'Oh, do be quiet. Has this been of any good to you? Another stupid question. Must have been or you wouldn't have sent for those three.'
'Indeed it has. Another little complication but I think we can manage it. Ah, Lieutenant Ulbricht. That was very quick. Please sit down.' Ulbricht took his seat by the side of Margaret Morrison while McKinnon contemplated the ceiling.
She said in a vexed voice: 'There's no need for that.'
Ulbricht looked at her. 'What do you mean, Margaret?'
'The Bo'sun has a warped sense of humour.'
'Not at all. She just doesn't like me being right.' He looked round, greeted Patterson and Jamieson then rose and closed the door with a firm hand.
'As serious as that, is it?' Patterson said.
Td rather we weren't overheard, sir.' He gave them a brief resume of the talks he'd had with Janet Magnusson and Margaret Morrison, then said: 'One of those nine people within hearing distance of Sister Morrison knew that Captain Bowen and Mr Kennet were the only two patients in Ward A who were awake and made the fullest use of that information. Agreed?'
No one disagreed.
'We can rule out Sister Maria. No hard reason, except that it's inconceivable.'
'Inconceivable.' Both Patterson and Jamieson spoke at the same time.
'Stephen? No. He's pro-British enough to make us all feel ashamed and he'll never forget that it was the Royal Navy that saved his life in the North Sea.'
Margaret Morrison looked up in surprise. 'I didn't know that.'
'Neither did we, Sister, even although he is in the engine-room department. Not till the Bo'sun told us. His agents are in every nook and cranny.' Patterson seemed slightly aggrieved.
'Wayland Day, Jones and McGuigan. No. They're hardly out of kindergarten and haven't lived enough or been steeped enough in sin to make apprentice counter-espionage agents, junior grade. That leaves us with four suspects.'
'Curran and Ferguson are out. I know them. They are shirkers and malingerers of the first order and haven't the energy, interest or intelligence to make the grade. That apart, they spend all their spare time holed up in the carpenter's shop in the bows and leave it so seldom that they can hardly know what's going on in the rest of the ship. Final proof, of course, is that though they may not be very bright they're hardly stupid enough to set off an explosive charge in the ballast room while they are sleeping in the carpenter's shop directly above. That leaves Simons and Hartley, two of the sick men — or allegedly sick men — that we picked up in Murmansk. Don't you think we should have them up here, Mr Patterson?'
'I do indeed, Bo'sun. This is becoming interesting.'
McKinnon opened the door. 'Wayland!'
If possible, Wayland Day made it in even less time than the previous occasion. McKinnon gave him his instructions, then added: 'Have them here in five minutes. Tell them to bring their pay books.' He closed the door and looked at Margaret Morrison.
'Wouldn't you like to leave now?'
'No, I wouldn't. Why should I? I'm as interested and involved in this as any of you.' In a wholly unconscious gesture, she touched her throat. 'More, I would say.'
'You might not like it.'
'A Gestapo-type interrogation, is that it?'
'How they are treated depends entirely on Mr Patterson. I'm only venturing an opinion, but I wouldn't think that Mr Patterson goes in very much for thumbscrews and racks. Not standard engine-room equipment.'
She looked at him coldly. 'Facetiousness does not become you.'
'Very little does, it seems.'
'Hartley and Simons,' Jamieson said. 'We had them on our list of suspects. Well, more or less. Remember, Bo'sun?'
'I remember. I also remember that we agreed that the CID were in no danger of a takeover from us.'
'Something I have to say,' Ulbricht said. 'Discouraging, but I have to say it. I was here from the time the generator lights went out until they came on again. With their red, heads, those two men are unmistakable. Neither of them left their seats in that time.'
'Well, now.' Margaret Morrison had an air of satisfaction about her. 'Rather puts a damper on your theory doesn't it, Mr McKinnon?'
'Sad, Sister, very sad. You really would like to prove me wrong, wouldn't you? I have the odd feeling that I will have been proved wrong before this trip is over. Not by you, though.' He shook his head. 'It's still sad.'
Sister Morrison could be very persistent. She put on her best ward sister's face and said: 'You heard what the Lieutenant said — neither of those two men left their seats during the crucial period.'
'I should be astonished if they had done.' Margaret Morrison's prim frown gave way to perplexity which in turn yielded to a certain wariness. McKinnon looked at Ulbricht. 'Lieutenant, we are not just dealing with Flannelfoot number two: we are dealing with Flannelfeet numbers two and three. We have established that it was number two, a crew member, who blew the hole in the ballast room when we were alongside that sinking corvette. But no crew member under suspicion was within hearing range of Sister Morrison. So the finger points at Hartley or Simons. Maybe both. It was clever. There was no way we could reasonably associate them with the misfortune of the San Andreas, for at the time the first hole was blown in the ballast they were still in hospital in Murmansk, where one or both had been suborned. Of course neither was going to leave his seat during the time of the attack. That could have been too obvious.'
Ulbricht tapped his head. 'The only thing that is obvious to me is that Lieutenant Ulbricht is not at his brightest and best today. Hit me over the head with a two-by-four long enough and I'll see the point as fast as any man. Of course you have the right of it. Obvious.' He looked at Margaret Morrison. 'Don't you agree?'
There was a distinct tinge of red in the normally pale face. 'I suppose so.'
'There's no supposing.' The Bo'sun sounded slightly weary. 'What happened was that the information was passed on before — well before — the engines stopped. How long before the engines stopped did Wayland Day ask you the question about Ward A?'
'I don't know. I'm not sure.'
'Come on, Margaret. Can't you see it's important?'
'Fifteen minutes?' she said uncertainly. 'Maybe twenty. I'm really not sure.'
'Of course you're not. People don't check their watches every five minutes. But during those fifteen or twenty minutes one of those two men left his seat and returned?'
'Yes.' Her voice was very low.
'Which one?'
'I don't know. I really don't. Please believe me. I know I said earlier that I could easily identify them — '
'Please, Margaret. I believe you. What you meant is that you could identify them as a pair, not individually. Both look uncommonly alike, both have red hair and you didn't even know their names.'
She smiled at him, a grateful little smile, but said nothing.
'You do have the right of it, Bo'sun. Apart from that, I'm convinced of it because there's no other explanation.' Patterson rubbed his chin. 'This interrogation business. Like Mr Jamieson and yourself, I don't really think I'm CID material. How do we set about it?'
'I suggest we first try to establish their bona fides — if any — to see if they are what they say they are. Hartley claims to be an Engine-Room Artificer. I'll leave him to you. Simons says he's a Leading Torpedo Operator. I'll speak to him.' He looked at his watch. 'The five minutes are up.'
Patterson didn't invite either man to sit. For some seconds he looked at them coolly and thoughtfully, then said: 'My name is Chief Engineer Patterson. I am in temporary command of this vessel and have some questions to ask. The reasons for the questioning can wait. Which of you is E.R. A. Hartley?'
'I am, sir.' Hartley was slightly taller, slightly more heavily built than Simons, but otherwise the resemblance was remarkable: Margaret Morrison's confusion over the pair was more than understandable.
'You claim to be an E.R.A. Can you prove it?'
Trove it?' Hartley was taken aback. 'What do you mean — 'prove it', sir? I don't have any certificates on me
