The steel door at the end of the hall clanged. Kolabati stepped back as her cabin door swung open. Kusum stood there with a flat box and a large brown paper sack cradled in his arm. His eyes held genuine compassion as he looked at her.

“What have you done to Jack?” she blurted as she saw the look on his face.

“Is that your first concern?” Kusum asked, his face darkening. “Does it matter that he was ready to kill me?”

“I want you both alive!” she said, meaning it.

Kusum seemed somewhat mollified. “We are that—both of us. And Jack will stay that way as long as he does not interfere with me.”

Kolabati felt weak with relief. And in light of the knowledge that Jack had not been harmed, she felt free to concentrate on her own plight. She took a step toward her brother.

“Please let me out of here, Kusum,” she said. She hated to beg but dreaded the thought of spending another night locked in this cabin.

“I know you had an uncomfortable night,” he said, “and I’m sorry for that. But it won’t be long now. Tonight your door shall be unlocked.”

“Tonight? Why not now?”

He smiled. “Because we have not yet sailed.”

Her heart sank. “We’re sailing tonight?”

“The tide turns after midnight. I’ve made arrangements for apprehending the last Westphalen. As soon as she is in my hands, we will sail.”

“Another old woman?”

Kolabati saw a queasy look flicker across her brother’s face.

“Age has no bearing. She is the last of the Westphalen line. That is all that matters.”

Kusum set the bag on the fold-out table and began unpacking it. He pulled out two small jars of fruit juice, a square Tupperware container filled with some sort of salad, eating utensils, and paper cups. At the bottom of the bag was a small selection of newspapers and magazines, all in Hindi. He opened the container and released the scent of curried vegetables and rice into the room.

“I’ve brought you something to eat.”

Despite the cloud of depression and futility that enveloped her, Kolabati felt her mouth filling with saliva. But she willed her hunger and thirst to be still and glanced toward the open cabin door. If she got a few steps lead on Kusum she could perhaps lock him in here and escape.

“I’m famished,” she said, approaching the table on an angle that would put her between Kusum and the door. “It smells delicious. Who made it?”

“I bought it for you at a little Indian restaurant on Fifth Avenue in the Twenties. A Bengali couple run it. Good people.”

“I’m sure they are.”

Her heart began to pound as she edged closer to the door. What if she failed to get away? Would he hurt her? She glanced to her left. The door was only two steps away. She could make it but she was afraid to try.

It had to be now!