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rnt paper imbedded in the east wall of the bunkhouse。 Just there： nowhere else。 The explanation； of course； could be pletely innocuous： or not； as the case might be。
I had another look at the two unconscious men。 They were warm enough and fortable enough； but that was about all you could say for them。 I knew they weren't well enough to be moved within the next twenty…four hours。 I lifted the phone and asked for someone to relieve me； and when two seamen arrived I made my way back to the 〃Dolphin〃。
There was an unusual atmosphere aboard ship that afternoon； quiet and dull and almost funereal。 It was hardly surprising。 As far as the crew of the 〃Dolphin〃 had been concerned； the men manning Drift Ice Station Zebra had been just so many ciphers； not even names； just unknowns。 But now the burnt； frost…bitten； emaciated survivors had e aboard ship； sick and suffering men each with a life and individuality of his own； and the sight of those wasted men still mourning the deaths of their eight rades had suddenly brought home to every man on the submarine the full horror of what had happened on Zebra。 And； of course； less than seven hours had elapsed since their own torpedo officer； Lieutenant Mills； had been killed。 Now； even though the mission had been successful； there seemed little reason for celebration。 Down in the crew's mess the hi…fl and the juke box were stilled。 The ship was like a tomb。
I found Hansen in his cabin。 He was sitting on the edge of his Pullman bunk； still wearing his fur trousers； his face bleak and hard and cold。 He watched me in silence as I stripped off my parka； undid the empty holster tied around my chest； hung it up； and stuck inside it the automatic I'd pulled from my caribou pants。 Then he said suddenly； 〃I wouldn't take them all off； Doc。 Not if you want to e with us； that is。〃 He looked at his own furs； and his mouth was bitter。 〃Hardly the； uniform for a funeral； is it？〃
〃You mean〃
〃Skipper's in his cabin。 Boning up on the burial service。 Tom Mills and that assistant radio operatorGrant； wasn't it？who died out there today。 A double funeral。 Out on the ice。 There's some men there already； chipping a place with crow bars and sledges at the base of a hummock。〃
〃I saw no one。〃
〃Port side。 To the west。〃
〃I thought Swanson would have taken young Mills back to the States。 Or Scotland。〃
〃Too far。 And there's the psychological angle。 You could hardly dent the morale of this bunch we have aboard here； much less shoot it to pieces； but carrying a dead man as a shipmate is an unhappy thing。 He's had permission from Washington。。 。〃 He broke off uncertainly； looked up at me and then away again。 I didn't have any need of telepathy to know what was in his mind。
〃The seven men on Zebra？〃 I shook my head。 〃No； no funeral service for them。 How could you？ I'll pay my respects some other way。〃
His eyes flickered up at the Mannlicher…Schoenauer hanging in its holster； then away again。 He said in a quiet； savage voice； 〃Goddamn his black； murderous soul。 That devil's aboard； Carpenter。 Here。 On our ship。〃 He smacked a bunched fist hard against the palm of his other hand。 〃Have you no idea what's behind this； Doc？ No idea who's responsible？〃
〃If I had； I wouldn't be standing here。 Any idea how Benson is getting along with the sick and injured？〃
〃He's all through。 I've just left him。〃
I nodded； reached up for the automatic； and stuck it in the pocket of my caribou pants。 Hansen said quietly： 〃Even here？〃
〃Especially here。〃
I left him and went along to the surgery。 Benson was sitting at his table； his back to his art gallery of technicolor cartoons； making entries in a book。 He looked up as I closed the door behind me。
〃Find anything？〃 I asked。
〃Nothing I'd consider interesting。 Hansen did most of the sorting。 You may find something。〃 He pointed to neatly folded piles of clothing on the deck； several small attaché cases； and a few polythene bags； each labeled。 〃Look for yourself。 How about the two men left out on Zebra？〃
〃Holding their own。 I think they'll be okay； but it's too early to say yet。〃 I squatted on the floor； went carefully through all the pockets in the clothes； and found； as I had expected； nothing。 Hansen wasn't the man to miss anything。 I felt every square inch of the lining areas and came up with the same results。 I went through the small cases and the polythene bags； small items of clothing and personal gear； shaving kits； letters； photographs； two or three cameras。 I broke open the cameras and they were all empty。 I said to Benson： 〃Dr。 Jolly brought his medical case aboard with him？〃
〃Wouldn't even trust one of your own colleagues； would you？〃
〃No。〃
〃Neither would I。〃 He smiled with his mouth only。 〃Your evil influence。 I went through every item in it。 Not a thing。 I even measured the thickness of the bottom of the case。 Nothing there。〃
〃Good enough for me。 How are the patients？〃
〃Nine of them；〃 Benson said。 〃The psychological effect of knowing that they're safe has done them more good than any medication ever could。〃 He consulted cards on… his desk。 〃Captain Folsom is the worst。 No danger； of course； but his facial burns are pretty savage。 We've arranged to have a plastic surgeon standing by in Glasgow when we return。 The Harrington twins； both met officers； aren't so badly burned but they're very weak from cold and hunger。 Food； warmth； and rest will have them on their feet in a couple of days again。 Hassard； another met officer； and Jeremy； a lab technician； moderate burns； moderate frostbite； in the best shape of all otherwise。 It's queer how different people react so differently to hunger and cold。 The other fourKinnaird； the senior radio operator； Dr。 Jolly； Naseby； the cook； and Hewson； the tractor driver and man who was in charge of the generatorare much of a muchness： they're suffering most severely of all from frostbite； especially Kinnaird； all with moderate burns； weak； of course； but recovering fast。 Only Folsom and the Harrington twins have consented to bee bed patients。 The rest we've provided with clothes of one sort or another。 They're all lying down； of course； but they won't be lying down long。 All of them are young； tough； and basically healthy。 They don't pick children or old men to man places like Drift Station Zebra。〃
There was a knock on the door and Swanson's head appeared。 He said 〃Hello； back again〃 to me； then turned to Benson。 〃A small problem of medical discipline here； Doctor。〃 He stood aside to let us see Naseby； the Zebra cook； standing close behind him； dressed in a U。 S。 Navy's petty officer's uniform。 〃It seems that your patients have heard about the funeral service。 They want to go alongthose who are able； that isto pay their last respects to their colleagues。 I understand and sympathize； of course； but their state of health〃
〃I would advise against it； sir；〃 Benson said。 〃Strongly。〃
〃You can advise what you like； mate。〃 The voice came from behind Naseby。 It was Kinnaird； the cockney radio operator。 who was also dressed in blue。 〃No offense。 Don't want to be rude or ungrateful。 But I'm going。 Jimmy Grant was my mate。〃
〃I know how you feel；〃 Benson said。 〃