The maker was Nautor of Finland, and the boat was a Swan, widely held to be the best production yacht in the world, and very close to being custom-built. She had obviously been built with little regard to cost; every piece of equipment aboard was the best that money could buy--the electronics, the sails, even the galley equipment. He reckoned the boat had cost between a million and a half and two million dollars,

She popped out of the head, her makeup redone, her long, blond hair combed. "Okay, let's go," she said.

Stone picked up the docUments she had given him and followed her up the main companionway ladder.

Five minutes later, they were back in the Markstown meeting hall, and Sir Winston Sutherland was resuming his questioning of Allison Manning.

CHAPTER.

Sir Winston rose to his full height and addressed Allison Manning. This time he was not bothering with charm. "Mrs. Manning," he said, "was your husband a wealthy man?"

"We're well off, I suppose," she replied, looking a bit nonplused.

"Paul never really discussed money with me; he took care of that. I mean, on the boat, he tied the knots and spliced the wire and fixed the engine and navigated, and I did what I did at home--I kept house. I'm not a business executive or an entrepreneur or a stockbroker or a lady lawyer or a yachtswoman. I'm a housewife, and that was all I ever did.

Paul made the money and invested it and, except for my clothes and the things in the house, he spent it; I hardly gave it a thought. We have a nice house, we drove nice cars, but the only really extravagant thing Paul ever bought was the boat, and I don't even know what it cost."

"I see," Sir Winston said, as if he didn't see at all. "You never give money a thought." "I think I see what you're getting at," she said.

"You're implying that I hit my husband over the head or stabbed him with a kitchen knife and dumped him overboard so I could have his money, right? Well, do you have any idea how big Paul was? He was as big as you!" She seemed to reconsider. "Well, almost as big." The jury tittered at this. Allison Manning was becoming very assertive now, and it worried Stone a little. He had instructed her not to argue with Sir Winston, not to lose her temper again. "Well, Mrs. Manning,"

Sir Winston continued, seeming to regroup, "let me ask you this: what were you husband's toilet arrangements on the yacht?" She looked at him as if he were a raving lunatic. "What?" Sir Winston looked flustered for a moment. "Let me rephrase, please. When your husband was on deck, and he felt the need to relieve himself, how did he do it?" "In the usual way," she replied. The jury began laughing, but a sharp look from the coroner subdued them. "I mean, Mrs. Manning, did he go below and use the toilet, or like most men on a boat, did he just pass his water into the sea?" "He stood on the stern of the boat, held onto the backstay with one hand, unzipped his fly with the other, and peed overboard." "Ah," said Sir Winston, as if he had caught her in some monumental admission. "This large husband of yours made himself vulnerable for just a' moment when he urinated. A small shove, even by a small woman, was all it would take, eh?"

She fixed him with a hard stare. "That speculation, Sir whatever-your-name-is, is not worthy of a reply."

Stone sensed his moment; he rose and addressed the coroner. "Pardon me, Your Honor," he said. "My name is Stone Barrington; I am an American attorney, and Mrs. Manning has asked me to represent her in these proceedings. I wonder if I might put a few questions to her?"

Sir Winston spun and looked at him. "Are you licensed to practice in St. Marks or in Britain?" he demanded.

"No, I am not," Stone said evenly, "but if these proceedings are so informal as to allow the minister of justice to question a witness at an inquest, then perhaps Mrs. Manning might be questioned by someone of her own choosing."

"Well..." the coroner began.

"Are you a barrister? A trial lawyer?"

"I wasn't aware that this was a trial," Stone replied. The coroner asserted himself. "I will permit Mr. Barrington to put questions to Mrs. Manning, if he believes he can shed some light on this matter."

"I believe I can, Your Honor," Stone said. He hadn't the faintest idea how to address a coroner in a former British colony, but "Your Honor"

seemed to do the trick. He picked up a manila folder, stepped forward, and addressed his new client. "Mrs. Manning, how did your husband earn his living?"

"He 'was a writer; he wrote spy and mystery novels, mostly; he had quite a following."

;o

"And when your husband was preparing to write a book, was it his practice to make notes?"

"Yes, he made very extensive notes, sometimes writing almost the whole book in telegraphic form."

Stone picked up the leather-bound book from Sir Winston's table. "In a form like the contents of this diary?" he asked.

"Exactly like that. Paul bought that blank-paged book in Las Pallas specifically for the purpose of outlining a new novel. He mentioned it to me over dinner, and he wrote in it often. He liked to save his notes in a bound form, because the university he attended had asked to be the repository for his personal and professional papers."

And why, when Sir Winston read you the passages from this outline, did you not mention your husband's usual practice?"

"He didn't give me a chance," she said, casting a withering look at Sir Winston.

"I see," Stone continued. "Mrs. Manning, what was your husband's state of health shortly before his death?"

"Well, Paul had never been seriously ill, but he wasn't in very good shape."

"How do you know this?"

"We both had thorough physical examinations before we set out across the Atlantic."

Stone removed a sheet of paper from the manila folder in his hand and presented it to her. "Is this a copy of your husband's examination results?"

it is.S. he looked at the paper, then handed it back. "Yes,

Stone looked at the jury and the coroner. "Please

follow as I read from the doctor's report." He held up the paper and began to read. ""Paul Manning is a forty-two year-old author who has come in for a physical examination prior to an extensive sea voyage.

Mr. Manning has no complaints, but he is desirous of being examined and taking a copy of his medical records on his journey. ""Mr.

Manning is six feet, two inches tall and weighs two hundred and sixty-one pounds, rather too much for a man of his frame. The results of blood tests show a serum cholesterol count of 325 and serum triglycerides are 410. These are both dangerously elevated, the high end of normal being 220 for cholesterol and 150 for triglycerides.

Because of these numbers, in conjunction with Mr. Manning's lack of regular exercise and a history of heart disease in his family, I have advised Mr. Manning to immediately undertake a program of exercise, a diet low in cholesterol and other fats, and to bring his weight down to a maximum of two hundred pounds."" Stone handed the coroner the page and turned to his client. "Mrs. Manning, did your husband take his doctor's advice and go on such a diet?" "For about a week," she replied. "Paul was incapable of dieting for longer than that."

"Right," Stone said and addressed himself to the coroner and the jury.

"Paul Manning was grossly overweight and had been clogging his coronary arteries with cholesterol for many years. He was, in short, a heart attack waiting to happen, and happen it did, in exactly the way Mrs.

Manning has described. You have heard how she coped with this disaster at sea, and I put it to you that she could not have invented such a story. It is simply too heartrending not to be true. This brave woman has lost her husband under extraordinary circumstances and then mustered the fortitude to save their yacht and her own life. You cannot believe otherwise. Thank you for your time, Your Honor, gentlemen." Stone sat down.

The coroner turned to Sir Winston. "Do you have any further questions?"

"None," Sir Winston replied almost inaudibly, looking at his knees.

"Gentlemen," the coroner said to the jury, "do any of you have a question?"

The jury was mute.

"Then I will ask you to retire and consider your verdict."

Stone and Allison Manning sat at the 'bar of the Shipwright's Arms, as Thomas Hardy's restaurant and inn was called, and sipped pifia coladas.

"I can't thank you enough," she said. "I'll give you my address in Connecticut, and you can send me your bill."

"For practicing law in a foreign country without a license?" Stone asked. "I'd be disbarred."

"What do you think the verdict will be?"

"You can never tell about a jury, even a coroner's jury, but I believe we answered every point Sir Winston made. I'm optimistic."

"So am I; you did a brilliant job."

"You're too kind. What are your plans now?"