ABSTRACT
Judged by outward appearances, the change had been profitable. A first-class passenger on an Oriental liner, dressed in immaculate linens, a discreet brilliant on his little finger, it was not surprising that at first glance I had failed to recognize the former captain of the freighter M a.ry Willard. Yet Turnwell still preserved the same air of retarded adolescence: his bony frame, awkward in spite of the well-cut clothes; his round blue eyes with their expression of startled interrogation; the long chin, smooth not so much from close shaving as from lack of beard. His hair had grown thinner; a soft colorless fuzz covered his crown, like the down on a baby's head.
