"That's well jumpt, thou nimble old man."

lights came up. And fury at this arrant manipulation set a flush in her cheeks that matched those in Mirbethans as the delighted woman turned to inquire breathlessly how Killashandra had enjoyed the concert. The seats were all tilting forward, releasing their occupants once more into the cold cruel world of reality. I have never so totally experienced music before in my life, Mirbethan, Killashandra said in ringing, heartfelt tones. What she felt in her breast was not what the performance was expected to generate. A balanced and professional performance. The artists were magnificent. Excellent adaptations to the Optherian organs. Adaptations? Oh, no, Guildmember, this was the first performance of three brilliant new compositions. Mirbethan said and Killashandra could only goggle at her. That music was totally original? Composed by the performers? Killashandras surprised was misinterpreted by Mirbethan as the proper expression of awe. Lars squeezed her arm warningly and she managed to contain her outrage. A truly brilliant concert, Trag said, joining them as the audience was dispersing. An experience I would not willingly have foregone. Never having heard so much warmth in his voice, Killashandra looked sharply at Trag. Surely, if her symbiont had protected her Now she stared at Trags flushed face, his bright eyes, and noticed that a smile had reshaped his lips. Killashandra grabbed at Larss arm, before anyone else could see her dismay, she pulled them both into the crowd, away from Trag and the two Elders who escorted him Easy, Killa, Lars murmured in her ear. Dont give it away. Not now! But he His hand twisted her fingers cruelly, reminding her of the danger they were in. That last piece will send them all to their beds, alone if necessary, Lars continued, breaking up the sentence into quick short phrases as he hurried her away from the hall. No one is expected to linger. Not after that dose of eroticism. They turned a corner, Killashandra accepting Larss direction. Trags coming. Dont you understand? No one here composed that music. It was all stolen! I know, I know. Yours wasnt stolen. It was original. The only bloody original music Ive heard on this fardling mudball! Shush now, Killa. Only one more corridor and were home safe and then you can rant and rave. I get the cold shower ge digital computer camera first. What and waste the music? She tried to kick him but they were walking so fast she would have lost her balance if shed succeeded. I will not be manipulated and the last word she roared in the privacy of their suite. She was hauling the Beluga spidersilk kaftan over her head as she reached the bathroom door and, flipping on the cold water, stood in its frigid torrent until she could feel her flesh shriveling. Lars pulled her out, handing her a towel as he took her place. I think its a shame to waste all their hard work and effort Did you want to go to bed with an image of Ampris? she demanded at the top of her voice. Oh, I saw Mirbethan, Lars said ingenuously, toweling himself dry. Mirbethan? Yes, didnt you know that was why she was included in your welcoming committee? Shes bi What? Killashandra screeched that at the top of her lungs. Compose yourself, Killashandra Ree, said the cool voice of Trag from the doorway. You and Lars Dahl are in every bit as much danger as you thought. We must talk. Chapter 22 First, Trag said as Killashandra and Lars joined him in the main room, and he pointed to the monitors. Lars held up the jammer. Very good. Secondly, I need to hear an account of your adventures here, Killashandra. Then I can separate the fact from the fiction presented by Ampris and Torkes. Both are clever men. A drink, Killa? Lars asked and his voice was rough with either anger or anxiety. I would appreciate something stronger than that tasteless beer, please, Lars Dahl, Trag said My pleasure. Trag. Killashandra could feel the tension release in her belly and she let out a lungful of air as Trags courteous request gave her a reassuring measure of his attitude. She took a quick pull at the polly liqueur which Lars handed her before he sat on the couch, not touching her but with one arm protectively along the back. She began with her arrival on the Athena and her suspicions about Corish. Nor was she any less than candid about the fit of pique with Optherian bureaucracy which had led her to leave the Conservatory grounds, her subsequent kidnapping, escape, and her second meeting

"Where hat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?

