The steward let down the jalousie over the square port and the sun streamed in. Shaw sat up, blinked, rubbed sleep from his eyes, reached out for his early-morning tea. Then he lit a cigarette, drew in smoke luxuriously and lay back on his pillow, hands behind his head. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and another steward came in. “Commander Shaw, sir?” Shaw looked at him in some surprise—the man seemed on edge. Shaw said, “Yes, that’s me. What is it?” “Captain would like to see you, sir. In Colonel Gresham’s cabin.” Shaw stared, sat up straight. “Why, what’s happened?” The man said, “The colonel, sir. He’s dead.” Shaw gave an exclamation, felt the blood draining from his face. He threw off the sheet. Pulling on his dressing-gown, he ran out of the cabin. The body looked lonely, forlorn.
