“I expect Cleary will go for him.”

“Maybe,” said Satan. “Then we’ll have some fun. There’s Jude.”

Something like a swimming water rat was breaking the star shimmer on the sea. It was the dinghy.

Jude was sculling it from behind, noiselessly. It came alongside to starboard like a ghost, and with it came Jude’s voice calling for the tackle. Then the sack came aboard and after it Jude.

“Well, you’ve done it smart,” said Satan, “and no mistake. Now off down with you and have your supper. We’ve got to start bright and early in the morning.”

Jude said nothing. Her anger and irritability seemed to have departed. She kicked off her boots, hitched up her trousers, and started down below.

“She never keeps a grudge up,” said Satan.

Away in the middle of the night Ratcliffe was awakened by a stifled scream, the voice of Satan promptly following.

“Wake up! What ails you?”

“For the Land’s sake, where am I?”