“He smelled brandy in the captain’s cabin and saw the crudely wiped bloodstains on the deck, and wondered what had happened to Kappic. The fisherman who was his guard thrust him without ceremony along the deck into the cabin, and Durell’s brief glimpse of the stormy night was hopeful. The darkness and the howling wind seemed to funnel all its fury on the plunging fishing boat. The trawler was headed into the wind, her blunt bow thrusting and smashing into the ribbons of foam that whipped from he...r steel plates and fled in streamers through the noisy air. Everything creaked and groaned and gave forth metallic sounds of agony. Except for the riding lights on the masthead, everything was in darkness, and the bright glare of a gooseneck lamp and the heavy scent of Russian cigarette smoke in the captain’s warm cabin made Durell pause and blink and cough. “So,” he heard in Crimean dialect, “this is the famous spy, eh?” The captain was a thickset man with a black beard and a saddle nose.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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