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the hall and shot back the bolt. The door opened and her smile became fixed and enquiring.
    “Hello, Phil,” said Clin. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”
    He looked stiff and respectable in a grey lounge suit, and his manner appeared subdued.
    “Do I have to stay here or will you let me in?” he asked.
    Disarmed, Phil moved aside and indicated the hall seat. “So you really are leaving this time. Tomorrow?”
    “At daybreak. I’m going aboard tonight.”
    “Do Matt and the others know?”
    He shook his head and let it rest against the wall. “They won’t care, except that I’ve done them out of a binge. It’s strange, I’ve never made friends anywhere.”
    “Travelling too much, I expect. People come to recognize you as the flitting type and won’t bother to get to know you properly.”
    “You did,” he said casually.
    “No. I accepted you, that’s all.”
    “Up to a point,” he commented. “You gave my pride a smack the other day—not to mention the knee in my middle. No one would have guessed I’d just paid you the compliment of proposing to you.”
    She laughed and looked out through the open door. “You’ll come across someone more to your taste.”
    “No hope of a last-minute switch-over?”
    “Afraid not, Clin.”
    He shrugged. “So be it. Got a drink to spare?” As she turned uncertainly towards the lounge door he added, “It’s all right, Phil. I won't shanghai you.”
    She said, “What about inviting the men in to wish you bon voyage? ”
    “Matt’s soaking his hide at the waterfront and the other two hate my guts.”
    She got out a bottle of whisky and a tumbler, and as he reached for them she was assailed by a hot gust of liquorsmelling breath.
    “I’ll get you some water,” she murmured quickly.
    “Don’t bother. I prefer it neat.” He raised his glass and his eyes burned at her over the rim. “Here’s to chastity,” he said, and swallowed.
    She fought down a rising tide of panic. “You must go now, Clin.”
    “No hurry, sweetheart. Let’s put out the light for an hour.”
    “Don’t be absurd.”
    “What’s absurd about it? I’ve told you I love you.” He shifted closer. “Come on, Phil. Be matey.”
    “You’re drunk, Clin!”
    In a frightening flash she recalled Julian’s earliest warning: “Sure as death there’ll come a night when one of them will be cockeyed enough to forget himself.” She stepped back, but before she could twitch aside the curtain he had thrust down her hand.
    Clin was very near, between Phil and the door. The automatic was in the writing-table drawer, to her left. As she edged towards it she tried to soften her lips into a smile.
    “You’ll loathe yourself tomorrow, Clin . . .”
    “Not so much as I’ve loathed you since that day on the beach,” he grated. “I promised myself this, you maddening little prude.”
    Phil had contrived to put a yard between them. She whirled, snatched open the drawer, swung back and pointed the gun.
    “I know how to use it, Clin!”
    His teeth bared. “D’you think I can’t see that you’re half dead with terror? Give me that!”
    She was prepared for him to duck as he struck at her hand; this time the automatic stayed tight in her grasp. But Clin had pushed her arm high and held it there, while his other hand gripped her neck. He was straining her back over the writing-table. Her head hit wood and she could see the lamp, a few inches above her forehead. His breath was heavy and foul upon her face. She went limp, his hold slackened, and she brought down the gun.
    Phil heard the report and knew herself free of him a moment before the tearing agony started in her arm. She caught at the edge of the table and dragged herself upright. The lamp toppled. Clin was gone and she was alone with a gushing groove in her arm and the weight of his pressure at the side of her throat.
    She stumbled outside to shout for Manoela, but only a croak came and, dazed with pain; she lurched to the gate and on to the