Trag asked, does any one suspect that you are aware of the subliminals? Lars shook his head vigorously. How? I always pretended the correct responses after concerts. Father didnt warn me until I was sent to the Mainland for my education. His warning was accompanied by a description of the retribution I would suffer, from him as well as the Council, if I ever revealed my knowledge unnecessarily. Lars grinned. You may be sure I told no one Besides your father, who knows? Trag asked. Or dont you know that? Lars nodded. Hauness and his intimates. As a trained hypnotherapist, he caught on to the subliminals but had the sense to keep silent. It is quite possible that others in his profession know it, but if they do, they dont broadcast it either. What could they do? Especially when I doubt that many Optherians know that subliminals are against Federated Law! The last was spoken in a bitter tone. Who would suspect that music, the Ultimate Career on Optheria, can be perverted to ensure the perpetuation of a stagnant government? Then there was the almost insoluble problem of trying to get word off Optheria, to someone with sufficient status to get Council attention. Complaint from people who could be considered a few maladjusted citizens and every society has some carries little weight. It was Hauness who devised a way to get messages off Optheria for us. Post hypnotic requests yes, yes, I know, and dont think it was an easy matter for him to violate his ethics as a physician-healer, but we were getting desperate. A suggestion to receive and later mail a letter from the nearest transfer point seemed a minor infraction. I am certain that Hauness only capitulated because Nahia was suffering so much distress. She had to cope with such a devastating increase of suicide potentials. Shes an empath, Trag You must encounter Nahia, Trag, before you leave Optheria, Killashandra said, twining her fingers reassuringly about Larss. He gave her a quick and grateful glance. Thats why, if you would go to Ironwood to check out the organ there, you would surely encounter Nahia and Hauness, Lars said eagerly. I would? Trag asked. Quite likely, if you were suddenly taken ill. Trag regarded him steadily. Crystal singers do not succumb to planet-based diseases. Not even food poisoning? Lars was not to be compare ultra-compact digital cameras deterred. And thats a likelihood if you eat often with the Elders. Or do I mean starvation? Killashandra remarked. That way, you can warn Nahia and Hauness, and they can alert others. Lars leaned forward, eagerly waiting for Trags decision. I couldnt save myself at the expense of my friends. How large a group do you have, Lars Dahl? Trag asked. I dont know at the moment. We had about two thousand, and more were being investigated. The Elders search and seize to find Killashandra reduced our ranks considerably. Regret for having provoked the Elders to such action colored Larss expression. He squared his shoulders, accepting that responsibility. I fervently hope more sacrifices will not be required. Do your islanders perpetrate many outrages on the Main land? Outrages on the Mainland? Lars burst out laughing. We leave the Mainland to stew in its own juice! If you wish to punish an island child, you threaten to send him to a Mainland school. What crimes were being laid on our beaches? Crimes hinted at darkly but never specified, apart from the attack on Killashandra Ampris instigated that Killashandra said angrily. And her abduction. And I have laid that firmly on the shoulders of unknown malfeasants. I thought theyd bought that. They might have if the attachment between you and Lars Dahl was not so apparent, almost as if you were in resonance with each other. However, and Trag went on quickly, Torkes contended that young Lars Dahl could scarcely have found you so conveniently if he had not known where you were. The islands being so numerous and widespread he does not accept coincidence. I think Torkes is in for a large surprise on the mechanics of coincidence, Killashandra said in her most caustic tone. She had poured another stiff drink for herself, trying to dull anger and indignation. Trag, I dont see why the Federated Council cannot act expeditiously This planet is not threatened by destruction. Our much vaunted Federated Council is not much better than the Elders Council, is it? I will do everything in my power, Lars Dahl, to ensure the physical and psychological integrity of your adherents, Trag said. And if that

We'll swim in milk and honey till we drown.

