In the darkness I could almost feel him staring at me. After a long time he said softly, "You wouldn't say this unless you were sure of it."

"I am sure of it. Their reactions, their dazed fumbling back to reality—and, above all, the pupils of their eyes. Unmistakable. Some kind of sleeping tablet mixtures, of the fast-acting kind. What is known to the trade, I believe, as Mickey Finns."

"But—" Joss broke off. He was still trying to orientate his mind to this new line of thought. "But—they would be bound to know of it, to be aware that they had been doped, when they came to."

"In normal circumstances, yes. But they came to in what was, to say the least, most abnormal circumstances. I'm not saying that they didn't experience any symptoms of weakness, dizziness and lassitude—they must have done—and what more natural than that they should ascribe any such unusual physical or mental symptoms to the effects of the crash. And what more natural, too, than that they should conceal these symptoms as best they could- and refrain from mentioning them? They would be ashamed to admit or discuss weaknesses—it's a very human trait to show to your neighbours the very best face you can put on in times of emergency or danger."

Joss didn't reply at once. The implications of all this, as I'd found out for myself, took no little time for digestion, so I let him take his time and waited, listening to the lost and mournful wailing of the wind, the rustling hiss of millions of ice spicules scudding across the frozen snow of the ice-cap, and my own thoughts were in keeping with the bleak misery of the night.

"It's not possible," Joss muttered at length. I could hear his teeth chattering with the cold. "You can't have some maniac rushing around an aircraft cabin with a hypo needle or dropping fizz-balls into their gin and tonics. You think they were all doped?"

"Just about."

"But how could anyone—"

"A moment, Joss," I interrupted. "What happened to the RCA?"

"What?" The sudden switch caught him momentarily off-balance. "What happened—you mean, how did it go for a burton? I've no idea at all, sir. All I know is that these hinges couldn't have been knocked into the wall accidentally—not with radio and equipment weighing about 180 pounds sitting on top of them. Someone shoved them in. Deliberately."

"And the only person anywhere near it at the time was the stewardess, Margaret Ross. Everyone agreed on that."

"Yes, but why in the name of heaven should anyone want to do a crazy thing like that?"

"I don't know," I said wearily. "There's a hundred things I don't know. But I do know she did it.. . . And who's in the best position to spike the drinks of aircraft passengers?"

"Good God!" I could hear the sharp hissing intake of breath. "Of course. Drinks—or maybe the sweets they hand out at take-off."

"No." I shook my head definitely in the darkness. "Barley sugar is too weak a covering-up agent to disguise the taste of a drug. Coffee, more likely."

"It must have been her," Joss said slowly. "It must have been. But—but she acted as dazed and abnormal as any of the others. More so, if anything."

"Maybe she'd reason to," I said grimly. "Come on, let's get back or we'll freeze to death. Tell Jackstraw when you get him by himself."

Inside the cabin, I propped the hatch open a couple of inches -with fourteen people inside, extra ventilation was essential. Then I glanced at the thermograph: it showed 48° below zero—eighty degrees of frost.

I lay down on the floor, pulled my parka hood tight to keep my ears from freezing, and was asleep in a minute.