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the day. She was now a hundred and twenty miles north-east of the Poseidon, had steamed out of the shock area and reported an end to the disturbance of the sea. By six o'clock that evening, even at reduced speed, the Poseidon could be expected to sail out of the range of the swells.
    The Captain thereupon ordered an unalarming, watered-down version of the reason for the ship's behaviour to be broadcast to the passengers with a promise that before nightfall it would have abated.
    Shortly after six o'clock the swells abruptly ceased and the Poseidon, after overcoming the inertia set up by her rolling, sailed level on a flat, glassy, breathless sea. The relieved Captain lifted restrictions on the kitchens and cabin service, directed a few junior officers to appear at dinner to provide a sprinkling of white uniforms and gold braid, while still holding the rest of his crew and staff on alert. For he was not wholly happy nor his mind entirely at ease. But when the perfect conditions continued to prevail, he ordered maximum possible speed ahead.
    The frame of the old liner began to shudder and shake as her four turbines, each propelling a thirty-two-ton screw, thrust her onwards into the gathering dark at some thirty-one knots. Glasses and drinking-water bottles rattled in their racks, things loose vibrated. The great effort the old giantess was making was only too apparent.
    To the majority of those who had been miserably ill the pardon came too late. The relief arriving so close to the evening meal inspired very few to come to dinner. At half-past eight there were only a few more than had been present for lunch scattered about the huge dining-saloon. Manny Rosen's Strong Stomach Club was present, augmented by a full complement at the grab-bag table with the appearance of Mr Kyrenos, the Third Engineer, and Mrs Rogo.
    Linda Rogo was as usual overdressed in a long, white, silk sheath gown so tight that it showed the indentation of her buttocks and the line of her underpants. From the tremendous cleavage, it was probably an inheritance from the wardrobe of her starlet days, which caused Manny Rosen to whisper to his wife, 'What's holdin' them in?'
    Linda was a pretty, girlie-doll blonde with a small mouth which she exaggerated into a bee-stung pout. She somewhat resembled Marilyn Monroe except for the bite of personality. She affected a blue-eyed, baby stare but the eyes were ice cold. She had let everyone know that she had been a Hollywood starlet, appeared in a Broadway play and had given up a theatrical career to marry Rogo. She never let her husband forget it either.
    Frank Scott said to her, 'So glad you were able to come tonight, Mrs Rogo. The table wasn't the same without you.'
    Linda flirted her head and cooed, 'Oh, Reverend, do you really mean it?' Then dropping her voice, but still sufficiently audible, she said to her husband, 'You, you bastard. you didn't want me to come.'
    Rogo looked innocently aggrieved as he always did when Linda abused him and answered, 'Aw now, baby, I just didn't want you to be sick.'
    The shivering of the ship was more noticeable in the restaurant, and Muller's glass, touching a carafe, rang like a tuning fork. He clutched at the rim so quickly that Rosen, who was facing him at his neighbouring table for two, was startled and said, 'What happened?'
    Muller said, 'Old seagoing superstition. You let a sailor die if you don't stop a glass from ringing.' He added, 'I'm irreligious, but superstitious.' In a moment he had them all clutching at their glasses to stop the tinkling.
    This, the last night but one, had brought out the third best evening frocks of the women. Miss Kinsale was in her short, grey taffeta -- she had brought three for the voyage: black for best, a green and a grey which she wore alternately. Belle Rosen was in a black lace, short dress with high-heeled shoes and the inevitable diamond clips and mink cape. Jane Shelby and Susan appeared in a knee-length mother and daughter set of