sure I hope it’s nothing catching.”

“It’s not very considerate,” Mrs. Cuddy said, “to sit round with everybody if it is. How are you feeling, dear?”

“Good, thanks, dear. My little trouble,” Mr. Cuddy said to everybody, “has cleared up nicely. I’m a box of birds. I really quite enjoy the heat, something a bit intoxicating about the tropics, to my way of thinking.”

He himself was not urgently intoxicating. His shirt had unlovely dark areas about it, the insides of his knees were raddled with prickly heat and his enormous hands left wet patches on everything they touched. “I’m a very free perspirer,” he said proudly, “and that’s a healthy sign, I’m told.”