And oft by yon blue gushing stream

these clothes, Miss Ross is indistinguishable from a manespecially from the air. They'll think it's you and Corazzini and they'll blast you both off the face of the glacier." I knew Smallwood believed me, believed me absolutely, this was so exactly the way his own killer's mind would have worked in its utterly callous indifference to human life that conviction could not be stayed. But he had courage, I'll grant him that, and that first-class brain of his never stopped working. "There's no hurry," he said comfortably. He was back on balance again. "They can circle there as long as they like, they can send out relief planes to take over, it doesn't matter. As long as I'm with you here, they won't touch me. And in just over an hour or so it will be dark again, after which I can leave. Meantime, stay close to me, gentlemen: I don't think you would so willingly sacrifice Miss Ross's life." "Don't listen to him," Margaret said desperately. Her voice was almost a sob, her face twisted in pain. "Go away, please, all of you, go away. I know he's going to kill me in the end anyway. It may as well be now." She buried her face in her hands. "I don't care any more, I don't, I don't!" "But I care," I said angrily. Soft words, sympathetic words were useless here. "We all care. Don't be such a little fool. Everything will be all right, you'll see." "Spoken like a man," said Smallwood approvingly. "Only, my dear, I wouldn't pay much attention to the last pan of his speech." "Why don't you give up, Smallwood?" I asked him quietly. I had neither hope nor intention of persuading this fanatic, I was only talking for time, for I had seen something that had made my heart leap: moving quietly out over the right-hand side of the glacier, from the self-same spot where we had lain in ambush, was a file of about a dozen men. "Bombers have already taken off from the carrier, and, believe me, they're carrying bombs. Bombs and incendiaries. And do you know why, Smallwood?" They were dressed in khaki, this landing party from the Wykenham, not navy blue. Marines, almost certainly, unless they had been carrying soldiers on some combined manoeuvres. They were heavily armed, and had that indefinable but unmistakable look of men who knew exactly what they were about. Their leader, I noticed, wasn't fooling around with the usual pistol a naval officer in charge of a landing party traditionally carried: he had a sub-machine-gun under his arm, the barrel gripped in his left hand. Three others had similar weapons, the rest rifles. "Because they're going usb cable for digital camera to make good and sure you're never going to get off this glacier alive, Smallwood," I went on. "At least, not out of the fjord alive. Neither you nor any of your friends coming to meet younor any of the men waiting aboard that trawler down there." God, how slowly they were coming! Why didn't one of their marksmen with a rifle shoot Smallwood there and thenat that moment, the thought that a rifle bullet would have gone clear though Smallwood and killed the girl held so tightly in front of him never occurred to me. But if I could hold his attention another thirty seconds, if none of the others standing by my side betrayed by the slightest flicker of expression "They're going to destroy that trawler, Smallwood," I rushed on quickly. The men advancing up from the foot of the glacier were waving their arms furiously now, shouting wildly in warning, and even at over three-quarters of a mile their voices were carrying clearly. I had to try to drown their voices, to make sure that Smallwood kept his eyes fixed only on me. "They're going to blow it out of the water, it and you and that damned missile mechanism. What's the use of" But it was too late. Smallwood had heard the shouts even as I had begun to speak, twisted his head to look down the valley, saw the direction of the pointing arms, glanced briefly over his shoulder, then turned to face me again, his face twisted in a bestial snarl, that monolithic calm shattered at last: "Who are they?" he demanded viciously. "What are they doing? Quickor the girl gets it!" "It's a landing party from the destroyer in the next bay," I said steadily. "This is the end, Smallwood. Maybe you'll stand trial yet." "I'll kill the girl!" he whispered savagely. "They'll kill you. They've been ordered to recover that mechanism at all costs. Nobody's playing any more, Smallwood. Give up your gun." He swore, vilely, blasphemously, the first time I had ever heard such words from him, and leapt for the driving cabin of the tractor, pushing the girl in front of him while his pistol swung in a wide arc covering all of us. I understood what he was going to do, what this last desperate suicidal gamble was going to be, and hurled myself at the door of the driving cabin. "You madman!" My voice was a scream. "You'll kill yourself, you'll kill the girl" The gun coughed softly, I felt the white-hot burning pain in my upper arm