Me or yourself. I suggest you be as accommodating as pos sible, Mr. Garland.'

Captain Garland,' I reminded him.

He smiled, the iron hand in the velvet glove. To me, mister. Had you fallen under my orders-well, this interview might have proceeded somewhat differently.'

His remote, formal air was impenetrable. He picked up his cap and ground out his gold-tipped Benson and Hedges cigarette: The two officers matched his actions. A formal salute, and he was gone.

The steel coffin creaked gently under Bellatrix's quiet lift. What had an American Intelligence agent sought to find out with that stethoscope? Had he suspected that Peace might not be dead? I didn't want to look at the dead face again, but the tumult of questions hammering in my brain drew me to the coffin itself. Those heavy rivets! I fingered them. Had Loch Vennachar's engineers indeed fabricated the strange contraption? Could they have made it in a brief two or three days?

I was drawn to the glass trap. What secret big enough for the CIA to be interested in lay behind the closed eyes framed by the monkish cap? I had not noticed previously that Peace's head was pillowed on foam rubber. I wiped away the last of the whisky. The glass still wasn't clear. There seemed some condensation inside, but the humid climate would account for that. They must have embalmed the body. for it to lie another three days in state '-six in all since his death. Then I noticed that the entire interior was of foam rubber.

I took the stethoscope, adjusted the plugs in my ears, and listened. Nothing. That layer of foam rubber would have damped any sound, however. Although the admiral had said Peace was to be fired from a depth-charge mortar, the body did not seem to be strapped in. I calculated the width of Peace's shoulders against the size of the cylinder and recalled his height. Strange! The coffin was much longer and wider than necessary. I explored the, foot. There was a heavy flange. I ran my fingers over it. The metal was rough and painted, but I felt something. I looked round for some instrument, then went and fetched an ice-pick from the bar. With it I scratched and found lettering. It read: Cammell-Laird, Ltd., Shipbuilders, Liverpool.'