Night Without End by Alistair MacLean Page A

impossible, surely, that she had genuinely imagined that we were in Iceland. Or was it? 
         
         My thoughts were spinning now in an unbreakable circle. I knew I was getting nowhere, couldn't possibly get anywhere without some fresh information. As it was, I was only confusing myself the more with the passing of every moment. I gave it up then, promising myself that from now on I would watch her every possible minute of the day. I looked at her again, covertly, and she was staring vacantly at one of the glowing embers of the stove. Planning her next move, no doubt, planning it as cleverly as the last: asking me last night about the pilot's chances of survival, doubtless to decide whether he would have to be killed or could safely be left to die, had been clever enough, but insisting on sleeping next to the man she had meant to kill had been nothing short of brilliant. On that account alone no one would ever suspect her, even if the fact that it had been murder became known. And it wouldn't: I intended keeping that to myself. Or did she suspect I suspected? Heaven only knew. All I knew was that she must be playing for tremendous stakes. Or that she was mad. 
         
         It was just after eleven o'clock. Joss and Jackstraw were in a corner by themselves, stripping down the smashed transmitter, while the rest were grouped in a large semi-circle round the stove. They looked wan and sickly and were sitting very still indeed. They looked unwell because the first greyness of the noon twilight was stealing through our rimed skylights and it did unflattering things to any complexion: and they sat so still because I had just explained to them in detail exactly what their situation was, and they didn't like it one little bit. Neither did I. 
          
         "Let's get this quite straight, Dr Mason." Corazzini leant forward, his lean brown face intent and serious. He was worried all right, but he wasn't scared. Corazzini didn't look as if he would scare easily: I had the idea that he would be a pretty good man to have around. "The others left here three weeks ago in a big modern Sno-Cat, and aren't expected back for another three weeks. You've overstayed your welcome on the ice-cap, you say, and things have been cut a trifle too fine - you had already started rationing yourselves to make your food spin out until they returned. With thirteen of us here we have food for less than five days. Therefore we may be a fortnight without food before they return." He smiled, but there was no humour in it. "My arithmetic is correct, Dr Mason?" 
         
         "It is, unfortunately." 
         
         "How long would the tractor you have take to get to the coast?" 
         
         "There's no guarantee that it ever would. I told you, it's falling to pieces. I'll show you later. Maybe a week - given the right conditions. Any bad weather would stop it in its tracks." 
         
         "You doctors are all the same," Zagero drawled. "Always spreadin' sweet cheerfulness and light. Why don't we wait for the other machine to get back?" 
         
         "Indeed?" Senator Brewster said heavily. "And how do you propose to live in the meanwhile, Mr Zagero?" 
         
         "People can live for longer than fourteen days without food, Senator," Zagero said cheerfully. "Think what it would do for that figure of yours. Tush, Senator, you surprise me. Too gloomy by half." 
         
         "Not in this case," I said flatly. "The Senator is right. Sure you can live a long time without food in normal conditions. You might even do it here - if you had proper day clothes and night coverings. You haven't - and how many of you have stopped shivering since you came here? Cold burns up your energy and depletes your reserves at a fantastic pace. Do you want me to list all the Arctic and Antarctic explorers - and Himalayan climbers -who have died within forty-eight hours of their food running