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Mark shook open the Evening Standard that he had bought, and said, "Get me a drink before you call Mr Crombey, will you? Did you know that Stanley Keys is dead?"

""No, sir. Mr Stanley Keys of Keys Shipping, sir?"

"The very same. Look, here it is in the paper."

The story was on the front page, under advertisements for Dr. J. Collis Brown's Chlorodyne and a Thursday night "Souper Dansant" at the Metropole. Stanley Keys, chairman, founder, and principal stockholder of Keys Shipping Line, had died the previous night of a massive heart seizure. So far the company had not announced a successor, but the directors were adamant that Mr. Keys would have wished the new luxury liner Arcadia to leave Liverpool on Tuesday, as scheduled, for her maiden voyage.

"Mr Keys" only child, his twenty-one-year-old daughter Miss Catriona Keys, is understood to have returned to the family home from London, where she has become well-known in recent months in theatrical circles. She recently denied suggestions that she was engaged to marry musical actor Mr Nigel Myers, who is currently appearing in Daydreams of 1924 at the Prince Edward."

Mark turned the City pages, but apart from a note that "Keys Shipping shares drop 11/2 pence" there was nothing about the company's future plans, or how dangerously in debt they were. Wallis brought him a bourbon and seltzer, and he sipped it thoughtfully.

The last time he had met Stanley Keys, in the bar of Scott's restaurant in Piccadilly, he had openly expressed his admiration of Arcadia, and said, "If ever you need liquidity, Mr. Keys, I'll buy her from you for cash."

Stanley Keys had given Mark that quizzical, amused look which either charmed or infuriated the people he met, and replied, "I'll never be that hard up, my lad. The Arcadia's more than just a ship; she's my own flesh and blood. Aye, and my spirit, too. You don't go selling your spirit."

Nonetheless, it was common knowledge in the shipping business that Keys had desperately overstretched their resources by building such a lavish flagship; and it had always been Mark's intuition that Stanley Keys would sacrifice her at the very last if it meant that he could keep the rest of his fleet alive. Stanley Keys had always been a fleet man, rather than a devotee to one particular ship. He had been just as happy crossing the Atlantic in one of his small single-class steamers as he had been in the best of his luxury liners. Given the right historical circumstances, and a better social background, Stanley Keys would have made a fine Naval commander.

But now he was abruptly gone, and it was almost impossible for Mark to guess what the board of Keys would do to remain solvent. It was quite possible that they would auction off the entire fleet, and they would probably come under heavy pressure from George Welterman to make a bargain offer to IMM.

One thing was certain: they would have to let the Arcadia sail on Tuesday. They would have far too much capital and prestige invested in the maiden voyage to cancel or postpone it now. But what then? If Mark knew anything about Keys" finances, they would scarcely able to afford to bring her back to Liverpool again. He said to Wallis, "Bring me the telephone, will you? I think I'd better make few calls."

"You're dining in tonight, sir?"

'"Maybe. I'll see how hungry I feel. I was toying with the idea of going to Rule's for a pork chop."

Wallis brought him the white candlestick telephone, and he asked the hotel operator to connect him with Mr. Edgar Deacon, of Formby, in Lancashire. Then he said to Wallis, "Call Mr. Crombey, will you? And tell him to bring in all the Italian figures, and all the reports on De Freitas."

"Yes, sir. But I have to say that Mr. Crombey's not in a happy mood tonight, sir."

"I don't care what kind of a mood he's in. Will you call him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Operator?" said Mark. "Ah, good. Do you have the number? Formby what? Two-oh-fife-fower? Hey, don't you feel a bally ass having to pronounce numbers like that? Oh, well, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. Yes, I'll make a note of it. All right. Now, could you please connect me?"

There was a knock at the sitting-room door. Mark waved Wallis to go and answer it, and the butler tugged at his lapels, opened the door, and inquired, "Who is it, please?1

At the same time, Edgar Deacon came on the line. He was just about to have dinner with Catriona, and he sounded vaguely exasperated. "Who is it?" he asked, his voice tinny and distant.

"It's Mark Beeney," shouted Mark. "Can you hear me?" He felt as if he were trying to shout to someone on the opposite rim of the Grand Canyon. "I was talking to Mr Keys not long ago about buying the Arcadia."

"Yes, Mr Beeney. Quite so. What can I do for you?

"I read the papers tonight. I'm sorry to hear about Stanley. It was a great shock."

"Well, thank you for your condolences," said Edgar, "but is that all you rang for? I'm really very busy. I expect you can imagine that it's been a frightfully gruelling day."

"I'm sure of it, and I'm sorry," Mark told him. "But listen, that isn't all. What I wanted to do was repeat my offer. I'd very much like to buy the Arcadia as the flagship of American TransAtlantic. I'm prepared to pay four pounds million cash, subject to survey, and I'm prepared to settle the deal right away, even before she's cut her teeth."

There was a silence, punctuated only by the crackling of long-distance telephone lines. Then Edgar Deacon said, with all the correctness of an experienced office wallah, "You realise, Mr Beeney, that you cannot actually buy the Arcadia. A ship in British law is a small piece of the Kingdom, whether it is at sea or at anchor. No alien can actually own a British ship or any share of it, and even if he were to acquire one by accident or good fortune, he would immediately forfeit it to the Crown, although he would undoubtedly be compensated for his loss. A foreigner may not even serve as an officer on a British vessel."

Mr. Deacon, I know all of that, and it entrances me," said Mark. But I don't intend to buy the Arcadia as an individual. I simply want control of the Arcadia transferred to Amery, London, so that my British board of directors will control the Arcadia for me at two removes. All legal, and correct, but the money's just as good."

There was a long silence. Mark said, "Hello? You still there?"

"Yes, I'm still here, Mr Beeney," said Edgar Deacon. "But I must say that I'm really not used to doing business over the telephone. You are coming along on the voyage, aren't you? Perhaps we can discuss the matter then, in a more civilised manner, over a chota peg."

"A what?"

"Two fingers to you, old chap."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Mark, perplexed, but still trying to sound British.

"Two fingers of gin, or whatever it is you drink. Burra peg is three fingers. But listen, we'll have plenty of time to talk about this later. Poor Stanley is still warm in his coffin. It's hardly appropriate to discuss this now. The Arcadia was like a daughter to him, closer in some ways than his own daughter was. And I have yet to discuss this matter in any detail with my board of directors."