“Hello, is that the St. Marks airport? Good. My name is Chapman; my wife and I are meeting a chartered yacht there, and I was told that I would have to get permission for my airplane to land at your airport; is that correct? Well, we plan to land around nine this evening, so I hope the runway is lit. What? Twenty-four hours? Why, that’s outrageous! I can land at any other airport in the world on no notice at all! Well, in that case, I’ll meet my yacht in Guadeloupe, and St. Marks will lose the money I would have spent there. No, no, don’t apologize, I no longer wish to land at your airport. Good-bye!” He broke the connection and turned to Allison. “There, maybe that will give us some cover.”

They waited until eight, then, freshly scrubbed and changed, they walked over to the Shipwright’s Arms, exchanging pleasantries with the two police officers now permanently established at the dockhead of the marina, with a full view of all the yachts there. They had a drink at the bar and chatted with Thomas for a while.

“Trouble down at the marina this afternoon?” Thomas asked when he was far enough away from the other patrons.

“A bit,” Stone replied. “A Colonel Buckler showed up with two other cops and accused Allison of chartering the new yacht down there in order to escape the island.”

“Buckler got a call here a little later,” Thomas said. “From Government House. I heard the name Chapman mentioned.”

“Ah, Mr. Chapman; I’m told that he is the actual charterer of the yacht.”

“I gathered from what I overheard that Mr. Chapman had tried to get permission to land his jet at the airport tonight and was turned down.”

“Did you get that impression?” Stone said.

“I did. Buckler seemed confused. Buckler and his wife are at a table a few yards behind you, having dinner.”

“Oh, good,” Stone said.

“Why is that good?” Thomas asked.

“Because he’ll get to see the yacht steam out of English Harbour, and he’ll see Allison here with me. That might make him feel better.”

“Good evening, Sir Winston,” Thomas said suddenly. “Your table is ready.”

Stone and Allison turned to see the minister of justice and his wife standing behind them.

“Good evening, Mrs. Manning,” Sir Winston said. “Mr. Barrington.”

“Good evening, Sir Winston,” they both replied.

“Such a lovely evening,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to leave us on such a lovely evening, would you, Mrs. Manning?”

“Of course not,” Allison said. Then she looked pointedly over his shoulder.

Sir Winston and his wife turned to follow her gaze. They saw the yacht Race back out of her berth and turn toward the entrance to English Harbour. She gave a couple of blasts on her horn.