'Help yourself to water, Johnny. Lord only knows you've earned it ? and a few hours' sleep. Just as soon as you leave here.'
'Delighted,' Nicolson murmured, 'Just as soon as you wake up, I'll be off to my bunk. You didn't leave the bridge all last night. Remember?'
'All right, all right.' Findhom held up a hand in mock defence. 'We'll argue later.' He drank some whisky, then looked thoughtfully at Nicolson over the rim of his glass. 'Well, Johnny, what did you make of her?'
'The Kerry Dancer!'
Findhorn nodded, waiting,
'A slaver,'' Nicolson said quietly. 'Remember that Arabian steamer the Navy stopped off Ras al Hadd last year?'
'Yes, I remember.'
'Identical, as near as makes no difference. Steel doors all over the shop, main and upper decks. Most of them could only be opened from one side. Eight-inch scuttles ? where there were scuttles. Ring-bolts beside every bunk. Based on the islands, I suppose, and no lack of trade up round Amoy and Macao,'
'The twentieth century, eh?' Findhorn said softly. 'Buying and selling in human lives.'
'Yes,' Nicolson said dryly, 'But at least they keep 'em alive. Wait till they catch up with the civilised nations of the west and start on the wholesale stuff ? poison gas, concentration camps, the bombing of open cities and what have you. Give 'em time. They're only amateurs yet,' 'Cynicism, young man, cynicism.' Findhorn shook his head reprovingly. 'Anyway, what you say about the Kerry Dancer bears out Brigadier Farnholme's statements.'
'So you've been talking to his Lordship.' Nicolson grinned. 'Court-martialling me at dawn tomorrow?'
'What's that?'
'He didn't approve of me,' Nicolson explained. 'He wasn't backward about saying so either.'
'Must have changed his mind.' Findhorn refilled their glasses. '' Able young man that, very able, but ? ah ? impetuous.' Something like that. Very pukka, the Tuan Besar to the life.'
Nicolson nodded. 'I can just see him stuffed to the ears, stewed to the gills and snoring his head off in an arm-chair in the Bengal Club. But he's a curious bird. Did a good job with a rope in the lifeboat. How phoney do you reckon he is?'
'Not much.' Findhorn considered for a moment. 'A little, but not much. A retired army officer for a certainty. Probably upped himself a little bit in rank after his retirement.'
'And what the hell's a man like that doing aboard the Kerry Dancer!' Nicolson asked curiously.
'All sorts of people are finding themselves with all sorts of strange bed-fellows these days,' Findhorn replied. 'And you're wrong about the Bengal Club, Johnny. He didn't come from Singapore. He's some sort of business man in Borneo ? he was a bit vague about the business ? and he joined the Kerry Dancer in Banjermasin, along with a few other Europeans who found the Japanese making things a little too hot for them. She was supposed to be sailing for Bali, and they hoped to find another ship there that would take them to Darwin. But apparently Siran ? that's the name of the captain, and a thorough-going bad lot according to old Farnholme ? got radio orders from his bosses in Macassar to proceed to Kota Bharu. Farnholme bribed him to go to Singapore, and he agreed. Why, heaven only knows, with the Japs more or less knocking at the gates, but there's always opportunity for sufficiently unscrupulous men to exploit a situation such as exists there just now. Or maybe they expected to make a quick fortune by charging the earth for passages out of Singapore. What they didn't expect, obviously, was what happened ? that the Army should commandeer the Kerry Dancer.'
'Yes, the army,' Nicolson murmured. 'I wonder what happened to the soldiers ? McKinnon says there were at least two dozen ? who went aboard to see that the Kerry Dancer did go straight to Darwin, and no funny tricks?'
'I wonder.' Findhorn was tight-lipped. 'Farnholme says they were quartered in the fo'c'sle.'
'With one of these clever little doors that you can only open from one side, maybe?'
'Maybe. Did you see it?'
