Bear Island by Alistair MacLean Read Free Book Online Page A

autopsy is like-it's a very messy business indeed, I can assure you. I haven't the facilities. I'm not a specialist in pathology-and you require one for an autopsy. You require the consent of the next of kin-and how are you going to get that in the middle of the Barents Sea? You require a coroner's order-no coroner. Besides, a coroner only issues an order where theirs a suspicion of foul play. No such suspicion exists here.”
        “No-no foul play? But you said--"
        “I said it looked like strychnine. I didn't say it was strychnine. I'm sure it's not. He seemed to show the classical symptoms of having had tetanic spasms and opisthotonos-that's when the back arches so violently that the body rests on the head and the heels only-and his face showed pure terror: there's nearly always this conviction of impending death at the onset of strychnine poisoning. But when I straightened him out there were no signs of tetanic contractions. Besides, the timing is all wrong. Strychnine usually shows its first effects within ten minutes and half an hour after taking the stuff you're gone. Antonio was at least twenty minutes here with us at dinner and there was nothing wrong with him then-well, seasickness, that's all. And he died only minutes ago-far too long. Besides, who on earth would want to do away with a harmless boy like Antonio? Do you have in your employ a raving psycho who kills just for the kicks of it? Does it make any kind of sense to you?”
        “No. No, it doesn't. But-but poison. You said-”
        “Food poisoning.”
        “Food poisoning! But people don't die of food poisoning. You mean ptomaine poisoning?"
        “I mean no such thing for there is no such thing. You can eat ptomaines to your heart's content and you'll come to no harm. But you can get all sorts of food poisoning-chemically contaminated-mercury in fish, for instance-edible mushrooms that aren't edible mushrooms, edible mussels that aren't edible mussels-but the nasty one is salmonella. And that can kill, believe me. Just at the end of the war one variety of it, Salmonella enteritidis, laid low about thirty people in Stoke-on-Trent. Six of them died. And there's an even nastier one called Clostridium botulinum kind of half-cousin of botulinus, a charming substance that is guaranteed to wipe out a city in a night-the Ministry of Health makes it. This Clostridium secretes an exotoxin-a poison-which is probably the most powerful occurring in nature. Between the wars a party of tourists at Loch Maree in Scotland had a picnic lunch-sandwiches filled with potted duck paste. Eight of them had this. All eight died. There was no cure then, there is no cure now. Must have been this or something like this that Antonio ate."
        I see, I see." He had some more brandy, then looked up at me, his eyes round. "Good God! Don't you see what this means, man! We're all at risk, all of us. This clostridium or whatever you call it could spread like wildfire- “
        “Rest easy. It's neither infectious nor contagious.”
        “But the galley-”
        “You think that hadn't occurred to me? The source of infection can't be there. If it were, we'd all he gone-I assume that Antonio-before his appetite deserted him, that was-had the same as all of us. I didn't pay any particular attention but I can find out probably from the people on either side of him-I'm sure they were the Count and Cecil."
        "Cecil?”
        “Cecil Golightly-your camera focus assistant or something like that.”
        “Ah! The Duke." For some odd reason Cecil, a diminutive, shrewd, and chirpy little Cockney sparrow was invariably known as the Duke, probably because it was so wildly unsuitable. "That little pig see anything! He never lifts his eyes from the table. But Tadeusz-well, now, he doesn't miss much.”
        “I'll ask. I'll also check the galley, the food store, and the cold room. Not a chance in ten thousand-I think we'll find that Antonio