He opened the door and glanced quickly around. It was, as he had hoped, deserted. There was the usual clutter of magazines and newspapers, some well out of date, but The South China Morning Post was fresh, and apparently unread. He sat down and put his drink beside him on a brass-topped oriental table. There were books on one side of the room, mostly official, and some on local navigation and pilotage, a photo of the Queen above an imitation fireplace, opposite one of the Duke of Edinburgh wearing the uniform of Captain-General, Royal Marines. There was also a television set, mercifully disconnected. He leaned back in the deep armchair and tried to empty his mind. He should have been exhausted, but he was fully alert; even if he closed his eyes, the pictures remained. Taunton had entered harbour this morning, alongside for a change, her ship’s company fallen in fore and aft, with a minimum of piped and shouted commands. Two armed police launches kept close by in case of too many sightseers.
