Vallery hesitated, shook his head, then turned to Nicholls, smiling.
"B.M.A. in secret session, eh?" he queried. "Never mind, Nicholls, and don't worry.
I'm the one who should be worrying."
"Indeed, sir? Why?"
Vallery shook his head again.
"Rum in the gun turrets, cigarettes in the T.S., and now a fine old whisky in a
'Lysol' bottle.
Thought Commander Brooks was going to poison me, and what a glorious death!
Excellent stuff, and the Surgeon Commander's apologies to you for broaching your private supplies."
Nicholls flushed darkly, began to stammer an apology but Vallery cut him off.
"Forget it, boy, forget it.
What does it matter?
But it makes me wonder what we're going to find next.
An opium den in the Capstan Flat, perhaps, or dancing girls in 'B' turret?"
But they found nothing in these or any other places, except cold, misery and hunger-haunted exhaustion.
As ever, Nicholls saw, they-or rather, Vallery-left the men the better of their coming.
But they themselves were now in a pretty bad state, Nicholls realised.
His own legs were made of rubber, he was exhausted by continuous shivering: where Vallery found the strength to carry on, he couldn't even begin to imagine.
Even Petersen's great strength was flagging, not so much from half-carrying Vallery as from the ceaseless hammering of clips frozen solid on doors and hatches.
Leaning against a bulkhead, breathing heavily after the ascent from 'A'magazine, Nicholls looked hopefully at the Captain.
Vallery saw the look, interpreted it correctly, and shook his head, smiling.
"Might as well finish it, boy.
Only the Capstan Flat.
Nobody there anyway, I expect, but we might as well have a look."
They walked slowly round the heavy machinery in the middle of the Capstan Flat, for'ard past the Battery Room and Sailmaker's Shop, past the Electrical Workshop and cells to the locked door of the Painter's Shop, the most for'ard compartment in the ship.
Vallery reached his hand forward, touched the door symbolically, smiled tiredly and turned away.
Passing the cell door, he casually flicked open the inspection port, glanced in perfunctorily and moved on.
Then he stopped dead, wheeled round and flung open the inspection port again.
"What in the name of-Ralston!
What on earth are you doing here?" he shouted.
Ralston smiled.
Even through the thick plate glass it wasn't a pleasant smile and it never touched the blue eyes.
He gestured to the barred grille, indicating that he could not hear.
Impatiently, Vallery twisted the grille handle.
"What are you doing here, Ralston?" he demanded. The brows were drawn down heavily over blazing eyes. "In the cells-and at this time!
Speak up, man!
Tell me!"
Nicholls looked at Vallery in slow surprise.
The old man-angry!
It was unheard of!
Shrewdly, Nicholls decided that he'd rather not be the object of Vallery's fury.
"I was locked up here, sir." The words were innocuous enough, but their tone said,
"What a damned silly question."
Vallery flushed faintly.
"When?"
"At 1030 this morning, sir."
"And by whom, may I inquire?"
"By the Master-At-Arms, sir."
"On what authority?" Vallery demanded furiously.
Ralston looked at him a long moment without speaking. His face was expressionless.