was right. "Well, Miss Ross, what do you think of the latest development?" "Mr Mahler?" She'd slipped up her snow-maskin her case just a gauze and cotton-wool pad with a central breathing aperture -and I had to lean forward to catch her soft voice. "What can one say about anything so-so dreadful. What chance does the poor man have, Dr Mason?" "I've honestly no idea. There are far too many unpredictable factors involved.. . . Did you know that after I'd crossed you off I'd lined him up as number one on my list of suspects?" "But yes, I'm afraid. I fear I'm no sleuth, Miss Ross. I may be long on the empirical, trial and error methodand it at least has had the negative advantage of reducing the number of suspects by twobut I'm pretty short on the deductive." I told her what had happened between Mahler and myself during the brief stop we had made. "And now you're as badly off as ever," she said, when I had finished. "I suppose all we can do now is to sit and wait to see what happens?" "Wait for the axe to fall, you mean?" I said grimly. "Not quite. I haven't much hope from it, but I thought I might try the deductive reasoning act for a change. But before we can deduce, we have to have some facts we can deduce from. And we're very short on facts. That's why I asked you out hereto see if you could help me." "I'll do anything I can, you know that." She lifted her head as the aurora swelled and flamed to the incandescent climax of its performance, and shivered violently as its unearthly beautiful colourings struck a million sparks of coloured light, red and green and yellow and gold, off the ice spicules in the sky. "I don't know why, that makes me feel colder than ever. . . . But I think I've already told you everything I know, everything I can remember, Dr Mason." Tm sure you have. But you may have missed some things just because you couldn't see they mattered anyway. Now, as I see it, we have three big questions looking for an answer. How come the crash in the first place? How was the coffee spiked? How was the radio broken? If we can turn up anything that can throw a light on even one of these, we may be a long way towards finding out what we want to know." Ten freezing minutes later we were still a long way from finding out anything. I'd taken Margaret Ross step by step from the Customs Hall, where she'd met her passengers, to the plane where she had settled them down, flown with them to Gander, watched them go through the same process again, flown them out of Gander, watched her as quiker shutter lag for digital cameras she'd served their evening meal, and still I'd learnt nothing, turned up nothing suspicious, off-beat or abnormal that could even begin to account for the crash. Then, slowly, just as she was describing the serving of the meal, her voice trailed away into silence, and she turned and stared at me. "What's the matter, Miss Ross?" "Of course," she said softly. "Of course! What a fool I am! Now I see. "What do you see?" I demanded. "The coffee. How it was tampered with. I'd just served Colonel Harrisonhe was in the rear seat, so he was the last to be served -when he wrinkled his nose and asked if I could smell something burning. I couldn't, but I made some sort of joke about something burning on the galley hotplate and I'd just got back there when I heard the Colonel calling, and when I looked round he had the door of the starboard washroom open and smoke was coming out. Not much, just a little. I called the captain, and he hurried aft to see what it was, but it was nothing serious, just a few papers burningsomebody had been careless with a cigarette, I suppose." "And everybody rose out of their seats and crowded to have a look?" I asked grimly. "Yes. Captain Johnson ordered them all back to their seats -they were upsetting the trim of the plane." "And you didn't think this worth mentioning to me," I said heavily. "No importance at all?" "I'm sorry. Itit did seem unimportant, unrelated to anything. That was hours before the crash, so" "It doesn't matter. Who could have gone into the galley then -anybody in the front seats, I suppose?" "Yes. They all seemed to crowd down past the middle" "They? Who were 'They'?" "I don't know. Whatwhy do you ask?" "Because by knowing who was there, we might find out who wasn't." "I'm sorry," she repeated helplessly. "I was a little upset for a moment, then Captain Johnson was in front of me shooing everybody back to their seats and I couldn't see." "All right." I changed my approach. "This was the men's washroom, I take it?" "Yes. The powder room

