A Hero for Leanda

charts—including, Conway noted, a complete set for the Indian Ocean . He examined the food bins, the ventilators, the chain locker. He took a look at the carefully stowed sails, noting with approval that they were all tanned and proofed against mildew. Back on deck he inspected the halyards and the sheets, the winches and guard rails and steel-tube pulpit forward, the laced canvas dodgers for the cockpit, the anchors and the chain, and the tiny alloy pram dinghy on the coach roof. He opened up the engine—a Diesel in fine condition which he reckoned would give Thalia at least eight knots. It seemed unnecessarily powerful for such a yacht, but the speed might well come in useful. He checked the various tanks aboard and found them all full of Diesel fuel, none of water, except for a five-gallon emergency tank. The water supply was by means of a filter-and-chemical apparatus, which could change salt water into fresh as it was wanted. Conway had used a similar apparatus himself ever since it had first come on the market, and had found it wholly satisfactory.
    He finished his survey and stood by the tiller, looking forward with absorbed delight. He had loved Tara , but she hadn’t been in Thalia’s class. This ship was the stuff of dreams. Now that he had seen her he felt sure she could be altered to make her a good ocean singlehander. It would take time, but that was something he usually had plenty of. Already he could see himself resuming his travels in her—if only he could carry out Metaxas’ mission successfully....
    Presently he became aware of Leanda beside him. She had barely spoken to him during his tour of inspection. Now, as anxious as a patient waiting for the doctor’s verdict, she said, “What do you think of her, Mike?”
    “What do you?” Conway asked, smiling.
    “She’s luxurious—wonderful. But will she do?”
    “Ah,” Conway said, “it’s a bit early to tell you that. Let’s go and talk to Ionides about launching her.”
    The agent was sleeping in the car, but he woke at the sound of their voices. “Well?” he said.
    “She seems to be just about all set for an ocean voyage. Who did she belong to?”
    “An English accountant. He had her sent out from England just before he retired. He was going to sail her to Mauritius . He was full of plans. Then he had a heart attack, and he had to sell her.”
    “What a shame!” Leanda said.
    Conway was still looking at Thalia. “She’s a lovely ship .“
    “She cost nearly three thousand pounds,” Ionides said. “Well, if her performance is anything like her promise I’d say you got her at a knockdown price.... There’s only one change I would suggest, that we could make in the time. That white paint’s a bit bright.”
    “Too visible on a dark night?”
    Conway nodded. “We might have to go over it with something else.... Anyway, when can I take her out ?“
    “Tomorrow afternoon,” Ionides said. “I’ll arrange for her to be put in the water for you in the morning.”

    The southeaster, that blew constantly from the sea at that time of year, was of moderate strength when Conway and Leanda returned to Thalia next day. “A perfect sailing breeze!” Conway said, in visibly high spirits. The day was sunny, and far too warm for comfort on the land, but he guessed that afloat it would be just right. He was wearing a bush shirt, and khaki shorts, which he had always found the most serviceable for tropical sailing. Leanda also wore shorts. “The only possible wear in a boat for a woman of virtue!” he had told her with a grin.
    Afloat, the little ship looked even more attractive than it had the previous day. “The loveliest thing man ever invented,” Conway said poetically, “a sailing ship.” He stood looking at her for a moment in an attitude almost of worship. Then he got busy. Leanda sat by the tiller, watching him as he sorted out what seemed to her a hopeless tangle of sheets and halyards. She was beginning to doubt if she would ever be very useful, but at least she could keep out of his way, and she found h im interesting to watch. The mere act of boarding the ship seemed to have given him added stature. His lined, rugged face was no longer mocking, but absorbed. His strong brown hands moved among the ropes with confidence. His well-muscled arms served him with a practiced economy of effort. All his movements were unhurried—so much so that Leanda grew impatient at his deliberation. But at last he gave the signal, and