"First voyage, yes sir. But my name's Pete Durk."
Surely he was breathing too hard for a man scrubbing a deck—much more like a man who had been running.
"My first voyage too," I said. I started on; then turned back. "By the way, have you seen Mr. Polter? I was looking for him."
"The Purser, sir? I'm thinkin' he should be in his office."
I nodded; turned the superstructure corner; went into the main corridor. Polter's little office cubby had a light in it. He was sitting there casting up his accounts. Jim Polter. I had heard half a dozen people call him that. Nina's voice came echoing back into my mind.... "No—no Jim, don't—"
Was this the fellow who had climbed out of her window just a few moments ago? His desk light illumined his squat, thick-set figure. He was a man of perhaps forty. He glanced up at my step.
"Hello, Mr. Penelle. You're up late."
"Just going in," I said.
Polter was smoking. The fragile ash on the little white paper cylinder was nearly an inch long.
I passed on. At Nina's door I briefly paused. There was no sound. The ventilator grille overhead was dark now. Upon impulse I pressed her buzzer.