the maze of pipes down there. In the sick bay he concocted some type of delayed-action chemical fuse that would give off plenty of smoke but very little flame — there are a dozen combinations of acids and chemicals that can bring this about, and our friend will be a highly trained expert well versed in all of them. Now, all Jolly wanted was an excuse to pass through the engine room when it would be nice and quiet and virtually deserted. In the middle of the night. He fixed this, too. He can fix anything. He's a very, very clever man indeed, is our friend here:,he's also an utterly ruthless fiend.
'Late in the evening of the night before the fire, the good healer here made a round of his patients. I went with him. One of the men he treated was Bolton, in the nucleonics lab — and, of course, to get to the nucleonics lab you have to pass through the engine room. There was an enlisted man watching over the patients, and Jolly left special word that he was to be called at any hour if Bolton became any worse. He was called. I checked with the engine-room staff after the fire. The engineer officer on watch and two others were in the maneuvering room, but an engineman carrying out a routine lubrication job saw him passing through the engine room about 1:30 a.m. in answer to a call from the man watching over the patients. He took the opportunity to drop his little chemical fuse as he was passing by the machinery space. What he didn't know was that his little toy lodged on or near the oil- saturated lagging on the housing of the starboard turbo generator, and that when it went off, it would generate sufficient heat to set the sheathing on fire.'
Swanson looked at Jolly, bleakly and for a long time, then turned to me and shook his head. 'I can't buy that, Dr. Carpenter. This phone call because a patient just happens to turn sick. Jolly is not the man to leave «anything» to chance.'
'He isn't,' I agreed. 'He didn't. Up in the refrigerator in the sick bay I have an exhibit for the Old Bailey. A sheet of aluminum foil liberally covered with Jolly's fingerprints. Smeared on this foil is the remains of a salve. That foil was what Jolly had bandaged on Bolton's burned forearm that night, just after he had given him pain- killing shots — Bolton was suffering very badly. But before Jolly put the salve on the foil he spread on something else first, a layer of sodium chloride — common or garden household salt. Jolly knew that the drugs he had given Bolton would keep him under for three or four hours: he also knew that by the time Bolton had regained consciousness, his body heat would have thinned the salve and brought the salt into contact with the raw flesh on the forearm. He knew that Bolton, when he came out from the effects of the drugs, would come out screaming in agony. Can you imagine what it must have been like? The whole forearm a mass of raw flesh — and covered with salt? When he died soon after, he died from shock. Our good healer here — a lovable little lad, isn't he?
'Well, that's Jolly. Incidentally, you can discount most of the gallant doctor's heroism during the fire — although he was understandably as anxious as any of us that we survive. The first time he went into the engine room it was too damned hot and uncomfortable for his liking, so he just lay down on the floor and let someone carry him for'ard to where the fresh air was. Later — '
'He had his mask off,' Hansen objected.
'He took it off. «You» can hold your breath for ten or fifteen seconds — don't you think Jolly can, too? Later on, when he was performing his heroics in the engine room, it was because conditions there were better, conditions outside worse — and because by -going into the engine room he was entitled to a closed-circuit breathing set. Jolly got more clean air last night than any of us. He doesn't mind if he causes someone to die screaming his head off in agony — but he himself isn't going to suffer the slightest degree of hardship. Not if he can help it. Isn't that so, Jolly?'
He didn't answer.
'Where are the films, Jolly?'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' he said in a quiet, toneless voice. 'Before God, my hands are clean.'
'How about your fingerprints on that foil with the salt on it?'
'Any doctor can make a mistake.'
'My God! Mistake! Where are they, Jolly — the films?'
'For God's sake, leave me alone,' he said tiredly.
'Have it your own way.' I looked at Swanson. 'Got some nice secure place where you can lock this character up?'
'I certainly have,' Swanson said grimly. 'I'll conduct him there in person.'
'No one's conducting anyone anywhere,' Kinnaird said. He was looking at me, and I didn't care very much for the way he was looking at me. I didn't care very much either for, what he held in his hand: a very nasty-looking Mauser. It was cradled in his fist as if it had grown there, and it was pointing straight between my eybs.
13
'Clever clever counter-espionage, Carpenter,' Dr. Jolly murmured. 'How swiftly the fortunes of war change, old boy. But you shouldn't be surprised really. You haven't found out anything that actually matters, but surely you should have found out enough to realize that you are operating out of your class. Please don't try anything foolish. Kinnaird is one of the finest pistol shots I 'have ever known — and you will observe how strategically he's placed, so that everyone in the room is covered.'
He delicately patted his still bleeding mouth with a handkerchief, rose, went behind me, and ran his hands quickly down my clothes.
'My word,' he said. 'Not even carrying a gun. You really are unprepared, Carpenter. Turn round, will you, so that your back is to Kinnaird's gun?'
I turned around. He smiled pleasantly, then hit me twice across the face with, all his strength, first with the back of his right hand and then with the back of his left. I staggered but didn't fall down. I could taste the salt of blood.
'Can't even call it regrettable loss of temper,' Jolly said with satisfaction. 'Did it deliberately and with malice aforethought. Enjoyed it, too.'
'So Kinnaird was the killer,' I said slowly, thickly. 'He was the man with the gun?'
'Wouldn't want to take all the credit, mate,' Kinnaird said modestly. 'Let's say we sorted them out fifty- fifty.'
'«You» were the one who went out with the monitor to find the capsule,' I nodded. 'That's why you got your face as badly frost-bitten.'
'Got lost,' Kinnaird admitted. 'Thought I'd never find the damned station again.'
'Jolly and Kinnaird,' Jeremy said wonderingly. 'Jolly and Kinnaird. Your own mates. You two ifithy, murderous — '
'Be quiet,' Jolly ordered. 'Kinnaird, don't bother answering questions. Unlike Carpenter here, I take no pleasure in outlining my «modus operandi» and explaining at length how clever I've been. As you observed, Carpenter, I'm a man of action. Commander Swanson, get on that phone there, call up your control room, order your ship to surface and steam north.'
'You're becoming too ambitious, Jolly,' Swanson said calmly. 'You can't hijack a submarine.'
'Kinnaird,' Jolly said. 'Point your gun at Hansen's stomach. When I reach the count of five, pull the trigger. One, two, three — '
Swanson half raised a hand in acknowledgment of defeat, crossed to the wall phone, gave the necessary orders, hung up and came back to stand beside me. He looked at me without either respect or admiration. I looked around at all the other people in the room. Jolly, Hansen and Rawlings standing, Zabrinski sitting on a chair by himself with the now disregarded copy of the «Dolphin Daze» on his knees, all the others sitting around the table, Kinnaird well clear of them, the gun very steady in his hands. So very steady. No one seemed to be contemplating any heroics. For the most part, everyone was too shocked, too dazed, to think of anything.
'Hijacking a nuclear submarine is an intriguing prospect, and no doubt would be a highly profitable one, Commander Swanson,' Jolly said. 'But I know my limitations, No, old top, we shall simply be leaving you. Not very many miles from here is a naval vessel with a helicopter on its after deck. In a little while, Commander, you will send a wireless message on a certain frequency giving our position: the helicopter will pick us up. And even if your crippled engine would stand the strain, I wouldn't advise you to come chasing after that ship with ideas about
