“Cold outside. Proper freezer. Need a coat, Miss Abbott, won’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter. Oh, very well. Thank you.”

She took her coat out of the wardrobe, snatched up her handbag, and hurried out.

“Straight ahead, down the companionway and turn right,” he called after her and, added, “Don’t get lost in the fog, now.”

Her manner had been so disturbed that it aroused his curiosity. He went out on the deck and was in time to see her running along the wharf into the fog. “Runs like a man,” Dennis thought. “Well, it takes all sorts.”

Mr. and Mrs. Cuddy sat on their respective beds and eyed each other with the semi-jocular family air that they reserved for intimate occasions. The blowers on the bulkhead were pouring hot air into the cabin, the porthole was sealed, the luggage was stowed, and the Cuddys were cosy.

“All right so far,” Mrs. Cuddy said guardedly.

“Satisfied, dear?”

“Can’t complain. Seems clean.”

“Our own shower and toilet,” he pointed out, jerking his head at a narrow door.

“They’ve all got that,” she said. “I wouldn’t fancy sharing.”

“What did you make of the crowd, though? Funny lot, I thought.”

“R. C. priests.”

“Only the one. The other was seeing-off. Do you reckon R. C?”

“Looked like it, didn’t it?”

Mr. Cuddy smiled. He had a strange thin smile, very broad and knowing. “They look ridiculous to me,” he said.

“We’re moving in high society, it seems,” Mrs. Cuddy remarked. “Notice the furs?”

“And the perfume! Phew!”

“I’ll have to keep my eye on you, I can see that.”

“Could you catch what was said?”

“Quite a bit,” Mrs. Cuddy admitted. “She may talk very la-de-dah, but her ideas aren’t so refined.”

“Reely?”

“She’s a man-eater.”

Mr. Cuddy’s smile broadened. “Did you get the flowers?” he asked. “Orchids. Thirty bob each, they are.”