His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

with next to no adhesion left on the steepening slope of ice, accelerated with dismaying speed, soon outdistancing us. At first it seemed as if Smallwood was making some attempt to steer it, but it was obvious almost immediately that any such attempts were utterly useless: five tons of steel ran amok, it was completely out of control, skidding violently first to one side then the other, finally making a complete half-circle and sliding backward down the glacier at terrifying speed, following the slope of the ice which led from the right-hand side where we had been standing to the big nunataks thrusting up through the ice on the far left-hand corner of the dog-leg half-way down. How it missed all the crevassesit went straight across some narrow ones, thanks to its treadsand all the ice-mounds on the way down and across the glacier I shall never know, but miss them it did, increasing speed with every second that passed, its treads screeching out a shrilly metallic cacophony of sound as they scored their serrated way across and through the uneven ice of the glacier. But then, I shall never know either how Jackstraw and I survived all the crazy chances we took on our mad headlong run down that glacier, unable to stop, leaping across crevasses we would never have dared attempt in our normal minds, pounding our sliding way alongside others where the slip of either foot would have been our death. We were still two hundred yards behind the tractor when, less than fifty yards from the corner, it struck an ice-mound, spun round crazily several times and then smashed, tail first, with horrifying force into the biggest of the nunataksa fifty-foot pinnacle of rock at the very corner. We were still over a hundred yards away when we saw Small wood, obviously dazed, half-fall out of the still upright driving cabin, hat-box in hand, followed by the girl. Whether she flung herself at him or just stumbled against him it was impossible to say, but both of them slipped and fell together and next moment had disappeared from sight against the face of the nunatak. Still fifty yards away, already trying all we could to brake ourselves, we heard the staccato roar of cannon shells seemingly directly above us and as I flung myself flat on the ice, not to avoid the fire but to stop myself before I, too, plunged into the crevasse by the nunatak where I knew Margaret and Smallwood must have disappeared, I caught a glimpse of two Scimitars hurtling low across the glacier, red fire streaking from their guns. For a panasonic digital camera dmcfx7 moment, rolling over and over, I saw no more, then I had another glimpse of the lower part of the glacier, of exploding cannon shells raking a lethal barrier of fragmenting steel across the glacier's entire width, and, about sixty or seventy yards lower down, the men from the trawler lying flat on their faces to escape the whistling flying shrapnel. Even in that brief moment I had time to see a third Scimitar screaming down out of the north, exactly following the path of the other two. They were making no attempt to kill the trawler men, obviously they were under the strictest instructions to avoid any but the most necessary bloodshed. And it wasn't necessary, if ever anything was crystal clear it was the fact that we weren't going to have any trouble at all from those trawler men. Both men and trawler could depart now, unmolested: with the missile mechanism beyond their reach, they no longer mattered. Ten yards ahead of Jackstraw, sick to the heart and almost mad with fear, I reached the crevasse by the nunatakno more than a three-foot wide gap between ice and rockpeered down over the side, and as I peered I felt faint from the wave of relief that swept over me: the crevasse, narrowing as it went down to not much more than two feet, ended about fifteen feet down in a solid shelf of rock, a ledge sculpted by thousands of years of moving, grinding ice. Margaret and Smallwood were still on their feet, shaky, I could see, but seemingly unharmedit had been a short drop and they could have slowed their descent by pressing against both sides of the crevasse as they fell. Smallwood, flattened lips drawn back over his teeth, was staring up at me, his pistol barrel pressed savagely against Margaret's temple. "A rope, Mason!" he said softly. "Get me a rope. This crevasse is closingthe ice is moving!" And it was, I knew it was. All glaciers moved, some of them, on this West Greenland coast, with astonishing speedthe great Upernivik glacier, farther north, covered over four feet every hour. As if in confirmation of his words, the ice beneath my feet groaned and shuddered and slid forward a couple of inches. "Hurry up!" Smallwood's incomparable nerve held to the last, his voice was urgent but completely under control, his face tight-lipped but calm. "Hurry up or I'll kill her!" I knew he meant it absolutely. "Very well," I said calmly. My

