The launch keeled over and took in a solid weight of sea. He thought: ‘Well, this is it,’ and was engulfed. The iron legs of the bench bit into his hands. He hung on, almost vertical, and felt the water drag at him like an octopus. It was disgusting. The deck kicked. They wallowed for a suspended moment and then, shuddering, recovered and rose. The first thing he saw was the back of the helmsman. Something rolled against his chest: he unclenched his left hand and felt for it. The torch.

Street lamps along the front came alive and seemed dramatically near at hand. At the same time the engine was cut. He struggled to his feet and moved forward. He was close now, to the figure at the wheel. There was the jetty. Their course had shifted and the launch pitched violently. His left hand knocked against the back of a seat and a beam of light shot out from the torch and found the figure at the wheel. It turned.

Maine and Alleyn looked into each other’s faces.

Maine lurched out of the wheelhouse. The launch lifted prodigiously, tilted, and dived, nose down. Alleyn was blinded by a deluge of salt water. When he could see again, Maine was on the port gunwale. For a fraction of time he was poised, a gigantic figure against the shore lights. Then he flexed his knees and leapt overboard.

The launch went about and crashed into the jetty. The last thing he heard was somebody yelling high above him.

II

He was climbing down innumerable flights of stairs. They were impossibly steep – perpendicular – but he had to go down. They tipped and he fell outwards and looked into an abyss laced with flashlights. He lost his hold, dropped into nothing, and was on the stairs again, climbing, climbing. Somebody was making comfortable noises. He looked into a face.

‘Fox,’ he said, with immense satisfaction.

‘There now!’ said Inspector Fox.

Alleyn went to sleep.

When he woke, it was to find Troy nearby. Her hand was against his face. ‘So there you are,’ he said.

‘Hallo,’ said Troy and kissed him.

The wall beyond her was dappled with sunshine and looked familiar. He puzzled over it for a time and because he wanted to lay his face closer to her hand, turned his head and was stabbed through the temples.

‘Don’t move,’ Troy said. ‘You’ve taken an awful bash.’

‘I see.’

‘You’ve been concussed and all.’

‘How long?’

‘About thirty-four hours.’

‘This is Coombe’s cottage.’

‘That’s right, but you’re meant not to talk.’

‘Ridiculous,’ he said and dozed off again.

Troy slid her hand carefully from under his bristled jaw and crept out of the room.

Superintendent Coombe was in his parlour with Sir James Curtis and Fox. ‘He woke again,’ Troy said to Curtis, ‘just for a moment.’

‘Say anything?’

‘Yes. He’s – ’ her voice trembled. ‘He’s all right.’