'Ah! I take your point. Our idle hands, is that it? We'll have a look at the chances of bracing the superstructure in a moment — a moment depending on how long it takes us to get defrosted.'
'Of course, sir.' The Bo'sun looked over his shoulder. 'I have noticed that Dr Singh doesn't bother to keep the hospital's private liquor cabinet locked.'
'Well, now. A little something in our coffee, perhaps?'
'I would recommend it, sir. Might help to speed up the defrosting process.'
Jamieson gave him an old-fashioned look, rose and crossed towards the cabinet.
Jamieson drained his second cup of reinforced coffee and looked at McKinnon. 'Something bothering you, Bo'sun?'
'Yes.' McKinnon had both hands on the table, as if preparing to rise. 'Motion's changed. A few minutes back the ship started quartering a little, not too much, as if Trent was making a slight course adjustment, but now she's quartering too damn much. It could be that the steering has failed again.'
McKinnon left at speed, Jamieson close behind him. Reaching the now smoothly ice-coated deck, McKinnon grabbed a lifeline and stopped.
'Corkscrewing,' he shouted. He had to shout to make himself heard above the near gale-force wind. 'Twenty degrees off course, maybe thirty. Something far wrong up there.'
And indeed, when they arrived on the bridge, there was something far wrong. Both men paused momentarily, and McKinnon said: 'My apologies, Mr Jamieson. It wasn't the steering after all.'
Trent was lying, face up, just behind the wheel, which was mindlessly jerking from side to side in response to the erratic seas striking against the rudder. Trent was breathing, no doubt about that, his chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic fashion. McKinnon bent over to examine his face, looked more closely, sniffed, wrinkled his nose in distaste and straightened.
'Chloroform.' He reached out for the wheel and began to bring the San Andreas back on course again.
'And this.' Jamieson stooped, picked up the fallen compass and showed it to McKinnon. The glass was smashed, the needle irremediably twisted out of position. 'Flanneifoot strikes again.'
'So it would appear, sir.'
'Ah. You don't seem particularly surprised, Bo'sun?'
'I saw it lying there. I didn't have to look. There are quite a few other helmsmen aboard. That was our only compass.'
FOUR
'Whoever was responsible for this must have had access to the dispensary,' Patterson said. He was with Jamieson and McKinnon in the hospital's small lounge.
'That won't help, sir,' McKinnon said. 'Since ten o'clock this morning everybody aboard this ship — except, of course, the wounded, the unconscious and those under sedation — have had access to the dispensary. There's not a single person who hasn't been in the hospital area, either to eat, sleep or just rest.'
'Maybe we're not looking at it in the right way,' Jamieson said.' Why should anyone want to smash the compass? It can't just be to stop us from following whatever course we were following or that we might outrun someone. The chances are high that Flannelfoot is still transmitting his homing signal and that the Germans know exactly where we are.'
'Maybe he's hoping to panic us,' McKinnon said. 'Maybe he's hoping we'll slow down, rather than travel around in circles, which could easily happen if the weather deteriorates, the sea becomes confused, and if we have no compass. Perhaps there's a German submarine in the vicinity and he doesn't want us to get too far away. There's an even worse possibility. We've been assuming that Flannelfoot has only a transmitter: maybe he has a transceiver, what if he's in radio contact with Alta Fjord or a U-boat or even a reconnaissance Condor? There could be a British warship in the vicinity and the last thing they would want is that we make contact with it. Well, we couldn't contact it: but its radar could pick us up ten, fifteen miles away.'
Too many 'ifs', 'maybes' and 'perhaps this' and 'perhaps that'.' Patterson's voice was decisive, that of a man who has made up his mind. 'How many men do you trust aboard this ship, Bo'sun?'
'How many — ' McKinnon broke off in speculation. 'The three of us here and Naseby. And the medical staff. Not that I have any particular reason to trust them — nor do I have any particular reason to distrust them — but we know that they were here, all present and accounted for, when Trent was attacked, so that rules them out.'
'Two doctors, six nursing staff, three orderlies and the four of us. That makes fifteen,' Jamieson said. He smiled. ' 'Apart from that, everyone is a suspect?'
The Bo'sun permitted himself a slight smile in return. 'It's difficult to see kids like Jones, McGuigan and Wayland Day as master spies. Those apart, I wouldn't put my hand in the fire for any of them, that's to say I've no reason to trust them in a matter of life and death.'
Patterson said: 'The crew of the Argos? Survivors? Guests by happenstance?'
'Ridiculous, I know, sir. But who's to say the nigger is not in the most unlikely woodpile? I just don't trust anyone.' The Bo'sun paused. 'Am I wrong in thinking that it is your intention to search through the quarters and possessions of everyone aboard?'
'You are not wrong, Bo'sun.'
'With respect sir, we'll be wasting our time. Anyone as smart as Flannelfoot is too smart to leave anything lying around, or at least to leave it in any place where it might be remotely associated with him. There are hundreds of places aboard where you can hide things and we are not trained rummagers. On the other hand, it's better than doing nothing. But I'm afraid that's what we'll find, Mr Patterson. Nothing.'
They found nothing. They searched every living quarter, every wardrobe and cupboard, every case and duffel bag, every nook and cranny, and they found nothing. A rather awkward moment had arisen when Captain Andropolous, a burly, dark-bearded and seemingly intemperate character who had been given one of the empty cabins normally reserved for recuperating patients, objected violently and physically to having his quarters searched: McKinnon, who had no Greek, resolved this impasse by pointing his Colt at the Captain's temple, after which, probably realizing that McKinnon wasn't acting for his own amusement, the Captain had been cooperation itself, even to going to the extent of accompanying the Bo'sun and ordering his crew to open up their possessions for scrutiny.
The two Singhalese cooks in the hospital galleys were more than competent and Dr Singh, who appeared to be something of a connoisseur in such matters, produced some Bordeaux that would not have been found wanting in a Michelin restaurant, but poor justice was done to the food arid, more surprisingly, the wine at dinner that evening. The atmosphere was sombre. There was an uneasiness about, even a faint air of furtiveness. It is one thing to be told that there is a saboteur at large: it is quite another to have your luggage and possessions searched on the basis of the possibility that you might be the saboteur in question. Even, or perhaps especially, the hospital staff seemed unduly uncomfortable: their possessions had not been searched so they were not, officially, in the clear. An irrational reaction it may have been but, in the circumstances, understandable.
Patterson pushed back his unfinished plate and said to Dr Singh: 'This Lieutenant Ulbricht. Is he awake?'
'He's more than awake.' Dr Singh sounded almost testy. 'Remarkable recuperative powers. Wanted to join us for dinner. Forbade it, of course. Why?' -
'The Bo'sun and I would like to have a word with him.'
'No reason why not.' He pondered briefly. 'Two possible minor complications. Sister Morrison is there — she's just relieved Sister Maria for dinner.' He nodded towards the end of the table where a fair-haired, high-cheekboned girl in a sister's uniform was having dinner. Apart from Stephen Przybyszewski she was the only Polish national aboard and as people found her surname of Szarzynski, like Stephen's, rather difficult, she was invariably and affectionately referred to as Sister Maria.
'We'll survive,' Patterson said. 'The other complication?'
'Captain Bowen. Like Lieutenant Ulbricht, he has a high tolerance to sedatives. Keeps surfacing — longer and longer spells of consciousness and when he is awake he's in a very bad humour. Who has ever seen Captain Bowen in ill humour?'
Patterson rose. 'If I were the Captain I wouldn't be very much in the mood for singing and dancing. Come on,
