kitchen?”
“With your permission, yes."
He stopped smiling. "I'm afraid I do not understand, sir." He could be very stiff, could Haggerty, twenty-five-odd years in the Royal Navy had left their mark.
"I'm sorry. Just a formality. We seem to have a case of food poisoning aboard. I'm just looking around.”
“Food poisoning! Not from this galley, I can assure you. Never had a case in my life." Haggerty's injured professional pride quite overcame any humanitarian concern he might have had about the identity of the victim or how severe his case was. "Twenty-seven years as a cook in the Andrew, Dr. Marlowe, last six as chief on a carrier, and if I'm to be told I don't run a hygienic galley--”
“Nobody's telling you anything of the sort." I used to him the tone he
used to me. "Anyone can see the place is spotless. If the contamination came from this galley, it won't be your fault."
“It didn't come from this galley." Haggerty had a square ruddy face and periwinkle blue eyes: the complexion, suffused with anger, was now two shades deeper and the eyes hostile. "Excuse me, I'm busy." He turned his back and started rattling his pots about. I do not like people turning their backs on me when I am talking to them and my instinctive reaction was to make him face me again but I reflected that his pride had been wounded, justifiably so from his point of view, so I contented myself with the use of words.
"Working very late, Mr. Haggerty'
"Dinner for the bridge," he said stiffly. "Mr. Smith and the bosun. They change watches at eleven and eat together then.”
“Let's hope they're both fit and well by twelve."
He turned round very slowly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I mean that what's happened once can happen again. You know you haven't expressed the slightest interest in the identity of the person who's been poisoned or how ill that person is?"
I don't know what you mean, sir."
I find it very peculiar. Especially as the person became violently ill just after eating food prepared in this galley."
I take orders from Captain Imrie," he said obliquely. "Not from passengers.”
“You know where the captain is at this time of night. In bed and very, very sound asleep. It's no secret. Wouldn't you like to come with me and see what you've done? To look at this poisoned person." It wasn't very nice of me but I didn't see what else I could do.
"To see what I've done!" He turned away again, deliberately placed his pots to one side and removed his chef's hat. "This had better be good, Doctor."
I led the way below to Antonio's cabin and unlocked the door. The smell was revolting. Antonio lay as I had left him, except that he looked a great deal more dead now than he had done before: the blood had drained from face and hands leaving them a transparent white. I turned to Haggerty.
"Good enough?"
Haggerty's face didn't turn white because ruddy faces with a mass of broken red veins don't turn that way, but it did become a peculiar muddy brick colour. He stared down at the dead man for perhaps ten seconds, then turned away and walked quickly up the passage. I locked the door and followed, staggering from side to side of the passage as the Morning Rose rolled wickedly in the great troughs. I made my erratic way through the dining saloon, picked up the Black Label from Captain Imrie's wrought-iron stand, smiled pleasantly at Mary Darling and Allen-Cod knows what thoughts were in their minds as I passed through-and returned to the galley. Haggerty joined me after thirty seconds. He was looking ill and I knew he had been ill. I had no doubt that he had seen a great deal during his lifetime at sea but there is something peculiarly horrifying about the sight of a man who has died violently from poisoning. I poured him three fingers of Scotch and he downed it at a gulp. He coughed, and either the
“With your permission, yes."
He stopped smiling. "I'm afraid I do not understand, sir." He could be very stiff, could Haggerty, twenty-five-odd years in the Royal Navy had left their mark.
"I'm sorry. Just a formality. We seem to have a case of food poisoning aboard. I'm just looking around.”
“Food poisoning! Not from this galley, I can assure you. Never had a case in my life." Haggerty's injured professional pride quite overcame any humanitarian concern he might have had about the identity of the victim or how severe his case was. "Twenty-seven years as a cook in the Andrew, Dr. Marlowe, last six as chief on a carrier, and if I'm to be told I don't run a hygienic galley--”
“Nobody's telling you anything of the sort." I used to him the tone he
used to me. "Anyone can see the place is spotless. If the contamination came from this galley, it won't be your fault."
“It didn't come from this galley." Haggerty had a square ruddy face and periwinkle blue eyes: the complexion, suffused with anger, was now two shades deeper and the eyes hostile. "Excuse me, I'm busy." He turned his back and started rattling his pots about. I do not like people turning their backs on me when I am talking to them and my instinctive reaction was to make him face me again but I reflected that his pride had been wounded, justifiably so from his point of view, so I contented myself with the use of words.
"Working very late, Mr. Haggerty'
"Dinner for the bridge," he said stiffly. "Mr. Smith and the bosun. They change watches at eleven and eat together then.”
“Let's hope they're both fit and well by twelve."
He turned round very slowly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
I mean that what's happened once can happen again. You know you haven't expressed the slightest interest in the identity of the person who's been poisoned or how ill that person is?"
I don't know what you mean, sir."
I find it very peculiar. Especially as the person became violently ill just after eating food prepared in this galley."
I take orders from Captain Imrie," he said obliquely. "Not from passengers.”
“You know where the captain is at this time of night. In bed and very, very sound asleep. It's no secret. Wouldn't you like to come with me and see what you've done? To look at this poisoned person." It wasn't very nice of me but I didn't see what else I could do.
"To see what I've done!" He turned away again, deliberately placed his pots to one side and removed his chef's hat. "This had better be good, Doctor."
I led the way below to Antonio's cabin and unlocked the door. The smell was revolting. Antonio lay as I had left him, except that he looked a great deal more dead now than he had done before: the blood had drained from face and hands leaving them a transparent white. I turned to Haggerty.
"Good enough?"
Haggerty's face didn't turn white because ruddy faces with a mass of broken red veins don't turn that way, but it did become a peculiar muddy brick colour. He stared down at the dead man for perhaps ten seconds, then turned away and walked quickly up the passage. I locked the door and followed, staggering from side to side of the passage as the Morning Rose rolled wickedly in the great troughs. I made my erratic way through the dining saloon, picked up the Black Label from Captain Imrie's wrought-iron stand, smiled pleasantly at Mary Darling and Allen-Cod knows what thoughts were in their minds as I passed through-and returned to the galley. Haggerty joined me after thirty seconds. He was looking ill and I knew he had been ill. I had no doubt that he had seen a great deal during his lifetime at sea but there is something peculiarly horrifying about the sight of a man who has died violently from poisoning. I poured him three fingers of Scotch and he downed it at a gulp. He coughed, and either the
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