"It could be very difficult indeed," Thomas said. "There's going to be a coroner's jury over at the town meeting house tomorrow morning. Word is, Sir Winston is asking the questions."

"Is that unusual?"

"Usually the coroner does it."

Stone looked over at Sir Winston Sutherland, who was digging into a bowl of something. "What's he eating?" he asked.

"Conch chowder."

"Well, I suppose you have to be careful of any man with enough daring to eat conch chowder in a white linen suit."

"Oh," Thomas said, "there's more reason than that to be careful of Sir Winston."

When Stone got back to his boat, late, there were lights on in the big blue yacht. He was tempted to call on the lady to offer his condolences, but he was a little drunker than he liked to be when he introduced himself to a beautiful woman.

Stone, a little worse for the wear, entered the Markstown. Meeting Hall at ten o'clock the following morning, just as the coroner, a wizened little black man with snow white hair, was about to call the proceedings to order. A jury of five black men and one white sat on folding chairs along one side of the hall; the coroner sat on a folding chair at a card table at the front of the room, and the woman from the blue yacht sat in the front row of chairs, dressed in a trim black dress that set off her tan. The dress was not quite demure enough for mourning, but it bespoke a certain dignity. Stone took a seat in the front row, across the aisle from her, just as Sir Winston Sutherland made his entrance, carrying a large satchel briefcase and dressed in a double-breasted blue suit with chalk stripes. He looked very official.

"These proceedings will come to order," said the coroner. "We meet to hear testimony on the death of Paul Phillips Manning; we are pleased to have Sir Winston with us to conduct questioning."

Stone glanced at the woman, who sat, looking tired but somehow radiant, staring serenely at the coroner. She glanced briefly at Sir Winston. Stone wondered if she knew who he was and what was about to happen.

The coroner spoke again."Call Mrs. Allison Manning."

The woman rose and walked toward a folding chair set next to the coroner's card table, between him and the jury. The scene resembled a rehearsal of a high school play set in a courtroom.

"Hold the book," the coroner said to her, extending a Bible."Do you swear by Almighty God that the evidence you are about to give will be the truth?"

"I do," Allison Manning replied.

"State your full name and age for the record."

"Allison Ames Manning; I am twenty-nine years old."

Stone now noticed a stenographer seated near the jury, taking down the proceedings in shorthand.

Allison Manning gazed evenly at Sir Winston as he rose from his seat to his full height, which was a good six-three, and approached her.

"Mrs. Manning," Sir Winston said gently, "may I begin by expressing my condolences on the loss of your husband?"

"Thank you," she replied.

"Mrs.Manning, how long were you married to Paul Phillips Manning?"

"It would have been four years next month."

"And how old was your husband at his death?"

"Forty-two."

"And where did the two of you reside?"

"In Greenwich, Connecticut."

"Would you be kind enough to tell us of your last months with your husband?"

Allison Manning took a deep breath and spoke in a clear, well-modulated voice. "My husband and I left Newport, Rhode Island, last May and crossed the Atlantic to Plymouth, in England, just the two of us. Paul had had the yacht built in Finland and fitted out with some extra equipment after it was delivered to Newport. From Plymouth, we cruised up the English Channel to Cowes, on the Isle of Wight, then crossed the Channel and cruised the coast of Brittany, in France. We made a long passage to Bilbao, in northern Spain, then went on to Lisbon and Gibraltar.In the Mediterranean, we cruised the Greek islands and the Balearics and then sailed out to Madeira and the Canary Islands. We called at Las Palmas and did some refitting there, then at Puerto Rico, a port on the southernmost island of the Canaries, and our last port of call before starting across the Atlantic, bound for Antigua." She took a sip of water from a glass poured by the coroner.

"Please go on," Sir Winston said.

Allison Manning looked a little sadder. "We sailed southwest from the Canaries down to the latitude of Antigua, then turned west. We had picked up the trade winds by then, and we were making good time. We were ten days out of Puerto Rico, over halfway to Antigua, when the incident occurred."

"Tell us about the incident, with as much detail as you can recall."

"It was on the early afternoon of the tenth day," she said. "We had been in and out of squalls, then the wind dropped, and we were very nearly becalmed. The weather had been very changeable. We had been down to short sail in the squalls, using a roller-reefing headsail, which was like a big window blind, and when Paul began to unroll the sail in the light winds, the top swivel of the roller-reefing gear separated into two parts. The sail fell down with the bottom part, and the top part of the gear remained at the top of the mast, attached to the halyard. I hope I'm making this clear."

Sir Winston turned to the jury. "Gentlemen, do you understand?"

The jury nodded as one man.

"Please go on, Mrs. Manning," Sir Winston said.

"This wasn't the first time this had happened," she said, "and it meant that someone had to go up the mast and pull the top part of the swivel down to deck level so that it could be reattached to the bottom part."

"And who went up the mast?"

"I did."

"Was this usual? Did your husband often send you up the mast at sea?"

"No. I had done that a couple of times before, but when we were tied up alongside in port. It was easier for Paul to hoist me up the mast with a winch than for me to hoist him. He is… was a large man. On this occasion he wanted to go himself, but he had woken up not feeling well that morning and was obviously not well. He had a thing about making good time at sea, and he didn't want to wait until he felt better, so I said I would go up the mast."

"And how did you accomplish that?"

"Paul lowered the mainsail; I got into the bosun's chair, which is a canvas sling, and Paul winched me to the top of the mast on the main halyard, then cleated the line while I hauled the genoa halyard down to deck level. There wasn't much wind, but there was a sea running from the last squall, and it was pretty uncomfortable at the top of the mast. I called to Paul to lower me to the deck, and that was when I saw him, sitting on a cockpit seat, holding his arm, near the shoulder." For the first time, her voice quavered. "His left arm."

"What happened then?"

She seemed to struggle to keep control of herself. "I called to him again, and he looked up at me. Then he seemed to be in terrible pain, and he sort of just lay down on his side on the cockpit seat." Tears appeared on her cheeks now. "I was very frightened. The wind began to get up again, and with no sail up, the boat was rolling very badly. I continued to call out to him in panic-panic that I was stuck at the top of the mast, and panic that he seemed to be having a heart attack, and I couldn't help him." Now she began to cry in earnest. Sutherland stood without speaking while she produced a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. Finally in control again, she continued. "A few minutes passed-I don't know how long-then Paul slid off the seat onto the cockpit sole. He just lay there, facedown. It was obvious that he was unconscious; he just sort of flopped about when the boat rolled."

"And then what did you do?"

"I just clung to the mast and cried."