Free Death in the Andamans by M. M. Kaye

us altogether. Or fizzle out before it gets here.’
    â€˜Perhaps,’ said Valerie shortly: ‘But I don’t like the look of it at all. Come on, we’d better go down.’ She turned and ran for the garden, where a discussion was already in progress as to who should sail home and who go by car.
    George Beamish and Amabel Withers, Ted Norton of the police and Surgeon-Lieutenant Dan Harcourt of H.M.S. Sapphire having elected to return by road, Hamish was busy collecting substitute yachtsmen, and Copper arrived in excellent time to see Mrs Stock take playful possession of Nick Tarrent’s arm and demand to be taken back with him in Dan Harcourt’s place: ‘And don’t try and put me off, Nick!’ she announced gaily, smiling up into his eyes and wagging a roguish and admonitory finger. ‘I’m not a bit afraid of storms and I just adore sailing! And you needn’t pretend that you are taking anyone else, because Dan has only this minute decided to drive back. Haven’t you, Dan?’
    â€˜Dear Ruby!’ murmured Charles gently.
    Hamish’s voice made itself plaintively audible above the general babel: ‘Then that’s fixed, is it? Stock, and I are taking one boat, Ronnie and Rosamund and Ferrers another, and Tarrent and Ruby and Shilto will take the third. All right?’
    â€˜Cautious chap, Nick,’ commented Charles: ‘Bang goes Ruby’s tête-à-tête!’
    Copper laughed and unaccountably felt her heart grow several degrees lighter. She would not have admitted even to herself quite how apprehensive she was becoming of Mrs Stock’s determined and mature attractions. The eight yachtsmen packed themselves into the lorry and departed, while the remainder of the party set about collecting rugs and picnic-baskets in a leisurely manner. They would take less time to return by road than those who were sailing back across the bay, and since the majority of them intended to catch the six-thirty ferry from Aberdeen to Ross they could allow themselves another half hour on Harriet.
    The conversation turned naturally to Home — for this was Christmas Eve and the acute nostalgia of the Exile for familiar scenes and the years that have been and will return no more, seized achingly on the little group under the frangipani trees. Memories of other Christmases. Of holly and mistletoe, mince pies and carol singers. Even Copper was conscious of a brief pang of homesickness, and for a fleeting moment Nick, Valerie and Charles, the green islands and the enchanted sea grew dim and unreal, and she was a child again, climbing on to a nursery chair to hang gay, glass balls on a Christmas tree …
    She shook herself as though to be rid of the memory, and having helped to stow the last of the rugs in the cars, strolled to the far edge of the lawn where the breeze which had strengthened at the approach of sunset blew her ash-blond hair into a tangled halo about her head. Below and to her left on the quiet sea off North Bay a tiny white sailing-boat was moving sluggishly towards Ross. It was too far out to be one belonging to the Mount Harriet party, and Copper imagined it must be Valerie’s father returning from a peaceful and private afternoon’s sailing. She watched it idly for a few moments, and then as her eyes strayed beyond it, stiffened suddenly to alarmed attention.
    They heard her calling from the far side of the pepper trees, but the breeze took the words away, blurring them to unintelligible sounds. ‘What do you suppose she wants?’ inquired Valerie: ‘Charles darling, do have a good look round and see that we haven’t left anything.’
    Copper reappeared suddenly, running across the lawn, and said breathlessly: ‘Come and look at this!’ She dragged Valerie at a run to the far side of the garden, the others following more slowly: ‘Look!’ said Copper, still agitated. They looked in silence; gazing in