“Here you are, dear,” she said to Allison, setting the tray on her lap. “This’ll do you good; I made it myself.”

Allison began eating the stew. “It’s good,” she said. “Lots of fish in it.”

From the direction of the inner courtyard, the sound of hammering came through the window high over the outside door.

“What’s that?” Allison asked.

“Oh, just some work being done,” he lied. “Ignore it.” He knew exactly what that hammering meant.

Stone sat beside her on the bunk, and Sir Leslie returned with a chair.

“I don’t want you to worry,” Hewitt said. “Your appeal will be in the prime minister’s hands in just a few minutes.” He reached into his briefcase and retrieved two sheets of paper, handing them to Stone and Allison. “Here’s a copy for you.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Allison said, continuing to eat the stew.

“Would you like me to read it to you?”

“I’ll read it later,” she said.

Stone put his copy into his pocket. Apparently Hewitt had not been as sanguine as he about the outcome of the trial, since he had written the appeal in advance. He looked at his watch: half past nine. “I have some important telephoning to do,” he said to Allison. “You’re going to have to stay here tonight; would you like me to bring you some things?”

“Thank you,” she said. “A cotton dress, some underwear, and my cosmetics case.”

Stone stood up. “Thomas is outside, I’m sure; he’ll drive me. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He left the cell and walked down the hall to the front desk, where he found Hilary Kramer and Jim Forrester waiting.

“Is she all right?” Kramer asked.

“Yes, she just fainted; she’s having some dinner now.”

“I don’t blame her for fainting,” Kramer said. “I would have, too, under the circumstances.”

Jim Forrester looked almost as pale under his tan as Allison. “When do you expect to hear about the appeal?” he asked.

“Probably not until tomorrow.”

“Any way to gauge her chances?”

“None that I know of. I’m about to make some phone calls to muster as much support as possible.” He looked at Forrester. “Jim, you look awful; are you feeling all right?”

“I’m okay. I guess I wasn’t expecting a conviction; you don’t get much of this sort of thing in the travel-writing business.”

“Speaking of travel writing, do you think you could call some of your travel editors and get them to send telegrams of protest to the prime minister first thing in the morning? If he thinks hanging Allison is going to hurt his tourist trade, maybe that’ll help.”

“I’ll call a couple of people tonight,” Forrester replied.

“Good, now I’ve got to run back to the marina, make some calls, and get some things for Allison.”