Angel's Ransom by David Dodge Page A

midnight visitor, but he had enough to take to Neyrolle. The rest was up to the sous-chef ’s organization, which, as George knew, was highly efficient at routine investigations. All they needed, he thought - and jeered inwardly as he hurried back to the Sûreté Publique - was the kind of a lead a good news-hawk could give them. He was feeling pleased with himself.

    One of the motors was running hot, as Jules had said, but only one. An oil feed line was plugged. It took Blake barely five minutes to clear the block. He used another twenty minutes to check temperatures and pressures, assuring himself that nothing else in the engine-room required immediate attention. He was grateful that Michaud ’s superb care of the Angel ’s motors made trouble improbable.
    But he had other cares besides the motors. Climbing the engine-room ladder after he had finished below, he went over in his mind the list of duties of the crew for which he was now sole substitute. Deck, machin ery, deckhouse, cabins, galley –
    He remembered the stove that was not working, and went forward.
    Marian and Freddy were together in the galley. Marian had managed to get a coffee percolator functioning, and Freddy was drinking black coffee in quantity. From the signs - Marian ’s white face and tight lips, Freddy ’s black scowl - he had had something further to say about her part in the kidnapping. But the subject had been exhausted before Blake got there, and it was not reopened after his arrival. Marian handed him a cup of coffee without a word.
    Freddy looked like death; baggy-eyed, twitchy and grey. His broken finger pained him, and it was obvious that he had not taken his clothes off during the night.
    Blake said, ‘Did you sleep at all?’
    ‘How do you sleep when you can’t sit still? Even when you take the cure, they let you taper off. This way is slow death.’
    ‘I’m sorry about the bar business. It had to be done. Sweat it out for another two days and you can stay drunk for a week afterwards.’
    ‘ Sure .’ Freddy looked into his coffee cup. ‘s ure. If he lets us go.’
    ‘He’ll have got everything out of you he can hope for. There ’s no reason why he shouldn’t let us go.’
    ‘ S ure,’ Freddy said again. ‘There ’s no reason why he shouldn’t leave the bar open, either. He just likes it closed.’
    The cup made a sharp rattling noise against his teeth when he lifted it to drink. He took his injured hand out of its sling to hold the cup clumsily with both hands.
    Blake said, ‘Where is he now?’
    ‘In the salon, the last time I looked. He ’s taken it over.’
    ‘Any chance of your getting to use the radio when he isn’t around?’
    ‘For what?’
    Blake touched the button that controlled the galley ventilation. When the soft roar of the blowers came on to muffle their conversation - he had not forgotten the eaves-dropping of the night before - he said, ‘I’d like to know if there is anything on the air about us. Jules wrecked the radiophone.’
    ‘I don’t see what good it will do us to know even if there is.’ Freddy took another jittery mouthful of coffee. ‘ S am, listen. Forget about the radio. We’ve got to talk about something that ’s more important.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Well, I –’
    Freddy looked sideways at Marian. She said, ‘Do you want me to leave?’
    ‘What I want you to do is jump overboard,’ he answered viciously. ‘I don’t expect that you will. I - I was just wondering - Sam - if we could wreck the motors, say –’
    ‘ S top wondering. We want to get back to Monaco alive. The Angel is the only thing that will take us there. It will all be over in two days, Freddy.’
    ‘But you don’t know - oh, God, I can’t think!’ Freddy put a shaking hand to his forehead. ‘I’m going nuts. If I don’t get a drink of some kind, I’ll jump overboard myself. I can’t stand it!’
    It was impossible not to be sorry for him. His suffering was too real. Blake said reluctantly,