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bar now with my associate. Perhaps you gentlemen would like to meet her?”

SIX
    T he crowd in the bar, although exclusively male, was reasonably well-behaved. There were one or two of the more prosperous locals, some Danish engineers and surveyors who were on the coast to work on government building projects during the short summer season, and a handful of young officers from a Danish Navy corvette that was doing survey work on the coast that year.
    As we pushed our way through, Sarah Kelso was the subject of more than one conversation and I didn’t blame them. Sitting there at a booth in the corner in the half light of the shaded lamp that stood on the table, she looked hauntingly beautiful.
    Her companion stood up as we approached and Vogel introduced him first. “This is Ralph Stratton, an aviation expert from our Claims Department. I thought it might be a good idea to bring an expert along.”
    Stratton was tall and lean with a neatly clipped moustache and the look of a typical ex-RAF type except for the eyes which had the same sort of shine that you get when light gleams on the edge of a cut-throat razor and which contrasted oddly with the slightly effeminate edge to his public school voice. He placed a hand as soft and boneless as any woman’s briefly in mine and Vogel turned to Mrs. Kelso.
    “I’d like you to meet Mr. Martin, my dear, the young man we were told about in Godthaab. I’m hoping he’s going to help us.”
    “In a way Mr. Martin and I have already met,” she said and held my hand for a long moment, the dark eyes full of anxiety. When she carried on, the soft, musical voice was charged with emotion. “I’m afraid the last three or four days have been something of a nightmare. None of this seems real at all.”
    There was a slight silence and Desforge said quietly, “Maybe I’d better see you later, Joe.”
    “Not at all.” Vogel cut in quickly. “Mr. Jack Desforge, my dear. I’m sure you’ve no objection if he stays.”
    She stared up at Desforge in something close to bewilderment. “Now I know I’m dreaming.”
    He patted her hand gently. “Anything I can do—anything at all. You just name it.”
    She held his hand for even longer than she’d held mine—long enough to hook him good and hard, which was obvious from his face as we all sat down and Vogel snapped his fingers at a hovering waiter and ordered coffee. Desforge gave Sarah Kelso a cigarette and she leanedback against the padded wall of the booth, her eyes fixed on me.
    “Mr. Vogel will have told you what all this is about, I suppose?”
    “Except for one thing. I’m still not too clear why you should be here.”
    Vogel said: “I would have thought that was obvious, Mr. Martin. The whole point of our investigation is to determine the identity of the second man found in the wreck beyond reasonable doubt. Is he the mysterious Mr. Harrison, whoever he was—and that has yet to be determined—or Jack Kelso? It seems to me that Mrs. Kelso is the only person who can give an opinion on that point with any certainty.”
    “By going out there and viewing the body?” I said, and laughed out loud. “Considering Mrs. Kelso’s vested interest in a positive identification, I must say you show a touching faith in human nature for a businessman, Mr. Vogel.”
    Surprisingly it was Desforge who reacted first. “That’s a hell of a thing to say,” he said angrily.
    Sarah Kelso put a hand on his arm as if to hold him in check. “No, Mr. Desforge, your friend has made an obvious point. If that body is not my husband’s then I am in a very difficult position. Mr. Vogel is well aware of that.”
    He leaned across the table and for a moment they might have been completely alone. “You know I’ll do everything in my power to help you, my dear, but you must know also that my hands are tied.”
    She smiled gently and turned to me. “I have twoyoung sons, Mr. Martin, did you know that?”
    “No, I didn’t, Mrs. Kelso.”
    “Then