My fingernails struck it— swept it from the surface. It was no use— I was bending low, getting my shape behind a small ventilator, when the glass crashed. At the same second the figure of the woman reached the top of the companionway.
I sensed that— heard it. There was the quick intake of breath. A small exclamation, almost smothered. The yacht rolled.
The sigh that reached me showed that the woman believed the roll of the craft to have caused the glass breakage. I held my breath, kept my body motionless. A voice from forward came down on the wind.
“Doctor Bryce— get Bryce!”
There were footfalls close to my crouched figure. They died a little, and I lifted my head. The figure was dressed in black; it was the swing of the arms that I recognized. The swing brought me voice recognition; i
