It was not a big ship, but bigger than a halibut boat. It seemed about the size and shape of those floating canneries I'd seen in Hokkaido when I'd worked with the Japanese National Police in 1952. I don't know whether that thought was first in my mind or whether it came later but I do know, in the middle of all the confusion I heard a command screamed out in Japanese, and the answering "_Hai_" barked back as only the Japs can say it. I thought I must have been mistaken when, a moment later, I saw the man. The moon was full on his face as he leaned out over the side, near the stern. For an instant we were quite close as I stood up, cursing the stupid so-and-so's who were ruining the beautiful woodwork of my boat. He was fair-haired, with a short brush cut. The eyes were deep set and shadowed too much to see the color. His face was broad, with high cheek bones, and the mouth wide and heavy under a short nose. I couldn't tell his height, but he looked strong and stocky. His hands, gripping the rail, seemed powerful even in that light. As we passed, the moonlight caught them and was reflected in a dull red glow from some large stone, a ring I presumed, on the back of his left hand. He didn't move or speak and I lost sight of him a second later when the pitching of the yacht in the stern wash threw me again to the deck. By the time I recovered, the steamer was across the open space and plunging back into the fog. In the swirling mist of its passage the flag at the stern fluttered out straight. It looked like a red ball on a white field. "The hamburgers! My God, the hamburgers are on fire!" I turned around, still dazed, to see Pat unscramble herself in the cockpit and drop back into the galley. I left her to it while I checked the wreckage of the port side fittings. We weren't holed, thank Goodness, so we could run for home under our own power. I steered in close to the shore of one of the islands where the fog had lifted, and dropped anchor. Then I went below. Pat was at the stove again. A new batch of hamburgers was under way and only a stain on the floor showed what had happened to the first lot. "Mix us a drink, a big drink," was all she said, then. * * * * * The hamburgers were gone and we sat over our coffee. I was drowsy from the warmth and the hot sweetness of the Drambuie felt good as I took it slowly. Pat was rolling hers around the liqueur glass and watching the oily liquid slide back to the bottom. A quiet woman ordinarily, she was extremely so this night. "Why so quiet, darling?" I reached for her hand. She looked at me and said nothing. "Is it that damned ferret again?" She nodded. "Don't let it worry you so much, sweet. It's only a hunch and I don't think he's right." "What if he is right, what then?" She went on without waiting for an answer. "I want children, I don't want to be sterile." "Well you aren't, or at least I don't suppose so. Probably you won't be."