I reflected grimly that the key might well lie with the unconscious CIA man. Mac and I would have to make him talk. As far as Cammell-Laird's were concerned, the coffin was probably a stray section of casing or tubing from a submarine bearing their imprint. That would account for its shape and size. The C-in-C had been very much on the defensive with me, but he had warmed a little when he had spoken of the DNI.

The thought of the DNI decided me. I would go and visit the man whose fame behind the scenes was matched only by his anonymity outside the Service. He was, of course, Peace's friend. The C-in-C had said he had settled recently in Mahe. It would not be difficult to track him down in a small place like Port Victoria. Even at this late moment, I thought, he might be able to have some of the undignified extroversion of the funeral modified. He might also know Peace's secret. I started towards the engine-room, and as I did so I heard the naval guard of honour coming alongside.

Mac was wry. ' The bastard's still out. Nothing to be had from him for hours.' He looked down at his oil-stained hands. ' We may have softened him up a little, though.'

' We've got to be off Bellatrix soon,' I reminded him, looking at the muscular figure lying on the gratings. Mac had patched up the wound on his head and he looked corpse-like with the blood cleaned away.

' We can't carry an unconscious man past the guard,' I pointed out. ' We'll lock him up and come back in an hour or two on the pretext that we've forgotten something.'

Mac's voice was savage. ' And-question him.'

I nodded. ' He'll be tough, though. The CIA boys aren't given to shooting off their mouths, least of all to a couple of amateurs like ourselves.'