BIRD HAD BEEN RIGHT about the soporific qualities of the laced cocoa: Olsen was unconscious within seconds of getting into his bunk. Fading out of awareness into a heavy, dreamless sleep, the warmth of the cocoa and the fire of the rum enveloped him in a soft cloud of utter relaxation: he drifted warmly, feeling the paralysis steal through his limbs and blanket his mind: then - it seemed like ten minutes later - he was brought abruptly to the surface by a hand which had grasped his shoulder and now was shaking it while a voice intoned in dreary, mumbled repetition, ‘Four- fifteen Mr Olsen, time f’yer watch, four-fifteen, Mr Ol - ’
‘All right!’ Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, peering down into the darkened wardroom, he was filled momentarily with an intense disl
