"The crewman!" I said softly.

"Yes. You'll have something to show Perigord."

"But I'll have it enlarged first. I'm not letting this into Perigord's hands without having a few copies for myself. His ideas of discretion might get in my way. I have a shrewd idea that once he gets this I'll never see it again."

Debbie's flight was announced, garbled by bad acoustics, and I accompanied her to the barrier where we said our goodbyes.

"I'll write to you about our scheme, " she said.

"Look after yourself, Tom." She kissed me, a chaste peck on the cheek.

Then she was gone and I went back into Freeport to find a photographer.

Two days later I had what I wanted. I sat in my office and examined the duplicate negative, the copies of the colour print, and the six glossy black-and-white blow-ups of the pinhead-sized area of the negative which was the head of the crewman. The darkroom technician had done a good job considering the size of the image he had to work with. It could not be said to be a good portrait, being very grainy and slightly out of focus, but it was not all that bad.

The man was youngish I would say under thirty and he appeared to be blond. He had a broadish forehead and narrow chin, and his eyes were deepset and shadowed. One hand was up by his face as though he intended to hide it, and the head was slightly blurred as though it was in motion when the picture was taken. On the colour print it looked as though he was emerging from below, and perhaps he had suddenly been aware that he was on candid camera. If so, he had not beaten the speed of a camera shutter and a fast film.

I studied the face for a very long time. Was this a callous murderer?

What did a murderer look like? Like anyone else, I suppose.

I was about to ring Perigord when the intercom buzzed so I flicked the switch.

"Yes, Jessie?"

"Mr. Ford to see you."

I had forgotten about Sam Ford. I pushed the photographs to one side of my desk, and said, "Shoot him in."

Sam Ford was a black Bahamian, and manager of the marina which was attached to the Sea Gardens Hotel on New Providence. He was an efficient manager, a good sailor, and did a lot for the branch of BASRA over there. Ever since the talk in Perigord's office and his expressed views on marina security I had been thinking about ours, and I had a job for Sam.

He came in.

"Morning, Mr. Mangan."

"Morning, Sam. Take a chair."

As he sat down he said, "I was real sorry to hear about what happened. I'd have come to The funeral, but we had problems that day at the marina."

There had been a wreath from Sam and his family.

"Thanks, Sam. But it's over now." He nodded and I leaned back in my chair.

"I've been reviewing our policy on marinas. We have three, and soon we'll have another when the hotel is finished on Eleuthera. If things turn out as I hope we'll have more. So far the marinas have been attached to the hotels with the marina manager being responsible to the hotel manager. It's worked well enough, but there's been a certain amount of friction, wouldn't you say?"

"I've had trouble," said Sam.

"I don't know about the other marinas but my boss, Archie Bain, knows damn all about boats. The times he's asked me to put a quart in a pint pot I swear he thinks boats are collapsible."

I had heard similar comments from other marina managers.

"All right, we're going to change things. We're going to set up a marinas division with the marina managers responsible to the divisional manager, not to the hotel managers. He'd be running the lot with the centralized buying of ship's chandlery and so on. How would you like the Job?"

His eyebrows rose.

"Divisional manager?"

"Yes. You'd get the pay that goes with the job."

Sam took a deep breath.

"Mr. Mangan, that's a job I've been praying for."

I smiled.

"It's yours from the first of the month that's in two weeks. And as divisional manager you get to call me Tom." We talked about his new job for some time, settling lines of demarcation, his salary, and other details. Then I said, "And I want you to beef up on security in the marinas. How many boats have you had stolen, Sam?"

"From the Sea Gardens?" He scratched his head.

"One this year, two last year, and two the year before. The one this year was recovered on Andros, found abandoned. I think someone just took it for ajoyride."

Five in three years did not sound many out of all the boars Sam had handled, but multiply that by the number of marinas in the Bahamas and it was a hell of a lot. I began to appreciate Perigord's point of view. I said, "Go back over the records of all our marinas for the last five years, t want to know how many boats went missing. And, Sam, we don't want to lose any more."

"I don't see we're responsible," said Sam.

"And there's a clause in the marina agreement which says so. You know boat people. They reckon they've gotten the freedom of the seas. Maybe they have because no one has gotten around to licensing them yet, but some are downright irresponsible."

I winced because Sam had hit a raw nerve; I had been a boat owner.

"Nevertheless, beef up security."

"It'll cost," Sam warned.

"That means watchmen."

"Don't."

Sam shrugged.

"Anything more, Mr… er.. Tom?"

"I think that's all."

He stood up, then hesitated.

"Excuse me, but I've been wondering.

What are you doing with those pictures of Jack Kayles? "

"Who?"

Sam pointed to the black-and-white photographs.

"There That's Jack Kayles."

' You know this man? "

"Not to say know like being friends, but he's been in and oui of the marina."

"Sam, you've just earned yourself a bonus." I pushed a photograph across the desk.

"Now, sit down and tell me everything you know about him."

Sam picked it up.

"Not a good picture," he commented "But it's Kayles, all right. He's a yacht burn; got a sloop a twenty-seven footer, British-built and glass fibre. Usually sails single-handed."

"Where does he keep her?"

"Nowhere and everywhere. She's usually where he happens to be at the time. Kayles can pitch up anywhere, I reckon. He was in New Providence two years ago and told me he'd comes up from the Galapagos, through the Panama Canal, and had worked his way through the islands. He was going on to look at the Florida keys.

He's pretty nandy with a boat. "

"What's she called?"

Sam frowned.

"Now that's a funny thing he changed her name, which is mighty unusual. Most folk are superstitious about that. Two years ago she was called Seaglow, but when I saw her last she was Green Wave."

"Maybe a different boat," I suggested.

"Same boat," said Sam firmly.

I accepted that; Sam knew his boats.

"When was he last in your marina?"

"About three months ago."

"How does Kayles earn his living?"

Sam shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe he crews for pay. I told you; he's a yacht burn. There's plenty like Kayles about. They live on their boats and scratch a living somehow." He thought for a moment.

"Come to think of it, Kayles never seemed short of cash. He paid on the nail for everything. A few bits of chandlery from the shop, fuel, marina fees and all lhat."

"Credit card?"

"No. Always in cash. Always in American dollars, too."

"He's an American?"

"I'd say so. Could be Canadian, but I don't think so. What's all this about, Tom?"

"I have an interest in him," I said un informatively

"Any more you can tell me?"

"Not much to tell," said Sam.

"I just put diesel oil in his boat and took his money. Not much of that, either. He has a pint-sized diesel engine which he doesn't use much; he's one of those guys who prefers the wind a good sailor, like I said."

"Anything at all about Kayles will be useful," I said.