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He had difficulty in co-ordinating his thoughts and with a deliberate and conscious effort he pushed the memories of the day's events back into the recesses of his mind and concentrated on the present. O'Hara - that was it. O'Hara should have awakened him. He cautiously felt his way through the cabin and went on deck.

The night sky was dark and there was no moon, but the stars glittered coldly except to the east where they were obscured by heavy cloud. He walked to the rail and stood listening to the small sounds of the night, and the rich, pungent stench of the marsh filled his nostrils and he felt better. A light mist curled over the water, obscuring the surface, and hope flickered in his mind. His hands gripped the rail convulsively and he peered at the mist and wondered if it would thicken.

Behind him he was aware of heavy breathing and then a small, broken snore. He crouched down and discovered O'Hara asleep, his head against the wheelhouse, an empty bottle of rum on the deck beside him.

For a moment anger lifted in Hagen's throat and then he relaxed completely, drained of all emotion. Charlie had been right in the beginning. You couldn't rely on a rum-soaked old man, not even when danger threatened. He left him there and moved to the wheelhouse to check the time. It was a little after one o'clock. He went back on deck and stood at the rail thinking, and he shivered suddenly as a small wind began to creak through the reeds with a sibilant whispering. He became aware for the first time that his clothing was still damp and he went back into the cabin and undressed quickly. He towelled his tender body briskly and pulled on dry pants and a heavy woollen sweater and moved quietly into the girl's cabin.

He listened for a moment to her regular breathing and then went into the galley and began to prepare coffee on the stove. He covered the small port-holes with a blanket and turned on the light, and then he quietly brought all the remaining arms through from his cabin and began to check them. As he carefully reloaded the remaining sub-machine-gun there was a slight noise and he looked up sharply. Rose stood in the doorway. She was swathed in one of her blankets and somehow she looked completely defenceless. Her eyes had sunk back into their sockets and she looked desperately ill and exhausted. Hagen put down the weapon quickly and stood up. 'You look pretty rough,' he said. 'Sit here.' He gently moved her to a seat and went to the stove.

As he prepared the coffee she said: 'I want to apologize. I caused you a lot of trouble.' He ignored the opening and kept his back to her and she went on, 'I think I was almost out of my mind.' She coughed heavily and seemed to choke. 'I'll never forget the look on Steve's face when he disappeared under the water.'

Hagen turned and handed her a mug. 'I've put plenty of sugar in it,' he said. 'And I want you to take these pills.'

He took a small box from a drawer and handed her two capsules and she said suspiciously, 'What are they?'

'Don't worry,' he said, reassuringly, 'they're harmless. Benzedrine. They'll give you the energy necessary to get through the rest of this affair.'

She took the capsules without argument and washed them down with coffee. After a while she said, 'Mark, you're sure Steve was ...'

Hagen nodded. 'He was dead before I let go of him. Tsen shot him twice at point-blank range. It was bad luck. Just one of those things.'

She laughed bitterly. 'Just one of those things? He was alive yesterday and now he's dead. That's all I know.'

Hagen lit a cigarette and took a brandy bottle from the cupboard. He poured a generous measure into his coffee and said slowly, 'Look, this may not help you, but Mason didn't think he stood a very good chance of getting back alive.'

She stared at him with tragic eyes and moaned: 'Then why? Why did he come?'

Hagen shrugged. 'He came for the same reason I did. Because it was his last chance. Because there wasn't anything else he could do.'

The silence was