Fury said to a mouse,

away, opening gradually, reluctantly as the fingers of a drowning man releasing their final hold on a spar of wood. There was no fear now, only a vast and heedless indifference as his hands slipped away and he fell like a stone, twenty vertical feet into the cradling bottleneck at the foot of the chimney. He himself made no sound, none at all: the soundless scream of agony never passed his lips, for the blackness came with the pain: but the straining ears of the men crouching in the rocks above caught clearly the dull, sickening crack as his right leg fractured cleanly in two, snapping like a rotten bough. CHAPTER 6 02000600 The German patrol was everything that Mallory had fearedefficient, thorough and very, very painstaking. It even had imagination, in the person of its young and competent sergeant, and that was more dangerous still. There were only four of them, in high boots, helmets and green, grey and brown mottled capes. First of all they located the telephone and reported to base. Then the young sergeant sent two men to search another hundred yards or so along the cliff, while he and the fourth soldier probed among the rocks that paralleled the cliff. The search was slow and careful, but the two men did not penetrate very far into the rocks. To Mallory, the sergeant's, reasoning was obvious and logical. If the sentry had gone to sleep or taken ill, it was unlikely that he would have gone far in among that confused jumble of boulders. Mallory and the others were safely back beyond their reach. And then came what Mallory had fearedan organised, methodical inspection of the cliff-top itself: worse stifi, it began with a search along the very edge. Securely held by his three men with interlinked armsthe last with a hand hooked round his beltthe sergeant walked slowly along the rim, probing every inch with the spotlit beam of a powerful torch. Suddenly he stopped short, exclaimed suddenly and stooped, torch and face only inches from the ground. There was no question as to what he had foundthe deep gouge made in the soft, crumbling soil by the climbing rope that had been belayed round the boulder and gone over to the edge of the cliff. . . . Softly, silently, Mallory and his three companions straightened to their knees or to their feet, gun barrels lining along the tops of boulders or peering out between cracks in the rocks. There was no doubt in any of their minds that Stevens was lying there helplessly in the crutch of the chimney, seriously olympus camedia digital camera d-360l injured or dead. It needed only one German carbine to point down that cliff face, however carelessly, and these four men would die. They would have to die. The sergeant was stretched out his length now, two men holding his legs. His head and shoulders were over the edge of the cliff, the beam from his torch stabbing down the chimney. For ten, perhaps fifteen seconds, there was no sound on the cliff-top, no sound at all, only the high, keening moan of the wind and the swish of the rain in the stunted grass. And then the sergeant had wriggled back and risen to his feet, slowly shaking his head. Mallory gestured to the others to sink down behind the boulders again, but even so the sergeant's soft Bavarian voice carried clearly in the wind. "It's Ehrich all right, poor fellow." Compassion and anger blended curiously in the voice. "I warned him often enough about his carelessness, about going too near the edge of that cliff. It is very treacherous." Instinctively the sergeant stepped back a couple of feet and looked again at the gouge in the soft earth. "That's where his heel slippedor 'maybe the butt of his carbine. Not that it matters now." "Is he dead, do you think, Sergeant?" The speaker was only a boy, nervous and unhappy. "It's hard to say.. . . Look for yourself." Gingerly the youth lay down on the cliff-top, peering cautiously over the lip of the rock. The other soldiers were talking among themselves, in short staccato sentences, when Mallory turned to Miller, cupped his hands to his mouth and the American's ear. He could contain his puzzlement no longer. "Was Stevens wearing his dark suit when you left him?" he whispered. "Yeah," Miller whispered back. "Yeah, I think he was." A pause. "No, thmmit, I'm wrong. We both put on our rubber camouflage capes about the same time." Mallory nodded. The waterproofs of the Germans were almost identical with their own: and the sentry's hair, Mallory remembered, had been jet blackthe same colour as Stevens's dyed hair. Probably all that was visible from above was a crumpled, cape-shrouded figure and a dark head. The sergeant's mistake in identity was more than understandable: it was inevitable. The young soldier eased himself back from the edge of the cliff and hoisted himself carefully to his feet. "You're right, Sergeant. It is Ebrich." The boy's voice

We'll swim in milk and honey till we drown.

