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man who hasreally taken the stage by storm is George Bernard Shaw. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing his work both here and in New York. Mark my words, he is the playwright of the future.”
    Rymer was appalled. “But the fellow is an
Irishman
.”
    Dillman could see that it would be unwise to take a discussion of drama any further and he swiftly backpedaled. After thanking them for their hospitality, he took his leave. As they waved him off, Sylvia Rymer was gracious and her husband uncommonly civil, but their daughter was hurt by his departure and shot him a wounded look. Violet obviously did not wish to be delivered up once more to the less-than-tender mercies of her parents.
    Pleased that she had identified him as a friend, Dillman felt a twinge of guilt at having to abandon her. He consoled himself with the thought that there would be time to make amends in the days ahead. Meanwhile, he felt the need of a stroll on deck to clear his lungs. At the end of their meal, Matthew Rymer had smoked a cigar and its acrid smell still haunted Dillman’s nostrils and clung to his clothes. It was a mild night with a welcome breeze. As he walked along the promenade deck, he inhaled deeply. Most passengers had started to disperse to their cabins by now but a few were still on deck. Dillman strode past them until he spotted a uniformed figure at the rail. He recognized the profile.
    “Rather late for you to be up, isn’t it?” he said jokingly.
    Lionel Osborne turned round. “Oh, hello there, Mr. Dillman.”
    “Early to bed. Doctor’s orders.”
    “What is the point of being the ship’s surgeon if you can’t ignore your own advice?” said Osborne with a grin. “Besides, who could resist being on deck on an historic night like this? Sea air is so bracing.”
    Osborne was a dapper man in his forties with a clean-shaven face that tapered to a point at the chin. Dillman had only met him once but had taken to him immediately. Osborne had a blend of expertise and resilience that was vital in his profession. Unlike some of the ship’s complement, he treated Dillman as an equal and not as a rather minor employee whose presence was a necessary insurance.
    “Do you expect to be busy?” said the American.
    “Doctors are always busy on transatlantic crossings.”
    “Seasickness?”
    “That is the least of my worries, Mr. Dillman. No, what we are up against is the law of averages.”
    “I don’t follow.”
    “Work it out for yourself, old chap. Five days on board with over two thousand passengers. There’s bound to be at least one heart attack, brain hemorrhage, or other serious problem. And some people will overindulge in the dining saloon, so there’ll be everything from cases of acute indigestion to more serious gastric disorders.” He waved a hand at the rolling waves. “I’m enjoying the view while I have the chance.”
    “There is not much to see in the darkness.”
    “Maybe not,” said Osborne, “but it is an improvement on the swollen ankles, inflamed throats, and distended stomachs which I’ll have to look at in due course. Not to mention the odd broken bone. Whenever I’m on duty, someone always manages to fall down some steps. It’s uncanny.”
    “What is the worst emergency you had to face?”
    “Difficult to say, Mr. Dillman. If you pressed me, I think it would be a toss-up between performing a tracheotomy on the floor of a cabin and delivering a baby in a force nine gale. Oh,” he recalled, “then there was the lady with the sick poodle.”
    “Are you expected to be a vet as well?”
    “A ship’s surgeon is supposed to be able to cure anything from malaria to foot-and-mouth disease.” Osborne grimaced at the memory. “But that poodle was vicious. It almost bit off my finger. When I told its owner that there was nothing wrong with the animal, she turned on me as well. I had the pair of them yapping away at me.”
    “Occupational hazards.”
    “I daresay that you have your share of those, old