"Rotten," said the Duke. He rubbed his stomach.

"Still pretty sore"

"Hunger pains," he said.

"Nothing tonight. Tomorrow, you're back on the strength-forget the tea and toast. By the way, that wasn't very clever of you to send Sandy up to raid the galley. Haggerty nabbed him in the act."

"Sandy? In the galley?" The surprise was genuine. "I didn't send him up.

"Surely he told you he was going there?"

"Not a word. Look, Doc, you can't pin-"

"Nobody's pinning anything on anybody. I must have taken him up wrong. Maybe he just wanted to surprise you-he said something about you feeling peckish."

I said that all right. But honest to God-"

"It's all right. No harm done. Good night."

I retraced my steps, passing Mary Stuart's open door again. She looked at me but said nothing so I did the same. Back in my cabin I looked at my watch. Five minutes only had elapsed, fifteen to go. I was damned if I was going to wait so long, I was feeling tired again, tired enough to drop off to sleep at any moment, but I had to have a reason to go up there. For the first time I devoted some of my rapidly waning powers of thought to the problem and I had the answer in seconds. I opened my medical bag and extracted three of the most essential items it contained-death certificates.

For some odd reason I checked the number that was left-ten. All told, thirteen. I was glad I wasn't superstitious. The certificates and a few sheets of rather splendidly headed ship's note paper-the previous owner hadn't been a man to do things by half-went into my briefcase.

I opened the cabin door wide so as to have some light to see by, checked that the passage was empty and swiftly unscrewed the deckhead lamp.

This I dropped on the deck from gradually increasing heights starting with about a foot or so until a shake of the lamp dose by my car let me hear the unmistakable tinkle of a broken filament. I screwed the now useless lamp back into its holder, took up my briefcase, closed the door and made for the bridge.

The weather, I observed during my very hurried passage across the upper deck and up the bridge ladder, hadn't improved in the slightest.

I had the vague impression that the seas were moderating slightly but that may have been because of the fact that I was feeling so tired that I was no longer capable of registering impressions accurately. But one aspect of the weather was beyond question: the almost horizontally driving snow had increased to the extent that the masthead light was no more than an intermittent glow in the gloom above.

Allison was at the wheel, spending more time looking at the radarscope than at the compass and, visibility being what it was, I could see his point.

I said: "Do you know where the captain keeps his crew lists? In his cabin?"

"No." He glanced over his shoulder. "In the charthouse there." He hesitated . "Why would you want those, Dr. Marlowe?"

I pulled a death certificate from the briefcase and held it close to the binnacle light. Allison compressed his lips.

"Top drawer, port locker."

I found the lists, entered up the name, address, age, place of birth, religion , and next of kin of each of the three dead men, replaced the book and made my way down to the saloon. Half an hour had elapsed since I'd left Gerran, his three co-directors and the Count sitting there, and there all five still were, seated round a table and studying cardboard covered folders spread on the table before them. A pile of those lay on the table, some more were scattered on the floor where the rolling of the ship had obviously precipitated them. The Count looked at me over the rim of his glass: his capacity for brandy was phenomenal.

"Still abroad, my dear fellow? You do labour on our behalf. Much more of this and I suggest that you be co-opted as one of our directors."

"Here's one cobbler that sticks to his last." I looked at Gerran. "Sorry to interrupt, but I've some forms to fill up. If I'm interrupting some private session-"

"Nothing private going on here, I assure you." It was Goin who answered. "Merely studying our shooting script for the next fortnight. All the cast and crew will have one tomorrow. Like a copy?"

"Thank you. After I've finished this. Afraid my cabin light has gone on the blink and I'm not much good at writing by the light of matches."

"We're just leaving." Otto was still looking grey and very tired but he was mentally tough enough to keep going long after his body had told him to stop. I think we could all do with a good night's sleep."

"It's what I would prescribe. You could postpone your departure for five minutes?"

If necessary, of course."

"We've promised Captain Imrie a guarantee or affidavit or what will you exonerating him from all blame if we have any further outbreaks of mysterious illness. He wants it on his breakfast table, and he wants it signed. And as Captain Imrie will be up at 4 A.m. and I suspect his breakfast will be correspondingly early, I suggest it would be more convenient if you all signed it now."

They nodded agreement. I sat at a nearby table and in my "best handwriting , which was pretty bad, and best legal jargon, which was awful, I drafted a statement of responsibility which I thought would meet the case. The others apparently thought so too or were too tired to care, for they signed with only a cursory glance at what I had written. The Count signed too and I didn't as much as raise an eyebrow. It had never even crossed my mind that the Count belonged to those elevated directorial ranks, I had thought that the more highly regarded cameramen, of which the Count was undoubtedly one, were invariably free-lance and therefore ineligible for election to any film company board. But, at least, it helped to explain his lack of proper respect for Otto.

"And now, to bed." Goin eased back his chair. `You, too, Doctor?"

"After I've filled out the death certificates."

"An unpleasant duty." Goin handed me a folder. "This might help amuse you afterwards."

I took it from him and Gerran heaved himself upright with the usual massive effort. "Those funerals, Dr. Marlowe. The burials at sea. What time do they take place?"

"First light is customary." Otto closed his eyes in suffering. "After what you've been through, Mr. Gerran, I'd advise you to give it a miss. Rest as long as possible tomorrow."

"You really think so?" I nodded and Otto removed his mask of suffering.

`You will stand in for me, John?"

"Of course," Goin said. "Good night, Doctor. Thank you for your cooperation!'

"Yes, yes, thank you, thank you," Otto said.

They trooped off unsteadily and I fished out my death certificate forms and filled them out. I put those in one sealed envelope, the signed affidavit -I just in time remembered to add my own signature-in another, addressed them to Captain Imrie and took them up to the bridge to ask Allison to hand them over to the captain when he came on watch at four in the morning. Allison wasn't there. Instead, Smithy, heavily clad and muffled almost to the eyebrows, was sitting on a high stool before the wheel. He wasn't touching the wheel, which periodically spun clockwise and counterclockwise as of its own accord, and he'd turned up the rheostat. He looked pale and had dark circles under his eyes but he didn't have a sick look about him any more. His recuperative powers were quite remarkable.

"Automatic pilot," he explained, almost cheerfully, "and all the lights of home. Who needs night sight in zero visibility?"

"You ought to be in bed," I said shortly.

"I've just come from there and I'm just going there. First Officer Smith is not yet his old self and he knows it. just come up to check position and give Allison a break for coffee. Also, I thought I might find you here. You weren't in your cabin!'