'Watchdog, eh? Okay. But I warn you, Bill, when I close my eyes a regiment of killers could trample over me and I wouldn't bat an eyelid.'
He went below then and I was alone in the thundering, pitching night. Seated there at the wheel I could feel Diviner tearing forward through the water at the surge of each wave. Then she'd slip back, stern foremost, into the trough and wallow till the next wave lifted her and the wind drove her on into the darkness. It was a weird scene. The red and green navigation lights illuminated the canvas of the sails with an unearthly glow, a sort of demon phosphorescence. The music of The Damnation of Faust drifted through my mind. The weird descent into Hell… If Berlioz had included a scene with Charon crossing the Styx, then this was the lighting he'd have used. What a setting for something horrible! I thought of those two men — Jorgensen and Dahler — hating each other and fearing each other at the same time. I laughed out loud. And I'd been so damned pleased with myself when I'd bluffed Jorgensen into sailing down the Thames with us. And right now I'd have given a lot to be able to set him ashore at Greenwich.
The macabre turn my thoughts had taken was interrupted by the arrival of Jill. 'How's Dahler?' I asked her as she seated herself in the cockpit.
'Sleeping,' she said. 'He's quite exhausted.'
'And Jorgensen?' I asked.
'Gone to his cabin. And Dick has settled himself in the saloon.' She sighed and settled her back against the chartroom. I could just see the pale oval of her face in the light of the binnacle. The rest of her was a dark bundle of sweaters and oilskins. Every now and then a burst of spray swept across us, stinging my eyes with salt.
Tired?' I asked.
'A bit,' she answered drowsily.
'Why not go below?' I suggested. 'There'll be no more sail changing to do this watch.'
'I'd rather stay up here,' she answered, 'in the fresh air.'