Nicolson shook his head. 'The whole fo'c'sle was practically under water by the time we went aboard. I shouldn't be surprised. But it could have been jammed by bomb burst.' He swallowed some more of the whisky and grimaced in distaste, not at the drink but at his thoughts. 'A pleasant little alternative, drowning or cremation. I should like to meet Captain Siran some day. I suspect a great number of other people would too… How are the rest of our passengers? They got anything to add?'
Findhorn shook his head. 'Nothing. Too sick, too tired, too shocked or they just don't know anything.'
'All sorted out, washed up and bedded down for the night, I suppose?'
'More or less. I've got them all over the ship. All the soldiers are together, aft ? the two really sick boys in the hospital, the other eight in the smoke-room and the two spare engineers' cabins on the port side. Farnholme and the priest are together in the engineers' office.'
Nicolson grinned. 'That should be worth seeing ? the British Raj breathing the same air as the dusky heathen!'
'You'd be surprised,' Findhorn grunted. 'They have a settee each there, a table between them and a bottle of whisky, almost full, on the table. They're getting along very well indeed.'
'He had a half bottle when I saw him last,' Nicolson said thoughtfully. 'I wonder??-'
'Probably drank it without coming up for air once. He's lugging around a great big gladstone bag and if you ask me it's full of nothing but whisky bottles.'
'And the rest?'
'The what? Oh, yes. The little old lady's in Walter's room ? he's taken a mattress into his radio room. The senior nurse, the one that seems to be in charge???'
'Miss Drachmann?'
'That's her. She and the child are in the apprentices' cabin. And Vannier and the Fifth engineer have doubled up with Barrett and the fourth engineer ? two nurses in Vannier's cabin and the last of them in the Fifth's.'
'All accounted for.' Nicolson sighed, lit a cigarette and watched the blue smoke drift lazily up to the ceiling, 'I only hope they haven't exchanged the frying pan for the fire. We having another go at the Carimata Straits, sir?'
'Why not? Where else can we??-'
He broke off as Nicolson stretched out for the ringing telephone and put it to his ear.
'Yes, captain's cabin… Oh, it's you, Willy… Yes, he's here. Hang on a minute.' Nicolson rose easily to his feet, vacating his seat for the captain. 'The second engineer, sir.'
Findhorn talked for perhaps half a minute, mostly in monosyllabic grunts. Nicolson wondered idly what Willoughby had wanted. He had sounded almost bored but then nobody had ever seen Willoughby excited about anything. Ernest Willoughby never found anything in life worth getting excited about. A crazy, dreaming old coot ? he was the oldest man in the ship ? with a passion for literature matched only by his utter contempt for engines and the means whereby he earned his livelihood, he was the most honest man, and the most completely unselfish, that Nicolson had ever met. Willoughby himself took no pride in this, and was probably unaware of it: he was a man who had little, but wanted nothing at all. With him Nicolson had little in common, superficially at any rate: but, almost as if by the attraction of opposites, he had formed the greatest liking and admiration for the old engineer, and Willoughby, unmarried and with only a threadbare bed-sitting-room in the company club in Singapore, had spent a good few evenings in his home. Caroline, he remembered, had thought the world of old Willy and had usually made a point of seeing that the best meals and the longest, coolest drinks were always waiting for the old engineer. Nicolson stared down at his glass, and his mouth twisted in bitter memory… Suddenly he became aware that Captain Findhorn was on his feet, looking down at him with a peculiar expression on his face.
'What's the matter, Johnny? You feel all right?'
'Just wandering, sir.' Nicolson smiled and waved a hand at the whisky bottle. 'A great help, this, when you're taking a walk around in your mind,'
'Help yourself: take another walk round.' Findhorn picked up his hat and turned for the door. 'Wait here for me, will you? I have to go below.'
Two minutes after the captain had gone the phone rang again. It was Findhorn speaking, asking Nicolson to come below to the dining-saloon. He gave no reason. On his way below Nicolson met the fourth officer coming out of the wireless operator's cabin. Vannier was looking neither happy nor pleased. Nicolson looked at him, an eyebrow
