AFTER the brisk weather OF ALASKA, the hot, humin atmosphere of South Carolina felt like the inside of a sauna. Pitt made a phone call and then rented a car at the Charleston airport. He drove south on Highway 52 toward the city and took the turnoff for the sprawling naval base.

About a mile after turning right on Spruill Avenue, he came to a large red brick building with an ancient rusting sign perched on the roof advertising the Alhambra Iron and Boiler Company.

He parked the car and walked under a high iron archway with the date 1861 suspended on a panel. The reception area took him by surprise. The furnishings were ultramodern. Chrome was everywhere.

He felt as though he'd walked onto a photo layout from Architectural Digest.

A sweet young thing looked up, pursed an ever so small smile and said, "Can ah help you, sir?"

Pitt stared into the mossy green magnolia eyes and imagined her as a former homecoming queen. "I called from the airport and set an appointment with Mr. Hunley. My name is Pitt."

The recognition was automatic and the smile didn't alter so much as a millimeter. "Yes, he's expecting you. Please come this way."

She led him into an office decorated entirely in brown tones.

Pitt was suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation of drowning in oatmeal. A rotund, smiling little man rose from behind an enormous kinney-shaped desk and extended his hand.

"Mr. Pitt. I'm Charlie Hunley."

"Mr. Hunley," Pitt said, shaking hands. "Thank you for seeing me.

"Not at all. Your phone call ticked my curiosity. You're the first person to ask about our boiler making capacity in, golly, must be forty years."

"You're out of the business?"

"Heavens, yes. Gave it up during the summer of fifty-one. End of an era, you might say. My great-granddandy rolled armor plate for the Confederate ironclad fleet. After World War Two, my dandy figured the time had come for a change. He retooled the plant and started fabricating metal furniture. As things turned out, it was a shrewd decision."

"Did you, by chance, save any of your old production records?" Pitt asked.

"Unlike you Yankees, who throw out everything," Hunley said with a sly smile, "we Southern boys hold onto everything, including our women."

Pitt laughed politely and didn't bother asking how his California upbringing had qualified him as a Yankee.

"After your call," Hunley continued, "I ran a search in our file storage room. You didn't give me a date, but since we only supplied forty water-tube boilers with the specifications you mentioned for Liberty ships, I found the invoice listing the serial number in question in fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what you don't already know."

"Was the boiler shipped to the company that supplied the engines or direct to the shipyard for installation?"