They found nothing. They searched every living quarter, every wardrobe and cupboard, every case and duffel bag, every nook and cranny, and they found nothing. A rather awkward moment had arisen when Captain Andropolous, a burly, dark-bearded and seemingly intemperate character who had been given one of the empty cabins normally reserved for recuperating patients, objected violently and physically to having his quarters searched: McKinnon, who had no Greek, resolved this impasse by pointing his Colt at the Captain’s temple, after which, probably realizing that McKinnon wasn’t acting for his own amusement, the Captain had been co-operation itself, even to going to the extent of accompanying the Bo’sun and ordering his crew to open up their possessions for scrutiny.
The two Singhalese cooks in the hospital galleys were more than competent and Dr Singh, who appeared to be something of a connoisseur in such matters, produced some Bordeaux that would not have been found wanting in a Michelin restaurant, but poor justice was done to the food arid, more surprisingly, the wine at dinner that evening. The atmosphere was sombre. There was an uneasiness about, even a faint air of furtiveness. It is one thing to be told that there is a saboteur at large: it is quite another to have your luggage and possessions searched on the basis of the possibility that you might be the saboteur in question. Even, or perhaps especially, the hospital staff seemed unduly uncomfortable: their possessions had not been searched so they were not, officially, in the clear. An irrational reaction it may have been but, in the circumstances, understandable.
Patterson pushed back his unfinished plate and said to Dr Singh: ‘This Lieutenant Ulbricht. Is he awake?’
‘He’s more than awake.’ Dr Singh sounded almost testy. ‘Remarkable recuperative powers. Wanted to join us for dinner. Forbade it, of course. Why?’ –
‘The Bo’sun and I would like to have a word with him.’
‘No reason why not.’ He pondered briefly. ‘Two possible minor complications. Sister Morrison is there – she’s just relieved Sister Maria for dinner.’ He nodded towards the end of the table where a fair-haired, high-cheekboned girl in a sister’s uniform was having dinner. Apart from Stephen Przybyszewski she was the only Polish national aboard and as people found her surname of Szarzynski, like Stephen’s, rather difficult, she was invariably and affectionately referred to as Sister Maria.
‘We’ll survive,’ Patterson said. ‘The other complication?’
‘Captain Bowen. Like Lieutenant Ulbricht, he has a high tolerance to sedatives. Keeps surfacing – longer and longer spells of consciousness and when he is awake he’s in a very bad humour. Who has ever seen Captain Bowen in ill humour?’
Patterson rose. ‘If I were the Captain I wouldn’t be very much in the mood for singing and dancing. Come on, Bo’sun.’
They found the Captain awake, very much so, and, indeed, in a more than irritable frame of mind. Sister Morrison was seated on a stool by his bedside. She made to rise but Patterson waved to her to remain where she was. Lieutenant Ulbricht was half-sitting, half-lying in the next bed, his right hand behind his neck: Lieutenant Ulbricht was very wide awake.
‘How do you feel, Captain?”
‘How do I feel, Chief?’ Briefly and forcefully Bowen told him how he felt. He would no doubt have expressed himself even more forcefully had he not been aware that Sister Morrison was sitting by his side. He raised a bandaged hand to cover a cough. ‘All’s gone to hell and breakfast, isn’t it, Chief?’
‘Well, yes, things could be better.’
‘Things couldn’t be worse.’ Captain Bowen’s words were blurred and indistinct: speaking through those blistered lips had to be agonizing. ‘Sister has told me. Even the boat compass smashed. Flannelfoot.’
‘Flannelfoot?’
‘He’s still around. Flannelfoot.’
‘Flannelfeet,’ McKinnon said.
‘Archie!’ It said much for the Captain’s state of mind that, . for the first time ever, he had, in company, addressed the Bo’sun by his first name. ‘You’re here.’
‘Bad pennies, sir.’
‘Who’s on watch, Bo’sun?’
‘Naseby, sir.’
That’s all right. Flannelfeet?’
‘There’s more than one, sir. There has to be. I know. I don’t know how I know, but I know.’
‘You never mentioned this to me,’ Patterson said.
‘That’s because I didn’t think about it until now. And there’s another thing I didn’t think about until now. Captain Andropolous.’
