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wonder whether or not our good friend Colonel Lunz is acquainted with the passenger list of the Colombo ?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜We are, of course, prepared for all eventualities?’
    â€˜Certainly. Which ones did you have in mind?’
    â€˜None. We take turns to keep watch in our cabin?’
    â€˜Of course. If we stay in our cabin.’
    â€˜Ah! We have a plan?’
    â€˜We have no plan. What do you think about Lorraine?’
    â€˜Charming. I speak unhesitatingly. A delightful young lady.’
    â€˜I’ve told you before, George. About your advanced years and susceptibility. That wasn’t what I meant. Her presence aboard puzzles me. I can’t see that she belongs in any way to this motley bunch that Carlos is transporting to Ploe.’
    â€˜Motley, eh? First time I’ve ever been called motley. How does she differ?’
    â€˜Because every other passenger on this vessel is up to no good or I strongly suspect them of being up to no good. I suspect her of nothing.’
    â€˜My word!’ George spoke in tones of what were meant to be genuine awe. ‘That makes her unique.’
    â€˜Carlos let us know – he could have been at pains to let us know – that she, too, came from Pescara. Do you think she comes from Pescara, George?’
    â€˜How the devil should I tell? She could come from Timbuktu for all I know.’
    â€˜You disappoint me, George. Or wilfully misunderstand me. I shall be patient. Your unmatched command of the nuances of all those European languages. Was she born or brought up in Pescara?’
    â€˜Neither.’
    â€˜But she is Italian?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜So we’re back in Yugoslavia again?’
    â€˜Maybe you are. I’m not. I’m in England.’
    â€˜What! England?’
    â€˜The overlay of what it pleases the British Broadcasting Corporation to call Southern Standard English is unmistakable.’ George coughed modestly, his smugness could occasionally verge on the infuriating. ‘To the trained ear, of course.’

THREE
    Both Alex and Carlos had made predictions and both had turned out to be wrong or, in Alex’s case, half wrong. He had said, gloomily and accurately, that it was going to be very very cold and at three a.m. that morning none of the passengers on the Colombo would have disagreed with him. The driving snow, so heavy as to reduce visibility to virtually zero, had an uncommonly chilling effect on the torpedo boat, which would have been of no concern to those in an adequately central-heated boat but on this particular one the central-heating unit, as became practically everything else aboard, was functioning at about only one-third degree efficiency and, moreover, had been of a pathetically ancient design in the first place so that for the shivering passengers – and crew – the snow had become a matter for intense concern.
    Alex had been wrong, even if only slightly – and what he had said had been a statement, really, not a fact – when he spoke of an east-north-east wind. It was a north-east wind. To a layman or, indeed, anybody not aboard an elderly torpedo boat, a paltry twentythree degree difference in wind direction might seem negligible: to a person actually aboard such a boat the difference is crucial, marking, as it did for those with inbuilt queasiness, the border-line between the uncomfortable and the intolerable. Had the Colombo been head-on to wind and seas, the pitching would have been uncomfortable: had the seas been on the beam, the rolling would have been even more uncomfortable: but, that night, with the seas two points off the port bow, the resultant wicked corkscrewing was, for the less fortunate, the last straw. For some people aboard the torpedo boat that night, the degree of sea-sickness ranged from the unpleasant to the acute.
    Carlos had predicted that the trip would be quiet and uneventful. At least two people, both, at least outwardly,