almost took them off their hinges. The sentry at the keyboard looked at him in astonishment, the barrel of his sub-machine-gun lining up on the New Zealander's chest. "Put that thing down, you damned idiot!" Mallory snapped furiously. "Where's the commandant? Quickly, you oaf! It's life or death!" "HerrHerr Kominandant?" the sentry stuttered. "He's leftthey are all gone, just a minute ago." "What? All gone?" Mallory was staring at him with narrowed, dangerous eyes. "Did you say 'all gone'?" he asked softly. "Yes. II'm sure they're . . ." He broke off abruptly as Mallory's eyes shifted to a point behind his shoulder. "Then who the hell is that?" Mallory demanded savagely. The sentry would have been less than human not to fall for it. Even as he was swinging round to look, the vicious judo cut took him just below the ear. Mallory had smashed open the glass of the keyboard before the unfortunate guard bad bit the floor, swept all the keysabout a dozen in alloff their rings and into his pocket. It took them another twenty seconds to tape the man's mouth and hands and lock him in a convenient cupboard; then they were on their way again, still running. One more obstacle to overcome, Mallory thought as they pounded along in the darkness, the last of the triple defences. He did not know how many men would be guarding the locked door to the magazine, and in that moment of fierce exaltation he didn't particularly care. Neither, he felt sure, did Miller. There were no worries now, no taut-nerved tensions or nameless anxieties. Mallory would have been the last man in the world to admit it, or even believe it, but this was what men like Miller and himself had been born for. They had their hand-torches out now, the powerful beams swinging in the wild arcs as they plunged along, skirting the massed batteries of A.A. guns. To anyone observing their approach from the front, there could have been nothing more calculated to disarm suspicion than the sight and sound of the two men running towards them without any attempt at concealment, one of them shouting to the other in German, both with lit torches whose beams lifted and fell, lifted and fell as the men's arms windmilled by their sides. But these same torches were deeply hooded, and only a very alert observer indeed would have noticed that the downward arc of the lights never passed backwards beyond the runners' feet. Suddenly Mallory saw two shadows detaching themselves from the darker shadow of the nikon coolpix s51 digital camera magazine entrance, steadied his torch for a brief second to check. He slackened speed. "Right!" he said softly. "Here they comeonly two of them. One eachget as close as possible first. Quick and quieta shout, a shot, and we're finished. And for God's sake don't start clubbing 'em with your torch. There'll be no lights on in that magazine and I'm not going to start crawling around there with a box of bloody matches in my hand!" He transferred his torch to his left hand, pulled out his Navy Colt, reversed it, caught it by the barrel, brought up sharply only inches away from the guards now running to meet them. "Are you all right?" Mallory gasped. "Anyone been here? Quickly, man, quickly!" "Yes, yes, we're all right." The man was off guard, apprehensive. "What in the name of God is all that noise" "Those damned English saboteurs!" Mallory swore viciously. "They've killed the guards and they're inside! Are you sure no one's been here? Come, let me see." He pushed his way past the guard, probed his torch at the massive padlock, then straightened his back. "Thank heaven for that anyway!" He turned round, let the dazzling beam of his torch catch the man square in the eyes, muttered an apology and switched off the light, the sound of the sharp click lost in the hollow, soggy thud of the heel of his Colt catching the man behind the ear, just below the helmet. The sentry was still on his feet, just beginning to crumple, when Mallory staggered as the second guard reeled into him, staggered, recovered, clouted him with the Colt for good measure, then stiffened in sudden dismay as he heard the vicious, hissing plop of Miller's automatic, twice in rapid succession. "What the hell" "Wily birds, boss," Miller murmured. "Very wily indeed, There was a third character in the shadows at the side. Only way to stop him." Automatic cocked in his ready hand, he stooped over the man for a moment, then straightened. "Afraid he's been stopped kinda permanent, boss." There was no expression in his voice. "Tie up the others." Mallory had only half-heard him; he was already busy at the magazine door, trying a succession of keys in the lock. The third key fitted, the lock opened and the heavy steel door gave easily to his touch. He took a last swift look round, but there was no one in sight, no sound but the revving, engine of the last of the trucks clearing the fortress

