Manchurian Books

Suddenly the deck door opened and through it came Throckmartin. He
paused uncertainly, looked up at the sky with a curiously eager,
intent gaze, hesitated, then closed the door behind him.
"Throck," I called. "Come! It's Goodwin."
He made his way to me.
"Throck," I said, wasting no time in preliminaries. "What's wrong?
Can I help you?"
I felt his body grow tense.
"I'm going to Melbourne, Goodwin," he answered. "I need a few
things--need them urgently. And more men--white men--"
He stopped abruptly; rose from his chair, gazed intently toward the
north. I followed his gaze. Far, far away the moon had broken through
the clouds. Almost on the horizon, you could see the faint
luminescence of it upon the smooth sea. The distant patch of light
quivered and shook. The clouds thickened again and it was gone. The
ship raced on southward, swiftly.
Throckmartin dropped into his chair. He lighted a cigarette with a
hand that trembled; then turned to me with abrupt resolution.
"Goodwin," he said.


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