‘The Greek master,’ Bowen said. ‘What about him?’
‘Well, sir, you know we’re having a little trouble with the navigation?’
‘A little? That’s not how Sister Morrison tells it.’
‘Well, then, a lot. We thought Captain Andropolous might give us a hand if we could communicate with him. But we can’t. Maybe we don’t have to. Maybe if we just show him your sextant, Captain, and give him a chart, that might be enough. Trouble is, the chart’s ruined. Blood.’
‘No problem,’ Bowen said. ‘We always carry duplicates. It’ll be under the table or in the drawers at the after end of the chart room.’
‘I should be back in fifteen minutes,’ the Bo’sun said.
It took him considerably longer and, when he did return, his set face and the fact that he was carrying with him the sextant in its box and a chart bespoke a man who had come to report the failure of a mission. Patterson said: ‘No co-operation? Or Flannelfoot?’ ‘Flannelfoot. Captain Andropolous was lying on his bunk, snoring his head off. I tried to shake him but I might as well have shaken a sack of potatoes. My first thought was that the same person who had been to attend to Trent had also been to see the captain, but there was no smell of chloroform. 1 fetched Dr Singh, who said he had been heavily drugged.’
‘Drugged!’ Bowen tried to express astonishment but his voice came out as a croak. ‘God’s sake, is there no end to it? Drugged! How in heaven’s name could he have been drugged?’
‘Quite easily, it would seem, sir. Dr Singh didn’t know what drug it was but he said he must have taken it with something he’d eaten or drunk. We asked Achmed, the head cook, if the captain had had anything different to eat from the rest of us and he said he hadn’t but also said that he had coffee afterwards. Captain Andropolous had his own idea as to how coffee should be made- half coffee, half brandy. Dr Singh said that that amount of brandy would have disguised the taste of any drug he knows of. There was a cup and saucer by the captain’s bunkside table. It was empty.’
‘Ah.’ Patterson looked thoughtful. ‘There must have been dregs. I know nothing about those things, of course, but couldn’t Dr Singh have analysed those dregs?’
‘There were none. The captain could have done it himself – washed the cup, I mean. More likely, 1 think it was Flannelfoot covering his tracks. There was no point in making enquiries about who might or might not have been seen going into or leaving the captain’s cabin.’
‘No communication, is that it?’ Patterson said. ‘That’s it. Only his own crew were around at the time.’ Patterson said: ‘Assuming that our saboteur has been at work again – and I don’t think we can assume anything else – where the hell would he have got hold of powerful drugs like this?’
‘Where did he get hold of the chloroform? I would think that Flannelfoot is well-stocked with what he considers essentials. Maybe he’s not only a bit of a chemist, too. Maybe he knows what to look for in the dispensary.’
‘No,’ Bowen said. ‘I asked Dr Singh. The dispensary is kept locked.’
‘Yes, sir,” McKinnon said. ‘But if this person is a professional, a trained saboteur, then among what he rates essentials I would think that a set of skeleton keys comes pretty high on his list.’
‘My cup overfloweth,’ Bowen mumbled. ‘As I said, all gone to hell and breakfast. If the weather breaks down much more, and I understand it’s doing just that, we can end up any place. Coast of Norway, most like.’
‘May I speak, Captain?’ It was Lieutenant Ulbricht.
Bowen twisted his head to one side, an ill-advised move that made him grunt in pain. ‘Is that Lieutenant Ulbricht?’ There was little encouragement in his voice and,,had his eyes not been bandaged, it was quite certain that there would have been none there either.
‘Yes, sir. I can navigate.’
‘You are very kind, Lieutenant.’ Bowen tried to sound icy but his blistered mouth wasn’t up to it. ‘You’re the last person in the world I would ever turn to for help. You have committed a crime against humanity.’ He paused for some seconds but it was no pause for reflection, a combination of anger and pain was making speech very difficult. ‘If we get back to Britain you will be shot. You? God!’
McKinnon said: ‘I can understand how you feel, sir. Because of his bombs, fifteen men are dead. Because of his bombs, you are the way you are. So are the Chief Officer, Hudson and Rafferty. But I still think you should listen to him.’