Though grief and passion there rebel;

Back in twenty minutes." As the door closed behind the last of them and I broke open a roll of bandage, the old lady looked quizzically at me. "Know what you're doing, young man?" "More or less. I'm a doctor." "Doctor, hey?" She looked at me with open suspicion, and what with my bulky, oil-streaked and smelly furs, not to mention the fact that I hadn't shaved for three days, I suppose there was justification enough for it. "You sure?" "Sure I'm sure," I said irritably. "What do you expect me to dowhip my medical degree out from under this parka or just wear round my neck a brass plate giving my consulting hours?" "We'll get along, young man," she chuckled. She patted my arm, then turned to the young girl. "What's your name, my dear?" "Helene." We could hardly catch it, the voice was so low: her embarrassment was positively painful. "Helene? A lovely name." And indeed, the way she said it made it sound so. "You're not British, are you? Or American?" "I'm from Germany, madam." "Don't call me 'madam'. You know, you speak English beautifully. Germany, hey? Bavaria, for a guess?" "Yes." The rather plain face was transfigured in a smile, and I mentally saluted the old lady for the ease with which she was distracting the young girl's thoughts from the pain. "Munich. Perhaps you know it?" "Like the back of my hand," she said complacently. "And not just the Hofbrauhaus either. You're still very young, aren't you?" "I'm seventeen." "Seventeen." A nostalgic sigh. "Ah, my dear, I remember when I was seventeen. A different world. There was no trans-Atlantic airliner in those days, I can tell you." "In fact," I murmured, "the Wright brothers were hardly airborne." The face had been more than familiar to me, and I was annoyed that I should have taken so long in placing it: I suppose it was because her normal setting was so utterly different from this bleak and frozen world. "Being insulting, young man?" she queried. But there was no offence in her face. "I can't imagine anyone ever insulting you. The world was at your feet even in the Edwardian days, Miss LeGarde." "You know me, then?" She seemed genuinely pleased. "It would be difficult to find anyone who doesn't know the name of Marie LeGarde." I nodded at the fuji fine pix s700 digital camera young girl. "See, Helene knows it too." And it was clear from the awe-struck expression on the young German girl's face that the name meant as much to her as to me. Twenty years queen of the music-hall, thirty years queen of the musical comedy stage, beloved wherever she was known less for her genius than for the innate kindliness and goodness which she tried to conceal from the world with a waspish tongue, * for the half-dozen orphanages she maintained in Britain and Europe, Marie LeGarde was one of the few truly international names in the world of entertainment. "Yes, yes, I see you know my name." Marie LeGarde smiled at me. "But how did you know me?" "From your photograph, naturally. I saw it in Life the other week, Miss LeGarde." " 'Marie', to my friends." "I don't know you," I protested. "I paid a small fortune to have that photograph retouched and made briefly presentable," she answered obliquely. "It was a splendid photograph, inasmuch as it bore precious little resemblance to the face that I carry about with me. Anyone who recognises me from that is my friend for life. Besides," she smiled, "I bear nothing but the most amicable feelings towards people who save my life." I said nothing, just concentrated on finishing the job of strapping up Helene's arm and shoulders as quickly as possible: she was blue with cold, and shivering uncontrollably. But she hadn't uttered a murmur throughout, and smiled gratefully at me when I was finished. Marie LeGarde regarded my handiwork approvingly. "I really do believe you have picked up some smattering of your trade along the way, Doctorah" "Mason. Peter Mason, Peter to my friends." " 'Peter' it shall be. Come on, Helene, into your clothes as fast as you like." Fifteen minutes later we were back in the cabin. Jackstraw went to unharness the dogs and secure them to the tethering cable, while Joss and I helped the two women down the ice-coated steps from the trap-door. But I had no sooner reached the foot of the steps than I had forgotten all about Marie LeGarde and Helene and was staring unbelievingly at the tableau before me. I was just vaguely aware of Joss by my shoulder, and anger and dismay on his face slowly giving way to a kind of