Night Without End. Alistair MacLean

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 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, Doctor -ah—’

      ‘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 reluctant horror. For what we saw, though it concerned us all, concerned him most of all.

      The injured wireless operator still lay where we had left him. All the others were there too, grouped in a rough semi-circle round him and round a cleared space to the left of the stove. By their feet in the centre of this space, upside down and with one corner completely stove in on the wooden floor, lay the big metal RCA radio transmitter and receiver, our sole source of contact with, our only means of summoning help from the outer world. I knew next to nothing about radios, but it was chillingly obvious to me – as it was, I could see, to the semi-circle of fascinated onlookers – that the RCA was smashed beyond recovery.

       THREE Monday 2 a.m.–3 a.m.

      Half a minute passed in complete silence, half a minute before I could trust myself to speak, even bring myself to speak. When at last I did, my voice was unnaturally low in the unnatural hush that was broken only by the interminable clacking of the anemometer cups above.

      ‘Splendid. Really splendid. The perfect end to the perfect day.’ I looked round them slowly, one by one, then gestured at the smashed transmitter. ‘What bloody idiot was responsible for this – this stroke of genius?’

      ‘How dare you, sir!’ The white-haired man whom I had mentally labelled as the Dixie colonel took a step forward, face flushed with anger. ‘Mind your tongue. We’re not children to be—’

      ‘Shut up!’ I said, quietly enough, but there must have been something in my voice rather less than reassuring, for he fell silent, though his fists still remained clenched. I looked at them all again. ‘Well?’

      ‘I’m afraid – I’m afraid I did it,’ the stewardess faltered. Her brown eyes were as unnaturally large, her face as white and strained as when I had first seen her. ‘It’s all my fault.’

      ‘You! The one person here who should know just how vital radio really is. I don’t believe it.’

      ‘You must, I’m afraid.’ The quiet controlled voice belonged to the man with the cut brow. ‘No one else was anywhere near it at the time.’

      ‘What happened to you?’ I could see he was nursing a bruised and bleeding hand.

      ‘I dived for it when I saw it toppling.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I should have saved myself the trouble. That damned thing’s heavy.’

      ‘It’s all that. Thanks for trying anyway. I’ll fix your hand up later.’ I turned to the stewardess again, and not even that pale and exhausted face, the contrition in the eyes, could quieten my anger – and, to be honest, my fear. ‘I suppose it just came to pieces in your hand?’

      ‘I’ve told you I’m sorry. I – I was just kneeling beside Jimmy here—’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Jimmy Waterman – the Second Officer. I—’

      ‘Second Officer?’ I interrupted. ‘That’s the radio operator, I take it?’

      ‘No, Jimmy is a pilot. We’ve three pilots – we don’t carry a radio operator.’

      ‘You don’t—’ I broke off my surprised question, asked another instead. ‘Who’s the man in the crew rest room? Navigator?’

      ‘We don’t carry a navigator either. Harry Williamson is – was – the Flight Engineer.’

      No wireless operator, no navigator. There had been changes indeed since I’d flown the Atlantic some years previously in a Stratocruiser. I gave it up, returned to my original question and nodded at the smashed RCA.

      ‘Well, how did it happen?’

      ‘I brushed the table as I rose and – well, it just fell.’ Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

      ‘It just fell,’ I echoed incredulously. ‘One hundred and fifty pounds of transmitter and you flicked it off the table just like that?’

      ‘I didn’t knock it off. The legs collapsed.’

      ‘It’s got no legs to collapse,’ I said shortly. ‘Hinges.’

      ‘Well, hinges, then.’

      I looked at Joss, who had been responsible for the erection of the table as well as the radio. ‘Is it possible?’

      ‘No.’ СКАЧАТЬ