Night Without End by Alistair MacLean

her genius than for the innate kindliness and goodness which she tried to conceal from the world with a waspish tongue, * for the half-dozen orphanages she maintained in Britain and Europe, Marie LeGarde was one of the few truly international names in the world of entertainment. 
         
         "Yes, yes, I see you know my name." Marie LeGarde smiled at me. "But how did you know me?" 
         
         "From your photograph, naturally. I saw it in Life the other week, Miss LeGarde." 
         
         " 'Marie', to my friends." 
         
         "I don't know you," I protested. 
         
         "I paid a small fortune to have that photograph retouched and made briefly presentable," she answered obliquely. "It was a splendid photograph, inasmuch as it bore precious little resemblance to the face that I carry about with me. Anyone who recognises me from that is my friend for life. Besides," she smiled, "I bear nothing but the most amicable feelings towards people who save my life." 
         
         I said nothing, just concentrated on finishing the job of strapping up Helene's arm and shoulders as quickly as possible: she was blue with cold, and shivering uncontrollably. But she hadn't uttered a murmur throughout, and smiled gratefully at me when I was finished. Marie LeGarde regarded my handiwork approvingly. 
         
         "I really do believe you have picked up some smattering of your trade along the way, Doctor - ah-" 
         
         "Mason. Peter Mason, Peter to my friends." 
         
         " 'Peter' it shall be. Come on, Helene, into your clothes as fast as you like." 
         
         Fifteen minutes later we were back in the cabin. Jackstraw went to unharness the dogs and secure them to the tethering cable, while Joss and I helped the two women down the ice-coated steps from the trap-door. But I had no sooner reached the foot of the steps than I had forgotten all about Marie LeGarde and Helene and was staring unbelievingly at the tableau before me. I was just vaguely aware of Joss by my shoulder, and anger and dismay on his face slowly giving way to a kind of reluctant horror. For what we saw, though it concerned us all, concerned him most of all. 
         
         The injured wireless operator still lay where we had left him. All the others were there too, grouped in a rough semi-circle round him and round a cleared space to the left of the stove. By their feet in the centre of this space, upside down and with one corner completely stove in on the wooden floor, lay the big metal RCA radio transmitter and receiver, our sole source of contact with, our only means of summoning help from the outer world. I knew next to nothing about radios, but it was chillingly obvious to me - as it was, I could see, to the semi-circle of fascinated onlookers - that the RCA was smashed beyond recovery. 
         
         
         
       CHAPTER THREE - Monday 2 A.M. - 3 A.M. 
         
         
         
         Half a minute passed in complete silence, half a minute before I could trust myself to speak, even bring myself to speak. When at last I did, my voice was unnaturally low in die unnatural hush that was broken only by the interminable clacking of the anemometer cups above. 
         
         "Splendid. Really splendid. The perfect end to the perfect day." I looked round them slowly, one by one, then gestured at the smashed transmitter. "What bloody idiot was responsible for this - this stroke of genius?" 
         
         "How dare you, sir!" The white-haired man whom I had mentally labelled as the Dixie colonel took a step forward, face flushed with anger. "Mind your tongue. We're not children to be-" 
         
         "Shut up!" I said, quietly enough, but there must have been something in my voice rather less than reassuring, for he fell silent, though his fists still remained clenched. I looked at them all again.