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This dining terrace of the Gull Reef Club at night, Paperman thought, must be one of the most charming places on earth. On the table were white linen, an overflowing centerpiece of yellow and scarlet flowers in a white glazed bowl, and an oil lamp of mottled clay, burning with a salmon-colored flame that flickered in the cool salt breeze. This terrace faced the town. Underwater lights illumined the green shallows, and made sparkling showers of the swells breaking on the rocks. Beyond these lights the water was black between the reef and the floodlit red fort, the white-and-gilt clock tower, and the dark lamp-dotted hills. Street lights curving along the waterfront silhouetted the moored schooners, and lit up the houses of Queen's Row, and the old gray church.
     
     
"What I want to know is," Paperman said at one point, "why would anybody want to sell this place? Where's there to go from here?"
     
     
Mrs. Tramm's mouth wrinkled. "Ah well, I suppose Amy Ball has her sad little secret, like everybody on Amerigo, and it's compelling her to leave."
     
     
"I have a hell of a sad little secret," said Cohn. "I blew two months' pay this afternoon in a crap game."
     
     
At the long table next to theirs, where the governor's party sat, loud bursts of laughter were rising, amid excited conversation. Paperman said, "Which one is the governor? The white-headed fellow?"
     
     
"Why, no. That's Tom Tilson," said Iris. "It's the man at the head of the table. Governor Sanders."
     
     
"Is he colored? It's hard to tell."
     
     
"Yes, he's colored."
     
     
Paperman peered at the man at the far end of the table: sallow, scrawny, with a long hollowed face and a straight thin nose.
     
     
"That woman at this end of the table-his wife?" Paperman was talking about a black woman in a short red evening dress, whose black hair was pulled flat, and piled and banded high at the back.
     
     
"Yes. Don't you think she's pretty?" said Iris.
     
     
"Well, different. Looks like Nefertiti, a bit."
     
     
"She's a Washington bureaucrat. He used to be one, too. She works in housing and only flits down here now and then to visit friend husband."
     
     
"You know all the gossip, Iris."
     
     
"When I first came here I took a job at Government House for a while."
     
     
At this moment the governor's wife turned and beckoned to Paperman. He glanced about, puzzled. She nodded, and beckoned again. "Does she mean me?" he said to Mrs. Tramm.
     
     
"It appears so. Go talk to the first lady. Mind your manners."
     
     
As he walked to the other table the woman held out a jeweled dark hand. She had very large green eyes. "Hello, I'm Reena Sanders. You're Mr. Paperman, aren't you?" Mrs. Sanders had the speech of a Western college graduate, clear and easy. "I just wanted to ask you not to run away, and to join us after dinner in the bar. The governor wants to meet you."
     
     
"That's awfully kind of him. And of you."
     
     
"You speak French, I hope. Our guests are from Chad."
     
     
"In a Hartford high school fashion."
     
     
"Where's your friend? The man who was on the cover of Time?"
     
     
"I'm afraid I don't know. I'm with these other people-"
     
     
"Of course. Iris, and one of Lieutenant Woods's swimmers. Please ask them to join us too."
     
     
Iris Tramm said when he returned to the table with this invitation, "The governor wants to cross-examine you about that thirty-five-story hotel, no doubt."
     
     
"I can't hang around long," said Cohn. "We're supposed to swim from Shark Bay out to Little Dog tomorrow, starting at dawn."
     
     
"Isn't that six miles?" said Iris.
     
     
"Yes. That's the beginning of the exercise. Then we do warlike things for two days and nights among the thornbushes. Eventually the survivors swim back."
     
     
"Why, you're a hero. You make me feel all shivery," said Iris.
     
     
"It beats working," Cohn said.
     
     
Paperman was silenced. There was a trace of menace about the frogman, for all his light tone. Smart