He seized upon a new item of information. ‘You say you removed Sergeant Wilson from the ward, Sister. Just what do you mean by that?’

‘Sergeant Wilson was in severe emotional shock, sir, and considering the circumstances I thought it advisable to treat him in my own quarters rather than in the ward right under Sergeant Daggett’s nose.’

‘So Sergeant Wilson was with you all night.’

She looked at him fearlessly. ‘Yes, sir. All night.’

‘All night? You’re sure it was all night?’

‘Yes, sir. He’s still in my quarters, as a matter of fact. I didn’t want to bring him back to the ward until after I had talked to Sergeant Daggett.’

‘And were you with him all night, Sister?’

A tiny horror crept into her mind. The colonel was not busy thinking salacious thoughts about her and Michael; he probably didn’t consider her the least capable of salacious activity. He was contemplating something far different than love—he was contemplating murder.

‘I did not leave Sergeant Wilson’s side until I came on duty half an hour ago, sir, and I discovered Sergeant Daggett only minutes after coming on duty. He had then been dead for several hours,’ she said, her tone brooking no argument.

‘I see,’ said Colonel Chinstrap, tight-lipped. ‘This is a pretty mess, isn’t it?’

‘I disagree, sir. It isn’t pretty at all.’

He returned to the main theme like a worrisome dog. ‘And you’re absolutely sure that Sergeant Daggett did or said nothing to indicate a suicidal state of mind?’

‘Absolutely nothing, sir,’ she said firmly. ‘In fact, that he did commit suicide staggers me. Not that it’s so inconceivable he’d take his own life. Only that he chose to do so with so much blood, so much… ugliness. As for the assault on his own masculinity—I can’t even begin to grasp why. But then, that’s the trouble with people. They never do what you expect them to do. I’m being quite open and honest with you, Colonel Donaldson. I could lie and say Sergeant Daggett’s state of mind was definitely suicidal. But I choose to speak the truth. My incredulity over Sergeant Daggett’s suicide doesn’t alter my conviction that it is suicide. It can’t be anything else.’

He turned and began to walk toward X, setting a sober pace which she seemed content to follow at last. By the collapsed clothesline he paused to poke about in the heaps of laundry with his swagger stick, reminding Sister Langtry of the matron of a mixed-sex teenage camp looking for suspicious stains. ‘There seems to have been a bit of a fight here,’ he said, straightening.

Her lips twitched. ‘There was, sir. Between Captain Parkinson and some shirts.’

He moved on. ‘I think I had better see Captain Parkinson and Sergeant Maynard before I send for the authorities, Sister.’

‘Of course, sir. I haven’t been back to the ward since I discovered the body, so I imagine none of them know what’s happened. Even if any of them have tried to get into the bathhouse, I locked it before I went to find you.’

‘That at least is something to be grateful for,’ he said austerely, and suddenly realized life was offering him the perfect opportunity to slap Sister Langtry down for good. A man in her quarters all night, an absolutely sordid sexual mess culminating in a killing—by the time he was finished with her, she’d be pilloried and out of the army in disgrace. Oh, God, the bliss! ‘Permit me to say, Sister, that I consider you have botched this entire affair from start to finish, and that I shall make it my personal business to see that you receive the censure you so richly deserve.’

‘Thank you, sir!’ she exclaimed, apparently without irony. ‘However, I consider that the direct cause of this entire affair was two bottles of Johnnie Walker whisky which were consumed in full last night by the patients of ward X. And if I only knew the identity of the brainless fool who was responsible for giving Captain Parkinson, an emotionally unstable patient, those two bottles yesterday, I would take great pleasure in making it my personal business to see that he receives the censure he so richly deserves!’

He tripped going up the steps and had to grab at the rickety banister to save himself. Brainless fool? Blithering idiot! He had forgotten all about the whisky. And she knew. Oh, she knew, all right! He would have to forget revenge. He would have to backpedal very quickly indeed. Damn the woman! That smooth and oh, so fearless insolence was bone deep; if her nursing training had not eradicated it, bloody nothing ever would.

Matt, Nugget, Benedict and Neil were sitting at the table on the verandah, looking ghastly. Poor souls, she hadn’t even given them the caffeine she had skimmed off the top of the mist APC, and she couldn’t very well dole it out to them now, with Colonel Chinstrap looking on.

At sight of the colonel they all rose to attention; he sat down heavily on one end of a bench and was obliged to make a flying leap for its middle when it tipped dangerously.

‘As you were, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Captain Parkinson, I would greatly appreciate a cup of tea, please.’

The teapot had already gone through several refills and one remake, so the tea Neil poured with a none-too-steady hand was fairly fresh. Colonel Chinstrap took the mug without seeming to notice its ugliness, and buried his nose in it gratefully. But eventually he had to put the mug down, at which time he glared sourly at the four men and Sister Langtry.

‘I understand that Sergeants Wilson and Daggett were involved in an incident early this morning in the bathhouse?’ he asked, his manner indicating that this was what had brought him all the way down the compound to ward X so early in the day.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Neil easily. ‘Sergeant Daggett made an attempt to molest Sergeant Wilson sexually. Sister Langtry fetched us—Sergeant Maynard and myself, that is—to the bathhouse, and we broke it up.’

‘Having seen the actual incident with your own eyes, or only having heard of it from Sister Langtry?’

Neil eyed the colonel with a contempt he didn’t even bother to conceal. ‘Why, having seen it with our own eyes, of course!’ He packed his voice with the nuances of someone forced to pander to an inexplicably prurient interest. ‘Sergeant Wilson must have been surprised in the shower. He was naked, and quite wet. Sergeant Daggett was also naked, but not at all wet. He was, however, in a state of extreme sexual arousal. When Sister Langtry, Sergeant Maynard and myself entered the bathhouse, he was attempting to grapple with Sergeant Wilson, who had dropped into a defensive position to ward him off.’

Neil cleared his throat, looked carefully past the colonel’s shoulder. ‘Luckily Sergeant Wilson had not imbibed very freely of the whisky we just happened to have in our possession last night, otherwise things might have gone a lot harder for him.’

‘All right, all right, that’s quite enough!’ said the colonel sharply, feeling every nuance like a rapier, and the mention of the whisky like a club. ‘Sergeant Maynard, do you agree with Captain Parkinson’s description?’

Benedict looked up for the first time. His face had the strung and drawn weariness of someone who had reached a point of no return, and his eyes were red-rimmed from the whisky. ‘Yes, sir, that’s the way it happened,’ he said, dragging the words out as if he had been sitting there for days concentrating on nothing but those words. ‘Luce Daggett was a blot on the face of the earth. Dirty. Disgusting—’

Matt got up quickly and put his hand unerringly on Benedict’s arm, the grip pulling Benedict to his feet. ‘Come on, Ben,’ he said urgently. ‘Hurry! Take me for a walk. After all that grog last night I don’t feel well.’

Colonel Chinstrap didn’t argue, for a fresh reference to the whisky terrified him. He sat as quietly as a mouse while Benedict led Matt rapidly from the verandah, then turned to Neil again. ‘What happened after your arrival put an end to the incident. Captain?’