Ingram followed, conscious of the rigidity of her back as she traversed the rolling cabin and went through the passage at the forward end. The narrow compartment in the eyes of the boat held two bunks, slanted inward toward each other like the sides of a V, but was used only as a locker now. There were cases of food, unopened buckets of paint and varnish, and coils of line, all neatly stowed, and the bunks themselves were piled with bags of sails. There was no hatch above, only a ventilator, and the compartment was dimly lighted by the two small portholes above the bunks.

She pulled the door shut and came close to him. “John Ingram!” It was a whisper, but forceful. “I’m ashamed of you; I never realized you could be this insensitive. Can’t you see that boy’s on the ragged edge of a nervous breakdown? For heaven’s sake, stop asking him questions and let’s try to get him to sleep.”

“Well, sure, honey,” he protested. “I realize what he’s been through. But we ought to make some attempt to salvage what we can—”

“He doesn’t want to go back on there. I’d think you could understand that.”

“He doesn’t have to. I told him I’d go.”

“But why? He said there wasn’t anything worth trying to save, didn’t he?”

“I know. But obviously water wouldn’t ruin everything. Clothes, for instance. Also, he contradicts himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“The radio, remember? He said it’d been ruined by the water. But he’d just got through telling us he called us on it.”

She sighed. “Why do men always have to be so literal? Do you think he’s some kind of machine? John, dear, he lost his wife and his two friends all in one afternoon, and then spent the next ten days utterly alone on a sinking boat, and he probably hasn’t closed his eyes for a week. I’d be doing well to remember my own name, unless I had it written down somewhere.”

“All right—” Ingram began.

“Shhhhh! Not so loud.”

“Okay. But you’d think he’d at least want to bring off some of her things, wouldn’t you? And there was another thing I was about to explain to him. If that boat’s insured, he’s going to have a hell of a time trying to collect, with no logbook and just his unsupported word she was in sinking condition when he left her—in a dead calm, with no weather making up. The underwriters are going to ask for a statement from me, and I can’t corroborate it. How can I? I’ll just have to tell ‘em she was afloat when I saw her. And that I hadn’t even been aboard and didn’t know how much water she was taking.”

“He said she probably wouldn’t last through the morning, and we’re not going anywhere in this calm, so well still be in sight when she goes down. But let him get some sleep!”

“Sure. God knows, he probably needs it.” Still vaguely dissatisfied, he tossed the sailbags into the other bunk and threw a lashing on them. He went back to the cockpit. Warriner was slumped on the starboard seat with the binoculars beside him, as though he’d been looking at the other yacht. Sunlight struck golden fire in his hair, which had been crew-cut originally but had grown long over his ears. Handsome kid, Ingram thought, and then wondered if that could be the reason for his—well, not distrust, exactly. That was overstating it. Call it reservation.

“You asked me if she was insured,” Warriner said.