And then they brought him through the wood,

Why?" I sighed in relief, and explained. When I'd finished telling him of Hillcrest's solution to his troublesdistilling the petrolI asked him what he thought of it. "It's as good a way as any of committing suicide," he said grimly. "What does he want to dosend himself into orbit? It only requires one weak spot in the can he's trying to heat.. . . Besides, the evaporation range of petrol is so wideanything from 30 degrees centigrade to twice the temperature of boiling water -that it may take him all day to get enough to fill a cigarette lighter." "That seems to be more or less the trouble," I agreed. "Is there nothing he can do?" "Only one thing he can dowash it. What size drums does your petrol come in?" Ten gallon." "Tell him to pour out a couple of gallons and replace with water. Stir well. Let it stand for ten minutes and then syphon off the top seven gallons. It'll be as near pure petrol as makes no difference." "As easy as that!" I said incredulously. I thought of Hillcrest's taking half an hour to distil a cupful. "Are you sure, Mr Mahler?" "It should work," he assured me. Even the strain of a minute's speaking had been too much for him, his voice was already no more than a husky whisper. "Sugar is insoluble in petrolit just dissolves in the small amounts of water present in petrol, small enough to be held in suspension. But if you've plenty of water it'll sink to the bottom, carrying the sugar with it." "If I'd the Nobel Science Prize, I'd give it to you right now, Mr Mahler." I rose to my feet. "If you've any more suggestions to make, for heaven's sake let me know." "I've one to make now," he smiled, but he was almost gasping for breath. "It's going to take your friend a pretty long time to melt the snow to get all the water he needs to wash the petrol." He nodded towards the tractor sled, visible through the gap in the canvas screen. "We're obviously carrying far too much fuel. Why don't you drop some off for Captain Hillcrest-why, in fact, didn't you drop some off last night, when you first heard of this?" I stared at him for a long long moment, then turned heavily for the door. "I'll tell you why, Mr Mahler," I said slowly. "It's because I'm the biggest damned prize idiot in this world, that's why." And I went out to tell Hillcrest just how idiotic I was. CHAPTER TENThursday 4 P.M.Friday 6 P.M. Jackstraw, Corazzini sony digital cameras cyber-shot dsc-t200r and I took turns at driving the Citroen all through that evening and the following night. The engine was beginning to run rough, the exhaust was developing a peculiar note and it was becoming increasingly difficult to engage second gear. But I couldn't stop, I daren't stop. Speed was life now. Mahler had gone into collapse shortly after nine o'clock that evening, and from the collapse had gradually moved into the true diabetic coma. I had done all I could, all anyone could, but heaven only knew it was little enough. He needed bed, heat, fluids, stimulants, sugar by mouth or injection. Both suitable stimulants and the heat were completely lacking, the lurching, narrow, hard wooden bunk was poor substitute for any bed, despite his great thirst he had found it increasingly difficult to keep down the melted snow water, and I had no means of giving an intravenous injection. For the others in the cabin it was distressing to watch him, distressing to listen to the dyspnoeathe harsh laboured breathing of coma. Unless we could get the insulin in time, I knew no power on earth could prevent death from supervening in from one to three daysin these unfavourable conditions, a day would be much more likely. Marie LeGarde, too, was weakening with dangerous speed. It was with increasing difficulty that she could force down even the smallest mouthfuls of food, and spent most of her time in restless troubled sleep. Having seen her on the stage and marvelled at her magnificent vitality, it now seemed strange to me that she should go under so easily. But her vitality had really been a manifestation of a nervous energy: she had little of the physical resources necessary to cope with a situation like this, and I had frequently to remind myself that she was an elderly woman. Not that any such reminder was needed when one saw her face: it was haggard and lined and old. But worried though I was about my patients, Jackstraw was even more deeply concerned with the weather. The temperature had been steadily rising for many hours now, the moaning ululation of the ice-cap wind, which had been absent for over two days, was increasing in intensity with every hour that passed, and the skies above were dark and heavy with black drifting clouds of snow. And when, just after midnight, the wind-speed passed fifteen miles an hour, the wind began to pick up the drift off the ice-cap. I knew what Jackstraw was afraid of, though I myself had